#rhi drabbles

[seijorhi]

the idea of oikawa not being ready when he meets his soulmate.

it isn't that he thinks you're not good enough, not pretty enough, not right for him, it's just that oikawa wasn't expecting to find you so soon.

soulmates are forever, you'll be there waiting for him when all's said and done, but his career in volleyball – it won't be. he's young, fit and hungry for it; in his absolute prime, but if he doesn't put in the effort now, give it everything, 100% of what he has... it'll slip right through his fingers.

he can't risk that.

there's a strange sort of desperation that tugs at his chest when he tries to explain, to get you to understand it. it's a sacrifice you'll both be making for the sake of the career he's dreamed of his whole life.

the way your smile slowly slips away when you realise he's not asking for you to be patient and give him grace when his focus is more on volleyball than you, he's saying he can't have you around at all, because you will distract him.

he'd lose himself in you.

it's not forever, he stresses, only a little while. you're perfect, and in a year or two when he's more settled in his role, the starting setter on the right team, heading to the championships, he'll be there to give you everything you deserve. no – more. he'll make it up to you, all he's asking for (but he's not really asking, is he) is a bit of time and space.

the light dims in your eyes, a strange, glassy look taking over, and slowly, so fucking slowly, you pull your hands from his, let them fall weakly to your side. it takes a monumental effort to not snatch them back up.

'yeah, okay.'

the expression on your face is all wrong, your voice almost robotic, but oikawa knows it's the right thing. you'll forgive him, because that's what soulmates do. you'll forgive him and then fall even more in love with him and oikawa will spend every damn day showering you in the love and affection he can. he'll drown you in it.

just give him this. let him give everything to volleyball, before he shares himself with you.

—

you're a little too good at it.

it's harder than he expected, going no contact. he was the one who wanted it – needed it, really, for this to work – but there'd been a small part of him that sort of hoped you'd ignore what he wanted and reach out anyway. he'd imagined sneaking a quick peek at his phone during a water break to see a message from you, something simple, casual, a 'hope things are good!' or 'i caught some of the game last week'. was it unfair of him to want you keeping track of him? to see how far he'd come in the days, weeks, months since he'd asked for time?

it's like an itch under his skin, and it grows. a few of his new teammates have met their soulmates, carry the marks to show for it. they're all smug as fuck about it, but the thing is whenever their soulmates are watching from the stands, they play with a different kind of fire. they're better. envy burns watching them celebrate afterwards, all hungry kisses and smiles too fucking big.

he knows you'd be there too if you could. you'd be there every damn game, all of their practices too, cheering him on. his biggest fan.

it's an ache. he goes home to an empty apartment, better than the one he had when he met you, in a nicer part of town, but no less lifeless. there's no one to welcome him home, to wrap him up in a hug, kiss him how he likes and soothe away the days stresses. no one to warm his bed, no other pussy'll ever be as tempting as yours.

i miss you.

i'm thinking of you.

would it kill you to break his rules and reach out every now and then? to give him some kind of sign that this distance was driving you half as crazy as it was him?

are you trying to punish him?

it occurs to him that you probably don't have his phone number. it shouldn't have stopped you, because it wouldn't've stopped him.

—

the first time he tries to follow your instagram you block his account.

it's irritating, until he remembers that you're probably trying to abide by his rules. he can't exactly get mad at you for that, tries not to, and instead does what any sane man missing his soulmate would do; creates a fake account, steals a picture from one of his sister's friends and uses that as his profile pic – even goes so far as to follow a bunch of your friends’ accounts too, just so it doesn't look suspicious or weird when he follows you too.

and for a little while, it's enough. he can see what you're up to, who you're hanging out with, where you're going. he'll watch all your stories, your friends’ stories, just for a few seconds of you.

(maybe strokes his cock to a few of them, cums in his sheets gasping your name.)

you're being patient, he's being good, it's only for a few more months, he can last a little longer–

there's a new post on your insta, a snap of you and some asshole with his arm wrapped around your waist, your lips pressed to his cheek.

'Happy six months, love you a little more every day!'

[hugs2doie]

BRO I AM HAECHAN DEPRIVED CAN YOU PLS DO ENEMIES TO LOVERS HAECHAN TEXTS PLSPLSPLSPLSPL

enemies to lovers with haechan

[eebie]

i cant keep it hidden any longer

[murdockdevil-goooonnne]

WHY DO I ALWAYS WANT TO WRITE AT THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE TIMES…..🤣

[vvarvvon]

RHIS EREBUSDATTER, a tag dump

[chocobotism]

AAUUUGH AU RA AUGUST AAA AAAA AAA AAA AAAA AAAA!!!!!

[saintmurd0ck]

THE FEMALE RAGE AND SUBSEQUENT YEARNING IS STRONG TODAY

thinking about… the way frank touches himself.

he’s as an everywhere-but-the-bed kinda guy, really only jerking himself off when he feels the need to—either after a long fucking day when there’s no other way to release the tension…or when he’s fiercely craving you.

being in the shower is the only time he truly takes his clothes off when he pleasures himself. he scrubs at his hair, letting the water cascade down his back and the plane of his stomach, watching as his cock twitches with intent, already hard and gleaming with a mixture of pre-cum and water. he grunts as he squeezes the shaft in his hand, eyes fluttering at the sensitivity of his own touch.

it’s a visceral experience for him; a single moment of vulnerability in his day where he bows to nothing but the urges in his brain.

and with his unfaltering grip come the noises—breathy grunts that fill the space of the room, snarls that catch in his throat. when he yearns for you, his moans become drawn out. soft, even.

he pleads your name as he pumps himself, thinking about the vice you’d make around his cock if he were inside you. he thrusts into his hand, tempo increasing with every passing stroke, nostrils flaring as he crawls towards his breaking point.

when he’s ready to blow, nothing fires him more than the urge to paint his surroundings white, coupled with the flashes of frank-esque ire that fringe his vision.

in this moment, frank castle submits entirely to the mercy of his hand. he rabidly watches the messy, thick ropes of his cum spurt out, hips bucking until he has no more to give.

[sliebman10]

Costumes

(The last in my Spooktober drabble collection, even though the word count is a little wonky - thanks for coming on this journey with me!)

“You need help with your costume?” Bodhi asked as Ridoc preened in front of the mirror.

“I’m an independent woman, Bo…I’ve got this,” Ridoc said in a high pitched voice as he adjusted his black and silver wig. “Ready?”

“Yup.”

They left Bodhi’s room arm in arm. A few people who saw them along the way stopped and pointed. 

When they got to the briefing room, Rhi burst out laughing. “You two are really too much.”

“Why thank you,” Ridoc said, sitting down next to her. 

“What the-” Xaden started as he approached then stopped. Bodhi mirrored his posture and Ridoc batted his eyes at Bodhi. “You’re supposed to be…”

Ridoc grinned as Violet approached and then stopped. “No fucking way,” she said, as she took in Ridoc’s scarily accurate costume. It had everything: the daggers, the corset, the hair.

“Whatever do you mean?” Ridoc asked. “Be nice to me or I’ll poison you.”

Violet went red and sat down. “Really?” Xaden asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

Bodhi shrugged. “I’ve been told I look like you. What do you think?”

Xaden finally cracked a smile. “Decent likeness. Violet’s hotter than you, Ridoc…sorry to say.”

“Debatable,” Bodhi whispered in his ear. “The wig suits you.”

“You sure you don’t secretly want Violet instead?”

“Nope.”

[simp4konig]

My personal thing, if you don’t mind me sharing <3, about König, while I know he has the potential to literally kill you without a second thought, I feel like he has a soft spot of children. Parents not so much, but he always spares the children. Now, for the bad behaved children I feel like he would give a scary talking to 👀

Because König feels very strongly about bullying, so if he heard a kid was bullying the other kid? Would come to their immediate rescue and shut the bully down harshly. For him, that’s a mercy, but he promises that if he ever hears word or sees them acting like that again he won’t be as “merciful”. But to the Victims he would console them, but also give them his harsh reality of “you have to be stronger than your enemies” and as much as he wants them to keep their innocence, he doesn’t want them to be weak either. Or worse killed.

But that’s just my little HC 😌

Anon rhis is such a good headcannon???? 🥹🥹 lemme just..,🤏🤌

No i don't mind qt all!!! 😊 If anuthing, im so glad you shqred this with me 🥰💖 bc I felt IMMEDIATELY inspired by this headcannon !!😽✨💖...

... so jere are MY headcannons for YOUR headcannon 🙈🙈⛅🌻💞💕💓✨🌼 Took me a short while to formulate my answer, so srry for the delayed reply 😿 I saw this as soon as you sent me this an i dont want u to tjink i ignored you at all:(</33

König with a soft spot for children headcannons🥺🥺

+ father König drabbles🤭

Word count: ~2022

*If you ignore my VERY angsty depiction of König's childhood, then it's totally pure fluff all around 💖✨🤗

*General headcannons for König

Writinf block is fuckinf AGONY and im in PAIN 😭😭💔💔 give me time to recover and ill powt two fully-fleshed out fanfics sometime soon 🙏🥺

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee

...

König, having been bullied all of his childhood, is FIRMLY against bullying.

To see a little girl/boy being labelled an outcast is oh too familiar to him, and hits far too close to home than it should. Brings back the insecurities, the feeling of being utterly humilated, a permanent reminder of his not fitting in. Literally.

Primary school: bullied for being a beanstalk, for head hitting the door frame, for being abnormally large, a "mutant"; balls hurtled at him in dodgeball, all competing in finding out who can knock out the "freak"; knees kicked from behind and legs buckling from the attack, a stampede of legs stamping on him as he cowered on the floor, helpless, and no one caring to help, teachers observing idly nearby.

Secondary school: nose broken to "fix" his crooked features, his "ugly" face; cast aside in class photos for "ruining the picture"; people of his own age turning their heads in the other way in disgust, avoiding him like the plague.

As if his "ugliness" was contagious, and if anyone was to touch him they'd catch the disease.

Power surpassing his tormentors, yet too powerless to fight back, he endured, yet didn't overcome.

Lasting trauma changed König's own perception of self completely.

It took a long time becoming the cocky and confident commander he presents himself as. To stand up to his full height and embrace himself for who he was and is, to be self-assured, domineering, and boisterous with others irrespective of their rank. The Colonel; a hardened soldier; a strict man of discipline exerting his authority over all, not at all sympathetic towards anyone.

Deep down, he is still that young boy, vulnerable in the center of a circle of so many pointing fingers and sneering faces. All became a collective body of ridiculing smiles, of sing-song laughter, so many that he lost count.

So, personally vowing to NEVER let his future children (or any children) go through the same turmoil, he would intervene whenever he had the chance to.

For instance, perhaps König was speed-walking home one day, dufflebag slung over his shoulder as he rushed to get back to you as soon as possible after being deployed these past weeks, and maybe he was passing by a playground.

Initially focused on the goal at hand, he couldn't help but turn his head, a small smile under his mask as he felt a wave of nostalgia crash over him. Nostalgic of times before he was forced to integrate with callous society.

Smiling at the oblivious children playing together, kicking their chubby little legs on the swings, sliding down a slide and falling, squealing. All giggling with glee, so innocent.

All except one. His eyes would land on a small girl, bawling on the ground, no older than five years old.

Surrounded by three others, all pointing fingers and laughing, the ringleader making fun of the poor thing as his henchmen stomped the remainder of her sandcastle, kicking sand at her. Hands on hip, chest puffed out triumphantly.

Rubbing her puffy eyes, thick pouting lips drooping in an open-mouthed frown, chin quivering as she struggled to contain her broken sobs, she kneeled on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.

Usually, in these types of situations, people tend to behave in two very different ways when they see something that happened to them happening before their eyes:

"Why should I help them? I went through the same thing, so it's not my problem" or "I should help! They shouldn't have to go through the same thing".

You can probably already guess under which category König falls into.

He was NOT about to actively play a passive role in ignoring the poor blubbering child, to be downright apathetic like the other adults were in their radius. No way.

Still carrying his dufflebag, imagine the horror of the little shitlings*: seeing an imposing giant 2ft+ taller than them, huge body trudging towards their little troupe; cold, icy-blue eyes half-lidded staring into their bulging ones. Glaring.

Little band of clowns would probably actually shitting themselves fr 💀

Not only does König give the brats a stern talking to (all the while they are nodding their heads with jaws on the floor, knees trembling and nearly caving in on themselves), he later makes it his due diligence to track down the parent(s) and scold them too.

"Was wird deinem Gören zu Hause beigebracht? What do you teach your brat? This behaviour is unacceptable. You have set a terrible example, Du verdammter Idiot. How dare you allow this? Bulling is wrong. Scheiße, are you listening to me? Because you should, Dummkopf. You should be ashamed. I am sure ashamed of you. I swear to Gott—"

Cue 1 hours later, he personally grounds them (the child and parents)... 🤐

...And the child goes with it? Even the adults? 😭

I mean, to be honest, I would too, if a 6'10, body-so-broad-that-it-blocked-all-sunlight-and-did-not-fit-in-the-door-frame Colonel, gesticulating wildly, projecting strongly his German-accented voice, cursing in an aggravated amalgamation of furious English and a spiteful spit of German... Yeah, I'd be pissing my pants not even gonna lie 😭

I'd imagine that the parents would be immediately saluting, images of stupidity on their faces, completely dumbfounded to have their parenting challenged and to learn that their "precious little angel(s) that can do no wrong" actually can do wrong. (sorry guys i hate toddlers with a RAGING PASSION... rant over fyi no more of me insulting shitheads🥰)

As for the sweet, weeping girl, he would crouch down to her height, gentle eyes genuine behind his menacing mask. Slowly lifting the fabric, wary of his facial deformities, his scars, he'd do his best to give her a comforting smile, wanting to make her at ease.

She was not put off by his appearance at all. If anything, she maintained eye contact — was curious yes, so with no filter whispered, "You... you have a nice smile, sir. I like your eyes.

"They're—" a loud sniff, wiping her nose with her sleeve "—they're pretty. "

Taken aback, König's eyes widened. Then, in soft whisper:

"Meine Süße, I'm so very sorry about those— those idiots..."

The girl giggled a little, dimples appearing on her tear-stained cheeks.

"And I'm so very sorry, but there will others. Other idiots," he allowed himself to smile, letting out a dry chuckle.

A tentative hand dropping to her round shoulder, squeezing it every so slightly to emphasise his words. "And you have to be strong, Mädchen. You must be strong. This world isn't a good place for angels like you."

Obviously, he didn't sugarcoat the truth. Situations like this would be unavoidable. He would make that clear.

"I do not condone violence, but—" a wink, acknowledging the irony behind his words. "—if you stick your foot out when one of those brats are walking down the corridors, surely nothing will happen, ja?"

Seeing the girl lighten up, smiling brightly, no signs anymore of crying, he ruffled her hair with a toothy grin.

Letting the veil drop down his face, he suddenly fixed his posture and gave an exaggeratedly goofy salute as he turned to head home, satisfied. All the while the girl waved at him energetically, eyes crinkling up in an adolescent's adorable smile.

On another note: I never really gave it much thought before, but... König as a father? 🥺🥺

Your headcannons unlocked a part of my brain that had been locked. 🤭✨ Needed to upgrade my König skill tree before I got to this poin. 🦸🏼‍♀️ Sure has been worth it, though. 🤩

Ever since he was past his teenage years, the thought of a family was something he longed for. Desired.

Maybe it's because he was taught traditional house roles in his European household, or was longing for something that was out of reach, he couldn't tell.

What he was certain about was that it was his biggest wish. His dream.

Deployed in a foreign country, his favourite past-time was fantasizing about his future with a special someone, to have a big family, and to raise his children, giving them everything good he never had, and to shield them from everything bad he had experienced.

Something in being the breadwinner of the house was so masculine to him, and coming home to so many short, out-stretched arms, so excited to be reunited with their papa clinging on to his long legs brought a tear to his eye.

And, once you two officially became a couple, he knew that he wanted to start a family with you at some point. From the moment he met your eyes, intuition assured him that you would be the right one for him.

If you're a [fertile] female, he wants nothing more than to see miniature you and him running around, sweet cherub faces and their chubby cheeks smiling at him, calling him papa, calling you mama.

Seeing your belly swell up with his baby would strangely give him a sense of pride, proud that you would both bring sacred life into the world together, and would practically worship the ground you walk on. He would want to get this right, for everything to be perfect.

He wouldn't allow you to lift a finger despite your protests, catering to your every need, caring for you in any and all ways he could:

Carrying the groceries, 3 carrier bags in each hand, serving you while simultaneously subtly making you swoon, not missing the googly eyes you made at his strength from his peripheral vision;

Doing the bed, making sure to stock up on additional soft pillows and fluffy blankets so you would rest well, removing all stress from your morning routine, and the discomfort of finding a comfortable sleeping position at night;

Insisting you eat balanced meals, preparing nutritious food that had all the nutrients you would need, the sustenance to feed you and develop a healthy baby.

The gore and guts he had witnessed in the battlefield did not compare at all to the sight of blood staining the hospital bed sheet. The look of horror in his eyes as you went into labour, death grip on his hand, knuckles turning white. He'd be hyperventilating, almost feeling the same pain you were going through 😢💔

Not to say that your agony was worth it, but seeing the beautiful blanketed bundle in your arms, you cooing at the little one, made every single horrific moment combined in his life worthwhile.

All the struggles, the hardships, the troubles; all worth it if it meant seeing you with his child.

If you're anything other ([infertile] female, male, non-binary, etc), König would get so emotional when adopting a newborn with you.

He'd be teary-eyed, unable to hide the emotions.

To think that he'd be rescuing a child, giving them a second chance and making it feel so wanted, so loved. To give it all the love he was missing, the feeling forgotten through years of bullying, abuse, and violence, and war.

He would waste no time building the nursery. Painting the walls, building the crib, buying plush blankets, stuffed teddy bears, toys that would be in no way a choking hazard.

His helicopter parent preparations aside, his dream would be to grow old with you, and be surrounded by children, grand-children, and even great-grand-children, sharing stories as the lively atmosphere was bubbling with life, with a family.

Piggy back rides would be a MUST!! 😡 Or, better yet, his infants (taking turns — dunno if three kids at once is very practical 😭) sitting on his shoulders, seeing the world from so high up. Reaching out, and their head in the clouds.

Bouncing them on his knee, like a train conductor going through heavy turbulence, all the while the little ones would be laughing happily, telling him to go faster.

Every single one of his children cuddled up to him; in his lap, over his shoulders, splayed over his legs, clinging to him like a pack of koalas. 🐨

Reading bed time stories, stroking their head, stood in the door way minutes after his children had fallen asleep. Keeping them safe.

A family of his own. To eventually embarrass endearingly, to squish their cheeks, and tickle their sides, play-wrestle and tease by keeping objects out of reach. His extensive research also included horrible dad jokes, which were made hilarious by their poor translations into English.

Wanting to raise his children the way his mother had raised him while she was still around, to give his children the happy childhood he hadn't had, to make school a positive journey into adulthood. He'd teach them to deal with bullies, to stand up for themselves when he never could...

...And, athough he has good intentions, the truth is that with a father like him no snot-nosed brat would ever dare to mess with the Colonel's children ☠️

...

Note: Omg you. csn tell that i got so carried away w/ this😭😭 you know rhat line where König "fantasized" about a family ?yea that was me the entire time wiritng this...💔 God i need to stop daydreamimg excessively ajd return to reality 🥲 ...

...,,jk i wont 🥰💅✨💫 good mental health??😰😰 guurrl we don't know her 💆🏼‍♀️💫✨🧚‍♀️💓

Functioning like a normal human being💔🤮🤮🤮<<<<< Making up vivid scenarios in my head💓💓 😍😍😍

*fyi, shitlings is a loose translation for "gówniaki/gówniarze", an insult you have for children in Polish (similar to the English "shithead"). Do what you will with that new knowledge. The world is your oyster with that one ig 👍

[to6ge]

Saying “I love you” without saying it

Pairing :: Pavitr Prabhakar x gn!reader

Summary :: ( Headcanons ) Pavitr’s custom way of saying “i love you” to you ＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／

Cw :: None <3

Gwen’s note :: Im super demotivated to do this so its very short 💔💔 Im sos orry T_T

(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

He’d be the type to literally get you everything that reminds him of you. Whenever he’s away, he’d text you! If you aren’t doing well, he’ll go to your house and take care of you, even if he misses school or he shows up late to an important meeting. He’d cook breakfast for you & he’d surprise you. ( If you have long hair ) he’d tuck in loose hair strands behind your ear and caress your cheeks. After you guys kiss, he’d rest his forehead on your own. He wouldn’t want to say “I love you” all day long so he just does that. Overall, Pavitr’s love language is most likely physical touch. When youre away and he finally sees you, he’s practically glued to you. He wont ever let go of you.

Hi hi :))<33 Im so sorry that this is short :(( again, I wasnt motivated when I wrote this and its just a short drabble hahah. I was rushing when I was writing this and it turned out pretty crappy, most likely going to delete this post if it flops cause I hate rhis acfuakly 🤗🤗

[seijorhi]

tw: date-rape, breeding kink, pregnancy

when you find out you're pregnant after being drugged and assaulted at a party, your best friend vash is the one you turn to for help. he convinces you to keep it. the baby growing inside of you, it didn't have a say in its conception, he tells you. it's innocent in all of this. a terrible thing happened to you, he won't argue that, but... maybe some good can come of it, with this tiny little life that's yours. you'll be a great mom, vash knows that better than anyone.

and he'll be with you every step of the way, he swears it. he'll take you to all your appointments and help baby proof your apartment, he'll even go out on those late night snack runs when your cravings kick in. he'll be your shoulder to cry on, the one you turn to when you're close to breaking, your whole support system in one. vash'll do whatever he needs to – say whatever he needs to – to make sure you don't give this baby up.

he's not exactly proud of the steps he took to get you here, but it's partially your fault, too. if you weren't so stubborn he could've done it the right way. he wouldn't need to lie to you.

but it's okay, all that matters is that you're here with him, and your baby's safe and this budding family of his – he's gonna protect it with everything he's got.

[hugs2doie]

say it, ditto.

pairing: non!idol!jisung x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of kissing but not an actual describing scene.

nini’s notes: wohoo another jwi drabble, rhanks to the anon who requested rhis :3

resting his head on your shoulder attempting to sleep when the lesson got too boring, knowing that you’d put your bag on your desk so the teacher won’t notice him, it’s a friends thing to do, sure.

sharing an small umbrella, clinging onto him so you wouldn’t get wet and him wrapping an arm around you is just your friend taking care of you, of course.

hands brushing against while walking together, cuddling with you on your couch, sharing his lunch with you, feeding and taking care of you when you needed it, giving you heart eyes: those were things only friends did, right?

staring at your lips, just normal friends activities, yeah?

you have known jisung ever since you were young, you knew him way too well, and you also knew that he could barely hide anything from you.

but sometimes your friendship relationship would get complicated. he gave you a smile today, yes, but did he like you the same way you liked him?

you had enough with this back-and-fourth thing; with seasons passing and you acting like lovers, but never labeling anything or even talking about it, that your other friends were confused too, it was like a damn riddle and it was like trying to find the exit in a huge maze.

which is why you gathered the courage to ask him something today.

“sung,” you called him as you played with his hair, his head currently on your lap as he was watching a movie with you. well, watching might not be the word since he was playing with his phone since apparently the movie was “too boring” for him.

to be honest, the movie wasn’t even interesting. it was about two friends liking each other, but even though they knew it, they wouldn’t confess.

“that’s stupid,” you thought to yourself, even though the plot was sounding oddly familiar.

“hm?” he said glancing up at you and reaching to the table to put his phone down before going back to resting his head on your lap.

“do you want somebody, ji?” you asked, eyes focusing on the movie playing in front of you, even though your mind wasn’t focusing on that, you just couldn’t bring yourself to look at jisung.

he bit his lip and looked away for a second. “i do.” he answered after a little while, now looking up at you again and giving you those big soft eyes, smiling when he realised you had stopped playing with his hair.

your eyes finally found his, and of course, he already looking at you.

the voices of the background characters on the movie were now starting to get fainted, the only sound jisung could hear was his jacket getting grabbed by you to pull him in and lean down to kiss him.

you got nothing to lose, after all.

[terushimooo]

BREATHER

A composition on the decomposition of mind, body, and soul 

vampire!Jean x human!reader

t/w: lots of blood, open sores, vague allusion to self-harm and domestic abuse, implied tortured and depressed reader, activation of potential trypophobia, one bug eaten, eating/drinking of blood, noncon vampire bite, implied abduction. Please let me know if I missed anything!!!! 

a/n: thank you to both @iwaasfairy and @seijorhi for inviting me into your collab! I’m super excited to be back for my yearly contribution! I dedicate this piece to Rhi, my wife, and the eternal victim to my fics. I swear this is one of my most normal drabbles!! Happy supper early birthday my love!!!

And, of course, thank you to @bontenten for being my ride or die beta for life!!

w/c: 1.3k

Check out the events masterlist HERE and the corresponding art piece HERE 

Stagnant, lifeless, putrid decomposition.

None are words that should be associated with someone entering their so-called “prime”. 

And yet, here you are. 

Every morning slowly becomes harder than the last, every day more painful. 

Unseen to others, sores wrack your body, oozing and scabbing over in an almost religious fashion. 

And yet, unlike religion, or maybe more like it than anyone else would care to admit, no matter how hard you pray, scrubbing and disinfecting the lifeless skin of weakened limbs, your body refuses to heal. 

But that’s just the way Jean likes it.

On dark days when the clouds block out the sun, when the cool drizzle of rain thumps heavily onto his sun kissed skin, Jean can’t help but catch a glimpse of an unspoken truth. 

You’re just so fragile… so weak… so…

So painfully human…

But, that’s precisely the way Jean likes you.

It’s on days like today, with goosebumps prickling your skin and teeth chattering violently from miles away, that a gnawing voice burrows its way deep into the crevices of Jean’s mind. It’s like he can’t control it, can’t stop the compulsion that has him seeking you out in your only time of freedom, the only time he lets you out of your confinement.

Even a moment without you is too long. 

The strong breeze carries the smell of rain, renewal, rejuvenation, but most importantly, reward. It carries the scent of you, his dearest companion… his favourite, most precious pet. 

Although your lips never truly part, never except to cry out and whimper in pathetic attempts for mercy, you call to Jean. Like a siren’s song, the soft trickle of blood from wounds beaten open by the rain’s percussion lures him in. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Jean pushes his way through chest-high blades of grass, wet stalks brushing up against haphazardly buttoned flannel and his best denim. An odd combination, but you weren’t there to help him dress in the morning. Clearly, Jean thinks with a scoff, a scoff soon replaced with a smirk and throaty chuckle, clearly you wanted a head start in the game he likes to call life. Or rather, your battle for it.

As Jean stares down the traces of limp foliage, grass and branches disturbed by previous passage, he can’t help but wonder just how far you’ve gotten this time. His eyes light up with his first trace of reward, with a gentle puddle of blood cradled perfectly in the cracks and crevices of the abrasive bark of a towering oak. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but how can he stop? How can he stop his tongue from darting out, from finding its place upon the crimson stained wood. A soft groan slips past his lips as Jean laps at your taste, as he furiously seeks out every last drop of your blood.

He can’t stand to waste it. Can’t stand for anyone else to have it, not even the earth or the trees that in turn, give you life, give you something crucial—breath and oxygen.

Pure ecstasy flashes behind Jean’s eyes with every drop. It’s almost enough to have him forget about the scrambling bugs and maggots, the beatles and bark shavings he crunches between his teeth in an attempt not to waste your treasure.

If he had a working heart, it would beat only for you. If he had a soul, it would be tied only to you. And if he had any sense of compassion, of a true fondness and love for you and your wellbeing, he would let you die. 

But Jean doesn’t have a heart. He doesn’t have a soul. But most importantly, he doesn’t have compassion—not enough to grant you mercy.

His love is selfish. His love is unstable. And his love is everlasting. That much is made clear by the quickly hardening shaft of his cock, stimulated only by the quickly passing taste of your blood.

Jean loves the chase, the little game you two play. 

It’s one you’re not even aware of. 

Taking off through the woods, bare feet rubbed raw against the rough floors of the forest, nightgown torn to tatters, sores opened and oozing down your trembling body, rain chilling you down to your bones—this is no game. To you, this is real. This is a battle for life, at least, what you have left of it… 

But this time, this time you’ve gone too far. This time, there's no coming back.

In his mind, Jean would find you thrashing through the thicket, eyes wide and heart racing, blood leaking steadily from unsealed and revisited wounds.

In his mind, you’d scream. Cry out. Beg on your hands and knees for mercy, for his love. 

But never could he imagine the scene in front of him. 

When he finds you, when he sees your wounds ripped open, and wrists torn ragged by a branch, he can only imagine you used to try and find freedom. 

When he finds you, Jean’s not mad. He thinks nothing but how childish you are. How foolish you are for trying this. How much you’re going to regret this.

It’s clear now that he can’t trust you, that he can’t leave you alone for even a second. Not while you’re like this. Not while you’re still human.

Heavy lidded eyes begging to rest for eternity shoot open as you're made aware of Jean’s presence. He calls to you with soft coddling and reassurance, but all you hear is nails against slate, an agitating and grating sensation and you’re wrought from your slumber. 

“P-please,” you beg, voice soft and inaudible to even your own ears. “Don’t.”

But Jean doesn’t negotiate with incoherency. Even if he claims to care, your pleas fall on entire deaf ears. Instead of evoking a sense of pity, they just serve to drive his cause, to stake his claim. 

It’s all a flurry of limbs. 

Wild, desperate, bleeding hands. Bare feet swinging in abandon. Mouth left open in mid scream. Fists covered in open wounds and split knuckles claw desperately at their captors embrace. Sharpened fangs piece through bleeding gums, only seconds before they find their way into the crook of your neck.

For Jean, it’s euphoria. It’s everything he’s always wanted, maybe even more. But for you, for the poor, weak, and battered body coddled tightly in your captors embrace, for you its torture.

Fire runs through your veins as your eyes roll back into your skull. Gritted teeth are cracked open in an attempt to rob Jean of what little pleasure you can, to rob him the pleasure of seeing your pain.

But inevitably, all your actions were in vain.

As you lay shaking on his chest, gentle convulsions wracking your already worn out limbs, blood continuing to flow freely from the numerous sores and wounds littering your paleing form, Jean can't help but smile in content.

This day, this hour, this moment, this second, on February fourteenth… It’s at times like this where he thanks the gods, the gods who cursed him to an eternal life of indentured sorrow and suffering. 

The only sounds coming from your cracked lips are gargled groans of pain and distress. Tears stream readily down your face as Jean sucks from his own wrist to provide to you his one gift—the gift of life. Eternal life. 

Forever by his side. 

Cold, dead lips press against yours in anything but reverence. It’s hard, aggressive, and mixed with passion. But to Jean, to Jean it’s perfect. In fact, he could almost swear that your pain is really just pleasure. Your lips aren’t moving out of spite, but finally requited love.

As Jean continues to watch the seconds pass, to watch the life slowly drain from your quivering, whimpering lips, Jean thinks to himself that this must be the first time in the hundreds, maybe thousands of years in his pathetic existence that finally, with you turned and bound to him for all of eternity, finally, Jean can take a breather.

[iwaasfairy]

a valentine's day collab | ART BY IWAASFAIRY

go read the amazing drabble accompanying this art on rhi's page!!

[essjaywrites]

graduation day

Violet can’t believe that today is finally here, that it’s actually real. They’ve been working towards this day for three years, but part of her never fully believed she’d actually survive to Graduation, that they all would. 

I knew you would. Tairn sounds both grumpy and proud, in that way that only he can.

So did I! Andarna chimes in. I always knew you would! 

Thanks, guys, Violet thinks, unable to keep the smile from her face. 

Sure, there’s still venin to fight out there, and the war isn’t anywhere near to being over - Violet shoves aside thoughts of Xaden - but at least she never has to sit through another fucking physics lesson again in her life. 

She knocks on Rhiannon’s door and her best friend answers, her smile huge. “We made it!”

“Iron squuuuuuaaaaad!” A voice yells from down the corridor. 

Violet turns, grinning, to see Ridoc and Sawyer heading towards them. The four of them are all wearing their green Iron Squad patches proudly. Tomorrow they’ll be who knows where, in plain flight jackets. It makes today weirdly bittersweet - she can’t wait to get the fuck out of here, but the thought of them all being separated just feels wrong. She crosses her fingers and prays to Zihnal that they’ll somehow all be stationed together, even if it feels a little greedy to ask for more than just survival. 

“All the squad is here, let’s go party!” Ridoc says, throwing an arm over Violet’s shoulder. 

“I can’t believe we’re all here,” Rhiannon says, still grinning, as the four of them head to breakfast. 

“I never doubted us for a second,” Ridoc says cheerfully, and then pauses. “Well, apart from all those times we nearly died.”

They find a table in the loud dining hall. The room is buzzing with energy, everyone celebrating the fact that they’re alive, that they’ve made it through the year, and Violet eats her eggs distractedly, listening to Ridoc and Sawyer debating their closest calls with Malek. 

“Heard from Xaden?” Rhiannon asks her quietly. 

Violet shakes her head, trying to look nonchalant, even though she knows Rhi will always see right through her. “Last I heard, he was hunting threeps.” 

“I still can’t believe those things are real,” Rhiannon says, shaking her head. 

“Neither,” Violet agrees. She changes the subject, the thought of the monstrous threeps making her stomach twist with fear for Xaden. “So, d’you think Graduation is going to be as anti-climactic as ever?”

“Of course it is,” Sawyer says, shrugging. “I still can’t believe infantry’s graduation party is better than ours.”

“Don’t count your parties before they’ve hatched,” Ridoc says loftily. 

Rhiannon eyes him suspiciously. “Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”

“Probably not,” is all Ridoc says, as they get up from their table.

They head towards formation for the last time. There’s something especially sobering about the death roll today - the names of the cadets who didn’t make it through war games, who were just one day away from graduating. 

“Emma Grass,” Panchek calls the final name in his emotionless voice and rolls up his scroll. 

He launches into the speech they’ve heard at the last two graduations, congratulating them all for surviving, blah blah blah. Violet’s attention wanders to where they’ll all be sent, what’s waiting for them outside these walls. Venin, wyvern, threeps. She takes a deep breath. 

“Don’t worry,” Ridoc nudges her, seeing her nervous face. “I’m wearing my lucky underpants. It’s all going to be okay.”

(last drabble for the rider's quadrant war games! now I never have to think about threeps ever again.)

[shiverpeakstraveler]

Bit of an introduction post overdue in the making.

Hi, I'm Owl! Used to go by Rhi but alot of my discord buddies have been calling me Owl (mostly cause of the username but also because owls are one of my absolute favorite birds) so I'm picking up the nickname to use.

I'm she/they nonbinary, 31 years old, and I've been playing Guild Wars 2 for about 9 years now. I also play some Guild Wars for about a few years now, and dabble in Baldur's Gate III and Tavern Talk.

This blog is mainly for reblogging stuff about GW2, as well as posting some writings and drabbles/ask prompts regarding my characters.

@tyria-after-dark is my new sideblog where I plan on posting 18+ writings/prompts. Do NOT follow this blog if you are a minor, you will be automatically blocked from each blog.

My AO3 is where the story of my commander Liana will be posted in full. The fic itself is currently on hiatus as I am working on rewriting the current chapters as the story has somewhat changed with the creation of certain characters.

You can find the rosters for my characters here ( 1 2 3 )

I do plan on creating a proper character page soon, I am currently waiting on responses from Tumblr's support team as it seems they've changed how you can edit codes for blogs now.