#he’s the only character without a vision story

[zkg2318]

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 3 | PJS

A/N: this is part 3 of the BOF series, please read part 1 for the story to make sense as these are heavily driven by plot. Also, i apologize if the smut is a bit too vanilla for your liking, but i tried to add a bit of uniqueness to it. as compensation, i wrote a slight aftercare scene (and i almost never do that cuz im bad at writing it) have fun reading. also, sorry for the ending lol

genre/tags for this part ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), major character death (don't worry), blood, verbal and physical violence, lots of murder, manipulation, lots of death, panic attacks, government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 12.7

part 2

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), unprotected sex, very brief dom!reader, grinding, slight overstimulation, fluffy aftercare, emotional sex

In the darkness of Luxta’s hidden underbelly, K slaves away for the black market, The Veil in particular, scraping by on a barely livable wage. Desperation has become his best friend now; daring him to escape these circumstances, no matter what. He moves through the outskirts of Luxta with an agonizing slowness, the years worth of working evident in his gait.

Raised like most of the supernatural around here- alone without the guidance of a parental figure, K has brought it upon himself to pay his dues by giving back to the supernatural youth- children who have yet to be sold in the black market or older adolescents who were lucky enough to live in The Veil’s residences.He spends his nights navigating the narrow alleyways located on the outskirts of Luxta that have slowly become the habitat to these ‘monsters’, a notepad in hand as he records statistics and hands out supplies. 

In the beginning, it fulfilled K, knowing he was giving these kids some sort of temporary comfort during the hardest part of their lives. But at some point in time, that comfort dissipated and turned into burn out. Seeing their faces every night, many much too young to be carrying the burden of survival, was just too much for him. But there wasn’t an easy out for K, the supernatural didn’t exactly have access to everyday jobs like humans did. Many had to rely on underground jobs like dealing drugs and committing illegal acts. 

It’s storming now, and the only protection there is are the tents that The Veil has graciously put out for children to commune under. The harsh rain pounds against the makeshift shelters, deafening the murmurs of the children underneath them. K walks around with a sheet of paper in his hand, greeting several children of various ages huddling together for warmth, creating a list of their abilities and what they are. He blinks away the rain infiltrating his vision as he watches some of the children ignite small flames from their palms, a small attempt at experimenting with their powers in order to offer a subtle warmth for others around them to share. Other children aren’t as lucky, shivering as the harsh wind hits their bones. 

As K moves through this particular camp, he spots a figure moving in the distance- his face obscured by the hood of his cloak. A small boy, who stands in front of K, is quickly moved behind him as he straightens his posture to hide him from the strange man’s view. “Don’t you think the sky’s a bit dark for you to be out this late?” K asks, suspicion creeping away in his voice. 

“It glimmers or some shit,” the man grumbles as he shoves a wet envelope into K’s hand. His tone is dismissive and groggy as he continues to speak, “If you want to get out of this shit show, follow the instructions of this envelope.” 

Before K can say anything, the mysterious man turns on his heel and disappears into the shadow. But his eyes catch onto a glint of metal that shines under the moonlight that’s tucked under his cloak, almost completely obscured if not for the bulk of the item being so big. With furrowed eyebrows, K realizes what it was that caught the moonlight’s glint- a government scanner. 

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When K had come to Yuqi the other day after a long winded workout, she hadn’t expected him to say much, let alone reveal something so rattling. His presence never failed to make her unsteady, no matter how much she told herself she trusts him. There was just something in his aura that left the serpent hybrid on edge. Yuqi had expected to be the last person K chose to confide in, memories of her venom searing into his face burned her vision like bright flashes. Yet he was still there, standing before her with something dark in his eyes. 

“Yuqi, there’s something I need to tell you.” There was sweat decorating his hairline as he addressed Yuqi, seriousness hanging in the air based on how he kept his head hung low. 

Yuqi turned to him with an unsuspecting gaze that masked the unease settling in her stomach, “Is everything okay?” 

K seemed to grimace before her and swallowed a growing lump in his throat before speaking, “Not really, no.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I know my character may not be the most likable, especially after I let things get out of control when I sparred with Heeseung, but I’m hoping you’ll hear me out with honesty.”

“I’m listening.”

K hesitated, unlike him to waver in what it was he wanted to say. “The other day, I overheard Y/n on the phone. Something was off. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, especially because she sounded so distressed- but I heard enough. She spoke about the enforcement division and I learned from there that it was her idea to send the officers in to inspect the building.”

Yuqi’s stomach twisted at K’s reveal. “What are you saying, K?”

“I dropped something by accident, out of surprise. She noticed my presence and hung up her phone immediately. Y/n came straight over to me and told me that if I ever tried revealing what she said, she’d spin it back on me.” 

Yuqi’s mind raced a mile a minute, she wasn’t sure what to believe. Y/n? The same Y/n that was slowly making her way into their fractured community? The same Y/n that spent her vulnerable time cleaning up the team’s wounds after matches, or the same Y/n that held them in her arms when they let their defenses down. That didn’t seem like you. But no matter what Yuqi thought about you, anxiety burned in her chest. 

“Do you know how absurd you sound?”

“Yes…” he said with a strained sigh, “But you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure of it myself. I was shocked to see firsthand the kind of lengths she’d go to in order for the gym to shut down. She mentioned during one of our conversations that as a phoenix, she wished for the people of Luxta to see the supernatural in a better light. I think exposing the gym was her way of doing that, at least the first step of it.” There’s a tense look of pity on K’s face as he recounts his observations to Yuqi. Despite what he showed on the outside, K  was brimming with excitement and he was lucky that Yuqi’s hearing wasn't good enough to hear the loud pounding of his heart. “For now, I think we should just keep an eye on her.” 

Yuqi’s breath caught in her throat and she kissed the inside of her teeth. “I’ll keep it in mind.” She said with strained tension, but the words felt like lead on her tongue, a poison that was inching its way down her throat like the revelation of your possible betrayal. K nodded and then proceeded to place a comforting hand on Yuqi’s shoulder in a forced reassurance, but she brushed it away. He took that as his cue to leave and gave her a parting glance before disappearing. 

In his absence, Yuqi’s throat felt tight. She couldn’t find it within herself to believe his words. She had watched you from afar, observed you slowly get closer and closer to the boys, with Minnie. The idea of you going behind their backs to betray them crushed her like a vice, like her own serpent tail was constricting her organs from inside. 

Then came the night you approached Yuqi, and Yuqi felt her heart drop a million feet. Your story was so carefully constructed to shift the blame onto K that it almost seemed believable. But his accusation echoed like a drumbeat in her head as she listened to your quivering confession. 

Yuqi wanted to believe, God did she want to trust you. But the weight of her responsibilities overshadowed that benefit of doubt she would have given you had K not come to her first. She was more worried about the safety of her gym and the boys to pay any mind to you as a person. So in a moment of haste, she fired you- and the boys followed. They said hurtful things to your face and Yuqi could see their every word break you down just a little bit more. 

You lost your friends, your job, the family you built with them all within a matter of seconds. She told herself it was for the greater good, but the look on your face was too much; it took everything in her to go through with your dismissal. The last she saw of you was when she forced herself to look away from you and leave the area after firing you. It tore her apart on the inside to see such a shattered looking face on you while also knowing you had the audacity to betray them all. Yuqi wasn’t sure she deserved her own forgiveness- whether it be for letting a traitor into the gym, or for fooling herself into what she thought was a lifelong friendship with you. 

Jungwon, on the other hand, laid awake for days following your departure. He had already had some suspicions regarding K’s integrity, ever since he lost control on Heeseung, he’s remained wary around the older man. Seeing the way K acted after you officially left solidified that little doubt in his mind. He saw first hand how quickly K filled your void. He started to approach Jungwon in an effort to gain his trust, but Jungwon saw through it all. He saw through the forced smiles and practiced words like it was a poorly executed performance.  The cracks in K’s facade were only getting bigger with each interaction Jungwon had with him. 

And it wasn’t just Jungwon that had been approached, but all the others. K’s efforts to get closer- even closer than he was before, increased by tenfold. None of them noticed though, too busy dragging their feet in the ghost of your absence. Jungwon didn’t say anything, but he knew he should. 

He needed to see you. 

After a painful week of sleepless nights and self-doubt, Jungwon decided tonight was the night to confront you, to check in with you. So he gave the maknaes a brief goodbye and waved to his hyung’s before leaving the gym in a hurry. The usual fifteen minute walk to your new apartment felt like an eternity, and the weight of his duffel bag and the burden he carried with him didn’t help. Jungwon wasn’t sure of what it was that he wanted to get out of seeing you, but he was void of any expectations because he knew from a long time ago what a mistake it was to have hope. And the cold wind biting at his red-tinted cheeks only reminded him of that dark resolve. It was colder than usual. 

Given the early hour of the day, the streets Jungwon walks along are eerily silent, quiet enough he could hear a pin drop. Jungwon thrived in silence, but this one felt impending. 

When he turns the corner and comes face to face with the brick material of your building, Jungwon straightens himself. What would he say? Should he apologize? He realizes now that he really should’ve planned this better, but before he can even ascend up the steps to your apartment, he hears a strained gargle coming from your alleyway.  He almost turns away, thinking it’s probably just a stupid raccoon getting into the trash, but he walks down to inspect the noise as a way to delay the inevitable of seeing your face. 

As he walks further down the alley, he squints his eyes and spots a small figure on the ground. Upon moving closer, his eyes catch on something white- the same white sneakers he used to bully you about for always getting scuffed. Before he can even process it, Jungwon jumps into a full sprint. 

When he gets to your side, he collapses to his knees right beside you and ignores the warm feeling of your blood staining his sweats. “Y/n!” He calls in a hurry, scanning your body. “Stay awake for me!” He says as he attempts to shake you awake. 

You barely stir under his touch, a weak groan leaving your lips as he nervously cradles your face. Jungwon winces internally as he takes in the state of your body. There were cuts and bruises marring your face and a stream of blood that was crusted from your nose. Below your face, there was a dark stain of red that was staining your hoodie, and ultimately him as well. You needed help, help from someone that knew how to deal with this sort of stuff. But Jungwon felt conflicted, torn between not wanting to be caught meeting with you but also not wanting your condition to worsen. Deciding in a hurry, he fishes out his phone. As the line rings, he takes a look at the rest of you and dry heaves. 

Though he can’t see much past your clothing, he is able to make out the shape of a boot print left all over your hoodie and a hole where your blood slowly seeps out of. “Shit,” he whispers, pressing a hand to your side. You instinctively flinch under his touch yet again, the sudden pressure having you writhing around in agony. 

“Please- don’t do this K!” You mutter through broken sobs, barely conscious enough to process what was really happening. You choke on the thickness of your blood pooling in your mouth and lurch forward to spit some of it out. “Don’t hurt me, I promise I- I won’t say anything!” 

Jungwon’s heart drops and he rushes to whisper soothing words into your ear. “No, no- Y/n, it’s me, Jungwon. You’re safe.” 

The line finally picks up and Jungwon lets out a strained sigh of relief. “Jay hyung! Please, I need you to come to my location right away.”

“What? Ok, hold on.” There’s some shuffling on the other line and then, “What the hell are you doing at Y/n’s place?” 

Jungwon flinches at his best friend's words, unsure if he made the right choice. But one look at your squirming figure is enough to tell him that he didn’t, “Just get the hell here, Y/n’s been attacked.”

Silence. And then a groan. “What do you mean, attacked?”

“Just get your fucking ass down here, I don’t know what to do, I think she’s bleeding out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m already in the car. Sunoo is coming with me.” 

Minutes feel like hours as Jungwon presses his hands up against your wound, struggling to maintain the steady flow of blood leaving your body. Finally, when a set of headlights pierces the cold haze of the night, Jungwon’s body slumps. “Over here!” Jungwon calls weakly, finding himself losing feeling in his hands. Jay and Sunoo sprint down to where you and Jungwon are, their faces morphing into horror as they take in the situation. 

From an outside perspective, it looks as though both you and Jungwon were attacked as shown by the blood ruining his clothes. “Jungwon-” Jay says, hurrying to grab Jungwon’s shoulders. The older boy gently pulls him away and whispers comforting words into the panicking boy while Sunoo quickly takes Jungwon’s place. His hands replace Jungwon’s and he winces at the feeling of your blood spread around his palm. 

Jungwon begins to hyperventilate once he’s removed from the situation, the shock kicking in as adrenaline leaves his body. He lays there protectively in Jay’s arms as Sunoo begins to bark commands.  “Jay, grab my phone and call Kim Namjoon.” 

Jay moves with purpose and grabs the phone peeking out from Sunoo’s back pocket, “What should I say?” 

“Tell him to meet us at this address and that he needs to bring his kit. Now.” 

Jay follows Sunoo’s directions, hanging up the phone when said man confirms their location. “Alright, now we need to move her into her apartment, we can’t take her to a hospital.” 

Lifting you is done with delicacy, though it’s excruciating for you. It starts with your arm, the movement sending a splintering pain through your shoulder and you scream. Shortly after getting you up to your feet, a splitting headache swarms your head. You can’t do anything more than scream and let out a string of incoherent words. 

Eventually, you’re moved inside with a shaking Jungwon following after you all. “Her keys- they’re in her pocket.” Jungwon hiccups, his face streaming with fresh tears. Sunoo grabs your keys and unlocks your apartment door slower than he would have liked, but it doesn’t matter. Once the door is open, Jay and Sunoo burst inside and move to set you down on the couch, not caring that your blood quickly makes its home in the fabric. You can buy a new one. 

“Should we call the others?” Jungwon asks, shutting the door behind him.

“No.” Jay is quick to answer as he shakes out his arms, the awkward position of carrying you likely forming a knot in his shoulder. “They’ll freak the hell out and we do not need that right now.” 

In the minutes that follow, Sunoo runs to grab towels and sets them under your body while a knock on your door sounds. Sunoo looks at Jungwon and silently asks for him to get the door. Jungwon runs to the front of your place, opening the door to a tall man with metal framed glasses perched on his nose. “Tell me what happened,” he says, pushing past Jungwon and straight to you and Sunoo. 

“There’s a stab wound to her right side, we can’t manage to stop the bleeding and it seems like her arm may have been broken. I can’t really tell you much else, I’m sorry.” Sunoo sniffles, moving back to let the man open his kit. 

Namjoon works with a sharp efficiency, quickly attaching you to an IV and pushing morphine through the clear tube. As the older man rips open a dressing tray, Sunoo turns to Jay and Jungwon’s confused expressions. “This is Namjoon, a griffin. He fled Luxta many years ago to pursue a career in surgery.”

Jay, more present than Jungwon, looks to his friends with his eyebrows raised. “He went to Chambers, it’s three cities over. The supernatural don’t exist there, so Namjoon could live his own life there freely without the same restrictions we face in Luxta.”

There was little known about what lay beyond the outskirts of Luxta, its borders heavily guarded by government officials as a way to prevent the supernatural from escaping. The few that tried were never heard again. How Namjoon managed to get past them remains a mystery. 

“Namjoon came to Luxta one day and took me in when I was 7. We went right back to Chambers and he raised me as his apprentice until I turned 20. When I became of age, he told me to go back, and said I’d make a difference.” Sunoo continues to explain with a slightly softer voice than before, finally at ease with the way Namjoon works around your body. 

Jay, feeling that same wave of relief, walks over to Jungwon who is slumped against the wall with his head in his knees. “Jungwon…” he whispers, approaching the young boy with concern. He fights the urge to lash out at Jungwon, to scold him for breaking the group's trust and going out to see you. Jay decides to change his approach out of pity for the younger boy, a soft side he doesn’t hold for the other boys.  He couldn’t stand to keep looking at the way Jungwon quivered in the corner and hid in his own shell- it had taken so long to get him out of it when they first started living together, he didn’t want him going back. “Can you tell us what happened?”

The smaller boy looks up with red-rimmed eyes and snot dripping from his nose. He hiccups a few times before speaking. “She- she said his name, K.” His stare is blank as he replays the sound of your screams and sobs- your broken pleas to get K to stop. His heart rips at the memory of you all bloodied and vulnerable, completely helpless and waiting there for death to consume you. Completely unaware of his surroundings, Jungwon’s breathing speeds up and Jay hurries to slide down the wall and sit beside him.

“Breathe for me, Jungwon,” He coos, caressing the younger boy's hair. Jay tucks Jungwon’s head into his chest and looks at Sunoo with despair. “Can you feel your hands?” 

Jay knows Jungwon is panicking, and he knows that when he does, he loses feeling in his extremities. So, he ushers Jungwon to put his hands in Jay’s and begins to massage them, restoring blood flow. “Shh, it’s ok. She’s safe now.” He whispers with every sniffle of Jungwon’s. 

At some point, Jungwon’s breathing calms down just as Namjoon finishes stitching you up. Sunoo takes that chance to look at your body, hoodie sheared off and bruises finally presenting themselves to the world. Sunoo’s heart clenches with despair and a single tear finally makes its debut on Sunoo’s face. The sight of your bruises makes Sunoo nauseous so he looks away.

Namjoon seems to notice the blossom of bruises spanning across your torso and clicks his tongue. He brings out a stethoscope from his kit and presses it over various spots of your body, listening carefully before taking it off. Following that, his hands move to your side and he palpates the area, stopping when you let out another choked sob. “I think she’s broken a few ribs, maybe even fractured some. There’s no way for me to confirm without an x-ray, but I didn’t hear any signs of a collapsed lung, thankfully.”

“Will she be okay?” Sunoo whispers with a shaky voice. 

Namjoon offers him a comforting nod. “She’s a phoenix.  With enough rest and medicine, she’ll be back to normal before you know it. Phoenixes- they’re resilient; they’re self healing.”

Namjoon phrases his words in a way to be reassuring, but he knows they do little to relieve the weight of the situation. From his observations, it seems that these boys were connected to you in a way not many others could relate. 

Collectively, they all turn to Jungwon next for an explanation. He breathes in a shaky inhale. He was gonna have to explain to them why he was visiting you. “I… I’ve been suspicious of K hyung for a while. I’ve had doubts about him since he hurt Heeseung, so I came to Y/n’s to talk about him. But then I found her like that, begging me to not hurt her.” Another river of tears follows before Jungwon can finish. “She- she thought I was K. She thought I was hurting her.” 

Jay shakes his head slowly and sighs, tightening his grip on the younger boy's hand. “I believe you, I know you wouldn’t lie. But, getting the others to believe us is another story…” 

Sunoo chimes in too, “I believe you too. I’ve had my own reservations against K, but I lost focus when Y/n left. I was so consumed with my own grief, I couldn’t see any true colors.” He looks to the ground with shame, lacing his fingers through your limp hand. Though he speaks quietly, his words carry the weight of a thousand apologies. Turning to address you, he croaks out an apology. “I’m sorry, Y/n. We should have never questioned your loyalty to us, your genuineness.”

Jay looks like he’s about to do the same, ready to echo Sunoo’s words, but Namjoon steps forward and demands their attention with just his presence.

“There is one way that we can confirm everything that’s happened.” He says, dropping his voice. “As a griffin, I have the ability to see people’s memories through touch.” 

The room falls silent and Namjoon takes that moment to get rid of his latex gloves. With a softened gaze, he kneels beside you and presses a hand to your cheek. The veins in his hands light up and a rush of your most recent memories flood Namjoon’s mind- fast and overwhelming. The recollection of your most recent memories twists your face into a look of anguish and the three boys standing off to the side can only do as much as exchange a look of pain. They remain silent though, a witness to Namjoon’s powers. 

After what feels like an eternity, Namjoon finally takes his hand off of your face and watches the glow of his veins fade away. He turns to the boys with an unsteady cadence in his breathing. 

“Would you rather I tell you,” he starts with a hitch in his breath, “or show you?” 

Jay answers Namjoon with a look of desperation, “Can you show all of us?” 

Namjoon gives the boy a nod and beckons them forward, settling on the back of his calves as the three boys crowd around him. He grabs Sunoo’s hand, who is standing in the middle, and tells the others to press their foreheads to Sunoo’s temples. 

When they move to connect themselves to Sunoo, visions of what Namjoon saw surge through their own minds. It hits like a tsunami, all at once and unrelenting. Tears fall from Jay’s closed eyes as he watches through your own point of view the discovery of K’s betrayal. His heart clenches with guilt, heavy with shame as he helplessly observes you battle with the strain of his secrets, your own health deteriorating at the hands of K.  

Sunoo doesn’t fare much better, trembling with a coil of shame that’s daring to burst at any minute. He squeezes Namjoon’s hand tighter with every passing second, wincing at the way the boys looked at you when you were let go. The quiet accusation in their eyes, he feels everything- your heartbreak, your isolation, your despair. He wishes he could take it all away, erase what you saw, but it’s too late. 

And then the attack. They listen to the words exchanged between you and K. A tense back and forth that only leads to you being slammed against the wall. Visions of you twisting violently in the grasps of your attackers flash through their minds, a reflection of your pain surging through their bodies, but at a fraction of what you actually felt. 

Jungwon gasps and stumbles away from Sunoo before the memories can get too vivid. He clutches his  stomach in pain, absolutely nauseated by the memory of your attack. It was too raw, too vivid for him to watch. He didn’t want to see first hand how you came to be a sad, pitiful lump of flesh in the middle of your alley. Yet, Jay and Sunoo stay, faces twisting into looks of anguish as they finish the rest of the attack. 

When Sunoo breaks the connection, Jay drops to his knees and scrambles to your side, clutching at your hand with a gut wrenching sob.”Y/n, fuck.” He pleads through a wave of tears, “I- I’m so sorry. What- what should I do?” There's a storm of guilt thundering beneath his skin and it takes all his willpower not to scream out. Sunoo watches Jay’s grip on your hand tighten to the point your skin turns white. 

“Don’t, don’t hurt her more.” He says quietly, placing a hand over Jay’s. 

Jay hesitantly listens to Sunoo, easing up on your grip and falling back. He drops his head and presses himself to the back of your hand. “Yuqi and Minnie, can you show them? And the others?” 

Namjoon responds with a strained voice, “I can.” He pauses, resting a hand on Jay’s back. “Not now, later. I’ve done what I can, she just needs rest now. Would one of you be able to stay with her?” 

Jay’s head snaps up immediately, his hand shooting up in the air, “I can do it.” He says with a look of determination. He barely registers Sunoo’s bittersweet smirk. 

“Good, I’ll see you all tomorrow at the gym.” Namjoon says before guiding the other boys out of your apartment. 

When your apartment door shuts, Jay finally allows himself to crumble. He rests his head against your thigh and relishes in the feeling of your warmth- a reminder that you were still here, still breathing. Without blinking, he watches the ragged rise and fall of your chest, a minute detail that barely keeps him grounded. The boy lets out a shaky breath, face damp with tears as he lets the weight of his guilt cave in on him. 

How could he make this right? Would he still be able to reclaim that bond he once had with you? Just thinking about you refusing to accept him back into your life makes his chest tighten, the ache of turning his back on you spreading like a slow poison. How could he forgive himself for clinging onto K in your absence, led blindly by his false narrative. He could only blame himself for his misplaced trust, and it killed him inside. It killed him that he could’ve stopped your attack from happening if he had just listened. His head feels like it’s going to explode with the relentless pressure of his thoughts. Drained of any energy he once had, he shakes his head and carefully picks you up, arms carrying the emotional weight of the situation more than the physical. 

Your body is limp in his arms and it makes Jay wince knowing that you're completely helpless in his presence, relying on him to keep you safe; something he didn’t feel very deserving of right now. You are like a rag doll in his arms, your consciousness having fled from the face of trauma. With a heavy heart, Jay carries you to your bedroom and as gently as he can, places you in your bed. 

He tucks the comforter around your body and then moves to pick the stray pieces of hair stuck to your face. In that moment of strained serenity, he focuses on the sound of your breathing. It should comfort him, ground him to know that you’re safe now, but it doesn’t. It only serves as a recipe for the bitter knot forming in his throat. 

He can’t bring himself to leave you alone, not after everything that just happened. So rather than retreating to the living room to give you the privacy you rightfully deserve, he hesitantly creates a makeshift bed right beside you on the ground. Just a few pillows and a throw blanket thrown to the ground is enough. He lies flat on his back with his hands clasped together across his stomach and lets his mind drift off. 

He thinks about you. About that stupid pull-up contest you roped him into on your first day, a catalyst for the impending competitions you’d share with him in the next few months. He thinks about your trust, and how you made every effort to look past his flaws and see him for who he is. All those times you laughed with him, an ache growing in your abdomen from laughing so much. It’s a punishing reminder of what he’s just lost. 

Several hours pass before you begin to wake up. Your eyelids feel heavy, like they’re weighed down by the events of last night. But you force them to open, blinking away the dryness that impedes your vision. Immediately, you feel pain shooting all over your body. You try to sit up anyways but a sharp throb radiating around your side keeps you from getting far. 

Suddenly, vivid memories of last night flash across your mind all at once- the cruel voice of K in your ear, the recollection of him treating you like a mere rag doll. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memories to go away but they don’t. It happened, and it rips your heart apart. You feel as though you’re reliving the experience, every painful minute of it. 

You’re unaware of the fact that you’re hyperventilating until a hand rests on your shoulder. The touch comes suddenly and you flinch away from it, crying out in pain. “Y/n! It’s Jay. You’re safe, you’re safe.” He’s desperate to reassure you but he can’t help the way he repeats the last words like it’s a reminder to himself too. 

When you open your eyes, you see Jay. He looks horrible, eyes brimming with tears and a frown on his face that’s so broken you almost weep. But you don’t. Instead, you scowl at the mere reminder of him turning his back on you, leaving you in the dust.

You try to scream at him, to curse him out for being so selfish and leaving you without a second thought, but nothing comes out. Only a strangled moan leaves your throat. “Y/n…I-” his voice cracks with emotion and he coughs, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, there are not enough words in the world to express how sorry I am. I should have believed you.” He stares at the floor as he chokes out an apology, but you stay silent. Though you don’t have much of a choice. 

Jay knows his apology is only a bandaid over a gaping wound, but it still hurts him to see the anger on your face. Simmering just beneath your anger is a hollow ache that chases after your heart and you’re not sure if his words will be enough to fill it. 

You spend the rest of your day in bed with Jay doing everything he can to make you comfortable. A tense silence clouds the air, acting as an unspoken barrier that he doesn’t dare to break. You’re not speaking to him either- not because you don’t want to, but because you physically can’t. And you know all you’d have to say to him is a string of curse words and insults you probably wouldn’t mean a few days from now. 

With your voice shot, you have to rely on a bell to get his attention, but even with the bell, Jay doesn’t need it- constantly hovering around you every five minutes just to check in on you, afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away for too long. And every time he enters the room, he’s sporting the same broken look from before. It’s a look that haunts you when he changes your bandages, or when he feeds you, even when he’s adjusting your pillows; it’s the same solemn look every time. 

It’s a repetitive cycle that lasts throughout the entire day, him tending to your every need without you so much as lifting a finger. He does all of this in a painstaking silence, but you can feel the weight of his sorrow leaking past your defenses. But it’s too fresh, too soon to start unwrapping what’s been weighing on everyone’s minds lately. You’re afraid of confronting reality. 

Outside of the protection of your home, word of your attack reaches the rest of the group. Coincidentally, the news breaks on a day that K is nowhere to be seen, though his absence does little to alleviate the strain on Jungwon and Sunoo’s chests. The weight of yesterday’s events make every breath they take sharp and painful, like it’s stealing their air. 

They start with Yuqi, finding her at the front desk of the Dawn gym spinning around in her chair. “Yuqi,” Jungwon calls out, greeting her at the front. She quirks a brow at the three men, glancing at Namjoon who was a few feet behind him and Sunoo. “This is Namjoon- he’s a griffin.” 

“Yuqi, there’s something important we need to discuss. We need everyone.” Sunoo says with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his tone. 

She seems to hesitate for a second- something she’s started doing since the night you left, but nods her head and takes them into the Dusk gym. “Okay… Care to explain why you’re being so ominous?” She asks, a lame attempt at a joke. She can sense the tension, she’s not stupid. But with her confidence rattled, she’s not sure what to expect. 

Jungwon only shakes his head at Yuqi and anxiously awaits the arrival of the rest of the group once they reach the benches. When he sees the others approaching them, he starts to pick at his fingers, but Sunoo notices and takes his hand to hold in his. As the group settles around the benches, Sunoo steps up to speak, granting Jungwon the much needed reprieve he’s silently desired for. “Y/n was attacked last night.” 

Sunoo’s words hang at a stand still, like they’ve rendered the world of its ability to keep turning. He feels himself trembling with anxiety and he relies solely on gravity to keep him anchored. The silence is overwhelming, practically suffocating as he waits for his words to process through everyone- but it doesn’t last long. 

Sunghoon breaks the silence with anger, voice sharp and bitter that brims with the memories of your earlier betrayal. “I’m not surprised. Karma will always make its way around eventually.” 

Sunoo clenches his fist at his sides, heat rising through his body like a steaming pot. “You hate her that much?” He asks with a slight waver in his voice, struggling to control the anger at bay. The rest of the boys keep their eyes glued to the ground while Sunoo stares at him with a fury he’s never felt before. Jungwon must notice because he desperately tugs at Sunoo’s sleeve, an attempt to get him back on track. 

Sunoo lets out a forced exhale and straightens his posture, quickly pushing away the heat building in his body. “I’m going to choose to ignore that,” he starts, shooting Sunghoon a glare. “This is Namjoon, he’s a griffin. He can show you the truth.”

Before Namjoon can step forward, Jungwon chimes in, “Where’s Minnie?” He asks, noticing the lack of a second female from the group. 

“She called in sick.” Yuqi answers, focusing her attention on the older man behind him. 

Namjoon then steps forward with a solemn expression and reaches out for Yuqi’s hand. “I need you all to hold hands with Yuqi in the middle. This way, you’ll be able to see the same vision, the same truth.” 

The boys link hands as directed, a connection between the group eventually forming. Namjoon doesn’t say anything more, only closes his eyes and lets his veins light up again. Jungwon looks away once he sees the familiar radiance pass through his hands, the scene in front of him only acting as a harsh reminder of what happened just last night. 

Seconds pass by and then the first gasp. Yuqi’s heart drops and her face contorts into a twist of horror, the truth crashing through her like a tsunami. The first of your memories flash through her; the phone call, K’s voice, everything. The same fear that you felt when K caught you rips through Yuqi’s body like she was there herself. She was wrong, she was so wrong.

The boys react in varying degrees. Heeseung’s breath hitches and his guilt suddenly begins to eat him alive as he watches you deal with the burden of carrying K’s secret. Niki isn’t doing much better, a few stray tears slipping past his cheek as he clenches his jaw. And Sunghoon, usually so composed and well kept, screams in silence.The realization that they had it all wrong weighs heavily in their hearts, though Sunghoon remains motionless. The weight of their collective mistake scratches their insides like a hungry beast. 

And then it happens.

A strangled gasp rips from Sunghoon’s throat and he breaks off the chain, immediately finding eyes with Sunoo. He takes a step forward but Jake, who has also let his hands go, rushes to hold him back, unsure of what the frost elf was about to do. “She’s safe.” Namjoon says, taking his own hand back and pushing them into his pockets. “Sunoo, Jungwon, Jay and I worked together to make sure she’s stable.” 

“That fucker-” Sunghoon seethes, eyes glowing blue. “I’ll kill him!”

While Sunghoon thrashes in Jake’s grasp, the werewolf trying his hardest to keep the frost elf calm, Yuqi loses her grip on reality. “Oh my God…” She breaks her silence and brings a hand to her mouth, pupils expanding with her panic. “She was telling me the truth.” The serpent falls to the ground, body trembling as she clutches her burning chest. An unrestrained sob rips from her throat and a tear finally falls from her eyes. Sunoo winces; watching Yuqi- someone he grew to admire- break in front of him. 

“I need you to get up, Yuqi.” Sunoo says through gritted teeth, residual anger still lingering in his body. When she stands, body swaying slightly, Sunoo continues despite the growing lump in his throat from suppressing his tears for so long. “So now you all know what really happened. Y/n never lied, and the consequence of telling the truth was her being brutally attacked.”

Standing behind him, Jungwon flinches, startled by Sunoo’s sudden aggression. “Hyung- please…” he whispers, his hand reaching out to the older. 

Sunoo shakes his hand away from the boy but mentally kicks himself for his hypocrisy. He knows he harbored the same doubts as they did, but his resolve to fix what they so easily broke is persistent. The only way he could forgive himself was to get the others to come together. “We need to get rid of K.”

“And how the hell do we do that?” Jake asks, his mind crowding with thoughts as he finally lets go of Sunghoon, albeit reluctantly.

Heeseung, who was silent until now, steps forward. “We tell him the truth. If his mission was to give the government information, he’ll have to find another way. Kicking him out will keep him from monitoring us.” His voice holds steady, but on the inside, he’s crumbling. Burdened with the knowledge that you were left in the dark and faced only with the backs of those you trusted, he experiences an ache that could only be the equivalent of a stake driving through his heart. 

The room falls into a heavy silence, but an unspoken sense of unity slowly develops under the tension. With their eyes meeting under the harsh lights hanging above them, they nod their heads and redirect their grief towards getting rid of K. Memories of his betrayal echo against the walls of the gym, the place where it all started and the place where it’d all end. They just had to find him. 

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 That following night, Jay and Y/n lie awake beside each other, yet it’s the furthest they’ve ever been emotionally. In the silence, Jay twiddles his fingers. “Y/n…” His voice pierces through the darkness of your room, quiet, but unmistakably there. “Are you still awake?”

You tell yourself not to answer him, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing your wall was slowly falling, but that stubborn part of you that’s been desperate for some semblance of comfort, doesn’t care. “Yes.”

Jay can’t say it surprises him when he hears the thorn in your voice, despite only giving him a one word answer. He doesn’t have the liberty to wince, only repent. Your simple response is like a betrayal to the storm that’s been brewing inside you the past few nights, ones that were never captured with sleep or rest. Night after night, you’ve woken up in a cold sweat gasping for air, memories of your own demise playing through your mind like a film reel. Not just K, but the undead too, the sickly stench of decay follows you like they’re still there, still holding you captive in their brittle arms.  You’re suffocating. 

“The others know, now. Yuqi and Minnie. The boys. Everyone.”

So why hadn’t you seen any of them- is what you want to ask, but you stay quiet. 

“They all feel awful.” He adds quickly, like he needs to reassure himself that it wasn’t just him that felt guilty.

You scoff with a bitter taste on your tongue, “They should.”

The anger, the rage that’s been building up over the last few days , suddenly courses through you all at once. You no longer feel an ache in your chest which has been overflowing with feelings of betrayal and abandonment, that was foreign now. All you felt now was a rage as hot as the flames you produced. “Not a single one of you gave me the benefit of the doubt, or stood up for me when I needed you guys the most.” You spit with accusation heavy in the words. 

“Y/n… I-“ he starts, but you cut him off. 

“Don’t say it.” 

You sit up suddenly, a sharp ring blaring in your ears when you do, but you ignore it. Jay’s laying on the floor with the blanket from your living room clutched in his hands, eyes dark with regret. “Don’t say sorry. Not again.” You seethe, bending forward to grab a fistful of his hair. “If you were really sorry, none of this would’ve happened.”

His face flashes with pain and he lets out a groan, throwing his hands up to your wrists in an attempt to get you to let go. “Y/n, please- I’ll do anything for you to forgive me.” 

Without a second thought, you clutch at his hair even tighter- the sudden power surging through your body. You were desperate for control, you needed something- someone- to break. “Come here,” You say. Your words are quiet but they burn with authority. 

The older boy moves to sit beside you, frantic eyes searching your face. “Wh-what do you need?”

“Kiss me.”

He freezes, but you don’t care. “If you’re really sorry for what you did, you’ll let me use you.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, one that’s just long enough for you to second guess your words, but he leans forward, cutting you off from your thoughts. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and you preen under the intimacy, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to quell the fire growing inside you. 

“Harder,” you mutter, grabbing at the back of his head and pulling him towards you. Your next kiss is fueled with rage and desire, a complete juxtapose from the one just seconds ago. Your fingers twist the locks of his hair painfully and he groans into the kiss, a pain he slowly learns to crave for more. You slip your tongue into his mouth and swirl it around his own. It’s lewd and messy, spit exchanging between your mouths and falling past your swollen lips as you move your mouth against his. He closes his lips around your tongue, gently sucking on the muscle until you pull away. 

Breaking the kiss with only a string of saliva keeping you connected, you push his chest back until he’s laying flat on your bed. His breath catches in his throat as he watches you straddle his lap. “Y/n-”

“Shut up, just stop.” You say absently, settling into his lap and riding his shirt up his chest. He presses his mouth closed when you move to drag your fingers down the outline of his abs, tracing the subtle contour on his stomach. They flex under your touch, sensitive to the tips of your fingers. “So pretty,” you whisper to yourself, pressing your full palm to his stomach. Seeing him underneath you, lust quickly fills your thoughts and you grind down on his lap. It doesn’t do much to satisfy the growing need flourishing in your core, but it’s enough for now. 

His golden skin seems to glow under the moonlight shining through your window, shimmering against the sheen of sweat that’s quickly started to form on his abs. Your fingers move with a mind of their own, crawling upwards until they capture his nipples in the pads of your fingers. The pinkish-brown of his nipples perk up immediately, hardening in an instant under your touch. “Fuck…” he says through a sigh, throwing his head back onto your pillow. 

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes- Y/n, fuck.” 

Your fingers continue to twiddle with his nipples, his sudden twitches only stirring you on. With his quiet moans prodding against your defenses, you lean down and take one of them into your mouth. Your tongue swirls against the bud and Jay lets out a string of curses, throwing his hand up to hold back your hair. “Yes, keep doing that.” He pleads, gripping your hair tightly. 

You continue to flick your tongue against his nipple until your jaw aches for a break while you mouth at the bud. When you lean back, you flip your hair to the side and grind your ass down into his lap, earning a throaty groan from the boy. “Will you let me ride you?” you gasp between the back and forth of your hips. 

He nods hurriedly, throwing his hands to grab at your waist. You’re about to tell him off, but he starts to move your hips in tandem with your swaying and it extinguishes the scolding that rests on the  tip of your tongue. For a moment, the both of you enjoy the small act of desire as you use each other’s body to get off, but you quickly grow impatient when you feel the hardness of his cock underneath you.  “God, you make me so mad.” You say, feeling yourself let the anger run its way through your body.

You quickly get off of him and move to pull his shorts down, only leaving him in a pair of boxers that are stained with precum and his shirt that you had ridden up earlier. “This looks painful,” you say, palming at his bulge. 

He catches his bottom lip in his teeth and sucks in a gasp. “You like it when my hands are on your cock?” You ask, tracing the outline with your finger. 

Jay doesn’t manage more than a meager nod as you tighten your grip around his member, sliding your hand up and down. He’s achingly big in your grasp and it throbs with your every touch. Practically drooling for something to fill you up, you pull his boxers down and he springs free. His abdomen quickly stains with his precum and you lap at the shine, smiling up at him with your tongue sticking out.

You move off the bed to strip yourself of your panties, but a wave of hesitance washes through you and you freeze. You're completely out in the open for Jay to see and it burns a pit in your stomach, reminding you of your earlier vulnerabilities in the alley, but he quickly places a hand on your thigh and caresses it, sensing your unease. The sudden wavering of your confidence eliminates any sense of dominance you managed to exert on him and you melt like putty in his hands.  “So pretty, so beautiful.” He says quietly, holding eye contact with you as he gestures for you to sit back on him. 

The timbre of his voice unnerves you, extinguishing what little confidence you once had. You move to sit back on his lap again, your juices soaking his cock as soon as your folds wrap around his member. The heat of his arousal melts into your core and you shudder, “Move, baby.” He says, hands finding purchase on your hips. 

You begin to slide your hips back and forth, letting your arousal spread over his cock until it’s drenched in your slick. With every grind forward, the tip of his cock prods at your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from Jay each time. “Put it in, princess.” He says, stilling your hips. 

Jay grabs the base of his cock and keeps it still for you as you sink down his length, the sudden stretch drawing out a wanton moan from your throat. “Mmph-” you moan out and bite your lip when the tip of his cock kisses the hilt of your cervix. With his cock breaching your body, you relish in the feeling of being full again. While temporary, that empty feeling in your belly quickly fills with a fire that blossoms further with your every movement. 

“You’re taking me so well, princess.” He praises, watching you with admiration in his eyes. “Will you take this off for me?” He tugs on the end of your shirt and you quickly rid yourself of the fabric, revealing the absence of a bra underneath. His dick twitches in response and he quickly moves his hands to hold your tits. “That’s it, baby.” 

You put a hand on the center of his chest to anchor your weight as you grind on his cock, his navel stimulating your clit whenever you push your hips forward. “Bounce, baby, ride it correctly.” He grunts, pushing your hips up slightly. 

“God, I hate you.” you whimper out, feeling his hardness slip in and out of you as you move to adjust yourself.

“I know, baby, I know.” 

It’s as though the heat of his touch is working to unravel the string that’s been knotted around your heart, guarding your weakest vulnerabilities. You fall weak to the closeness of his body, an intimacy you had been craving since you were let go. Your body subconsciously surrenders itself to him and dampens the strength of your anger. 

He squeezes his fingers around your hips and helps to lift you up and down his cock, the two of you working in tandem to reach the highs of your own pleasure. The drag of his cock moving through your pussy draws out a series of moans that you can’t hold back. He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you down to his chest, changing the pace of your act and thrusting upwards instead.

You feel vulnerable in his hold, exposed- but you finally begin to breathe. Your bitterness towards Jay still lingers, but it’s no longer the centerpiece of your emotions. Before you can stop it, tears begin to sting your eyes and your next blink has them falling down like a downpour. “Let it out, baby.” Jay whispers, stroking your back as he slows his thrusts. “I’m here for you now, I’m never gonna leave.” 

You sit back up and lean your hands back onto his knees, giving him full view of your body. Your hips move up and down on their own and you throw your head back in pleasure, all while your heart brims with an unresolved anger. Every one of your suppressed emotions seem to make their debut in the heat of the moment, your body slamming down onto his hips as you cry out. Pleasure erupts in your lower core and you shudder around his length, cumming until the girth of his dick is wrapped in a creamy white. He keeps going.

He bends his legs so that he can plant his feet on the bed and thrusts into you aggressively, “You can take it, I know you can.” He grunts, squeezing your hips till they’re sure to bruise later. The force of his thrusts easily have you jostling about in the air, your grip on reality slipping as a familiar coil of heat forms in your stomach again.

“Jay-” You clench down hard on his cock and push against his chest to ground yourself. “I’m cu-cumming again!” The words barely leave your lips before waves of pleasure surge through you. Jay brings a hand down to your heat and toys with your clit, orchestrating the peak of your pleasure so that you can ride it out for longer. 

As your shaking reaches an end, he moves his hand back to your hips and roughly flips you over onto your back. He throws his shirt off and throws it somewhere without a care in the world before continuing. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Keep taking my cock, yeah, just like that.” He says while pistoning into your throbbing cunt. “Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my dick like this.” 

“I- I can’t, it’s too- too much!” you stutter through each thrust, feeling the bundle of nerves down there light up like a fire. The intensity of his fire makes you squirm underneath him, his lustrous gaze penetrating you. 

His thrusts begin to meet with an equally desperate desire to have him closer to you and you grab at his neck and pull him into a messy kiss. Your fingers trail past the ridges of his dragon scales, armoring him from your desperate claws as he fills you to the hilt. The feeling of his scales has your stomach twist with arousal, the unnatural hardness of his body only fueling your lust. “You- you feel so good, Jay.” You gasp between thrusts. 

He pulls away from you to see his cock disappearing into your pussy, the sight of him buried so deep inside of you making him twitch with desire. “Fuck, I’m close.” Jay grips your tits in his hands as he works towards his orgasm with fervor, incoherent words escaping his lips every few seconds. 

You arch into his touch, feeling on fire from the way he ravishes your body. He pants between thrusts and you move a hand up to his nipples, pinching the delicate bud between your fingers. Your touch pushes him over the edge and his hips stutter to a sudden stop. With one last snap of his pelvis meeting your ass, the most erotic moan leaves his mouth and he shoots his cum into you. The pit in your belly heats up and you drink his moans up like a drug, gasping along with him. He leans over you and drops his head, proof of his efforts meshing with your own sweat.

Exhausted, you pull him back in for a desperate hug, suddenly feeling your heart sting. He flips you onto your side with his member still keeping you connected to him. “You did so good, baby.”

It seems that the release of Jay’s arousal has dampened the fire in your heart and so you cry out, both from pain and pleasure as Jay continues to coo into your ear. “I- I hate what you did to me,” you sob, the intensity of your harboured emotions suddenly rushing out. In an act of desperation and vulnerability, you inch forward to bury your head into the crook of his neck. “You broke me, all of you.”

Jay just listens, soothing you through the caresses on your back and the humming of his voice. His cock softens a bit inside of you and the tip is starting to become overstimulated, but he doesn’t make any effort to pull out. You needed this, you needed his closeness. “I know, baby.” he whispers absently, moving a hand to card his fingers through your hair. 

Maybe it was the crash from your high, but you find yourself shaking in Jay’s hold. The intimacy you craved for so much in that week you were alone, you were finally getting it. You continue to sob into his chest, not minding the trail of tears that started to decorate his sun kissed skin or the snot that unceremoniously rubbed on him. It was like a storm of loneliness was pushing its way to the surface, gripping you from Jay’s embrace. You mind was your own worst enemy, blocking you from the solace that you desperately need. 

“Let it out, Y/n. I’ll be right here to hold you up,” It pained Jay to see you like this. So broken, so shattered. You were usually so confident and walked with an unwavering authority that he had grown to admire, but it was all gone now. The you he used to know was dead and it was all his fault.

Slowly, Jay slides out of you and tongues his cheek when he feels his cum pour out of you and onto his thigh which was slotted between your legs. He needs to clean you up, but the iron grip on his body prevented him from doing so. “Baby, can you let go for just a few minutes?” Your desperate whimper could have been mistaken as a cute refusal to not let him go, like you were wanting to cling onto him like a koala for just a little more, but it wasn’t funny in the slightest. It was dark and embarrassing and it stripped you of your defenses. 

You feared for your life and so you finally let yourself feel Jay’s body on yours. You couldn’t let that go. He was so easily taken from you with just a few manipulative words from someone else, what’s to say he wouldn’t leave again? Anyone could take you, hurt you, the moment he leaves. The cocoon he holds you in feels like your last bit of resolve, the strength of your fire dimming with each passing second. So you clutch onto him even tighter. 

Jay uses every fiber in his being to pry himself off of you, “I’ll be right back, Y/n. I just need to clean you up.” The cold of his absence hits you immediately once he disappears into your bathroom, only the sound of him rummaging around acting as a reminder you weren’t alone. The feeling of his warm skin no longer being held in your fingers suddenly feels foreign and you grasp at the bed sheets as a desperate attempt to replace that pitiful feeling. When he comes back, he has a damp washcloth in his hand. 

“I’m gonna clean you, ok?” His voice is spoken in a soft whisper and he gently pries your legs open. A wet cloth prods at your folds, but it’s warm and you feel your body melt into the sensation. Jay moves meticulously between your legs so as to not aggravate the tissue down there, trying his best to not bother you. It collects both of your guys’ essence and when he finishes, he goes to toss the cloth into your washing machine. Coming back, he plants a delicate kiss on your shoulder and slides back into the bed, pulling you into him. 

“What do I do?” You feel like your insides are ripping apart. Part of you wants to stay mad at them all, to never forgive them. But the other, lonely part of you that’s still stuck in your isolated past, craves their touch. 

“You take it one day at a time, baby. And I’ll be right here the entire time.” He presses his hand to the back of your head and brings his lips down to yours and it’s so delicate you don’t even know if he really kissed you. “I’m so sorry for everything, and I’ll spend the rest of my life working for your trust and forgiveness.” 

A stray tear slips from your eyes and he quickly wipes it away with his thumb, “Don’t cry, love. Things are going to be okay.” 

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“I just don’t get how someone so nice could have done something so deceptive?”

“I know, but red roses have black shadows soo.” Jungwon answers, crossing his legs over each other. “He may have seemed perfect on the outside, but he was harboring a multitude of secrets on the inside.” The boy looks at you with a fragile expression, a bittersweet reminder of your attack. His eyes were glossed over as if the memory was still fresh in his mind, and for a second, you wonder if Jungwon blames himself for what happened. You can see the shame on his face, the way his dimples no longer show or the way his eyes no longer shine when he speaks. You wanted to reach out, tell him that everything was okay, but everything was not okay. 

“I’m not glass, Jungwon.” You tell him with a firm voice, pushing yourself up from your couch. The fabric was still stained with remnants of your attack. As much as you rubbed at it with a heavy dose of stain remover, it seemed like the red would never fade away. Unfortunately, the stain remover was only so strong, and so were you. 

Jungwon follows your movement as you move to the kitchen, watching as you occupy your hands with the dirty dishes in your sink which have managed to pile up since you returned to the gym last week. “I know that, Y/n. But we don’t know where K is, he could be waiting for a chance to jump from the shadows and attack you again.”

The subtle reminder of your attack twists the knife K had plunged into your side that night, ripping you open and leaving you bare. You felt so small despite your repeated efforts to appear strong. All your life, you wished for freedom beyond the four walls of your parents’ apartment, and eventually your own. You yearned for freedom, whispering it against every birthday candle you blew out alone. And you had it, until you didn’t. For so long, you desired a sliver of freedom, only for it cost you your safety when it was finally in your hands. Exchanging your freedom for your safety was a cruel bargain that you didn’t know would happen, like it was hidden in the fine print of your metaphorical contract to life. You could never truly exhale until K was found and the world knew who you were. 

K hadn’t been seen since the night that Namjoon had visited. It sat in the back of your mind like an anchor weighing you down from looking up. His absence was like a double-edged sword: a relief that he was gone, yet there was a terrible sense of dread that was left in the wake of his disappearance. Not once could you shake the feeling of being watched, but you kept quiet. Whether it was smart or reckless, you weren’t sure, but you know you’ve been more of a burden than you’d like. The boys didn’t need another reason to glue themselves to your side like a second shadow. 

When you first met with them again after your attack, you weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t see them on their knees with tears stinging their eyes. Sunghoon, ever so guarded and trapping his heart in a layer of ice, was the most devastating of all. He was trembling on his knees, begging, pleading with you to meet his gaze. “Please- please…” he had whispered, his face paler than it normally was. 

And Heeseung, who was usually so composed and well kept, seemed empty. His eyes were no longer that vibrant red you had grown so used to. Now, there was a haze over them that flickered like a dying ember. He couldn’t meet your gaze, but he repented his regrets to you like a mantra. 

Jake was no better, and if he had an actual wolf tail and ears, they would’ve been pressed back with his tail tucked between his legs in shame. He had pushed himself against your leg and looked up at you like a kicked puppy. He murmured sorry over and over again until the weight of his regret tired him out so much he fell asleep at your feet. And you stood there, all two hours of it, looking at him as he slept, subconscious whimpers wracking his body, until you could find it within you to forgive him. 

So maybe yelling at them and cursing them out didn’t end up happening, but you still felt that anger and betrayal deep within you like a scar. But like it had with Jay, your desire for human touch trumped your resolve to stay mad at them. 

Yuqi, Minnie, and Niki had also apologized to you- groveled, really. They confided in you about their remorse and how much your departure weighed on their minds. It was a mess of tears and whispered promises to never leave each other again. 

Since that night, you were never left alone again.

The boys were relentless in their protection, trailing every foot step of yours. Heeseung had even insisted on accompanying you to the washroom at the gym, “just in case” he said as he shrugged off your concerns. And Jake even scented you, committing your scent to memory so that he’d always be able to find you no matter how far you were. Sunghoon was no better, insisting he be the one to walk you to and from the gym like a personal escort. Their protection was bittersweet, filling you with a sense of love and security, but also acting like a metaphorical cage that felt all too familiar. 

And today was no different. While the boys had begun to back off, keeping you in their field of vision rather than following you around, they were still hyper aware of their surroundings. K still hadn’t come back despite two weeks passing since your attack. The boys were expectedly on edge, checking corners and keeping tabs on you like he could pop out of nowhere, and he did. 

A horribly loud crash pierces through the peace of the gym and you flick your head back to see what happened, but you see nothing. Before anyone can even move, the one way door to the gym slams open and a mirage of men in black, tactical gear storm in with guns holstered and riot shields protecting their front line. A smoke bomb is chucked into the air and lands with a blinding fog that quickly surrounds the area. 

“Y/n, get behind me!” Jake shouts above the chaos, sounds suddenly mixing into one big blur as he pushes you behind him. 

The gym erupts into chaos- panicked shouting from all over and bodies moving so fast you can hardly keep up through the haze. In the cloud of smoke, you spot a pair of red eyes- Heeseung- rip past you. Not far behind him, another figure follows after him- Yuqi. 

Her voice booms through the gym, “The government is here!” 

As the smoke finally clears up, you steal your first glance at your group fighting with the soldiers head on. A horrible realization dawns on you right then, you were outnumbered. There’s several dozen soldiers storming into the gym now and for a second, you think this is the end. But then you see your gym members flying past you and putting themselves in direct line of fire. 

Heeseung’s familiar red tendrils move through the air and pick up soldiers left and right before slamming them back into the ground. You hear the disgruntled screams of soldiers being thrown around by his shadows while the owner of the tendrils works through the crowd one by one at supernatural speeds. 

Yuqi mirrors the same ferocity as Heeseung, relentlessly attacking the first few soldiers she comes across. Searing venom shoots off her tongue with deadly precision, burning the eyes of those it lands on. She’s relentless in her attack, her snake-like grip allowing her to throttle the soldier’s throats like an iron vice. 

Sunghoon jumps into action at the same time as Heeseung and Yuqi. He’s quick to coat the area around him in a layer of ice and gracefully advances through his own wave of soldiers, ice blade slicing through their torsos and an ice-forged shield knocking others off their feet. 

In the corner of your eye, Niki and Jay fight side by side. The younger shifts in and out of his kitsune form and pounces from soldier to soldier, alluding them with horrific visions and auditory hallucinations, allowing Jay to use that momentary distraction as a way to burn them all to ashes. 

You’re still with Jake, who is leading you over to the locker room. He’s about to hurry you in, to tell you to stay there until it’s safe to come out, but a piercing scream interrupts him. Your eyes flick towards the sound and you spot Sunoo who has broken the glass of the staff room that hangs over the gym. He sings  his heart out, temporarily paralyzing every soldier.

You use this distraction to escape Jake’s hold, finally free of your own mental captivity. He shouts after you but it’s no use, you’ve already teleported to the front lines in a flash of flames. You flash balls of fire at the men in quick sequence, watching them fall to the ground as they writhe about in agony. Your fire’s not enough to kill them, so you pick them off one by one by forcing their skulls into the ground with your foot, your super strength aiding you in this unique endeavor. As you work through the men, you see Jungwon in the background, working with Minnie to blind soldiers and disarm them of their guns. 

In the midst of all the chaos, you had barely registered the fact that the soldiers were armed. Your heart sinks at the realization, the fact that they had the one thing that could instantly kill you all, dawning your mind like a storm. Despite the supernatural gifts that you all possessed, you knew your bodys’ would not be able to withstand the threat of a bullet. In your own moment of realization, a soldier surges forward and slams the butt of his rifle into your skull. 

Pain rips through your head like an explosion as you hit the ground, your vision going white. Forcing yourself to gather your bearings, you bring a hand up to your head and quickly let your flames seep into your skull, kicking your regenerative abilities into action. You blink through the dissipating pain until finally, your vision comes back- just in time for you to lock eyes with your attacker: K. 

The sight of him has your stomach churning in waves, his twisted smile rekindling the flames of that night. Your breath catches and you feel your throat go on fire as bile rises upwards. You can’t move, your body locking up and freezing over with fear. Despite the shock to your system, you force yourself to call out, to scream as loud as you can, “It’s K!”

In the midst of all the movement, your voice rings through the space and draws every gaze towards you. The boys’ have a look of dread on their face, only onlookers to the sight of you on the ground faced with a domineering K. “Kill her!” K’s voice booms through the chaos, black tendrils rising from behind him like a second pair of arms. 

Yuqi’s world seems to still in that moment. Being the closest member to you, the men she was just attacking divert their attention to you, drawn by K’s voice. In that crucial moment, memories flood Yuqi’s mind and she’s reminded of your abilities and the research she took it upon herself to conduct when she hired you. In that same storm of memories, she also recalls the fierce protection the boys have over you, the way they would break under their own rage if they saw you get hurt. 

A sickening realization settles in Yuqi’s mind. You needed to die. She knew in her heart that you’d survive, make it to live another day, but the others didn’t, and she needed to use that to her advantage. 

So, Yuqi decides to stay still. Jake’s voice cuts through the chaos as he screams to Yuqi, screams at her to do something, but she stays rooted to the spot. Eventually, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and the rest begin to join in, their voices increasingly desperate as they beg Yuqi to save you, too far to make a difference themselves. But she remains unmoving.

In the middle of their desperate shouting, the cluster of soldiers surrounding you increases and K moves in on you. His black tendrils wrap around you like a halo and slowly shroud your vision and intoxicate your air. Then, the first gunshot rings out and your chest explodes with pain.

Taglist: @heesimp, @kyunlov, @quill-ink, @lunaritex, @jiryunn, @jakeswifez, @fancypeacepersona, @nshmrarki, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @wilonevys, @strxwbloody, @capri-cuntz, @riribelle, @machambrx, @vousty, @rebeccakan, @wonnienyang, @koizekomi, @heeweenie, @skyearby, @rxlxvr, @missychief1404, @doveblackboat, @prkhoonielvrss,

Permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @17ericas, @tunafishyfishylike

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[tetsuskei]

this worries me but also gives me some indication that childe has abyss trauma that is not fully processed or not really thought about. regardless, he sure has an interesting way of processing events like that since it ‘seems’ that he’s ‘fine’.

[moonydustx]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do Zoro, Ace, Luffy, Law, Crocodile, King, and 2 Characters of your choice x Reader, where they and Reader are having a romantic moment and just when the moment is just right, something or someone interrupts the romantic scene?

ok, ok, I know, I'm really late with this one. But life is so chaotic that I won't even look for excuses hahah but I really liked your request. I think some came out a little less romantic? I don't know, I'll leave it for your evaluation. I hope you enjoy!

warnings were placed individually in each of the stories.

F!Reader x Zoro, Ace, Luffy, Law, Crocodile, King and Smoker (placed individually)

requests here | rules and guides | masterlist

Comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

Zoro

warnings: mentions of previous fights/problems with an enemy pirate. Zoro is very direct with his feelings. Mentions of drinking (we have Zoro in this one, so it's kind of obligatory)

Another victory, another time to rest in some bar.

Taking the opportunity to explore the new island after solving yet another series of problems, you and your companions chose to stuff their faces - and especially Luffy and Chopper, fill their bellies with food - in a bar they found there.

However, something still stirred you. The encounter with an enemy pirate that afternoon and the way he had spoken to you still affected you. It still made you see your position on the team as shallow, expendable, unnecessary. It still made you want to isolate yourself.

"A dose for whatever's going on in your head." Zoro placed three small glasses in front of you and three in front of him when he sat down.

"What do you mean by that?" you turned to him, only then realizing that what was a full table before was now just the two of you.

"Everyone was leaving, some asking you to come along, but you seemed stuck in your own head." he explained and drank the first shot of drink. "Like I said, one glass, one thought."

"And what are you thinking?"

"That you stayed here because you didn't want to go with the wire eyebrow, of course." he pointed out, eliciting a light laugh from you. Little did Zoro know that, out of all the options you could have, Sanji wasn't exactly the one you were looking for. "Now it's your turn."

You downed the drink and felt the strong alcohol burn your throat, but the words didn't want to come out. It was too difficult to bring into the world an insecurity that, in your eyes, would be so dispensable in the vision of someone as strong as Zoro.

"Me again." he pointed out, seeing that you had remained quiet. As soon as he downed another shot, he started. "You let that shit that guy said get into your head, didn't you?"

"Can you tell me where he went wrong?" you asked and only saw Zoro laugh in disbelief. "I'm weak, I'm just a linguist, I can't fight, I don't have a devil fruit. What am I but dead weight?"

"Much more than you imagine." Zoro responded as if it were obvious.

"Much more? Only if it's much more of a burden, much more of a responsibility. I don't want to cause problems for anyone, I don't want to become a responsibility. If it weren't for you today…"

"If it weren't for me, you would still be alive and well, no one would let that idiot hurt you." Zoro seemed to be stressing about the subject and that became clearer when you saw him downing his last dose and the two of yours that were left and then remaining in a brief silence.

"I'm sorry Zoro, I didn't mean to…"

"You're important, okay? To Luffy, to the crew, to me." Seeing you look away from him, without much refinement or kindness, Zoro turned your face back to him, holding you by the chin. "I would face him a thousand times over if I had to."

"Zoro, what does that mean?"

You could feel the adrenaline rush through your body as well as waves of goosebumps going through you from the point Zoro touched you and before he finished the path to your lips, a loud noise on the table separated the two of you.

"It means I don't want you talking about yourself like that again, please." the ending came out more like a whisper than anything else. "And it also means that whenever you need me, I will protect you. It's not everyone's responsibility, you're right, but please let it be mine."

"Here you go!" Luffy sat between the two of you, practically half on top of each of your bodies. In front, a plate full of different types of sweets: chocolates, lollipops, cotton candy. Chopper was along, already stealing some pieces. "Today we know it was a difficult day for you and we know you like sweets, so this is a good thing to cheer you up. What do you think?"

"I think it's amazing!" You took a piece of chocolate, enjoying it as it melted in your mouth. "Thank you, you're amazing." despite leaving in a loud voice, your eyes went to Zoro, who just nodded and adjusted himself on the bar stool, pleased to see you happy again.

Ace

warnings: Ace and F!Reader have a casual, no-strings-attached affair.

The party and chaos accumulated on one side of the Moby Dick, it was a common image as there was no shortage - and often, barely needed - of reasons for the crew to get drunk and celebrate something. That didn't exempt you. With a good dose of beer in hand, you were sitting further back on the edge of the ship, just contemplating the mess a good few meters ahead, while the sea was choppy behind you, the cool breeze sending goosebumps against your skin.

"Hey, what's a pretty girl doing so isolated like that?" Ace leaned against the free space next to you.

"I just came to catch some wind, breathe a little." you explained, seeing him get even closer and stop almost glued to your side. "And you?"

"I just came to see a pretty girl." He placed his hand on your knee, caressing your skin, which was covered in goosebumps by the cool wind - and perhaps by his touch. "But seriously, is everything okay?"

"Of course, I really just came to enjoy the view for a bit." you explained, seeing him paying attention to every word. "I like to keep these happy moments in my memory, and besides, the night is beautiful."

"Yeah, I like it too." giving up the caress on your leg, he sat down next to you. "I like to think that one day it will be the two of us."

"What do you mean the two of us?"

"This celebration today. It's going to be about the two of us. About me putting you there in the middle, getting down on my knees and asking you to be mine and then, after a while, it's going to be the celebration about our marriage." he saw you laugh knowing he had surprised you with his brief proposal.

"And what else, fire fists?"

"The old man is going to celebrate our wedding, after all, he's the one who has to give the blessing. We're going to drink all night and then, after a while, maybe we'll be celebrating the arrival of our child, I don't know." he shrugged, chuckling at the very thought. "Maybe I went too far."

"For all of this, we need to stop being just hookups, don't you think?"

"You and I know that's not all we are." His tone of voice lowered, as if he was telling an intimate secret - which it wasn't - between you. "You know you mean so much more than just that to me."

"I know and I know you know it too." you turned around to try and steal a quick kiss from him, but were stopped by Ace placing his hat on you.

Gently, he hit the object on your head, removing your strands of hair that were a little messy and then, he helped the small hanging rope. His hand wandered from the object to your cheek, placing a quick caress.

"I love you, Ace." your voice came out as a brief whisper, a confession that was almost forbidden.

"I love you even more." he stole an almost chaste kiss from your lips, just to confirm the feeling.

"You should say that sober." you warned him and saw him walk away with a cynical laugh in him. Upon reaching the glass he had brought, Ace took another sip and offered it to you, who accepted. Water.

"I needed courage to come and talk to you about this today and I don't think drinking alcohol would help." he explained, placing quick kisses along your exposed skin. "So, no more hookups?"

"No more hookups." you confirmed, feeling his lips slide over your skin. "Keep doing that and I'm going to want you to get down on your knees and propose as soon as possible."

"For your information, I intend to kneel today." his kisses found the weak spot on your neck. "But you're the one who's going to be asking for something more."

"Stop that!" perhaps the distraction of his kisses prevented you from seeing Thatch and Marco approaching. "The two of them won't be isolated in this clump."

"Did he have the decency to ask you to be his girlfriend?" Marco asked you, who nodded, feeling his cheeks burn in shyness. "Finally!"

"Then there are no more excuses…" Thatch threw Ace over his shoulder and Marco did the same to you.

"Put me down." the fire fist asked, even if he wanted to, he would have let go of there.

"We need to celebrate. You finally got the courage." Marco pointed out while you didn't even make an effort to get off his shoulder.

It should have been a night for the two of you to celebrate the new agreement between you, but it was difficult to celebrate alone when everyone wanted to celebrate the fact that you were finally and officially together.

Luffy

warnings: Luffy is a cute fool, that's all. Ah, we have mentions of Luffy sinking into the water (poor dear and his inability to swim)

Damn, a thousand times damn. Why was it almost impossible to get Luffy to listen to anything other than his crazy ideas?

Most of the time it had ended well, but it didn't seem to be the same as today. Praying to any god that could help you at that moment, you threw yourself against the cold, turbulent water of the sea. Shaking your arms the way you thought swimming was, you began to dive awkwardly. A few feet below, you could see Luffy sinking.

With some difficulty, you reached him and despite being weak, he still remained conscious for enough seconds to see that it was you there. Sticking to his vest and using the very little you knew, you managed to pull him back to the Sunny and now the fight that was taking place throughout the ship was being contained mainly by Zoro and Sanji, leaving you not much to worry about other than revive Luffy.

Not finding many plausible solutions, you stuck your mouth to his and tried to pull out all the water he had swallowed. When you repeated the gesture for the third time, you saw him wake up spitting, while you were kneeling next to him, relief washing over you.

"Thank you for saving me." he began, knowing you would probably be furious. "And apparently you learned to swim."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." you allowed yourself to relax for a brief moment. In the end, he was fine.

"The only problem is, I've always thought about doing it, but not right after I drowned." upon seeing the question mark that was practically drawn on your forehead, Luffy continued. "I always thought about kissing you. You're pretty, nice…"

"Have you always thought about kissing me?" You looked indignant, but quickly corrected yourself, letting the little secret you carried for so long slip out there. "I've always thought that too Luffy, I think I like you, more than just as friends."

"Can we repeat the kiss…" before he finished proposing, his calm tone was replaced by a loud grumble as soon as he was hit by Nami.

"You idiot! How can you let yourself fall into the sea when there was only one person who doesn't know how to swim to save you." she insisted, the angry tone clear in her voice.

Some of your coughs caught the attention of both of them, as well as that of the ship's doctor.

"You might have swallowed a lot of water too!" Chopper pointed out, stethoscope in hand. "I need to run some tests."

"Don't worry about it, Chopper." You tried to push him away, but soon you felt him cover you with a cloth.

"Listen to Chopper." Luffy asked this time, already recovered and almost dry, which was a mystery to you how he managed to do it. "Chopper, take care of her and as soon as everything is okay, call me, please."

Luffy had no social constraints that would prevent him from doing that in front of everyone, but something told him that it had to be special. Then he just placed a chaste kiss on your cheek and left. Now everyone seemed as lost as you had been the first time.

Law

warnings: sweet boyfriend Law. This has to be a warning because this man is amazing.

Before you even open your eyes, you can feel a pair of arms wrapping around you firmly, moist lips sliding along the contour of your neck. The warm quilting of the blanket against your skin also made you want to stay there even more. However, it had just been a break after lunch for the two of you to talk - and in fact, talk and without meaning to, or perhaps because of the way his fingers slid under the top of your head in a caress, you found yourself being dragged to the world of dreams.

"Looks like someone woke up from their nap." Law's huskier voice indicated that you weren't the only one to have closed your eyes that afternoon.

"Looks like I wasn't the only one who took a nap." you - even though you practically had to fight against his arms - turned around, just a few centimeters separating your face from his. "You look rested."

"And you look beautiful, even in your sleep." he stole a quick kiss from your lips. "Even snoring."

"Snoring?"

"Yes, the noise was certainly capable of driving away the sea kings that were circling around." he grunted when he felt the light, painless slap on his arm. "Okay, it was just a cute snore."

"A cute snore?" you pushed him in vain, feeling like you only gave him enough space to pull you onto his body. "Don't even think about it, Trafalgar, after that, you don't deserve it."

"Don't be so mean." his hands slid over your body in a gentle way, practically not malicious. "Don't I deserve anything?"

"Nothing." you leaned down, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"That kind of nothing seems interesting to me." he pointed to the other cheek. "Can I have a nothing here too?" As soon as your lips met his skin, the tattooed finger moved to another corner of his face. "And here, can I?"

"Since when did you become so sappy?" you continued following where he pointed, leaving soft trails of kisses against his skin. The last place he pointed was at his lips. "Do you think you haven't gotten enough kisses?"

"Not yet." He raised himself up on his elbows, just to reach your lips and take them for himself.

His hands soon tangled against your messy strands of hair, while almost slowly he allowed himself to explore every corner of the paradise that was hidden between your lips. There was no searching for contact, no mischievous squeezes or grumbling and moaning, just the two of you, tangled in a pile of sheets, exchanging kisses and caresses.

"Captain!" Bepo's voice reached the two of you before he had practically walked through the door. "I found you!"

"Would you mind knocking on the door before coming in!" Law's voice started low and ended almost furiously.

His hands, previously on your body, pulled the sheet to cover your body. Even though you were fully dressed and Bepo posed no threat, Law couldn't help the sense of protection that surrounded him when it came to you.

"What's up Bepo?" You said more sweetly, discreetly trying to get off your boyfriend.

"The captain is about an hour late for his task and Ikkaku has been looking for you for a while too." the bear explained. "And also, if we continue on the same route, we will come face to face with a giant sea king in a few minutes."

"And you just let me know now?" Law grunted, but the stress was short-lived when he heard your laugh, almost like an automatic tranquilizer for him. "I'll meet you in a minute."

Understanding the message, Bepo closed the door and left the room. Your boyfriend's face gave it all away: he wished he could stay there, but he couldn't. Duty called you both.

"I'm coming to sleep here with you today, what do you think?" you proposed and saw him stop fixing his shoes to look at you, a small smile lit against his lips.

"Please." He asked, making you nod. "Well, I warned you."

"What did you warn me?"

"Your snoring, now I have a king of the seas to take down." he laughed when he saw you mumble. The small pout on your lips was covered with a kiss from him. "I'll see you later love."

Crocodile

warnings: jealous crocodile, as always. Brief appearance of our favorite hawk eyes.

Some things started to make sense when you entered the large hall. As an assistant, you knew that part of the ball was just an excuse to attract some enemies while the other part was to find allies, investors or anyone who could make a relevant contribution to the Cross Guild.

Even though you knew all the planning for the party, you still didn't understand why a long, sparkling dark green dress appeared on your table a few days ago. When you saw one of the evening's hosts, you noticed that - perhaps coincidentally - the two of you's outfits matched.

Waving to some infamous pirates - with rewards that you lost count of digits - little by little you got closer to whoever had provided such an outfit for you.

"I see you liked my gift." Crocodile said as you stopped in front of him. Without hesitating, he took one of your hands and made you do a little turn. "It served as if it was made for you."

"I suspect it was actually made for me, am I right?" you accepted the champagne and with an almost malicious smile you took a brief sip. The two of you lived in a cat and mouse hunt between all the years you had been working together, your feelings for him were clear and at least on one day, you expected to be reciprocated.

"I couldn't afford to let the most beautiful lady of the night go unnoticed, or unaccompanied." He said and for a brief minute, you realized he still hadn't let go of your hand. The awareness of the act seemed to reach him too and in a subtle way, he let his hand fall to his side. "And after so long…"

"After Alabasta, after Impel Down, here we are." you concluded his idea, a sideways smile took over Crocodile. "Everyone begging to be at your feet again."

"I know I'm a little cold, I won't deny that fact, but…" he approached, letting the words come out gently and quietly, as if nothing mattered other than the two of you there. "I'm grateful that all these years you've been by my side."

"And I'm grateful that all these years you allowed me to stay. For taking me out of that miserable life." you just said, reaching out to grab another glass and handing it to him. "Here's to business."

"I'm hoping this is the last toast to business." He tapped the glass against yours, seeing your expression remain in doubt. "I hope our next toast like this, you won't be my assistant anymore. I mean, just my assistant."

"And what do you expect, Sir Crocodile?" you gave him space to approach, stopping just a few inches away.

"Instead of green, maybe you'll wear white. And we sure as hell won't have that bunch of stupid pirates." he pointed out, seeing you smile widely. He raised the cup towards you again. "So, here's to our last night of business?"

"Sorry to interrupt." Mihawk's voice reached you as did his brief touch on your waist.

"I hope it's something important." Crocodile's mild expression faded as he analyzed his business partner and wondered why he was touching you.

"I need your help, miss." he pointed out, turning to you. "An idiot who refuses to take his eyes off you coincidentally owes me a few things. Would you be willing to serve as a little bait?" The groan that came from Crocodile upon hearing Mihawk's proposal to you didn't go unnoticed. "It's just a talk with him."

"Alright, I can help you with that." you agreed, much to your partner's chagrin. You handed your cup to Crocodile and taking advantage of the fact that Mihawk practically covered you from the others' view, you gave Crocodile a quick peck. "Last night of business, okay?" the man just nodded and watched you leave with the other man.

"Mihawk?" he called, seeing Mihawk and you turn towards him. "Let him lay a finger on my girl and I'll have his head and yours on my desk."

King

warnings: cute, very cute. Kind of like OC King, but I can't help but write him being cute. Sorry.

Some companions respected him too much - you analyzed it as pure fear, but you preferred to keep the observation to yourself - however, King did not impose this "fear" on you, quite the opposite.

When you weren't carrying out any of the requested orders, you liked to take your time and observe him. How he seemed to have been sculpted by something that went beyond comparison, how he could be affable when no one was around - this Queen insisted amid acid comments that it was an affection directed only at you.

After a long battle and few scratches distributed throughout the crew, in a more private corner you can see him sitting, patching up a possible injury to his hand. Aside from the bandage and messy hair, he still looked the perfect vision.

"How can I help you?" the words spill out of you without giving you much time to think.

"Don't worry about that."

"That's kind of impossible." you moved even closer, assessing his hand. "It's a small cut, it should heal in a few days."

"It was a small oversight." He shrugged and smoothed the insistent strand of hair that fell into his face.

"Can I help you with this?" you asked and he just nodded, giving you space to work.

Agilely, your fingers reached the stubborn strand and began to adjust it back to where it belonged, that is, the braid that was almost part of it. As soon as you finished, you adjusted it so that it wouldn't fall into his face again.

What went unnoticed by you was how close the two of you were, about how when you looked down you could feel his eyes burning towards you, as they strayed from yours towards your lips.

"Thank you… I mean, how can I thank you for that?" his voice was no more than a brief whisper.

"It is not necessary…"

"I insist." he interrupted you, being graced with the smile he knew on your lips. What he wouldn’t give to let you know what that meant to him.

"A ride then." your answer sounded natural to him, as if the idea crossed your mind with a certain frequency. "I always wanted to see the world from above."

"A ride, sounds amazing to me."

"I knew." Queen's voice interrupted the two of you and you immediately moved away from his body. "I told you that this softie was only soft on you."

"Shut up." King simply said without even looking in the other's direction, his eyes following you to apologize and leave.

How did that idiot Queen feel free to interrupt - and even embarrass - someone so beautiful?

The sun was already setting when you finally finished your tasks for the day and out of everything you could have expected to find in front of you, on your bed, you didn't expect to find a small note.

This way, we cannot be interrupted. Neither on this note nor among the clouds.

I heard that especially tonight the moon and the view from above will be beautiful, not as beautiful as the girl reading this note. Would you like a ride?

Smoker

warnings: mentions of a previous incident, but we have no descriptions, just brief mention of it being traumatic. F!Reader is also in the Navy.

Even without opening your colleague's door, it was almost as if you could see smoke coming through the gaps. Smoker was stressed and that was nothing new, especially when one of his missions went wrong.

"Commander Smoker?" your knocking on the door didn't seem to have caught his attention that much, so you opened a small gap, seeing him typically sitting with two cigars in his hands. "I can enter?"

"Yes." he simply responded, watching you close the door behind you and cross the small space that separated you from his desk.

"Here are some reports from today's mission."

You placed them on the table and you could see him still sulking. You had been working together for too long to know that if possible, Smoker would always let his frustration take over the entire environment - and sometimes it wasn't even in the form of smoke.

"I heard that some stupid pirates gave you a hard time today." you pointed out and saw him just respond with a look, he really wasn't interested in conversation.

A small idea, more like a memory than an idea, crossed your mind and you decided to put it into practice.

"You seem tense." you stated and saw him sigh deeply as you left your gloves on the armchair in front of him.

Without even asking permission - if he didn't want to, you would have at least gotten closer to him, you let your hands slide lightly from his shoulders to the back of his head. It only took a few squeezes for you to start to see him relax. Massaging all over his shoulder and neck, Smoker slowly began to become something more malleable and accessible under your hands.

"Those idiots, if I catch those little shits." he grunted, turning his neck a little to give you more room to work. "And you still ask if I'm tense."

"Some things are impossible to go unnoticed." you let the laughter escape you, a comfort to Smoker's ears. "But you know, sometimes you need to take some time off and relax."

"You say it like you take a lot of time to relax." he turned around, seeing you stick your tongue out. "Some things are impossible to go unnoticed." he repeated to you. "How many nights did you sleep well after that incident?"

"Well, I guess…" you thought for a moment, now your hands were just resting on his shoulders. "To be honest? I think it was only that night that I slept there." you pointed to the armchair on the opposite side. "And of course, in the infirmary. Their medicine is good."

"Don't say things like that." he pointed out, little did you know but the idea of ​​that night still gave him chills.

Letting the affection he had for you guide him, Smoker brought his hand to yours on his shoulder and pulled it, so that your face was level with his.

"I believe we both need to relax." he pointed out, his breathing practically mixing with yours.

"Yeah, we both need it."

You could almost taste Smoker's lips when the door ahead abruptly opened, revealing a panting Tashigi in front of you.

"Commander Smoker!" she started and then stopped, analyzing the situation in front of her eyes. "Do I interrupt something?"

"Don't worry honey, I'm leaving." you pointed out and you could hear Smoker practically grunting in front of you.

"What's so important Tashigi." he didn't bother to let go of your hand, even with the girl's presence, even with your body already standing behind him.

"The pirates from the last mission, someone attacked their ship and they sank, so the team that stayed behind managed to bring them in." Smoker jumped to his feet immediately, picking up the reports you had left on the table.

"You can go, I'll be waiting here." you warned without even waiting for him to ask. As soon as the room was empty, you occupied your favorite armchair and, as you rarely did, you allowed yourself to relax with the aroma of Smoker that still remained in the room.

[spotlight-if]

Lights, Camera…Chaos.

[PLAY HERE] (October 23rd, 2024) Act 1, Chapter 1, 64.2k words.

For as long as you can remember, your dream has stayed the same—you want nothing more than to make it as an actor in Hollywood. After years as an overlooked, overworked talent, your big break comes from an unlikely source. And it’s one that changes everything, for better or worse.

Hollywood is its own character within this world—sometimes it loves you, sometimes it wants nothing more than to see you crash and burn. Navigating this ever changing landscape while balancing your own interpersonal relationships is only half the challenge. The other half is memorizing your lines.

Navigate the red carpet, bloodthirsty paparazzi, cut-throat tabloids and complicated relationship dynamics with A-list celebrities (who may or may not be completely insane.)

But, hey: isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

Key Features:

- Customize your Actor: are you a classic Hollywood heartthrob? An eccentric and unconventional recluse? Are you kind and genuine despite the fame, or a cutthroat diva with undeniable talent?

- Navigate scandal, paparazzi, and stan culture: dodge or embrace the flashing lights. Interact with your fans, or distance yourself from them for your sanity. Wait—who are they shipping your character with?

-Build your legacy: choose between the stability of superhero blockbusters or turn into an indie darling. Or, maybe forgoe both to become a household name in the horror genre.

- Network and build relationships: whether they’re manufactured by your well-meaning publicist or spawned from real feelings, forge dynamic and ever changing relationships with other industry icons.

- Try to manage your mental health: the dark side of the industry lurks in every corner—the highs are high, but the lows are ever lower.

Characters:

Kendall Mays (gender selectable)—ever the loyal best friend, Kendall followed you into the throes of showbiz without hesitation. From fighting over toys on the playground to helping you run lines for a major motion picture, you can always count on them to have your back. That is, before they met Mason—their ever-present boyfriend who demands more and more of their time. You were never that great at sharing.

[Note: Kendall is not a romance option.]

Sutton Foster (he/him, she/her)—child star turned award winning powerhouse. Sutton Foster has everything an actor could want—well, minus the countless stays at rehab centers around the world. It’s undeniable that Sutton is a generational talent, but what’s even more notable is their messy personal life. You yourself have been caught in Sutton’s gravitational pull, once upon a time. The question lies in whether or not you’ll pull yourself away.

Wyn Grace (he/him, she/her)—on stage, Wyn is electric. The same cannot be said for Wyn off-stage. The lead singer of the up-and-coming Indie band is struggling with their meteoric rise to fame. As the awards pile up and the crowds get bigger, Wyn is unraveling at the seams. All they wanted to do was make music with their friends, but the fame makes them reconsider it all.

Lex Moreau (he/him)—an older, award-winning director with an…eccentric disposition. Yet despite his volatile nature and obsession with perfection, anyone who’s anyone would kill to work with him. Lex is always in search for a muse, a great beacon to pour all of his artistic vision into. And now, he thinks he’s found that in you. Lucky you?

[C is a conditional character, only appears based on choices you make.]

Carlo/Carmen Mencina (gender selectable)—C is harder to pin down than a stable acting gig in LA. When you’re together—it’s kismet. The problem lies in when you’re apart. C’s frequent disappearances abroad leave a bad taste in your mouth, and when a shocking truth comes to light, it’s not just your relationship in the spotlight—it’s your life, too.

Flings and other mini-romances will be available as well. But these I will let be revealed as the story progresses.

When writing this game, I knew what themes I wanted to focus on, and the care/detail needed to do so. Hence, this game is strictly 18+.

TW: death, substance abuse, suicide, bullying, explicit language, violence, and explicit (skippable) sexual content.

Thank you for reading my intro! Reblogs are welcome, and my ask box is open (:

And major thank you @thecutestgrotto for the gorgeous headers!

[familyvideostevie]

all of it still matters

joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy.

jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway.

a/n: welcome back to our lovebirds from just and just as. be gentle, please. it's been a while.

--

The sky is a brilliant orange. Golden hour, they used to call it.

It's probably a little too cold to be sitting on the front porch but you can't help it on an evening like this. You tug a fraying flannel of Joel's tighter around your shoulders. It's worn at the elbows and he reminds you that he'll fix it if you release it from your clutches but somehow that never happens. The journal he made you is open on your lap, almost full. You've taken care to write down not only your memories but the stories he and Tommy tell about their lives before, the day-to-day of Jackson, the jokes Ellie is particularly proud of. She recently recounted a birthday trip to a museum, laughing as she told you about pushing Joel into the water.

You take a sip of your pine tea. It's chilly through the whole day, now, and soon the morning frost will be snow. Winter was hard for a long, long time, but now it's comfortable. It means lights up in town, children throwing snowballs, community meals and dances. It means warm nights under your blankets with the furnace of a man you sleep next to, soft salve on chapped hands, a slowing down of the Infected sightings.

And it means Joel chopping wood. He should be doing it in the back yard -- usually does -- but this evening he's finishing up the trunk pieces Jesse left by the steps. A big tree had gone down at the edge of the town clearing and everyone got a few pieces once they'd split it up. Joel will no doubt give Ellie at least half of what he cuts.

The benefit of him doing it out front is you get to watch. His back is to you, but you can see the way his sleeves are rolled up, the damp hair curling over the collar. The exhale when he brings the axe down, the flex of his shoulder blades when he tugs it free of the stump. You could watch him do anything.

As if hearing your train of thought, Joel wedges the axe in the chopping block and turns to face you. He runs a hand through his hair, silver strands catching the orange light, and huffs.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he says.

You grin at him. "I'd say so."

Two things happen at once. A headache blooms without warning at your temple, sharp enough that you wince and press your fingertips to the skin there. Joel notices and takes a step towards you but then a dog barks and his attention is drawn down the street.

"Naledi!" Ellie yells, jogging up the street after her dog. "Come on, we've talked about this!"

Joel glances back at you but you smile at him, ignoring the blooming pain in your skull. Naledi -- named after one of those characters from Ellie's comics -- runs right up to Joel and noses at his knee until he pets her. The animal loves him. You don't blame her.

"Jesus," Ellie says once she reaches the steps up to the house, panting. "She can run." She looks at the yard and scowls. "Aw, shit, Joel. Did you finish all the wood?"

Joel, one hand scratching behind Naledi's ears, levels her with an unimpressed look.

"Ain't gonna chop itself," he drawls. "Last thing we need is you holdin' an axe."

"Rude," she gasps. "You steal my dog and make fun of me. Are you hearing this?"

Ellie looks at you in mock outrage, cheeks pink from the cold. She's not a teenager anymore, but falls back into it so easily when Joel teases her. It's a treat to witness.

"I don't know, Joel, you've seen her --" You stand in the middle of your sentence and the words stop coming because your vision swims. Black spots dance across the yard and you pitch forward to brace yourself on the railing.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie says. Joel is up the porch and next to you in a blink, arm around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, low and serious.

The spots disappear and you take some deep breaths. "I -- stood up too fast, I think."

Joel remains in your space for a few more seconds. Naledi barks, watching the whole thing with a tilted head from the grass below.

"Ellie," Joel says. "You wanna finish up the wood? I think we're gonna go inside."

"Totally," she replies. "Yeah, uh, go lie down, or something. We've got this."

Joel ushers you into the house and sits you down in the kitchen. The sun no longer peaks over the mountains so he flicks on the overhead lights, which make you groan. He's back by your side immediately, tipping your head up with a knuckle on your chin so he can look at you.

"Think you might've caught somethin'," he says. "Bout that time of year." He presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns.

You circle his wrist and tug his hand down. "Just tired," you say. "The overnight patrol is catching up with me."

"Hmm." Joel leaves you be and starts to fix you something to eat. You know better than to argue and, frankly, you don't have the energy to make something yourself. He sets some buttered toast in front of you and leans on the island to watch you take a small bite.

"Something to say?" you manage through a mouthful of bread.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed early." It's barely sunset but it sounds like a good idea. "You going to be okay to work tomorrow?"

Your shift at the stables with Ellie. Pretty easy, as far as labor goes. A good night's sleep should make it bearable. "Yeah, it's just mucking stalls."

"Hmm," he says again. You know what that means -- he's thinking, he's decided, he's preparing, but he'll let you reach the same conclusion in your own time. He won't force you into anything, never does, but he most certainly has an opinion.

You change the subject. "Did you grab my journal?" Joel nods and pulls it from his back pocket to set on the table next to your toast. You take another bite to appease him.

"Almost done with that thing," he says. "Gonna need another one."

"If only I knew someone who made them," you tease. That gets a gruff laugh out of him.

"What you writin' about today?"

"You, Tommy, and motorcycles." Tommy had told you all about the famed birthday ride at the last family dinner. Everyone had heard the story but you, so their voices overlapped about a hundred times as they fought to be the one to explain.

Joel chuckles. "You ever been on one?"

You take one more bite of your toast and push the plate away. He's on it in a second, taking it over to the sink.

"No," you reply. "I don't even know the last time I saw a working one. Just stripped metal out in the wild."

"Think you'd like it," he says. "Good way to see things. Bit of an adrenaline rush."

"Yeah, because there's a shortage of that these days."

The joke falls flat and your eyelids start to droop so you don't see Joel's reaction anyway. Your head throbs.

"Bed," Joel says, softly. Hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. "C'mon."

He ushers you up, hand on your back on the staircase. He waits while you brush your teeth and helps you into an old shirt and threadbare pants with a gentle touch.

When you're settled under the covers he perches on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on your forehead once again. A frown makes its way back onto his face and he checks your cheeks, your neck.

"I'm just tired, Joel," you mumble. "It's alright."

"Hmm." He kisses the inside of your wrist lightly and stands. "Gonna go check on Ellie, alright? I'll be back soon."

You fight to keep your eyes open and fail.

__

You feel like shit in the morning. Your head is pounding, your body aching. But you've had worse -- you've had broken bones and bruised ribs. You've been sick, you've been tired, you've been scared. This is nothing compared to life and death. You can muck a few stalls with a headache.

Joel isn't here -- a note on the counter says he got called to fix someone's sink and that he thinks you should stay home. You ignore it and head to the stables, taking deep breaths and walking slow.

Ellie shows up not long after you arrive and finds you leaning on your pitchfork in one of the stalls. Your stomach is churning but you're upright, still.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks, kid," you grumble. "Where's your dog?"

"Dina's taking her on the trails today." They've been training Naledi to smell and track Infected.

You sway a little and make some noise of assent.

"Dude, are you sure you should be here today?"

If you leave now, she'll have to do the stalls herself. "I -- let me do a few more. I'm fine. It's alright."

She gives you a look she almost certainly learned from Joel but doesn't argue.

You are fine...for a little while. Ellie seems content to let you work in silence but you feel her eyes on you as you shovel shit and old hay. Just one more, you tell yourself. Then you'll go home and lie down. One more turns into two turns into three until you're scooping a big pile of straw and the spots dance across your vision again.

"Oh," you say with a gasp, and reach out for the wall, for something, anything to lean on. But your hand finds only air and then you're tipping, tipping, and you hear Ellie's Oh shit! and then --

Nothing.

No, I caught her before her head hit the ground. Are you on your back? Wait til she wakes to move her. Sounds like Esther. God, it smells like shit in here. Someone's hand on your forehead. He's coming --

You blink a few times and the roof of the barn comes into view. A groan makes its way up your throat without permission.

"Fuck," you say. "What --"

"Jesus," Ellie exhales. She's on her knees on one side of you, tugging at her fingers. "God, why did you come to work today?"

"I--"

"Where is she?" Joel's voice echoes through the barn and you try to get up on your elbows when you see him. The sudden movement makes your head pound again and hands on your shoulders help steady you. You're blinking into Joel's face, his creased brow and frown deepening as he kneels next to you.

A warm, weathered palm cups your cheek and his gaze catalogs the scene. He does this a lot -- takes in as many details as he can and makes a quick choice on how to proceed. It's a well-honed ability, one that's kept him alive this long. It's kept you and Ellie alive, and countless others in his company, too. Knowing how bad something is, and whether or not you can fix it.

He huffs, some of the tension melting from his face. "Just tired my ass," he mutters. "How're you feelin'?"

"Guess I fainted," you say weakly.

Ellie snorts. "No shit."

"Guess so," Joel echoes. "You wanna get up?" You nod. He does most of the work, arm around your waist as you stand and sway and end up tucked into his side.

"Surprised your knees work this well," you mutter. He makes a low noise in his throat and squeezes your side but otherwise ignores you.

"Think we're gonna go home, if that's alright," he says. You realize the crowd is a little bigger than you thought. Ellie, Esther, and some of the younger boys who work the horses stand nearby. Your head pounds too much for you to be properly embarrassed. You'll have to thank Ellie later for keeping an eye on you but for now, you let Joel lead you out of the stables without waiting for a reply.

Joel walks you home slowly.

"Did someone come get you?" you murmur. He nods.

"Kid said you fainted," he says. "I see you ignored my suggestion this mornin'."

"Yeah, but if I stayed in bed you wouldn't get to be a knight in shining armor."

There is a small voice in the back of your head that reminds you how bad it can be to be sick in this world. You've all seen it -- sickness takes a few people every year, a handful in bad ones. This is probably just the flu. You know that and Joel knows that. And even that can be dangerous, but you're here with the one man in the world who could defeat pretty much anything. Joel, who will keep you safe, who will see you through it. You really, truly believe that. And you want him to believe it, too.

"How polite of you," he says.

Your boot catches on the ground and you stumble a little. Joel slows you to a stop.

"I'm fine," you remind him. "Just sick, I guess." He huffs but you start walking again. "You really looked worried back there, you know."

"Yeah, well." You reach the stairs up to your house. He tightens his hold on you, practically taking all of your weight as you go up them one at a time. "Was worried you fell into some horse shit. Smell up the whole damn house."

That gets a laugh out of you. He gets you up the porch, across the threshold.

"You gonna listen to me this time?" he asks, sitting you down on the entryway bench. "Stay home, rest up?"

"I'll think about it," you sigh. "You gonna take care of me, Dr. Miller?"

He kneels in front of you to take off your boots and smirks. How many times have you done this? Peeling off each other's boots after a long day. When one of you is sick, when one of you is hurt. Your head is pounding and you almost certainly have a fever but Joel's gentle hands and familiar smirk sets you at ease. You're going to be doing this forever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I'll take care of you."

He tucks your boots under the bench and puts his palms on your thighs. You lean forward to kiss him and miss by a mile, lips landing at the corner of his mouth.

"My head hurts," you say against his cheek. "I love you."

Joel sighs. "I know, baby," he murmurs. "I got you."

He does.

[sailorrhansol]

ok ok requesting a treat for all of us, honestly

sleep demon seungcheol. extra sprinkling of nasty if possible. i want you to out-zaddy you know who.

>:) ok smooch smooch have fun!!!! I LOVE HALIWEEEEEN

Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

Word Count: 6,239

Genre: Supernatural

Type: Smut, PWP

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and reccouring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

A/N: Hi Jolene Wolene Folene - thank you for requesting this thing that we totally didn’t talk about before I started Haliween and definitely maybe sort of giving me the outlet to write this weird little liminal space demon that I love doing so dearly. Pls enjoy spooky ooky kooky Cheol and his weird little obsession with reader :) 

A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Haliween writing event that I’m hosting September - October. 

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

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[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[thewanderingkaya]

when gentle meets calloused  .

pairing: wriothesley x reader

summary: in which wriothesley wonders what’s so hypnotic about his hands (fluff + teensy bit of angst)

wordcount: 800

a/n: i love wriothesley and i love hands , why not combine the two? but seriously calloused and ruggedised arms and hands have me on the floor, especially if wrio is a boxer and has a backstory. g/n reader , a teeeeeeeny bit of wrio’s backstory , 2nd person (kinda omniscient) , lowercase on purpose , dividers : rookthornsartistry

“did it hurt?” your hands trail over wriothesley's arms, fingers coming to trace the imperfections that littered his forearms. his bandages discarded which allowed you to have a clear view of his arms. strong biceps, he did nothing to stop you, only turning his head sheepishly.

as you lay idly on a small blanket splayed onto the grass, a breeze drifts, tousling yours and wrio’s hair. his eyes met yours as you looked up at him, awaiting his answer.

“well.. of course it did,” his gaze drifted to his hands then back to you, he tagged on, “you get used to it after a while.”

you hummed, your head rested on his shoulder. running you whole palm against his fore arm. you could feel wriothesley heat up, even without looking, you knew he was flushing. dry, his arm felt — not dry like sandpaper, but in a way more.. hardened — a contrast to your soft touch. 

wriothesley shivers as you trace a deep scar that hugged along the underside of his forearm, running down from his wrist all the way to the inside of his elbow. your smooth hands were so different compared to his rough and hardened hold, something that, even to this day, wriothesley always seems to be amazed at. you studied the mark, discovering that inside the scars, there seems to always be even more cuts and scrapes near the main body. who knew, something so brute could be so intricate at the same time.

these moments.. where you could study others, every blemish had a story. and with wriothesley, you knew that each scar would have a story, each scar contributed to the man you have come to love today. you treasured it.. 

 while you cherished his imperfections, wriothesley only saw them as such flaws. though he didn’t care if outsiders saw and judged them, he cared dearly about what you think. he tries to pull away every time they catch your attention, afraid something might spark and your feelings may suddenly change about him, or worse, you’d be afraid of him. wriothesley wasn’t prepared to take that risk.

“it’s not something i’m proud of either..” he breathes, just barely — though you caught his utterance. looking away as his hand relaxes in your touch.

“i think all your scars perfect.”  you sighed, your palm slid into his, “after all~ they are what made the most handsome and strong man i love today” you smiled cheekily up at him.

your comment made wriothesley crack a smile, along with a deep chuckle. you heaved yourself on top of him, his arms coming up to your waist to stabilise you. despite his cryo vision, he always had warmth emulating from him. like your own personal heater. 

“is that so?” he ran his hand through his hair in a mock flourish. “maybe i should show it off in public more often—“

“now hold on, mister,” you pressed a finger to his lips, wriothesley glanced down at you, “i don’t want anyone stealing my husband now.”

“I—“

“but alas—“ you cut him off, straightening your posture but still perched on his stomach. placing a hand on your chest, as if preaching your own monologue in mock rejection “I guess i can’t have everything to myself.. even the duke of meropide himself.” 

you got up to make a dramatic exit, still playfully in character. a hand grabbed yours, yanking you back down before you could get any further. planting a kiss sweet on your lips; your facade dissolving as you melted into his hold. 

there was no doubt you were a fan of wriothesley’s kisses, they were gentle but firm. your hand flew up to his hair, the only thing separating you two was the need for air. leaving you flushed a bright crimson and him a satisfied smirk, you tried to turn away, but being straddled in wriothesley’s lap didn’t really do any good to hide from him.

a warm hand brought you back face to face, he chuckled. “woah now, no need to be so jealous. i’m not going anywhere.”

“what? i not jealous!” you sputtered out — though it came out mixed with a nervous laugh — shrugging your shoulders.

“no, no it’s okay,” wriothesley let out a sigh mixed with a snort, you caught a scent of earl grey tea, bringing you back to that cup you had shared before he suggested you both leave for a short while to enjoy one moment of sunlight. of course it was only meant to be a brief outing to relax, only at a shore just beside the fortress of meropide. 

wriothesley seemed to be in no rush, so were you. even if duty calls — even in that dark and cold fortress with little to no fresh air — you still treasured even the briefest of breaks you had with wrio, and delayed getting back anytime soon. 

a nonchalant voice brought you back from your thoughts. 

“you should know,” he flashed you a corny smirk, rough fingers intertwined with yours, “this duke is all yours.”

[unearthly-doting]

the wind will guide you home

a/n: idk idk i just really like the anemo characters soso much. kept it pretty vague i think so you can decide if the reader is willing or unwilling. no faruzan or lynette bc i couldn't think of anything for them :(

includes: aether, lumine, venti, jean, xiao, kazuha, sucrose, heizou, and wanderer.

premise: you wandered a little too far away from your partner for their liking. maybe you were trying to escape, maybe not. but don't worry, they'll find you.

warnings: mdni, yandere content, gn reader, implied/referenced kidnapping, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, implied drugging, stalking, unhealthy relationships, vague mentions of dependency, uh whatever the fuck is happening in wanderer's section.

AETHER — is immediately panicked the moment he realizes you aren't by his side anymore. he never lets you travel with him, it was dangerous and you were safer tucked away in the little area he kept you in, safe from the dangers of this mysterious world. it was his fault, really. he had forgotten to lock the door the last time he visited, having been in such a hurry for one reason or another. you, for some reason, had decided to leave even though he had told you time and time again that it was dangerous. he wouldn't waste any time looking for you, hurrying outside, and using everything he had to his advantage to search for you. if you have a vision, he's definitely using his elemental sight to track you down. and when he does find you, he's immediately latching himself onto you, clinging to you and breathing a sigh of relief. he was completely oblivious to the horrified look on your face, just glad to have you in his arms again. "let's get you home. it's not safe for you out here."

LUMINE — would more than likely notice immediately when you vanish. she keeps you at her side at all times to ensure that she can protect you, so you're rarely ever away from her. the moment she sees that you're gone, she's abandoning whatever it was she was doing to find you. it doesn't matter if it was a commission or some important task that will help her get a better understanding of this world. you were more important than that right now. you needed to be back by her side. her tracking skills were incredibly good, so you wouldn't get far before she had you in her sights again. it doesn't matter if you were trying to escape or if you were just distracted and wandered off, the grip she had on your wrist was tight once she caught up to you, and she refused to let you go until the two of you were back at whatever inn or camp you two were staying at. she'll bind your hands together and tie the end of the rope to her wrist if you try arguing with her. "i can't keep you safe if you refuse to stay by my side."

VENTI — is honestly the only one here that will find you like almost immediately. even if he isn't paying attention to you and instead wowing a crowd with his amazing bard skills, the wind will tell him the moment you're gone. he'll stop midstory at the news, politely excusing himself and promising to be back later with an even better story. he'll let the wind guide him, listening to the whispers as he hurries down the streets of mondstadt, picking up pace when the wind tells him you were heading for the main gate of the city. if he uses his powers as the anemo archon to cause a harsh gust of wind to knock everyone away from the gates of the city just so he can catch up with you, then... well... it's not like anyone will know it was him. other than you, of course. and the moment you recovered from hitting the ground, venti was at your side and helping you up. he let you keep your freedom, most of it at least, but he didn't want you to leave the city if he wasn't at your side. he doesn't let go of your hand as he drags you back, an upbeat smile on his face as he playfully spoke, "you're missing my performance! you know i can't perform without my biggest fan watching me." you miss the tightly concealed desperation in his eyes as he stared at you. you can't leave him. he won't let you.

JEAN — is so busy with work that she rarely has the time to keep track of every little move you make. honestly, she probably won't realize you're gone until kaeya or amber drop by and tell her that they saw you wandering outside the city, seemingly heading in the direction of liyue. she's immediately abandoning whatever paperwork she had been looking through, hurrying out of her office and rushing past the citizens in the city to get to you. her mind was running wild trying to figure out why you would even think about leaving the city, let alone leaving without telling her. she's almost out of breath by the time she finds you, the sun starting to set as she crashes into you in a tight hug while rapid-fire questioning you on why you were leaving mondstadt and if she did something wrong and what she could do to make it better. it isn't hard to calm her down, cutting off her questions and explaining that you were simply going to visit some family in liyue and that you had left a note for her at home because you didn't want to bother her when she was so busy. whether or not that was the truth, she didn't care. she was pulling you back in the direction of the city, shaking her head. "no, i can't focus on anything when you aren't here. i need you."

XIAO — felt a little hurt, finding you gone. he was one of the hardest to get away from, always at your side unless the traveler called him away or something happened that required his attention. he thought you had gotten used to him by now, seeing as you never shied away from him when he was around anymore. so yeah, he was real fucking hurt when he returned to the inn and found your room empty. not even verr knew where you had gone. he isn't the type to immediately panic, but he is tense and will gradually get more agitated the longer it takes to find you. if he finds you quickly, the most you'll get is a cold glare as he drags you back to the inn. if he finds you after searching for hours upon hours, he will cling to you as if you would disappear if he let go. his breathing would be heavy, his face buried in your neck as he grounds himself. you were back in his arms, and either way, he wasn't going to let you leave his sight until he was sure you weren't going to pull a stunt like this again. if you want to wander around, then just ask and he'll go with you. "don't ever do that again. don't... don't ever leave me like that."

KAZUHA — would feel torn. while he understands the need and desire to roam the world and take in all that one can process, he also felt uncomfortable when you weren't around. a sick feeling budding in his chest, wondering if maybe you weren't wandering off but instead trying to leave him. he wants to trust you, and most of the time he does, but... you've tried leaving him before. many times, actually, that he's lost count. so, as much as he would love to leave you to your own devices, he just didn't trust you enough. he would ask other travelers if they'd seen you by chance, and some would point him in your direction while others would shake their heads. no matter, he took any and all help given to him until he finally spotted you. his approach was quiet, and you were startled when you had finally noticed him. he didn't say anything for a moment, just staring at you. there was something about his gaze that felt more intense than normal. it was like he was studying you, deciphering your actions. it didn't last long, because the look was replaced with a soft smile as he held his hand out, beckoning you to take it. "let's walk together."

SUCROSE — also didn't immediately notice. similar to jean, she can get pretty busy with work and gets so invested that she'll often times forget her surroundings. it's only when albedo or noelle make a comment on you not being by her side that she snaps to attention, looking around with a puzzled expression. when had you left? how long had you been gone? when she had last spoken to you, the sun was high in the sky. it was dark now. she would stutter out a quick departure to whichever friend had told her you were gone before scurrying away to try and find you. she would have the hardest time finding you, nervously approaching strangers on the street and asking if they had seen you or not. one person mentioned seeing you at the barbatos statue, and she immediately darted off in that direction without sparing the informant a second glance. and she was damn near tears when she found you. she wouldn't understand why you had left without telling her first, wondering if maybe she had done something to upset you. she'd be apologizing, telling you she was sorry if she made you mad, and begging you to come home. given how you two were in public, you felt a bit out of place so you agreed just to stop having people look at you. she would hug your arm the entire time, refusing to let go until the two of you were back at her home. and then she'd offer you something to drink! as an apology! and, well... if she puts a little something in it to tire you out, then that's too bad. "o-oh, you feel sick? maybe you should try to rest... don't worry, i'll be here to take care of you."

HEIZOU — would be the second one to find you quickly. he's a detective, so obviously he'll be able to track you down with ease! your attempts at trying to cover were tracks were adorable but futile. he had found you probably a mere hour after you had gone off, though he didn't immediately make his presence known. he was curious as to why you had left so abruptly without telling him, wondering if maybe something had happened or if you were, perhaps, trying to leave him. but you wouldn't do that! right? either way, he's following you in secret. some may call this stalking, but he calls it... lovingly admiring from afar. this'll go on for hours, more than likely. he's not in any rush to drag you home, and he gets to partake in his favorite pastime! so, by all means, continue walking. he'll probably do a few things here and there to startle you, making noises by shaking bushes and branches or throwing rocks. he likes seeing you on edge; he thinks you're cute when you're constantly looking around, searching for him. of course, once you get too close to ritou for his liking, he'll bring the fun to an end and finally make his presence known by hugging you from behind, a cheeky smile on his expression as you tense up. "caught you!" he hums, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck as if to prove to you that he was actually there. maybe he'll lock you up at home for a few days just to keep you all to himself. y'know, as his prize for catching you.

WANDERER — thinks it's amusing, honestly, that you think you can sneak off without him noticing. he'll let you go off on your own and let you think you have the freedom of doing so, but only because he has other pressing matters to attend to. he'll take is time too, going about his tasks at a languid pace, not at all worried about where you may be or where you might go. some people may ask about your whereabouts since you're usually almost always with him, and he'll just offer them a smile that... well. it puts them on edge, to be honest, and it makes them drop the topic. he'll even occasionally take breaks, enjoying a drawn-out lunch with nahida and even deciding to indulge the traveler a bit and walk with them through the city. but the moment he finishes all of his tasks for the day, he's going after you. you've had enough freedom today, and he wants you back at his side. it's where you belong, after all. he won't lie, it's exciting, searching for you like this. he wonders if you know whether or not he's after you. maybe you've been looking over your shoulder the entire day, wondering if he'll be right behind you. the thought alone fills him with an almost gleeful joy. and when he does find you, he's not wasting a single second before grabbing you, lips twitching upwards slightly at the startled shout you let out. "did you have fun?" he'll ask, though it would be hard to tell if he wanted a serious answer or not. he doesn't really care, in all honesty. you're back in his arms, right where you belong. his prized possession.

[nyxwanderland]

♡ drunken love

character → gojo satoru story → fluff, alcohol consumption, gojo is averse to alcohol word count → 0.7k

"...well, what do we have here?"

you and shoko had agreed to get a drink after getting off work to wait for your boyfriend to return from his mission to pick you up. things, however, did not go as expected when you suddenly announced a drinking contest to see who has better tolerance to alcohol.

you are able to tolerate great amounts of alcohol quite well. it is hard for you to get drunk easily.

but not as much as shoko, because you just miserably failed. completely wasted, your head slumped on the bar counter and a unfinished glass of some alcoholic drink.

now that he thinks about it, it is gojo's first time seeing you drunk. and boy was he enjoying every second of it. your drunken state is a sight to behold, and he can't hide his amusement.

gojo amusingly watches your inebriated state. he leans his head over your figure in order to meet your eyes, however, to his dismay, they are squeezed shut. he doesn't miss how rosy your cheeks look — he wants to squish them. "never thought i'd see the day when you would get drunk~"

he looks at the doctor as she gulps down a tall glass of beer in one go and he grimaces at the sight. it's not a secret that he doesn't enjoy alcohol — he always opts for drinks without it which contain enough sugar for anyone to get high.

"she started it," shoko speaks up before the man says anything. she jumps from the bar stool and pays for both hers and your drinks, grabbing a cigarette from her pocket. "i'm leaving."

now gojo is left with your extremely drunken mess. nevertheless, he smiles and gently places a hand on your back and nudges you a bit, in an attempt to wake you up.

"baby," he speaks tenderly. "come on, let's go home."

you flutter your eyes open at the movement, your vision blurry as you tried to adjust your senses. "mm— wha...?"

gojo resists the urge to squeal due to your adorable actions and chooses to flash one of his bright smiles. "it's me, sweet cheeks."

you scrunch your nose at the nickname, still unable to comprehend your surroundings. "only my boyfriend is allowed... to call me sweet cheeks..." your words come out slurred, the alcohol so deep in your system.

you try to focus on the blurry man in front you as you try to sit up, and push him away from your face who was too close to your liking. "go away... creep."

gojo cackles. he was enjoying this way too much. "it's me, your glorious blue-eyed, six foot three king! it's hurts that you forgot me."

your mouth opens to retort but you started feeling dizzy and sick. your body sways a little, unable to keep balance, and your hand rushes to your head to stabilize yourself. gojo notices the change in your demeanor immediately and takes no time in scooping you up in his arms.

"let's get you home." he walks out of the bar before you can even protest about him carrying you in the first place.

the cool autumn breeze hits your figure and you unconsciously snuggle to gojo's body for some heat, despite grumbling something about kicking his ass.

this time, your vision starts to clear out and now you are finally able to realize that the so-called mysterious, creepy man was your boyfriend himself. your eyes light up and so does your smile immediately.

"oh my god," you giggle and wiggle your legs. your face turns redder than they were before. "you're my 'toruuu~!"

gojo's heart swells at the way you're looking at him with such adoration. he leans in to kiss your lips.

only for you to turn your face away so he ends up pecking your cheek instead.

"hey..." he pouts, offended by your rejection. "what's wrong, sweets?"

you face him once again with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. "you can't kiss me... you don't like alcohol."

gojo sighs before smiling at you. "i don't mind if i'm tasting it from your lips. now c'mere, gimme three more kisses for turning me down like that."

i miss this man so much you don't understand

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 4/?)

Suffocating slowly, you can't tell if it's the gas enveloping you or Silco's grip tightening around your throat. The choice is yours to make.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 4,8K

Warnings: use of sedative gas, slight hints of reader's past, emotional manipulation, death of secondary characters being referenced, attempted murder, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel. Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Hear me out: Silco wearing a gas mask just like Jinx in episode 6 of the first season… just keep that in mind. Heavily inspired by episodes 6 and 7 btw. Just to be clear, don't romanticize his lines, at this point Silco still has a distorted and obsessive vision. No smut today because we need to develop some good old angst, but don't worry we'll get back to normal programming in the next chapter. And yes, the protagonist, in this case you readers, has a past. But you will only find out as the story progresses.

You were a woman on a mission.

Your footsteps echoed rhythmically through Zaun's narrow, filthy alleys. The sound of your boots striking the ground reverberated in your head like a war drum, announcing your arrival. You moved forward without hesitation, without asking for permission, without sparing a single glance at the faces around you. They stared, and you knew it. You could feel their curious, distrustful eyes glued to you, murmuring among themselves, but it didn't matter. Not this time.

You never liked drawing attention. You always preferred to stay in the shadows, invisible, and that was one of your mottos: "don't be seen." It always worked well—until now. But in that moment, it felt as though every step was a shout, every movement a challenge, and you had no intention of hiding today.

Between the moment you fell to your knees in front of that bloodied necklace and the early hours of the morning when you collapsed into bed, exhausted from reliving your last conversation with Kate—a conversation you didn't know would be the last—something inside you broke. It wasn't a simple break. It was a tear, a deep cut in your very essence. The pain of loss, mingled with raw fury, was a burning fire consuming any rationality.

Grief didn't bring tears. You felt its weight like a stone crushing your chest, but no tears came. There was no room for them. Only a deadly silence that now transformed into something stronger, something uncontrollable.

In the stages of grief, denial had given way to anger, and it was driving you.

Your face was set, neutral, but your mind could be likened to a grenade pin about to be pulled. Your fists clenched, your shoulders tense under the weight of the coat you wore—a coat that wasn't yours but carried the scent of something now fueling your courage.

Silco's coat.

It wasn't made for you; it hung loosely on your shoulders and the sleeves were too long. But, strangely, it felt like it belonged to you now. Every fold, every detail, as if the fabric itself had been shaped to herald your arrival. It didn't matter that it was misaligned or drew attention. You wore it as a statement.

If Vander could see you, he'd probably give you the biggest lecture of your life. He'd accuse you of being reckless, of acting without thinking, of repeating the mistakes he'd spent years trying to correct. You could almost hear his voice, firm and grave, echoing in the Last Drop as he placed a glass of that sweet drink he always made in front of you. But Vander was dead, and the dead don't get disappointed.

Your stride was interrupted when your shoulder collided with a burly man standing by a stall of questionably sourced weapons. He stopped abruptly, glaring at you with an irritated expression. He made a move to grab your arm, but the motion froze halfway through. His eyes landed on the coat.

And then he hesitated.

It wasn't just him. It felt as though Zaun's alleys themselves had paused to observe you. The symbol you bore on your shoulders—the symbol that coat represented—spoke for itself. Everyone knew to whom that garment belonged. And everyone knew that no one, absolutely no one, wore something of Silco's without a clear reason.

The man stepped back. Others averted their gaze, some whispered among themselves. But you pressed forward, ignoring them.

Your destination finally came into view, each step bringing you closer to the entrance of the Last Drop. The place, once so inviting and familiar, now seemed more menacing than ever. The green lights pulsed on the façade as if trying to scorch your retinas—far too extravagant for your taste. You rolled your eyes. It was as if the very place needed to shout Silco's name through its décor.

"Egotistical." you muttered to yourself, feeling a smirk of derision tug at the corners of your mouth. He didn't even need all that ostentation; after all, no one would dare question his power or accuse him of compensating for some insecurity. Silco didn't seem to have those kinds of apparent weaknesses, and that was exactly what made him so dangerous.

As you stopped in front of the door, one of the guards immediately blocked your path. The man raised his arm in a sharp gesture, enough to make any ordinary person step back. He was massive, twice your size, with muscles that seemed to strain the fabric of his shirt. But you weren't the restrained version of yourself anymore, the one who would hesitate or retreat before any intimidating figure to avoid drawing attention to herself. No. Dealing with Silco had taught you one thing: no matter the size of the predator, you need to learn how to bite back. You needed to be as dangerous as him. Or at least pretend to be.

"We're closed." the tattooed man declared, his voice deep and loaded with menace.

You sighed, theatrical, as if he had just bored you to death. "If you hadn't warned me..." your voice dripped with sarcasm. As you spoke, your eyes assessed him carefully. Something about him seemed... familiar.

The guard frowned, impatient. "Then get lost!" the sharpness in his voice might have been intimidating, but there was something else there. A hint of hesitation that didn't escape your notice.

"Oh, I think I remember you..." you tilted your head slightly, letting a sly smile curve your lips. "Yes, I do. You were one of Silco's men sent to the brothel, weren't you?"

The man stiffened, exchanging glances with his companion beside him. You stepped forward, closing the distance even more. He backed off slightly, which only increased your satisfaction. Being associated with Silco had its advantages, after all.

"Well, as you might know, he and I are... quite close." your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried weight and intention. "And even if I can't see him today, it's only a matter of time before he comes to me."

You pretended to examine your nails as if he were beneath your full attention. Every movement was calculated, a meticulous performance designed to fray his nerves. "Now, I can't help but wonder how he'd react knowing one of his men stopped me from paying a surprise visit... He'd be so... disappointed."

You raised your eyes slowly, peering at him through your lashes. The smile on your lips was sadistic, almost cruel. It wasn't the real you—not even close—but the mask you wore seemed to do the trick. The tattooed man swallowed hard, visibly shaken.

"You know, right? It's not wise to disappoint men like Silco," you continued, letting each word hang in the air like a veiled threat. "The consequences tend to be... unpleasant."

The man hesitated, his gaze flickering from you to the coat you wore and then to his companion beside him. The tension was palpable, and the silence that followed was almost as satisfying as the victory that came next.

"Take the stairs to the second floor," he finally relented, his voice slightly unsteady. "He's in the office, last door down the hall."

"Good," you replied with disdain, already turning to walk through the entrance. Before continuing, though, you paused and glanced back over your shoulder. "Oh, and make sure no one interrupts us."

Your voice was cold, imbued with an authority that wasn't yours by right but one you stole with the ease of someone who had learned to survive among wolves. The guard nodded, still hesitant, but stepped aside and shut the door behind you.

You let your gaze wander through the bar, a creeping discomfort snaking up your spine like a sly serpent. Everything felt out of place despite being right where it belonged. As if someone had stripped the soul from the space, leaving only an empty shell devoid of warmth or life. The Last Drop had once buzzed with the communal energy of Zaun—now, every corner seemed consumed by shadows that whispered how misplaced you were here. You were a puzzle piece left over, trying to fit where there was no longer space.

Still, your eyes searched for echoes of the past. The turntable, the pool table in the center, the spot where Vander's gauntlets used to hang near the bar. But those details were now distant memories, almost unreal. It was hard to believe that the last time you'd been here was three years ago, when you said goodbye to him. Vander, with that warm smile and his damned bear hug, had made you promise you'd come back to Zaun. What a bitter irony. You'd returned. But he wasn't here anymore.

When a pang of sadness threatened to surface, you clenched your teeth and forced your legs to move. You climbed the stairs quickly, refusing to let your thoughts drown you. The place was empty, perhaps because of the time of day, you thought. Everyone knew criminals preferred the cover of night, and the morning silence made each step you took echo louder than it should.

You stopped in front of Silco's door. For the first time, you hesitated before knocking. This was a point of no return; whatever happened in that room would alter the course of your life forever, though you couldn't tell if it would be for better or worse. Like everything in your life, it was a risky gamble you were willing to take.

Two knocks, followed by a muffled "Enter," were the last sounds you heard before pushing the door open and stepping directly into Silco's lair.

Silco's office was a flawless extension of his personality: stylish, shadowy, decadent, and steeped in a subtle theatricality that seemed to bury old traumas beneath layers of sophistication. The walls, painted in dark tones, absorbed more light than they reflected, and the few points of brightness came from meticulously arranged objects on his desk or trinkets scattered throughout the room. It was as if every piece had been chosen to construct a personal fortress, a space where he could simultaneously conceal his scars and display his power.

The greenish light streaming from the window behind his desk served as the main source of illumination, casting the room in a cold, almost icy atmosphere, with hues that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You found him at the heart of his domain, seated in his chair like a king upon his throne. His posture was impeccable—his back pressed against the chair, one arm resting casually at his side, while the other held a set of files. He seemed completely absorbed in the documents, but as soon as he registered your presence, he lifted his gaze with a calmness that was almost insulting. What truly caught your attention, however, was how his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every detail like a collector assessing a prized piece. He was subtle, as always, but you knew that look all too well. Beneath the mask of indifference, there was something deeper, more intense: the fire of his possessiveness burning behind those irises.

"You made quite a scene coming here." his voice reverberated off the walls, low and controlled, but with a weight that made your skin prickle. There was no overt irritation in his tone—just an observation he seemed to find almost amusing. "Especially dressed like that." he gestured vaguely toward the oversized coat you wore, the heavy fabric hanging awkwardly off your frame. "If your intention was to draw attention, congratulations. You succeeded."

"As if you care..." the retort slipped out effortlessly, polished but devoid of any humor. You remained standing, still debating whether the moment called for a direct attack or if you should continue with the dance of provocations. "People were already whispering about the 'whore' you took for yourself. I just gave the rumors a face."

Silco's eyes glinted with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He tilted his head slightly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "It was reckless."

"I don't deny it." you shrugged with the nonchalance of someone who couldn't care less, taking a few steps forward over the carpet that seemed to swallow the sound of your movements. "But in the end, nothing would've happened to me, right? I know you sent your men to escort me. They're not exactly subtle."

It was pure bluff. You had no proof that Silco had actually assigned bodyguards to shadow your every move without your knowledge, but it was a safe bet. He seemed intent on maintaining absolute control over every aspect of your life, directly or indirectly. And even if you were wrong, it didn't matter.

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. He knew you were bluffing—of course, he knew. Unraveling lies was an art he had mastered. But, curiously, he didn't challenge you. He allowed you to keep that advantage, perhaps more intrigued by your audacity than inclined to argue.

"I take precautions," he finally said, his voice as firm as the steel that held Zaun together. "Zaun is no place for recklessness. Especially for someone who insists on testing the limits."

You crossed your arms, feigning indifference to the implicit threat. "And don't you live by testing limits, Silco? Seems a bit... hypocritical, coming from you."

The provocation had the desired effect. Silco rose slowly, every movement calculated, as though pondering the best way to deal with your defiance. The chair swiveled slightly behind him as he made his way toward you, circling the desk with the grace of a predatory feline. Leaning against its edge, right in front of you, his proximity made the air thicker. Without even touching you, his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest—perhaps from fear, perhaps from expectation, or something else you refused to acknowledge.

"I know my limits." his voice was barely above a whisper but carried the weight of an unspoken threat. He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly while keeping his gaze locked on yours. "And I assure you, I know exactly how to hold them. The question, dove, is: do you know yours?"

You rolled your eyes in disdain.

"Don't lecture me about limits, Silco. Not after the damage you caused." your voice lashed out, brimming with restrained fury, though the subtle tremor in your hands betrayed you. Every fiber of your being screamed to close the distance between you, to make him feel at least a fragment of the pain that consumed your chest. "You killed her."

"I did." the response came so simple, so direct, that it seemed to rip the air from your lungs. There wasn't a trace of regret in his voice, no shadow of remorse in his eyes. It was as if he had admitted something trivial, like the day being overcast.

"You're not even going to deny it?"

"I gain nothing by denying something you already know." Silco seemed disinterested, even bored, as though the entire scene was just another interruption in his meticulously planned day. He studied you, but not cautiously. "I gave her a chance."

You laughed, but the sound was hollow, cruel—a desperate attempt to mock his words. "A chance? Let me guess: you gave her the privilege of choosing how to die, right? The options: crushed by your brute or burned alive in the fire you started yourself."

Silco remained impassive, as though your words had slipped off him without leaving a mark. If anything affected him, it was well hidden. In fact, he seemed... satisfied. Satisfied to see you unravel, to witness the internal war you were waging against yourself. "I gave her a chance," he repeated, his voice low, as if explaining something simple to an impatient child. "I would have killed her that day, but I respected what you said. If she had let go of you, I would have left her alone. I am not the irrational monster you imagine me to be."

He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, the sound of his shoes echoing in the silent room. The proximity made your heart race, but it wasn't fear. It was something more visceral—hatred, perhaps. Your gaze burned, but his was pure ice, an impenetrable force that seemed to crush any opposition. "I don't control the feelings others have for you." he continued, his voice laden with an almost suffocating intensity, "But I can control who gets close. Your friend, Kate, made a choice."

You stood firm, but the weight of his words pressed down on you. "She chose you." His declaration was final, a verdict. "And that was her mistake."

Silco stared at you with the same resolute expression you had learned to despise and, in some ways, admire. He wasn't lying—not this time. It was hard to accept, but you knew that beneath the layers of manipulation and cruelty, Silco possessed a brutally objective honesty. He spoke the truth not because he cared to be honest but because it gave him an advantage. He knew the impact his words would have.

The ache in your chest intensified. The conclusion was bitter: Kate had died because she chose you. She chose to trust, to love, or perhaps just to believe there was something in you worth the sacrifice. And that choice destroyed her.

"Don't blame yourself." Silco's voice was lower now, almost as if he were trying to offer some form of comfort. But his words, no matter how carefully chosen, found no place to settle within you. "Eventually, you'll understand this was for the best. It was for your own good."

You stared at him, your breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrayed your effort to stay in control. He didn't see the error in what he had done. To him, everything was calculated, justified, as if the ends always justified the means.

"For my own good?" Your voice came out incredulous, even shocked if you analyzed its tone. Silco didn't respond. He only looked at you, as though daring you to continue. The silence was unbearable, and you felt anger rise like a wave ready to break. "You destroy everything you touch, Silco. No matter how much you try to mask it with promises of control or security. In the end, you leave nothing but ruins behind."

He didn't blink, didn't look away, maintaining that glacial indifference that seemed so natural to him. It was as though your words were just a distant hum, insignificant, incapable of penetrating the fortress of his composure. But you knew. Deep down, something had been struck. You saw it in the way his gaze hardened, if only for a moment, like a slight crack in a marble surface. You didn't know exactly what your words had touched, but you knew they had left a mark. And even so, he remained unshaken, fixed, silent, as he stared at you with that overwhelming intensity.

"Just like you."

His words shattered the silence with an almost tangible weight. They sounded vague, but you understood. Oh, God, how you understood.

You instinctively stepped back, as if distance could soften the blow you'd just received. Your heels hit the coffee table, causing something to fall and shatter on the floor. The sound of breaking glass reverberated through the room, but it felt like a distant echo, unimportant. If he had slapped you across the face, it would have hurt less than that. Because they weren't just words—they carried a knowledge you had forced yourself to forget long ago.

The question escaped before you could stop it, almost a whisper filled with disbelief: "How do you...?"

He didn't answer immediately. He only tilted his head slightly, his eyes analyzing every nuance of your reaction. Finally, he responded, with that infamous tone of casualness that made your blood boil. "I have my ways."

It was a deliberately vague answer, and the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips confirmed it. A small smile, almost imperceptible, but laden with satisfaction. He knew exactly what he had done. He saw the impact of his words, saw how they carved a hole inside you, and he savored it. Just as you had wounded him moments before, he now returned the attack. And worse, he relished your reaction.

"I know more about you than you think, dove."

Silco took a step closer, shortening the distance with the precision of a meticulous predator cornering its prey. There was something predatory about his movements—calculated, yet fluid—as though he had all the time in the world to ensnare you. Your body froze, rooted to the spot. It was as if the floor had turned to cement and you had become a statue. Your mind screamed frantic commands for your legs to move, but no muscle obeyed. You were trapped there, staring into the headlights of an oncoming train.

"Out there, it's full of people who would use you and discard you without a second thought." His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet each word carried a weight that seemed to crush the air around you. He tilted his head slightly, his narrowed eyes studying every nuance of your reaction. "You know that. You've been discarded before."

He spoke your name slowly, every syllable laden with an unsettling intimacy. It wasn't the nickname he usually used but your true name—and it hit like a weapon in his hands. For some reason, it felt even more intimidating, more personal, as though he were dismantling any layer of defense you might have had.

"I am the only one who has truly protected you so far," he continued, taking another step toward you. The greenish glow from the window fell across his broad shoulders, outlining his silhouette in a way that made him seem even more imposing. The interplay of light and shadow obscured parts of his expression but highlighted that piercing orange iris like a beacon drawing you toward the abyss—dangerous and yet irresistibly captivating. "The only one who sees your worth. Who understands what you're capable of."

He stood directly in front of you now. The greenish light enveloped him fully, casting a distorted halo around him. The sight should have made you shudder, but instead, you found yourself mesmerized by the corrupted celestial image before you.

"I am the only one who knows exactly what you need."

Silco was a serpent, sinuous and treacherous, slithering gently around you while tightening his coils, slowly and methodically squeezing the breath out of you. You knew you needed to break free, to shatter this venomous cycle, but something always held you captive. It wasn't love, nor any twisted imitation of the feeling. It was something darker—a torment intertwined with obsession. A bond that consumed you, toxic and painful like a razor's edge slicing through your skin. And yet, you allowed yourself to be cut, drawn to the danger, to the chaos.

To him.

"Why me?" Your voice broke the silence, taut with tension, like a rope ready to snap. "You could have anyone else."

Your gaze flicked downward for a moment, and then you saw it. Silco's gun, resting within reach in its holster—a solution gleaming like a beacon through the fog of conflicting emotions. Your mind screamed that this was your chance. One movement. One shot. And it would all be over.

Silco tilted his head slightly, following your gaze. "You've already answered your question, dove."

His smile was dangerous, filled with certainty and malice, yet he made no move to push the gun away. He seemed perfectly aware of where your eyes had landed, but as always, he played the game on his own terms. Then he raised his hands, placing them around your face with a disturbingly gentle touch. It was an intimate gesture, almost reverent, but laced with power.

"Anyone but you." his voice was low, a whisper laden with a disconcerting truth. You didn't know whether to believe him or to run. Silco's gaze locked onto yours, hungry, as if he could strip your soul bare and devour whatever he found. There was something primal in his eyes, a raw desire that threatened to consume everything around him.

"You have it in you." the statement came out almost like a prayer, but there was something darker beneath the words. His eyes roamed over your face, attuned to every flicker of emotion, as his thumb traced a slow path across your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. "No one challenges me the way you do. No one makes me feel alive the way you do."

The world seemed to shrink until only the two of you remained. He leaned in, close enough that your lips almost touched, but not quite. The proximity was suffocating, his every breath mingling with yours.

"You wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger on me, would you?" his words were low, tinged with a dark amusement, while his eyes gleamed with a twisted delight. "So, tell me..." he tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely curious about your answer. "Where would you aim? The chest, or the head?"

It was those words that triggered something in you—a switch that should never have been flipped.

The world slowed, as if time had been captured in a slow-motion sequence unfolding right before your eyes. A fragment of reason, and something else you hadn't felt in ages, broke through the chaos in your mind, commanding your body for one fleeting second—the single second of adrenaline you needed to act. Instinct took over, focusing solely on eliminating the threat in front of you. That familiar tingling sensation sparked in your eyes, a sensation you hadn't felt in years. There was no stopping it now.

With one hand, you shoved Silco hard, pushing those burning hands away from your skin, while the other reached for the gun strapped to his holster. You barely registered the sound of him hitting the wooden table—that was all you needed to aim precisely where he stood.

Silco was right, after all.

You didn't hesitate.

The sound of the gunshot exploded in the room, loud and deafening. The recoil jolted your arms, and the echo reverberated like thunder in your head. For a moment, everything was silent except for the sharp ringing in your ears. Your fingers loosened, and the gun slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor with a metallic clang.

You felt your nose begin to bleed, the sensation of the recoil never pleasant, but it wasn't until the tingling in your eyes subsided that you realized they had closed. An involuntary reaction, an attempt to refuse to face what was about to happen. As if shutting your eyes could somehow erase the consequences.

Slowly, almost as if afraid of what you'd see, you opened your eyes. But what you found wasn't blood or a fallen body. It was a thick green smoke hanging in the air, swirling ominously. Before you could react, the substance invaded your nostrils, burning your lungs with a heavy, suffocating sensation. You tried to cover your face with your hands, but it was already too late.

Whatever the smoke was, it acted almost instantly.

A violent cough overtook you. Your body convulsed, your lungs ablaze as you desperately tried not to breathe in more of the noxious fumes. Your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the floor, your legs unable to support your weight. Everything around you began to spin, and a crushing sensation engulfed every fiber of your being. Your vision started to darken, the world around you fading as you fought futilely against the creeping unconsciousness.

"A shot to the head. Quick and merciful..." Silco's voice echoed distantly, muffled, as though it was coming from a dream. "How fascinating."

You thought you were hallucinating. Maybe it was just the smoke, warping your perception, but then you saw him. Silco's imposing figure emerged from the green haze. He walked slowly, each step resonating like a drumbeat in your head. The gas mask covering his face was confirmation of what you should have suspected: he had planned everything. From the very beginning—every word, every provocation, the gun most likely tampered with—it had all been calculated to lead you to this exact moment. You had fallen into his trap.

He crouched in front of you, observing in silence. When your body finally gave out, unable to resist any longer, and your mind faltered, your resistance shattering like broken glass, his eyes were the last thing you saw before slipping into unconsciousness.

Even on the brink of oblivion, you were aware when he pulled you close. Silco's arms, surprisingly warm and firm, enveloped your limp body with a strength that was both possessive and oddly comforting. There was something cruelly gentle in the gesture, as if he were cradling a precious object that was rightfully his. You felt the faint touch of his fingers gliding through your hair—a distorted, profoundly wrong caress, yet somehow... familiar.

"You're safe now, dove."

Part 5

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the blog event, how about Ruggie introducing his granny to Leona? Granny Buchi being a strong/confident women making the best of her situation (plus Leona all around attitude towards women) makes me think he’d respect her.

Leona Granny Killer Kingscholar Part II :v (Part I here!)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

“…san………… eo…na… san…… Leona-san!!”

The lion beastman released a growl as he reluctantly pulled himself up. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, his senses readjusted to his environment—the humid warmth of the Botanical Garden, the cool shade provided by a broad leaf, the colors and shapes of the surrounding plants and flowers.

A scraggly boy with a cap of dirty blonde hair stood over him, dressed in the warm yellow vest and armband of Savanaclaw. Leona would know that easygoing smile anywhere.

“You’d better have a good excuse for interrupting my nap, Ruggie,” he grumbled, laying an arm over his knee. His head still spun with distant recollections of an unfinished dream, something about a singing meerkat and a warthog.

"Nishishi, of course I do," the hyena smirked, his ears wiggling excitedly. "There's someone important I want'cha to meet!"

He stepped aside, thrusting his arms out and wiggling his fingers in fanfare. "Ta-daaah! Meet... my granny!!"

"Your... granny?!"

A stooped elderly woman shuffled into view. Fabrics of all patterns and sizes were draped on her small frame, and her sandals were greatly frayed. They told the same story: clothing chosen by necessity and practicality, not fashion.

Her face, withered by laugh lines and crow's feet, told of her legacy without words. Here was a woman who had laughed and cried, struggled and fought, since taking her first breath. She was a survivor.

The woman squinted at Leona (he vaguely recalled Ruggie lamenting that his family was not able to afford vision correction), then smiled. "You're Ruggie's friend the prince, ain't 'cha? It's an honor to meet you, sonny."

On shaking knees, she descended into a bow.

Leona blinked. Called a cursed child by the palace servants, robbed of his right to the throne, he hadn't expected an ounce of recognition from any of his people. Yet here she was, genuflecting to the scorned second born.

"... Raise your head," Leona ordered. "There's no need for that. I'm no king."

"I ain't bowin' to ya because of that! I'm payin' my respects to the man that turned our lives ‘round."

“… What’s Ruggie been running his mouth about now?”

“Just the truth! You know me, Leona-san! I’d never lie.” The impish grin on Ruggie suggested otherwise. “You tutor me and give me free stuff—like clothes you don’t want anymore. I even get to bring back extra dough while being a student thanks to babysitting… er, I mean running errands for you! It’s really upped our quality of life.”

“That it?” Leona scoffed quietly. “I don’t need praise for doing so little. This is nothing.”

Improving one family’s life isn’t worth much. Not when there’s so many others that need it too.

“No, Ruggie’s right. You don’t need to be humble,” Granny Bucchi crowed. She placed a hand on Leona’s—and he almost flinched at how small she was, how she shook from old age. "I'm a good judge of character. I don’t believe all the hooey they say about ya. When I look at you, Leona-sama… I know our country’s future is in good hands. I can only hope I live long enough to see it!!”

The elderly hyena laughed at her own dark joke. The laughs quickly devolving into coughing and wheezing, Granny Bucchi nearly folding in half.

“Oi, take it easy,” Leona muttered. He moved an arm behind her to offer support and placed his body in front of the woman, preparing to catch her if it came to that.

“What a gent,” Ruggie snickered, earning a languid look from his dorm leader.

“Only a heartless monster would stand by and let a woman keel over,” he scoffed. “… Hey, you good?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, brushing him off. “Appreciate the concern, youngster.”

“… Right.” Leona rescinded, as per her request.

“See? What’s I tell ya, Granny? Leona-san has a biiig heart after all,” Ruggie teased. “He helps out little old ladies!”

“Little old ladies?” The lion scoffed, his tail flicking. “Don’t insult your grandmother, Ruggie. This woman single handedly raised you from your diapers. She clothed you, bathed you, fed you, and loved you. She’s resourceful. A survivor. And she made you one too. You owe a lot to this ‘little old lady’—so show her more gratitude than that.”

Ruggie stared at him, jaw open. “Ehhh… You’re seriously gonna lecture me in front of my granny?! You’re so mean to your right-hand hyena!!”

Granny Bucchi hooted. “Hahahah, I like you! You put my Ruggie in his place. Nothin’ like the usual royals. You’re a man of the common folk.”

“Hah.” Leona failed to suppress a chortle. A man of the common folk, huh? “I wonder…”

[k9wa]

𑣲 PREPARED. ft. BLADE

⠀ — he will not be overcome. blade prepared for this day

⠀ OR

⠀ — you’re only human and blade isn’t as ready for your death as he thought.

⚠︎ angst, some gore (?) character death, gn reader, this is kind of old

blade prepared for this day.

he reminded himself of all whom he’d seen fall in his years of existence with every breath he took.

blade prepared for this day.

the stellaron hunter had become well acquainted with his own immortality and the grief that without fail would follow him for all eternity.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew it was best to keep his distance from others, especially from humans. friendships or relationships of any kind were feeble and short-lived for a man like him. if you could even call him a man.

blade prepared for this day.

…so why was he speechless?

why had his breath betrayed him?

why did his legs grow weak, how was he brought to his knees with such ease, skin scraping harshly against the concrete beneath him?

blade prepared for this day… hadn’t he?

well, perhaps he’s slipped up a few times. but he was allowed that much, no?

maybe he shouldn’t have indulged you in so many stories of his travels, or the kinds of people he’d met along the way. but it was only because you were always so eager to hear about them, and the dejected look on your face when he’d say no was irritating.

and sure, he probably could have done without the gentle touches and almost domestic intimacy, but that couldn’t have done too big of a number on him. the emotions blade felt ranged from numb to violent, and had not stretched farther than the between for the last hundred years at least. a kiss to your cheek or your arms wrapped around him from behind couldn’t have really changed that.

no. it couldn’t have.

because blade prepared for this day.

he repeats it in his head like a mantra as he cradles you to his chest, your blood staining his bandaged and scarred hands as it drips to the stone floor. there's a sea of bodies surrounding you, a sign of blade’s inevitable victory alongside your inevitable demise.

all blade could do was watch as the spear pierced through your flesh and bones like they were butter, time almost slowing down as he bolted to your side as fast as he could once he noticed the pointed steel hurling towards you.

he was too late, only arriving in time to catch you as your knees buckled before you could tumble to the ground.

it was clean shot through your heart and left lung, tip of the spear poking out of your chest and staring him menacingly in the eye.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew you would not survive.

humans were fragile. a piercing shot through some vital organs was more than enough to take your life.

he pulled it out as quickly as he realised the tragic truth, hoping to make you more comfortable. he whispers small, rushed apologies into your ear as you cry out from the steel ripping through you again, this time the opposite way.

ren fought to keep his hands steady as he held you tightly against him. he would not panic in your final hours, he would not be an addition to the turmoil of your unfair death.

blade prepared for this day.

he sucks down the urge to scream out and curse the aeons for doing this to him again. he swallows the desire to pierce himself with the very weapon that would take you from him as punishment to himself for thinking this time will be different.

a calloused hand is held to your cheek as your body clings to its life, small choked gasps leaving your lips as if your lungs could even hold the air.

ren rests his forehead against yours, swirls of tangerine and crimson and pale skin shining through your cloudy vision. your efforts to speak are in vain, he just shushes you quietly.

“just look at me.” his voice is quiet, eerily calm and surprisingly comforting.

his thumb rubs small circles on your cheek, he can feel the puddle of blood on his pants growing. you comply, gazing up into his hardened eyes as you swear you see grief shining behind them. perhaps it's just the blood loss.

“you’re okay.” ren’s voice is like silk, despite its natural rasp. he tries to will himself to crack the slightest of smiles for your comfort. he cannot.

blade prepared for this day.

your hand shakily raised up to try and hold his, and all you can do is weakly grab onto his wrist. yet you’re smiling. you turn your head slightly to the left and kiss his palm, and blade does not see fear nor anguish in your eyes. he sees a sea of peace, two lakes of adoration staring back at him.

“you’re okay.” he repeats, lips meeting your forehead softly. “i’ve got you.”

it proves harder and harder to keep his hands steady as your eyes grow heavier, fluttering shut. he pulls you closer to him, squeezing his own eyes shut as if just seeing your face was pushing him over the edge.

blade prepared for this day.

he can feel your breaths shortening, becoming more shallow. he sucks in a breath.

blade prepared for this day.

“i’ll find you.” he wouldn’t. the place your mind and soul would travel to was the only place in the galaxy he traversed across that he could not reach despite his endless and verying attempts. whether the empty pledge is a futile attempt at a comfort to you or him will remain unknown.

blade prepared for this day.

whether the words reached you or not also remains up in the air. ren watches as your chest stops attempting to rise. if you were anyone else, he would be jealous.

blade thought he prepared for this day.

but realistically, nothing could ever truly prepare him again and again for the feeling he knew all too well; loss.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[nightmareweaverz]

What is Love? (Mr. Gap x GN!Reader) Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

CW: Mild gore/injury, a bit of violence but nothing extreme

Word count: 2536

Since people enjoyed it and I had some ideas, I decided to continue this! We meet someone new in this chapter. Keep in mind it's not gonna turn into a love triangle, tho. The new character serves a different purpose. Enjoy and lemme know what you think!

Another book falls shut with a loud thump next to the armchair that's held you for the past two days. A large stack rests beside it. You've been leafing through many of them lately, especially romance books. Not all of them fit your taste, some you would even call boring. Reading wasn't a hobby of yours when you were in the human world, but here, you've found this more enjoyable than walking around with no real purpose. Even the boring ones become less boring eventually. It’s nice to pretend you are a character in a story, with a different life, one that has purpose. Unlike your current reality.

Until you run out of books. Then you have to go out searching for more. This is one of those times. You've read everything from your last find. It was mostly magazines and newspapers, save for one or two novels, some of them half shredded. But their job is done now.

Crowbar in hand and hood drawn over your head, you detach yourself from the armchair and set out on your little mission. Your previous haul is left behind. There is no point in trying to keep any of the things you've finished reading. They'd only slow you down in this ever shifting maze.

The hallways are as creepy and hard to navigate as usual. A locked door here, imminent danger there, some horrific friendly residents and other equally horrific non friendly residents. The usual.

While you're peering inside a vent in an attempt to see if you can use it to get past a wall, Mr. Gap pays you a visit.

“Hello,” he greets you.

“Hello. Can take other room?” You point at the wall.

“Can take.”

“Danger there?”

“No danger. Lots of object.”

That's exactly what you were hoping to hear.

“You take me?”

“Take, take.”

He grabs your arm. Your vision goes black for a moment, as it always does when Mr. Gap moves you from one place to another. Everything goes quiet and you briefly feel a chill envelop you. Then you're in a new place, the room he promised to take you to.

“Thank you.”

Lately, he's been doing a mix of asking for body parts and doing things without wanting anything in return. Whether he’s trying to be nicer or he plans on asking for something later, is unknown to you. The occasionally friendly company is still appreciated.

You turn to the piles of random objects fallen from the human world. A far larger pile than usual. With a little bit of luck, it won’t all be full of worthless junk. You get to sorting through them before an earthquake can do it all in.

“What you search?” Mr. Gap's face peeks out from beneath a toppled over armchair.

“Lots of paper.”

Old dirty clothes, a couple abandoned toys, a lamp, a bike wheel, they all get thrown around in your search. You let out a triumphant “Yes!” when you stumble upon a copy of Frankenstein. It's not romance, but it'll keep you busy nonetheless. You shove it beneath your underarm before resuming the search.

“You like paper? Me like paper,” Mr. Gap comments as he reappears in another nook between two wooden planks.

“Okay,” you say dismissively. Normally, you'd humor him, but this world is unpredictable and you want fuel for your newly acquired pastime before it decide to bury everything beneath a pile of rubble.

You turn over a seat pillow and his face suddenly pops up in the space beneath. He holds out a magazine.

“Oh, thank-”

“Me want your finger.”

This slimy gremlin. You flash him your middle finger, only for a moment, before he can misunderstand and rip it off. The gesture confuses him, but the following grumbles must mean it didn't fly over his head entirely.

“Stop take my paper. Me not give,” you warn that you won't exchange any body parts for magazines he finds before you do.

But he knows this by now. It must simply delight him to see the furrow in your brow and hear you huff in irritation. You return to your task, refusing to grant him anymore satisfaction.

One pile of random objects later, he pops up again, this time with another book. This one is small, made of thick cardboard. The brightly colored cover suggests that it's for children.

“Me give, you teach me,” he says this time.

“Teach what?” He better not be about to ask you to sing itsy bitsy spider.

Mr. Gap opens up the book on a page where a cartoon little boy is offering a flower to a little girl. “What this?”

Where did he find that? Has he been trying to learn more about love? Is that why he's curious about such a gesture? The idea makes you find him kind of cute if it's true. Have you both just been reading romance related material, fumbling like idiots to figure out how it works?

As for explaining it, first, you point at the flower and say the word for it in English, since you're not sure there's a term for it here.

“This flower. Human give flower to person they like. Flower nice, pretty.”

Mr. Gap attempts to speak the new word. “Flower?” He stares at the illustration for another moment, then smiles creepily, the way he always does. “Thank you.”

In exchange, he gives you the magazine he'd tempted you with earlier. It’s a paranormal one. Knowing him, he’s already read through it. Read… Can Mr. Gap read? He doesn’t understand your language when you speak it, but he seems particularly fond of magazines. Is it all for the pictures? Maybe you’ll ask him next time.

You tuck the magazine next to the book and continue through the pile.

Once your left arm is satisfyingly full, you leave the room, now in search of a safe place to sit and read.

The sound of footsteps suddenly approaching nails you to the spot for a moment. Your hand instinctively grips the crowbar tighter, preparing for the worst. Whatever is coming, it better not force you to drop your books and flee. Because then you will be pissed. And you tend to lose control when you are pissed.

Fortunately, what walks in does not prove to be threatening. In fact, it's not even a resident. A young man with messy red hair cautiously steps in, then immediately freezes when he spots you. The sight of him nearly knocks all the air out of you. There is another human in the Other World. A living, breathing human, something you thought you'd never see again.

You are aware of how frightening you look. The bloodied raincoat, the silver hair, the bandages on your face and your blotchy, dark reddish skin. You often turn away quickly when faced with smooth metal, glass and, god forbid, mirrors. It's hard to believe the image you see is you. So his fear of you comes as no surprise. It serves as a grim reminder of what you've become.

“Hello.” When you speak, you use your native language.

“You speak English?!” the young man sounds startled and relieved at the same time.

“Yes… What are you doing here?”

Speaking complex sentences feels far better than you expected. It brings you a type of joy and nostalgia that startles you. Had you been missing it that much?

“I… I don't remember how I got here. Or what I was doing before. I'm just looking for the exit. Can you help me?”

This sounds painfully familiar. You remember when that used to be you. When you still had hope. And that memory tugs at something in your chest and urges you to make sure this man finds that exit. Before it's too late.

“I can help. What's your name?”

Such a human question to ask. The idea of using someone's proper name also makes you happy. When exactly have you become the type of person excited about complex sentences and names?

“I'm Robin. And you?”

You give him your name and he nods uneasily. Perhaps he hasn't been here long enough to be unphased by residents. That's good. It means there's still time.

“Mr. Gap?” you call out as you turn to the nearest crevice you can find. He appears as he always does. “Can take person exit?”

He glances at the human behind you, who is now observing warily. Then he shoots you that annoying grin of his. “Me want your heart.”

“Uh! Not give heart! Lead exit!”

“Not give? Goodbye.” And then he disappears.

You feel a strong urge to smack that grin right off his face. But he's gone and it seems like it's up to you to help this man find his way out.

“What did you talk about?” the man in question asks.

“I thought he'd help, but I overestimated his kindness… Come on, we need to find an elevator. It will take you out of here.”

“Alright… Um, thank you!”

His thanks is met with a dismissive little wave from you. Begrudgingly, the books have to be left here. The chances of finding them again are very slim, but you'll be less efficient with one arm entirely full.

The two of you set out to search for the exit.

The first rooms you pass through are an empty blessing. Robin isn't very talkative. Despite his wide shoulders and tall build, he appears quite timid and frightened. Every time you enter a new room, he first pokes his head in cautiously, then he dares to advance once he knows the coast is clear.

Is this how you used to be? Frightfully wandering the Other World, aided by Mr. Crawling, scared of your own shadow? It's a stark contrast to the apathetic stride you've developed since your return.

“How long have you been down here?” Robin asks after a prolonged silence.

“A while. It's hard to keep track of time here.”

“Is there… no way to turn you back?”

“I had a friend who was searching for a cure. But we got separated…”

You don't want to think about Mr. Silvair or the rest right now. You'd rather just focus on the task of finding the elevator.

“Is your friend like the guy in the hole?”

“Uh, no! That guy is an annoying little jerk who only does as he pleases.” Your face twists in annoyance just thinking about Mr. Gap. He could've effortlessly helped out, but he chose to be a pain instead.

“Oh, sorry.”

The hallway ends with two identical doors. Doors. They're so annoying in this world. Immediate death, sudden threat or a boring room could be waiting behind one and usually there's no way to tell them apart unless you open it.

“Stay back,” you instruct the human as you cautiously turn the doorknob.

Through the crack you've opened, you see a large, mostly empty room apart from a shelf with various toys on it. There are no signs of enemies for now.

“Okay, we can go.”

You step inside, you first and Robin cowering behind you. Everything seems fine as you head towards the doorless exit on the other side of the room. Until the door suddenly shuts and locks behind you.

“Who did that?!” Robin exclaims, startled.

You clutch your crowbar tighter, eyes darting around the room. One of the stuffed animals on the shelf suddenly lunges at you. However, you've spent long enough down here to parry such an attack easily. Swiftly, you swing your crowbar and knock it against the wall. Something shatters inside it. It stops moving.

But you have no time to relax. Robin lets out a startled scream. When you turn his way, several other toys are trying to climb him. One of them has sharp teeth and is biting into his arm.

“Get off him, you pests!” you yell out as you knock them off one by one, always followed by that shattering sound.

When he's freed, Robin quickly backs into a corner, cradling his bleeding arm. He's hurt. That's not good. He hasn't begun to transform at all. So his healing is that of a normal person.

“How deep is it? Let me see.”

“What were those things?! They- they bit me!” He’s panicking.

“Robin, you have to calm down and let me see your injury. It's gonna be okay. I'll get you out. But I need to see your arm first.” You try to be gentle. At least that's not something you've forgotten how to do yet.

He stares with wide eyes full of terror at first. But with each new reassurance, his breathing slowly relaxes and his trembling seizes. He offers you the arm. Gently, you roll up the torn sleeve of his shirt. Nine deep little cuts in a semicircle ooze blood on his forearm. It's not fatal, but leaving it untreated would be unwise.

You quickly glance around the room until you spot the dark void beneath the bottom of the shelf. You hurry to it at once.

“Mr. Gap! We need medicine! Person hurt. Blood,” you announce in the other language.

Mr. Gap does appear. He throws one look Robin's way, then grins at you. “Medicine? Can bring. Me want their finger.”

“Oh, for the love of- Give you my finger!” you try to bargain, not in the mood to explain that giving him a human's finger would defeat the purpose of asking for medicine.

Mr. Gap looks almost offended. Perhaps because you usually never say yes to his demands when he asks for your body parts. “Why?”

“Need medicine! Hurt! If outsider give finger, lots of hurt!” you explain, exasperated.

His face twists in displeasure. When he looks at Robin again, his eyes narrow, like he suddenly can't stand him. “Me not want your finger. Me want their finger.”

“Uh! You slimy little sewer rat!” you insult him, fully aware he hasn't a clue what you're saying, but probably able to tell from your tone it isn't nice. Then you turn away indignantly.

“Did your friend not want to help?” Robin asks timidly when you return to him.

“He thinks everything needs to be a transaction. It's fine, we'll manage without him.”

You lift up a part of your raincoat and rip off a piece of the white garment beneath it. Robin holds out his arm once again and allows you to bandage it.

“Why are you going to such lengths to help me?” he murmurs.

Why? You ask yourself that in turn. Perhaps because you didn't make it out. Perhaps you don't want another person to step outside and feel like a shark in the middle of a city, scary yet powerless and out of place.

“I just want somebody else to make it home after I couldn't.”

“I'm sorry…”

“It's fine. I don't need you to pity me. Just try to stay alive. Come on, let's go.”

You tilt your head towards the doorless opening. Begrudgingly, Robin pushes himself away from the corner and follows you out.

You both fail to notice the small roll of bandages that rolls out from beneath the shelf just as you pass it.

[cepheustarot]

What is people's first impression of you?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: In general I can say that people's first impression of you is quite positive! I should immediately note that for many you stand out with your aura, you immediately catch the eye because you have a predominant vibe of a sunny person, kind, warm with whom you can easily find a common language and in general you are affable and friendly. Most people around you feel comfortable and easy to communicate, immediately after spending time with you their mood improves and a good mood remains for the whole day. At the same time many people see youf as a person capable of leading people, you have the traits of a leader, you are persistent, you know how to get along with people of any age because you know how to find an approach to any person even if he is the most sullen, taciturn and with a complex character.  Also many people see you as an intelligent person with high intelligence, you can probably quickly "get out of a situation" and come up with a solution in a matter of seconds, you can find solutions quickly and, in general, react faster than anyone in stressful situations. Despite the fact that you are kind and generous enough to many, you do not cross this line and in case of a quarrel you will stand your ground, do not let yourself be offended but at the same time you will not  fall downward to the level of the offender and will not insult him in return, put pressure on pain points. Many people may get the impression that you are a person who plans everything, not one of those who likes to improvise but strictly act as planned, because this way you feel more calm and you have a feeling that you are firmly on the ground, keeping everything under control.

Pile 2: People's first impression of you is the following: people see you as a very romantic person, perhaps you can often romanticize some situations in life, you are one of those who can find aesthetics in everything, you can often take photos just because you can find beauty in many things. Many people really like the way you take photos, your style and appearance and generally like your vision of the world. You are also seen as an open person, you are very emotional and speak directly about your feelings and share your thoughts. You are also open to everything new, you are characterized by curiosity, a desire to try something new and moreover, you yourself may feel the desire to bring something new into the world! You are a very gentle person who can often get sentimental, you are also very empathic and you have a high level of emotional intelligence, you will never be indifferent listening to someone's life story. You are open to new acquaintances and in general I can say that you like to communicate with people, learn something new about them, get closer but it is difficult to truly become your close friend or your lover because you are selective and careful about choosing your close environment.

Pile 3: First of all people get the first impression of you as a person who has achieved a lot in his life or at least you have an understanding of what you want to achieve in your life. You have probably already planned your actions for the coming years and you are one of those who brings what has been started to the end, nothing can break you and you will not be persuaded, you are very persistent in this regard and always do what you want, what you need without bending to the words of other people. People think that you are a sane person, you can really reason logically, you are not one of those who worry about trifles. You prefer to solve the problem right away without succumbing to emotions, I can generally call you a person of action, you are very hardworking, persistent and always moving forward. You also tend to think optimistically, you will find benefits in any situation, you will find something good and positive. People believe that you value family relationships very much, you love your family and your relatives, you can have quite warm and strong relationships with them, since they always support you and are always on your side, they usually do not condemn your decisions and your actions, because they see you as a mature and adult, an independent person.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤