#like i'm not just saying that because i don't like him i think it would just be a really good way to subvert expectations

[slimepuparibaba]

18+ NSFW CALEB HEADCANON, HEAR ME OUT! IF YOU ARE A MINOR THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING DO NOT TOUCH THIS WITH A 90-FOOT-POLE

ALSO I SOUND LIKE A MADMAN BUT HEAR ME OUT OK JUST... JUST HEAR ME OUT--

caleb gets worse and more depraved the longer sex goes on

HEAR ME OUT. JUST... JUST HEAR ME OUT.

The more he has you, the less restraint he has. by the time you're spent, he's PROBABLY STILL GOING SO LONG AS YOU DON'T ASK HIM TO STOP OR YOU DO NOT USE THE SAFE WORD (he abides by safe word and is heavy on consent, never assume otherwise)

It'll start with him on top of you, probably being rough (because let's be so real here Caleb is a freak and you are too), doing the usual, he'd encourage you to squirt, to cum, he'd whisper how filthy you are and how you're so perfect for him. he'll ask if you're aware about the size difference between you and him and how he could easily crush you, how he could ruin you for anyone else (oh but you would like that, wouldn't you baby? is probably what he'd ask)

I'M SAYING HE GETS WORSE AS TIME GOES ON. LET ME COOK HERE—HE GETS EXPONENTIALLY WORSE AND MORE UNHINGED THE LONGER THE SEX CONTINUES.

you think you're getting overstimulated? man's trying to get his cock milked over and over again, he's AIMING to be overstimulated. he wants to feel the warmth, the tightness, he wants to merge your flesh into one because HE IS THAT OBSESSED WITH YOU—

at some point he'd lose it entirely, start rambling about other things you could do.

"want me to tie you up, huh? use that little baton from when we first reunited, that thing in interrogations? oh you want that soooo bad don't you? want a collar around your little neck, want me to leash you and drag you around the room? you want me in uniform, want me to be gloved, spank you for misbehaving? how about i use my evol, fuck you against the wall, the ceiling? zero gravity even, drag you down on my cock? or maybe you wanna resonate, huh? wanna hear the disgusting things i think about, feel the way i feel whenever i thrust in and out of you?"

YEAH HE RAMBLES MORE THE LONGER THE SEX GOES ON. BECAUSE HE'S LOSING HIS GODDAMN MIND.

like he will start spouting out the most depraved thoughts he has of you the longer it goes, confessions spilling from his mouth. he's good at restraining, really, he is, but the longer he's inside you, the more of you he's tasted, THAT MAN? GONE. RESTRAINT? BYEEEEEEE

because you feel so good, and now his moans are turning into full on whimpers, and the moment you start seeming tired, and the moment he knows you've been going for WAY TOO LONG, he'll start bargaining

"I promise this'll end in seven minutes, just seven more minutes, need seven more minutes in heaven with you please please, please just please—"

and then when you PASS that seven minute mark (he's so invested), he finally becomes so whiny and apologizing

"I'm a filthy dog, they're right, I'm a disgusting mutt, I'm a beast, I'm a gross pervert, all I want is to take you and break you and rebuild you and mold you, I want you all to myself, I want to keep you here forever and fuck you like this forever, fuck, I'm a selfish disgusting bastard, I can't—"

he'll start raving on and on about how addicted he is, how he can't live without you, how you feel so good that he can't breathe, how he wants to stay right there with you, never leave, keep you there, breed you, and how he knows that he's a gross, disgusting pervert who's so honed in on fucking you out of your mind because it feels too good, he loves you so much, he needs you, he CRAVES you, but he's such a disgusting person and you're a divine being that's giving a sinner like him a chance--

Promise when he comes down from his high or you say the safe word that he'll return to normal and probably regret pushing it too far, ask if he did too much, etc.

he'll give you aftercare, he'll help you if you feel wobbly, he'll apologize over and over again for pushing your limits, say that you did so well and thank you for putting up with him...

...just... just know if you encourage him he will get even worse and you are in trouble

This man needs to be restrained and he would gladly BE restrained cuz the moments restraints are off and he gets a piece of you, KNOW HE WILL GET EXPONENTIALLY WORSE

(and if you're into that you should rile him up actually)

[earthtooz]

because throwing an apple at someone's head was a sign of professing one's love in greek myth.

fluff, gn!reader, i wrote this in a blip

When you told yourself today was the day you confessed to Phainon, you weren't expecting it to turn out like this.

The very ripe, very red, very ready-to-be-consumed apple was not supposed to fly out of your grasp the way it did. It was not supposed to hit him on the head, silencing his laughter as he dumbfoundedly blinks at the item that broke him out of his giddy stupor. It was not supposed to land perfectly in his hands as he glances between your face and your snack, which has now decided to work against you.

You definitely were not supposed to just mutter a meek 'I like you', and you definitely were not supposed to turn on your heel and run away from him!

And why is he chasing after you? Can't he tell you need alone time to recover from the unfortunate series of events that just unfolded?

"Y/n, wait!" He calls, barely sounding out of breath. Your feet hit cement, grass, climb up and down flights of stairs, they don't stop as you dash through every bit of the Grove of Epiphany, all for the sole purpose of shaking Phainon off your tail.

However, it was your mistake for believing someone like him would be willing to give up, and his stamina outpaced yours by a landslide, so just what were you thinking? Running away like that in the spur of the moment?

"No!" You shout back. "Leave me be!"

"But I have something to say to you!"

"I'm sorry for throwing an apple at your head!"

"It's okay! I don't mind- just, stop running!"

"Maybe you should stop chasing me!"

"For Titan's sake-"

As you round a pillar that lead to a short staircase, Phainon had jumped over the ledge and landed by the time you descended the flight, and with a lunge, his hand had securely wrapped itself around your elbow. You had lost. Lost the chase, the fight, your dignity as you gaze up at him, your stomach stirring with unease at his imminent rejection.

There's an unreadable look in his eyes but you don't try deciphering it because you're certain you seem like a mess right now. Your face felt flushed, sweat stuck to your skin, and your hair was all over the place, and worst of all, Phainon was going to reject you while you were in this state.

Titans, please help. This was not what you intended at all.

"You're too fast," he huffs, chest heaving like yours. "You really know how to steal someone's breath away."

"If you're gonna let me down just get to it already."

"Let you down? You think I was chasing you all this way just to let you down?"

"Or were you going to return my apple? It was my afternoon snack-"

"What? No, it's my apple now, you gave it to me!"

"Well, I... threw it at your head-"

"-I accept your confession!" He blurts boldly.

All you can do is splutter out a pathetic 'huh???'.

Phainon is exasperated at this point, desperate to confess the feelings that's been dwelling in his chest for the entire time he's known you. When he's waited this long, he wasn't going to let the moment go, not when you're the one who took the first step, having the nerve to capture his heart and take off bolting with it.

"I like you- a lot! You're everything I've ever wanted and I've waited so long for this, Y/n, please don't make me suffer any longer."

He doesn't blink as he looks at you, as if stubborn to not miss anything about you, not a single micro-change in your expression, the way your breath hitched at his passion, the tweaks of a small smile beginning to pull at your lips.

"Just how am I making you suffer?"

"You tell me the one thing I've been waiting to hear from you and instead of letting me speak, you run away and have me chase you like a Spirithief, does your cruelty know no bounds? Fine, if you're still unsure about my feelings then-"

He takes a big bite out of the apple, the crisp crunch speaking more than it should have to as you blink at his unwavering will.

Phainon's confession settles in the silence, and the first thing you do is laugh in a way that has him almost crumbling to his knees in relief. It was an ode to something beautiful, the start of a new beginning, and as he split your apple in half and handed you the unbitten part, the dull ache on his head finally began to subside.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The desolation lingers, even with Bucky's return. You shuffle down the hall to your office and set your bag on your desk. He fills the doorway as he watches you unpack your tablet and place it on its tripod.

"Some homecoming," he growls.

You look up, eyebrows rising, unready for his confrontation. As unprepared as you are for him to be there. You're so used to being alone. He feels like a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, the issue is due at the editor tonight. And Janine sent me the draft ages ago," you avert your eyes guiltily. "It should be too much longer..."

"She sent it a while ago. Meaning, you're the one who slacked," he sniffs.

You nod and sit, "sorry. I messed up. Again."

You swivel to face the tablet and take the pen off the side. You unlock it and pinch with your fingers to zoom. He clucks and marches off as you struggle not to show your discomfort.

You lean in and focus on the work. It's so natural to you, it's soothing. To know exactly what you're doing. Not like this. Not like living. Not like marriage.

He comes back through the open door and smacks his hand down on the desk. You reel back with the pen in hand as he uncovers your rings, leaving them next to your monitor. You glance at him, "thanks. I... thanks."

Your lips twitch and your cheek ticks. You can't stop moving your mouth. That old nervous habit is back.

"Oh, and these might help," he sets down your glasses next to the rings. "Probably more important to you."

You hesitate and take the rings first. You slip them on and admire the shine. The teardrop is just as sparkling as the day he gave it to you. You reach for your glasses and he catches your hand.

"I didn't want to go," he says. "So I'd appreciate if you stop acting like I abandoned you."

You shake your head and shrug. "I don't think that--"

"I saw the Kelly's bag on the counter," he scoffs. "The soda cup next to the bed..."

"I've been busy. I forgot to tidy up."

"And cook," he challenges.

You wiggle free of him. Because he lets you. He could easily keep you in his grasp. He rescinds his hand and exhales heavily.

"Yep," you put your glasses on and turn back to your tablet, overly aware of how much room your ass takes up in that chair. "I'll cook tonight. I have a steak for you."

He clicks his tongue, "I'm concerned, not a tyrant."

"I know, Buck, alright? I'm sorry, I have a lot going on--"

"You do, yeah. Me too," he crosses his arms. "Like spending a month away from my wife. Getting my head knocked half-off. Sleeping on concrete--"

You drop the pen. You can stay up. You had that coffee, it will help.

"I better marinate that steak, make sure that flavour sticks," you move out from behind the desk. He moves to meet you, blocking you.

"I don't want you to fucking act like some trapped housewife. You haven't even kissed me," he sneers.

Your heart drops. You hadn't even thought of it. You look at his belt. It's as if he plunged that knife there between your ribs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" You flutter your fingers nervously. "Oh, I..." your lips slant back and forth.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" He shakes his head. 

"Please, I..." you step closer and reach for him, "I'll give you a kiss--"

He stops you by your shoulders and moves you away from him. It's like he's slapped you. He puts you at arms' length. He grits his teeth as his nostrils flare.

"Kiss me because you want to," he shoves you just a little. "I'll order a fucking cheeseburger. Finish your work." He pokes his tongue in his cheek and spins away. "You don't need to let anyone else down."

He stomps out and you stagger, leaning on the desk to steady yourself. What the hell? You tried. You did. Didn't you?

You swallow and blow out a long, dry breath. You close your eyes and gather up what's left of your strength. You sit and stare at the tablet. The pen sits in front of the stand. You should cry. You want to. Your eyes are barren. Nothing.

You grab the pen and roll close. You focus on the line work for the next panel. You have to stop and ease the tremble in your hand. Your frustration mounts as you can't keep the pixels from wobbling.

You hear a soft thump. You sit up and look toward the door. You hear the clatter of something else. More things tossed around. You get up and leave the pen behind.

You step into the open door and listen. He's upstairs. You go up, a step at a time, following the noise with baited breath. He's in the bedroom.

As you peer inside, he's pillaging your top drawer. He grips your vibrator and gnashes his teeth. It crunches in hand before he hurls it away. Your books are on the floor before the bookshelf, your nightstand is on its side. He continues to tear apart your things.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" You near him and touch his arm.

"Looking for evidence," he opens your jewelry box and spins the hooks that hold your necklaces.

"Evidence? Of what?"

"Him."

"Him?" You echo in confusion.

"The other guy."

"Other... Bucky? How can you say that?"

"There has to be someone else," he grabs the jewelry box and flings it with a crash. He turns to face you. "You're icing me out."

"I'm not. Bucky, I-- I--" You can't find a single fucking drop of moisture in your head. It stings for him to accuse you and yet it's all locked inside you. "I waited for you. I've been waiting. And I would never-- How could you even think--" You stammer through your anger and hurt. "You-- I thought you knew me."

"I thought I fucking did too," he snorts.

He sidesteps you and you turn to watch him storm out. You step on a book and hear the spine break. You look down as his footfalls hammer downstairs. You bend and pick up the journal you forgot. The one with all the postcards he used to send you while on missions. You thought it was cute back then how old-fashioned he was. He hated texting, but he sent you these cards he found in local shops. They just feel like reminders of what you've lost. It's gone, isn't it?

[orimuraa]

── ⋆⋅ ❀ Give me your heart and I'll give you mine - OT7 𝜗𝜚 do you think you could love me - yung kai

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆enhypen falling in love with a fan ⨾

۶ৎ idol!enhypen x fem engene!reader┆fluff┆delulu is the solulu, kissing, petnames, secret relationships┆wc 757

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: SIGHHH when will nishimura riki notice me T^T

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

"hee..we shouldn't be doing this..i can get you in so much trouble if we're caught," you mumble hesitantly, pulling back slightly from heeseung's embrace. "angel, you're worth ruining my career for. i would go to the moon and back just to show you i'm with you till the end," heeseung sighs against your lips. "let them find out about us. let them say their words. none of that can tear me away from you. nothing." he says, sealing his words with a kiss to your lips and at that moment you think, maybe it'll be okay.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

you weren't exactly sure what it was that drew park jongseong to you. maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled when you talked to him, not even the slightest bit nervous to be meeting your ultimate bias. or maybe, it was the way just didn't throw yourself immediately at him and instead, you asked how he was and what he had been up to lately. either way, it was enough to influence the scene that was unfolding now. he was placing delicate kisses onto your lips, celebrating your 1 year anniversary and that's the way things were, no room for complaints.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

sim jaeyun had a problem. and that problem, was you. you were just too goddamn pretty and something so alluring about you drew him in further. he was so sure of getting in trouble with his management but if it meant that he could have you in his arms, it would be worth it all. you were just an engene, one of millions, yet he just couldn't take his eyes off of you. he knew right away that he needed to get to you somehow and if that meant putting his career in danger, he would do it just so he could maybe meet the love of his life.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

"hoon, are you sure that this is a good idea? if word gets out that you're seeing me, an ordinary engene, your whole life as an idol is practically thrown out the window," you sigh, shifting to look at sunghoon. you were both lying down and he had his arms around you protectively. "darling, i don't care what they have to say about me. the only thing that matters to me is that i can come home to you and lay in your arms, just like this." sunghoon answers. and it's the truth. sunghoon would go as far as ruining his dream career just to be able to have you by his side, because at the end of the day, you're the thing he loves most.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

sunoo always thought his job as an idol would restrict his ability to find the love of his life. but clearly, that was wrong, and you were proof. sunoo saw you in the crowd of people in front of the stage and you looked so bright and happy. the warm smile you had on your face as you stared at him made his heart flutter in the slightest bit, making sunoo believe, once again, in love at first sight. the moment your eyes locked with his, you could tell that there was something more than just eye contact. there was something more...something exciting and new...and maybe something sunoo was willing to risk it all for.

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

"won, what if i get you in trouble? you're the leader and it gives you more pressure to abide to the rules! i don't want you to put your career at risk just for me," you say, your lips turning into a small frown just thinking about all the hate that jungwon would receive if your relationship was ever exposed. "let them do what they can, because in the end, they can't ever take me away from you. you're my muse, my motivation, my happiness and if they take that away? that's just their loss." he replies, kissing you on the cheek. "don't stress about it, we have nothing to worry about."

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

you were just an engene. a typical engene with much admiration for the seven members of enhypen. but you were also an engene that snuck her way into the very own heart of enhypen's maknae. ni-ki cherished you and from the way he held you, deep down, he was scared to lose you. you were his motivation and the sole reason he kept pushing himself. he cherish the late nights he would come home and be able to kiss you and cuddle you. and there was no way he could live without you. you were his everything.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication

[kneesocktango]

Patience's text under the cut

I know it's kind of an awkward question and not everybody likes to talk about why they left their last job but it's something I gotta ask cause see I had this one guy interview and I didn't ask him about it, I just figured "hey this guy's kinda cute, I can see him waiting tables!" but his resume said he used to be a doctor and I didn't think about it too much since if I was a doctor I'd wanna quit too, y'know? Like I can only handle being around sick people so much. I know it's not their fault they're sick (usually (one time my uncle got sick because he ate a three month old frank he found in the back of his fridge (he called it an old dog (like the kind you can't teach new tricks to) and we told him not to but he ate it anyway and ended up in the hospital for a week) so sometimes it can be their fault) but you just don't want to hang around sick people for eight hours a day five days a week. Anyway turns out this doctor guy didn't quit, he was fired, like he lost his medical license like they don't let him treat people no more. Turns out he was rearranging faces or something! Not beating people up or nothing, he was doing it like with surgery. So I found that out after one of his former patients came in and it was like this whole thing. Now I'm sure you weren't committing malpractice too, I mean, what are the odds I interview two people who lost their medical licenses? No offense if you did, except I probably wouldn't be able to hire you. So, let's see, this says your last position was...god of leadership? Oh, just like Inspekta! That's a crazy coincidence! Have you met? Small world! So why'd you quit being a god? They didn't take your license away did they? Do gods even get licenses, or do they just have to be chosen? I wouldn't know, I've never ascended. Interesting career move, though, quit being a god and interview to wait tables. You didn't want to, like, switch to being god of waiters? You must really be passionate about this. Well I'm afraid we can't offer the same perks as godhood, y'know, divinity and immortality and worship and all that, but you do get to keep any tips you earn. Maybe not as glamorous, but we don't have Miss Mitternacht putting together our benefits packages. Hey, does ascension hurt? It looks like it'd hurt. I can't imagine having the rift rearrange my whole body like that. Not just my face! Does the rift have a medical license? That's a dumb question, I can't imagine what board would have to evaluate it. Hey, you still listening?

[yanderedrabbles]

Wanders in here trembling and shaking

The outlaws have crawled into my brain and I am not okay. I am so not okay. Got that on my for you last night, finished it this morning, and here we are hours later with brain rot i cannot cure orz

I beg, I'm sure not naming them may have been for a reason, but do they have names? I just. For my poor brain that is so unwell it needs names to just implode more over.

((btw amazing writing skills I'm on my hands and knees I plan on binging your content later once I have recovered))

Yandere Wild West Gang - Names

Oooh, this is such a fun question! I rarely give my characters names, not out of any major stylistic choice, but because I write a ton and coming up with names for all of them would get so confusing so fast. In this case though, I think their names tell us quite a lot about their lives and personalities.

I think the boss would have a name with a bit more weight to it. Still very cowboy, but a bit more formal. I'm thinking Rhett or Cassidy. It's got this hint of authority about it, y'know?

The gunslingers are flippant and arrogant. Young men who live fast and expect to die young. Their names reflect that - short, blunt, almost impersonal.

I see the green eyed gunslinger as Clay. And the dark skinned gunslinger as Cash. I don't think either one is a birth name. Clay and Cash are the kind of names you give when you drift into a town where the whiskey hits hard and the men hit harder. I like to think that's exactly what happened and the names just happened to stick.

The wrangler is Lakota so pulling what info I could from my research, I'd say the name he goes by is his honour name rather than his birth name. The name he earned for his deeds. Tahatan (ta-hat-tann) which means Hawk.

I can see the other outlaws mostly calling him Hawk or Tan. He likes it when you use his full name though. And maybe one day he'll tell you the story of how he got it.

The kid is definitely Boone. Don't ask me why, it just makes sense. It's the name I'd expect on a colt just growing into adulthood. Still nervous and wild. It could be the name of an outlaw or a ranch hand, and the only difference is whether you say it with kindness or with hate.

The second in command was tricky. Chinese names have changed a bit since the Cultural Revolution so I couldn't pull directly. I took inspiration from the very few Chinese railroad workers whose names we still have on record. His name is Li Dan, but everyone calls him Lee. He doesn't mind what you call him, but he has to admit that it does feel pretty special to hear you say his full name.

There ya go! I'm basing all this off vibes btw.  

[unluckilyimnot]

slow morning w/ sae, rin, hiori, kaiser

note: Omori's Kel mentioned, pet name 'love' used with Hiori. After some time writing for them, i thought i'll get back to it with something cute. i just read the chapters i missed, i'm in a huge bllk brainrot again

m.list | rules

Sae

It rarely happens, Sae staying in bed after 7 in the morning – that's usually the later he can handle. So when you feel his arms wrapped around you again after you roll to the other side, leaving him space to get up slowly after you feel him switch, there's a warm feeling spreading through your body. You turn around, nesting your head on the crock of his neck with small, bubbling sounds that make his heart soften every time. He holds you closer, if possible, and you swear if you could you'll start purring the second his fingers go through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly without touching any sensible era. You feel your mind drifting away slowly again, but you don't resist it. Instead you enjoy his soft attention until you fall asleep again.

When you wake up, Sae's sitting on the edge of the bed by your side. His hand goes kindly through your hair again, but this time he's fully dressed and you can smell coffee on his hand when it brushes your cheek. 

"Breakfast's ready," he said rather blankly but you perceive the softness in his eyes. You rub against his hand. 

"What time is it ?" 

"Around 9 and a half ." There's no way on earth he's waiting this long.

"You've eaten already?"

"No." You can't help but smile at his words, feeling your heart skipping a beat. He really waited for you. 

So got up quickly, putting on some shorts and one of his sweaters he kindly handed you before following him to the living room. Breakfast is settled on the low table in front of the TV playing whatever kid shows aired at that time. On the rare morning and breakfast you share with Sae, it is an obligation to watch this – that helps him clear his mind, he says, since he doesn't have to think.

You sit next to him and pull your tray on his tights, wandering around it a little before eating some rice first. You could find all the things you liked, along with some rice because he'll never put that away. 

Keeping only your cup of coffee after being done with most of the food on the tray, you put it back to the table and lay on his shoulder, enjoying the small contact the best. Enjoying this whole morning at its fair value, because you had no idea when this would happen again. 

Kaiser 

"We have to get up," Michael said seriously for like, the fifth time, but you still wouldn't get up from your lying state on top of his body. He's so warm and cuddly, how could he ask you that ?

"Not yet," you mumble, face down in his chest.

"It's literally 11," he objected, desperate to just get up and get, at least, his running routine done today. "Don't 'no yet' me. I have things to do." 

Without any warnings, he tossed you to the side and went straight to the window, opening the shutters. You shouted at him not to, but it was too late and when he looked back at you again, you were now just a ball below the cover, whining at the "holy light". He held his laugh, he couldn't let you know how cute and funny you were while doing this when he was, supposedly, mad at you. But God he loved it.

Without any further goals in this room, he left for the kitchen and started making your breakfast for you until you were ready to face the sunlight. It never took you too long, so he wasn't worried. He took his time, putting coffee on the heat stove until it was ready, preparing both your salty and sweet parts of it along his, despite not eating the same things. Before he was even done, your arms were already wrapped around his waist, still whining at the light burning your eyes. 

He really liked it, morning like this. It was dear to his heart, sweet moments with you that was worth putting his career aside for a day. He was scared he got too used to it, scared this could vanish but, still, he couldn't imagine a world without you anymore.

Hiori 

On his resting days, Hiori likes to lay in bed longer than he should. He becomes one with the blanket, looking more like a giant worm than your boyfriend. You know he'd die to have you stuck in his arms until he's fully awake, which you don't mind most of the time, but the rare time you're awake before him it's a living nightmare not being able to simply turn around and take your phone to wait. So you flee away from the bed without making any noises, getting dressed in the living room so you can be the one, for once, making breakfast. 

You took your time, leaving him to enjoy his day off a little longer but you still couldn't let him sleep all day – he'll be mad at himself. Preparing it all, you cracked some eggs and let them cook before moving to toast some bread and cut avocados. You make sure to not boil the water for his tea, preparing it last in fact to be sure he has it while it's still fuming like he likes.

It was almost done when his arms held you from behind, his head laying on top of yours. You turned the kettle on, his cup only waiting for the warm water. 

"Are you ok with avocado toast ? We still had two that were done. It didn't want to waste them," you started but your rumble fell into deaf ears when his lips began drawing patterns along your neck, straight to your shoulder, making you giggle. 

"That's perfect," he answered, purring in your ear when his face rested on your shoulder, looking down at the pretty plate you just made. "Thank you, love."

You can't help but look away, even if he can't really see you. You pull him with you when you move, since he's glued to your back now it seems. You pour his drink, and proceed to ask him where he wants to eat ; you're not surprised when he murmurs in front of the let's play you two started not so long ago. 

"You put this on and I bring it all there ?" you proposed cheerfully. He lets you go with a grunt, kissing your head quickly before leaving with you on his tracks with two cups. He already saw it, but he loves the story so much he wanted to share it with you. You actually liked it a lot, it was easy to watch and the story was amazing. You two easily spend hours sitting in front of it. 

"I'm so sad Kel loses his rock," you commented, your breakfast long forgotten and his arms holding you close. 

"Yeah, I was too the first time," he grinned, kissing your head again. "Don't worry, he'll get over it though." 

You nod, believing him.

Rin 

A slow morning with Rin is whatever he wants it to be, so if you ask anyone else, they would tell you that this has nothing to do with a slow morning. He wakes up early, no matter how hard you try to keep him in bed with you – but you know you're getting better at it 'cause it's harder every time for him to say no. He takes a long shower, washing his hair thoughtfully and taking care of his skin. He spends a lot of time in the bathroom, between shaving and doing his skincare, before doing some meditation in the living room so he knows it won't bother your sleep.

By the time he's done, you're usually awake but still groggy, he has to be patient with you. You always fo for him, it doesn't matter if he's barely done or packing his appetite mattress, you'll always lay on him or grab him from behind with a tired hello.

You try to help him cook but you always end up sitting still, half sleeping on the table with a fuming cup of whatever you felt like having this morning ; of course he made it for you. 

The thing is, Rin wants to be done with his routine before you wake up, that way he can let himself enjoy doing nothing in your company for a few hours without feeling bad or in a rush. He likes taking care of you, making things for you, it doesn't matter if you feel like it was too much. You have no idea how much you give him in return. Even if you were not fully awake, you always were the best company he could wish for. You talk about your weird dreams, bring back old situations to talk this out again even if he barely answers you sometimes. 

"That was something for sure, what happened next ?" He asked, giving you your plate and sitting next to you with his, listening to your creepy dream. 

It never gets boring, he always likes to listen to you talking nonsense in the morning.

"Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie," he commented.

"The beginning ?" you gasped, flabbergasted. "More like the most scary scene, please I felt so, so deranged." 

By now you're fully awake and you start doing bigger gestures, give him dirty looks when he disagrees with you and he doesn't do everything he can so you don't see the way he smiles at you. 

So no, his slow morning isn't what most people think it is. But simply having time to talk with you in the morning, without thinking of anything else, is his own definition. 

Let me know if you liked it!

[muqingslover]

hiii, can you please share more goofy habits caleb has while sharing a bed with u 💝

[ By popular demand i'm here to share extra thoughts on Caleb's sleeping habits! Kinda of a part two to this, in case you missed! ]

-----------------------------⁠✿⁠⁠✿⁠⁠✿⁠--------------------------

Oh boy there's so much to unpack here. We all know Caleb has experienced a loooot of bad things and has not worked through them in an actual healthy way at all. He is also a master at hiding it from you, but you can get a glimpse of how damaged he truly is during bedtime.

First of all, you will rarely, if ever, catch him sleeping on an actual bed. Or sleeping at all to be honest. What Caleb does is take power naps whenever he can on his couch at the office or when he's at your place waiting for you to. The one to (partially) blame for this is his chronic insomnia. I like to believe Caleb has always been a very light sleeper and it's only gotten worse throughout the years— The sound of a door opening is enough for him to be wide wake in a matter of seconds. Trust issues anyone?

When he wakes up, if alone, his go-to activity is working out. He'll do push-ups or leave the house for a loooong late night jog, anything that will tire his body out since he's wired up. Then, he takes a freezing cold shower to reboot his system and either starts to work early or sits down to solve some calculus problems to prevent his mind from thinking about anything else since it's 98% of the time never anything good.

To add to that, the main reason as to why his insomnia is so bad is the fact he has nightmares on an almost daily basis. They're often about you in some way and he wakes up panicking about where you are, how you are, if you're with someone else, why you aren't here with him instead and if you plan on leaving him. That's why it's so crucial for Caleb that you stay somewhere he can see you whenever he needs to. Otherwise, his anxiety will gnaw at him until he just shows up unprompted on your front door in the middle of the night.

On the topic of nightmares, next thing on the list is a more...sensitive one: His reactions to nightmares that involves the abuse Caleb himself went through. I say sensitive because this man is a trained soldier and he wakes up in very high alert which, sometimes, means he might hurt you by pure reflex similar to retired war veterans.

The first time you woke up with his hands tightly wrapped around your neck you seriously thought you were a goner. The sound of your voice calling his name was fortunately enough to make him snap out of the haze he was trapped in, believing he was under the threat of the ghosts of his past and had to defend himself before it was him the one who would end up dead. You have always been his anchor, it was not a surprise that you were the only one able to pull him back even in a moment like this.

Regardless if he had been in control or not, Caleb would blame himself until his last day on this world. He wouldn't sleep (Key word being sleep because he will stay in bed with you, he just won't *sleep*) on the same bed as you anymore after this and instead spends his nights on a mattress on the floor next to you. The sight of your bruised neck and the tears in your eyes because of his hands, because of him, only serve as fuel for his nightmares. He doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been able to speak loudly enough to wake him up.

"Caleb is a big spoon!!" people yell at me and I agree! However! If you want this man to have some peaceful sleep then the only way to achieve that is to have him laying on your chest where he can both listen to your steady heartbeat and feel your warmth as he holds you. Run your fingers through his hair and promise him you'll be right there when he wakes up to soothe his anxieties as much as possible and he might just sleep throughout the entire night.

Moving on to more sweet thoughts so we don't end on a bitter note— He has serious beef with the plushies you own, specifically the ones you hug to sleep. I mean, he's right here? Hello??? Why would you want to hug that fat ass bear of yours. If your plushie goes missing one day through suspicious means don't be sad because you can just cuddle him! He promises he'll behave this time!

Another silly thing is Caleb cannot keep his hands to himself when the two of you are sharing a bed. Literally. His hands have a will of their own and they must be touching you at all times in some way. That also means he will bother you by torturing tickling you non-stop until you're on the verge of tears. He loves the sound of your joyful laughter and how red your face gets while you try to escape the evil tickle monster so I'm afraid there's no way to get him to actually stop.

[danadiadea]

1) Beating one's wife was once seen as normal? Homophobia was once seen as normal? Actually within the Harry Potter universe thinking that Voldemort had the right ideas and being a blood purist was normal! The death eaters outnumbered the Order 20:1, Sirius says that lots of people thought Voldemort had the right ideas, and even after the war British wizards literally had chosen a blood purist (at least according to Albus) as their Minister! Why would you say Snape was wrong for using the word Mudblood then?

The thing is, a violation of one's bodily boundaries and basic feelings of privacy and safety and control would influence the victim's mental health, even if the perpetrator supposedly "doesn't know" it's wrong.

I have zero idea what is tcoptp, I'm pretty sure we are discussing Harry Potter books? Is it some kind of Marauders fanfition or what?... The only people who do almost exactly what James did in the books are the Death Eaters to the family of Muggles in GoF, and every character understands how wrong it is. Also it's strongly implied that James took Snape's underwear off – there is no reason to include the phrase that suggests something that can't be shown in the books for children and pull Harry out just after it if the author didn't want to convey that it happened.

2) well if you are stating something it's rather logical people would confront it if it's not true

3) we see that James during the SWM insistently asks Lily out, including the bit when he tries to blackmail her (the quote in punkt 7). After she said "no" and "I hate you" as clearly as she did, the only possibly normal thing to do was to leave her alone. But James kept trying to win her attention for at least one more year and for at least one more year she kept refusing. Then he supposedly stopped hexing people "for the fun of it" and she agreed to date him, and he "didn't take Snape on their dates to hex him" so that she doesn't change her mind. Even if we assume that his try to ask Lily out in that manner during the SWM was the first one (which I personally don't think is likely), it surely wasn't anywhere near the last one. And this is absolutely a disregard to her boundaries and a belief that she is supposed to date him because it's his wish.

Harry was literally so horrified with their dynamics his initial thought was that his father had forced his mother into a relationship.

4) WHAT respectful kind adults? Albus "I'll silence your murder attempt" Dumbledore? Minerva "thinks that sending 11yo kids to the forest where something kills unicorns is a great punishment" McGonagall? Horace "made an elitist club inside the school" Slughorn? Did they ever stop the bullying? No, they didn't. Did they ever stop the DEs recruiting children? No, they didn't. Hogwarts was full of neglectful adults who weren't doing their goddamn jobs. What are you talking about.

5) Shoving Harry in OoTP sure wasn't good, but it wasn't intentionally cruel. Harry literally retraumatised Snape, and after he trusted Harry enough to leave him alone with the memories that not only held Snape's most private life moments, but also probably the war secrets Harry absolutely shouldn't have known, Harry decided to peek inside, witnessing his teacher being assaulted and almost seeing him fully naked. Literally anyone would've lost control in a situation like that – it's called having a nervous system. Way fewer people would humiliate and tie up and choke with soap and raise up in the air and undress their classmate because their friend had been bored.

Also, McGonagall grabbed 11yo Draco's ear because he broke curfew? Most things that Snape did as a teacher other teachers also did, only with much flimsier exuses. The only characters we see doing what James did in the books are, yet again, the DEs.

6) calling DEs nazis is very problematic, but ok. Snape WAS a mean and deeply imperfect teacher (i don't remember when did he make fun of Ron's wand though? and the questions he asked Harry weren't advanced, a 11yo muggleborn girl had known the answers. also he DID make Trevor drink the potion and it WAS safe). His actions weren't out of the ordinary for Hogwarts stuff, but yeah, he had a lot of room for improvement. That doesn't make Snape "the other side of the coin" of a privileged bully. This makes Snape a disfunctional adult not really cut out for his job.

being groomed into a terrorist group and calling his friend a slur during a traumatic event doesn't make Snape the other side of the coin of a privileged bully either, it makes him a textbook example of a discriminated and vulnerable youth who falls easy prey to radicalisation. which isn't good by any means, but it's not bad in the same way hexing people because you find it amusing is.

7) "I will [leave Snape alone] if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on . . . Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again"

Frankly, the James/Lily interactions make me hate him almost as much as James/Severus interactions.

8) "And my mum was okay with that [James still hexing Snape on their 7th year]?”

“She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,” said Sirius. “I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?”

You could soften that to "withheld information" I guess, but he clearly understood that Lily would be unhappy with that if she knew. And this is the info James' literal best friend is giving on him, lol.

9) I refer to that sneaking out: "James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell — also, Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions". That's how we know that Albus didn't take the Cloak for "experimenting" (which had been a dumb exuse, since that stuff can hide people from death and this is something Potters needed a lot), but so that James stays at his freaking Fidelius hidden home with their infant.

James died because he chose a secret keeper with his ass, sorry. There was no reason for him to die, if he just listened to Albus or at least became a keeper himself, he would've lived. When Voldemort already was at his house, he didn't have a choice.

I don't care about who is a bastard and who is not – what I'm saying is that people hurting others because they think it's funny and because they feel like they have a right to do it are not the same as people hurting others because they are traumatised and triggered. I agree Snape wasn't cut dry bad or good, just like Sirius, or Remus, or Albus (with their own good and bad sides, and in quite different ways and proportions), but frankly, James wasn't given any redeeming qualities except for being a part of the Order and not hating his friends as much as Sirius did (aka stopping Lupin from killing Snape). That's it. His change is nowhere in the books. His good deeds are nowhere in the books. He and Snape are not "cruel" or "arrogant" in the same way at all.

hey gang. are we gonna talk about how Snape grew into exactly what he perceived teenage James Potter to be? unnecessarily cruel, picked on those with less power than him, arrogant (debatable for Snape but the 'I can teach you how to bottle fame brew glory stopper death etc' speech was him GLAZING himself LMAO) and found a target in a kid with a difficult family life?

this isnt a criticism of Snape or James. this is just an observation and objective fact. both Snape and James were/did the things I listed above, James in his adolescence and Snape in his adulthood. I just found it interesting.

EDIT: by saying you hate snape you're essentially saying you hate teenage james potter haha. you can't have it both ways, they're two sides of the same coin

[crowborn666-writes]

malleus/leona/azul with a fem student who has adhd and autism. yet crowley does nothing about it despite being explained over again saying 'you're just not trying hard enough, etc"

(Oh hey, it’s my two biggest brain problems lmao. As hot as I find Crowley (yes he’s a hear me out), just once, I would love to hit him over the head with every broken object in Ramshackle. Just whack him WWE style. I’d probably convince Grim, Ace and Deuce to join in. ANYWAYS��)

(this was actually a bit hard for my AuADHD, explaining ADHD and Autism itself is quite difficult for me without references lol that and I'm horrible with finding the right words)

That’s Not How That Works

Characters: Malleus, Leona, and Azul

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Platonic/Romantic

Summary: No, Crowley, you cannot “just get over it”. Yes, you are trying your hardest. Oh, and your friend wants to “have a word” with you in your office.

(Malleus covers both p equally, while Leona leans more to ADHD, and Azul more to Autism!)

~~~~~~

Malleus

He didn’t get it at first. I doubt ANY of the cast would know what the proper terms for your mental conditions meant. But once you sit down with him, trying to find the right words to explain in a way he would understand, he catches on quickly.

For the ADHD side, once you explain what dopamine is, and how your brain doesn't register or create enough of it, he understands why you find difficulty in completing long term tasks, and why you wait until the last minute.

He catches on quite quicker when you explain Autism. While obviously its more than just a hyperfixation, but all you really have to start with is "kinda like how you obsess over gargoyles" for his eyes to widen in mutual understanding.

You hear a storm rolling in the distance when you go on to explain how Crowley wouldn't listen, and kept pushing you to do things that would surely lead to a massive burnout.

"I'll take care of it." He speaks those words so calmly, you almost fear for Crowley's life. But when Malleus speaks again, his tone now matches the bright smile on his face. "You said autistic people bond through... what was that term again? Infodumping??? Right, why don't you share your most recent interests with me, I can carve a new gargoyle in the while I listen."

Leona

Was already pissed off with Crowley's general treatment towards you. Suddenly has the urge to de-feather a bird when you get into the topic.

It comes up when he stops by to visit, watching you try to clean up around your dusty dorm. You had suddenly stopped in the middle of what you were doing, looking between the cups on the table, to the dishes in the sink, and then the mess on the counters and-

He asks you what was up, and without thinking you explain.

"Well, I want to clean the cups off the table, but the sink is full. I can't clean the sink out because the counter's messy and the dishwasher doesn't work, but I can't clean the counter cause the trash needs taken out and we're low on trash bags and-"

He stops you before your tongue flies out of you mouth, gently soothing you before you could work yourself frantic.

So, while he's helping find a solution to the seemingly endless cycle of tasks, you explain the difficulties you have with your ADHD and Autism in this world. You explain all the little tricks you had set up at home, how each one helped a task become more manageable, and how hard it was to get them set up and built into your routine.

While he doesn't personally experience your struggle, he can only imagine how hard you're having it. He looks out for your signs of stress now, stepping in to help fix or assist with things, maybe even wordlessly pass you a bracelet of his to fidget with.

Azul

Honestly, I would NOT be surprised if he has had his fair share of experience with ADHD and Autism. Not personally, but through the twins.

Floyd is, well, a walking bomb ready to explode. That eel can almost never sit still, seemingly unaware of personal boundaries and able to switch moods at the drop of a hat.

Jade is more subtle, oftentimes so quiet most don't realize he's there until he speaks. But if he's in a mood or someone asks about mushrooms, it's nearly impossible getting him to shut up.

So, it's safe to say Azul recognized those things when getting to know you. What he wasn't expecting, was the way you seemingly recoil in pain when you encounter an odd texture.

That wasn't the only thing either. You struggled with discerning lefts from rights, which made for some funny interactions between the twins. You struggled with remember to care for yourself when you fell too deep into a hobby or task, seemingly not feeling the signals for, say hunger, until someone else brings it up.

Finally, he had to ask you about it.

You do your best to explain it to him, but once you do, he lets out a soft, understanding "Ohhh..."

You run off on a tangent then, frowning as you start to talk about Crowley and the fact he refused to even try to understand. It was nice having a routine to follow, sure, but not when there's so much being thrown at you on top of the lack of support.

Azul's blood boils, and he almost whips out his phone to contact the twins for... information.

He offers to write up a contract for you then and there, detailing you receive better treatment from Crowley, giving you some ease of mind and body against all the overwhelming sensations you deal with on the daily.

He'll even let you admire his coin collection while he writes it.

[eldritch-spouse]

"Hey, so, I just escaped, I think, from being eaten? Or sold? Anywho, pretty sure I'm about to die, and I don't want to go out like that. And you seem like you know your stuff with drinks and all that! Do you think you could make a drink strong enough to kill me? But nicely? I can give you anything I have! Hell, just loot my body afterwards! I'm sure my phone could sell for a pretty penny! And I don't think it would be bad to go out by having a killer drink and a killer slime to look at!"

[Fem reader. How to rizz a lunatic 101.]

Gallon had been onto you for a while.

In spite of having only one eye at his disposal, the slime's field of vision and keen observational skills have always been one of his most useful attributes. There's hardly a monster in the floor he hasn't noticed and silently categorized. Which means, naturally, a loose human stands out like a sore, bleeding thumb.

In your defense, you're far from stupid. Trying to go as unnoticed as possible in such a big crowd, head hanging low under the hood of a dark jacket and posture reserved while you slink silently past larger figures, studying the smallest of possible openings. Technically, it's part of Gallon's job to report this, if he thinks you're about to escape. But no one's ever said the slime can't entertain himself a little.

Gallon works fluidly, keeping a persistent eye on you.

It's not surprising that you're hurt. Between the cuts and scrapes across your skin, the tear tracks drying on your cheeks and the tense jaw, he can tell you just wrestled your way out of death's maw. Honestly, the mere fact that you're not missing a chunk or a limb is miraculous. You're in great condition, all things considered.

He's not sure what you're thinking, nor does he get much time to theorize, because you suddenly lock eyes.

The bartender makes no secret of his attention, holding the contact for as long as you meet him head on. Although a shiver rattles your form, not an entirely uncommon reaction, you look... Determined.

Curious.

There's no shortage of anticipation and glee when you start walking Gallon's way.

Whatever will you do, realistically? Are you going to beg him for help? Try to wring information out him? You aren't carrying anything except torn clothing, defenseless and disoriented. Nevertheless, the bartender lives for these little instances of unpredictable chaos, the spice of his life, the burning kick to his favorite drinks.

You're allowed to take a seat and present yourself the same way most other customers would. Luck has it that the bar flies have mostly dispersed, disturbed by an obnoxious robot blaring music not too far away, a crowd of riled up monsters singing and hollering- Another thing that's helping you blend in seamlessly.

Gallon watches you lean in, the most befuddling ramble escaping your lips as you seemingly request he... Kill you. Gently. You even throw in a compliment, what a cheeky little thing. Such painfully clear awareness of your situation, paradoxically mixed with a melancholic sense of calm. You're processing your own demise before it even has its clutches upon you.

The slime's grin creeps higher, eery teeth seeming to elongate. An idea twists and twirls in his head, sparking into a scheme.

The monster's head cocks, attempting to study your features through the strategic shade of your hooded garb. Pretty lips attempt to placate him with a polite smile, but he can see the tremble in your eyes all the same. You have an interesting demeanor, he wouldn't mind seeing more of you. In fact, he dare say that you're one of the finer built humans out there, perhaps you're even more of a catch under all that ratty fabric...

" What a request. " He half-chuckles. " I hear you, it must be quite the day you're having. "

As if he didn't have the power to save you, right here, right now.

" Yeah... " Frantic doe eyes flicker every which way whenever someone passes by just a little too close. " The last one. "

Gallon imagines the stress has your throat too tight to drink anything to begin with.

" Relax, dear. " Malformed digits drum on a spotless counter. " You are now, on this one very special occasion, my client. No one will bother you. "

There's a look of cautious gratitude in your features. Like you don't quite believe him.

" Regardless- I think I may have just the thing. Could I interest you in a Hollowed Nectar? "

As expected, the look on your face is blank. A major portion of what he serves are monster-oriented drinks, the likes of which are either unknown to humans, or infamous for causing a variety of strange, oftentimes harmful effects in them.

" S... Sure? "

The slime snickers quietly, spare tendrils lunging to fetch ingredients and utensils behind him, a blur of familiar movement that causes your eyes to widen.

" It's a favorite around here, particularly for slothful folk. Incredibly relaxing, it helps them slip into long, lucid voyages that apparently greatly enhance their natural abilities. " Gallon begins, noting the hint of wonder you let slip. " Also just great to forcibly quell a panicking mind. "

He whips out a black crystal vintage glass, allowing you to stare at it.

His motions are proudly practiced, you can barely glimpse the odd elements that are grinned and sprinkled onto the luxurious glass before it fills with a concoction that gradually takes on a golden hue. The thing almost seems to sparkle, if you squint. The rim of the goblet-like glass is adorned with powdered sugar. It smells faintly of something rich and heavy, like peaches, honey... And caramelized candy?

To him, the drink was prepared in a standard amount of time, to you, it felt like a second passed.

The webbing-etched glass is placed on a purple coaster featuring The Clergy's Eye symbol, slowly edged towards you in its impeccable presentation. This is the type of drink a regular person would photograph and share the likeness of with others. The slime dips an elegant silver spoon into it, barely disturbing the swirl of its contents.

You're mesmerized, silently stroking the bartender's ego.

" Do you know- " He begins, leaning in to steal your attention back. " What makes this lethal to you, cherry? "

Humorously, it's as if his wording reminds you that you're here to die. That he's your personally chosen Grim Reaper, and this isn't just a lonely night in a back alley bar. Perspiration pools on your forehead. Gallon squints with fascination. Not getting cold feet so far, interesting.

" Smells sweet, tastes sweet I assure you, and looks quite pleasant overall... "

Both arms, if you can call those goopy things such, settle on the counter. Three distended 'fingers' stretch like branches, ever so slightly brushing against you.

" But a few little sips is all it takes. You wouldn't even know your life was over right there. You'd get up, head out, and in less than an hour, you'd get so tired. Just so sleepy. All you'd want is to lay down somewhere. "

Suspense hangs in the air. The slime deliberately creates an unsettling pause, only to shatter it as soon as you open your mouth.

" And never get back up. "

There's a shrug from his part. Although speechless, he finds a myriad of emotions flash through your complexion.

" Little ashenwilt flowers around graveyards that didn't quite keep the dead down, you know? The punch of this drink, and a pretty human's death certificate. "

You visibly gulp, nonetheless slowly pulling the drink closer to yourself.

" How's that for a killer slime, cherry? You could even fall asleep in my arms. "

A flicker of humor breaks through your otherwise grim composure for a brief second. " That wouldn't be so bad... " A mutter he's thrilled to hear. " Thank you, sir. "

You're quite the unique gem, he was right.

When you shakily raise a hand to grasp the silver spoon, a yellow tendril bumps you on the shoulder.

" You're very welcome! Now, take that drink to the gentleman in the corner over there, and don't forget to smile. "

He points, subtly, to a demon in a booth seat reading a pamphlet of sorts. Your perplexed grimace is adorable. The monster sets a silver tray before you.

" Go on. We can think about your work outfit later, dear. Try not to shake too much "

Gallon hopes this reads as the mercy it truly is.

There's something in you that captivates him, for whatever reason. Why not make the most of it? Why not test the waters of this feeling, with his new, gorgeous little waitress?

Yes, that sounds nice.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You bring Bucky his dinner. He's in the front room watching a show on military tanks. As you set his plate on the low coffee table, he clears his throat.

"Those old Shermans used to blow their tops like a cork. Useless," he snickers and reaches for the accompanying beer. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hope it's good," you back up.

You go back to the kitchen and tidy up what's left. You pack away the extra potatoes and beans. You only made one steak. He calls your name.

"Yeah," you look down the hall into the front room.

"You gonna join me? Wife?" He adds the last word like a reprimand.

"Uh, yeah, one sec," you retreat and grab a glass from the cupboard. You fill it with water and mix in some electrolytes.

You go out and sit next to him on the couch. He leans over the coffee table as he cuts into the steak. Medium rare to his liking. You sip your water as he shoves a hunk in his mouth and looks at you. He gulps and frowns.

"You're not having any?" He snarls.

"I'm not very hungry. That cappuccino was sugary," you assure him and turn the glass in your hands.

"You should have more than that," he says.

"Sorry, I--"

"Christ, you don't gotta be sorry. Making me feel like the bad guy again. Making me dinner, sitting there with water, apologising. I'm just fucking concerned since you're my wife," he huffs and scoops up potatoes onto his fork. A speck falls to the floor. "Shit," he looks down.

"Let me get you a napkin."

You place the glass on a coaster and get up. You scurry out to grab a paper towel and return. You lay it next to his plate as he chews. He wipes up the potato and crumples the strip of towel.

"I mean, I don't think I was wrong," he says through a mouthful, stopping to swallow. "Won't let me touch you. Makes a guy feel a kind of way."

"Bucky," you look down. "It's not you. I don't want to argue about this anymore."

"I don't either. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Figure me out?" You utter.

"Yeah, I'm trying to recognise you. My own wife," he shakes his head. "You're not the same girl I married."

You wince and shrink down, "no, I don't think I am," you agree. "I'm fat and I'm lazy." You stand up and take your water, "and I'm ruining your supper."

You march out, tense and tortured. You don't look back as you head upstairs. You believe every word you said. He doesn't deny them either.

You sit on the edge of the bed and drink the water. You're hungry. Mostly because you're emotional. When you feel lonely, sad, angry, you just want to eat. You drain the glass and leave it on the nightstand. 

You stop yourself from taking off your rings. You get up and change into striped pajama pants that used to fit too loose and a tee shirt that hugs your middle. You hide under the blankets and watch the window as the night sets in.

You can hear him downstairs. He rinses off his plate. You should've gone back down to do that. He'll probably be sure to tell you so.

You roll over so you can't see the door. You're too upset to sleep. You're stuck in a vortex of dread and self-hatred.

You open your eyes as you hear him climbing the stairs. The light flicks on as he enters. He moves softly through the space. You hear a drawer and him sifitng around. When he doesn't tuck in next to you, you're sure he's about to go sleep on the couch.

"Hey, doll," he tugs the blanket by your foot, "wanna do something for me?"

Doll? When's the last time he called you that? You brace yourself and sit up. You look at him. He holds up black lace.

"Will you put this on for me?"

You stare at him dumbly. Huh?

"Bucky," you groan.

"Come on," he coaxes, "these are my favourite. You know that."

You feel like you could crumble into dust just looking at the lingerie. Still, it's not worth the fight. You're going to feel bad either way.

"Sure," you get up and walk along the bed. You look him in the face. You take in his square jaw, his cheekbones, the shadow of stubble, his bold blue eyes. He is still unbelievably handsome. "Bucky," your cheeks pinch. "I miss you."

"I'm back, baby," he smirks.

You almost drop your shoulders. That's not what you mean. You exhale and smile. "I know."

You go into the bathroom and shut the door. You switch out your pajamas for the lace. You're mortified at how your belly pudges up over the underwear. Your tits are spilling out of the bra too.

You refuse to acknowledge the mirror. You stand facing the door. A gentle breeze could knock you over.

"Doll?" Bucky calls to you.

You flinch and make yourself move. You turn the handle and your vision hazes. You open the door and step through. You don't see him as you come out.

He whistles, "see, that's what I missed."

You shake the fog and look at him. He's naked. He might have a bit extra too but he's still in good shape.

"Come here, baby," he waves you closer with both hands. "You didn't think earlier was everything."

You stare at him. It's a whirlwind. One minute he's mad, the next he's cooing and coaxing. You don't know that he really wants you, only what's accessible.

You go to him and he grabs your hips. You instinctively grab his hands. You waver as he pushes his thumbs into your soft flesh.

"Hey, why so shy?" He looks up at you. "You're acting like it's our first time." He brings you into his lap. You can't resist. You're much too weak, more than physically. "Wasn't that spectacular, huh?"

"Bucky," you look away bashfully. You remember. You were shy because it wasn't where you imagined it. Hiding in a closet at one of Stark's stupid parties.

"You didn't used to be so afraid of being bad," he falls back and takes your hands, putting them on his chest. "Why don't you be bad for me, baby?"

You stare down at him and bite your lip. He's still your husband. He's still somewhere deep in your heart. You bat your lashes.

"Can I turn off the light?" You ask.

[ikeupied]

"Maybe people leave you because you're impossible to deal with."

My breath hitched, my heart started pounding, and my hands began to shake. No matter how hard I tried to respond, the words wouldn't leave my mouth.

"Have you ever thought about that?"

I stared at him in shock, unable to believe what I was hearing. I never in a million years thought I would hear those words come out of his mouth.

"What...?" I whispered, but my voice cracked before I could finish. How could he say this to me after everything we’d been through? His words echoed in my mind, too strong, too painful.

"It's the truth," he said, as if talking about something as simple as the weather. "You've clung to people, to me, for so long, and now... I don't know. Maybe it’s time to stop expecting people to never get tired of you."

My chest tightened. I could feel the air in the room grow heavy, like my soul was suffocating. Did he really think that?

"You think I'm... that I'm just... unbearable?" The words tumbled out, shaky and uncertain. No, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

He didn’t look at me, diverting his gaze to the floor, like he didn’t want to see the damage he had already caused. But the words still lingered between us. They felt like daggers, stabbing me again and again.

"Maybe if you weren’t so insecure all the time, people would want to be around you."

Silence wrapped around me like a cold blanket, and I couldn’t help but think of all the times I’d felt invisible, insecure, wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe everything I did was wrong, maybe my whole life had been somehow wrong, and I didn’t even know it.

7:30 AM, the sound of my alarm jolted me awake. I immediately noticed my face was wet; I had been sweating. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes with my hands. It had been a dream, just that.

I inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to calm my breath. My hands were shaking, everything felt overwhelming. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tears that I didn’t even realize I was holding back, fell.

"It was just a dream, it’s nothing," I told myself, trying to calm down, and slowly, the crying stopped.

After taking a long shower and staring at myself in the mirror for a while, I got dressed and left the apartment.

8:25 AM. When I saw the time, I realized I was running late for practice. "Shit," I sighed, quickening my pace.

"You’re late," he said, looking at me with his usual smirk. I gave him an empty look and simply walked past him without saying anything.

"Seems like you're in a good mood," he commented. I sighed, holding back the urge to launch myself at him and punch him in the face.

"Can we just start with the choreography? The sooner we get this over with, the better," I said. He gave me a typical smirk.

"Sure, whatever you say."

10:00 AM. I walked out of the dance studio, and Taesan was waiting for me outside.

"How did it go?" he asked as soon as I stepped out, and I could hear genuine concern in his voice. Taesan always worried too much about me, and that made me feel like a burden to him.

"It was... fine," I shrugged, and we started walking toward the university. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, we talked just enough and made good progress with the choreography."

"Good... I’m glad," he said, ruffling my hair gently, which made me laugh faintly. "I hope you’re not too tired. This afternoon we’ve got the group rehearsal to review the choreography for the first round."

I sighed at what he said. Honestly, the only thing I wanted to do was stay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, reevaluating everything I’d said and done since I was three years old. But I couldn’t, so I just nodded and kept walking.

It was going to be a very long day.

just a dream (wc ; 2798)

SYNOPSIS: Y/n and Riki were inseparable. The kind of friendship everyone envied, the kind that felt unbreakable. But somewhere along the way, something shattered. Now, every word they exchange is a fight, every glance a silent war. Neither of them wants to admit how much it hurts. Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the anger. But how long can you hate someone who once meant everything to you? Because the line between love and hate has never been thinner.

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note: I actually cried writing and reading this chapter, but it's one of my favourites.

taglist @kizumis @yangjungwonnie @doririsstuff @annybah @yurizzzs @zaycie @iheartshopping @luvjichang @starbyeol1512 @jaerisdiction @soobinbunnie5 @tasnemluvs @right-person-wrong-time @yuaaa-somehow @nishikio @ezekiel-bublz @hyunjinslongasslegs @iboughtnjz @jvngw0nlvr @blvengene

　　　　　　　　◌ 𓈒 ꒪　◌゚❀　.˳ ⠷

© all rights reserved to ikeupied, please don't copy.

[profundcherrylady]

LATE NIGHT TALK WITH ISAGI:

Even though your eyes are open, everything's black. You found yourself hyper-aware and awake, surprisingly, but instead of trying to fall back asleep you stayed there; staring at the ceiling. To your right, the digital clock on top of the sidetable signaling 2:51am; to your left, Isagi lays fast asleep, unlike you. You know maybe talking to him might help, but he's had a long day and you don't wanna bother him, so you sigh quietly to yourself and resign. Perhaps you should get up and get a glass of water, or see if you got any melatonin pills left, so you slowly shift to get out of bed.

Yoichi, however, has other plans.

"Where are you going...?" you barely managed to sit up when you heard him mumble the question, sleepy blue eyes half-open like expecting you to just get back next to him.

"I'm just going for a glass of water." you whispered, trying to not interrupt his sleep even more. "I'll be a awake for a little bit; you go back to sleep."

"Are you gonna get the pills again?" you froze. How the fuck did he even know that? Now you can't play dumb because you know he'll notice. He always does. So you shift uncomfortably and try to soften the truth.

"Just one."

"You don't need that to sleep, y'know?" he insisted, and you sighed with defeat. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah..."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You consider it, but you figure your boyfriend has enough going on for you to add your stupid recurrent nightmares to his list of worries. But still, something inside of you does want to talk about it; it always does. The little unhealed child whose nightmares were ignored and sent back to sleep afraid wanted some reassurance even after so many years, and yet it felt so wrong everytime. They're just nightmares, after all; you're well aware that they're not real. So why do they FEEL so real, even when they're so dumb?

"It's kinda stupid..."

"I don't mind." of course, he doesn't. But that doesn't take away the nagging guilt on the back of your mind.

"Just... stupid zombie apocalypse again. I don't know why I dream so much about it. So... agressive."

"Zombies aren't real, baby."

"You don't have to make fun of me..."

"I'm not." he sits up on the bed, setting the covers to the side. "What I'm saying is you don't have to worry about it. There is no zombie apocalypse coming."

"...Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And if it did, I promise I'd protect you."

"What if I was a zombie?"

"I'll lock you up until I find a cure. Easy."

"You're supposed to say you'll let me bite you..." he laughs at your comment, and then you add: "Oh, that reminds me. You were there in my dream, but... you were the zombie, and you tried to bite me, and I was freaked out because... how could I kill you? Even when you were trying to, I couldn't..."

"Pause." he stopped you as soon as he saw the genuine fear in your eyes "Don't even think about it anymore."

"I can't... the imagines keep flashing on my mind like a nasty memory of something that actually happened. I can't fall asleep..."

"Honey."

"What?"

"You don't need those pills to sleep, I promise. Come here." he plopped himself back onto the pillow, arms open and inviting for a cuddle. And hell, how could you ignore that? No amount on dependance on those pills would ever be enough for you to reject a hug from him. So crawl back to his sigh and exhale deeply as you let him envelope you with his warmth.

He plays with your hair, steady heartbeat serving as a lullaby to slowly coax you to rest. You can feel his soft breathing on top of your head, followed by a soft kiss.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Come on, it's nothing." he peppers kisses on your face, making you giggle. "You feel better?"

"Yes, thank you..."

"I get why those dreams can be freaky. I mean, the concept of zombies is terrifying, but realistically it's not gonna happen. Ever. So don't you worry about it. You're safe in my arms, okay? And if you have more nightmares I'd wake up a hundred times to soothe you back to sleep. Whatever you want, and then-"

He's interrupted by the sound of your soft snoring, indicating you were already fast asleep. He chuckled, adjusting the covers over both of you before closing his eyes himself. Maybe he couldn't solve all of your problems, but he could help you deal with them.

And maybe that was enough.

A/N: Am I projecting? Why yes I am. Idk I'm tired and I wanted to write something quick. Bye.

[aquilaofarkham]

Do you think Richter is going to kill Olrox? I almost don't want him to, but I think it would give Richter the closure he needs idk :/

oof so this has been sitting in my inbox for awhile just cause i've been figuring out a way to best formulate my thoughts on this topic but lemme try answering without sounding dismissive of other people's theories/interpretations (which i genuinely don't want to do)

short answer: no, he's not. at least that's not what i believe

long answer: so this isn't necessarily an issue specific to this fandom but rather fandoms on the whole, but castlevania fans tend to take certain moments and pieces of dialogue at their most literal meaning. which i mean i get it, i'm autistic so i often read into things very literally but guys pls sypha wasn't ACTUALLY calling alucard a real flesh and blood teenager (that's just one common example i can think of)

getting back to richter and olrox though, i think richter repeating word for word what was said to him after julia's death was an intentional decision on the writer's part. because even though olrox said he would kill richter "one day" once they finally reunite when richter's a young adult, olrox is never outwardly hostile or antagonistic towards him. during that scene in the church dungeons, he almost greets richter like an old friend who he hasn't seen in a long time and carefully reaches his hand out instead of attacking him (a moment which i STILL need an explanation for. it could be that olrox is at peace with the consequences of his actions but at the same time. writers i'm in your walls right now)

even after richter runs away, the two are still somewhat in the same vicinity as each other but again, olrox never makes the conscious decision to go after richter. mainly because he's obviously busy with other matters but when drolta asks him about richter, he just smiles and refers to him as "the son of an old foe". not his foe, just the son of one who he already bested

the only time i can remember when olrox actually snapped back at richter was when he wasn't listening and even then olrox doesn't want to kill him because (again) there are things more important currently happening than their rivalry

(just a side note but olrox also doesn't try to attack juste even when they're in the same area. probably because mizrak is there and would absolutely try to stop him but personally i think olrox is just done with belmonts now. like there's no point adding another hunter from the same family to his ledger now that the object of his *very justified* revenge is long gone)

i think some—obviously not all but SOME—fans tend to narrow their focus on richter saying "i will kill you olrox. one day" without taking into account the "but not today" addition. and i don't think richter would be smiling like this if he was really planning on killing olrox

to me this was richter's way of telling olrox "i never forgot what you did to me. but i recognize that you saved my life when you could have easily ended it. i don't forgive you and you probably don't forgive me either. that makes us even". or as @ifishouldvanish put it (i think it was them so correct me if i'm wrong!!) that scene was richter saying "nine years ago you made the decision to walk away and i've been afraid of you ever since. now i'm no longer afraid and i'm making the decision to walk away"

which honestly? i think thats infinitely more narratively fulfilling and a more interesting way of giving richter closure than having him repeat the cycle of revenge. because olrox is already repeating a different cycle of his own with mizrak

but anyway, nah i don't think richter is going to eventually kill olrox nor do i think he SHOULD. but my word isn't gospel and this is probably just a case of this evergreen post:

[hyukascampfire]

everyone say it with me… betta late then never!!

first let’s watch our regularly scheduled broadcasting of rain suffering and hating me while reading

ash you're going to pay for this. I hate you.

fuck u ash.

You let him go. - SAY IT THEN FUCKING SAY IT

I refuse this. I rebuke this.

“I want to go. I’m ready.” damn it. damn it. damn it.

I hate you ash. I hate you so much, you'll pay for this. I hate you.

NO HELP ME I CANT DO THISS

I WONT LOSE U AGAIN WHAT HELP I CANT MY HEART HURTS

LOLLLLLL I WAS IN THE BACKSEAT OF MY CAR GIGGLING

off the bat, this is an insane quote. I love you, ash. I do. hehe

ASH. ASH. IF DEATH THINKS YOU ARE FLATTERED, HE MISUNDERSTANDS YOU. THIS LINE, IM SO GLAD IT HIT YOU TOO CAUSE IT HIT ME WHILE WRITING IT

ok, so I've prided myself on not knowing much of anything about this fic because I wanted to be surprised, so i'lll be writing my takeaways from everything. and from my understanding here, is it that everything she touches or is in contact with dies? I'm going to feel so dumb if I'm interpreting this all wrong lmaoo. you’re so smart cause this was literally right. now that you’ve read it, i’ll confirm that wasn’t yeonjun’s intention, but it was definitely his fault, because his proximity and affection for her caused things to die around her.

they are death made in the flesh. help. you're in their forest. I would genuinely be so scared. me too, i’d be running just like her

“There you are, love.” - oh I'm ready, I'm so fucking ready. THIS LINE THIS LINE I LOVE THIS LINE the foreshadowing and the fact that it implies that he’d been looking for her. and when he calls her love >.<;

is it fucked that I find this hot. & FINE ASF. & him wearing a cape just made him a thousand times more hot. LMAOO THE THIRSTING OVER HIM IS SO REAL and no it’s not fucked because he’s hot and he can’t help it. this yeonjun specifically was sexy asf while i was writing him like yes my panties were wet yes i needed him badly and i think it shows in what i wrote sometimes 😭 also RAIN YOU GET ME SO BADLY WITH THE CAPE idk if this is a fantasy reader thing but the cape is just hot

Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? - I like this quote a lot. ily

Morbid curiosity is like that, though. - I really like all the subtle hints at death in this i love people who notice things. like youre just a noticer and i love it

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough. - are you wearing pants... WHEN I TELL YOU IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UNDERSTAND THIS CAUSE I WAS LIKE… yes he’s wearing pants?? duh??

  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.” - LMAOOO loled when i wrote this poor guy

“I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?” - help ok why do I ship them now... never tell anybody you heard this from me but in my heart he definitely had an unrequited crush

“Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?” - boy why are you acting like you don't know...it's your fault LMAO POOR YEONJUN HE DIDNT MEAN TO

he was human??? — “You were human?” oop me and her are the same. this made me giggle

THE DANDELIONS MY HEART. SHE DIED GIVING BIRTH??? — YOU FOUND HER YOU FOUND HER. also, "or a blade of grass in the forest" help. their love story is so tragic and i know that i wrote it like it came from my head but it still hurts. and yeonjun’s backstory especially. he loved her so much :(

I'm betting it's the reader. you clocked that. like i said youre just a KNOWERR

if only we cold know that death was actually like this, the comfort I would feel if it were. yes. exactly this. a big source of inspo for this fic was my own fear of death. it felt nice to portray it as something not so final and scary, but maybe something to look forward to. i’m still scared of it and definitely always will be, but it would be so comforting to know for sure that there’s something after death.

and one sec lemme compile all the little bits from the smut scene cause it’s my favorite part I LOVED READING THIS PLEASE

“Crawl to me, then.” - OH? THIS LINE IM ILL sir yes sir!!!

“Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.” - HELP HELP HELP DONT GO DO NOT GO GOD I LOVE HIM I LOVE A DESPERATE MAN. i just love how he wants her so badly and lets it be known. HOT HOT HOT

“No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.” - NOT AGAIN?????????? hell yes

“I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.” - what if I pass away huh?? what if I do that?! LMFAOOOO

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.” - I'm hot is anyone else hot or is it just me... i love you so bad for giving me the opportunity to read all this

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?” - HELPPP MEEE RIGHT.

Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.” - and ykw I cant be mad at him for saying this because the logic part of me agrees with him. he just cares for her and doesn’t want her hurt. soobin loved her so much. DAMN. but i also understand why what he says hurts her as well yk? it’s the worst. and this being the last time they speak is so awful, but sometimes it happens that way. :((

You were expecting wary looks, anyway. - awh no I feel so bad for her ): she tried to not blame them for being scared of her but omg it makes me so sad for her. she always just wanted be a part of the community. it’s messed up

It was by your hope that he’s gone. - SOOBIN NO. SSOOBIN NO NO NO. FUCK OFF ASH MY SHAYLAAAAAAA. WAS HE EVEN WEARING PANTS PLS WAS HE EVEN WEARING PANTS LMAO IM CTFU

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it. - ok Bella swan WAIT LMAO YES

i loved reading this thank you queen. 💋💋💋

THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

⠀(🍂 ) 𝓡EVENANT in folklore, a revenant is a spirit or animated corpse that is believed to have been revived from death to haunt the living ... ( 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 )

1︎5.5k revenant!yeonjun · ƒ ! r ft. soobin ⸺ ✴︎ 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ... smut, violence, angst, death, animal death & vivid descriptions of animal death, major character death, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dry humping (because bring it back), biting, dom yeonjun sub reader, mentions of death in childbirth, reincarnation, teasing, breast worship, yj calls reader ‘my love’, def some typos

🪶 ⦂ how fun is this collab? :,) this fic was so fun to write. i personally believe that tsfawc enjoyers will love this one,, but you'll have to read it to confirm that, right? hehe. and of course, go read everybody else's if you love this one! they're all set in the same world, and everybody worked so hard on these fics. send some love their way!

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

𝒪𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝒰𝑃𝑂𝑁 𝒶 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸, in a land far, far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky and the water sparkled under the glowing sun, where mountains rose high, and long, deep caves ran through them, where the sea met shore in collisions of swirling, foamy punches, where the undead walked among the living, where the winged flew above the finned, there was a land where things beyond reason and rhyme existed perfectly true. Among those strange beings and within the veils of Aethera, there was a girl loved by death. 

He sits on your shoulder, a dark, boding shadow and glared at those around you with promise in his eyes.

That’s how it seems, anyway. That’s how everybody looks at you. They dodge you, whisper about you, evade your gaze as if he might reach his claws for them next if they linger for too long.

Crows with dead eyes arrive at your doorstep like some lover’s cheeky gift, other poor creatures like fat grey mice are left to rot in the wheatfields, and yarrow stocks wilt outside the wall of your room. If Death thinks that you are flattered, he misunderstands you. You are terrified of nothing more than dying. The first time, it was a sly joke. Then it happened again, and you watched their eyes change. And it happened again and again, and your people are a suspicious type. Something can only be a coincidence so many times.

When you began to sneak into a little shack with a village boy, you thought that maybe, somehow, this would all pass. He died too. There’s really no coming back from that, is there? You don’t blame them. You’re not the freak that they all believe you to be—none of them get close enough anymore to know that, though.

The wickerbasket’s handle creaks under your fist. You usually only forage along the shallow line of the forest; you pluck from bramble bushes topped with plump berries that crawl between trees during the summer, and when the crab apple tree’s branches hang heavy with the fruit, you snatch those up too. You’re more useful to your family out here, in the woods that they deem just as cursed as you. Where you won’t be their burden.

Crisp autumn leaves crunch under your boots. You scan between them—more grey and rotted this late in the season than fresh and orangey—for the edible mushrooms and roots that you usually forage at this time of year. The basket’s already pretty heavy with a variety, black morels and sorrel and burdock, as you bend down to pull a truffle from the dirt against a tree.

You drop it down with the rest of your finds. The basket smells like earth, no doubt your hands do too. You dust your palms off on your skirts and go to rise back from your squat.

A deep, billowing horn pierces the forest’s silence. It’s both far away, wiggling between the whispers of rustling leaves, and much too close. It draws out. Long. Bone-chilling. You freeze, scanning between each tree trunk and praying that you won’t find what you fear you might.

You are much deeper into the woods than you usually are. Than you ought to be. And you know what that horn means—you know that it means something far worse than what you’d been afraid of, coming into these woods. Much more primordial than the hide-behinds you were scared you might find this deep, much less avoidable than the faerie rings you stepped around.

Why would The Wild Hunt be here? A shudder runs down your spine, and you curl your fingers into your skirts and lift them as if to prepare to run, but you don’t. Your feet find root in the forest floor and all you can do is stand terribly still in catatonia. Their horn sounds again, and a procession of wicked whoops and howls follow. Wild hoofbeat rumbles under it all—the hunt and their rides. You hope that they’re just passing through, and you won’t so much as see one of those wild riders. There were plenty of folktales that the matrons of your village would bolster to terrify you as children, but you knew even then that their stories of the riders, with their flesh falling away from them and their pale or beady eyes and their gnarled maws and frightening figures as they rode on the backs of equally terrible steeds, were not fabricated. They are not a bogeyman or a wailing banshee; they are death made in the flesh, and they are here. In your forest. 

Your legs won’t work. You curl your clammy fingers tighter around your basket and lean into the tree beside you. How deep had you wandered into the forest? Hopefully not too far; when you gain the courage to run, you hope that they do not send their hounds to snap their foul breath on your heels. Maybe just standing here and blending into the trees is best. The Hunt would love a chase, and you don’t want to become their next.

The next call comes and you throw that all to the wind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you let your basket clatter to the leaves and you take off. You fly over roots and shrubbery and between the trees, your blood roaring in your ears faster. You’d oblige if you could.

Above the loudness of your frantic mind, the harrowing whinnies and The Hunt’s ruckus dulls until it’s faraway again, and then it’s gone. Well, you don’t stop to check if they’ve really passed through the forest. You just run.

“There you are, love.”

His voice cuts through your frantic escape and stops you dead in your path. You almost go crashing down over the ground with the force that you dig your heels into it. Though the voice is non-threatening, you don’t turn to face the source.

He speaks again. You already know who it is. He, old as the earth you stand on itself, leads that band of wild riders. Is the king of the undead, collects souls for reaping.

And he’s the one who’s plagued you with his attention. Death.

“Why do you keep your back turned to me?” he says. “I frighten you. That hurts.” His voice lilts with amusement and sharpness. “I wish that you would face me.”

You’re not fond of the way that he speaks to you with a familiarity. But then again, you’re not fond of dying, either. Your legs are boneless beneath you. Turning, you slowly indulge him, though it takes a great amount of willpower to not run again like your jittering jaw and trembling hands ask you to.

The King of Death stands tall and utterly preternatural, leaned against a crooked tree in the woods behind you. His smile cracks across his face in a jagged way that suggests he finds you amusing, but none of that meets his eyes. They’re the color of the greyish, rotted leaves beneath you. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are the only thing belying the weight that his infinite life might have on him. That, and the hollowness that rings from him.

And though he sounded entirely playful, you are shaken by the sorrow that you find in him now that you’ve turned. Even more so, you’re not sure why you feel it echoed somewhere in the hollows of your bones. “I’m sorry,” you say. It trembles terribly. You want to say that you’re sorry you caught his attention, but it seems you’ve always had his attention. It’s more that you are petrified down to your marrow that the time’s come that you face this… strange infatuation. Here he stands: the one who leaves hollowed out husks of creatures at your doorstep. Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? “I don’t mean to…”

He pushes off his tree, fixing his cape that cascades over only one of his shoulders. It’s tattered and falling apart like the rest of his clothing, though you think that the bronze stitching and swirling oakleaf patterns in the black say that they might have been immaculate at some point. Or maybe they weren’t, and they had started that way. He is Death, anyway. “You’re sorry?” he says. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’ve hardly done a thing to warrant it.”

Faltering, you wet your chapped lips. You’re not really sure. Holding back another apology for fear that you’ve offended him and he’ll now strike you down for it, you say, “I thought that, maybe the hunt was…” Wow, you sound stupid. You can see in the sly smile his lips form that it amuses him. That’s almost worse than angering him: intriguing him. What you really should be doing is boring him so that he’ll find you a waste of his time. Then, maybe, he’d give up haunting you.

“After you?” he finishes. Shaking his head, he says, “My hunters only answer to me.”

“Oh,” you say plainly. Part of you wants to ask why that should comfort you, especially when you’re the one that he sends little bits of death to, but rationality keeps those words in the back of your throat. You don’t really want to know. “Why are you passing by here?”

Something akin to old longing passes through those witty eyes, and then he eats up the distance between you with languid steps of his long legs until he’s nothing more than one last step in front of you. The closeness consumes the air in your lungs, leaving nothing for you but short and shallow drags. The forest has gone dead silent aside from the sound of it. His voice is even more magnetic now that he’s so close.

You recoil when he brings a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb over your cheek and then cup your jaw, as if afraid that he might snuff you out here and now. His fingers are softer than you thought they might be, and the lines of his face sharpen into what you think is hurt. Hurt that you flinched?

“We go here and there,” he says, “but it’s been a very long time since we came here.” There’s a certain thickness to his words; a certain tension coiled over them from something that you’re not privy to. And yet, there’s a farawayness, too. You bet he’s full of a lifetime of secrets. Lifetimes of secrets. “But I think I’ve found myself a reason to finally return.”

Breathy and still struggling to flatten out your breathing, you ask him, “Why?”

The Undead King’s smile turns wicked once more, and he doesn’t answer you. It’s awfully eerie.

“Do you have… business here?” you try again. It’s a roundabout way of asking, do you have someone to take away?

“I have business wherever the living go,” he says, letting your face go but not giving you any more room. You narrow your eyes. He’s quite good at non-answers. “Nothing is more certain than that I will greet every living thing eventually. I’ll come to take you, too, when the time comes.”

Your mouth dries up. The entirety of your home, all the people you’ve ever known, fear you for all the death you bring. Not one of them fears it more than you do. You’ve seen it enough to fear its frightening finality.

The drop of your face must’ve told him how much that scared you. “Dying is not such an awful thing, love. Living pales in comparison.” Searching your eyes, he adds, “But I’ve not come to take you.”

That’s easy for him to say: that death isn’t something to fear. His words don’t calm your thundering heart, but you offer him a, “Thank you…” It trails off toward the end when you realize that you don’t have his name. If he has one, anyway.

“Yeonjun.” He tilts his head, strands of sparrow hair brushing over his watching eyes. “Most don’t know it, but you’re not most people, are you?”

Your breathing had just begun evening out. It’s a shame, the way that it kicks back up at the way he looks at you. “What do you mean?” you say, but of course you know. Nobody else is given dead things like you. It’s not like you yourself are very strange; you like pretty dresses and sharing gossip with friends just as much as any other girl your age.

Giving you another one of those knowing smiles that he uses just like words, he steps back. “I’m sorry that I scare you how I do.”

You don’t answer him. What could you say to that? That he doesn’t? That would be a lie, and he would know it.

Yeonjun’s eyes flit over your face, over your cheeks made pink by the autumn cold, lingering on your lips for a few unexplainable beats, and then landing on your eyes where he searches and finds something that sends his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t mean to be your monster. It’s only that…” He steps back again. “You remind me a terrible amount of someone I once knew.”

“Who?” Though your shoulders relax a bit with some distance between the two of you, you do your best to not let your guard down. All the stories that you recall being told, all those cautionary tales passed down through word of mouth around a fire, end with some stupid girl thinking that the monster could be changed or tricked. You’re willing to bet that the man in front of you, no matter how human he looks or how enchanting his words are, could be neither.

That doesn’t explain the ache in your chest when he holds your eyes for too long. But you shove that feeling way, way down. It’s nonsensical.

His voice takes on a parting tilt when he says, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Death takes us all.” Yeonjun dips his head at you. His smile wavers. You’d think that crooked smile on his mouth was indelible had you not seen it twitch down at the corners only for a moment. If you’d have blinked, you’d have missed it. “You think I’ll hurt you,” he says, “well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, run. I apologize for your basket.”

Death takes us all. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, coming from him, but it sends a cold wind up your spine and goosebumps crawling over your skin.

He watches you go. You don’t look back when you do, but his gaze sits on your back until you’re sure you’re out of his sight. When you return to your home, your mother asks where the basket full of ingredients for supper went.

You imagine what her face might look like if you told her the truth. But that was impossible, so instead you tell her some stupid story about a wolf that startled you so bad that you ran home paying no mind to where your basket was. It’s close enough to the truth.

༺ ꘏ ༻

It doesn’t matter what you do; you can’t get his face out of your head. While you cut butter into flour and then roll out dough, simmer fruits over flame and you slice cheese off blocks, you replay that meeting in the forest. The memory spins and turns over no matter how hard you try to put it away from your thoughts.

It’s not every day that somebody meets the likes of him. You can’t blame yourself; he had such captivating eyes. Dark, playful, and endless. There they are again. You sigh and dust your hands off. Maybe you are just as strange as they all think that you are. Morbid curiosity is like that, though. Taking the most normal of us and making you wonder what you absolutely should not wonder about.

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

The sun has begun to hang high in the sky, but the breeze that crawls through the window you pulled open before you got to work is a crisp one. Autumn’s really come, now. Outside the window, a huddle of children play around in the leaves that you’d raked up. You’ll have to rake those back up, but you hardly have the heart to tell them to take their playing elsewhere. Their giggles and small voices waft in with the breeze, and a traitorous part of you yearns for a family that you know you’ll never have. No man would risk that fate, not after what happened to the last man who paid you any attention. You grit your teeth at the memory.

Having a face for the thing that’s made your life the way it is is strange. Seeing him in the flesh, with handsome eyes and a taunting mouth, looking something near human, you think you’ve come to resent him for it. How dare he ruin your life? He, more than anybody, should know how fleeting life is. What is in it for him to deface what little time you have? You keep going back to that thought: why did he ever even appear to you in that forest? There is not one story in which you remember Yeonjun showing his face to those he hasn’t come to claim. Death makes his visits swift and purposeful.

Moreover, why on earth would he even look your way? You wish there was a plain way to ask him why, or even to plead with him to stop. Whatever it is he’d ask of you, you think you might give him. To get back to living, you would.

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough.

“As if,” you dismiss and gesture at his dirty hands. He’d no doubt been out working his family’s field, his tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.”

Anybody else might’ve scoffed or taken offense, but he just laughs and invites himself in anyway. It never fazes Soobin. He doesn’t let you push him away.

It’d be better if he did. How long before he ends up dead, too? Alive one moment, and then a husk without a soul next. You don’t think you could handle seeing cold, dead eyes where the annoying, warm shine should be. Of course it would be better if he stayed away, if he had half the mind to. Even most of the children have heard enough from their mothers to stay a healthy distance. He’s not too much better than a child, though.

“Isn’t it?” he says. His cheek is smudged with whatever sort of dirt he’s got on his hands and under his nails. “I’m done with work for the day. Want to go out to the field?”

You two have always ran off and avoided your life in between willowy, flaxen wheat stocks. They were just tall enough at this time of year to hide you away. But, for some reason, your stomach does a quick flip at the thought of being outside. It’s silly; couldn’t he find you here, too? “I’m busy,” you say. You’d already kneaded this roll of dough plenty, but you dig your fingers into it and begin again.

“Busy?” he scoffs, “Since when are you too busy to get away from work?”

Gritting your teeth, you let the sounds of your kneading answer. Now, more than ever, he should keep his distance. You know one thing that you’re sure nobody else does: Death’s come to visit. 

His brows shoot up in your peripherals. “I don’t get answers today?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, giving up working the over-kneaded dough only because your arms ache. “Why don’t you go talk off the ear of some other poor village girl? I’ve heard as much as I can handle today. And then when that one’s tired, you can bother the next, I’m sure.”  You soften the words with a quick smile his way. No matter how many times you say something sour in hopes that it’ll send him away, as soon as you glance up at his face, you reel it in.

His company is all you’ve ever had. The least you can do for him is make sure he doesn’t end up like carrion, even if he chooses to take that risk himself. You don’t know why he does.

Voice playful, he says, “I’m glad to hear that you believe I’ve got ladies falling at my feet, but I’d rather not annoy a pretty girl, so you’re my only option.” He pokes at the sleeve of your simple cotton dress. “Should I drag you out of here? Don’t your arms hurt doing all that?”

“Oh, you are a refined man, aren’t you?” you say, shuffling out of his reach. Damn him, he makes it difficult. “Well, I am a pretty girl, so you should take yourself elsewhere.”

Soobin smiles easy. “I’m bored out of my mind. You’re just going to let me suffer?”

“That’s not my issue.”

“I’d argue that it is,” he says. “Come on. Why are you giving me a cold shoulder?” Leaning, he tries to get a look at your face. “Did I upset you? I wasn’t aware that you cared much about what I thought.” When you spare him a sharp glance, he says, “I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?”

You wish you could fall into the easy banter that comes with being around Soobin, but you can’t. You can’t let him be around you. “Soobin, stop it,” you say, draining your voice. You don’t look at him while you say it.

Going quiet, he seems to notice that today’s different. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you for a few long moments. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asks, “What happened?”

You swallow. “Nothing. I’m just doing something.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, tone inflicting in a way that says he doesn’t believe you one bit. He pushes off the counter. “I’ve put up with you pushing me away for years. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Soobin,” you warn. If you look at him, you fear you’ll be forced to watch the only one who never cared much what a risk it was being around you leaving. So you don’t.

Your friend raises his hands in the air defensively. “Okay, then.” He makes for the doorway with languid, lingering steps. As if he doesn’t want to leave. “Tomorrow..”

That’s both a threat and a promise, knowing him. Sighing and watching the rowan tree out your window sway, you bid him a curt goodbye.

If only that jerk took offense to things. It would make things an awful lot easier for you.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Being out in the wheat fields brings you peace when you’re alone, but you find it to be terribly lonely. The earthy, sweet scent of it wraps around you, and the stalks whisper against each other in a soothing way.

When you look beside you, the patch of wheat imprinted with the shape of your bodies is empty on his side. You are quite weak; it makes you want to go knocking at his door for his company. But that would be the selfish thing to do, so you card your fingers between the golden straw instead.

A chill trickles down your spine. You feel his presence before you even see him; it’s a feeling that you used to get fleetingly, as if something far away was tugging at you. But then he became real, a living thing in front of you that can touch, and that is much different.

“Why is it that I always find you out in the wilderness?” Yeonjun says. His voice comes from behind you.

Has he been watching you? You stand and dust your bottom off, heart kicking to life. “It’s nice out here,” you say. In truth, you haven’t come outside since that day. You’ve dodged Soobin and made a million excuses as to why you won’t go anywhere past the fences of your home. “I like to… watch people go about their days. It’s interesting.” It’s true—you always watch from afar how the village folk interact. How groups of girls your age link arms and whisper to each other, how neighbors come together to fix up a shoddy fence. You watch them be a community that you are not a part of. Watching it tastes bitter sometimes, but mostly you take pleasure in imagining yourself there with them. You’re not sure why you try making small talk with him, but what else? Should you go running again? If you were to listen to your pattering heart, maybe that’s what you’d do. He’s hardly shown you any bad will, though, and he’s the one that’s come to you. Maybe it’s silly to wait until something bad happens to be cautious.

A thousand pounds in stones sit at the center of your chest, though, and his voice makes them feel lighter. Why on earth that is, you’re not sure. It’s a nice relief regardless.

He smiles. It's different from the ones he showed you before. It’s knowing; more sweet than cracking over his face like the smile you would expect from the likes of him. What use might he have in being sweet? “Could I join you?”

Blinking dumbly at him for a second, you nod. “Oh, uh… Yeah.” Settling back down into your spot, you spare him a few curious sideways glances.

The breeze billows over the gold stems, moving them like gentle waves over the ocean and blowing your hair in it too. The flattened bits rustle under his weight. He doesn’t even turn his face toward the village; instantly, his gravitational eyes are on you.

“Do you come here often?”

“I do,” you answer. Mostly when you and Soobin have too much to do and not enough will to do it. “It’s nice. The village doesn’t like me much, so it’s easier out here.” You don’t mention that mostly you don’t come here alone.

Yeonjun’s face becomes far away. It looks strikingly like somebody forced into an old, unpleasant memory. “Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?”

“They fear me. Things go wrong around me, that’s all.” You pluck at the hay absentmindedly. “Things die. They’re smart to stay away.”

The hay whispers much louder for the long moment he remains quiet, digesting what you’ve said. Maybe deciding what to say, considering that it’s his fault.

“Die?” he asks, voice inflected with surprise.

Turning to him, your brow creases. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the one that’s done it to you. “Everything that gets too close ends up dead. Everything,” you say, resting your temple on your knee. “So, I guess, I just keep it all at arm’s length.” You look back at your tiny village, a collection of familiar, un-familiar thatch-roof homes. 

Continuing to blink at you, his eyes narrowed in a strange grimace, Yeonjun says, “Death follows me, too.”

What? A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest. Of course, death follows him. You cover your mouth with a hand to obscure your laugh, but you just giggle at him harder.

A laugh twitches at the corners of his mouth, too. “I mean it,” he says. The lines of his face become distant again, eyes both trained on your face and melancholic as if the sight reminds him of something.

It ignites a question in your mind about something he said in the forest. “You said that I reminded you of somebody,” you say, testing the waters. “Who?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He looks away, as if he can’t look at you while he says it. “I loved a girl from this village once. When I was human, no less than you.”

You falter, mouth falling open to ask all the questions that flurry through your thoughts. You settle on one. “You were human?”

“I was,” he says ruefully. “And I had everything. I had the love of my life. I think that even the most bitter of creatures on this island had envy for our love. She would braid dandelions into my hair, and then I’d braid them into hers.” He swallows thickly and pauses, as if the wound was still festering and fresh. “And then she died. She died starting our family. She died because of me, in my arms.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just look into his shining eyes as if that’ll help. You’re not very useful with people, much less comforting them.

“I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t. So I went where I shouldn’t have gone, and angered something much bigger than myself. They thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to live an eternity, the King of Death who could not bring back his dead lover.” The harrowed look that he gives you, only briefly, has your chest heavy all over again. “They have a sense of humor, the forces.”

You imagine what it would’ve been like for him to lose his lover in that way. How far he’d gone to try and have her back, but death does not give back. Where had he gone to have been turned into this? An immortal thing, forced to roam the world and scoop up the souls of the living for an eternity? To be bound in ancient bones and made to remember forever how you had lost your lover?

The grandness of what you want to say is too big, but all those words feel pitying and patronizing in a way that you don’t think will actually bring him any comfort. Rather, you doubt anything you say will be able to patch up a wound older than you could imagine. Simply, you offer him a raw, “I’m so sorry.”

Yeonjun lets a crooked smile replace the trembling at his lips. “As long as I live, so too will she,” he says, placing his palm over his heart. “Death doesn’t so much happen when we leave behind our bodies, but when we’ve left the minds of the living.” Narrowing his eyes at you, he brushes hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “I know she lives on, somewhere out there. Somewhere. I’ll find her.”

That intrigues you. “Is there some way that you could bring her back?”

The grim light in his eyes tells you his answer. “My curse is to take life,” he says, “not to give it. But the one who made me this, he is cruel in a twisted way. If I were to find her, as a human or an animal or a blade of grass in the forest, only then could I rest.”

It is cruel. “You’ve been searching, then,” you conclude. “When you find her, you’ll both be able to rest.” But how could he find her, if as he says, she could be any living thing? Where would he even begin?

Slowly, he shakes his head, throat bobbing. “Death needs a farrier.”

She would become what he is. You swallow thickly. Was it not him who caused the deaths that follow you? Or, at least, it was not on purpose?

Opening your mouth, you go to tell him that you’ll help him look. You’re sure you’ll be of no help. He’s spent an immortal lifetime searching, and he still hasn’t found his dead lover. Nobody would know better than him where to look.

The ground shakes beneath your palms with impact, and something cuts through the wheat. The noise of its bleating becomes nearer until the both of you scramble up to find out what’s in such distress.

A deer stumbles around wildly. It looks lame, but you don’t see anything wrong with its legs. Your throat tightens at the awful sound, piercing and sad. Frozen, you watch it try to stay upright before it finally collapses down, legs still kicking as though it still wants to run but its body has begun weakening on it. “Oh my god,” you say, stumbling back. The sounds; its sounds are awful, echoing in your bones and constricting your thoughts until they’re a pinched panic.

There’s an arrow lodged into its ribcage, deep and at a terrible angle. You already know that it’s pierced some vital organs, if not its heart. It continues to writhe on the ground, not ready to give up. You’re not sure if you should approach it—you don’t want to scare it, and you can tell by the look in its wet eyes that it already wants to be away from you.

Or, maybe it had come to you. How else had it found the two of you in the middle of this field?

Yeonjun’s already on it. He puts his knees into the dirt and dried wheat to kneel by it, running his hand over the beast's pelt in long strokes. The small buck flinches at first but relaxes once he learns that his touches are gentle, not the gnashing of hungry teeth ready to make him a meal.

Blood runs like lead through your veins. You say, “Can we help it?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

Whip-lashed, you swallow thickly. He says it so unphased, and you’re sure he is. You can hardly make yourself mirror that serenity that he exudes as he runs his hand over its flank, but you get on the ground beside him anyway.

The buck’s breaths slow to desperate drags for breath. For a few long minutes, the two of you sit in silence and stay with him until he no longer fights, until his breaths are ragged. You feel his side, still warm and alive, but you see the life going from his eyes. You sit here, talking to each other about nothing just so it hears gentle voices as it goes, for a while.

Eventually, he’s gone. Quiet and at peace, no longer hurting. This time, when you look over to Yeonjun who still smooths over the deer’s skin even as he goes, guiding him delicately into whatever greets us when we go, you see death as a gentle thing.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Though you never seek him out, Yeonjun always finds you. In hidden places, away from prying eyes, he appears behind you and makes himself known. Well, you have a feeling that he watches you for a while before saying anything. It’s hard not to feel the strange tingling of his gaze over your form. It’s akin to the sixth sense that’s supposed to keep you safe out in the dark hearts of forests, an innate feeling that tells you some beast with a rotten, pale maw watches you between the trees.

Yeonjun doesn’t feel rotten, though, preternatural and eerie as he is. As you shirk your duties and talk with him for hours, you stare into ancient eyes and watch his crooked mouth move around his words and you feel an odd comfort. As if he’s the only one who’s ever understood you, or maybe that your strangeness pales beside him and for once you’re nothing but who you are. So many nights, the sun fell on your talking until the night insects buzzed from the grasses and your eyes were heavy.

Sometimes, as you dozed off with your back to a hay bale or a hardwood wall of the abandoned home beside yours with its sagging thatched roof, you caught such festering longing in his his eyes that you’d let your lashes fall and pretend to sleep so that you could imagine what it was that he longed for. No doubt his lost lover. When you imagine him, bound in bones and coming back to haunt the living for an eternity as he mourns her infinitely, searching for her in impossible places, your chest aches with a gnawing intensity.

It’s a terrible, cursed existence. Even the nothingness of death becomes a paradise beside it.

“Is it scary?” you ask into the air, sat criss-crossed on the thick duvet of the bed. He sits across from you, looking perfectly lazy. Moonlight pools in like sterling mist through the shutters.

“What?” He watches you, sitting in your plain dress, as though you’re the only thing in the world.

You’ve begun to wonder. Wonder about those looks he gives you.

Shifting, you fix the shoulder of your soft chemise where it’s slipped down when you catch his eyes lingering on it. His throat bobs. “Dying,” you elaborate. “Is it really nothing? After we go, all of it was for nothing?”

A slow smile tugs his full lips, made a bit red in the middle where he likes to worry it. It’s such a human habit to see on something so far from human. “Hardly,” he says. “It’s like going home, right where your soul is supposed to be. Who do you think rides with me?”

Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head toward one shoulder and let your hair pool there. “The riders are dead?” You had thought they were undead in some way like Yeonjun, other sorts of revenants come back to life with their own purposes. Then, are their creepy horses dead, too? A chill goes down your arms. Sometimes, sitting here with him when his face is made soft by the orange glow of the fire he puts on, you forget what he is.

“They are.” He nods, leaned back onto his elbows, his eyes alight with a hunger that makes your insides feel funny. “It doesn’t stop once we’ve died. You don’t need to be scared, my love. So many things end, but then so many things begin. The earth no longer holds you down, the weight of being is gone. You don’t know anything like it; you don’t know leaving behind the pleasures of earth to know the ones that only the afterlife can show you.”

His eyes laced with something entirely else, he adds, “And it’s not the end. Not for everything. For some it’s only the beginning, and for others, those who have not yet fulfilled their purpose, they come back to the flesh. They return.”

You can’t tell if he means himself, or something else. The weight in his eyes, dark, endlessly swirling pools, makes you wonder again why it is that he’s lingering here: the place that he had not visited once since the death of his lover, for the fact that it still hurts too much. Why his shadow of death, his fault or not, was tangled in your soul enough to brush its fingers over the things around you.

“It’s scary,” you say, breathy. The thought of eternity.

Soft hairs brush over his eyes as he tilts his head at you. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“No?” he echos, pushing himself up so that he leans back onto his palms. “Isn’t that strange? Pretty little thing says she’s not afraid of death, but her heart races when I’m near. Her sweet heart jumps at just the brush of my leg. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth, love?”

Your blood roars in your veins, inflaming your cheeks and making your head dizzy. Nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. Hair prickles on your skin. “Yes,” you breathe.

Feral delight sparks in his eyes, black as pitch. His smile turns up all feline at the crooked corners. “Crawl to me, then.”

Like how fire licks up oxygen in any room it is in, his words steal the breath right from your lungs. What does he think you are? You blink at him wide-eyed and dumb for a moment.

How can he say that as though it were nothing? Moreover, how does the ravenous flare in his eyes, his head tilted back as he watches you down his nose expectantly, do that to your belly?

Your mind glazes over with something thick and heady, and you damn the nerves in your belly and begin to crawl from your end of the bed to his. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making sure you feel every inch of the taunt in his eyes as he trains them on you. When you’ve gotten to him through the thickness in the air, you settle into his lap and bracket his waist with your thighs.

Yeonjun takes the soft fat of your hips in his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. It sounds like he’s barely holding the gates on something endlessly consuming. Something that might break loose on the two of you, and leave you changed forever with its hungry, gnashing teeth. His head hits your collarbone. “Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop. I want it, Yeonjun. I want this.”

He straightens, pupils blown and eyes as tense as his set jaw. “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.”

That rings bells somewhere outside the heavy fog that’s infiltrated your mind, but they don’t sound too alarming when he looks as though he wants to drag his teeth over your heart to taste its beating. It doesn’t touch the ground, when you want him to, so badly. So badly that you taste it on your tongue and it tinges your words as you tell him, “I do know what I’m asking for. I want you. Yeonjun. Don’t you want me too?” Voice and confidence wavering, you pull back. Maybe you’ve read this all wrong. A tickling shame crawls over your skull. “Do you not want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?” he says, straightening up and meeting your gaze. His breath is hot on your mouth. “I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.”

He takes your hand and places it over his chest, where a heart should be. Beneath your palm, you do not feel the thumping of an alive thing. Yeonjun has no heart. You knit your brows and examine the strain of his features. Does he think that you’ll be disgusted? Maybe the girl you were in that forest might’ve been, but being near Yeonjun has changed you in ways you couldn’t start to put your finger on. “I’m asking you to,” you say. “Show me what you want to do to me. What you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Searing silence burns between you as he drinks that in, and then he shoves you onto your back. Supporting himself with an arm beside your head, he curls his fingers into your hip and nudges your thighs wider. He doesn’t lift the hem of your chemise like you expect him to. No—Yeonjun begins to grind himself into your cunt through all the layers of your clothes. Though your dress is bunched up and his pants lay between any real contact, Yeonjun’s hard and that friction tastes fleetingly sweet.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.”

You let little sounds linger in that back of your throat and become hungrier each time he grinds against you. It’s so much, mind swimming and sparks spraying up your spine, and yet each time it is not near enough. Damn that foxish smile on his face; you beg for him anyway. “Yeonjun,” you breathe, curling your fingers around the wrist of that hand with which he pins your hip. “P…lease, will you help me? It feels so good; I want more, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and an eager grind comes right over your throbbing clit. 

You know he wants more than that, but mortification already is making your voice unsteady and your cheeks burn. “Yeonjun,” you huff, hips wiggling.

The king of the undead delights fully in your shame and rewards you with more of those pointed, dry grinds. Your legs tremble; he’s giving you so little, and yet your need takes it and magnifies it into something grand.

Though he pretends he’s on some high ground, you hear his shuddering breaths each time his fucks his hips against you. He feels that roiling, liquid need in his belly just as vehemently as you do. The room fills with your breathy pants and grinding bodies. You catch your lip in your teeth and begin to meet him half-way. Your moans are low and sweet, and each one sends his jaw tighter. 

You twist and grind against each other like fumbling teens until you’re coiled up so tight that he has to pull himself away. Your throbbing cunt protests, but you know he doesn’t want you cumming like this.

“You want me to show you what I’ve wanted to do to you?” he says, working at his pants. His eyes are so drunk on you, and his cheeks betray his state. “Open your legs, my love. Let me show you a little death.”

Throat gone dry, you slowly let your thighs fall open. The dull throbbing between your thighs roars to life. He slides your skirt up your leg, stopping when he frees your knee to pepper a few hot kisses into it. Once he’s got it bunched up at your ribcage, he runs his tongue over his dry lips to wet them. “Fuck. Such a pretty pussy. I want to fucking eat you up.”

“Yeonjun,” you whine. His name is all you can muster out, anticipation sharpened to a knife point.

Flashing his teeth, he purrs, “You like that, you filthy thing. I bet you’d like for me to fuck you till your brain’s gone and all that’s left is my name. Isn’t that right? Is that what you want?”

Your thoughts stall and you nod, making your mouth into a filthy pout. God, how you want that. Maybe he’s right about you being filthy. Coming from him, it sounds like a delicious thing to be.

The pretty, leaking tip of his cock brushes your clit as he slides it up and down your slit to collect the mess there. Your thighs jump to close before your mind gets the better of it. He does this a few times—up and down, letting you feel and get used to the size and length of him all the way till his cockhead kisses your clit and you squeak.

“Are you comfortable, love?” he asks, shifting your hips with strong hands. “Do you need anything from me?”

It’s so at odds with his other, nastier words. Your head spins, the moonlight blurring. “I’m okay,” you tell him. “I… just want you. Want you to put it in, want to feel you.”

His cock catches on your hole, and he begins to push forward with promising pressure. But then he pulls back, smiling downturned. You whine; why can’t he save his capriciousness for later? You’d almost had it…

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?”

You flutter around nothing. Every inch of your body buzzes. Alive. You are more alive now, at the promise of Death’s touch, than ever before. The irony might be something to wonder about if you weren’t dribbling down onto the bed sheets with crude need. “Stop it,” you say. Your voice is whiny. You’re glad you can hardly hear yourself past the pounding in your bloodstream.

That delights the King of Death. He wrinkles his nose at you, burning you alive with his eyes as he presses his palm to your belly and guides himself into you with his free hand. You wrap around each inch of him slowly. The air between you bows under the weight of your gazes; he holds your eyes the whole way, inch by inch until he’s seated fully into you with his groin flush to your body. He stretches you to fit, and yet it’s just right. You could ask for no more or no less; you might even think your body was made for him, were you not too busy circling your hips to feel him.

“Good?” he says, squeezing your hip. “Do you need a moment?”

Pursing your lips, you test out the shape of him with another wiggle. “Maybe… Maybe a second.” Truth be told, you need a moment to grapple with the sparks sprinkling over your mind more than you need a moment to adjust to his stretch. You let out a shuddering breath.

He traces circles into your belly, just beneath your navel. The pad of his thumb goes round and round, warm on your flesh. “As long as you need,” he says, but it’s more like a triumphant, playful coo. There’s that lopsided smirk. One day, you’d like to kiss it off him. Taking that hypnotizing finger, Yeonjun trails it up your stomach, over your ribcage. He hooks it beneath your dress and drags it higher, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to the air. You shudder, body so, so hot that your nipples peak and tighten against the cool air.

“Such pretty tits,” he says, brushing his knuckle up the underside of one. “Everything about you. Such a pretty, pretty body. God, I don’t know if I want to worship it or ruin it.” His breaths fan over your skin as he bends down and pops an eager nipple into his mouth, lavishing it before releasing it with a lewd pop and letting his mouth fall all over your breast. Lick here, nip there, until you’re squirming adequately and squeezing him like a virgin. Then he blows cool air over it and watches with eyes like a cat toying with its prey as you shudder harder, your chest jumping. “Fucking look at you,” he sneers.

“Junnie,” you say, lost for breath. You think you’ve walked yourself into the lion’s den.

His breathy laughs fall over your breast. Taking his teeth, he drags them over your skin, right over where your heart thunders a rhythm fully for him, and then he bites. Nothing more than a shallow mark, the shape of his teeth in your soft tit. He lingers there, admiring the sight before he straightens himself up again.

“Fine.” He pulls out of you slowly, but you know what comes after that, so you savor every second of it. “I suppose you’ve wanted after it long enough. Let me hear your sweet voice again, my love.”

Yeonjun fucks you just right. His cock nudges right up on your sweet spot as if he’s done this before. Like he knows where to find it. You gasp and whine—you’re just happy he’s finally giving you something. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl. His shoulders wear the red crescent marks of your nails. “That’s—so good right there.”

Ever egotistical and cocky, he croons, “Yeah?” Rolling himself back, he makes it his mission to hit it ruthlessly.

A sharp, pitchy sound comes tumbling past your lips. You bring your hand up over your mouth, letting your eyelids dust your burning cheeks so that you can brave the flipping in your spine and deep in your belly. It’s nearly insufferable—the way pleasure licks up your spine, how it spreads out into your veins and takes control of you.

“No,” Yeonjun growls. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Let me see that look in your eyes when you cum.”

Your eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but you open them. The sight that greets you is worth the effort. Yeonjun’s lip twitches and then he throws his head back, the column of his neck on display as his Adam's apple jumps around a thick swallow.

If that sight wasn’t enough to send you teetering down into whatever depths of lust and ecstasy that he crawled out from, then the angle he hits as he pushes one of your thighs to your chest is. The world frays, deep tremors starting at one small point in your cunt and then exploding up through your stomach and down the back of your thighs. Your chest arches off the bed and you mewl helplessly, fighting and embracing your orgasm in an intoxicating death.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeonjun growls, strained with something whinier as he watches you shake beneath him. “Fuck. I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum…” His voice chokes as his hips become stuttered more than pointed, the slick sounds of your own release tangling up with his grunts and pants until he shudders and stills, cumming into your puffy, fluttering cunt.

You both catch your breaths as if there’s no air in the room left for a while. His hair’s damp on his forehead, as is yours on your neck, and his eyes droop lazily. More lazy and content than you’ve ever seen him.

Collecting you to his chest, where only your heart thumps away frantically, he presses his mouth to your ear and says, “Do you think death is so scary now?”

With your limbs nothing more than boneless and liquid pleasure floating slowly through your thoughts, you smile.

A little death can be more visceral than living, you think.

༺ ꘏ ༻

The tree stump beneath you makes your tailbone ache. You sit criss-crossed, watching Soobin work away at the soil and tend to that section of the fence that’s begun to rot and sag. Your mouth moves endlessly, filling the space that would otherwise just be made up of his grunts of hard work.

“You know, you ought to help me if you’re just going to sit and watch,” he says, straightening to swipe at his forehead, sweaty despite the cold in the air.

“Totally improper,” you say, smiling at him cheekily. “Are you saying that you can’t handle yourself, strong man?”

He glares at you with the venom only somebody made to put up with hours of chatter could muster. “What’s got you so talkative?” he says.

You know he means why you’re suddenly not glaring him away. You can’t tell him that you’ve spoken with Death himself, so instead you say, “Nothing.” Letting your legs dangle down, you smile at him.

Yeonjun hadn’t done any of it. It’s a comfort, to some degrees, to know that. It’s not your fault that they died. Being around them, being around Soobin, won’t make them turn up dead. The rest of them still don’t know that—and they wouldn’t believe it, anyway—but the black shadow hanging over your shoulders dissipates.

For the first time in so, so long, you do not feel marked by death.

“Sure.” His smile tilts. “A week ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to give him a hard time. “Not true. You just have a way of getting on my nerves.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

Crinkling his nose, he says, “Knowing how to bother you best.”

“Get back to work, stupid.” Your heart soars. It’s good to have friends. To let yourself have friends is an ever better thing. Is this how it is? To be with others and not feel like their burden, or like they’re crossing their fingers behind their back to ward off whatever bad things you might bring onto them? He’s made it his mission to hover around you no matter what, but this feels different.

Maybe, for so long, part of it has been your own gloom that’s obscured it all. Maybe if you didn’t bare your teeth to anybody who got too close, it could’ve been like this always. You hate to think that your own isolation could be some part your own fault. But how were you not to show your teeth when someone tried to reach their hand out to you?

It doesn’t matter now. You shove that all down and let yourself feel the slight warmth of the sun’s glow on your skin where it peeks through the clouds. It’s a nice day, you shouldn’t ruin it with those thoughts.

The sun’s begun making its descent when Soobin’s done. He takes a long drink of water, hissing with relief and crumpling down to the ground with his back to your stump.

“Are you making any way with that girl you were talking to me about?” you prompt.

Giving you a long look over his shoulder, he says, “Don’t.”

“What?” You laugh a little, raising your brows down at him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says, voice flat as he picks stickers out of his fingers.

Soobin’s had a thousand different crushes. There was that daughter of the shepherd, and then the wealthy merchant’s daughter and her long pretty hair, and then the neighbor… Well, you could go on. None of them ever really came to fruition for the poor guy. He thinks that it’s because he’s a poor farmer’s son, but you always tell him that it’s because he’s got an insistent mouth, and that he should be more grateful that you deal with him. Your lips turn up at the corners a little thinking about it—he’ll find the one eventually, but you like the indignant look on his face when you say it.

“I mean it!” you say, nudging him with your leg. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s happening with you. Until one of us quits keeping secrets,” he says, placing accusation heavy over the words, “I’ll keep my dealings to myself. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Feeling the weight of his head as he lets it loll lazily against your thigh, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to tell him. The itch to tell somebody crawls under your skin. Especially to tell him. “You know the other day? When I was… being awful?”

His body shakes with a vindicated laugh. “If you’re nothing else, at least you’re self-aware.”

You skirt around that with your own, more awkward, laugh. It’s nice that he thinks so, but you don’t feel it. “Stop,” you huff and nudge him again. “I was foraging out where I usually go. But I guess I wandered out farther than I thought I did. You remember when they used to tell us stories, right? Like the bogeyman. That he’d come snatch us up if we didn’t listen.” Your mom especially had loved that one, back when she cared what became of you. Would she care again, if you told her that everything was fine? “Well, I don’t know if you remember the one about The Wild Hunt, but… Anyway, I was picking some stuff, and…”

Sitting up from his exhausted slouch, Soobin looks like he’s suddenly come back to life. “What?” he interrupts. His voice is strangely serious.

“What?” you say, brow creasing. “They travel here and there… but they were here. In the woods. Like, I heard them.”

Tersely, he asks, “What were you doing that deep in the woods?”

“I mean, I just kept on finding nice stuff until I just… was deeper.” You survey him. You hadn’t thought that he’d react like this. “So I ran, and then there was this guy,” you say, watching realization fall over his face. He knew those stories as much as you do—knew where you were going with this. He is as starkly superstitious as the rest of your people, you forgot. Pushing past the grimace on his face, you say, “And I knew that he was the king. The one from the stories. It was so weird; it’s like you can feel it. And I spoke to him, and then…”

Stood up now, he cuts you off once more. “Are you kidding?”

“Why are you being like that?” you say, messing with your skirts to quell the defensive bite in your tone. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything? Are you trying to get killed?” He throws up his hard-working hands. “We have rules for a reason. Don’t go out into the forest, don’t make deals with faeries, don’t follow a banshee scream. And then you go and talk to the king of death? How am I not supposed to be upset about that? You know that…” Soobin blinks a few times as if second-guessing what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “You know that he’s the reason that they treat you how they do. You know that he’s the one who ruined your life. Why would you ever mess with that?”

You push yourself up from the ground, eyes burning. That stings like a cut. “He didn’t do it. None of it is his fault,” you say, furrowing your brows. “What are you trying to say, Soobin? Just say what you want to say. Come on.”

“He didn’t do anything?” He scoffs, letting a heavy silence hang suspended in the air for a moment before saying, “Is that what he told you? And you just believed it? Listen to yourself, does that make any sense? He’s played with your life like it’s some fucking toy, and now he’s come to rub it in your face. Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.”

Mouth opening and closing, you don’t know what to say. 

He sees the hurt in your burning eyes and tries to reel it back in. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, grabbing up the lunch you’ve been nibbling on. “I know exactly what you’re saying. I just never thought you’d say it out loud.”

“Say what?” Soobin says, his voice raising behind you as you storm off.

That you think it’s my fault, you want to say. That they all die because I am a plague, and you are a charity worker for being my friend. Instead, you just leave and try to choke down the tightness in your throat.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You curl your arms around yourself, the night biting cold. Yeonjun had dragged you from bed, and who knows what hour of the night it is? If the heaviness beneath your eyes is to judge it by, it’s far too deep in the dead of night to be outside with your boots half-laced and nothing but your sleep chemise on.

You might’ve just stayed wrapped up in your blankets if you weren’t so lonely as you’ve been. Soobin’s been scarce. The most you see of him is in the fields from morning to afternoons. You hope that he’ll stop by your doorstep and knock so that you can groan about it but swing the door open anyway each time, but he doesn’t. He thinks that you won’t want to see him, and so he allows you your space.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard to be the one to come back after a conversation like that, though. You watch him from the windows and hope he understands at some point instead. It’s an awful lot easier.

Other than preparing meals and window watching, you’ve been up to nothing much at all. You hadn’t realized how much you had, but you feel him in his absence. 

“It’s cold…” you say. The fog of breath that punctuates it makes your point. Whatever he’s brought you out here for, you have no doubt it’ll be something strange. The grin on his face tells you as much.

Leading the way, he heads for the Darkwood. “Only you would come rushing out without a cloak for your shoulders.”

“Well, only you would drag me from my nice, warm bed at this time of night. For what?”

“Can’t anything be a surprise with you?” he says, shooting you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Surprises are fun.”

“Surprises!” you say, working your legs to catch him. “Not surprises that involve you bringing me out into the woods. You know, it’s awfully suspicious. Somebody who sees this might think that I am the type to… sneak out with men.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Your lips tug down. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs in his airy way, a twig snapping under his foot. You’re well in the woods, now. Probably somewhere near where you’d first met him.

Lifting a brow, you look at him expectantly. Maybe a will-o’-the-wisp will come floating through with its light bouncing off the trees. That would be a nice surprise, you admit.

Yeonjun circles you. His presence behind you tingles in the way it always does, but true chills erupt when his breath puffs against your ear. “Close your eyes. I have something I want to show you.”

Your mind wanders back to what Soobin had gotten so twisted up about. It might be naive and reckless and against everything you ever learned, but you let your eyes fall shut to blackness. If he was going to hurt you, you imagine he’d have had that opportunity a mind-numbing amount of times before.

“Are they shut?” he asks, waiting for your nod. His voice comes from in front of you now. “I want you to keep them shut. You can’t open your eyes, or it will all go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, mind full of a bounty of questions. You don’t even know where to begin to assume what he’s got going on, so you stand there shifting your antsy feet.

There’s a strange, rustling sound that catches you off guard with your eyes closed. It drags on for a long moment. Curiosity pries at your eyes; you want nothing more than to just crack an eye open to spy the source of the ruckus. 

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

You let out a surprised squeak as something rises up beneath you, as if risen from nothing more than the dirt and roots of the forest floor, bringing you up from the earth. You wobble and send your hands out to find a perch.

A horse. It’s a horse, its mane so tangled and windswept, but matted and clumped with leaves that crunch under your palm when you find them. It reeks of mud—everything around you begins to smell of earth and decomposition.

You know that if you open your eyes, you’ll find yourself sat upon the pale white steed of the Undead King, its eyes white and its knobby knees almost as famous as the leader of The Hunt himself. It chuffs beneath you.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun says over your shoulder. You can hear the feral grin in his voice. It’s the leader of The Hunt, a creature of folklore, that sits behind you now. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to him, securing you against the wall of his chest. “Hold on tight, my love.”

The call of the wild, that horn, bellows again like it had the first time you heard it. Rather than coming from nearby as you thought it would, it dances between trees far off just like it had that time, too. Your heart jumps up into your throat.

Taking off with a howl, the Wild Hunt follows it.

You dig your fingers into Yeonjun’s at your waist. Weight melts away, and you know you’re in the air. Your belly swoops in tandem with the howls and hoots of the riders, heart palpitating to the hoofbeats. How there’s hoofbeats as you ride through the air, you’re not sure. The ghostly fleet manifests around you in vivid imagery, though you squeeze your eyes shut. They are wild enough to imagine just what they might look like: with their clothes and flesh in tatters, with their eyes beady or pale, with their hounds piercing the air with their calls and running alongside them, they are a perfect personification of freedom.

Whip-lash sends you reeling, body going rigid. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes harder, wishing that you’ll touch ground soon and that everything would become real again.

Yeonjun feels you go stiff. Bringing his head back to your shoulder from his own delight, he says, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Let it into your bones. Do you think I would let it hurt you?”

He is their leader. If it got too much, you know Yeonjun would be there to catch you. Curling your fingers into his, you release that tension and allow their drumbeat to echo through you.

And when it does, your blood begins to sing along. The wind whips your cheeks and your hair, and you begin to laugh with them. The Hunt twists and turns and dances through the air, an apparition in the night, but nothing more than that.

It comes to a slow, eventually, until the noise and even your steed crumbles back down into the dirt it appeared from. Your eyes pop open hoping to catch at least a glimpse of them, but only the dark forest and pale moonlight answer. Your legs threaten to give out on you, veins still thrumming, but, oh, do you feel alive.

You feel more alive than you ever have, more than you ever could have hoped to have known. Mind spinning, you stumble. Yeonjun catches and steadies you before you can go scraping your knees on a rock.

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

The laugh that Yeonjun breaks into has you sending him a glare, but you break too. Everything about him is ironic; and how ironic indeed that Death himself should show you how to be alive, rather than to just live?

༺ ꘏ ༻

The air is so fresh in your lungs when you step outside that it nearly burns. You clutch your basket of warm fig tarts. Songbirds trill and fly between tree tops that slowly become more bare the deeper you fall into the season, singing their sweet songs that sound like new beginnings.

Raising your hem from the ground churned up into mud from the afternoon’s trickle, you prance into town with a lively pep in your step. You spent all last night making these—Yeonjun had kept you company, watching you how he always does as you pored over making them just right. His cruel snicker when the jam had simmered over flame for too long and became too thick bounces off your bones in a sweet melody. You’ve come to adore his wicked delight, the way his smile cracks over his face and the facetious raise of his brows, more than you fear it.

Sending small smiles to the people that you pass, you stop by a huddle of kids digging sticks into the mud. They look up at you with curious eyes, stopping to gawk.

“Hey, guys,” you say, pulling back the cloth laid over the sweets. “I’ve made some fig tarts. Do you like fig? I bet you’ll like them; they’re sweet.”

The kids stand up, eyes big as they share a look. They don’t let out so much as a peep before they scurry off home.

You blink. Well, you’re used to weird reactions, but that was… different. Picking up your deflated shoulders and hesitant limbs, you make a shoddy attempt at not letting it dampen your good morning. You were expecting wary looks, anyway.

You head down a little further toward the far side of your home village, the side that breaks off after a fenceline into a great, grassy field. There’s a bustle, mothers washing their clothes in pails and hanging them up to dry and a few others whispering at each other lowly as they go about their days.

An old woman so old her back curves and her fingers have gone knobby makes her way to wherever the day’s duty demands her to be. Your neighbor—an eccentric old lady bound in her times. You decide on her: the elderly are forgotten by the young. She might enjoy knowing that her neighbors still know she exists.

“Hello,” you say, showing her your basket with a hopeful, excited heart. “I have some treats that I was wanting to give out. I know they might not be much, but would you like one? I’m not the best baker, but I do it often enough.” A face like that, dragged down by her years on this earth and not long to death, has no doubt spent many years making meals for her family. You imagine your goods would be nothing beside hers, but it’s the gesture, no?

“Oh, girl,” she says, voice crackling as she clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s best if you found yourself missing from this place. Hurry yourself up and spare the drama.”

The incessant cawing of a crow from a clawed tree fades into the background as you furrow your brows and lower your basket to ask, “...Huh?” Your belly goes up in knots; terrible knots done up tight and fast. You haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Elders always did speak a bit strange, though. It could be nothing much; she’s a stern old lady.

But her eyes are not angry and glaring in the way that a harrowed old hag might turn her nose up at the youth. They drag down with a cold pity.

“Listen to me, girl.” She points at you with one of those worn, sun-spotted hands. “You had best leave. The boy’s gone, and they are already not fond of you. Who will they point their fingers to?” the woman says. “I hardly know you, but I would hate to see it.”

The rest of her words fade into the roaring in your ears, the feral drumbeat of your heart like a wardrum in the cage of your ribs as it beats against them as if to escape from you. You don’t feel the basket in your hands, don’t feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, and don’t feel a single one of your thoughts like tangible things. They flit as if liquidated into a rotten, sick mush.

Nothing. You can think of nothing. Nothing real; nothing holding you to the earth.

“What?” Your voice hardly reaches your ears, but what does is weak and broken and like a plea for her to tell you that it’s not really what you think it is.

And if you could see or hear anything beyond your fraying little rift in reality, you would’ve heard the man coming up to you. You would’ve heard the words coming from his angry, sneering mouth, and would’ve done something when he picked up a pail of water, and you would’ve been shaken by the nasty ice water that runs down your frozen body and plasters your hair and clothes down as he pours it over you. But none of it cuts through your stupor.

He yells some awful, stabbing things at you, and a few others join him. They tell you that you are nothing but a plague, tell you to leave and to not come back here.

But this is your home. Where else would you go?

With your sopping wet dress clutched in your shaking fists as though that might keep you grounded, you choke down the tightening of your throat and sift through their faces, searching for his face. Those brown eyes, brown and always shining with nagging playfulness, do not come up anywhere. Jaw trembling, you search harder. Out on the field where he should be at this time of day, at your doorstep demanding that you go spend the day doing nothing with him, in someone’s yard helping them fix up a broken fence, no matter where you look, neither his broad silhouette nor his cheeky, dimpled face is there. You continue to stand stricken dumb, looking for him even though you know by the churning in your belly that it’s true, and you’re just hurting yourself trying to find him right where he should be.

Fine. Alive. Untouched by your disgusting, destructive presence.

When you can no longer fight the strangling tightness in your lungs and your dress is as heavy as your heart, you take off. The hem of your dress drags in mud and sticker bushes and catches on stray twigs, and you don’t know where you’re going, but you just run. You’ll give them what they want. 

You stumble, probably like some lost, undead thing, until you find yourself at the edge of the forest. Only then do you let the wall of whittle-edged tears roll down your face. And you assume you sound like a choking, dying animal with how you choke and heave on them, but he was the one you might’ve dropped your head and cried to, so what’s the use of making it pretty? No; you let it all fall as it is.

Soobin’s dead. Soobin’s dead, and it’s nobody else’s but your own fault. You clutch your chest to staunch that old ache that’s grown teeth and tears at your heart; you have and will always be the end of everything that comes near. You are just as much the plague that you began to pretend, to believe, you weren’t. It was your stupid hope that maybe you could have something and not watch it become carrion that drove that pick. It was by your hope that he’s gone.

The hair on your arms begins to raise. You pick your head up and find Yeonjun standing in front of you.

There’s a few beats of long, dreadful quiet as he takes in the state of you. He drags his eyes down and they become liquid flame—something different from the impious delight that he is made of. He becomes the King of Death.

“What happened?” he says. The chills on your arms prickle furiously at the words, furling out distant and yet furious like the center of the fire.

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he growls again, taking your face into his hand. “Who did this? Who did this to you, my love? I need you to tell me who the fuck did this to you.”

Letting the venom in your mouth out, you shove his chest and say, “Get away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeonjun’s face twists up, looking scalded. Not surprised, though. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Let me hold you while it hurts. Don’t push me away. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

All the pieces that you had been putting into the corners of your mind snap together at that. As many suspicions as you had, though, it feels sour hearing it confirmed from his mouth. That you are his dead past lover, reincarnated or whatever you are. That it was his presence—because even though he stayed away for centuries, a part of him still lingered with you—that now has torn down everything you ever thought you could love. He, standing there in front of you like a kicked puppy, is the ruination of your life in the flesh. The flipping of your stomach is nauseating.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you so much.” You repeat it a few more times, and you sob it into his chest as he takes you into his arms. “Is this what you wanted? You’ve been waiting for this forever, haven’t you? To find me again, so that you can die and fucking leave me here. So that you can make me exactly what you are, while you get your peace. You are a liar and a thief. All you’ve ever done is steal and take. How could you do it? Huh? Tell me…” Your voice trembles and staggers off. “Tell me how you made love to me, how you made me believe that you loved me, and all you ever wanted was to save yourself? You betrayed me.”

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

“Yes,” you say, stumbling back away from him with a shaking, accusatory finger pointed at him. “Yes you did.”

Fingers itching to reach out to you, he holds them back by curling them into fists. “No. That’s not fair. I have spent an eternity loving you. I spent the entirety of my immortal, monstrous life searching for you, just so that I might find you in any form. I would have been glad to find you as a leaf in a tree, as long as I found you. But, then, I find you alive. Alive and back, as if… it never happened.” He steps toward you, aching to be near you. His voice wavers. “Please, don’t do this to me, love. Please, just let me have you again. I’ve waited… I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I finally have you, and now you’re looking at me like I… Like I’d ever hurt you. Finding death—finally getting to die would be worth nothing if you weren’t there with me. It was never about that.”

“I could never love you,” you say, matching his steps forward with steps away from him. “I could never love a monster that does… Does nothing but kill. Take.”  You know your words are cruel, but you need them to be. You need him to hurt, you need him to go so far away from you that never again will you cause another living thing’s death. 

“You did.” Yeonjun’s mouth cracks into a pained smile, sharp at the corners. “You loved me just as much as I love you, once.”

“Just leave me. Leave me, and I wish to never see you again. If you love me, then you’ll give me that.” 

He looks at you, clever eyes intense and glassy, for a long time. And then he says, “Would that make you happy? Would it make it so that you could live a happy life, and find yourself something to live for?”

What’s left for you? A small village that won’t ever embrace you? No, it wouldn’t fix your life. But you open your mouth and tell him, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks reverently. He swallows in your features, running over them for what he knows is the last time he’ll be seeing you—the very last time he’ll see the face of his undying love. When he finally opens his mouth again, his voice is gentle. “I’ll leave you. If my being here hurts you, then I won’t be selfish. I love you, darling.”

Don’t go, you want to tell him. Please don’t leave. Please, hold me. But your mouth is dry, and you let the radiant hurt in your chest stop you. You let him go.

༺ ꘏ ༻

There’s only one place you can think of going to. It’s the only place your vagrant feet take you.

His spot still is held sacred by the flattened, gold wheat stalks. Your best friend, still living here on Earth in at least one way even if he’s not here to listen to your stupid rambling. And he would maybe complain, but he’d always listen.

The last thing you’d done was fight with him. What an awful thing—what an awful way to repay him for being the only one who ever dared to get close.

You sit in your spot, beside his, and rest your chin on your knees. If only the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you whole. You’d deserve it.

What’s left for you? Is there a place in the world that would keep you happily once they see what you do? No. There is not. You wish you knew what to do; you wish you had somebody to ask.

Releasing a long, tight breath, you just sit and wait for something to give you answers. A gentle breeze makes your hair dance, but it does not whisper anything to your ears. Something’s circling over head, but it doesn’t caw in the cadence of his laughter.

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it.

Conceding, you begin to push yourself up from the ground. A rustle in between the foliage stops you before you stand.

A tawny hare leaps out in front of you. It sniffs around you, nose twitching. Then it stands back on its haunches. It stares straight at you, an intelligent light in its eyes that knits your brows. The wild thing stands there with a purpose that is uncharacteristic of a forest animal.

But entirely familiar in the face of your best friend. That shine in its eyes as it stands there, nose still twitching, makes your chest tighten up.

“Hey,” you say, as if it might answer you. Your eyes well up with hot tears again. Of course, it doesn’t. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, but you know that it’s him. That idiot, coming to show you that he’s okay in the afterlife—to visit one last time and to let you know that you shouldn’t worry for him or cry for him. Look at him, full of life once again, he seems to say. The hare blinks its beady eyes. It lingers there for a long time, the ease of peace found in his gaze that Soobin hadn’t had in this life, saying that there is still something waiting out there for us once we go. You reach out a hand. He does not flinch as you scratch behind its ear.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m glad to know you’re alright. I know what I need to do, now.”

He blinks.

You laugh a hoarse, breathy laugh, familiar in only the way that Soobin could achieve. “You look stupid.”

Indignantly, the hare stops a bratty foot in a way reminiscent of one of Soobin’s huffs before it settles back down onto its forelegs and scurries off. He goes to live out this new form of life, because it’s true: life does not end in death. He’s shown you that.

Maybe, like this, he’ll find that pretty lady that loves him the way he deserves. That loser.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You spend only one night in your home and you know that what you’ve chosen is right. After spending your day out in the field, you sneak under night’s cover into your husk of a room and let yourself sleep there under the covers one last time. When morning breaks through the window, you gather your weary bones up and leave. 

You run into your mother on the way out. She doesn’t yell at you to leave, but her eyes have gone cold. Colder than you’re used to. You’ve killed again, in every way that counts. So you don’t bother with bidding her or any of them any grand goodbyes. You couldn’t handle the relief you might find falling over them, should you.

Plopping down to the floor, you take a few bites of the cheese and bread lathered in sweet jam that you’d swiped from the kitchen. The grass is long and willows in the wind, bending and dancing prettily. It’s so soft; you enjoy the feeling of it beneath your fingers in your quiet serenity. The scent of it, fresh over the baseness of dirt, you breathe into your lungs.

It would be the loveliest place to spend the rest of eternity.

For the first time, Yeonjun appears in front of you rather than behind you. He materializes from nothing, his elbow on his knee as casual as if he’d been sat there the whole time. The darkness beneath his eyes seems heavier, but then again you know that exact heaviness. It sits right in the very center of you.

You both are quiet for a bit. You let the tall grass whisper, instead.

“Bread?” you say and slant your lips into a smile. Bringing it up, you offer it to him.

His smile wrinkles his nose and curls at the edges. Entirely him. Yeonjun accepts the bread, ripping a bite out before throwing it away into the sea of green. Once he’s chewed, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s utterly at odds with his sharp mouth. Your lips move over each other gently, save for an indulgent nip or bite here and there.

He pushes you back into a bed of sweetgrass, never letting your lips go. Not to breathe, not to say something that’ll pale in comparison to the sweetness of your mouths on one another. He kisses you until he’s had enough to fulfill a lifetime without it, and then some more.

“My love,” he whispers into your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Mine,” he says, pressing a kiss into the column of your neck, and then he says it again with a hot kiss to the place where your dress suggests your breasts. He says it a handful more times as he pushes your skirts up your thighs. “My love forever. I waited for you so long, and I would do it again.” Lowering his voice to a honeyed whisper, he adds, “I would find you no matter what.”

Laughing softly, you run your fingers through his raven hair to better see his eyes. You know he would.

Gently giving you one more of his lingering kisses that make your skin tingle, right into your bare shoulder, he presses into you. You loose a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The beating in your chest slows to a content purr as he begins languid thrusts in and out of you, rolling pointedly and unhurried.

Yeonjun makes love to you in a thousand dusted kisses and sweet words, your hands holding each other’s soft edges. Yeonjun traces the lines of you, taking the pads of his thumb down your cheeks and your lips and then his hand over the swell of your breasts and down your belly and over your thighs. Clamping down on him as your belly grows tight in the way it had the first time you had done this, your thighs begin to shake.

 Breathlessly, as you hurdle over the edge, all that you can say is, “I love you, ‘Junnie.” 

Yeonjun smiles at you and then presses his face into your neck. He doesn’t even brace himself against the grass to chase his own peak. Neither of you want this to end; you want to hold on to this moment and let it span forever. Slowly, Yeonjun rolls up into you until his hips finally stutter and he cums into you, his cheeks pink. The weight of him above you as he shakes with your shared ecstasy, and even as you both have come down and are nothing but lazy, is the only thing in this world. He is the only thing in this world.

Once you’ve both evened your breathing out, you roll apart and face each other, still just two forms bending the grass into your shapes. Blinking slowly and digesting his features one at a time—the angle of his eyes, softened but never tamed, the line of his nose, the line of his mouth always so proud and playful, and that pretty dot below his left eye—you let them solidify fully in your mind.

“Yeonjun,” you say, finally meeting his eyes across from you. “I want to go. I’m ready.”

The gentle, knowing look that he gives you soothes over the way your heart begins to race in your chest in rebellion. “I know,” he says.

Of course he had known. Yeonjun had been called here to ferry you into the afterlife. He had known the moment he appeared in front of you that his last soul to reap would be you; an ironic circle of karma that should be cruel, but you two make it something sweet. Chewing on your lip, you will your hands to not shake as you curl toward him. You’re no longer scared of going. You know that if you’ll be with him, it will be okay. It won’t be so scary. A hot tear rolls down your temple and then drops into your hair. “Will you be with me? I won’t be there alone?”

He tucks some hair behind your ear reverently and then leaves his hand there. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You lay there for a long time. Chatting and giggling and just looking into each other's eyes, until your heart becomes slow and all you feel is the wind singing in your blood. Yeonjun presses one final kiss to your forehead.

Maybe, in some years, somebody might dig up your bones and find you immortalized like this in your love. Your bones bowing toward each other, as if even death were not enough to stop you from reaching for each other. Or maybe they’ll just find yours, and Yeonjun still curling into them how you know he will for an eternity more.

Either way, the going is still slow and gentle, as death always is.

🪶 ⦂ tears. omfg i cried writing this which could totally be me being a bitch baby but it DAMN. omfg.

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

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