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beautifulpaprika · 6 months ago

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A Beast and a Bracelet (m)

pairing: fem!reader x beast!jk

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, in the forest!

summary: You tried saving someone ... again. However, this group is large and bloodthirsty, and trying to lose them in a forest isn't working. Yet, when you find a cave, it seems to be your saving grace. Not because of what's in it, but who's in it.

word count: 8.7k

Branch after branch hits me in the face- my hair getting caught in the branches more than once as I run from the group of men after me.

“Stay out of the business of men, Y/N,” my father always told me. Of course, when I spotted the ready-to-beat-a-man in front of his children, I couldn’t sit back and chug a pint. I had nothing better to do. I didn’t think through the part where there were three of them and one of me.

The plan was running into the forest where the monster stories came from- stories of missing people and blood trails - in hopes they would be too afraid, but by the footfalls following close behind, I can safely determine they are not as fearful as I am of the forest.

I have no navigation in the pitch black and wood. My lungs feel ready to give up on me, and the noises I hear on my left sound a lot like something ready to pounce on me. But I keep running.

“Come on, brave one! You wanna jump in to our business? We can do this right now!” One of the men calls from behind me. I’m astounded they have the air to be able to catch up and yell at the same time.

I attempt a look behind me, my eyes glancing at a small light catching up. Panic rises in me and boils over, tears welling in my eyes, making finding safety even more difficult.

There’s a dark mass ahead- a cave surrounded by weeds and vines. Pictures of monsters with sharp teeth and blood dribbling down their chin appear in my mind.

“Get her!” one man calls out. They’re on my tail and I have to make a decision.

One foot in front of the other until it’s pitch black in the cave. My footsteps echo off of the cave wall and I almost slip in the mud. The sound of splashing water urges me to turn back. Something is in here, and it’s not a bunny.

I stick close to the wall, unmoving.

Unfortunately for me, a light shines in the cave.

“There you are,” the one in front says. They all have a hungry look in their eyes that tells me everything I need to know about their intentions.

My eyes sting from the tears welling. I should’ve listened to my father. I should’ve kept to myself.

The frontman grabs my arm, but I scream when his touch is gone as soon as it’s there.

Growling mixing with agonizing screams draws my attention. The light is suddenly gone -it’s pitch black and I hear the nervous panting of the other two men.

The screaming stops and my breath catches, not wanting the creature to hear me. It’s not a second longer when the screams start up and the crunching of bones and ripping and tearing of skin join it.

The gurgle from the second man doesn’t stop before the third one follows. The screams and noises last for a few moments longer. When it stops, I close my eyes. I’m preparing for the death that is to come, asking any forces out there to grant a quick death and for my father to never have to find me.

A huff in front of my face pushes my hair from my face.

I hate the pathetic whimper I give to the creature.

Its breathing is heavy and similar to that of a dog.

“I’m sorry I intruded,” I whine, “I didn’t know where else to go,” I whisper. It feels useless to ask for mercy from a creature that most likely can’t understand me.

However, it doesn’t seem as impossible as I thought when the huffing retreats from me. The hot air is gone, and I’m out of breath when I hear a splashing again- just like the one I heard when I came in.

I squint my eyes, trying to see rather than hear.

There’s a new panting sound coupled with coughing and spitting, but it sounds human. Nothing like the creature growling deep while it tore men to pieces.

Feet slap the wet floor, and I continue to hold my breath, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

“I know you’re there,” a voice calls. It doesn’t sound menacing or annoyed- more matter-of-fact than anything. Rustling sounds move from my right side to across from me.

A light appears, causing me to cover my eyes with my arm to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“A ‘thank you’ would have been nice,” the same voice is right in front of me now. I slowly lower my arm, not wanting to be bombarded by light again.

My eyes glide up to be met with a man’s curious gaze. The light shows off his raised eyebrows and glistening chest. His dark hair sticks to the sides of his face. He must have been the one who was making all the water sounds. I come back down, looking past his legs to the three bodies behind him. I gasp at their state. Torn limbs, popping eyes, frozen faces of shock.

“Oh, that,” he grimaces. “That is quite the mess I’ll have to clean,” he mumbles.

“Who are you?” I look back at him. “Did you do that? How-“

”None of these words sound like appreciation,” he crouches down, his head tilting. “Should I have let them have their way with you?” He asks. I look past him again, a rage boiling inside men from the thought of those torn-up hands being on me instead. I shake my head.

“I’m grateful,” my voice is low.

“Good enough for now,” he gets up again, moving back to the space across from me. “You can go,” he announces and I’m caught off guard by it.

That’s it?

He sets the light down as I stare in amazement. He’s already heaving one body over his shoulder without a struggle.

I slap myself for gawking at his back muscles and the marred skin as he takes one body and starts to carry it out.

The half-naked man stops in his tracks and slowly turns to me.

“You can leave at any time, bunny.” I have to stop myself from flinching at the pet name.

My mind becomes dizzy at the choices of staying or going. This man is new, a mystery, and I can’t help but be curious. He’s the one who saved me and I’m supposed to walk out as if nothing happened?

“I’d like to help,” before he can reject my offer, I’m picking up a ripped-off arm and a toe tossed away. Nausea rises in my body up to my throat, but I hold it back before I make even more of a mess.

I’m ready to follow the man out, but his body is fully turned to me now, the body still on his shoulder. I try avoiding his stare by walking past him, but he blocks me.

His eyes scan me from top to bottom. I shiver under his wandering eyes.

“What are you doing?”

”It’s the least I could do for intruding your. . . space,” I refer to the cave. “And it’s obvious you saved me from imminent death . . . And worse,” I gulp, and his eyes follow the movement in my throat.

I wait for him to say anything or reject my offer, but he doesn’t. He turns, the dead expression of the man on his shoulders flinging towards me. I gag at the wounds down his face.

“If you’re going to do that the whole way, I suggest you go home instead,” he tells me.

I shake my head, despite the fact that he can’t see me.

We trek out into the forest, carrying our bodies (and body parts). The lamp attached to his pants lights the way, but I can’t help looking at the way it drags his pants down his hips a tad. His skin is dry now and I notice the scars down his back more easily.

“You’ll need to clean up afterward,” he says before throwing the body in an empty spot between some trees. “Going home from this forest will have questions thrown at you enough, but coming back with blood? You won’t survive,” he explains.

I throw the hand and toe on the spot.

“You sound like you speak from experience,” it’s as if I have a death wish making such a suggestion, but he laughs it off. Maybe I’m not incorrect. After all, there’s a reason he lives in the cave.

He doesn’t say another word but turns to return to the cave.

“How long have you been out here?” I try to break the silence. He gives me a look. “You have a made bed and some supplies in that cave of yours, your hair is-” he gives me another look and I stop talking. The hair must be a sensitive topic.

“It's been a few years. . .”

The shock in my body slows my walking down. Years?

“Did you run away from home?”

“Something like that,” he shrugs.

I don't ask any more questions for fear of seeming more intrusive than I already am.

“Where is your pond of water?” I ask, trying to fling some of the blood on my fingers.

He freezes at the question.

“You have one. I heard it,” I walk further into the darkness, hoping to find the small body of water.

I notice something glistening and take a step towards it.

But then my feet lose their balance and my back is against the wall. Air leaves my lungs when the man’s face crowds mine, his hands caging me on both sides.

“Don’t. Touch. That. Water,” he’s panting and I can only see the left side of his face. The anger and anxiety cinching every feature.

I notice the splotch of blood sitting on his eyebrow and lick my finger to rub it off.

He flinches when my finger touches him, but his eyebrow doesn’t relax.

“I won’t touch it,” I promise. “I apologize,” I plea that he accepts the apology- my life being at risk and whatnot.

“You don’t owe me anything. Go home,” he breaks away from me turning to gather the next body.

“How do I know they won’t come for you? That you’ll be okay?” He freezes on the spot again. “I want to help!” I confess. I don’t want to prove my father right. Not about not being able to defend myself and not about being useless to this world.

He doesn't say a word but looks back at the body left torn on the ground. It's enough to answer my question.

“I think I'll be alright,” he says. He makes his way out of the cave and I follow after him.

“There are more guys then where that came from, I can promise you that! They’ll come looking,” I try. I try to convince him tha t we need each other. My hope is that he says yes and lets me figure out the mystery that he is.

“I handled three and I’ll handle more,” he grunts as he throws the body into the spot.

“How do you know people won’t find this?” I gesture to the pile of limbs.

“It’s still night. The monsters will take care of it. Monsters worse than me,” he says with a low voice, staring directly at me. The words do as he intended. With a shiver running down my spine, I’m officially afraid.

“I’ll go home,” I tell him, turning away ready to follow the tracks home.

“You do that,” he makes his way back to the cave.

“I‘ll be back tomorrow!” I call.

“No, you won’t!” He calls back before disappearing into the dark.

***

I keep my promise to return. This time I bring bread and treats with me, hoping something sweet is enough to tame the beast. I’m not sure what kind of beast he really is, but what does it matter if he doesn’t hurt me?

It’s clear I haven’t learned my lesson last night by getting into “men’s business”. This man is only half man, so it counts. I suppose.

A leaf crunches behind me, and I swivel to confront whoever’s following me, but Im only met with the sight of a misty forest wind moving through grass and dirt.

“Y-yeah! You better not fuck with me!” I cringe at my voice wavering on the swear word.

“You really spooked them away, bunny,” a deep chuckle sounds behind me.

I swirl to look at the scarred man, a smirk spreading across his face. He approaches me casually, like any man on the street would- except he has no shirt, and his hair is still tousled, and his pants are ripped in different areas.

“Your anxiety is palpable,” he says, tilting his head at me, while tapping a finger top my chin.

“I’m not scared of anything,” I lie.

“I know your idea here is to be brave, but you can’t be brave if you have nothing to fear,” his hand taps the sack hanging in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks.

I hold the bag to him, the smell of fresh bread and cake wafting around us.

“For you,” I push it towards him as his eyebrow lifts. “I don’t have any money, but my father and I can bake pretty well,” I shove it towards him again, but he continue s to stare at me. “Yes. It’s a bribe, but I’d like to show you that this team,” I point to him and myself, “can work out pretty well.”

“And why do you want to be a team?” he asks, his arms crossing over his chest, his biceps protruding. I gulp at them, then catch myself looking back at the man. The smirk tells me he noticed me checking him out.

“I’d like to do more in town, but with the risk of being killed, I can’t do it as much as I’d like. I want your help. For protection,” I propose. I realize the more I talk, the more my body caves in. I quickly adjust to lift my chin and he chuckles at me.

His eyes narrow, then surprise. I try to process the shock on his face.

“You-” his arms uncross and I wait for his words.

“What?” I ask. His eyes cut deep into mine and I suddenly feel awkward in my spot.

He relaxes again, back to his normal composure. “You’ve got a deal,” he announces. Before I can ask him what that was, he’s already turning away and heading in the opposite direction. I try to make out some of the shapes in his back.

I quickly avert my eyes when he looks back at me and start to follow him.

“I brought some other things as well,” I show the bag in my other hand. “Another peace offering, but also . . . basic hygiene,” I shake the bag in excitement. The girls in town never let me braid their hair, but it’s alright. There’s someone who needs my services more anyway.

He doesn’t say much, only continues to walk and even cleans sticks and rocks from the ground.

“It’s a bit useless to clean the forest isn’t it?” I ask.

“It’s meant to be a path, so that you can easily find your way back and forth,” his words catch me off guard. It’s a small gesture, but it’s nice to know he’s keeping me in mind when he does.

I gawk at him for a few moments longer until the noise of running water breaks me out of the trance. We come up on a small creek dug into the ground. This is no cave.

“I didn’t see this last night,” I whisper.

“We didn’t come here last night,” he points out. I give him a questioning look, for him to answer in a shrug, “You said you have a few things for hygiene and a couple of treats - let’s have a picnic, bunny,” I shake my head at the nickname.

“Why do you call me that?”

“I’m big. You're small. I thought that was obvious,” he raises a branch for me and I pass through.

“It wasn’t that obvi-”

“Where did you say you came from?” he suddenly asks from behind me.

“I come from the town just outside of here,” I tell him, turning to face him. He hums in answer. “Have you ever been there? It’s right outside of this forest,” his face scrunches, contemplating.

“I’m from the cave, that’s it. Now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way-” he pulls the torn-up pants down his legs and I gasp at the muscles on him. He could crush a man’s head with those thighs. “Let’s get to that wash,” he says, a hint of excitement touching his tone.

He steps down, slowly, into the water.

I put a fingertip in the water. I hiss at the cold, but he seems entirely unphased. He seems to enjoy it if anything.

I admire the way he’s able to bask in the cold water.

“Alright, what’s next, bunny? Where’s the soap at?” he calls.

“How do you know about soap?” I had assumed he never joined society. I gather my bag, bringing out soap, sponge, a hairbrush, and a pair of nail clippers. I grab the hairbrush first, waving him over.

“I haven’t always been out here,” he explains, slowly making his way towards me. His back faces me, and despite him being taller than me, I still can’t reach him at a comfortable position.

“Can you just . . . come a little closer?” I reach again, only able to reach so far without falling into the water.

He leans backwards, not able to step back without slipping on the tilted creek floor. I reach for his hair, and I’m able to brush it, but the angle is uncomfortable. I try to brush the strands lower, by his neck, but my arms quickly tire.

“Hold on- Just-” I say, trying to fix my posture.

His head turns to give me a side-eye, and I watch him roll his eyes.

“I know something that might help,” he gestures to me to lean over just a bit more. I try my best to have my body hover over the water without falling in.

The man leans over to grab me underneath my arms - my scream muffled by the water rushing into my mouth. My feet are able to reach the ground and thrust me to the surface.

My ears fill with the sound of his laughter once they clear out. I turn to him slowly, the cold water causing my eyes to twitch and my body to shiver . . . Or is that the anger?

“What is wrong with you!” I swear the birds get spooked at my yelling. “I am trying to help.”

“You're trying to butter me up. I already said I would do what you asked, there’s no need to cater to me any more,” his arms reach up to brush his hair back, but his fingers catch easily in the knots. “I brush with my fingers,” he says, proudly.

Despite my anger, I draw closer to him, his breathing slowing as he looks down at me.

“While brushing with fingers could work . . .” I start. I grab his arm and pull him to where his back is facing me again. I try not to stare at the obvious scars in different sizes and shapes running down his back. “It’s not going to do all the work. Trust me, the brush will make you feel lighter.” The weight of my clothing drags me down a smidge but I ignore it. I start at the bottom of his long, dark strands. I expect to hear a ‘hiss’ or feel a flinch on some of the knots, but he doesn’t. He actually seems relaxed. His head leans back and a hum occasionally sounds from him.

I pour more water on his head, following the line down his spine until it meets the water at his waist. I admire hsi figure, dragging a finger down the same path as the water, sometimes detouring to some of the scars.

I kick myself out of the trance, and when I look back up to focus on the hair again, his head is already slightly turned to look at me.

“Um, I’m sorry. I got curious,” I admit.

“About?”

“What your skin would feel like. I don’t think I’ve seen so many scars,” I say. His eyebrows pinch. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing. It’s new. And intriguing. And you should tell me about them,” I add a smile, hoping it’s enough to convince him.

“You ask for a lot. I’ve saved your life, isn’t that enough from me? If anything I should be asking you for more,” his arms cross. I snort at how pouty it makes him look.

“Well, I’m brushing your hair aren’t I? You know how many other men’s hair I’ve brushed?”

He turns in genuine interest.

“No one. No other man’s hair! And!” I reach for the bag sitting on the edge of the creek, ready to fall in. I dig through the bag, revealing another gift - a bar of lavender soap. “How many people have I given soap to? Zero,” I push it towards him, the bar leaving white residue on my fingers.

He reluctantly takes it, eyeing it, then me, then it.

“I’m not sure this is the compliment you-”

“Ungratefulness is not very becoming of you,” I interrupt.

His eyes peer up at me from under his eyelashes. “I’m still a bit sore, you know, from saving your life,” he says. I nod in understanding. “I’ll need help using this,” he hands me the bar.

I freeze my hands from playing with the water. I scan his face for any sign of joking, but he continues to hold it to me.

I take it, and he steps closer immediately, his body towering over mine. My attempt at not appearing nervous doesn’t work.

“I’ll do it if you can answer one question,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes but agrees. “Why is the water in the cave off-limits but the creek isn’t?” He’s initially annoyed by the question, but I watch him relax.

“It changes me. It’s the reason I was able to become the monster that helped you,” he flinches when I start to lather him in soap. Creek water isn’t the cleanest, but it’s all I have to make the soap softer. “The reason I couldn’t let you go in it is because it’s not something you easily come out of,”he explains. My hand trails over his abdomen and up his sides, he inhales sharply, but recovers quickly.

“What exactly do you turn into?”

“Half human, half dog, half beast. There are too many ways to describe it. It doesn’t help that at first you aren’t aware that you’re something else. It takes a couple of tries to not lose your mind. Some have succumbed to the madness, and others take it, go into town, cause chaos, and get themselves killed.” His eyes are distant as he talks. There’s something that tells me he is talking from experience. “It doesn’t help that when I take that form of the beast, it drains my energy. My human energy isn’t meant for a big body with that strength. It’s draining.”

“Are you the only one now, besides me, who knows about it?” I reach his neck, noticing a big difference in cleanliness.

He nods in answer.

“You haven’t lost your mind, though. Why are you different?” he shrugs at my question.

“I had a good mentor, at first,” his eyes turn down, “I also had a lot of motivation, I guess,” he holds his arms forward for me to wash.

“What was your motivation?”

He waits - the crickets nearby and the trees still.

“You’ve asked much more than one question now. The focus should be on getting this dirt off of me,” he wades over to the edge. “You should get my legs too,” he lifts one onto the wall and I screw my eyes shut, squealing- the sound of his laughter a massage to my brain.

***

The next day it’s raining. I cover myself with the sack that I brought for Jungkook (a name I learned while I was soaping his legs - truly a heartwarming moment.) This time it has a few shirts I stole from my father.

Jungkook told me I shouldn’t come back again at the risk of someone catching onto the fact that I was going into the forest too often. Judging by the trees surrounding me, I didn’t listen. I’ve checked my surroundings a million times before coming in.

A noise behind me makes me jump, but I start humming to soothe the nerves. I brought Jungkook a small cupcake with a bunny iced on the top. It’s a bit wet now from the rain, but I’m almost certain he’ll still like it.

After our day at the creek yesterday, I feel like he knows me better than anyone. The only thing I haven’t figured out is why he decides to stay out here instead of joining the rest of society. Well, when I truly think about it, I guess I can understand why he wouldn’t want to.

I release a breath when I arrive at the cave, grateful that I didn’t forget where it is.

“Jungkook?” I call as I walk in. My lantern is able to light up the slick walls. There’s running and shuffling until I approach him. He’s sitting criss-cross on the ground on a sheet, wide-eyed and open mouthed. “Jungkook? What are you doing?” I slowly approach him.

“Nothing. Sitting here,” he says it too quickly to believe him.

“What do you have behind you?”

“What’s that in your hand?” he nods to the cupcake I’m holding- the picture of the bunny looks a bit sad now. I don’t miss the way he decided to change the subject, but I can’t be bothered to bring it back up. He’ll have to move eventually.

“It was a cupcake,” I step closer and sit in front of him, he tenses a bit, “but the rain kind of . . .” I show it to him. He looks at it and I think I see a smile spreading across his face. I have to check twice that it’s not a teasing smile, but what I thought was true. He’s looking at it fondly.

He reaches for it, releasing whatever’s behind him.

“Thanks, Bunny,” he says. He doesn’t eat it but sets it beside him instead.

“Are you going to tell me what’s behind you now?” I ask. He’s right back to being tense. His mouth opens and closes, resembling a fish, and before he can say anything else, a voice yells out. We freeze and look out the mouth of the cave.

“Where the fuck did she go?” a man yells out again. Even with the rain, I can hear him clearly, meaning he’s too close. “Keep going! That bitch definitely had something to do with their disappearance!” he announces.

They know. They must be friends of those men’s whose bodies we dumped - and they followed me here.

Shit. How many times do I have to tell myself that I should have listened?

“Jungkook . . .” I whisper, but he’s already standing when I turn.

“Stay here. I’ll take care of it,” he demands. The gentle Jungkook who accepted my soggy cupcake is gone - replaced with a Jungkook who looks ready to drown someone in the very creek water we swam in.

“I’ll come with you,” I get ready to stand.

“Y/N . . . I appreciate it, but please don’t. It was always me who was supposed to take care of it. I’d feel a lot better if you stayed here,” with that, he jumps in the water. Meanwhile, I’m still caught up in how he knew my name. Jungkook may have fessed up his own, but I never did the same.

His beast rushes out of the water and I have no time to take a glance at him. His gray skin is the only thing I spot paired with a panting noise as he runs out.

Waiting in the cave for a mere three seconds is already torture. The waiting is agony especially when I can’t hear anything and not knowing how many followed me into the forest.

I occupy myself by looking around the cave, not that there’s much to look at. I spot the thing Jungkook was holding behind his back. It looks like a bracelet but made with flowers and grass. I smile at it. Jungkook hiding his soft side makes the bracelet all the more special.

A roar yanks my attention away. Yelling and screams rise above the rain from multiple people- more than three. I can’t just sit here. I can’t.

The rain drops are cool against my skin and I pick up a long stick as I run in the direction of the chaos.

My confidence in being able to help is not high, but my motivation is. There’s a pained whimper this time from Jungkook. My feet move faster now. It doesn’t matter if they can hear me coming to them as long as I’m able to get there- as long as he isn’t alone.

A choked sound comes from below me. One of the men Jungkook dealt with reaches out with the one arm he has left. His mouth forms the words “Help me,” but I look away before he can say anything else.

Leaves crunching and sounds of a struggle lead me to a clearing. Bodies are scattered in every part of the clearing, unmoving. There are a few bodies beyond the trees as well. This was much more than the three men Jungkook dealt with in the cave.

The beast himself sits in the middle. His skin is gray and slimy with hair in very few places. This form is indeed much bigger than the Jungkook I know.

I quickly approach without saying a word and examine his condition. He’s lying on his side, his breathing shallow. There are a few scratches on his sides and a gash down his face. He’s exhausted and I think back to when he said the beast form is not meant for him to stay in for a long time. His body exhausts easily and if he used a majority of it on fighting these men-

Damn it. I should’ve asked what happens when that energy is spent. Of all the times I have been nosy in my life and I couldn’t do it in such a crucial moment.

Jungkook’s beast eye peers up at me and huffs. I ignore the scolding and focus on how I’m going to help him. The pond is too big to be brought to him, so I’m going to have to bring him to it. I don’t let the thought of “How?” linger in my mind too long before I’m picking up his legs and dragging him with as much force as I can bear.

His groan is quiet behind me.

“Don’t speak! Don’t do anything!” I yell. I avoid one or two bodies. I haven’t made it far and my arms and back are aching.

“Use your legs, or you’ll do some damage to your back,” Father’s words echo in my mind. He’s told me so many wise things and yet I can never listen. It’s how I’m in this predicament in the first place. It’s the reason Jungkook is dying.

My throat closes as tears well up in my eyes.

“I’m not letting you die.”

***

Jungkook is practically on the brink of death when I dump him in the pool of water. The lantern lights the red stringing through the water and I cross my fingers that he doesn’t drown.

“Please, please, please,” I whisper, screwing my eyes shut, a tear falling as a result. “You’re my only friend, Jungkook. . .” I whisper. “Don’t leave.”

As soon as the words escape me, a head surfaces above the water. I’m on my knees in an instance reaching for him. He’s still very heavy when I pull him in, but nothing compared to when he was the beast.

“You’re okay!” I wrap my arm around his neck and pull him in. He hugs me back for only a second before I feel his body limp and fall. “Jungkook? Jungkook!” I call for him, but his breathing is weak. I pull him to where his sheet is, laying him gently. His eyes close and he enters sleep. I notice a bit of blood dripping down his face and sides from the battle.

I make sure his breathing is okay then leave him to rush back into town on a mission to take anything that could save him.

***

It’s the second day since Jungkook was attacked and it’s raining again. He’s woken up a few times for water, but nothing else. The bandages on his waist glare at me as I sit on the opposite side of the cave, humming a song, playing with the bracelet he has yet to finish.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” his voice pipes up. I rush to him, a cup of water in hand from the creek. “I’d thought at least by now-” I put a finger to his lips- the rasp of his voice anxiety inducing.

“You need to save your energy. We can talk when you’re back to being normal,” I tip the cup into his mouth, and he takes it. When I’m done, he sits up despite my protests.

“I thought you liked the fact I wasn’t normal,” he whispers, his eyes off in the distance. I ignore the words seeing as that’s not my priority. “And I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about back then,” he meets my eyes now, then glides down to the bracelet I’m wearing. I’m ready to question what he means when I look at the bracelet.

It’s like a key now. A key to a memory I put away a long time ago.

***

11 years ago

“Keep crying. ‘S not like there’s anyone who’s gonna help you,” the blonde kid, nicknamed Jester, hits the boy again and I flinch behind the wall. “Where’s your parents?” Kicks him again and gestures for his friend to join in - and he does.

I can’t watch this anymore.

“Stop fucking with me-” before Jester can kick him again, I jump in, putting my body in front of the one who’s on the ground.

“What is wrong with you two!” I yell out.

“Mind your business, Y/N!” he tries to push me but I won’t budge. Finally, my height does something other than be the butt of every joke in town. Father always said I was an early bloomer and that my height could be an advantage. I didn’t see that until now.

“Fuck you!” I spit at him, surprised at my own cursing. If he was angry before, he’s enraged now. His fist reels back, and I see it coming, but the boy behind me rushes him, tackling Jester. His friend looks to me. Before he can make any moves, I rush up to him and swing my leg up to his middle, hitting my target right between the legs.

“Run!” I yell. With one down we should be okay.

The boy gets off of the blonde and runs to me, taking my hand and leading me into the forest. I don't know where he's taking me, but if I saved him that means he won't hurt me, right?

We slow to a cave entrance. He turns to me, but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, noticing the cut under his eye. He nods, still not saying a word. “Those boys are assholes,” I cover my mouth at the bad word. “Sorry, but it’s true,” he laughs at me. I can’t believe he’s laughing at me after I saved his life. Then, I find myself laughing with him and it’s strange.

He gestures for me to follow him deeper in the forest.

We find a spot where he finally kneels on the ground and I follow.

“Do they usually pick on you?” I ask. He nods slowly and moves his sleeve to show scars and fresh cuts on his shoulder. I make the note in my mind that next time I’ll bring something to help heal those.

His hands work and kneed in the grass and grabs a few flowers that are scattered in different places. I see a bug on the trunk of the tree, my eyes trailing up the tree trunk that it travels. Where is it going to go?

A tap on my shoulder takes my attention away. I look down at the boy holding a small bracelet in his hands. He holds it to me, and I take it, trying not to break it. The little flowers spread throughout it tickle my hand.

“For me?” I ask and he nods his head.

“It’s to say ‘Thank You’,” my heart is surprised when I finally hear his voice.

“Hey. You wanna be my friend? I don’t have any,” I say.

His head moves so fast up and down. Finally! I found someone who likes me!

***

“You. . .” I whisper to him, his heavy eyelids covering his eyes staring back at me.

“Me,” he looks at the bracelet sitting in the palm of his hand. I’m grateful he’s distracted while I process the new revelations.

I push up from the ground and head for the exit, quickly stepping out into the rain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” he calls from behind me. I ignore him and try to keep my tears at bay. “Stop!” he yells. I hate that I do as he says, as if I’m his dog. He steps in front of me, and I turn away. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He tries to make eye contact with me and when I refuse, he uses a finger on my chin, the touch heating my face.

“You can try to remind me of the good memories, Jungkook, but don’t forget those good times lasted for a week and you left,” I try to tame the way my voice is breaking. “You were my first friend and then you disappeared. I thought I was cursed for months!” a tear rolls down my cheek. He blinks. Once. Twice. “I get it. That was a long time ago and maybe it didn’t matter to you, but it does to me,” he shakes his head.

“Of course it matters, Y/N. You were my only friend and-”

“Then why did you leave me? Why didn’t you say anything? I risked so much going into the woods to find you.” Scenes of 10 year-old me play out in my head - screaming for Jungkook to come back until my throat itched, poisoning and rashes running down my legs.

“It was going to be my first time in the pool,” his voice is low, “I wasn’t ready, but my mother was dying. Your very precious town was sending search parties to hunt us down. She couldn’t protect herself or me anymore, so I had to do it. I didn’t want to scare you,” his hand lowers back to his side and he takes a deep breath. “I was going through weeks of training myself and when my mom died and I got a hold of it, I went to try and find you, but I wasn’t finding you and it was too risky,” he explains.

My heart cracks at the mention of his mother. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but he only had her.

“You should have told me. . .”

“I wanted to. Trust me, Y/N. I did. But I wanted to figure out everything first before I jumped into it with you. I was also a kid at the time too. I didn’t have someone to guide me. Everyone hated me without being a beast. Could you imagine my fear of what would happen if they found out I am one? Especially with all the rumors and stories going around?” he argues. It’s a solid explanation. This was a long time ago and we were children. “When I saw you again and recognized that it was you, something I wanted more than anything, is for you not to be afraid of me. Your opinion, after a week, was the most important to me.”

Tears start to well up again.

“Just like your opinion is most important to me now,” he whispers, stepping closer. I swallow the lump in my throat. His hair sticks to the sides of his head, some strands covering his eyes that are looking down at me. Goosebumps spread up and down my arms as heat bubbles in my stomach.

“If you’re lying-”

“Don’t even think that,” he takes another step closer. I gasp when his hand wraps around my waist and pulls me to him, our chests touching and my hands resting on his arms. My thoughts are a jumbled mess and all I can ask is how this escalated so quickly. “Don’t go this time. I know I always tell you to leave, but I’m telling you to stay now.”

My eyes blink and I’d like to blame it on the raindrops falling into my eyes, but I’m afraid to admit it’s because of how flustered I am at the stare he’s giving me.

“And where do you get off on telling me what to do?”

“Can I be honest?”

“I’d like it if you were.”

“I think you like it when I tell you what to do.” It’s not the words I was expecting, but I don’t dislike it either. It’s also not false. “Do you want me, Y/N?” he whispers on my lips. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” I say it a bit too quickly.

Just when I think he’s going to plant his lips on mine, he instead asks, “Why?” The question is not hard to answer, but it is one that is difficult to say.

“You’re the only person who makes me feel wanted in return,” I tell him. It’s honest and a much better answer than ‘You’re really hot’. “I don’t want to lose you, Jungkook,” I admit. “So, if you’re going to leave again you might as well-”

His soft lips interrupt me - finally!

A list of things I could be doing right now scrolls through my mind, yet none of them seem as important or as enticing as this is. If I could describe what this kiss is like, I don’t think that I could. No one has kissed me like this in the past. Nothing in the world can compare to the way that he holds me tightly against him, massaging the skin on my waist, while our mouths move in sync and rainwater mixes in with our saliva.

His hands place pressure on hips and I respond by moving backward until I hit a tree. Now that I have back support, his lips push into me harder and I whimper into his mouth. He responds with a moan that runs straight to my core.

We separate, breathing into each other.

“It’s raining,” I say, my clothing completely stuck to me by now.

“It’s not gonna stop me, but tell me if it’s going to stop you,” he brushes a hair away from my face and that’s when I can’t wait anymore. I want him too much to stop now, so I shake my head in answer.

“I don’t want anything else to stop us,” I hook my fingers into his loose pants and bring him closer. The corner of his lips tilt up and his fingers crawl on the side of my neck before pulling me closer to him.

The only thing I can pray for is that there are no more men who have decided to take on Jungkook and are still lurking in the forest, but that seems to be the last thing on his mind when he grinds into me. I moan into his mouth and he swallows it before leaning down to kiss my neck. I arch into him as he gets lower at the same time tickling the skin under my shirt as he lifts it up and over my head.

The rain is cold on me, but it’s worth it when his eyes stay on my perky nipples.

“I-” he gulps. Not so mouthy now.

“You can touch me, if you want,” I hate the way I sound so eager. I thought I would be able to play it cool, similar to the time I first lost my virginity (with a complete douchebag), but Jungkook makes me too nervous to ‘play it cool’. The way his eyes darken when he scans every inch of me, and the way he looks ready to devour me does the opposite of calming me down.

I can only pray to any force out there that I make him feel the way he makes me feel.

“I’ll do more than touch,” the palm of his hand skims the side of my breast, and he leans in. “I’ll do anything to show you you’re mine,” he whispers into my ear. The adrenaline is almost too much - I’m aching for him.

“Then show me what it’s like to be yours,” I whisper back.

He doesn’t look at me, his eyes stay on my lips for a few moments, then he moves down, taking one tit into his mouth leaving me breathless. His fingers tweak the other one, occasionally switching.

“Jungkook- ah!” I gasp. He presses and gropes, then instant repeats. His skin is touching mine in every spot while his tongue continues its ministrations on my chest. I grab onto his hair in case I faint and lean my head onto the tree. The worry of getting bugs on me disappears when he nibbles on my skin.

“I can’t wait much longer,” he sighs when coming back up. His fingers slide into my pants, and push into the space between my legs. I don’t expect it and cry into his mouth. “I don’t want to rush, bunny, but I can tell you’re as desperate as I am.”

I want to argue that I’m not, but it would be a lie. And it’s hard to argue with his fingers pumping in and out of me. He starts to kiss on my neck while his thumb joins in rubbing my clit. I feel a tension building in my stomach, then the knot unties and I release onto his hand.

I’m still on my high when his fingers slip out and he licks them clean. I watch him and I’m prepared to do anything for this man. He already looks fucked out and I haven’t done anything to him. His hair is a mess but it’s a result of the rain mixed with my fingers moving it every which way.

“Now I know you’re ready,” he pants. His pants fall to the ground, revealing the hard-on standing up. It isn’t fair that even his cock is perfect too.

His eyes fall to my pants.

“Can I. . . ?” he asks. I nod, slow.

His hands are gentle as he peels my pants down my legs. I’m suddenly self-conscious when they come down, afraid of him spotting any hair or any marks but if he notices them, he doesn’t bring them up.

“I’ve been thinking about this the past few days. How I’ll make you mine, how I’ll make you scream for me, how I’ll take care of you every day after. . .” He rambles before putting his lips on me again, the kiss frantic and wild, our tongues mixing all while pulling me closer, his hands move to my bare ass. “Jump,” he whispers, and I follow his instruction.

My back hits the tree and our centers touch, bare skin to bare skin. It’s almost overwhelming. I feel as if I’m going to fall, but he makes it look so easy holding me. My heart grows ten times.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He draws me out of my head with a curious glance. I shrug, not really knowing how to explain it, but he still doesn’t move, waiting. “Are you regretting this?”

I hit him on the shoulder. “How could you say that when I’m still here and fully naked mind you!”

“Then what was that look?”

“I just . . .” I pause. It’s nerve-wracking to be vulnerable in front of him. I’m already naked physically, but to be emotionally naked is different. “I keep thinking about how perfect you are.” There’s a surprise written all over his face. “Don’t think for a second I would regret this, even if we are in the middle of a downpour,” I instruct.

A small smile appears on his face.

“You’re perfect for me,” he plants a kiss on my lips before he turns his attention down to adjust himself. He slides into me slowly and a whimper leaves my throat. His hand soothes me, massaging the skin on my butt.

His head falls onto my shoulder, and we stay like that for a few moments as he inches in.

When he starts to move, I already feel the tree scratching my bare back, but I don’t mind the pain with pleasure.

Every part of the front of me slides against him and the rest of my body feels sticky from the humidity. It’s messy, but I can’t imagine this any other way.

His breathing grows heavy as he thrusts into me. His jaw is clenched as he lifts me up and down.

“You’re beautiful. I wish you could see what I’m seeing,” he breathes. “Y/N, oh God, Y/N,” he groans. His words set off a spark in me bigger than before. It’s good to know that even when I’m naked, sticky, messy, he can still see me as beautiful. “I should’ve kept those guys alive and let them watch,” his tone is different now. “I should have let them watch what they couldn’t have.”

“Jungkook, pelase -”

He balances me on one arm, using the other to hold the side of my head while he kisses me.

“I’m almost- oh gosh,” I cry, but before I can jump over the edge he slides out of me. “Jungkook? What are you-?”

I hold onto him when he moves and puts me onto the wet dirt. It’s cold and slushy at first, then warms up at the same time Jungkook hovers over me.

“This is how I always dreamt about you with me,” he says, and slides into me again, my heels locking around his waist and on his back. His body weight rests on me as he moves again and his head falls into my neck.

It doesn’t take long to get me right back to the edge, and from the way his thrusts are getting messier, he’s going to meet me there.

“Jungkook!” I cry as I spill onto him and he does the same.

I notice it’s not raining anymore when all the noise and movement stops.We lay there for a few moments in the quiet after he slides out of me, however, his weight is still resting on me.

“Is your penis gone when you turn into a beast?” I ask, killing the silence. He laughs into my shoulder then lifts his head.

“Why? Do you wanna fuck him too?” he suggests. I smack his shoulder. “Thank you, by the way. I know dragging a beast the same weight of a tree was not the easiest. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had to,” I argue. “You’ve saved me more than once now. The least I could do was try one time.”

“You helped me twice, actually,” he says. I’m back to when we were kids.

“And there might be many more times after this,” I put a hand on his cheek.

“And I’ll save you each,” he plants a kiss on my lips, “and every,” another kiss, “time,” a more passionate one. We stay naked on that floor for hours, looking up into the trees, wondering what life or death situation we’ll have to save each other from tomorrow.

#bts #bts imagines #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook bts #jungkook smut

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fluentmoviequoter · 11 months ago

Text

The Better, Hidden Half

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (takes place in The Rookie 1x20-2x1)

Summary: Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

Warnings: angst, fluffy comfort at the end, spoilers for episodes 1x20 and 2x1 (this is basically a rewrite, but still includes a brief reference to the suicide line from Tim). reader stress cleans?

A/N: The anxiety/stress cleaning bit is completely self-indulgent; sorry. I tried to manipulate Tim's conversations with Lucy to make them sound more platonic (I don't know if it worked though). I absolutely love this idea and had a ton of fun writing it!🤍

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, and he keeps his life separated into two distinct areas: work life and personal life. He tried to bring the two together once, but hated the constant worry that someone from his work life would threaten to hurt people in his personal life or worse, act on their threats. For that reason, for his family’s safety, Tim keeps his life separated, and only a choice few have been chosen to be trusted with a glimpse of both sides of Tim. Angela, Wade, and on occasion, Bishop, see a side of Tim that doesn't exist when he's at work.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How is she?” Angela asks, sitting beside Tim for roll call.

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I trained her, I’m sure she did fine. Better than your golden boy boot, anyway.”

Angela smiles and leans in to whisper, “Didn’t mean Chen.” She turns her attention to Jackson, calling, “80 might be the passing grade, boot, but if you don’t get at least a 90, you should turn in your badge on general principle.”

Tim leans forward to add, “Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you get anything less than a 93.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy answers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?”

Angela elbows Tim under the table, and he glances at her quickly, giving her a displeased stare which only makes her work harder to hide her smile.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“You know, after I pass, there won’t be any more daily evaluations to write.”

“Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Grey enters, Lucy turns to Nolan, who whispers, “I can’t believe he’s single.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy replies, rolling her eyes. “Evaluating a wife daily would cut into his ‘man of honor’ time.”

They silence as Wade directs the TOs to only take easy calls while the rookies finish their last shift before their exams. When Tim assures that he follows direct orders, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, knowing that Angela and Bishop are ready to tease him the moment he looks in their direction.

✯✯✯✯✯

7-Adam-19, silent hold-up alarm activated at Madame Megan’s psychic shop. 2417 Vine. Code 3.

Tim and Lucy enter the back room, taking control of the situation quickly, and he dials in once again to being a cop. Not a family man or anything of the sort. Just a police officer.

As Lucy walks out, and the (fake) psychic hits on Tim, he can only think of one thing. Excusing himself from the room, with a lack of grace that is unlike him, Tim lets his mind wander for just a moment. He thinks of a promise he made, a vow he took, and then his focus is back on his new case, a missing person discovered by a phony Hollywood psychic.

✯✯✯✯✯

Miles away, you are trying to focus on work, though you find it much harder than Tim to simply push your family and your personal life from your mind at a moment’s notice. Fiddling with your necklace, you refrain from grabbing your phone, wanting to text the only person on your mind. Oblivious to the dangers Tim is learning about from the CDC and Homeland Security, you sigh and clench your hands into fists before attempting to focus again.

Before you make any progress on starting the project awaiting your attention, your phone rings. Tim’s name appears on your screen, and you rush to answer, dread filling you. He never calls while he’s working, and you immediately expect the worst. Surely if it were something terrible, Angela or Wade would call you. If Tim is calling, that means he is okay, he is alive.

“Hello?” you ask, releasing a sigh when Tim says your name.

“Are you alone?” he adds, his voice strained.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay where you are or go straight home. There’s a terror cell with a biological weapon; we’re doing everything we can to find them, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tim- yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I- I really can’t say anything else. Not about what we’re doing. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“I will. Be careful, Tim. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your phone beeps as the call ends, and your hand finds your necklace again, one finger slipping into Tim’s wedding ring. He leaves it with you each morning, taking it back with gentle touches and loving kisses when he returns each night. Today, all you can do is trust that he is good at his job and that he will protect you and the rest of LA, and then come back to you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim and Lucy approach one of the possible addresses in the search for newly discovered members of the terror cell.

“Man. And here I thought that test was gonna be the hardest part of my day,” Lucy muses.

“Best case scenario, it’s tomorrow’s problem,” Tim points out. His thoughts, however, are stuck on you, especially when Lucy asks what the worst case is.

“Took you long enough,” the man, Peter Langston, says as he opens the door. “Bag’s in here.”

“Sir, we’re here about the bus you took from Phoenix,” Tim explains.

“No kidding. I called you about the bag.”

“And what bag is that?”

“I thought it was mine on the bus. I picked it up by accident.” Tim follows Langston into a bedroom as he continues, “Noticed as soon as I got home. Called right away. Still took you guys like six hours to get here.”

“Uh, sir, we’re not here about a bag.”

“So, you don’t have mine? My computer’s in there… I went through this one for an address, and all I found was some weird science equipment.”

Tim glances back at Lucy, who calls for the task force at the mention of ‘weird science equipment.’

“Sir, did you touch anything in there?” Tim asks, pulling gloves on.

“Yeah, I cut my finger going through it looking for an address. Some kind of broken vial.”

Tim’s eyes widen and his breath catches as the man raises his bloodied finger, adding that it hasn’t stopped bleeding since it was cut. Hemorrhaging, Tim knows.

“Everything okay in there?” Lucy calls.

“Yeah. Just stay out there,” Tim demands.

The man coughs, and Tim flinches as blood lands on his neck and up onto his jaw. Looking down at the blood on the man’s shirt, Tim’s mind forgets the divide between work and personal life. He takes the initiative to lock Lucy out, slamming the door on her to keep her safe, but his true concern is you. If something happens to him, who will look out for you? Who will be your shoulder to cry on? In a moment, as the reality of the situation dawns on him, Tim thinks like a husband, and he begins to regret keeping you, his wife, hidden for so long.

“Tim, no!” Lucy yells, but she steps forward too late.

Tim is on the other side of the door, a new division created as others are dissolved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim finds baby wipes on a nearby changing table, wiping the blood from his skin as he lies to Langston, telling him it will be okay and distracting him with meaningless treatments to combat the “bad case of the flu the police were warned about this morning at roll call.”

Langston disappears into the bathroom in search of cold medicine, and Tim walks to the door to ask Lucy, “Everything all right out there, Chen?”

“Uh, yeah. The CDC’s on their way,” she responds. “Hey, you need to come out of there.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Got to keep this contained.”

“Tim-“

“It’s gonna be alright, boot.”

Tim knows that Lucy is concerned about him, and he is similarly concerned for her. He feels responsible for her safety as his rookie, but his thoughts toward her are completely and totally different from his fears concerning you, driven by love rather than mutual respect and duty.

“You keep your head in the game, okay?” Tim encourages Lucy. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

As Tim looks at the blood-covered wipe in his hand, he thinks of you, and how you’ll respond to the potential notification that he didn’t make it, taken from you by the very thing he tried to protect you from. He turns his attention back to the sick man feet away from him before his thoughts spiral. Tim needs you, so he needs to focus and survive.

✯✯✯✯✯

While the CDC is arriving at the house and quarantining Tim and the infected man, you are pacing in your shared bedroom. Memories of you and Tim exist in every inch of this house, and every moment that goes by without an update increases your worry. Walking into the closet, you find one of Tim’s recently worn shirts, changing into it before picking up the remote to distract yourself. With Tim’s pillow clutched to your chest, you try to laugh at the ridiculous sitcom on the screen, but it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Chen, you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Morgan asks, dressed in full hazmat gear as she enters.

“Yeah, uh, the bus passenger mistakenly grabbed the wrong bag, and the virus must have been in it because he coughed up blood on Tim,” Lucy explains.

“Did you get any blood on you?”

“Uh, no. I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door.”

“Smart man.”

Tim hears Dr. Morgan’s comment and clenches his jaw, knowing you would disagree entirely. At least in this case.

“Hey, doc,” Tim greets, standing against the door.

“How you doing?” Dr. Morgan inquires.

“Fine. But Mr. Langston’s struggling a little.”

“Can you describe his condition?”

“Yeah. He, uh, started coughing blood about 20 minutes ago. Now he’s got a pretty wicked nosebleed.”

“Why aren’t they coming in? Where’s my ambulance?” Langston asks.

“It’ll be here any minute. Just… stay put. Save your energy.”

Lucy interrupts to ask, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Still in the air,” Dr. Morgan says. “Should land in the next hour or so.”

Scoffing, Lucy argues, “You can’t make Tim wait in there. He might not be infected.”

“Sorry. Quarantine rules exist for a reason.” Dr. Morgan turns to the door and asks Tim, “Officer Bradford, do you mind if I put you to work while you wait?”

“You want to know what’s in the bag?” Tim knows digging through the contents is dangerous, but waiting without doing anything won’t increase his chances of getting home to you.

“Yes, I do.”

“Copy that. Chen, I’m gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there.”

“Okay. Please be careful,” she responds.

Tim hears your voice in his mind, telling him the same thing. He trusts himself to listen to you more than his rookie.

“All right. Here we go,” Tim says, using his baton to open the bag.

“Wait. Wait. What is that bottle?” Dr. Morgan wonders.

“Looks like the delivery device,” Tim guesses, raising it carefully from the bag. “It’s a misting fan.”

Dr. Morgan calls Homeland Security with the new information on how the terrorists are planning to spread the virus. As Tim continues searching the bag, failing to find identification or target information, Lucy sees Langston raising a chair in the mirror and yells for Tim just before he is knocked unconscious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is as clean as it has ever been. Using your nervous energy and anxiety-fueled need to move, you clean each room in an attempt to keep your mind from worrying about Tim. You could call someone and ask for an update, but they probably can’t tell you anything. The only comfort you have is knowing that Angela and Wade would call you if you needed to know something. The silence is deafening, but it’s also a good sign.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim? Tim!” Lucy continues, growing concerned at the lack of reply.

Tim opens his eyes, moving backward quickly when he sees a puddle of blood running toward his face. He sees Langston standing across the room, mumbling about needing to get out as he tries to break the window. Tim tases him as he stands, and Lucy’s concerned yells continue. Covering his face with his shirt, Tim handcuffs Langston to the bed, shuffling backward as Lucy demands his answer.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he replies, breathing heavily. “Well, that was fun.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim chuckles. “Kind of depends on your definition of the word.”

While Lucy tells Dr. Morgan to get the vaccine, and the LAPD sends patrol units out to find the other terrorist, Tim keeps his eyes on Langston, but his mind is on you. He should ask someone to tell you and find a way to let you know what is going on, but part of him knows that you are separate from this for a reason. You’re likely worried enough without knowing that Tim’s chance of being infected rises with each moment.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim watches Langston die, unable to do anything as he begs for help and convulses. Imagining himself in Langston’s place, Tim decides that he has to do something. He can’t go out like that, he won’t, but more importantly, he can’t leave you wondering. If Tim dies today, he is not dying without talking to you one last time, showing everyone around him that you are the best part of him.

He leans against the door in silence until Lucy says, “Hey, I, uh- I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”

“You know, you’re good at a lot of things – lying isn’t one of them,” Tim replies.

“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing? … How are you doing? Are there any symptoms yet?"

"I’m sweating like a pig. But it’s probably because it’s 100 degrees in this room.”

Tim sighs just before Lucy assures, “It’s gonna be okay. I really believe that.”

“I’m sure you do. But if it isn’t-“

“Don’t think like that. It’s-“

“If it isn’t,” Tim repeats. “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”

“What are you saying?”

Tim sighs again, realizing what he said. He would never leave you like that; he’s a fighter. “I need you to do something for me, Chen.”

“Anything.”

“My- my wife is probably worrying herself sick right now. If this doesn’t end like you think it will, can you tell her that I fought to get home to her? Just- just keep an eye on her if anything happens. Wade and Angela, too.”

“Wife?” Lucy asks softly.

Tim smiles, glad to talk about something other than himself or the virus released in the room with him.

“Yeah. We eloped a while back; Grey, Lopez, and Bishop were there.”

“You’ve never mentioned her.”

“I keep her separated. She - everything in my personal life – would be at risk if there wasn’t a divide there.”

“I get that. What’s she like?”

Tim says your name, closing his eyes and picturing you as he tells Lucy how beautiful, kind, and loving you are. “She’s my better half. I don’t- can’t imagine not going home to her.”

“I promise, Tim. I’m confident you will go home to her, but… I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Please tell me that’s the vaccine,” Lucy says when Dr. Morgan returns.

“It is,” she answers quickly, walking toward the door quarantining Tim. “Stand back, Officer Chen. You’re not wearing protective gear.”

“Yeah.” Lucy steps back, hoping Tim is okay, and that he gets to go home to you.

“Officer Bradford, it’s time to let me in,” Dr. Morgan calls.

Tim opens the door, greeting Dr. Morgan before answering that he’s not feeling too bad. She tells him that she’s going to administer the vaccine. “It’s experimental, right?” Tim asks.

“That’s correct. So, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing. Maybe you grow horns. But for now, I’d say you might’ve dodged a bullet.”

Tim looks at Lucy to ask, “Can you get Lopez? Ask her to call for me?”

Lucy nods, pulling her radio out to contact Angela. She knows that Tim will need you, no matter how the vaccine works… or doesn’t.

“Lopez,” she says, sighing before saying, “Tim wants to know if you can call his wife.”

“Of course,” Angela answers. “She’ll be at his side, even if I have to go get her in the shop.”

Lucy smiles at Tim, and he sighs as Dr. Morgan administers the vaccine. There’s more hope surrounding Tim now, but the fight may not be over yet.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you see Angela’s name on your phone, you consider not answering. Biting your bottom lip to hold your tears in, you answer.

“He’s okay,” Angela begins.

You sigh in relief, a few tears breaking free anyway. “Thank you, Angela.”

“The vaccine is experimental, so they’re taking him to the CDC for observation; you can visit with the proper protective gear. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you in a few. And, just so you know, he didn’t call me.”

“Who did?”

“His rookie.”

Angela reminds you that she’s happy to pick you up if you want before ending the call. Tim mentioned me, you think. Then you wonder whether or not that’s a good thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, I heard you guys saved the day,” Lucy says, exiting Langston’s house to meet Nolan, Jackson, Lopez, and Bishop.

“It was a group effort,” Jackson corrects.

“Glad you’re okay,” Nolan expresses.

“Me too,” Lucy sighs. “I- I mean that you’re okay, too.”

“How’s Tim?” Angela asks.

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Now, 24-hour observation at the CDC.”

“I’ll bet my pension he just told doctors Tim Bradford does not ride in a wheelchair,” Angela jokes as Tim walks out.

“Only way I’m leavin’ out of here is on my own two feet,” Bishop imitates.

“Don’t you guys have paperwork to finish?” Tim retorts.

Tim looks at Lucy, nodding his thanks before continuing to walk toward the car waiting to transport him to the CDC. He stops suddenly in the yard, growing dizzy before he falls backward onto the grass.

“Officer Bradford!” Dr. Morgan yells.

Lucy, Angela, Bishop, and Jackson run toward him before the CDC holds them back. Someone calls for an ambulance, and Angela backs away to make a call.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” you ask, answering Angela’s second call.

“Meet us at Shaw instead of the CDC,” she says.

You can hear yelling in the background, and repeat, “What happened?”

Angela says your name, unyielding as she says, “Shaw. I’ll meet you there.”

You inhale deeply, turning toward Shaw. Knowing that you have no chance of beating an ambulance escorted by police cars, you grip the steering wheel, hoping that Los Angeles traffic has grace on you, and you make it to Tim’s side quickly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim better make it,” Jackson says.

“He will.” Angela knows that he’s a fighter, but she also knows that losing him will destroy you. He has to make it for himself, for the police department, and most importantly, for you.

In the ambulance ahead, Tim goes into anaphylactic shock. Lucy helps the paramedics and glances at Tim’s left hand. The line where his wedding ring sits is barely visible, but she whispers for him to keep his promise, to keep fighting.

Once the ambulance and the police cars enter into the hospital parking lot, Nolan notices a woman with a gun, alerting the officers surrounding the ambulance before the firefight starts.

Lucy covers Tim in the ambulance as the paramedics assist him as well as the injured medics. Nolan shoots the woman in the shoulder, but his gun jams as he moves closer to her.

Tim opens the ambulance door, downing the armed woman on a surge of adrenaline. Stepping onto the ambulance driveway, he asks Nolan if he’s okay.

“I should have reloaded on the move,” Nolan mutters. “You?”

“I should’ve taken yesterday off,” Tim answers.

“Alright, Officer Bradford, let’s go,” a nurse says, pushing a wheelchair to his side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Angela!” you call, jogging to her side.

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, but your eyes widen when you see the bullet holes covering, well, everything.

“Where is he?”

She nods, leading you around her shop. Tim is standing beside Nolan, arguing with a nurse.

“I can walk. Clearly, I’m fine,” Tim argues.

You don’t think about how many people are watching as you walk to Tim’s side. He turns toward you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Get in the wheelchair,” you demand.

Tim sighs but does as you say. Nolan and Jackson look at each other in shock, and Lucy smiles as she says, “His wife.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into Tim’s hospital room, he looks like he’s been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“For what? Not listening to the nurse?”

Tim chuckles as he raises his left hand, pulling you to his side. “No. I’m sorry for not showing you off more, for never telling people about us. I worried you; I know I did, and you don’t deserve any of it.”

You lean forward, running your fingers across Tim’s jawline as you smile. “You don’t have to show me off. I know why you do it, Tim. Being a secret, being separated and safe, I get it. What I don’t like is not knowing if you’re okay.”

“I don’t want the separation anymore. You are my entire life, and- I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I’m not risking this again. The idea of not making it home, leaving you alone, with no one knowing you or how much you mean to me… that was terrible, and I’m sorry.”

Pursing your lips, you lean toward Tim and look into his eyes before scanning your eyes over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to figure out where the Tim I know went.”

Tim smiles, moving over in the bed and tugging you against his side. He taps your necklace before raising your hair away from your neck. You unclasp your necklace, sliding Tim’s wedding ring off the chain. Tim lays his left hand in your lap, and you put his ring on slowly before kissing his hand.

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you. And I accept your apology, even though I didn’t need it.”

“Ready to meet the rest of my-“

“Friends?” you fill in, smiling.

“Colleagues,” Tim finishes, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist.

“Thank you for making sure Angela called me.”

“How clean is the house?”

You laugh, pressing your face against Tim’s shoulder. He knows you well, and though you didn't know what was truly at stake over the last few hours, you did miss him.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” Wade greets, smiling as he leads a small crowd of officers into the room. “I have some rookies here who don’t believe someone would marry Tim.”

“I changed my mind,” Tim replies. “Get out.”

You elbow him gently, smiling as you stand. “It's much easier when he doesn’t tell people. No association to him.”

Tim laughs behind you, and after shaking hands and introducing yourself, you return to Tim’s side: where nothing can hurt you, everything is safe, and you’re the most important thing in the world.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 5

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Ah, here we are! The last chapter in the Hocus Pocus AU by @jackofallrabbits and me! Once more, I'm honored and thrilled to have @deliasmilkshake's cover art for the finale! I can't say how grateful I am for everyone's support and lovely comments on this little series! There's a wedding to attend, so let's get to it <3

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

The coolness of the woody air, cut away from the hot and claustrophobic space of the crowded gymnasium overflowing with celebration, brushes over your skin. Half-bare in your ruined sweater, you shiver. Eclipse eases you with a soft sound. His fingertips slip under your sweater and trace over your back to soothe the goosebumps prickling your flesh. Leaning deeper into him, you clutch him tightly in your arms.

You’ve never held someone so close before.

If you don’t open your eyes now, you’ll never believe this is real. The witches. The curses. The ceremony. All of it will be a dream on one cold October night while you lie in bed alone.

So you do. Little by little, you lift your cheek from his chest and tilt your head back, and behold the unnatural man, come back from the dead, who awaits your vows. His eyes glimmer gently in rich golden hues. The sharp cuts of his sun rays remind you of the encroaching sunrise, and you realize the sky is losing its stars as the black dillutes into a dawn of dark gray.

“We will have the ceremony here.” Eclipse inclines his head around you. “It may be simple, but it is only for the time being. When there is no urgency, we will celebrate properly with food and wine and the most beautiful altar. It will be to your heart’s desire, little comet.”

You look around to find what he describes as simple, and balk softly. You are not in the high school gym set in town but a clearing filled with half-dead vines twisting around the bare ground set amid shadowy trees with whispering boughs and the last of autumn’s leaves. The starlight barely reaches you. Dozens of round, orange pumpkins litter the ground around your feet. In the center of the pumpkin patch is a beautiful black wood tree with thick, bark-cracked limbs reaching high with a canopy of bright red and yellow leaves to serve as your altar.

Behind you, smoke not unlike from the party Eclipse just whisked you away from swirls and recedes further back into the cold night, unveiling Sun and Moon. They stand tall and expectant, their hands filled with silvery threads like spider gossamer and the veil of a bride. Sun’s yellow sun rays catch your eyes like a peacock fanning its tail. Moon’s hood lays quietly over his head and casts a calm shadow over the scarlet of his eyes. The weight of their gazes fall over you.

They are here for you too. The twitch in your limbs answers to the anticipation overflowing from your core.

You breathe in deeply. There are two people missing. Turning back to Eclipse, your lips poised to ask about your friends and how the brothers might intend to shuck their curses from them, when the smoke behind Sun and Moon continues to dissolve before it reveals just the ones heavy on your mind.

Michael and Vanessa.

Confusion crosses Michael’s undead face. Purple flesh upon his brow shoots up in alarm before his gaze finds you in the arms of the eldest witch. At his feet, the white rabbit raises her ears high. Vanessa’s green eyes pierce you with alarm and fright most unspeakable.

Your heart aches at the sight of them so drenched in dark magic. Reaching out a hand in a placating motion, you start to call out to them.

“Don’t!” Michael shouts overrules yours, as fierce and protective as he has been all through the night. He charges forward. “Get away from—”

Magic spills from Sun’s and Moon’s lips in a twining harmony. Their gazes are steel while their voices lift and multiply, filling the air with gales of hot and cold air before the old leaves on the pumpkin vines shudder. Creaking and crawling across the dirt, the dark green tendrils come to life and snatch Michael’s ankles, stopping him short as he struggles to remain balanced.

Vanessa bounds towards you. Her small body leaps over pumpkins and scurries around snares of pumpkin tendrils. She dodges a snaring vine before a second, hidden one snatches her, twisting her small little form into its clutches and holding her a few inches above the ground. Her feet kick out. Her entire body struggles as she tries violently to free herself but to no avail.

“Don’t hurt them.” You clutch Eclipse’s cloak until your knuckles turn white. Pleading with your entire being, you find his gaze. “Please. They’re my friends.”

A dryness infiltrates your mouth. Will they be better than what the villagers and witch hunters feared them to be? Can you ask them to be good for you? Your core burns with yearning, the hope of a brighter day filled with peace and joy, not more darkness. Not more pain and fear.

You don’t want to lose them.

Eclipse gently covers your fists and soothes them out until your palms relax against his chest.

“They won’t be harmed,” Eclipse nods towards his brothers. His sonorous voice lowers. “Sun and Moon understand your conditions. We have brought your friends here to give you our gifts, and to ensure there are no more interruptions.”

You nod shakily. A feeble tremble lingers throughout you, raking through your fingers and along your jawline. Your witch suitors have proven again and again their capabilities for wickedness and they continue to chase it through the midnight hours, but not here. They stand still, at your service. How they terrify you. How they enchant you.

Every single night you dreamt of someone to love, someone who would keep you warm and chase away the loneliness.

Have you found them or are you a love-sick fool still reaching for something that is not yours?

“Run, get away from here!” Michael struggles against the vines rooting him in place. Leaves twine tighter around his corpse-like body, forcing him to his knees and leaving him bound from his ankles all the way to his shoulders, wrapped up like a cruel gift.

One glower from Sun sends one last pumpkin vine around Michael’s flesh-rotten mouth and gags him.

Vanessa twists and writhes. Her small rabbit body struggles in the grasp of the vine snare and she sinks her teeth into it, attempting to chew through the restraint while her wide, desperate eyes flash to you.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Stop struggling. It’s going to be okay. Please, trust me.”

Michael stops fighting. A fear and anger so raw fills his gaze as Sun and Moon step after you. His fists clench as his jawbone wiggles, but his muffle words die behind the vine covering his teeth.

A strong sound jumps from Vanessa, caught between an animalistic cry and a human sob. She looks at you. Her wide eyes shine with dread.

Eclipse takes you by the shoulders, his eyes burning low as he turns you away from the fear of your friends. You keep your eyes on both of them.

“It’s okay,” you whisper again.

“Come, come, little comet.” Eclipse recaptures your attention with a finger hooking under your chin. “The hour is nigh. Sunrise is too near for us to wait any longer.”

“I know.” Your pulse swells in your ears, beating within you like a drum to a dance that’s too fast-paced for your feet to keep up with.

Your eyes stray from his somber expression to the black tree. Between the red and yellow leaves are dozens of spiderwebs, glimmering softly like silk streamers just for the ceremony. Gently, Eclipse releases you to stand back as Sun and Moon slip around you from both sides.

“My poppet,” Sun’s voice is sensual and warm. “Allow me to dress you in spider gossamer for this fine occasion.”

You slowly dip your head, all too confused but too uncertain to stop him as he draws out threads of silvery silk. He gently lays them upon your shoulders. His pale eyes swim with passion. A gentle murmur of magic flows from his lips, and you become enveloped in a light and cool cascade of fabric softer than rain and lighter than feathers. You look down at yourself.

Catching the fading shimmer of magic, you are now draped in an elegant but simple silver gown. A high neck collars you with big, flowing sleeves which cinch at your wrists with thick embroidery. The skirt falls in an A-shape and flows softly in the gentle wind of the night around your feet, almost brushing the dirt.

Your wedding attire. You touch the skirt with a delicate hand as if it may fall apart like a cobweb brushed away, but instead, you watch in silent marvel at the rippling, silk-like glimmer of the cloth.

Strangely, Sun possesses your clothes in his arms now. Your mind spins with questions but you are learning all too well that the answer is magic. With a smirk, he tosses aside the holey sweater and your dirt-stained jeans. The clothes land on the shell of a large, orange pumpkin.

“Beautiful,” Sun lowers his head in pleasure, his hand at his chest and his other arm held out in a formal bow to you. “Never was there a more lovely bride for three brothers.”

You blush fiercely.

“It is beautiful,” you admit, clutching a fistful of the skirt. You lift it and wave it back and forth once to watch it glimmer again.

“I’m not speaking of the dress, sunshine.” Sun straightens with a grin so devious, you must wonder again if you’re giving up your soul in such a ceremony.

A cool touch falls upon your hand. Claws curl carefully over your wrist. Dropping the skirt, you twist upon your feet to face Moon.

“A veil for you.” He holds it in his other hand. The delicate and sheer gossamer flows like silver water. “Lower your head. I will crown you in it.”

You bow slightly. Moon sweeps your hair back with his cool, careful fingertips and pins the veil upon your skull like a tiara. The soft, celestial fabric falls down around you. Blinking, you stare in awe at yourself, shrouded in majestic silver.

Moon gazes at you softly. His eyes fall from your hair and he reclaims your palm for a moment to behold you entirely.

“Exquisite.” He bows his head over your hand. “I dreamt of you since Eclipse first told us what he found in his bone scrying. I have waited for you all this time, my snowflower.”

A tremble falls over your bottom lip—not of fear, though there is still an anxious sparking within your nerves. You are washed away in his sincerity. The true intentions of a lover.

You have no words, and instead, gently squeeze his hand.

“May I add one last touch,” Eclipse says. He steps forward.

You lift your head to him as his gaze glows gently in the darkness like twin stars which circle you as his brothers step back. Eclipse sets his hand on your shoulder. Your breath slows as his touch traces your collarbone and falls down your side. You almost sway under his hand holding your hip before he sinks onto one knee to trail his palm along your thigh and all the way to your calf, touching your gown all the way down.

He speaks a gentle spell. You dare not move an inch as a gentle pulse, milky and starlight-like, falls over the cloth. You burn in the darkness like a candle. The gown stands out against the darkness like a comet streaking through the night sky.

“Oh,” is all you can say as you look down at yourself. There are no words which can contain the magnitude of what you feel towards the beauty and thought of their wedding attire for you. Though Sun, Moon, and Eclipse spark and snap like flames with their wide eyes and tall statures, you twinkle bright.

Emotion cakes your throat. Thickly, you swallow it back.

“A little starlight.” Eclipse smiles, his eyes burning sweetly. “For you are our equal, our partner, our bride.”

You don’t feel powerful. You don’t feel important enough to be involved in magic and ceremonies and love, yet here you stand, swathed in their adoration and gifts. You take hold of your skirt once more.

“Let us begin the ceremony,” Eclipse says softly. He takes your elbow and arm in arm, he walks you through a footpath worn through the pumpkin patch to the black tree, gnarled but beautiful. A most befitting altar.

Taking your other arm is Sun, sliding close to you with a simmering smile so close to you, you wonder if the slight heat brushing against your cheek is from his presence or the blood rush in your face. Behind you, like a pale shadow, Moon tenderly takes your skirt and follows close behind, keeping the beautiful fabric from gathering dust and pumpkin fronds.

And so you go to your wedding altar.

In times before, marriage served to form alliances between families. Parents arranged such contracts for children to benefit both parties. Most couples didn’t and couldn’t marry for love, rather they were bound for purely economic liaisons.

How beautiful is it that you could arrange yourself into a marriage most lovely?

Your grooms stop at the black tree. Eclipse slips away from your hand, and you look to him in confusion, fearing where he might wander away to. The elder witch grins as he simply looks at his brother. Sun’s hand lingers on your arm, trailing down to your wrist before he steps back, still beaming, still eager, but patient.

You turn slowly under the dusting of moonlight to face Moon. A swell rises in your heart, crashing through you until you’re sticky with emotion. His expression is soft and sweet like milk and honey. He gathers your hands between his own. Looking down, Moon draws the pads of his thumbs softly over your knuckles as if wishing to memorize the bone structure of your much smaller hands.

There is no time at all, but you keep the quiet with him, studying his mild countenance. His breaths are deep and even. A gentle scent of something late and herbal laces him, and you’re taken back to the mausoleum where he tasted you.

His eyes lift. The scarlet gleam holds you tender.

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is gentle in its rasp. His eyes never leave you, drinking you in like wine. “My love is yours, for time and all eternity. I will honor you dearly, little mouse.”

A soft sound catches in your throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a weeping sound. You thought joy would be without tears, but you stand, clutching his claws tightly in your fists to steady yourself.

“I do.” The moonlight brightens as the words leave your lips. You watch in silent awe as the silver glow of the night dances over you both, and you taste midnight upon your tongue as Moon smiles.

He carefully takes your veil and lifts it over your head, allowing the silver threads to fall down your back. He leans in gently. In the way the tide is tugged by the lunar celestial body, you meet him in the small space between your bodies. The witch’s kiss presses to your mouth in a gentle yearning, pushing and pulling so long as you follow in time. You fall into him. Deepening the kiss, Moon cradles your lips against the white curve of his fangs. You sigh contently as you lose your breath in his presence, starstruck.

He releases you, though only your mouth. His hands clasp yours tightly and he softly caresses the back of your hands. Tied along his wrists are deep blue ribbons. Bells jangle softly underneath.

“I will keep you unto me forevermore.” Moon traces your digits with his claw. The soft glow of his gaze fills you with his sincerity.

You sink into his words like a pool of silver. You nod deeply.

“I will cherish you,” you promise in a trembling, choked voice. The power of the engagement drapes over you, pressing upon you the great importance of this entanglement.

“Breathe, little mouse.” He smiles. “I will keep you safe.”

You laugh quietly, too overwhelmed for words but your happiness seeps through all the same.

He kisses you once more before he lifts his head high. Following his gaze, you find Vanessa has stopped fighting. Her little rabbit nose twitches fast, afraid.

Moon offers a spell, deep and cool but releasing. His voice overlaps. A scent of sharp, pungent herbs swirls on the night breeze before he nods his head once more. Your old clothes fly off of the pumpkin they were resting on, and fall onto Vanessa still tangled in the pumpkin vines.

A moment later, in a shrouded flash of light, vines snap and clothes stretch, and there is a woman where there was once a rabbit.

Vanessa, thankfully, wears your sweater and jeans. Her green eyes fit much better in her human face as she kneels upon the ground and lifts her hands. Long blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. Slowly, she turns over her palm and clenches her fingers. No longer trapped, she gazes up at you.

Shock shines in her eyes, but her lips form soft awe.

“Vanessa,” you smile breathlessly. Whirling back, you kiss Moon once to his slight shock. “Thank you.”

“I will answer to your every desire,” he murmurs, then releases you.

Moon slips back from you. Before you can think of reaching for him, Sun takes you into his arms. You gasp softly at the warmth of his embrace surrounding you like you were basking near an open fire.

“Sunshine, I was beginning to fear you’ve forgotten about me.” He takes you carefully, slipping your feet onto his as he begins to spin you slowly, like a star tailspinning through the atmosphere. “You could never, could you? Not when I still vye for your kiss—and now, your vows returned.”

You hold onto his shoulders. Carefully underneath the gnarled limbs of the black tree, Sun waltzes you to an unsung song. He hums slowly with a gentle rumble in his chest. His eyes upon you are hungry in the way a candle flame clings to a wick, desperate to devour but unable to spread like a wildfire.

“No, I couldn’t forget you, Sun,” you whisper. He has left you dizzy and stunned, racing with you upon his broom and then pinning you underneath him upon a bed. There is too much you marvel about him to forget.

He twirls you gently, the moonlight blurring around you between earth and sky before he recaptures you. The threat of dawn seems so close and yet so far away from this wild pumpkin patch.

“That is all I can ask, though you must know, I want more of you.” His grin is wide but honest. How could you expect anything less from the one who has coveted you so zealously?

His hand rests on the small of your back. Pulling you flush against him, he holds you for one breathless moment, caught like two figurines in the apex of a lovers’ dance.

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is steady, without flirtations or sultry suggestions. An honest question from a witch. “You have simply enchanted me, dove. I am at your mercy. I am at your service. And if you will, your bedside, your mornings, and your sunsets.”

Your eyelids flutter. A gentle push of tears make their way past your eyes, and you hold his wide, pale gaze. He searches your face with held breath. He clutches your hand and presses it to his chest, bared open to you. The bells tied to the dark red ribbons on his wrists jingle softly.

“I do.” You speak with the gentleness of certainty. The leaves overhead ruffle with a breeze that is far more fitting for summer than an incoming winter. Pressed so close, you fear he must know how your heart trembles in the wonder of knowing that he loves you, and you love him.

His expression erupts in sheer, unadulterated joy. He spins you once more, dancing as if he were walking on air before he dips you low. You intake a deep breath as he holds you above the pumpkin patch. His grin fills your entire vision as his fingers press softly into your dress. He wastes not a moment to crush your mouth in a kiss.

His hunger and eagerness leaves you breathless as he takes and takes before he gives just as much in return. You are captured within his affection. He is smooth and practiced, and you almost feel self conscious, but gently, he leads you. He guides your lips and teases you with his teeth. Even his tongue brushes the inside of your mouth before he softens it to a trickle after the flood of his expression. You taste a sweetness that slips down your throat like honey.

Gently, he brings you back up on your feet, though he does not release you. He kisses you again, greedily taking more. You are putty in his hands, molded by his mouth as if you were a honeycomb caught between teeth.

“Sunny,” Eclipse murmurs once in gentle warning.

Sun draws back reluctantly as if being torn from water after days in the desert. You gasp softly, your shoulders rising and falling after the rush of his love.

“I have devoted myself to you, my poppet,” he whispers into your ear as you rest against his chest. “My love is yours and yours alone.”

“Oh, Sun,” you clutch his shoulders tighter. “I will adore you for the rest of my days.”

“I know, sunshine.” He grins but softly kisses your cheek once in a strangely rare but precious, chaste gesture. “But I must share you or else I will keep you all night.”

He straightens, his arms still encircling you. Pale eyes sweep back and you eagerly look at Michael. He’s stopped fighting as well, no longer thrashing but watching with a strange, conflicted crinkle of his brow. Vanessa kneels close by, unmoving, still staring at her legs and arms and touching her hair.

Your entire body aches for Michael. The curse stains his flesh and twists him into a silver-screen monster.

Sun breathes a spell. His voice fills the air in unearthly chants that sweep over the ground and whirl the leaves on the pumpkin vines. They slowly crawl back, releasing Michael just as the same bright flash of energy and power takes hold of your dear friend.

The purple corpse recedes back and unveils the man underneath. Michael’s hair returns to its warmer shade of brown. His eyes blink and his corenas return white while his irises take hold with light and life. Rotten flesh returns to a rich tan color. His torn clothes refill with his healthy size and strength.

He clenches and unclenches his fists. Slowly, he stumbles forward. Vanessa helps catch him before he folds entirely after being freed from the witches’ curse.

You startle—is his leg still broken? Vanessa, however, stabilizes Michael, coaxing him to sit beside her. He folds his legs with natural ease—healed and whole.

“Michael, you’re alright,” you breathe, clutching Sun together.

He gives you a nod though in a slight daze. He opens his mouth but then decides against whatever he was going to say.

“Thank you.” You turn to Sun. “Thank you for sparing him.”

“Anything for our bride,” he simpers. With a great sigh, however, he lets go of you, his fingertips trailing over your sides before falling back beside Moon.

Under the black tree, Eclipse stands, patient but enduring.

You face him. He lifts his head but remains humble and composed before gently approaching. The light of a new day is beginning to change from deep gray to a burning orange leaking rosy pink at the edges. The sunrise is as terrifying as it is promising.

Eclipse opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you enter his embrace as his hand finds your cheek. Tied tight around his wrist is a black ribbon with golden bells. His claws rest delicately on your hip over the silky soft fabric of your gown. Lightly, his thumb caresses your cheek. The gold of his gaze falls over you, gentle as the night.

“Little comet,” he says, steady despite the impending light threatening to take away all. Yet, he takes his time, tasting his words before giving them to you. “Do you take me to be your husband? I have waited—”

In a heart rush, you utter, “I do.”

Eclipse stares, eyes wide. His red sun rays catch the first glance of daylight, brightening his vision as if a spotlight fell upon him. He looks towards the horizon as you do. You squint slightly against the brightness.

Lifting his hand from your face, he watches the black ribbon and bells dissolve into dark smoke, then nothing. Sun and Moon turn their wrists as the respectful dark red and deep blue ribbons fall away from them as if burned and leave not a wisp behind.

You take Eclipse’s hand and draw it closer to you, gently kissing his knuckles before smiling.

“You’re free. You’re all free.” You flush deeply as you look to Sun and Moon and their gazes of content awe. “My husbands.”

A soft, strange sound leaves Eclipse. A breath caught between wonder and something deeper, something roiling with adoration. His gaze falls back to you, and again, he touches your cheek.

“I did not finish my vows to you.” He cradles your face close in his palms, leaning closer as your eyes lock. “I swear to you happiness, protection, and my unending love. From this day on, you will always be warm. You will always have my hand to hold. You will never fear the darkness for I will be with you.”

He pauses, his grin spreading wide. He looks at you as if you were a dream. A living, breathing vision.

“We are eternally bound to you, our spouse.” Eclipse leans in close. “Say my name, once more.”

Your eyelids slip close for one precious moment, warmed by the brilliant light, and the touch of Eclipse’s hands cradling you as if you were delicate.

“Eclipse,” you whisper.

His grin is beautiful and lovely. You start as you feel a second pair of arms surround you. Sweeping you off your feet, Eclipse lifts you into his embrace. This close, he smells of gentle spice and musk.

He strokes your cheek once before closing the distance between your lips. You feel his hunger in the echo of your own—the want to devour but gently, he tastes you. A soft whine catches in the back of your throat. Melting under his warmth, he invades you gently and his tongue brushes against your own. His kiss takes you under, and you drop breathlessly into his grasp.

He pulls and takes in soft, sweet motions. Rhythmic and powerful, he tastes you until you fear you might fall once more. But he will catch you. This much you are certain.

He pulls back gently, kissing you one last time as if in need of the strength it gives him, before his honeyed gaze settles on you.

“Your freckles are beautiful, like the stars upon the night sky,” he says. He kisses the right side of your face, then glides to the left and lingers there a moment. “You are truly staying with us, my little comet.”

You blush, and cling to him. Your hands, however, are gently tugged. You look away from Eclipse to find Moon curling his claws under your digits and lifting your hand sweetly to his mouth. Eclipse shifts you gently in his arms to rest you against his back while keeping you cradled like a bride on her wedding night—you suppose you are such a bride, Sun’s hand traces from your shoulder down your arm until he captures your hand. There, he kisses your knuckles slowly. You close your eyes, bubbling in the blissful sunlight as your husbands adore you.

A kiss like the brush of a moth wing touches your head. Eclipse hums gently against you. You make a soft, sweet sound at their tender affection.

“My husbands,” you say, then laugh a little, beaming at their gentle looks. “I’m going to have to get used to saying that.”

“You will,” Sun purrs, “And there’s so much time for us to grow used to our lovely spouse.”

“So much time,” Moon rasps gently, “You must be exhausted.” He kisses your fingertips until you shiver and blush.

“Perhaps we should take our bride home,” Eclipse suggests gently. “You can sleep in our bed and rest, and when you wake, we’ll celebrate more.”

You stir at the thought. You won’t drive back to your tiny apartment. No, instead you will stay here with your husbands, and the bed you will sleep in will be warm and filled with their bodies.

You won’t wake up alone.

“I’d like that.” You squeeze Sun’s and Moon’s hands and turn your head back to gaze at Eclipse with a fond smile.

A quiet voice says your name. You turn your head, stunned to find Michael and Vanessa stepping towards you. Vanessa supports Michael’s arm around her shoulders as his strength seems to wane. Their eyes are mirrors of witch hunters from long ago as they behold the brothers holding their virgin bride.

Claws tighten around you. Moon flashes his sharp teeth as Sun lifts his chin high, looking down at the pair with disdain. The arms holding you off the ground squeeze in the slightest until you wriggle. Eclipse nearly keeps you away, but gingerly, he sets you back on your feet.

Michael holds your gaze, his brow crinkled in concern but restored to his natural health.

“Are you really staying with them?” he asks quietly, his gaze darting sharply to the witches.

You smile at the slight shifting around you. The drape of Moon’s cloak almost falls over your shoulder as he takes your hand close and caresses your arm. A murmur of wishing to return them both to rabbits falls from Sun’s lips, but he merely interlocks his digits between your own. Behind you, Eclipse draws a tender hand down your back, feeling the ridges of your spine through the delicate fabric of your gown.

“I love them.” You look at your husbands. Their faces brighten, their touches softening upon you. “I’m staying.”

“What do we do now?” Vanessa asks. Her face looks lost, and you imagined after a few centuries of only guarding the starry candle, she must be.

You muse for a moment, and survey your husbands with a careful air. “Is your home now my home?”

“Of course,” Eclipse answers without hesitation. “Everything that is ours is yours.”

“Then I may invite my friends inside?”

Sun and Moon exchange a glance, Sun more annoyed than Moon’s mild surprise, but they both incline their heads.

“If that is your wish,” Moon gives gently.

“It is.” You squeeze their palms. “We can start a proper home, and we can learn how to forgive.”

“Forgive?” Vanessa balks.

“Yes.” You look at her as the bright light of day touches her face. Her eyes are truly green and sharp like cut emeralds. “Let’s get out of this pumpkin patch and go home and rest. Then we can make peace.”

Michael looks down at Vanessa.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, unlike my ancestor.” His brow is set firm. To your awe, Michael does not tremble with rage or the need to fight again. Perhaps the witches are beginning to prove themselves, and Michael will give them a chance. Just one chance.

“Very well then, my poppet.” Sun turns to you and kisses you in a sudden burst of heat and passion before he releases you. Stunned, you almost sway but Eclipse wraps an arm around your waist. Sun gestures with his free arm in an open invitation. “Enter our humble abode. You are our spouse’s guests, which means you are ours.”

Vanessa glares at him. Her foot falls down on a withered vine and it cracks.

“Charming as ever, Vanessa.” Sun flashes his teeth in a grin.

“Sun,” you chastise.

He rubs your wrist, half apologetic.

“I will make soup.” Moon muses. “My cauldron pot is where I left it, I hope.”

The heaviness in the air reminds you that the night has been long, and you are dreadfully exhausted. Vanessa and Michael barely hold themselves upright, but they lean on each other.

“Excellent.” Eclipse waves his hand. Smoke seeps up from the ground, swirling around your feet before you close your eyes, and lean into the pillars of your husbands for support.

The air changes. A slight breeze, warm for October, encircles you. You inhale a gentle scent of rich earth and dust. When you open your eyes again, the brothers’ home is standing before you, same as it ever was, but entirely changed.

Perhaps it’s only you who has changed, now hanging on to the witches.

Michael and Vanessa are just behind you and the witches, standing on the gravel outside of the home, disgruntled about the change of scenery or perhaps the use of magic, but you hope they’ll see the possibility of goodness within the brothers as you have.

Eclipse’s hand slips under your chin to lift your head back. His expression warms with the bright new day. Sun kisses your fingertips until you shiver in delight. Moon turns your palm over to reach the delicate lines of veins along your wrist, and presses his lips to your pulse.

“We are home,” Eclipse says. He kisses the top of your head.

You are home with your husbands.

#naff's writing commissions #hehehe Happy Halloween!!!#make sure you let jack know how much you like this au <3333 #and tell delia how incredible their art is!!!#hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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radio-writes · 10 months ago

Note

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears.

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg.

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck.

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid?

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that.

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face.

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh.

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek.

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber.

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed.

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you.

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured.

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special."

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze.

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script.

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention.

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull.

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did.

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery.

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to."

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry.

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him.

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt.

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now."

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

#tw: noncon #tw: physical harm to reader #tw: forced relationship #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #smut #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #vien writes #vien answers #requests from a lovely anon #MIND THE TAGS PLEASE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD

2K notes · View notes

aurumalatus · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟑]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, character death and graphic descriptions of death, mentions of vomit

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this one is... a lot. take heed of the warnings/let me know if there's something i forgot to tag! i might've missed some errors because it's late so i will fix in the morning, otherwise please enjoy! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢

When the meadows grow full and lush, Kinich awaits your reappearance.

The winter had been long—with his crops iced over, he’d had to rely on hunting to survive. His mother’s absence had taken a heavy toll on his family (though he uses the word loosely), and his father somehow finds more time to drink his life away. Now the sole homemaker, Kinich finds himself as his father’s newfound punching bag as well.

He discovers that he has a talent for patching wounds and bruises.

Some days, the man awakens in the dead of night, freshly sober—Kinich can hear him crying his mother’s name in the dark. He doesn’t know whether to take that as regret, or simply loneliness.

They don’t talk. They never really did, but the silence grows quickly, curling and weaving and winding like vines through the house, until Kinich can feel it wrapping his throat shut. Days and weeks go by without him talking to anyone at all.

Still, he moves on.

The ice finally melts, and he welcomes the sight of animals returning from hibernation, despite how they nip at his garden. New life sprouts from the ground, and it’s only a matter of time before you appear in the forest again as well.

This time, you’re touting a burlap bag of Quenepa Berries, and you offer him one as he approaches.

“They’re sweeter at this time of year,” you comment, before popping one of the fruits into your mouth. He accepts and does the same—this batch is fattened and sweet, he thinks as the juice dribbles down his chin. You must have an eye for a good harvest.

“You came back,” is all he replies, as a greeting.

An incredulous expression crosses your face, almost judgmental—you hold the bag of berries away from him as teasing punishment. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He reaches over you, quick as a fox, catching one of the fruits in his fingers.

“Don’t know.”

There’s no way to tell you about his mother’s disappearance, at least not one that he’s confident about. After all, he feels there’s no logic in informing you anyway—there’s no solution that you could potentially offer, and it’s not as though it affects you. But it’s the thought of that, and the lasting image of her footsteps, that had instilled this fear within him.

The fear that you would never return.

But you’re here, he soothes himself, another berry in your outstretched palm. He takes it, just as your voice rings out again.

“So, do your parents not like girls?”

The skin of the fruit catches in his throat at your question, and he lets out a series of wet coughs—you pat his back, eyes wide with concern. It takes a few moments for him to return to his senses.

“What are you talking about?” he splutters, uncharacteristically flustered.

You don’t seem to notice, too absorbed in picking through your bag—you prefer the lightest blue berries, the ones that are still slightly unripe. Perhaps you enjoy the tartness they offer.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “It just seems like you don’t want your parents to see me.”

And there’s no easy way to explain his situation, so he doesn’t. Instead, he hums, watching the birds soar by overhead. His heart vaguely tugs with jealousy at the sight of them.

“It’s not that. My parents just…don’t like people hanging around our house. That’s why we moved out of the village.”

Not a total lie, he reasons—the financial issues were the root cause, but his father had also grown tired of neighbors attempting to intervene in his parents’ endless disputes. It had given him hope, for a time, that someone might be able to remedy the situation.

But that hope was quickly snuffed out.

“Makes sense,” you say, tracing shapes in the dirt with your foot. You draw a heart, a smiley face, and then something that looks like a defective Yumkasaurus. “Your dad is the mean one, right?”

You’re still not quite educated on social faux-pas at your age, and Kinich almost chokes again.

“What?”

Something rustles in the bushes nearby—an animal scared away by the sudden loudness of his voice.

“He always used to yell at me when I’d come around to leave you things,” you explain, overwhelmingly casual. “Smelled like that stuff that us kids aren’t allowed to go near in the market.”

Kinich vaguely remembers hearing his parents argue about something like that, but all the fighting tends to blur together after a time. He’s not sure how to reply to that, or what you might think if he did.

So he doesn’t.

He asks you about your winter instead, a topic change that you welcome eagerly. You tell him about the village, the white-topped roofs and the way the Yumkasauri would redden and sneeze, whelps hiding in their mother’s wings. You tell him about how you tried ice skating on the frozen river, recounting how many times you fell flat on your face. The thought makes him smile faintly.

He’s almost surprised by how enthusiastic you are about it—you’d told him before about your parents’ death in the cold season. He wonders how you seem to move past it all.

You turn your attention back to him, curious. “What about you? What happened during your winter?”

There’s a lot he could say, but none of it feels right, every word sticking to his tongue, stubborn.

“The winter felt really long,” he finally says, mostly to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “It did. But it’s not so bad, I think.”

He hums. “Really?”

You shrug. “Spring always comes again anyway.”

On Kinich’s seventh birthday, you knock at his door in the evening.

The November air is crisp, but not yet chilling. After all, the nation of Pyro tends to run warm until the very depths of winter. It’s for that reason that the fireplace still lies darkened and empty, and that the kitchen window is still open a crack.

The sound shocks him at first—it’s been a long time since anyone has visited at all, so much so that the dull thump is unfamiliar. Wilder animals tend to come out when the sun sets, so he tries to finish up his farming and hunting beforehand—at this time, he’s usually preparing some sort of meal for the next day.

He glances at the source of the noise, then at his father, slumped over the kitchen table, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The man will likely be asleep until the early morning anyway.

So Kinich pads to the door, pulling it open just a crack, and it’s your eye that peers back at him, curious.

Another inch, and then the rest of you is revealed to him—you’re holding a neatly wrapped box in your hands, an innocent smile spread across your lips.

His first words come out in a hiss.

“What are you doing here?”

He thinks he’s been quite clear about your need to return to the village by this time, for many reasons. It’s growing dark, a time where animals and humans alike grow more dangerous, and his father tends to be home. The man has a talent of putting Kinich in the worst moods, and he’d rather not spread that to you.

“It’s your birthday,” you greet, as an explanation, shrugging like it’s all so obvious. Kinich tilts his head.

“So?”

“So, we’re celebrating! I spent the whole day baking this cake with Chief Wayna’s help.”

Kinich steps outside, quietly letting the door shut behind him. The sunset sky is burning away at this time, pinks and reds fading into black and blue. The stars will be out soon.

“It’s nighttime,” he says, crossing his arms.

You nod vigorously, undeterred. “Yup! All so you can see the candles better. It looks so much cooler when it’s dark.”

It’s a ridiculous statement to someone like him, and Kinich is once again reminded how different the two of you are. His sense of logic doesn’t seem to align with your enduring enthusiasm. Still, he likes the fire that you have about you, and has no interest in snuffing it out, so he merely sighs and leads you away from the front door.

Once you’re a bit away, the house still in view, he looks to you again.

“So, what is it about candles?”

Without a reply, you turn away from him, fiddling with various things—he hears a match being lit, sees the faint light reflect from behind you—and then you’re facing him again, proudly holding out the cake.

There’s seven brightly colored candles sticking out from the top. The candlelight illuminates your face with a soft glow, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“It looks good, right?”

Kinich peers down at the treat—it does look good, with the expensive kind of frosting that he used to look at longingly in the market. He hasn’t had something this sweet, this luxurious, in a long time, or maybe ever. When he glances back up, you’re staring up at him expectantly—he shrinks back from the pressure.

“What is it?” he asks, feeling self-conscious. You point to the candles.

“You have to blow it out.”

Vaguely, he thinks back on when he used to live in the village. He’s seen people hold birthday parties before (though he can’t say he’d ever been invited), but he’s not sure he’s heard of this tradition. Birthday celebrations weren’t something his family could ever afford anyway, or maybe they just didn’t care to.

Kinich realizes he doesn’t even know when his parents’ birthdays are.

But you’re still watching him, so he pushes that thought aside. Instead, he leans over and gently blows out the candles in three small puffs of breath.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” You cheer, tilting the cake toward him. “I hope you made a wish!”

You’d forgotten to mention that before he blew out the candles, he thinks to himself, but he’s in no position to argue with your good will anyway. So he nods, silently making a wish after the fact.

“Alright, the best part is eating it,” you whisper conspiratorially, like you’re sharing a life-shattering secret. “And Elder Leik says it’s bad to have sugar before bed, but I think it’s okay just this once—”

“Kinich!”

That voice—

His heart freezes in his chest. Your face morphs in confusion, and then he’s grasping at your arm and yanking, hiding you behind him—you’re not much smaller than him, though, so it’s a futile effort. At the force, the cake slips out of your grip, smashing uselessly into the grass.

Kinich has half a mind to apologize, but he can’t—instead, he holds you tighter.

“Kinich?” A hoarse voice echoes in the dark. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m here. I was just taking a walk,” he replies. His voice shakes at the edges of each syllable—he hopes his father doesn’t notice.

Something crunches in the distance; it’s the sound of grass underfoot. His father is coming this way, Kinich realizes in a panic. He glances back to your fearful eyes, clutching at the back of his thin t-shirt, and his chest burns with the desire to protect.

It’s too dim to see the man until he’s a few feet in front of you—he’s dressed in a tattered shirt and loose pants, feet dragging through the grass. His eyes narrow when he gets close enough, brows knitting together.

His gaze zeroes in on you, venomous. “It’s you again.”

The collar of Kinich’s shirt grows taut against his throat as you pull against him, afraid. He squeezes at your arm once, a comfort.

“You damn orphans, got nothing better to do? Just fucking around on my property, I should throw you off this goddamn cliff! Not like you got anyone to miss you.”

Kinich grits his teeth. “Leave her alone.”

His father laughs, a grating sound like nails on a chalkboard, then belches. The smell of cheap alcohol filters through the air, even from a distance.

“Go do something useful then. Too many useless people in this world, ha! Just like your damn mother.”

The mention makes the blood ice over in Kinich’s veins, a sharp frost crawling up his spine. Your grip loosens just a hair, likely in confusion, but the detail barely reaches his mind.

“You know where she is?”

The image of his mother’s footsteps in the newly fallen snow had never left his mind—he sees it in his nightmares, trapped and crawling in an endless frozen landscape, alone. He thinks of her when he farms, when he weaves, when he’s forced to eat another Grainfruit.

He thinks of her always, maybe, in the back of his mind.

And his father does too, maybe, based on the way his whole body seems to tighten with anger at the question. He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally.

You watch, horrified. Even as his father’s eyes glow with rage, even as he drunkenly hobbles toward you both, hands outstretched.

(Kinich blankly notes that they form the shape of his own neck.)

The man isn’t too coordinated, especially with the alcohol coursing through his veins—he stumbles a few times on the way, the grass seeming to curl around his ankles, slowing him down. Perhaps it’s the land’s way of protecting him, Kinich thinks.

He grabs your hand, pulling you behind him. “Come on!”

Kinich runs, wind whipping at his face, the way he always does when his father gets this way. He takes you through the backyard, toward the forest, where his father might lose sight of you both and give up the chase. He knows the paths there and knows them well—the shadows of the trees will protect you both.

But the man is picking up speed behind you, roaring about what he’ll do once he catches you.

“Kinich,” you wheeze. You’d already been semi-exhausted by your trek here, and certainly not expecting a sprint like this.

“I know,” he pants back. “Just a little more.”

You’re trying your hardest, he knows.

But he’s faster than you, and you stumble, lagging behind.

“Kinich!”

His father lunges, fingers barely grasping at the leg of your pants. A shriek erupts from your throat as you tumble to the ground in a twisted pile, and Kinich cries out with you, just as the cliff seems to rumble beneath his feet.

It happens in slow motion.

Kinich’s father meets his son’s gaze, enraged, then afraid. Terrified, just as he feels his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff, just as the weight of your smaller body pushes his torso over. Shocked, just as the rest of you starts to come down with him.

Your screams echo off the darkened mountain.

Kinich weighs his options—it doesn’t take long—and then leaps forward. His chest smacks painfully into the dirt, but he manages to grab your wrist just as you slip down the cliff.

“Kinich!”

His father is screaming his name, and so are you, pleading, begging for his help. And you’re still in his grasp, but you’re slipping, and his father is reaching for him, and if he could just grab him with his other hand, he could maybe pull you both up, but—

Kinich’s gaze meets your tear-filled eyes.

So he grits his teeth, clawing at the dirt, and with his other hand, he grabs—

You.

He doesn’t have time to catch his father’s expression—he doesn’t think he’d want to see it anyway—before he’s hauling you up, yanking you into his arms until you’re both collapsing into the grass. The crown of your skull clashes with his chin harshly.

His father is still bellowing curses, not that you seem to hear it over the sound of your screams and cries. But Kinich hears it, somehow, floating above the chaos and agony in your voice.

“It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!”

His eyes flutter shut as the voice fades away, and then grows silent.

It’s too quiet.

Even the crickets seem to censor themselves, hiding from the entire ordeal. Kinich releases his hold on you, rolling onto his stomach, then onto his knees. The grass seems to waver under his stare, rippling and oscillating until it feels like the entire world is quivering beneath him.

He barely registers that you’re struggling to pull yourself upright behind him.

You turn away from Kinich’s hunched form to vomit in the grass, overwhelmed by it all. A corpse lies at the foot of the cliff now, one that could’ve just as easily been you. One that might have actually been your fault. The thought makes you vomit again.

After a few more dry heaves, Kinich’s hand rubs at your back, the other gently easing your hair away from your mouth. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes filled with tears and nose dripping with snot.

“Kinich,” you sob, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was too slow, and he—he fell. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I know he wasn’t—I don’t—but that was your—your father—”

He takes you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him—really look at him. His expression seems the same as always, but you know the difference. You note the quivering at the edge of his lips, the light sheen at the corners of his eyes. It disappears as quickly as you notice it, flattening under a disposition of stone.

“I weighed the value between you,” he says, gaze meeting your glassy stare. Your heart flutters. “And I chose you.”

And for a bit, you pretend that you can’t hear the thick lump in his throat, or the way his nose scrunches to keep the tears from slipping. Instead, you take his hand, struggling to your feet.

Kinich gives you a once-over—your pant leg is tattered now, a long strip of fabric ripped from the bottom. A flash of crimson peeks from under the remaining cloth.

Thin lines of blood bloom over the joint there, slowly running down the length of your leg.

“You’re bleeding,” he rasps, assessing the extent of your wound. It’s not deep—a skinned knee at most, which he’s grateful for. He’s treated much worse on his own body.

There’s so much to do, he thinks, pushing through the foggy haze permeating his mind. He has to retrieve his father’s body. He has to treat your wound. With his father gone, he needs to make a plan for his own survival.

It’s not as if his father ever really helped out anyway, but the thought of being truly, totally alone is harrowing. It takes another minute for him to remember that you’re still standing at his side.

“Go back to the house,” he mumbles, almost to himself. “Wait for me in the kitchen—”

“No!” You blurt, looking surprised despite yourself. Kinich jolts, meeting your eyes. “You’re going to get his body, right?”

After a moment of hesitation, he nods solemnly.

Kinich has looked down these cliffs many times; he knows the sheer height of them. There’s absolutely no chance that his father’s body is in any sort of good shape at the bottom. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

You swallow. “So let’s go.”

The fear is reflected in the way your hands shake, but your shoulders straighten and you reach for him, slotting your fingers together. It’s the most bravery that you can manage, at least right now. Kinich accepts it gratefully.

Making your way down the cliff is treacherous with the little light you have. You don’t speak, barely even breathe. The stars lay watchful above, winking and illuminating your way.

Even with your hand in his, Kinich glances back occasionally, ensuring you’re still with him—you always are, still sniffling and scrubbing at your eyes.

It’s hard for you, and it’s obvious; he has to catch you several times when your foot slips off the stone, but you’re still with him. You’re still with him, he thinks. Kinich repeats it to himself a few times, letting it anchor him as he struggles down the rocks.

His father’s body is stiff by the time you reach it.

You’re too afraid to look at first, meekly standing behind him. It takes a few minutes before you work up the courage to peek over his shoulder, one hand over your mouth. Kinich isn’t sure whether to pray, or cry, or leave it all behind—for a few minutes, he doesn’t do anything at all.

The body is mangled, as he’d expected. You don’t dare to look at it again; you pace about the area, trying to keep your wits about you.

Everything about it is too familiar. He sees himself in the corpse, the blond hair fanned around the head like a halo, the golden eyes forever stuck in a faraway stare. The grappling hook that he always kept on his person.

His father. A half of him. His flesh and blood.

And he’d let him go.

Kinich feels for his own heartbeat over his shirt, fisting at the cloth there.

You are still alive, it whispers.

So he calls your name, soft. You peek at him through the darkness.

“We have to bring it back,” he murmurs.

And you, despite it all, despite the terror that licks hot up your neck, simply nod.

“Okay.”

As the two of you drag the corpse back toward the house, fingertips sticky with blood that freezes in the passing wind, Kinich realizes it—

This is the coldest November he’s ever experienced.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin impact imagines #kinich x you #adeptus ink #tw death #tw vomit #tw abuse

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