#takes place somewhere before their parents split up

[windfighter]

Not only thunder roars

Prompt: ”I’m scared.”

-----

Takeru curled up next to Yamato and Yamato put an arm around him.

”I’m scared”, Takeru whispered.

Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder roared. I’m scared too, Yamato wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He needed to be brave, Takeru’s rock. Needed to be a good brother. Or else mom and dad might start fighting again.

”I know it looks scary, but lots of things that look scary aren’t”, he said. ”Like that bug you found yesterday!”

A bug was far from the same thing as lightning though. Another flash crossed the sky and Yamato supressed the need to flinch. Takeru did instead, pressed harder into Yamato’s side. Yamato lifted him into his lap. Part of him wanted to suggest they hid in the wardrobe. He pushed that part as far away as possible.

”Why is the sky angry?” Takeru asked.

Yamato didn’t know. He raked his brain to find what he had done to wrong the sky, but nothing came up.

”Maybe….” he started and tried to think something up on the spot. ”...maybe there’s just been too much work for it lately. Like how it is for dad sometimes.”

Thunder roared again. Takeru gripped Yamato’s shirt and pressed his face against Yamato’s chest. Yamato watched the rain run down the window.

”He’s not angry at us, just very loud”, Yamato said.

He wished he could believe his own words. Takeru seemed to calm down a bit though, the tight grip around Yamato’s shirt loosened. Yamato lifted a hand to his cheek. The bruise had disappeared, but the pain was still fresh in his memory. He swallowed and hugged Takeru.

”He could never be angry at you”, he whispered.

”Is the sky angry at you?” Takeru asked.

Yamato blinked. Shook his head.

”Maybe it is”, he said. ”Maybe it’s angry I’m holding you in here instead of letting you go out and greet it.”

Takeru looked at him. Yamato did his best to grin and Takeru laughed. Settled more comfortable in Yamato’s lap and looked through the window. Yamato did as well, tried to keep the memories of dad’s hand and the pain away. Takeru leaned his head back and looked at Yamato.

”You’ll always protect me when it’s angry, won’t you?”

Yamato wasn’t sure what they were talking about any longer, but he knew one thing. He ruffled Takeru’s hair and gave him another hug.

”I’ll always protect you.”

[fireheartpages]

other plans | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter one. series masterlist summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. word count: 2.1k ish notes: second person pov but i give the reader a nickname (that i stole from dirty dancing) and a last name bc i'm not using y/n and i want this to be readable. she/her pronouns used for reader. this has been stuck in my head and i thought i was gonna combust if i didn't get it on page. and it's all together hovering somewhere around 7k words so im gonna split it up and post it all within the next few days and then have the whole thing available on ao3! i haven't written fanfiction in at least a good six months, and i've never written for fourth wing, so bare with me a little--i tried my best. i have a chronic attachment to side characters with little to no page time. half of this was written while wine tipsy and all of it was proofread while wine drunk, so we die like men

Bodhi has never seen someone walk across the parapet so easily.

He's never seen someone make a dance out of it. As if it were a show, a production. Your feet are so confident, so sure with every step, every placement that you would make it to the next. It's pouring rain and windy as all hell, and yet you make the parapet look like a children's balance beam.

You land right in front of him, and by the time your eyes meet his, he's already decided that he needs to know everything he possibly can about you. The instant your focus lands on him, he's obsessed.

Garrick has other plans.

"Name?"

"Baby," you say, and Bodhi blinks. "Marho."

Garrick is downright gawking at you. "Baby?"

Something that sounds much more like a name and not what an infant is called slips out on a laugh, and Bodhi can't help but trace the lean lines of your neck. Holy shit. If he thought you were pretty before, it was dwarfed to the sound of your laugh. The sun had to fight for space when you smiled.

"Sorry. Childhood nickname, I forget I have another one sometimes."

"Did your parents nickname you after a hooker?" Garrick asks, jotting your name--the true one--on the roll.

"Did yours raise you to be a dick?" you ask, not missing a beat, and the boy's gaze snaps up to you. If Bodhi had been looking anywhere else, his would have too, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of you since the moment you stepped foot onto the parapet. He felt his brow shoot up, lips parting on a huff.

He bursts out laughing.

You don't move. Don't take your eyes from Garrick, from staring him down, until he tips his head in inclination and gives something that sounds like an apology. It's Bodhi's turn to be the subject of your scrutiny now, and as your eyes trace his shape, shifting with the weight of your gaze and his laugh, he senses more than sees the moment you note his rebellion relic. Your face doesn't shift, but it's as if a proverbial file is created and tucked away into the archive of your mind.

You didn't say anything else as you walk away from the two boys, but Bodhi tracks you as you go. Tracks your movements, as you weave through the crowd with a practiced grace, how your hair moves as you take the stairs down and out of his sight.

He's almost sorry to see you go. But he's determined to see you again.

Bodhi snatches the roll sheet from Garrick as parapet comes to an end, scanning to make sure he has the name correct. He marches up to Xaden, and only pausing for a moment to consider how stupid this is--he literally doesn't know a single thing about you--before throwing your name into the space between them.

"I want her in my section."

"Don't you have better things to do than flirt with children?" Xaden asks impassively.

"She's not a literal baby."

"I'm aware of that," he responds, sounding exasperated. "You're an Executive Officer, Bodhi. Do what you want."

Except Dain Aetos has other plans.

You made friends. You stand with the Sorrengail girl and another he didn't recognize, tucking loose strands of hair back into her coronet braid. What type of person fixed the hair of someone they'd just met? You, apparently.

You're in Second Wing. With Aetos and Sorrengial and the other girl. This is fine. Something about you didn't scream "secret rebel" the way wanted it too.

And then Xaden transfers your squad to Fourth Wing. He had sent Bodhi a glance as he put the squad in Flame section--not Tail--and Bodhi could see there was some sort of ulterior motive behind the decision. It did also mean you weren't under his direct chain of command. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing

Fraternization is frowned upon, not forbidden, after all.

Not that you would be fraternizing. After all.

But, challenging you would be a terrible idea. Terribly adverse, fatally cataclysmic, and ill-fated.

And all of those words mean the same thing.

He would stay clear, watch you from afar, and maybe, maybe work up the courage to talk to you outside of parapet. Possibly.

His confidence needed some serious shaping. Since when was he afraid to talk to someone? A pretty someone, to say the least. He was a gods damned dragon rider. He wasn't afraid to talk to you. He was just... hesitant.

Yeah. That. And he did not need a challenge to break the ice.

Emetterio has other ideas.

He calls your name, then Bodhi's, and Bodhi is pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

You don't look frazzled or scared, just curious as you study him from head to toe. He guards himself as if you were an intruder in his mind, an Inntinnsic slipping in to spill all his secrets. Except you're an unbounded first year that hasn't even developed a signet, and instead that's just you. He's building up walls just to look at you. You and those bright, keen eyes.

Emetterio calls it, and you're off. Except neither of you move. You pace around, and it's a stand off. You cock your head, and Bodhi tries every trick in the book: the fakes out, glances quickly off to the side, purposefully stumbles--and you're unfazed. Completely and utterly unfazed.

He can't make the first move. He can't hit you--

Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, and he's staring at the ceiling, and you lunge, reaching to pin him to the floor. He reaches out and catches the elbow you throw, but before he can even make contact, you twist, sliding underneath him, and suddenly you're behind him.

You're fast. Really fucking fast. And suddenly, Bodhi has his work cut out for him.

You kick out again, going to the back of his knees, and he recognizes the move, thrusting his body forward to keep control and twisting before he lands, kipping up so you're eye-level again.

Your first catches his nose, and blood goes flying. He makes the mistake of bringing his hands up to cup his nose and it leaves his core exposed. You take the opportunity to land a knee in his gut, probably bruising a few ribs in there, and he doubles over, the wind having been knocked from him. Holy shit, he needs to get at least one hit in. This was getting embarrassing.

He swings blindly, and you dodge--but you don't grab his fist. And you had the perfect opportunity to. You were fast, and your reflexes were quick, but you didn't know how to end this. The realization crashes into him as you swing again. A lot of force, but no follow-though, giving him the perfect opportunity to deflect, pushing your fist and forcing the follow-through until you were swinging behind him with his hand around your wrist and then he was bringing you to him, one of his arms gripping one of yours across your neck, and the other twisting your other behind your back. Like this, your body was flush against his.

You struggle, kicking out, but it was all too easy for him to get your feet out from under you. You weren't small by any means, but Bodhi was bigger, and had a year of training over you. Your feet kicked out, and all he had to do was lean back to incapacitate you. You gave a frustrated grunt that so heavily affected him that he almost dropped you to make sure you were okay before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

"Finish her without making a fool of yourself, please," Cuir chimes in, probably sensing his hesitation and near-miss, and Bodhi sends an eye roll he hopes he can feel, since he doesn't have the brain space to say anything back, with your body pressed against his and the current task at hand.

He twists and take you both to the ground, pinning both your hands above your head, and taking a leg beneath his foot, balancing on a knee. You let out a sharp huff, and he's mesmerized by the way your nose scrunches up in determination. Your free leg goes to knee him, and he takes the hit, leaning into it before transferring your hands so they're both pinned between one of his, sliding one hand down your hip and to your thigh, holding it to the gourd before you can knee him again. He has a free knee to hold him up, but not without giving leverage to one of your legs. So he's pressed against you, hip to hip, face to face.

"Yield," he says, begs, because he can't hold this for long, and because if you figure out just how much you affect him, you'd win this thing in a matter of heartbeats.

"No," you grind out, thrashing. He's spread thin: his wingspan practically encompassing your body, giving you leverage to wear against him. He worries for a moment, a flash of the bruise he could leave on your thigh going through his mind, and two thoughts overtake him at once.

One, that he doesn't want to hurt you. And that while it may be inevitable with where you two stood, he wanted to try and eliminate the possibility as best he could.

Two, that he would leave bruises all up and down your thighs if he ever got the chance to get between them.

And the combination of the two of those thoughts loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to roll away.

"I did not choose someone this negligent," Cuir snaps, and Bodhi panicks, and now you're pinned underneath him again, his front pressed to your backside, and it's a true plea when he breathes, "Yield."

"No!" You squirm, and fuck stop doing that--

"Get yourself together!" Cuir snaps, and Bodhi sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's enough," Emetterio says, pinning you with a look Bodhi would pick dragon fire over. "Know when to quit, Cadet Marho."

"No!" you yelp. "If this were a real fight, no one is calling the shots--"

"If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. I called it. Get off the mat," Emetterio snaps, and Bodhi scrambles off of you.

He offered you a hand that you send a pointed look at, and he can tell you're considering telling him where to shove it, but you take it anyway, and he walks you off the mat with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good match," Bodhi says, genuinely trying.

You open your mouth to respond, looking like you yourself could spit fire for a second, and Bodhi pities the dragon you end up bonded to for a moment.

"You're fast," he continues, before you can. "Quick reflexes, and you're strong."

"I had you," you throw at him, fiery and determined, and your gaze slips to his rebellion relic.

Oh. So, that's what this is about.

Bodhi shakes his head, and the grin that had been blooming falters. "I can help," he says. "If you're struggling with sparring, I can help."

You suck in a breath.

"Or Imogen. Or Xaden. Or--" he stops, because, fuck, obviously you don't want to be near Marked ones--

"Thank you," you say, and the ghost of the smile he saw after the parapet makes a reappearance. "Thank you."

And with that, you turn and leave, heading back to your squad. Rhiannon is shaking her head at you, and Violet mumbles something that makes you laugh. Bodhi would bottle that sound if he could. What the hell was a countering signet for? His signet should be used for bottling the sound of your laugh--

"Do not finish that thought," Cuir chides. "Get a grip."

Bodhi grins, his hair falling over his temple as Garrick comes up and slaps him on the back, congratulations on a challenge well fought. He watches you take a swig from the water canteen, traces the lines of your jaw down to your shoulder until you hand it back, then traces the length of your wrist as you hand it--

"Pathetic." Cuir. "You haven't spoken."

"We kind of did," Bodhi says mentally. "I offered. I... tried."

"If you like her, try harder," he chides, and Bodhi sighs.

He doesn't like you, he barely knows you.

"Sure."

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Part two to the roommates idea

Whenever the mall ‘burns down’, Eddie is just chilling at home; not doing anything special.

Actually, thats a complete lie. He hadn't seen Steve since he left for his shift the day before, and currently has his band+Wayne scattered in the living room as he paces.

“He may as well be dead, he always calls before staying the night somewhere, and he totally despises that place, so why would he stay after hours?” He comes to a halt infront of Jeff who looks considering. “What?!"

“Maybe, consider, he just forgot to call you." Eddie scoffed, “ ‘Maybe he just forgot’, except you don't know him, Jeff. Steve doesn't forget, tell ‘em Wayne."

Wayne nods from his spot on the lazyboy, “ ‘S true, he'd rather call at 2am than have us worrying.”

Gareth rolls his eyes, “Look Edmund, I get your worried about you boyfriend and all but why did we have to get dragged into this?" He complained, and Eddie began pacing again.

“ Not,my boyfriend, yet, and you’re getting-”

A ringing interrupts him.

The pacing stopped almost as soon as it began, and he darts to the phone. “ Y’hello, it's Eddie talking.” A sharp breath drew from the other end of the line.

“Hey Eds."

Eddie smiled, “Holy shit, Stevie. I thought you died. Wayne and the guys are literally gathered in the living room.” Upon hearing the name, Wayne visibly relaxed, going from hunched over to leaning backwards in seconds.

“Yeah I'm- Well shit not okay but I'm not dead.”In the background there was a noise, barely noticeable but-

“Wait, what? Are those sirens? Are you hurt? What the hell-” Wayne leaned forward again.

“I'm at the mall, there's been, uh, an accident? I don't- they took my keys, I need a ride back home.”

“Who took your keys? Steve you can't just be all ominous and-” The phone line shut off. "Fuck!”

Grant, who hasn't been helpful at all, stood up. "What did he do?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his greasy hair, “Needs us to pick him up, might be hurt. He's such a- Wayne we're taking my van, you guys coming?”

Turns out the answer is yes.

-

They arrive at the mall five minutes later, mostly because Eddie was driving like a bat outta hell, to every emergency vehicle you can think of, plus thirty more, surrounding the place.

Eddie roles his window down when a cop signals him. “What are you doing over here?"

The metalhead bites his lip, what the hell, “Uh, I'm here to pick up Steve Harrington? He got involved in whatever's happening.”

The cops nods, "Alright, park your vehicle over there, and go get him.”

He does as he's told, a surprising feat showing just how scared he was, because Steve being hurt could mean so many things.

They get out the car, Wayne being the leading man, and head to where the commotion is.

The mall was totally destroyed, a couple kids he didn't know were sitting around, surrounded by their parents, there's a couple teens too, Nancy Wheeler, Johnny Byers, a girl in a sailor costume, and-

Eddie’s heart stopped and he fucking sped forward. “ Holy shit, what the fuck man." Steve looked like hell, understatement of the century but-

His face was bruised and bloody, his hands wrapped in casts, his hair was flat and gross and he was still in his damn sailor costume.

“Hey Munsons, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. It's the whole Scooby gang, or Smurfs, whoever you prefer.” Eddie grabbed his shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. “ What. The. Fuck. Are you high too?!”

“Just what the hell did you get yourself into. " Wayne said more than asked, shaking his head.

Steve buzzed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he brought a hand to them and-

God they were split, and bleeding now. He looked back up at the long haired man infront of him, ignoring Wayne's question-not-question.

“Nah, just recovering from being drugged. Hey this is rivveting conversation and shit, but like, I wanna go home and sleep in your bed, man. Or the couch, or the floor.”

He let out a loud laugh, “Fuck I am not picky right now, I'll even take the back of the van.”

“Christ."

-

They don't talk about it, not after Hellfire goes home, not the next morning, not after Steve heals. They just don't, because the news told them all they need to know, that there was a fire. Eddie just assumed when they said he was drugged, that he meant medically.

(He didn't)

[punkshort]

Boiling Point

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave rescues you.

Warnings: language, physical violence, murder, blood, vomit, degrading terms used towards reader, torture (nothing too crazy but reader gets beat up a lot), SA only mentioned as a question, none occur nor is implied, graphic descriptions of injuries, Dave softens up

WC: 5K

part one for context found here

Collection Masterlist

The first night Dave came to your apartment to find it empty, jealousy twisted in his gut, which bubbled up into white hot anger.

You must have stayed the night with Michael.

The thought ate him alive the entire next day. He took out his frustrations on a boxing training dummy, nearly splitting the thing in two, then went to the shooting range. His aim was all over the place; it was the absolute worst he shot in a long time.

Did he not make himself clear on Friday? Should he had spoken the words out loud? Did bending you over his desk not get his message across?

Dave shrugged it off. He decided to go back to your apartment that night and make sure there was no confusion that time: he wanted you, and he wasn't willing to share.

But when he broke into your apartment for the second night in a row only to find it completely dark and untouched, jealousy didn't burn in his veins. Something else simmered below the surface and his intuition began to kick in.

Something was wrong.

You had told him you hadn't slept with Michael yet. If you did decide to take that next step, you certainly wouldn't be gone the entire weekend. Nobody does that.

Dave closed your door behind him and he began to flick on some lights. He checked your bathroom first, confirming your toothbrush, hair brush, and other essential toiletries were still there. A spark of fear shot down his spine and he swallowed.

Your bedroom looked exactly as he found it yesterday. The same dishes remained in your sink. Dave closed his eyes, wrapped his fingers tightly around the edge of your counter, and focused.

What were you wearing last? A skirt. It sat just above your knee and the material was loose, easy to bunch up-

He rushed back into your bedroom and searched your hamper, growling and slamming the lid shut when your work clothes weren't in there.

Something happened. It was the only logical explaination. His worst fear had come true and his stupidity, his selfishness, was to blame.

Dave took a deep breath. He closed his eyes again, curled his fingers into fists at his side and slowly rolled his neck, back and forth, back and forth, only stopping when the tiny cracks in his joints ceased.

It had been two days. You could be anywhere in two days. But he needed to start somewhere, and that would have to be the place you were last seen.

The office was quiet, as it should be for a Sunday night. He knew from experience the security system in the building was in desperate need of updating that the owners were too cheap to pay for, so breaking inside was simple.

He should have just made his way to the IT department, tapped into what he needed, and left. Instead, he found his feet carrying him to your desk.

Dave stood there for a moment, taking in every little detail. He never allowed himself to do that before. His eyes raked over your potted plant, the black cardigan that hung on the flimsy cubical wall, the coffee mug with a lipstick stain on the rim, a pad of legal paper with your handwriting sloppily scrawled all over... these things were all part of you. As foolish as it seemed, given they were all just things, he couldn't tear himself away. Even though he had been inside your apartment countless times and been inside you just as much, it felt strangely intimate to be in your space. Next to your computer monitor, he saw some framed pictures. You with another girl your age, you with a black dog, you with an older couple; your parents, he assumed. One gloved finger traced slowly over the glass of one of the pictures and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch at your wide smile.

He was about to turn away when he spotted it. A square of hot pink stuck to your desk with blocky handwriting that clearly wasn't yours: meet you in the parking ramp.

Dave's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

He raced across the floor, towards the other end of the building where he vaguely recalled the seating plan. He hurried down the aisles, eyes scanning the nameplates as he went until he slid to a stop in front of Michael's cube.

Dave's jaw tensed as he tried to focus. He was struggling to keep emotion out of what he was doing. He needed to rely on his instincts and push down that sick feeling in his stomach that had the back of his mind wandering, wondering what could be happening to you right at that very moment.

Taking a deep breath in, he shook his head and rolled his shoulders, centering himself. He looked at Michael's cube differently, then. What stood out?

Well, it was strangely bare, for starters. Not very common for someone who had worked there as long as he had. All that hung on the wall was a calendar; a free one that probably came in the mail or he found abandoned by the water cooler. Nothing was written on any of the dates. Dave kept scanning.

A pen and pencil sat perfectly aligned on a blank pad of yellow paper. His keyboard and monitor looked dust free, not a smudge to be found. No pictures. No trinkets. No mugs or plants or notes.

He began to check his cubical drawers. Just extra office supplies filled the top drawer, the second one sat empty, and the third one was... locked.

Quickly, Dave pulled out his tools from his back pocket and in less than a minute, had the drawer open. Unfortunately, what he found made his stomach drop and his blood run cold.

One singular file folder sat inside. Dave flicked it open and his mouth went dry when he saw a picture of you, clearly taken with a telephoto lens, outside of your apartment. He pushed the photo aside and a low sound came from the back of his throat when the second photo was one of a shadowy figure walking up to your apartment building in the middle of the night.

It was a picture of him.

Underneath the file was a pistol with a silencer attached. At that point, Dave wasn't surprised, but it still made his heart thump erratically in his chest at the thought of this motherfucker pressing a gun to the side of your head.

Dave took it, shoved the drawer closed, and began to move.

He didn't need to check the security cameras. He knew what he had to do now. Michael and whoever else he was working with didn't take you far. They didn't want you... they wanted him.

And he was going to give them exactly what they wished for.

You had no idea where you were or how long you had been there. It was dark, cold, and damp. Most of the time, you were alone, strapped to a hard, wooden chair with your wrists bound behind your back by cable ties so tight, it broke your skin already several times over. Each ankle was tied to a leg of the chair with the same restraints. Spiders crawled across your bare legs from time to time but you stopped caring about that a while ago. You were only in the clothes you were wearing when you left work: a skirt and a thin blouse. You were fucking freezing, sometimes shaking so bad your teeth rattled behind the duct tape pressed across your mouth.

Based on how long they had left you alone, the worst happened already. Or at least, you hoped.

After you initially woke up, confused, groggy, and vision swimming from the hit to your head, Michael and two other men you didn't recognize interrogated you. It didn't take long for you to figure out what they wanted. All their questions pertained to Dave. What did he tell you about Akron? Where does he live? What is his schedule? Does he know he's being followed?

He began to hit you after your third I don't know.

You sobbed. You begged. You insisted over and over and over again that Dave never spoke to you about any of the things he did under the cover of night. Yet, they continued to ask.

"What did he tell you about Akron?" Michael's dark voice echoed in your head. It was the fourth time he asked you that question. You squeezed your eyes shut, lower lip trembling. Snot and blood trickled past your lips, bracing for the inevitable.

"I... don't... know... anything about Akron," you whimpered. "I p-promise. We don't t-talk about that... that stuff."

Michael cracked his knuckles before cocking his fist and punching you hard across the cheekbone. Stars burst behind your eyelids and you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed for help until you lost your voice.

"You really expect us to believe you've been fucking him this long and you never learned anything about him?" Michael scoffed. You hung your head low, and blood trailed down your tear soaked cheek. "You can't be that pathetic, Jesus Christ. I hope he's at least paying you to ride his dick."

"Is he?" another man asked. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. "Is he paying you? Or do you just whore yourself out to anyone for the fun of it?"

"N-no," you stammered softly. "He's not paying me."

It went on like that for the first day. They let you rest, gave you time to think. Maybe they expected you to come to your senses and tell them something you didn't know. Then they came back, interrogated you again, hit you, spit on you, kicked you and called you every name in the book.

By the end of the first day, you hardly felt a thing. Their words no longer stung and your body was too worked over to feel much more pain.

Your jaw ached, one eye was swollen, and your head fucking pounded so hard, it was making you sick. At least they allowed you to throw up before taping your mouth shut.

They hadn't come back in a while. You drifted in and out of sleep, body jolting awake when you heard the floorboards creak above your head. A basement. You must be in a basement.

It was hard to stay awake, but you did the best you could. At first, you tried to focus your eyes on the darkness around you. You wished you had been more coherent when they had the light on, but you were panicking. You could only fixate on their faces, on their fists, and you blocked everything else out.

Fuck it, you thought. It was impossible to see shit. Instead, you tested your restraints. You whimpered in pain the second you tugged on your wrists, but thankfully the sound was muffled by the duct tape. The hard plastic dug into the cuts in your skin, and the pain burned so badly it brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Okay. Arms were out of the question.

Your ankles didn't hurt as bad, so you strained against the cable ties with all your might, but they simply wouldn't budge. Taking a second to catch your breath and let the new pain in your ankles ease, you considered your options, which were... sparse.

The one and only thing that might have been in your favor was the chair: it was wooden, and by the creaky sounds it made when you moved, you had a feeling it was old. Maybe you could break it, break the legs free so you could run. You began to test your theory, tilting back and forth in the seat as you listened to the groan of the wood underneath you. The seat itself felt thin, as well. If you had enough strength, you believed you could lean forward and bring yourself back down as hard as you could on the concrete, smashing the legs of the chair and freeing your lower half to run.

You wouldn't be very fast, though. You were weak and you were fairly certain you had a few broken ribs, at least. But maybe if you had an adrenaline boost and the timing was right...

Shit. It was your only option.

You weren't sure when your best chance for escape would present itself, so in an effort to kill some time and give yourself a little bit of hope, you practiced. You knew you had to slam the chair down as hard as possible when the time came, so you took a few deep breaths before leaning forward in your chair a few inches, testing your broken body. You did that over and over again in between breaks, and each time you bent forward further.

Eventually, you got too tired and gave up. But before you did, you made pretty good progress. Despite the pain in your side, you could lean forward about halfway to the ground.

It would do. It would have to.

Something woke you, and it wasn't the squeaky floorboards above your head. It was something louder, more urgent. So you sat there in the darkness, waiting, listening, the only sound filling the room was the quick exhale through your nose.

Then, you heard it again. A gun shot, then a loud thud.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your heart rate spiked and your breath grew uneven. Instinctually, you tugged again on your wrists, only to be met with a searing pain deep in your flesh from the ties.

Another gun shot. Another thud. Now - shouting.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, throat dry and rough from screaming and lack of food or water. Focus. Use the burst of adrenaline in your veins and do what you planned to do.

You leaned forward, whining a little at the pain in your side, and clenched your aching jaw.

One, two...

You slammed the chair down as hard as you could, but it remained intact. Fuck.

Footsteps ran across the floorboards above you and you expected the worst, but nobody swung open the door. They were running in a different direction.

You grit your teeth and tried again.

Bend forward, steady, and... slam.

A crack of wood, finally. But it wasn't enough.

More shouting above you and more gunfire, only this time, it sounded closer.

Panic seized your chest but you had a job to do. You had to try to fucking live.

One more time, you gathered everything you had, brought yourself forward and then practically threw yourself backwards with all your weight.

The chair splintered beneath you, legs shattering just as you wanted. You fell onto your side, the side that was injured, and you cried out from behind the tape.

You allowed yourself one or two moments to gather yourself. Whatever was happening above you was the distraction you needed to make your escape. Nobody was coming down the stairs, nobody was listening to you.

This was your only chance.

You stumbled to your feet, gasping and panting from the searing pain. You needed more air, the duct tape needed to come off. In a state of panic, you started to rub your cheek against your shoulder, trying to roll the duct tape off your skin. Above you, the shouting got louder and the gunshots got closer. You kept hearing heavy thuds hitting the floorboards and you realized it sounded like bodies.

The duct tape was almost rolled to the corner of your mouth but you paused, confused. What was happening up there?

Another gunshot now, and it sounded directly fucking above you. It snapped you out of your stupor and you started working twice as hard to get the duct tape off. You managed to get it halfway peeled off your lips, finally allowing you to take deeper breaths.

Your eyes closed in relief at the oxygen filling your lungs. But they snapped back open again when you heard someone fiddling with the lock at the top of the stairs.

You still couldn't see, you had nowhere to hide. They would come downstairs and find you in the middle of escaping and they would fucking kill you.

So you took a risk. You moved as fast as you could while stifling your cries of pain. Turning around, you used your fingers, which were still tied behind your back, to search the area, hoping to find a wall or a table or fucking anything you could hide behind.

The door opened above you. A beam of light broke through the darkness, illuminating the stairs.

The stairs.

You hurried as quietly as possible and crouched underneath the stairs, holding your breath while whoever it was carefully yet purposefully descended. Your heart galloped wildly behind your ribs as you watched a narrow beam of light sweep the open area. It didn't reach you, though. They couldn't see you from the bottom of the steps.

What the hell were you going to do? Run? Attack? Scream?

All three sounded like you'd end up right back where you started.

However, you refused to go down without a fight. The chair had sharp edges where the legs broke off. When your captor got close, you would turn around and race forward, hopefully stabbing them with the wood.

It was risky but it was your only plan.

Then, the person called your name. It was indescribable, really, the feeling you had when you heard his voice. Relief, happiness, hope... every word felt so small to the way you felt when you heard Dave's voice.

You were safe. You weren't going to die. He found you and he saved you.

A broken sob bubbled up from your throat and the narrow beam of light whipped in your direction.

Dave hurried over and gathered you up in his arms. He repeatedly told you that you were going to be alright, then begrudgingly let go. You couldn't see his face and the way it twisted with anguish when he saw your state because he held his flashlight between his teeth. The brightness made you wince. You hadn't seen light in over a day and it really fucking hurt, but you just kept your eyes closed while he cut away the cable ties. The rest of the chair fell to the floor unceremoniously, freeing you.

"Can you walk?" you remembered him asking. You nodded, keeping your eyes closed. Your head still pounded and everything hurt, but it was over now.

One of his gloved hands tucked itself into your armpit, holding you upright and helping you climb the stairs. By the time you reached the top, you could tolerate squinting.

You didn't recognize the house you were in, but it appeared abandoned. It was in ruins, completely run down, and the windows were broken, but you couldn't be sure if they always had been broken or if that happened once Dave arrived.

"Don't look," his steady voice came from beside you. He lead you through the dilapidated living room, where bodies littered the floor, covered in blood, brain matter, and bone shards. You closed your eyes again, trusting Dave to get you out of there, and he did.

Only once you heard and felt gravel crunching under your shoes did you open your eyes. It was still dark outside, but it was boarding on dawn. The sky was a dark blue and birds were beginning to wake.

"My car's too far," he murmured, "and we gotta move fast before anyone sees us. Can I carry you?"

You nodded and bit back a sob. Nothing on earth sounded better in that moment.

Everything after that was hazy. You must have fallen asleep once the adrenaline wore off because when you awoke, you were tucked into a huge bed you didn't recognize. The comforter was pitch black, the sheets stark white. Were you in a hotel?

Then you let your eyes roam. Expensive looking art adorned the walls, mostly modern looking pieces. Splashes of bright colors and harsh angles filled the canvases, the images depicting a mixture of chaos and peace.

A flat screen television was mounted on the wall across from you, and right below it was a long, sleek dresser. If you turned your head, you would have noticed the end tables matched. A large looking bathroom was attached to the bedroom, and a walk-in closet next to it.

You weren't in a hotel room. You were in someone's home.

Outside, you could hear a school bus screeching to a stop, the exhaust puffing out air before the doors squeaked open. Children laughed and mothers called out their farewells before the engine roared to life and the bus chugged on down the street.

Once the outside noise disappeared, you could hear two voices talking softly below you. A man and a woman. Dave, you confirmed with relief when the voices grew closer as they climbed the stairs. Your eyes locked onto the door, watching silently as the doorknob turned.

Dave entered first. You saw the relief in his face when he noticed you were awake, then worry. You must have looked horrible because he rushed forward, looking helpless. It was a new look for him.

"Hey," he breathed, kneeling down on the floor next to the bed. His eyes scanned your face, the only part of you that was exposed by the comforter. He swallowed tightly. "I got a doctor here, someone I trust," he looked over his shoulder and your eyes followed. A middle aged woman with dark hair lingered in the doorway. When your gaze met, she gave you a warm, reassuring smile. Then Dave turned back to you. "Are you okay with her examining you?"

Slowly, you nodded. Dave exhaled through his nose and pressed his lips together tightly before pushing himself up to stand. "I'll be just outside-"

You made a little noise and he stopped dead in his tracks. He studied your face for a second before asking, "Do you want me to stay?"

When you nodded, he took a step back and leaned against the wall between the bathroom and closet, allowing the doctor to enter. She introduced herself while she opened up a big case of supplies on the floor next to the bed. Doctor Larson, but you can call me Marcia, she had said while she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

With your permission, she peeled back your covers. At some point, Dave must have gotten rid of your dirty, torn up clothes. You were just in your bra and underwear, which made it a lot easier for Marcia to assess your injuries. She asked if you had any allergies, asked where it hurt the most, and when she realized you had just been communicating with shakes of your head and pointing, asked if you could speak.

You parted your cracked, dry lips and you managed a garbled not really. You touched your throat and Marcia had you open your mouth as wide as you could to peer inside with a little flashlight pen. Across the room, Dave's shoulders sagged when Marcia announced, "She's got some damage to her vocal cords, I don't see any bruising from strangulation. Most likely a side effect from yelling."

Dave closed his eyes tight, dropped his chin to his chest, and crossed his arms without saying a word.

Marcia tried to stick to yes and no questions for the rest of the exam while calling out your injuries as she found them. The good news was your ribs were bruised, not broken. The bad news was it would hurt like a motherfucker for a few weeks. Your teeth were all in tact but you had some lacerations on the inside of your cheeks, tongue and lips, likely from your teeth tearing the soft flesh every time you took a hit.

Marcia bandaged everything she could, wrapped your ribs tight to help with the bruising, and worked on your wrists and ankles last. Overall, she told you that you were very lucky, that most of your injuries would heal on their own over the next several weeks. When she was done tending to the obvious wounds, she sat back on her heels and gave you a solemn look before asking, "Was there any sexual assault?"

Dave stopped breathing from his place against the wall, and when you firmly shook your head no, he allowed himself a deep, shaky breath.

Marcia asked if there was anything else you wanted her to take a look at and again, you shook your head no. She covered you back up and left you with a few orange bottles of pills next to the bed after scribbling down some instructions on a piece of stationary and handing it to Dave. He folded it in half and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans and it was around that point when you realized Dave intended on taking care of you for the foreseeable future.

He told you he would be right back, that he was going to walk Marcia out and bring you back something to eat and drink, and you just nodded. They left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them, leaving you all alone once again.

Dave returned a while later with some water and soup on a tray. You smiled a little when you saw the plain white ceramic bowl filled with what had to have been canned soup he found somewhere in his pantry. There was something adorable about the thought of him rustling around in his kitchen, trying to find something for you to eat.

"Here," he said, setting it on the foot of the bed. He dropped a grocery bag of toiletries that he was holding in his other hand so he could reach forward and help you sit up. "You should eat. You need your strength."

You nodded and reached for the spoon with a shaky, bandaged hand. Dave clocked the tremble in your hand and he stopped you.

"I got you."

Three simple words that held so much weight it nearly had you tearing up. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the spoon for you. He blew on the steaming soup until he felt it was cool enough, then carefully held it to your bruised lips. You took a tentative sip and looked him in the eye with a small smile, confirming it was good. He fed you in relative silence, taking his time with each spoonful and wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin until the bowl was empty. The warmth from the broth soothed your throat and Dave's gentleness soothed your pain.

"Think you can take some pills?" he asked after he set the bowl back onto the tray. He pulled out the instructions Marcia left him, then studied the pill bottles.

"Yes," you rasped. His eyes flickered up to you when he heard your voice crack.

"Don't strain-"

You reached an arm out to him, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He froze, staring down at your hand, at the fresh bandages around your own wrists, and swallowed thickly.

"I'm sorry," Dave whispered brokenly. The emotion flickering across his face had the breath catching in your throat. Much of your relationship with Dave was surface level. While you suspected he cared for you, whether he admitted it or not, he always hid it from view. He didn't spend the night and he always remained partially clothed, two lines he drew in the sand early on. A boundary you understood and respected, regardless of how either of you truly felt underneath. So to have him sitting next to you fighting back tears while he apologized over and over had you momentarily stunned.

Your throat, while the soup did help a little, was still raw. You wanted to assuage his guilt, tell him it wasn't his fault, that he tried to protect you and you were going to be fine, but unfortunately you couldn't say that much in your condition. Instead, you cupped his jaw, pulling his shameful gaze from his lap and onto your face. Leaning forward, you tenderly brushed your lips over his before whispering, "You saved me."

It seems like enough. At least, for now. His shoulders dropped and he pressed his forehead to yours with a sigh. His hand gently wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you there, just breathing and letting all the unspoken words be said with a touch or a kiss. It strangely felt like the most intimate thing you ever shared with Dave, and it left a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

He removed the dishes just to come back, ridding himself of his shirt and jeans, and slipping under the covers next to you. He carefully curved his body around yours, being mindful of your bruised ribs, and held you close, allowing you to soak up the heat rolling off his bare chest pressed against your back.

"There's just one thing," Dave said, sounding a little uneasy. Your eyelids flickered open, sensing an undertone of distress.

"Hm?"

Dave cleared his throat before telling you, "Michael... he got away."

Your eyes widened in fear and as if he sensed it, his arms flexed a little tighter around you.

"Don't worry. I'm taking care of it," he assured you, "but until then, you gotta stay here."

You nodded, muscles still tense with worry. Dave pressed kisses to your shoulder, doing his best to settle you down. Your fingers reached for his under the covers and you wound them together nervously, your heart stuttering violently in your chest.

"I promise, baby," he murmured into your skin, "I'm gonna find him... and I'm gonna kill him."

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[visceravalentines]

drowning is only as hard as you make it

bo sinclair x gn!reader

2k words. weird melancholy freak behavior. author's thinly disguised smoking fetish. established relationship (lol). Ambrose is lonely. that's it that's the fic.

He always manages to find you.  Every time.  It’s not a game anymore, not really; there’s no use keeping score when only one side is allowed to earn points.  There are no rules, no satisfaction in the victory.  You’d make your way back to the house even if he never showed up.  Today you’re not even hiding.

The row of vacant windows across the street catches the last lazy rays of sunlight.  A few eager fireflies pantomime shooting stars just above the freshly cut grass.  He mows the lawns regularly, every last one of them, dripping sweat in the sticky air.  You think it’s nonsensical.  He doesn’t care what you think.  At least it smells nice.  Nostalgic.  Painful.  

On an evening like this, there should be kids out.  Riding bikes, running through the neighbor’s yard.  Parents watching from their porches.  People chatting, relaxing.  Hell, maybe a dog or two.  But there is only you, and the fireflies.  

The heat of your cigarette creeps dangerously close to your fingers but you wring one last pull off the thing before you crush it against the step.  Scorch marks dot the woodgrain like initials carved in a tree, only better, because they’re anonymous.  Could've been left by anyone sitting sulking on these stairs and pondering ways to disappear.  Plausible deniability.  

Too bad you're the only one here.

You set your hand on the pack beside you, work another one out with your fingers without looking.  It’s all reflex.  It’s all muscle memory.  That’s all you are anymore, something that survives without thinking about it.  

In that shadowy place called Before, you only ever smoked on rare occasions. At parties or bars, always with friends, always a little drunk. You'd never admit it aloud but a part of you used to pride yourself on your restraint–you could stretch a single pack out over a month or more, until the tobacco had gone stale and the cigarettes tasted like dusty paper. Until it was less of a treat and more like a chore to get through the last few.  

Now you drop butts through the grate of your days like maybe you can fill up the emptiness with smoke.  

You sigh and light up, take a drag and let it sweep you up above the gutters.  You imagine the town might almost be pretty from up high.  Hard to tell from here.  

“Didn’t know this house had a chimney.”  

Some part of you remembers what it felt like to flinch when he got this close.  Another part remembers the way you buried your face in his back before he got up this morning.  You exhale nice and slow.  “Thought you knew everything.”  

“Now, we’ve talked about this.”  He leans against the rickety railing, white paint flaking off at the slightest disturbance.  “You know nothin’ good comes from thinkin’.”  

As a matter of fact, you’ve talked about everything already, but that’s never stopped him before.  You’ve heard all the stories sixteen times, could recount his childhood from memory one miserable year after another.  You know where he got that scar.  He knows all about your first kiss.  Eighth grade was hard for both of you for vastly different reasons.  He’s never been to your hometown but he could probably find your old house.  You’ve never met his mother, but you hate her just the same.  Favorite movie, worst fear, where were you on 9/11?  In a zombie apocalypse, he’d choose an ax.  You’d take the shotgun with exactly two shells.  It’s almost romantic, except, well.  

“Hey.”  He slams the heel of his hand against the railing and somewhere along the line, the wood splits with a crack.  “What’d I just say?”  

You look up, jarred loose from your spiral, and he’s shaking his head.  

“Damn fool.  Gimme those back.”  

He reaches out a hand and you slip one last smoke from the pack before you give it to him.  

“Lighter too, baby, c’mon.”  

You hesitate for a second, long enough he has to flex his fingers to make the point.  You hand him the lighter, keep the spare cigarette, tuck it behind your ear.

He peeks into the pack and his lip twitches. “Fuckin’ glutton.  This was full this mornin’.”  

“Sorry,” you deadpan.  

“Sure y’are.”  

You’ve had this conversation too, in just about every house on the street.  You wonder if he ever feels crazy, playing it all out over and over again.  Probably not. He's composed of repetition, a record that skips in the same place every time it's played. You feel crazy, fucking listening to it.  

You watch him work a cigarette loose, watch him hold it in his lips, watch the tendons flex across his knuckles as he lights up. For all the fucking smoke he blows, you still think he looks damn good as he exhales up towards the fading sun. One of life's little cruelties. 

“Y’know, supper ain't gonna make itself,” he says casually. Like he’s trying to piss you off.  He probably is.  

“You sure?” you shoot back, like you’re trying to piss him off.  You definitely are.  

He chuckles, unbothered. “I dunno, baby. Been wrong before.”

“Yeah?  Tell me more.” You're bold these days. Stupid. Dangerous, and not in the same way as the surgeon general's fine print. Dangerous in the present moment. Shaving seconds off your life like taking a pocketknife to a good chunk of wood. But games are more fun with two players. 

He doesn’t want to play, though.  Probably worn out from mowing all those fucking lawns.  He shrugs.  “Nothin’ more to tell.”  

“Pantry’s empty anyway,” you mutter.  The grocery list on the fridge has wrapped back on itself twice over.  He’s been cagey lately, reluctant to venture into town.  You’re down to canned goods old enough to read chapter books.  

“Guess we’ll starve.”  

“Guess so.”  You flick your rapidly shrinking cigarette and watch the ash fizzle frantically down and disappear. The chorus of crickets crescendoes to a dull roar in the silence.  

“You like these, huh?”

You're not sure what he means for a second before you realize he's talking about the cigarettes. You take another drag like you have to mull the taste over, really consider the question. He’s not a patient man, but he waits for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say finally on the tail of your exhale. “Best ones in a while.”

It’s the truth.  He's got his own brand and you like it too, but he's a fucking skinflint, and he only buys himself a pack when he's really hard up. Most of the time he scavenges off corpses and out of glove boxes. And you live off his scraps, so. 

Regretfully, you stub yours out as the flame hits the filter. Your throat is raw, tongue wrapped in the taste of tobacco. Everything in this town is racing to kill you and you wish something would win already. You can feel him watching you, now and always. 

“Somethin’ you need, sugar?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”  

He exhales with relish.  You think about the taste of smoke on his tongue and tobacco on his fingers and you grit your teeth.  He’s a vice in every sense.  

“You pissed at me?”  

What kind of question is that?  You peel a chunk of paint off the stair near your shoe.  “I’m always pissed at you.”  You mean it and you don’t and you’re braced for retribution either way, but none comes.  

“Fair enough.”  

You steal a wary glance in his direction.  He’s covered in flecks of grass.  He shed his overshirt in the heat of the day but it’s back on now, unbuttoned, the tee underneath smudged with green.  He lifts his hat, rubs his brow with the heel of his hand, tugs it back into place.  His face is a little sunburnt in spite of the thing.  

“You wanna fight?”  

You stop breathing for a second, sit very still.  He looks down at you, cocks an eyebrow.  He’s really asking.  

You think about it, really think about it.  Broken skin, broken glass.  No neighbors to scandalize.  You shake your head.  “No.”  

He shrugs, goes back to staring holes in the house across the street.  You almost want him to be disappointed, but his face is placid, expression impassive.  “Alright then.  ‘Nother time.”  

You furrow your brow, look at your shoes.  You pick at the paint, feel it slip beneath your nail like a splinter.  You’d bet five bucks you don’t have that he’ll be back to repaint these steps within the week.  It makes you want to rip them apart so he’d have more to do.  You’re not sure if he’d take that as a gift or as sabotage.  You’re not sure how you’d mean it.  

“How ‘bout we head inside, feel each other up?  See what happens?”  You look at him sharply.  He’s really asking.  “We can do it how you like it.”  

How you like it.  How do you like it?  Does he know?  Do you?

Your expression must be a funny one because he grins.  “What?  You a prude all the sudden?”  

No.  No, but.

You find the words wedged behind your teeth.  “You a gentleman all the sudden?”  

He snorts.  “C’mon now.”  He gives the railing one last yank, almost pulls it loose.  As he rounds the steps he drops his spent cigarette and crushes it underfoot.  “Scoot.”  

You make room on the stair and he sits down heavy beside you, takes up more than his fair share of space, same as always.  He smells like sun and sweat and grass and smoke.  His sleeve rides up and exposes the pink of his wrist.  He pulls it down without thinking about it.  You almost–almost–pull it back up.  

“I’m just tryin’ to figure you out.  Don’t know what the fuck you want.”  

Now that's a dumb fucking thing to say. You want a thousand things.  A meal.  A clock that works.  Cable TV.  An article of clothing that doesn't reek of mothballs and someone else's fear. A normal conversation with a normal human being. Half a goddamn hour to yourself without the urge to lock the doors and set the house on fire. 

Anything.  Anything.  

“A light,” you say bitterly. 

To your surprise, he digs the lighter out of his pocket.  Holds it up to show you, like a peace offering.  He moves his boots down a step, pats his thigh.  “C’mere.” 

You straddle his lap and it’s like you’re walking in and out of a room at the same time.  Your hands find their place on either side of his chest and he’s warm to the touch like a dog lying in the sun.  His fingers play at the small of your back.  You can escape into the maze of abandoned homes or the pattern on the ceiling but you can’t slip away from those eyes at this distance.  They catch you like barbs on wire, as distant and cold as the sky.  

This is how you like it.  His head tipped back, looking up at you.  You run your thumb along the edge of his jaw and he almost–almost–smiles.  

He plucks the cigarette from behind your ear, flips it in his fingers.  You open your mouth.  He sets it on your tongue.  He flicks the lighter, brings it close, and when you breathe in you feel it–the poison of this place, yellow-green, permeating your lungs and all the rest of you.  No use in pretending.  No use fighting the current.  Drowning is only as hard as you make it.  

You wonder if he knows you’d come home even if he never came to find you.  Maybe that’s why he comes anyway.  Maybe that’s why you keep hiding.  So you both have something to look forward to.  Games are more fun with two players.  

It’s not worth thinking about.  Nothing good comes from thinking.  

You start to exhale and he tugs you close, sucking the smoke from your mouth, because he never can let you keep anything to yourself.  Maybe you don’t even want to. 

Your lips touch.  Tangerine thrums behind your eyes.  You’ll go to bed hungry tonight and so will he.  One shotgun, two shells.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he murmurs.  

You’re already working his shirt off his shoulders one-handed.  “Nothing I want.”  

He laughs once, almost breathless, leans back on the stairs so you have to lean with him.  “C’mon now.”  

You toss the cigarette into the dirt to free up both hands.

[barleyo]

Strings Attached.

Uncle! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Read the warnings and tags. This is pretty fucked up, so before you read, please, read the warnings I have provided. Your comfort as a reader is of the upmost importance to me, but the most I can do to protect you as a viewer is to give ample warning. Thanks for reading!

Tags: incest, large age gap (reader: 18, Leon: late 30s/early 40s), p in v, mentions of alcoholism, non/dub-con, coerced/forced, pussyjob, handjob, Leon being a super-mega awful drunken creep (you have been warned, it's bad), cream pie/unprotected sex, shitty amazing writing

Word count: 1.6k

DARK CONTENT AHEAD

Losing your parents really fucked you up. 

Living with your Uncle Leon fucked you up ever further, though. You passed through dozens of your relatives, but Leon, for whatever reason, was the only one who would keep you once you turned eighteen. 

It didn't seem so bad at first. Sure, his house always smelled like cigs and booze, and if he wasn't at work, he was passed out on his shitty couch, but at least you had somewhere to stay while you tried to figure your life out. It was an easy enough arrangement: you kept his place clean, made his food, and kept your mouth shut and he let you stay with him. 

He wasn't awful, but he was so off. His hands lingered on you for too long. His comments were weird sometimes. His eyes scanned over your body too often and left you feeling exposed. 

Really, he wasn't that bad until he got truly shitfaced drunk, which, to be fair, was only a few nights out of the week. That's when he got mean. And frustrated. And horny. 

"Kid," he said from the couch, wiping the sweat from his brow, "g'head into the kitchen n' get another one of these." He held his empty beer can up, shaking the little liquid left at the bottom. 

You really didn't think he needed another, seeing the slowly building pile of cans by his feet and the redness of his face, but who were you to criticize him? You simply nodded and did as you were told. 

"Here, Uncle Leon." You bent down to hand the can to your slouching uncle. 

"Thank you, baby."

He took it and popped the tab, taking a drink. He tried not to gag at the taste. He didn't even like alcohol, it was just an easy, cheap way for him to feel less awful.

"Sit with me. Give an old man some company," he said, patting his lap instead of the available seat next to him. He was always doing uncomfortable stuff like that, and at this point you had gotten used to it. 

You sighed and sat on his legs, trying to focus on the television rather than the drunken murmurings of Leon. You felt a sharp tug on your hair and fell further into his body, leaning back on his chest. 

"Bein' distant for what? I don't bite." He swaddled you with one of his arms and split your legs apart with his knee, forcing you to straddle him. "Y'listen so well, you know that? Don't ever have to deal with backtalk fr'm you." 

You flinched a bit when his face leaned closer to yours, dark, greasy hair covering his eyes that were no doubt drowning in lust. 

"Uncle Leon, I think you should go to bed, it's getting late." You tried to push yourself out of his grasp, but his arm was anchored around you tightly.

"There you go worrying about me again. You love yer uncle, don't you? Takin' good care a' me." Leon nuzzled his face into you neck and inhaled your scent. You smelled so sweet and clean, so perfect. 

"H-hey, c'mon, I don't think–" 

Your mouth shut quickly when you felt his lips on your neck, and his tongue slowly making its way up to the shell of your ear. 

The pungent smell of the booze on his breath brought you back to reality while he whispered into your ear. "You're so nice to me. Just like a little wife f'me, but you don't nag me. You're not a bitch, you're such a sweet girl. Don't know what I'd do without you." 

You felt tears well in your eyes, knowing what was to come. 

It didn't happen very often, and when Leon sobered up, he was always super apologetic about it. On the rare occasion, when the world really came crashing on him and the alcohol took control, he'd use your body to comfort himself. He wasn't rough with you at least, you tried to reason with yourself about it. He wasn't a bad man, you told yourself this over and over again while it happened. He was just— just lonely, is all. 

Leon had long forgot about his beer and focused on your body instead, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it away. 

"Fuck, you look so grown up." He took your tits in his hands, groping them unabashedly. "Puberty hit you hard, girl. Makes me wish I got to you sooner." 

God, he made you so sick, how could he say things like this? They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but you couldn't stomach the idea of this being what he really thought.

"Please don't," you pleaded, stifling a sob. 

"Shh." He placed his palm over your mouth. "I'll make you feel so good, just help me get it up, okay? Be a good girl. Don't wanna make me upset with you, do you?"

He removed his hand from your face and wrapped it around your wrist instead, holding it to your mouth instead. 

"Spit. More, come on, the more you do, better it feels."

You spit two fat globs into your hand and watched as he undid her belt, pulling his cock out of his slacks. He guided your hand over his length, taking your small hand in his as he jerked himself off with your palm.

"That's it," he said, feeling his chest start to rise and fall. "Those hands are so much soft than mine. Gonna make me cum so easy with 'em." 

Leon brought your hand up to his tip, fluidly twisting your wrist back and forth around it. He bucked his hips up and down, fucking into your hand like a well-lubed fleshlight. He pulled your hand off of his dick before he had the chance to cum, wanting to be inside of you. 

"Wanna feel you. Can I use your mouth or pussy? Wan' you to choose." He gave you the choice, but his hands still slipped your shorts and panties off, impatiently roaming your inner thighs with his hands. His eyes were narrow and sharp like a predator ready to strike, but his tone was so needy and sweet. 

"You can use my pussy," you said quietly, remembering how sore your jaw was after last time. This was the less painful, yet more morally incorrect option, you thought. 

A wave of uneasiness crashed over you when you felt his wet dick slide between your thighs, just barely slipping through your folds. 

"Mm, you won't regret it. Wanted you to choose that one anyways."

It hurt to be so disgusted by him— you loved him, and cared for him, of course. He was the only person who would give you a chance, but was this really the price you had to pay? What the fuck had your life come to?

The head of his cock prodded at your entrance, not yet pushing in.

"You ready?" His chapped lips were slightly parted, looking at you desperately, as if he were drunk on not only beer but on you as well.

How could one man be so sickeningly vile and sweet at the same time? What he was doing was wrong, it made you want to throw up, but the way he did it... you could almost imagine that it wasn't him you could— you could learn to enjoy it and mentally block who he was out of the equation, just to give yourself some semblance of sanity, of dignity. 

You nodded at his question, whining at the stretch of his cock entering you. It wasn't too long, but the girth is what left you aching every time. You felt that you would never get used to it. 

"Please, just hurry."

He didn't respond, he only leaned his head over your shoulder and humped into you pathetically. He didn't fuck often, and he came quick, which made it a bit more bearable. 

The only sounds that filled the room were the squelching of your pussy, his breathy moans, and the strained hums he forced out of you. With a lucky stroke, his cock actually managed to hit your g-spot, brushing into it hard enough to make you squirmy. 

"Feel good?" His voice was cracking and whiny, like a virginal teen beating off for the first time. He was just a hormonal and pathetic. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum in you, spill my seed." 

Your eyes widened quickly and you again tried to peel his arms off of you. "No, no, no! No, you can't do that, let go of me. I'm not on the pill!" 

He shook his head, still not listening to you as he bullied himself deeper into you, strokes getting messy. 

"Fill you up so good. Make your tits get fatter n' tasty, baby. Cumming now," he whined, wrapping his arms around your  lower stomach, clenching your body against his. 

Your pussy betrayed you, spasming around his cock like it gave you life, widely receiving every drop of his cum. 

You bit your cheeks and let the small pricks of blood fill your mouth. If you weren't stuck with him before, you sure as hell were now. To make matters worse, Leon had drifted off into a drunken nap as soon as he finished, too tired to even pull his limp dick out of you. 

You slid off of his lap and sat on the floor, unsure of how to move on. You looked up at your uncle, shamefully admiring his sleeping face. You stood up, legs weak and wobbling, and threw a blanket over his body, then laid your head over his lap.

The man who did the most awful things to you was also the only one who could comfort you. You took what life gave you with a sigh and made you self comfortable on him, arms dangling over his legs. 

You saw the beer he left on the floor and picked it up, feeling it still half full. 

"Jesus," you mumbled to yourself before downing the rest of the can, grimacing at the bitter taste. 

[darkbluekies]

The witty and uncanny pt 2

Doctor!yandere OC x reader x mafia!yandere OC

Summary: you knew that they'd be back for you, you just didn't know you'd stumble upon them so quickly.

Warnings: stalking, guns, knives, yandere

word count: 2.3k

Part 1 part 3

You pull the dark hood over your face and sit down by the coffee shop's counter, eyes cautiously wandering around the room. You're not sure who's a friend and who's an enemy. Silas has eyes everywhere and you wouldn't be surprised if he'd ordered more people to look for you. After your escape from the hospital, you've done your best to keep a low profile. You've couch surfed and slept outside. It hasn't been comfortable, but it worked. In the inside pocket of your black hoodie is the gun you stole from Silas and then from doctor Kry. You always keep it close … just in case they decide to show up unannounced.

"Hi, Y/N", your manager smiles. "Ready for your shift?"

"Yes", you answer.

When you've collected enough money, you're getting out of here. You like this place, maybe even more than you'd admit. The atmosphere is slow and soft, no one's in a hurry, everyone's just enjoying the moment. Just like you should.

Dr Kry sighs and puts down the dumbbells. His heart is pounding in his ears. Is it even worth it anymore? Despite working so hard that his muscles are pulsating, he can't feel anything. He had you and then he lost you … and then he had you again … and you got away. Dr Kry doesn't blame you for hurting him. You were scared, hurt and unwell. You acted irrationally. That's why he has to get you back. You're not well and the world will only hurt you. Or worse …

His foot is back to normal by now. A scar is left from where you shot him. He can't get himself to feel mad over it. It's a constant reminder of you, so why should he be angry? 

Dr Kry leaves the gym to go take a shower. He does so in your room, somehow wishing that you'll be lying in the bed once he comes out again. He hates to see the empty bed, but he still comes into the room everyday. He uses the shower as an excuse to walk in, but sometimes he just sits by your bed, watching over nothing.

After showering, he makes himself ready to go out. He puts on a sand colored Jean jacket over a white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans.

The only reason he leaves the hospital is to look for you. He has been to your parents house, your friends houses, motels and other hospitals. He saw some traces of you on a couch in a friend's house. He knows that you're somewhere around him, and it's just a matter of time before he finds you.

You pour up a hot cup of coffee for a customer and give them a gentle smile. Your head is pounding. It's been months since you last slept in a real bed. Ironically enough it was the hospital bed. Couch surfing might keep you social, but your organs are suffering. One wrong move and your spine will split in two.

"Good morning, could I have a plain, black coffee, please?" a voice asks gently. "No coffee, nothing extra … just a plain, black coffee?"

Your eyes dart to the man in front of your colleague as your heart sinks to your stomach. Without his doctor's clothes, he's almost unrecognizable. He looks just like anyone else. 

You're quick to look away and continue with the last customer's order. Your colleague will take care of the doctor. If you're lucky you won't have to interact with him at all and he won't notice you. You pull the hoodie closer and feel for the gun in your pocket.

Your colleagues glance at Dr Kry, unforgivingly checking him out. You give him a discreet look. He has bags under his eyes. He's always had them, but these ones are darker. Otherwise he looks normal.

"Y/N, can you take this order?" your colleague asks you as she swings her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go to the post office before twelve or my letter won't reach my parents before their anniversary."

You want to yell at her but instead you press your lips together and nod. She disappears, leaving you alone by the counter. Quietly, you start to pour a white cup with steaming hot coffee

"Quite a nice morning, don't you think?" Dr Kry says.

You nod, still keeping your head down. The hood covers most of your features and you hope that he's too tall to notice the hair that sticks out. If you start tucking it back, he'll grow suspicious.

You give him the cup and you shudder as your fingers brush against his. Electricity shoots through your veins — and not the good kind.

"Thank you so much", Dr Kry smiles. "Have a good day."

"You too", you whisper.

He walks away. Quickly, you run to the changing room to catch your breath. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. This was too much. Without a second to waste, you throw the apron off your body and sprint out the back door. This was too risky, you can't come back here in case he ever comes back. Your heart is beating in your ears. You run the quickest you can down the street before he can realize.

Doctor Kry walks out to his white car with his coffee in his hands. He sighs heavily and takes a sip. It burns nicely in his throat, it reminds him that he's still alive. He feels like a walking shell. He looks for you every day … but you're nowhere.

Wait. That voice. That … touch. 

Dr Kry quickly turns around and looks at the sweet coffee shop. He hurries back in. The counter is empty. With a quick glance around, he walks behind the corner and into the back room. He looks around, seeing an apron on the floor. Squatting down, he picks it up. The nameplate says a name he first doesn't recognize, but then he smiles. Your middle name. 

"Oh, sweetheart", he sighs with a smile on his face. "It really was you."

Hope is blooming in his chest. Holy fuck, he was right in front of you. You literally touched him. You talked to him. He needs more. He notices that the back door is swung open and runs out tk his car. He'll catch you soon enough. He's not unarmed this time.

He's utterly embarrassed. Fainting on the floor in a hospital like that? Because someone managed to prick a needle into him? That's not something he brings up often and frankly something he wishes to forget. The second he regained consciousness he called for his right hand man to pick him up. There was blood in the elevator when he was getting up to the ground floor and he feared it came from you. Silas had to leave the hospital that day. He still believes that the doctor has kept you away in the hospital room. One day he'll be back for you and he won't let that uncanny doctor win. He has put out his men all over the city to keep their eyes open for you. You can't hide forever, it's just a matter of time. But for the time being, he's keeping himself occupied with work until he comes up with a plan to get you away from that pesky doctor.

"Boss, we found them!" 

Silas looks up. "Where?"

"They were caught on one of the city's surveillance cameras, running down the street. We've seen them before, it's the one with the black hoodie. The hood flew off when they were running."

"I had a feeling that it was them!"

He should have trusted his gut. He could already have had you, but he told himself that it couldn't be you. You were at the hospital, weren't you? Apparently not.

"Let's go get them", Silas says and stands up. "I'll get my coat. Get a blanket, they must be cold and make someone prepare the basement. I've had enough of this running around."

Silas grabs his black coat and storms out to his car. His men follow and one gives the boss a green blanket he can wrap around your body once they get you.

Silas jumps into his car, ready to go. He won't let you get far. 

He speeds through the city to reach you before you disappear.

"Where are they?" he asks his second in command. "Hurry up!"

"I-I don't know, boss!" He almost shouts back. "They're not on any of the cameras anymore."

"What?!"

"The last I can see of them was ten minutes ago. They ran out into the forest!"

"I fucking hate them."

He sighs heavily. He'll have to search for you in the woods? He might as well burn it down when he’s at it. He speeds up, determined to get to you before the forest swallows you whole. 

Not long after starting your forced workout, you can hear a car speed up beside you. Looking to the side, you see the face of a familiar blonde man behind the wheel. You gasp and run into the forest before he has time to park. 

"Y/N!" Dr Kry shouts behind you. "Wait!"

Like hell you will. You speed up, flying over the dirty ground beneath you. Behind you, you can hear the man run quickly as a tiger. You feel for the gun in your pocket, happy that it’s still there. Soon, you feel how the doctor grabs a hold of you and suddenly, the ground disappears from under your feet. For a second, you fall, only to be hit by the harsh ground. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Y/N”, Dr Kry says and helps you up on your feet. “But I didn’t know how else to stop you.” 

He brushes off your clothes with his hands before cupping your cheeks that have started bleeding. You’re too tired, too scared to move. Teary eyes glare at him as he caresses your cheeks with his hands. 

“My sweetheart”, he whispers and hugs you tightly. “My poor, little Y/N, I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you again. I’ve been feeling so awful about how our last encounter ended. I don’t blame you, you don’t have to be worried that I’m angry. I’m not, I promise! I know Silas scared you and that you wanted to get as far away from him as possible … and that meant getting away from me too. I understand.”

“No!” you shout and push yourself out of his chest. “You don’t understand a single, fucking thing!”

He hisses and brings you back, suffocating you into his sand colored jacket. 

“Let me go!” you shout and try reaching for the gun. 

Something sharp hits you in your waist and you freeze. 

“Y/N”, Dr Kry whispers in your ear. “Don’t make me hurt you, okay? I really don’t want to.”

“If you care about me so much, why would you hurt me? You sick freak.”

“If you don’t understand what’s best for you, then I have to take drastic measures to take you back where you’re safe. You have to understand that, sweetpea.”

“Drop the knife.”

You freeze at the new voice. It can’t be. Before you have time to register the voice, Dr Kry has pushed you behind him. You can glance at Silas standing a few meters away dressed in his black coat, but you hide behind the doctor to shield yourself. 

“How did you know we were here?” Dr Kry asks coldly. 

“I have my ways”, Silas answers just as chilly. “Now, give me what’s mine and you won’t die here today. I might even let you go. Might.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Silas? You were no match for me last time.”

“Oh, come on, doc … you shouldn’t annoy me. You had luck before. But we’re no longer in your hospital, you have nothing to use here. I’m at an advantage.”

“At least I have Y/N, am I right?”

Silas grits his teeth. “Not for long. What have you done to their cheek?”

"They fell."

Silas tilts his head to look at you. "Clumsy baby. I guess I have to tie you to the bed once we come home, to make sure that you don't hurt yourself running anymore."

"You mean chaining me to the wall in the fucking basement!" you shout, unable to control your anger any longer.

"Details", Silas scoffs and rolls his eyes. "What's important is that you're coming back with me."

"They're not going home with you!" Dr Kry says sternly. "After what happened to them last time they were in your care, I'll never allow it! They have to come back to the hospital with me. I take good care of them."

"Like Hell they do! They belong to me!"

You decide to take this opportunity to flee. They’re too busy arguing that they don’t notice how you back away from Dr Kry and make a run for it into the woods. Only when you’ve come ten meters away, do they notice the running shadow. 

“Y/N, come back!” Dr Kry gasps before glaring at Silas. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

He’s about to run after you when Silas's voice is heard again. He's gotten an insane idea that he's not sure of himself.

"Hey, doc."

"What?" Dr Kry scoffs, turning his head to the criminal who's standing calmly with his hands in his pockets.

"How about we team up?"

[coolnameloading]

Second place part 3

Summary: After walking back to your car and seeing Shauna and Lottie fighting both girls try to tell you why you should pick them.

The two of them look up at you and break apart immediately.

And to think you were actually having a fine day until now.

You look over the two of them. Shauna’s flannel is dirty and ripped open. The buttons popped off and flew off somewhere. Her eyebrow is split open, but whether that’s from Lottie or her face hitting the gravel is unclear. 

Lottie’s designer sweater was covered in grime making her orchid pink sweater look brown in some spots. You also notice a large bruise forming on her cheek and her split lip.

On the floor next to the tires of another student’s car there was also a chunk of hair that could have come from either of them. 

Man, they really tried to rip each other apart. 

“What the fuck guys?”

You ask throwing your hands up. You were gone for maybe fifteen minutes and they’ve managed to beat the shit out of each other.

You do a double take and realize the flannel Shauna is wearing is the one you got for her birthday. 

Before you can gather your thoughts Shauna shoots up and grabs your hand.

“Please, I know I fucked up. I know I made you feel like you’re second to Jackie but you’re not.”

Shauna rushes out stumbling over her words in her desperation.

Her fingernails dig slightly into the back of your hands as if to make sure that you don’t pull away.

That you don’t leave her.

“I know that I haven’t been the best girlfriend. Actually, I admit I’ve been the worst girlfriend for the last two months but I promise baby from now on everything I do is for you. I won’t even talk to Jackie until I make it up to you!”

Shauna looks into your eyes desperately and you can see small tears forming at the corner of hers.

“I’m just so used to being her shadow you know?” She whimpers out trying to force a smile.

“Back in high school, I was like her sidekick…or like her fucking dog. If she whistled I came running. And I’ve always been so used to that and I just don’t know how to stop.”

She mumbles trying not to cry, she uses the sleeve of her torn flannel to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I just don’t know how to prioritize other people…how to prioritize you. But I’ll get better! I promise I’ll get better just don’t go.”

You can see the exhaustion in Shauna’s eyes, you didn’t notice them before but now that you’re closer you can clearly see her eyes are bloodshot and there are bags under them.

“Did you sleep last night?”

You ask her gently, forgetting your anger for a moment and feeling worried for your girlfriend. 

Shauna shakes her head.

“After you didn’t text back I stayed awake all night in case you wanted to talk.”

She whispers weakly, her voice cracking slightly as she tries to hold back her tears.

The longer you look at Shauna right now the more things start to stand out. The girl standing in front of you looks nothing like your confident, assured girlfriend. She’s looking at you the same way your dog looks at your mom after she catches it getting into the trash. 

You can practically imagine her as a brown lab with its tail tucked in between its legs with how she’s looking at you. 

Her baby brown eyes were always your weakness. 

“Oh please!”

Suddenly Lottie pushes Shauna away, taking her spot in front of you and grabbing your hands as Shauna stumbles trying to regain her balance.

“She can’t treat you the way you deserve. She might have you convinced that all your problems started two months ago but it’s been like this your entire relationship!”

Lottie yells glaring at Shauna.

“Like that time she was supposed to meet your parents but ditched you because Jackie wanted to run an optional practice. Most of the team didn’t even fucking show up! Look it doesn’t matter what she says right now, if you stay with her you’ll always be second place to Jackie.”

Lottie suddenly pulls you against her, wrapping her arms around your waist. You stumble forward pressing you close enough to feel her warm breath over you.

“You remember when you gave me that pen in English 1010 and I never gave it back? I was going to ask you out when I gave it back but I could never figure out the right words so I never did.”

She whispers looking into your eyes.

“And at the restaurant, you asked me how I knew your anniversary and I said it was because that’s the day Shauna got so annoying. I lied, it’s because it was the day I knew I’d lost my chance.”

Lottie mumbles. You can see her fighting off a blush, trying her best to tell you the truth while fighting her embarrassment. 

You feel her arms unwrap from you as she pulls a familiar pen out of her bag, holding it out to you.

“So what do you say?”

She whispers softly.

“Do I still get a chance?”

[firestorm09890]

it’s still very much a crack theory but if people are earnestly believing Demyx is the Master of Masters, why shouldn’t I lean into this one? anyway don’t take this very seriously

okay so

those lines from Ienzo’s character file where he says his childhood was extremely hazy, but his memories of Radiant Garden are perfectly vivid- ignoring how concerning it is that he considered his childhood over by the time he was in Radiant Garden, what you could take away from it is that he was from somewhere else before Radiant Garden that he barely remembers. I don’t think it’s just childhood amnesia (real term referring to how adults have a hard time recalling early memories) especially since Ienzo remembers his time in Radiant Garden perfectly clearly, it’s like a hard cutoff. Either way the implication he’s from somewhere else remains

And I'm willing to believe they'd put relevant lore hints in the character files because they DID do that for Demyx

Oh yeah, what is it that person used to say all the time? Something about a guiding key? Come to think of it, wasn't something guiding me?

anyway we know that traveling to a different world and a different time and losing your memories is a thing that can happen, thanks to khux. I don’t think Ienzo used an ark though, that’s been done already

Radiant Garden has some kind of connection to Daybreak Town, thanks to it also having arks, and a connection to Scala Ad Caelum, bc of the researcher attire staying the same, but we don’t know how. I’ve seen people theorize that RG is like a sister world to Scala, or the next step in the history of the same place, so RG is built on Scala which is built on Daybreak Town.

so here’s my shot in the dark that I’m choosing to believe until we actually get lore on how Radiant Garden is connected to those places: Missing Link era Scala had its apocalypse and somehow split into Dark Road era Scala and Radiant Garden (hey wait they’re both surrounded by water… curious), with the history of Missing Link being erased in both worlds. Ienzo was from ML Scala and… idk hid somewhere he shouldn’t have or something and he woke up way in the future in Radiant Garden and he didn’t get the Subject X treatment because 1) they found him before Xehanort was there and 2) he didn’t even tell them he couldn’t remember things. they just accepted that he wouldn’t want to talk about his past, he’s just a little kid who lost his parents

I’m calling it the Victorian Orphan Theory. and yes that is why I picked ML Scala, because Victorian Orphan Ienzo being REAL would be awesome

[dawnbreaker-mylove]

Astra's Tool

Warnings: Implication of rape, child abuse, domestic violence, stalking (implied), power imbalance.

A/N: So... I wrote this... Before we start, I want to emphasize that this is fanfiction. I know this isn't canon, I'm not telling you to recognize it as canon. I wanted to write down my headcanon on Astra and Zayne and whatever relations they have. Don't ask me where I thought Zayne had a step-dad because I forgor. It was probably some Mandela effect or I read a headcanon on Dawnbreaker killing him somewhere back when I started playing the game. Reader's discretion is advised.

You asked Zayne where those marks on his arms came from. He would dodge the question every time with a joke or he'd change the subject. You decided not to pry too much, but your curiosity was never one to fade with time.

Today, you asked again.

“I've been meaning to ask. What happened to your arms? Were you just clumsy when we were kids or something?”

Zayne chuckled as his fingers trailed along the stacks or chocolate bars as you walked through the aisles of the grocery. “It could be that,” he picks up a bar of chocolate with raisins and nuts before placing it back, “but let's not think of things from the past. Instead, why don't you help me pick between almond or hazelnut chocolate for tonight, hm?”

He smiled, lighthearted and sweet like he always does. However, there's a glint of something in his eyes, just for a split second, before it disappears.

You were never one to pry. You both were dating for a while now but you both have your secrets. You respected that, of course. But this particular secret of his felt too important to simply forget. Like it was something you had to know.

Your gaze flickers towards the fridge. The metal doors were covered in colorful magnets from around the world, gifts from Zayne's parents. Then it hit you. If Zayne won't tell you, someone who knows him for years would answer your question.

His mother.

That evening, you called her. Once she picked up, her voice was as bubbly and warm as ever. “Hello, sweetheart,” she greets over some sitcom playing in the background. “What made you call? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Auntie,” you replied. “I just wanted to ask something.” The woman in the other line was encouraging, eager to sate your curiosity. The moment you mentioned Zayne's scars on his arms, the laughter faded. Followed by a sound you least expected. A muffled sob.

“I should've taken him away,” her voice trembled. “He… it was my fault.”

Through her sobs, the past unraveled before you.

Years ago…

We all know one thing for certain: gods have a way of taking what they want. Mortals were no exception. To deities, mortals were nothing more than a piece of a chessboard, their purpose moved by the divine. Astra was no different.

Like a flower blooming in the snow, Astra sees her. The doctor, a woman of beauty and grace, eyes dark and intelligent. He intended to make her his.

For a year, the god watched from the heavens, studying the doctor. He learns she was soft-hearted, the type to reach out to the lonely or to engage with helpless strangers. It was easy to take on a mortal guise, to be the kind of man she could fall for. And she did.

The doctor thought she had met the love of her life. The god thought he had won.

Another year passed, and she was happy. Until one December night, when the snow fell heavily on the city, Astra revealed what he truly wanted.

She tried fighting, but a mortal can never stand a chance against a god. He pinned her down, a cruel smile played on his lips as he whispered to her that the child she would bear would be the greatest gift of all.

She could never forget the look in his eyes that night. It glimmered but not with love or devotion, but with possession.

On the fifth of September, the doctor gave birth to a boy. His father held him in his divine hands, looking down at the baby with his cold gaze. The god named him Zayne.

The doctor wanted to believe, even just a little, that Astra might love the boy. That Zayne could be raised in warmth, not under the god’s watchful eye. But it was when he turned three, the ice came.

The child’s Evol manifested early, and Astra had waited for so long for that day to come. Training had to begin immediately. Every failure was met with punishment. Anytime Zayne's control faltered, Astra would take his wrists and let the ice spread over his arms and let it pierce through his skin like glass.

The doctor would hear Zayne’s cries echo through their home, but there was nothing she could do. Astra's word was law. A mortal could never go against a god.

Until the night she ran.

Zayne was four when his mother carried him in her arms and fled from the clutches of their abuser. But she was unsure if Astra would come for them. She didn't know if he could be outrun.

But she ran anyway. As far as they possibly could.

They built a new life in another city. An apartment for two, a quiet existence. But Astra never truly left.

Nightmares would haunt the young boy. Visions of a faceless man watching from the darkness. He would whisper to Zayne in his sleep. Followed by the ice. He would wake up, screaming in pain as the ice, sharp and jagged, pierce through his skin as they emerged again and again. His mother would hold him as the night filled with his screams of anguish, whispering soothing words and assurance she only half-believed.

The doctor thought she could never give Zayne a normal life. That was before she met the surgeon.

A cardiac surgeon visiting her hospital, tall and lean. She told herself she would never let anyone in again, she would never risk her life and Zayne's again, but then the boy met him.

Zayne, who rarely smiled or laughed, beamed when the surgeon scooped him up into his arms. The two would play and eat mints on a bench in the park. Watching all this, the doctor cried. But they were not sad tears. Tears of relief, of joy, streamed down her cheeks.

It wasn't long before they married. The surgeon gave Zayne his last name: Li. He did it without a second thought, without asking anything in return. Zayne finally has someone he can truly call his father.

Present day…

The call ended and you were left stunned. Your hands trembled as you curled into a ball on the couch. Zayne found you like that.

Without a word, he sat beside you and rested his hand on your back. His warmth was comforting but your chest still felt tight. Your eyes, swollen, flickered to his arms

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. Zayne frowns, lifting your chin up between his thumb and index finger. “For what?”

“For snooping around. For everything.”

You explained in between sobs. The things his mother told you. The things he never found the courage to tell you. Zayne's jaw slightly clenched, his fingers tensed, but his smile didn't waver.

“Enough with the tears,” he whispers as he strokes your hair. “That's all in the past.”

You look up at him, baffled. “You can't just forget something like that.”

His smile faltered slightly. Zayne shook his head and cupped your cheeks gently, wiping the tears from your cheeks before kissing your eyelids.

“What's in the past should stay in the past. I'm fine now, aren't I?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “Why are you comforting me?” You grumbled. “I should be the one comforting you.”

A soft laugh escapes from Zayne's lips, brushing a stray lock from your face before lightly tapping your nose. “For starters, it's because I never heard of someone crying while trying to comfort the person who isn't.”

His voice was too light. Like if he acknowledged it—truly acknowledged it—he might break.

Now you were unsure of who he was comforting, you or himself.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding Zayne closed as humanly possible. You were scared to let go or loosen your grip, as if he would disappear if you did. Zayne only hugs back just as tight, kissing your hair then burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Above the clouds, beyond the falling snow, He watched.

Astra sat on his mighty throne, his gaze locked on the boy. His face that was often twisted in anger, was unreadable.

He had seen this play out before. His Foreseer, falling in love once again with the same mortal that proved to be his downfall in the past. He will not let it happen again.

He would wait. Time was irrelevant to a god.

In the end, what's his will always return to him.

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x reader - soulmates

Hi, Soulmate AU anon again. I was wondering if you could do the AU I mentioned with Hotch x FBI!Reader. Maybe she's been working with the FBI for a long time, but they haven't been able to talk until she has to join his team for a case. It's up to you 😊 - Anon💜

Soulmate AU: the first words your soulmate says are tattooed somewhere on your skin

You looked at the ink on your shoulder in the mirror with a small frown on your face.

‘We don’t need anymore help.’

What’s what it said, and you wondered what kind of person your soulmate was.

You always wondered that, were they rude? Nasty? Maybe they just didn’t like new people?

You had no idea, but so far you had never been able to find them, you knew the rules. It wouldn’t put names on your skin, or anything that could help you find our soulmate, it would add the next sentence that wasn’t a name or location.

It was strange, but everyone was used to it.

Even you, and thankfully yours was easily hidden by the fabric of your shirt, so no one aside from you and your parents knew what yours said.

You always made up some lie, because you didn’t want to admit that your soulmate seemed rude and horrible.

But you couldn’t think about that now, you had to rush to work because you were being placed with a new team since they needed a new agents for their team, and you were the most qualified.

You followed yours boss into the meeting, and you looked around, standing there with your arms crossed as you looked around, and you felt an intense gaze on you so you look at him.

You’d heard of him of course.

Agent Aaron Hotchner.

Everyone had heard of him and his team.

Most people would be overjoyed to be working with them, but for you it was just another team who needed your help for a while.

While your boss spoke with his, you walked over to him and stood in front of him.

“We don’t need anymore help.” He said.

You hummed a little, flicking your eyes from his to the two people behind him talking away then back to him.

“We don’t get much choice in this Hotchner, so we either work together or we don’t, I don’t care.”

His eyes widened a little and you cracked a small smirk, leaning against the table.

“I always wondered what my soulmate was like. I suppose you aren’t so bad at least you’re not a criminal.”

“How do you know we’re soulmates? You don’t know what mine says.”

You laughed a little, giving a small shrug.

“Maybe not, but the face you stared at me in shock for a split second kind of gives that away.”

You tugged your shirt to the side, pulling it down your shoulder to show him the words before you billed it back up.

He did the same, showing you his collarbone which held your exact words.

“So what does this mean exactly?” He asked.

You shrugged a little.

“No idea, I guess we can either choose to act on it, choose not to, whatever really. Right now though, you have a missing agent, and I’m the one who’s going to find her.”

“How long?”

You looked at your watch.

“A few hours of you give me access to everything I need.”

He nodded and held out his hand.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

You shook his hand.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

And you worked quickly, it didn’t take long to find his agent safe and sound, and now all you had to do was find their unsub which was harder.

With Garica and you, it took another two days to find them, the small group of unsubs working together, and they were quickly brought down.

And now you were standing over them as they did paperwork.

“Will you be working with us on more cases?” Reid asked you.

You shrugged a little.

“Not my place to say.”

“Yes, she will. For now.”

You titled your head back to look at Hotch and he gestured for you to come up so you did.

“Ooo someone’s in trouble already.” Derek smirked.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your pen at him before you made your way up, following Hotch into his office.

He closed the door and looked at you.

“So, we’re going to be working together for a while, so… what do you want to do?”

You sighed a little, shrugging.

“I don’t know, I mean I’ve dated people and all yeah sure, but this whole soulmate thing? Everyone has one perfect match seems a bit far fetched.”

“You don’t believe in soulmates?”

You shook your head.

“No I do, obviously. But I’m saying I don’t believe that your soulmate is your supposed perfect match. I’ve seen unsubs who’s victims were their soulmates, victims who’s abusers where their soulmates, tell me how that’s a perfect match.”

He sighed.

“I suppose it isn’t. So I assume you don’t want to do this whole soulmate thing?”

“You do?”

“Well, I have a son, and I was married and we weren’t soulmates. But soulmates don’t have to be lovers do they?”

“What’re you saying?”

Hotch smiled a little and held his hand out to you.

“How about friends? Then we just see what happens?”

You smiled, clasping your hand around his.

“Friends. Then we just go with the flow really.”

He nodded his head in agreement.

Neither of you knew what was in store, but at least as friends you could decided if it’s what you wanted and not jump into anything like everyone else does

[d3adlove1]

Running Feelings Part 1

Summary: you and Carl don’t like each other at all and rarely see eye to eye, but when you get to Alexandria things change (Carl Grimes x fem!reader)

You've known the group ever since the prison when Daryl found you on one of his solo runs. You were making a makeshift memorial for your parents when he saw you. He was closed off at first and so were you. You noticed that the first day you met him when he was quiet the whole drive back to the prison, but what could he really say to a crying girl he had just met. When you arrived at the prison he saw you were a fighter which made him want to take you underneath his wing because you reminded him of himself, well the good parts at least. That's how you grew on him. You were almost immediately welcomed by everyone, except for Carl of course.

The first time you saw him you noticed the way he looked at you, with disgust in his eyes, as if he saw you as a threat. Which he did. He didn't trust you and who could blame him? he didn't know you and you didn't know him. You tried to make nice with him within your first week there but he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you and his buddy Patrick thought he was cool so he followed along with him obviously. They were the only two kids your age in the prison, Mica and Lizzy, and the other kids were too young while Beth and her boyfriend were too old which left you with the two boys.

As you walked up to them Carls's smile was replaced with a displeased look. "And what do you think you're doing?" he said as he swiftly picked up the soccer ball in the grass and held it with one arm by his side. "I was wondering if I could join?..." you respond a little taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. Patrick looked at Carl with an unsure look on his face as he waited for him to respond. "No", he said. You looked at him and Patrick for a moment before responding, "Well why the hell not?" you tilted your head at them a little as your anger started to build up. Patrick stayed silent but Carl did the opposite. "We don't know you. Just because you're the same age as us and were welcomed with open arms doesn't mean you're truly welcomed here, now go away" he responded clearly annoyed. You didn't want to argue so you clenched your jaw and turned the other way before you could say something back.

You decided from then on you would treat him the same way he treated you which resulted in him disliking you more than he already did. Ever since then you and Carl despised each other, from the prison all the way to the new community you were welcomed in. Alexandria. Yes, it probably had been more than a few years over the time you had spent with the group but that didn't matter to him nor you. When you arrived at the two houses the group was given you were thrilled to finally have a bed to sleep in and a place to shower. As you quickly walked into the first house with Rick and Carl you couldn't help but smile. You turned your head to look at Carl and he looked back at you with a little smile on his face.

Three Days into staying at Alexandria Rick finally decided to split the group up which ultimately led you to stay in the same house as Rick, Judith, Carl, Michonne, and Daryl. When this was announced at the group's "meeting" Carl was not happy to say the least. "what the fuck?" he said looking at the laid-out sketch drawn of who would be staying where. “Watch your mouth Carl”, Rick scolded him while giving him a stern look. Just when you thought the two of you were getting somewhere he proved you wrong. You rolled your eyes and walked away from the table heading upstairs to your new room. Carl watched you head upstairs slightly confused at your actions. Carl's room was right across from yours just down the hall. The thought of you having hope for you and him actually becoming friends made you feel stupid. All you wanted to do was spend the rest of the day in your room, not wanting to come out or face any of the citizens of Alexandria.

Two hours go by and you have folded up your clothes and put them away into your dresser and closet, organized your room around how you liked it, hung up lights and decorations, and placed a new comforter on your bed. You did all these things to distract yourself until you heard a knock at your door. You stay still for a moment not sure if you even want to open it until a second knock hits your door a little more hurried this time, taking you out of your thoughts and slowly opening the door. On the other side stands Carl looking unsure of himself but quickly looks down at you and clears his throat. "Hey", he says only a little quietly. "Oh um hi... what's up?" you say as you look at him. His face looks slightly uncomfortable as he parts his lips to respond, "Could I maybe come in?" he asks with a twinkle of hope in his eyes. "Yeah sure I guess," you say as you step out of the way for him to come inside. He walks into your room and looks around with his eyebrows slightly raised. "So this is what you've been doing this whole time," he says with a light chuckle as he sits down on the edge of you're bed. "What?" you respond a little lost in the conversation. "Well, this is why you came upstairs earlier right? To do all this"

"No Carl that wasn't the reason", you respond slightly hesitant. "Then why'd you just leave the table randomly earlier?". "Why do you care?" you ask clearly bothered. "I don't" he says as he stands up from your bed. "Then why the fuck are you in here?". Carl sighs and stands a few feet away from you "I guess I just wanted to talk to you" he shrugs. "Why would you want to talk to me?". He opens his mouth but says nothing. Shutting it again before looking at you. "I don't like the way we act toward each other" he says calmly before continuing, "For as long as I've known you all we have done is argue over and over again until we get too tired to respond. I'm tired of it aren't you?".

"Yeah..I guess I am", you say as you look down at the ground. Carl takes a step forward and you lift your head to look at him. "So how about we just start over? Leave everything in the past." You nod your head at him in agreement. "Okay but before we do that I wanna say sorry". "sorry?" you question, "Yea I remember when we met..". He scratches the back of his neck before he continues, "I was a dickhead to you and all you wanted to do was make friends with kids your age and I was so paranoid I pushed you to the side... I'm really sorry y/n" he said with sincerity laced in his voice. "Thank you and I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have been acting like a bitch just because you made me feel bad" you say with a little smile on your face. "It's completely fine, I deserved it, to be honest" his lips turn up into a smile. "so we're good?" he holds his hand up to shake yours. You smile up at him and your hand collides and intertwines with his, "we're good". Your eyes meet as you shake your hands together slightly.

As you shake hands with him you can't help but notice the gold specs in his eyes you had never seen before. The deeper you submerge yourself into the blue pools that you hadn't really noticed before due to always bickering with him and focusing on his faults, behind them, you see good was there. Maybe it had always been there. As you two were together in that moment, maybe just maybe, he saw yours too.

Okay, hopefully, you guys enjoyed it cause I spent almost a day making this. I think I might do a part 2. I also already have another idea for a oneshot so that will be coming soon too!

[flurrys-creativity]

Warrior

Pairing: Choi San (Ateez) x Fem!OC Yeong-Ja; Genre: Joseon AU, Historical AU, Fantasy, Shifter AU, Werewolf AU, strangers to lovers, romance, angst, fluff, SMUT; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: concubines, hints of misogyny, somewhat sold off, inaccurate historical stuff, San from his special performance warrior video including the tattoos, shifter San with a very demanding inner wolf, mentions of sex, getting a tattoo the old style (which is probably inaccurate as well), mentions of uproars, death (minor ocs), san murdering them, graphic violence, graphic description of injuries, san being chained to his bed, SMUT -> rough sex, unprotected sex, marking, biting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, several positions, breeding kink, knotting, mating, pet names, mentions of softer sex; Wordcount: 11.482

Summary: Every time emperor San won a battle against foreign forces he got gifted another concubine - another person, who’d be scared of him. Though when he met the newest addition in his palace, he realised Yeong-Ja was everything but scared.

A/N: Ever since that special performance video of Warriors by San came out, I'm a changed person!! I wrote this chonky one within one weekend while playing the video on loop.

Yeong-Ja got ushered into a room by several servants, who told her to stay there until the emperor would arrive. Before she could even ask when that would be the door got shut right in front of her nose, leaving her alone.

With a heavy sigh Yeong-Ja turned around and took a closer look at the room in front of her. While it definitely appeared luxurious - the room was basically as big as her old home - but except for a large bed there wasn’t much inside the room. It didn’t even have windows. There was only another sliding door, which probably led to the private quarters of the emperor.

Yeong-Ja stood in the middle of the room unsure what she was supposed to do besides waiting for the emperor. Should she stand somewhere specific or sit on the bed? She knew what was expected of her yet she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact she had become a concubine in the span of only a few hours.

That morning Yeong-Ja had woken up and gone out to town since the market was open and she had hoped to buy a few things for her family. So while she bargained with one of the sellers, she got approached by a tall man in fancy clothes.

“Excuse me”, he said with an awkward smile, “I’d like to have a conversation with someone, who speaks for you.”

Yeong-Ja raised an eyebrow, forgetting the little quarrel with the seller as she turned towards the man and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m able to speak for myself, sir.”

A twinkle in his eyes and the soft chuckle revealed his amusement even after he focused himself again with a short shake of his head. “I’d still like to inform your husband or any kind of relative that you’re chosen to become a concubine.”

For a split second everything around Yeong-Ja stopped. She stared at the stranger with wide eyes, needing several seconds to register what he just said. Once the heaviness of the message fought through and settled into her mind, her whole world started to crumble. She nodded almost mechanically as she asked the man to follow her, cutting her time at the market short.

Even when she brought him to his parents and sat beside them in the small dining area, somewhat listening to the words he had to say, her thoughts had travelled to a different place. While Yeong-Ja wasn’t the only woman at her age unmarried, it was rather uncommon. Her headstrong attitude and the fact she came from a poorer family were the reasons why she hadn’t been married yet. Though it hadn’t been a problem in her family, Yeong-Ja was incredibly thankful for that since she loved her independence. 

“If you want to take something with you, Miss Yeong-Ja, now would be the time to get it.” The stranger, who had himself introduced as Park Seonghwa the head counsellor of the emperor, looked at her. A hint of pity and understanding swirling in his dark eyes. 

Her mother had followed her to the sleeping area, laying a hand on her shoulder. She had tears in her eyes as she pulled her daughter into her arms. “You’ll have a better life at the palace”, she whispered and caressed the back of the younger woman. “Please take this with you.” With that her mother let go of her and walked over to a small cabinet. She pulled a box out from the farthest end and turned back to Yeong-Ja. “This was a gift from your great grandfather to your great grandmother. It’s supposed to be a lucky item. Wear it to receive the blessings -” she swallowed the lump inside her throat, her voice sounding choked up - “and to remember us.”

Yeong-Ja hiccuped as she accepted the gift with trembling fingers. She looked down at the fine silver necklace in her hands, seeing one turquoise stone added as a pendant. She closed her hands and clutched them against her chest, whispering her thanks while tears streamed down her cheeks.

Now inside the luxurious bedroom Yeong-Ja fumbled with the dozens of layers of clothes to reach for the pendant. She wrapped her fingers around the turquoise and felt the calm energy spreading throughout her body. With no way back she could only look ahead.

She noticed a bowl of water and several towels on a nightstand close to the bed. Yeong-Ja walked closer to the bowl, leaning over it and staring at her own reflection. She barely recognised herself and a frown appeared on her features. 

That ghost-like face looking back at her wasn’t the woman she wanted to be. While the make-up looked magnificent and had been applied with the utmost care by the servants, Yeong-Ja couldn’t help herself but to hate it. She knew noble women liked to appear paler to show they didn’t work on fields in the sun, but Yeong-Ja was born and raised on such fields. She had a natural tan skin and any other colour made her look sick.

Without a second thought Yeong-Ja pushed the fabrics up her arms and dunked her hands into the bowl, cupping them and splashing water into her face. She rubbed her face meticulously and hoped to get rid of all the white make-up plastered on her skin.

Once she deemed her face clean, Yeong-Ja grabbed a towel and patted her skin dry. Her face already felt much lighter without all the make-up. Although the minute Yeong-Ja looked down at her body and saw all the layers of fancy fabric she felt like a fool again. Her face didn’t match this dress anymore. Yeong-Ja pursed her lips and brushed the sleeves of the fabric back down, feeling uncomfortable in all these layers. The young woman looked over her shoulder to the two closed doors, contemplating whether she should risk it and change or just stay put.

She swallowed and tried to listen intently to the sounds outside of the room. When she wasn’t able to pick up any words or steps, she decided to take the risk. 

Yeong-Ja fumbled with the fabrics and the knots that held everything in place. It took her every ounce of self control to stay patient and not rip everything apart. Once she finally got rid of every layer and only stood in the finest silk underwear in the middle of the room, Yeong-Ja thought she was able to breathe again.

She bent down and started folding all the fabrics, placing them neatly in front of the nightstand. Yeong-Ja only kept the outer piece and a few pins. She draped the fabric over her body and secured it with the pins.

When Yeong-Ja was brought into the bedroom, the emperor - Choi San - arrived at the throne room. He barely kept the sigh inside his lungs when he saw Seonghwa waiting for him.

“Another victory, huh?” Seonghwa stepped next to San, trying to contain his grin. He could read San like a book and knew how annoyed his emperor was already.

“Which means another concubine.” San plopped down on the throne. He pushed his hair back with his hand before he fixed his eyes on the older man. “Why is the court getting a concubine every time I come back from a battle? They’re running away in the end.”

“Now, now. You make it out as if every concubine has fled so far. You still have a thriving harem, San.”

San only rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, resting his chin on his hand. “Anything else I should know before I tell the servants to bring the new concubine to their quarters?” San only wanted to get a bath in peace, wanted to wash off all the grime and blood from the battlefield. He needed to rest and regain his strength again. San had used almost all of his power to keep the intruders in check and only with the help of his wolf was he able to overpower them.

“This one is different. Take at least a look at her.” 

San zoned back into the conversation and shook his head. Whatever Seonghwa had told him just now, San only heard the last two sentences. He grimaced but decided to wave it off for now. With a dismissive hand gesture San got up from the throne and walked to the hidden door behind it. “I’ll think about it”, he told Seonghwa before he bid his goodbye and followed the wooden path towards his private quarters.

A servant rushed to his side, offering their assistance. They nodded in understanding with each order - preparing a bath and bringing the new concubine to their quarters - they received. 

San opened the door to his private bedroom and closed it right behind him again. He trotted towards the bathroom and started stripping out of his clothes, which needed to be washed as well. 

A sudden scream followed by frantic yelling, interrupted San in his undressing. Without regard to his appearance the emperor rushed towards the disturbance. He slammed the door to the concubine bedroom open and hurriedly stepped inside, his eyes jumping from corner to corner. San was ready to fight but except for a servant and a woman he never saw before he couldn’t sense any danger. “Wha-”

“I am so sorry, my emperor. I didn’t mean to disturb you with my yelling. I just wanted to take the concubine to her quarters when I saw what she did.” The servant bowed deeply as they apologised over and over again.

“Please”, San only said in a stern voice, successfully shutting up the servant. He looked around the room again, trying to understand what the servant meant. He inhaled deeply when a sudden wave hit his senses.

‘Smells good’, his wolf hummed, forcing San to inhale again. He even closed his eyes, focusing solely on the sweet scent invading his nose. When he opened his eyes again, they immediately landed on the new concubine.

Yeong-Ja had crossed her arms in front of her chest. She felt embarrassed for screaming when the servant tapped her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed them coming into the room and yelped in surprise from the sudden touch. Yeong-Ja also felt embarrassed for being scolded so harshly. While she had expected to get scolded, she had pictured it to be the emperor himself.

Her eyes fell on the man who had entered the room as well. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks when Yeong-Ja saw the half-naked form of him. Involuntarily her eyes wandered over his toned upper body and well defined muscles. She took the tattoos adorning his body in as well, fascinated by the intricate painting of a wolf’s head on his left pec.

As her eyes continued to wander over his body she finally reached his face. The air inside her lungs nearly got stuck when Yeong-Ja saw the intense gaze on her. She locked eyes with him and the feeling of being a small prey spread throughout her whole body. 

San glanced at the servant, telling them they were dismissed, before his eyes landed on the new concubine again. 

His wolf rumbled inside of him, growling something about having found their mate. He eagerly wanted to cross the distance and get to the woman, wanted to touch her, smell her, scent her, take her and most importantly breed her.

San’s fingers twitched as he fought to keep control over his own body. Seonghwa’s words played in his mind again, while San stared at the woman in front of him. He noticed how she wasn’t turned into a doll-like human like all the other concubines before her. He also noticed how the clothes around her body weren’t as neatly placed. 

‘Easier access’, his wolf nearly howled, keen with the choices that were made.

Yeong-Ja could have sworn she was on fire from the intensity of his gaze but at the same time one ice cold shiver after another ran down her spine. She could feel her heart pounding inside of her ribcage.

“May I know your name?”

The soft voice of the emperor - even though it sounded slightly strangled - surprised Yeong-Ja. She would love to simply listen to him all day, every day. “Yeong-Ja”, she introduced herself, bowing slightly in hopes it was enough courtesy towards the emperor.

San repeated her name, same as his inner wolf, getting a feeling of it on his tongue. “That is a beautiful name”, he complimented her as he suppressed another attempt of his wolf to pounce on her. “Have you been waiting for a long time?”

Yeong-Ja blinked several times, thinking about the question. She wasn’t even sure whether she could answer it or not. Without any windows Yeong-Ja wasn’t able to see how high the sun was and therefore unable to tell the time. Yet she knew it had been enough time for her to change her appearance. “Long enough to wash my face and dress differently.”

San’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected such an answer and most importantly he hadn’t expected that she took the liberty to change her looks, disregarding everything the servants must have prepared for him. Before San could control himself, he let out a loud laugh. San held his stomach as he leaned back from the force of his laughter. The mental picture of the frustration from his servants and her just undoing everything that has been made, just got to him.

Yeong-Ja observed him silently, a small smile playing over her lips upon noticing the dimples on his face when he grinned brightly. 

Once San calmed down again, he wiped the corner of his eyes. He still grinned, the amusement apparent in his voice as well. “Make yourself comfortable in this room. If you’re in need of anything don’t hesitate to call for a servant.”

Yeong-Ja nodded slowly, trying to hide the confusion that filled her thoughts. She thought the emperor would want her to undress and get on the bed so she could please him. Therefore she hadn’t expected something like this.

“I’d like to have breakfast with you tomorrow morning. Is that alright with you?” San ignored the warning growls from his wolf, telling him to stay with her. But San wanted to be a little more careful with her. He hoped by getting to know her first and taking it slow, Yeong-Ja might not fear him like most of the other concubines. And most importantly she hopefully wouldn’t run away.

Yeong-Ja had to remind herself of keeping it together and actually answer the emperor. Everything she witnessed from him so far contradicted all the rumours surrounding him. It was a miracle that she wasn’t too stunned to speak with him. “It would be a pleasure.”

San smiled and nodded shortly, before he bid his goodbye and walked back into his private chambers. Much to the dismay of his inner wolf.

Over the next weeks San ordered to bring more furniture into the concubine’s bedroom. While he could have admitted Yeong-Ja to the special quarters for the concubine instead of the regular ones, his inner wolf insisted to have her as close as possible - and if sharing a bed wasn’t an option yet it had to be the room right next door.

Yeong-Ja still didn’t know how to properly act around the emperor. He was sweet towards her during the day and made sure every wish she could possibly have was fulfilled as fast as possible but he never called her for the purpose she was brought into the palace.

At night she would lie awake in the large bed, staring up at the ceiling, which she barely saw with the small night light on the stand next to the bed. At first Yeong-Ja wasn’t able to sleep because she constantly stayed on edge, expecting to be called for her duty at any moment. Though when it didn’t happen her thoughts started to tear her apart from the inside. She couldn’t understand why San never came to her at night, why he always kept his distance even when they met. 

Yeong-Ja couldn’t possibly know how much he suffered from not being close to her. His wolf rioted every chance possible - especially at night. A time where he wanted to take his mate and nothing else. 

San writhed in pain, trying to keep his cool. Yet the hard on he sported in his loose pants throbbed painfully. No amount of masturbating helped him and it slowly but surely drove him insane.

‘Go to her.’ His wolf whispered, the sly smirk prominent in his voice. ‘She’ll take care of us.’

“No”, San grunted breathlessly. He pushed himself up and walked over to the door. San stood in front of it, his whole body trembling as he fought with himself. It took all of his will power to go through the other door. 

He walked up to the concubine quarters. San needed a release and he couldn’t care less about who he had to fuck for that. As long as it meant he wouldn’t harm Yeong-Ja.

The woman struggled to fall asleep again. Therefore she decided to go for a short walk. She followed the wooden path to the centre of the palace, where she found a small koi pond and some greenery. Yeong-Ja sat down on the stairs that led down to the pond and stared at the water. The light of the flames from the lanterns around her reflected on the surface, almost dancing to a melody she wasn’t able to hear.

When she heard the sudden movements to her right, she cowered behind the handrail, hoping to stay hidden from whoever walked past in the middle of the night.

San pushed the concubine towards the special quarters since he couldn’t use the bedroom anymore. He got impatient with her stumbling and irritated with his wolf wanting to go somewhere else. Hopefully it would die down the second he stepped into the quarters with that concubine.

Yeong-Ja watched them silently, a lump forming inside her stomach when she recognised San with another woman. She wondered what this woman had that she didn’t have. Her shoulders hung down and she couldn’t contain the sigh that spilled past her lips. While being with the emperor had its perks, she still felt out of place. No matter how many tea ceremonies, breakfasts or evening walks she would have with him, Yeong-Ja still thought there had to be something wrong with her as she seemed to be the only concubine that wasn’t used for her original purpose.

Yeong-Ja winced when she heard the faint cries of pleasure. Swallowing the building lump in her throat she decided to go for a longer walk. There was no way she could just sit there and listen, nor could she go back to her chamber that was located right next to them.

On silent soles the young woman moved over the bridge of the pond and up the stairs towards the throne hall. She hoped the door behind the throne would be open, so she could sneak past. Even though she knew she’d be stopped at the main gate, she had a slimmer of hope within her.

“Miss Yeong-Ja?”

She squeaked and slightly jumped on the spot, her hand hovering above the handle for the sliding door to the throne hall. Yeong-Ja’s head turned almost mechanically to her left, where she saw Seonghwa.

He looked at her with concern written all over his face. Ever so carefully he stepped towards her, fearing she might bolt if he made too hasty movements. “Is everything alright?”

Yeong-Ja winced again, feeling incredibly exposed all of a sudden. “I just wanted to take a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?” Seonghwa finally reached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He tilted his head, exploring her face in detail. His attention momentarily faltered when he heard the outcry from the special room. Understanding dawned on his features as his attention returned to the woman in front of him. “May I accompany you, Miss Yeong-Ja?”

Yeong-Ja nodded softly, a small smile playing over her features when she saw his awkward grin. “Can we leave the palace grounds for a while?” She asked hopefully, needing some distance to clear her thoughts.

“I’ll send for two guards to follow us”, Seonghwa confirmed and ushered her through the door. They crossed the throne room in silence and waited at the large entrance to the courtyard for two guards to join you.

For a while the silence continued as they walked through the streets of the upper town. Though as if Seonghwa was able to read her mind, he spoke up again: “Something is troubling you.”

Yeong-Ja sighed deeply, tilting her head back and looking up into the dark sky. “Is there something wrong with me?” She didn’t dare to look at Seonghwa, fearing his answer for some reason.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, observing her closely. “Why would there something be wrong with you?”

She shrugged with her shoulders, looking back down to the ground again. “It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this”, she confessed, her voice so soft nobody else but Seonghwa could hear her. “I just feel like the emperor doesn’t want me like he wants the other concubines. I’m not even sharing the same quarters with them.”

Seonghwa placed his hand on her shoulder again, chuckling softly. “I’m sure it is quite the opposite, dear.”

Yeong-Ja raised her head and looked at Seonghwa in confusion, a frown adorning her features while she tried to understand what the counsellor meant. “If the emperor wants me why wouldn’t he come to me at night?”

“That is something you should ask him yourself”, Seonghwa answered ominously, halting in his steps and turning around. 

Yeong-Ja followed his example, still confused about what he was hinting at. She noticed him staring ahead and followed his gaze. 

Her eyes widened in surprise when they locked with San’s, who stood breathing heavily in the middle of the street before them.

When she had left the palace, San had stopped mid-thrust. ‘She’s leaving!’ San’s eyes widened in panic when he realised his wolf was right and the scent of Yeong-Ja grew more distant. San growled almost animalistically as he pushed himself away from the concubine. “Go back to your chambers”, he ordered before he rushed out of the room.

He hurried to her bedroom first, needing to confirm what his instincts and sense of smell told him with his own two eyes. San momentarily stopped in front of her door, making himself presentable before he entered. His heartbeat accelerated when he didn’t see her inside the room.

‘Follow her!’ His wolf snarled and pulled San back.

The emperor barely snapped out of this, keeping control over his own body, as he ran towards the main gates. He ignored the questioning looks from the guards and only continued to run through the streets. San followed his nose for the most part but his eyes still frantically scanned his surroundings, making sure he wouldn’t miss her.

He stopped upon finding her - together with Seonghwa, who had a hand placed on her shoulder. San breathed heavily, his shoulders heaving from the sprint he just did. His eyes jumped between Yeong-Ja and Seonghwa, trying to figure out what was going on while his wolf wanted nothing but to rip Seonghwa’s hand off.

Seonghwa bowed slightly towards San and then turned back to Yeong-Ja. “I’ll leave you in his care now.” He smiled knowingly and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance before stepping away.

Yeong-Ja looked puzzled. Instead of finding answers to her questions, she only had more questions inside her head now. Once Seonghwa was out of her sight, her eyes landed on San. Uncertainty wafted off of her in waves and even San could sense it without his inner wolf telling him.

“Is everything alright?” He asked carefully, eyes exploring her expression. San feared she had attempted to escape and only got stopped by Seonghwa.

Yeong-Ja crossed her arms in front of her chest, slightly hugging her upper body even. “I just needed to take a walk.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes!” She snapped, before looking away in embarrassment. “In the middle of the night”, she added more softly, “I needed to clear my head.”

San stepped closer - at least a little. “Is there something bothering you?” He tried to even his breathing, even though the fear inside of him made him want to gasp for air. His thoughts swirled around his head and the whining of his wolf to move closer didn’t help either to stay level headed.

Yeong-Ja watched him. She saw the fear in his eyes, saw him struggle and fight with himself but she didn’t understand why. She tightened the hold around her upper body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“What?”

She was about to repeat herself, when San interrupted her: “No! Why would you think that? There is absolutely nothing wrong with you! You’re beautiful just the way you are!”

“And yet you always keep your distance.” Yeong-Ja mumbled to herself without knowing San’s heightened senses still picked up on her words. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” San groaned and pressed his face into his hands, before running them through his hair. “I keep my distance because I don’t want to frighten or hurt you.”

Yeong-Ja looked up at him through her eyelashes, gnawing on her lower lip as she contemplated her next question.

San’s wolf begged him to cross the distance and scoop her up in his arms; begged him to litter her in kisses but San stayed put. He wanted to wait; wanted to hear what she had to say.

“So could we have a tea ceremony where you won’t sit across the room and far away from me?” The wavering in her otherwise hopeful voice was heartbreaking.

“If that is what you wish for”, San agreed with a nod, never moving his eyes away from her. He didn’t dare to let her out of his sight for even a second. “Let us do that then. Tomorrow. After a good night’s rest.”

Yeong-Ja nodded shortly. She still felt uncertain around him but having him agree on being closer felt like a small step in the right direction. The young woman walked over to San - momentarily surprised he didn’t step back, but incredibly pleased he followed through with his words already. “Then we should head back again.”

“Yes”, San breathed out and walked next to you. Relief washed over his whole body once he realised she hadn’t tried running away and was even willing to go back with him. He definitely had to work harder to keep Yeong-Ja by his side - even if it meant torturing himself.

~

San sat in the middle of his private chamber. He had his eyes closed, trying to mentally prepare himself for the close proximity he was about to have with Yeong-Ja. 

Behind him the tattoo artist prepared his utensils to create another mark on the emperor’s body. Hongjoong created every art piece on San’s skin and it hadn’t surprised him to be called again. He placed the small bowl with black ink to his right on a cloth of linen. Next to the bowl he kept the needles and a wooden piece he used as a hammer. To his left Hongjoong had placed a larger bowl of water and several towels. 

“Everything has been prepared. We can start now.”

San raised one hand, halting the artist in his movements. “Please wait a moment. I’m expecting someone to join us.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened as he stared at the back of the emperor’s head. So far each tattoo session has always been just them. He leaned back on his feet, placing his hands on his thighs to wait.

A servant announced their arrival, requesting to open the door and let Yeong-Ja inside. 

Yeong-Ja played with the fingers of her hands behind her back. She stepped inside once the sliding door got opened enough for her to walk in. To her surprise the door got closed behind her right away. For a second it felt like a deja vu but when she turned her head and looked into the room, she noticed the two men sitting on the floor. 

Just like during the first night San only wore some pants, revealing his bare chest and arms. He looked up at her with a nervous smile. “I know this isn’t like our usual meetings”, he explained when he saw her tilting her head to the side and eyeing Hongjoong behind him. “Will you still join me?”

The woman nodded hesitantly and crossed the room to sit in front of San. She leaned a little to the side to get a better look at the second man, who nearly got devoured by San’s broad shoulders. 

“That’s Kim Hongjoong”, San told her, successfully getting her attention back on him. “He did all of my tattoos and will do another today.” San momentarily looked over his shoulder and told Hongjoong to start now.

At the mention of his tattoos Yeong-Ja’s eyes dropped to his chest, staring at the large wolf tattoo. She mused Hongjoong to be a great artist if he was able to create such detail of a wolf’s head with nothing but black ink. “Do they have a meaning or are you just having them for aesthetic reasons?” 

For a while only the slapping of the wood against Hongjoong’s fingers filled the room. San focused on the slight pain pulsating through his body to keep his wolf in check. The close proximity to her made his wolf run up the walls but he couldn’t let it be. “Some have meaning, others don’t”, he breathed out, his jaw clenching and hand twitching as his wolf made another attempt to reach out to her.

Yeong-Ja watched him silently, noticing how he tensed up and struggled to hold this conversation.

Even Hongjoong noticed the unusual behaviour of the emperor. He knew for a fact San didn’t react to the pain of the needle, so seeing him this tense surprised the artist.

Yeong-Ja turned her attention back to the artist while San continued breathing purposefully. “How are you creating these?”

Hongjoong momentarily halted in his movement to look up at the woman. A proud grin flashed over his feature before he continued to work and started explaining the process to her. 

While his inner wolf got jealous and wanted to bring the focus back to them, San felt some sort of relief that he could deal with his wolf for a moment as she listened intently to the process of tattoo making from Hongjoong.

After what only felt like seconds but probably had been much longer Yeong-Ja looked back at San. She noticed how he had already been watching her, making the heat rise up to her cheeks. Yeong-Ja quickly dismissed the feeling and cleared her throat. “May I see how he’s doing it?”

San’s eyes widened but he nodded nonetheless. He silently watched how she got on her knees and crawled past his left side. She stopped right next to him, letting only her head be behind his body to watch the artist creating the tattoo. Yeong-Ja stayed on all fours as she watched, surprised at the mess she saw on his back.

Hongjoong grabbed one of the towels and dunked it into the water bowl before wiping it over the fresh tattoo.

“Oh”, Yeong-Ja gasped when all the residue ink got wiped away and revealed what the artist had created so far. “How can you see with all the ink and blood being in the way?”

“Memory and constant cleaning.” Hongjoong picked the needle and piece of wood back up into his hands. He dunked the tip of the needle into the black ink and placed it on San’s skin before he slapped the wood against his fingers and pricked the skin in the process.

Yeong-Ja’s hand involuntarily grabbed onto San’s hand that had rested on his lap. She watched the tattoo artist with wide eyes, her hand squeezing San’s with every slap of the wooden piece. 

San had gone completely still, his heart nearly beating out of his chest while his wolf rumbled in satisfaction. The little electric shock waves that flowed through his body were so much stronger than the pain from the needle. He swallowed harshly and turned his head to look at her. His eyes roamed over her features and a soft smile spread over his lips. San turned his attention down to her hand and before he could get second thoughts he placed his free hand on hers and started rubbing his thumb over her delicate skin.

Yeong-Ja leaned back on her feet again, eyes now on San’s face. “Does it hurt?” She noticed how he had relaxed soon after she held his hand, she also realised - with a slight panic arising - how this was the first time she actually had skin to skin contact with San.

“Not anymore”, he answered softly, continuing to stroke her hand with his thumb. “It’s reassuring even. To know I’ll soon have another mark on my skin that shows I’m fighting for my people.” San easily continued to speak about his tattoos and their meaning now, when she asked him to tell her more about them. 

He would be laughing at himself, if it weren’t for the tattooing. San never expected that the simple contact with her skin was enough to keep his wolf somewhat satisfied and make him definitely easier to control. For weeks he battled inside of his mind with his wolf to take it slow. The constant suffering of being near her, having her scent and presence invade all of his senses without the possibility to act on it, turned San almost crazy. Yet, simple hand holding had been the solution all along.

“I’d like to have one as well”, Yeong-Ja announced suddenly, making both men freeze and stare at her with wide eyes.

Hongjoong was the first to break out of his stupor. “You want to have a tattoo?” He raised an eyebrow in question, looking at her and then at San before he looked back at her. “What would you want to get and where?”

Yeong-Ja’s eyes flicked to San, who still hadn’t moved, where she looked at the wolf tattoo shortly. Her eyes moved back up to San’s face, seeing how stunned he was with her statement. 

San barely heard any of Hongjoong’s question as his heart hammered inside his chest and pumped his blood like a raging stream through his body.

Yeong-Ja bid down on her lower lip, feeling suddenly nervous with the way both men stared at her. “I’d like something that shows what I am. Something that shows I belong to the emperor.”

‘She wants us to mark her!’ 

San could feel his dick twitch from the image of marking her. The excitement his wolf felt washing over to himself as well. He had to fight to keep his thoughts clear, needing several minutes before he could even speak again. “You want my sigil on your body?”

Yeong-Ja nodded softly, still gnawing at her lower lip. She had thought of a wolf at first but the second San mentioned his sigil - the moon - she knew it was the perfect tattoo to show she belonged to him. “Would that be alright?” Yeong-Ja looked up at San through her eyelashes, nervous to get a rejection from him.

“Yes”, he breathed out, squeezing her hand gently. “Absolutely!” San turned his head to glance at Hongjoong. “Once you finish my tattoo, prepare everything to make another.”

Hongjoong agreed quietly and got back to work, finishing the tattoo soon after. He cleaned San’s back one last time before he stood up and called for a servant, requesting fresh towels and water. When he turned back around, his eyes landed on the woman. “Have you thought about where you want to get the tattoo?”

“Somewhere where I can see it, if I want to.” Yeong-Ja looked down at her body, wondering which part that would be. She lifted her arms and turned them, quickly deciding against them and looking further down her body. Her gaze momentarily flickered to San’s chest, thinking she could have the moon tattoo on her chest just like him, but she already squirmed at the thought of revealing her breasts. Finally Yeong-Ja’s gaze landed on her lap. “On my thigh?”

Hongjoong nodded. “That’s a good choice for a first tattoo placement. It will hurt less.” He started to prepare everything again, thanking the servants that brought the things he requested.

San squeezed her hand and brought her attention back to him. “Are you afraid?” He asked softly, tilting his head to one side.

“Not with your approval”, she answered him, smiling shyly and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was more afraid of your reaction”, she admitted. Again she glanced up at him, gauging his expression to her words. 

San could only grin foolishly at her, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. He loved how she asked for his approval; loved how she wanted to do it with him in her mind. Before he could say anything of that though, Hongjoong requested Yeong-Ja to lay down on her side. San nearly whined out loud when she pulled her hand away from him to follow the request.

Yeong-Ja tried breathing naturally but her nervousness slowly got the best of her. She only followed the instructions of Hongjoong now, her head otherwise empty. She pulled the fabric of her dress to the side, revealing her right thigh. 

Hongjoong then grabbed her by her hip gently and pulled her back to his lap, so that half her body leaned against him. “If this position is too uncomfortable we can get you a pillow to support your upper body.”

San immediately scrambled closer to them. He offered his own lap as a pillow and grinned giddily when Yeong-Ja accepted and placed her head on his lap. The emperor grabbed her right hand as well, pulling her arm up over her head so it wouldn’t be in the way for Hongjoong and so he could hold her hand again.

‘We should be marking her’, his wolf growled. He felt conflicted watching another man putting a mark on the body of his mate - even if it showed humans she belonged to the emperor - and having her so close to him. On one side he wanted to smother his mate in kisses and licks and on the other he wanted to tear his teeth into the artist for touching her. Or take her in front of him just to show his claim.

San groaned silently, debating with his wolf inside his mind. He unconsciously closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, too focused on controlling his wolf.

Yeong-Ja, who had been staring up at San for the whole time, noticed how he tensed up again. She squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly when he opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Does it hurt?” San asked and raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before he could even think about the action.

“Not anymore”, Yeong-Ja answered, grinning at him as she saw the twinkle of understanding in his eyes. She didn’t just say these words to copy his answer from before, she actually barely felt the way Hongjoong tattooed her since all her focus had been on San only, making her heart soar and stomach flutter. This was the closest she had been to him and she liked the feeling, hoping it would only deepen in the future.

~

“Can I see your tattoo again?” San turned on his side, looking up at Yeong-Ja’s sitting form. He grinned innocently as he looked through his bangs, appearing almost boy-ish. 

Yeong-Ja giggled and leaned back on her hands, stretching her leg out. “You've been asking every day since I got it.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air surrounding her. 

Ever since she got the tattoo, San kept her as close as possible. He still hadn’t taken her at night but during the day he became quite clingy, disregarding the looks from others when he stayed so close to her.

Though right now he didn’t have to worry about it, having taken Yeong-Ja out on a picnic to a nearby stream in the bordering forest. He told Seonghwa where they were headed and ordered the guards to stay behind. San wanted to be solely with her at least for a moment.

“And I’ll continue to ask every single day.”

Yeong-Ja opened her eyes and laughed softly. “I’m yours. Technically you wouldn’t even have to ask.” She licked over her lips and averted her eyes again, taking in her surroundings instead.

The sun filtered through the canopy of the trees above their heads, letting thin rays of light hit the ground around them. Some rays reached the water of the small stream, where the moving water reflected the light. Birds and cicadas chirped around them and somewhere up the stream even a frog croaked its mating song.

San pushed himself up and crawled over to Yeong-Ja, his body half hovering over hers now. He grabbed her chin with his forefinger and thumb and turned her head until she looked into his eyes again. “I will always ask for your consent.”

Yeong-Ja exhaled shakily and smiled up to him. “And I’ll always give you my consent.”

San grinned brightly and let go of her chin, his hand moving down to her leg instead. When he reached her ankle, he finally made contact with her skin. Ever so slowly San pushed his hand up along her leg now, moving the fabric of the dress to the side in the process. Once he revealed her bare thigh to his sight, he let his thumb brush over the dark tattoo. 

‘We should mark her right next to it!’ His wolf tried to order San and growled in frustration when he didn’t bud. ‘She’s ready for us! Take her, mark her, breed her!’ 

San swallowed harshly, trying to ignore the pictures floating into his mind. He grabbed her thigh, his large hand squeezing it. His eyes slowly wandered back up to her face, seeing how she stared at him with bated breath. 

‘She wants us! Wants us to breed her! Do something!’ His wolf roared in frustration when San only dropped down on her form, using her body as a pillow. 

San pressed his ear against her chest, listening to her erratic heartbeat with a smirk playing over his lips. He sighed in content and closed his eyes. It took all his strength to keep his wolf in check and simply relaxing in her lap helped him gain the power to keep it that way.

Yeong-Ja shifted her weight to hold her up on one hand, so she could card her fingers through San’s dark locks. She tried to ignore how her heart hammered inside of her chest, making her emotions incredibly obvious to the emperor. She tried to ignore the flutter inside her stomach and the heat pooling in her lower regions when he squeezed her thigh. While a part of her wanted him to take her in the middle of the forest, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

Yeong-Ja wasn’t inexperienced - not that she’d tell anybody about it - but now that emotions had joined the situation, it created a pit in her stomach and made a mess out of her.

A twig snapped in the distance, alerting San and his wolf. He tensed up before pushing himself into a crouching position in front of Yeong-Ja, ready to protect her at any cost. San barely held the growl inside him when he heard steps coming closer.

“What’s wrong?” Yeong-Ja sat up as well, placing one hand on San’s back and peering over his shoulder. 

“Someone’s coming”, San informed her with a low voice. He had his eyes still trained on the trees in front of him, listening intently to the steps. His nose twitched as he tried to use the sense of smell from his wolf, hoping to get a read on the person that was approaching.

“San?”

Yeong-Ja sat a little straighter than before, her mouth shaping an ‘o’ as she recognised the voice. She also noticed how San visibly relaxed and stood up, calling out for Seonghwa.

Soon enough the older man appeared between the trees with an awkward smile adorning his face. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt”, he apologised and bowed shortly in front of the couple. “But I have to ask you to return to the palace.”

San frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why?” Was the only word he said, slightly glaring at Seonghwa for even requesting something like that.

Seonghwa glanced towards Yeong-Ja, who slowly stood up too, readying herself to leave at any moment. He sighed deeply and returned his attention to his emperor. “Patrolling guards have stumbled on a camp of soldiers from the neighbouring region. They were able to overwhelm them without any casualties but now they insist on delivering a message to the emperor himself.”

“And that couldn’t wait?” San grunted in annoyance, but started to pack the few things he had brought along nonetheless. 

“The prisoners make the court nervous.”

“And a nervous court is a bad court.” San sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to leave Yeong-Ja’s side so soon. He turned his head and looked at her, contemplating his options. “Would you” - he paused, unsure about his own request - “stay with me?”

Yeong-Ja nodded and quickly stepped next to him, placing a hand on his upper arm. “If that’s what you wish.”

San thanked her quietly and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the palace and towards the throne room. His thumb rubbed slow circles to the back of her hand as his gaze was trained on Seonghwa’s back. He knew Seonghwa wouldn’t have interrupted them if it wasn’t necessary. He still cursed the older man for doing it though.

When they reached the throne room, Seonghwa stepped next to the throne as the head counsellor, looking down at the five soldiers that kneeled at the bottom of the steps towards the throne. 

San glared at them as he walked up the steps and plopped down on the throne. He still held onto Yeong-Ja’s hand and used the chance to pull her right into his lap. There was no way he’d let her go now while being irritated already. San wrapped his arms around her body and silently nosed her neck, inhaling her scent with closed eyes to calm himself down again. 

Yeong-Ja hadn’t expected to sit on the throne as well but she sensed how San needed her presence to keep his cool. She placed one hand on his chest, silently telling him she would be there for him.

“What is this message you have for me?” San opened his eyes again, glaring down at the five soldiers, who cowered away from his intense aura. Even some of his own guards shrunk down on themselves. 

“It’s more of a warning”, one of the soldiers spoke up, raising his head to look up and smirk at San and Yeong-Ja. “You might wanna keep a closer look on your concubines.”

San snarled loudly and tightened his hold on Yeong-Ja, leaning forward a little as if he wanted to attack at any moment. “Be careful of your next words or I will rip your tongue out”, he threatened, baring his teeth in the process.

The soldier laughed maniacally. “I’m not surprised rebel groups are forming in your kingdom when the emperor himself is more concerned whether I insult a concubine or not.” He glared back up at San, a crazy look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. “They say the dumber the concubine the better the sex. So this one must be incredibly stupid if you keep her that close.”

Yeong-Ja pressed her hand on San’s chest, keeping him in place. She turned her head to the soldier, raising an eyebrow to taunt him. “Oh really?”, she asked with a scoff. “In this case your stupidity outshines mine. You never intended to give the emperor a real warning, did you now? You only desired to insult him or get a rise out of him, isn’t that right? But here you are, on your knees, pathetic and incredibly stupid for revealing your association with rebel groups.” 

Seonghwa stared at the woman with wide eyes. She was the first woman to speak during a court meeting of this magnitude. She was also the first to attend one but that's besides the fact she kept San in check, threw the insults right back at the enemies face and pointed out valuable information. He had also picked up on the rebel part but would have brought it up at a later point without the soldiers present. 

Seonghwa turned his attention to San, noting how he barely held himself together. The only thing stopping him right now was Yeong-Ja’s hand on his chest. Otherwise he appeared to be absolutely livid.

“Pah”, the soldier barked, internally cursing himself for speaking about the rebel groups.

“And let me guess”, Yeong-Ja continued, ignoring how the soldier bared his teeth at her, “part of the rebel group is a former concubine that ran away. Why else would you bring it up?”

“A loud one, aren’t we? I’ll keep in mind to gag you when I fuck you and make you submit to me!”

In a flash San pushed Yeong-Ja from his lap and leaped down the stairs, crashing into the soldier, who had insulted her on several occasions. He punched his face over and over again, not stopping even when he heard the crack of bones.

Seonghwa rushed over to Yeong-Ja and placed his hand on her shoulder, forcing himself into her line of view. “You should leave now!” 

Yeong-Ja stared up at him with an open mouth. She noted his stern voice and expression but something inside her insisted to stay put. “He asked me to stay by his side”, she tried to bargain with Seonghwa, knowing full well her weak voice did nothing to compel him. 

“You do not want to see this”, Seonghwa only told her and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her up and away from the throne. 

“What kind of monster is he?” One of the other soldiers screamed as he tried to move away. 

Yeong-Ja looked over her shoulder upon the scream, seeing how San got tackled by several of his own guards, who tried to pull him away from the now lifeless body of the first soldier. She watched how San pushed all of the guards away and stood up, blood dripping from his fists. His eyes had turned turquoise as he fixed the soldier, who had screamed, with his stare. The last thing Yeong-Ja saw was San snarling, revealing larger canines than a human being should have, before she got pushed through the door behind the throne.

“What is happening to him?” She asked in concern and stared up at Seonghwa’s grim expression. Yeong-Ja stumbled along the wooden path, trying to keep up with the pace Seonghwa had.

“That’s something he’ll have to tell you himself.” Seonghwa opened the door to her quarters and gently pushed her inside. “Stay here and do not come out until I or a servant come for you!”

“What about San? Can I leave when he-?”

“No!” Seonghwa interrupted her immediately, his grip on her shoulder tightening. “In this state San can’t be near you! He wouldn’t want that!” 

Before Yeong-Ja could ask more questions, Seonghwa let go of her and closed the door in front of her nose. She wrapped her arms around her upper body and slowly walked to the large bed while all of her thoughts were with San.

Seonghwa basically ran back to the throne hall, seeing the bloodbath in front of him. He ordered the guards around as he tried to get a better grip of the situation. So far he counted four dead bodies already and several injured guards - which were thankfully on the lighter side. 

San stalked across the room to the remaining living soldier. He pushed himself through the guards that tried to hold him back, his hands that had already turned into claws reached out for the soldier and his turquoise eyes fixed him in the corner of the room. When San broke through his guards he landed on all fours but it didn’t stop him, instead he just continued to crawl forward. He growled menacingly and ignored the guards that grabbed onto his clothes and legs.

“They’re going to kill you! They will hunt you like the animal you are!”

San licked over his canines and pushed one last time forward, breaking free and reaching the soldier. He wrapped his hand around the soldier’s throat, his sharp claws digging into the skin and drawing blood. San leaned down to his face, leaving only a hair’s width between them. “They can try”, he growled before he snapped his back. 

Even though the soldier was dead, San still ripped his throat out and clawed at his upper body. He had lost all of his control, letting his wolf overpower him.

‘Die, die, die, die!’ The wolf chanted over and over again as he relished in the disembodiment of the soldiers. A small part of him had been incredibly proud of his mate for handling the situation so quick-witted but it did nothing for the rage he felt. Nobody insulted his mate and would get out of that alive. He scanned the room, making sure none of the enemies had survived, grinning even when he saw their bodies - or what was left of them. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, the stench of blood infiltrated his nostril as well as the fact the scent of his mate was missing.

Seonghwa and seven other guards stormed towards San, grabbing him and placing huge chains around his arms and wrists. They struggled quite a bit to keep San in check but did it in the end, despite his writhing and twisting.

They brought him to his private quarters and chained San up against his own bed, making sure he wouldn’t be able to break free unless he regained his human consciousness again.

“Take the time to cool off again”, Seonghwa told him with a pained smile on his lips. “You did what you had to. We’ll clean up the mess and take care of the rebel groups. Their scent will be traceable.”

San growled at the mention of the rebel groups, pulling at his chains as well. ‘Anybody associated with these soldiers has to die!’ 

Seonghwa sighed deeply and rubbed a hand over his face. He only hoped San would regain control again sooner than later. He didn’t want to imagine the consequences otherwise.

Yeong-Ja sat up on the bed as she heard the commotion outside her room. She scooted to the edge and listened with bated breath, hearing some muffled words being spoken as well as the rattling of chains. The woman swallowed the lump forming in her throat and stood up, walking to the door that connected her room with San’s. One of her hands clutched the turquoise pendant hanging around her neck while the other hovered above the door, trembling from the nervousness running through her body.

A pitiful whimper from the other side of the door, settled her decision and she pulled the sliding door open. Yeong-Ja glanced into the darkened room, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes connected with the turquoise glowing ones from San.

He whimpered again, trying to move one hand in a weak attempt to reach for her. “Yeong-Ja”, he rasped before he wetted his lips with his tongue.

Yeong-Ja carefully stepped closer to the bed, both hands now clutching the pendant while her eyes took in every detail of the scene before her. 

San laid splayed across the mattress, his upper body slightly hoisted up by the dozens of pillows behind his back. His arms were pulled to the side by heavy looking chains that wrapped around them up to his elbow. His fingers, which appeared more like claws, had blood slowly drying on them. Same with his clothes that got covered in blood stains and started to dry up. San had blood smeared over his lower face as well, the dark liquid a stark contrast to his smooth skin and his glowing eyes.

“San?” She asked hesitantly, halting at the end of the bed. Concern was written all over her features and it only deepened when he whimpered again. Yeong-Ja stared at him, a knot forming in her chest from the helplessness that suddenly arose inside of her. She wanted to help him, be there for him, but she didn’t know how.

A loud crack rang through the room and San broke free in the blink of an eye. He grabbed Yeong-Ja by the waist and slammed her down on the mattress, caging her underneath his body. He leaned down and nosed along her neck, inhaling deeply her intoxicating scent. “Our mate”, he rumbled and pressed his pelvis against her core.

The way San easily threw her onto the bed, knocked Yeong-Ja’s breath out of her lungs. The heat and throbbing inside her lower regions built up tenfold out of nowhere, leaving her incredibly aroused.

“We’ll take good care of our mate,” he breathed against the sensitive part of her neck, gently nibbling the skin even, “we’ll make her feel full with our cock, make her full of our cum until she’ll carry our pups.” He spoke more to himself than to her, too consumed by his own hunger and lust.

Yeong-Ja mewled softly underneath him when he ripped her clothes off, leaving her in a few shredded pieces of fabric but otherwise bare for his eyes. She wanted to hide from his intense gaze but stopped upon hearing him growl. Instead she raised her hands above her head, intertwining her fingers even, to show she wouldn’t hide a single part of her body from his sight. 

He growled almost impatiently as he grabbed her by the hips - the chains around his arms clanged loudly with each movement. With ease he lifted her body and turned her around so she was on all fours. He tore the fabric of his pants open while he pushed Yeong-Ja’s upper body into the mattress, presenting her ass nicely for him. 

Yeong-Ja gasped for air when he thrusted into her with one swift motion. Her walls tightened around his shaft, squeezing him hard from the sudden intrusion. She arched her back, changing the angle slightly he’d fuck into her. 

He grabbed her hair and held her down, pressing her into the mattress with one hand. Part of the cold chains rested on her back, adding to the intense feeling. The other grabbed onto her hip, keeping her body in place as he started to thrust into her. He snapped his hips so his pelvis hit her ass cheeks and created a loud slapping sound that reverberated through the whole room. He growled with each thrust, gaining strength from the increasing moans that turned higher in pitch with every snap of his hips.

Yeong-Ja cried out in pleasure, feeling her insides tingle in pleasure. Every fibre of her body reacted to him and sent her over the edge. If he hadn’t held her hip with a vice-like grip, she would have collapsed on the mattress. She barely caught her own breath when he used his strength again. She whined over the loss of his dick from her throbbing hole but yelped when he turned her back around and slammed her back into the mattress once more.

His claws ran over her skin, leaving thin red lines along their path. He moved them from her neck over her chest and down her sides until he stopped at her hips. His eyes landed on the moon tattoo on her thigh, grinning wickedly as he dropped down and licked over the dark ink. “Our mate. We’re marking her for good this time.” He nibbled around her tattoo, licking and kissing it in his way as well. Until he found a spot close to her core.

Yeong-Ja arched her back and screamed out when San bit down on her thigh, together with plunging two fingers into her hole at the same time. The pain and pleasure battled inside of her for the prominent feeling as San’s large canines stayed inside her flesh while he started to fuck his fingers into her at a brutal pace.

Only after he felt satisfied, he pulled away from the bite mark, rumbling pleased to see his own mark on her skin. He leaned down and licked over the tender wound, sealing it with his saliva. “You’re such a good mate for us. So perfect. Taking everything so well.”

With one last kiss on the bite mark he moved to her centre, brushing his lips over her sensitive nub and teasing her folds with a few licks. All while he still pounded his fingers into her relentlessly. He only slowed down his movements to add his tongue to the mixture, pushing it along his fingers into her hole. His nose nudged into her nub during the process, making her mewl and whine in pleasure.

As her high built up yet again, Yeong-Ja wanted to clutch her legs together but his broad shoulders and a tight grip on her thigh prevented her from doing so. She had to endure the onslaught of pleasure to her clit and folds, being toppled over the edge when he added a third finger to push into her. Yeong-Ja’s whole body trembled and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her breathing erratic and her mind wrapped in a cotton-like bliss.

He lapped at her essence, slurping up every last drop, before he pushed himself up and ripped the rest of his own pants and shirt away. He tore at the chains as well, getting rid of them and finally being just as bare as her. His dick slapped against his toned stomach, thick and throbbing, with droplets of precum oozing out of its tip. He leaned back down again and rolled his hips against her core, lathering his shaft with her juices and wetting it again before he pushed himself inside of her.

Yeong-Ja didn’t get a warning, nor was she prepared for what was to come. Her legs got pushed to her chest, where he wrapped his arms around to hold them secure while he rammed his dick into her tight hole. The drag along her walls had her thoughts spiralling and her high building rapidly again. Yeong-Ja grabbed onto the sheets of the bed, needing something to ground herself.

“Such a good mate”, he rumbled, accentuating each word with a harsh thrust, “taking us so well. Feeling so good around our cock. Our mate is the only one we need, only one we want.” He pushed into her, getting more and more aggressive since her moans spurred him on. “Need to breed her. Need pups. Need her full of our cum.”

When he let go of her legs, they fell almost limply back on the mattress, spread wide so he could still fuck into her. He grabbed onto her sides, his claws slightly digging into her skin as he continued to push into her. He grunted and growled, hitting the soft spot inside her. 

Yeong-Ja cried out in pleasure, writhing underneath him as she couldn’t control her own body anymore. She grabbed onto her hair with one hand, moaning obscenely loud. Her senses zoned in on the connection between their bodies and with one hard thrust she came undone once more.

He stilled his movements, having his dick pushed inside of her core as far as possible. He felt how the base engorged, forming the knot that would prevent any of his seed spilling out. He kept his position, leaning on his elbows and staring down at the connection. He could see how her entrance got spread wide from the building knot, which was enough to make him spill inside of her. His dick twitched and shot rope after rope of white hot cum into her, painting her insides white and filling her up to the brim.

“So good. Taking it all. Our mate will be round and plump with our pups.” He rumbled in satisfaction, watching how her lower stomach slightly expanded from the amount of cum he shot into her.

Even after he was done, he stayed in place - the knot wouldn’t reduce in its size anytime soon. He tore his glowing eyes away from their connected body parts, letting them wander over her body and up to her face. Out of the corner of the eye he noticed something around her neck.

Yeong-Ja winced slightly when he shifted his weight and reached out to carefully pull at her necklace until he had the turquoise pendant resting in his palm. She watched how the glow in his eyes slowly died down and his warm brown eyes returned again.

San’s gaze flicked from the pendant up to her face, confusion spreading over his features since his memory appeared a little hazy. “Yeong-Ja?” His voice was soft with a hint of worry lacing it. When she only smiled weakly - still too out of it from multiple orgasms - concern replaced San’s confusion. He wanted to push himself up when both of them winced, making him look down at his body again. San scoffed and shook his head. “Can’t believe my wolf fucked you before I did”, he grumbled, hiding his face behind his dark bangs.

“Your wolf?” She asked quietly, her voice hoarse from the constant moans. Yeong-Ja raised one hand to cup his cheek, lifting his head until San looked at her again. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek bone and smiled softly at him, even brushing his bangs out of his eyes. 

San sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’m not entirely human”, he mumbled, swallowing harshly in fear of her reaction. “I am part wolf.” He noticed how her gaze dropped down to his tattoo, making him grin slyly. San turned his head from side to side and looked around, noting the broken headrest of the bed and the chains discarded on the mattress to his sides. He slowly gained scenes of his memory back, putting the pieces together to get a whole picture. “I’m sorry”, he whispered and his head dropped down again.

“Why are you apologising?” Yeong-Ja got up on her elbows, ignoring the sting between her legs from the movement. “You have nothing to be sorry about!” 

San shook his head. “I wanted to ease you into this mess since it’s a lot to take. I understand if you’re afraid of me now and want to keep your distance. I’m deeply sorry for losing control over my wolf and letting him use you like that.” To his surprise he heard Yeong-Ja chuckle, so he looked back up at her with wide eyes.

“It is a lot to take in”, she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t take it. The moment I requested the tattoo was the moment I decided to be in this for the long run. You don’t have to hide from me, don’t have to keep any secrets. I’m yours. Wholeheartedly.”

San cursed under his breath as he grabbed Yeong-Ja by the neck and pressed his lips against hers. He hummed into the kiss, barely suppressing the grin building from the pleased rumbles his wolf made. San licked over her lips, asking for entrance and deepening the kiss when she gave it to him. He slowly started to roll his hips as well, feeling his hard on buried so snuggly inside of her.

Yeong-Ja arched her back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. While San’s movements were a lot softer they were precise and hit her insides just right.

San took his sweet time with her, adoring every second of it. For once he could enjoy the pleasure of life without his wolf commenting on everything he did. For once he felt like he became one - not just with himself but with another person as well, a person so special in her own unique way. And he would show her his gratitude every single day for the rest of his life.

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ @songsoomin​ 

[coraniaid]

how about an AU where cordelia stayed in sunnydale?

Oh, that's interesting.

I think that, in reality, if Cordelia hadn't left for Angel, she'd probably have ended up occupying a pretty similar place in the rest of Buffy to the role Anya ends up taking. Maybe not exactly the same one (I don't know if the writers would have had her and Xander get back together, for example, and obviously Cordelia isn't a former vengeance demon), but close enough that I'm not even sure that they'd have made Anya a permanenent member of the cast.

But, ignoring that, and taking Anya's ongoing presence in Sunnydale as given...

I think something has to happen to make Cordelia stay in Sunnydale, right? It's clear from Season 3 that she doesn't want to (see, for example, her reaction to finding out that Buffy got into Northwestern: "great! now you can leave and never come back! [I mean] get out of Sunnydale: that's a good thing"). I guess maybe the lazy option is just to have her trying to save up money to get into drama school somewhere? We already see her working at April Fools in Season 3, maybe she can keep doing that. Or maybe -- remembering Cordelia's role as Buffy's shadow -- her parents split up because of her father's tax issues and she ends up feeling she has to stay in town to help look after her mom? Or maybe put those two ideas together: Buffy's surprised to see that Cordelia's still in town, Cordelia tries as nonchalantly as possible to pretend she's still around for her own reasons and then we learn that she's putting her own ambitions on hold because she has to help her mom look for a new place to stay. And maybe that gives us a chance to explore some of the class issue stuff that Buffy as a show always skirts around but never really touches (how does Cordelia feel about now being in a position more like Xander than Buffy or Willow?).

I've complained about this before (more than once), but I think Cordelia being in Sunnydale is a great excuse to change how the gang react to finding out that Harmony is a vampire. I mean, say what you want about the show's approach to vampire lore, but it's pretty jarring how quickly everyone reacts to finding out that their former classmate died helping fight the Mayor and his minions in the same dismissive "haha, Harmony's always been an idiot" way; as if Harmony had 'decided' to become a vampire in a slightly embarrasing post-school life choice. It feels more in character for Buffy, Giles and Xander to argue that Harmony is dead and That Thing Is Not Her while Cordelia (just as in Disharmony over on Angel a season later) says "no, this is definitely Harmony, she's my friend". (Willow can still react in the same way as canon, sure; it's not out of character for her to dislike Harmony.) And I think it would help the maybe-demons-aren't-all-bad approach that the show obviously wants to go for if Harmony and Cordelia actually were friends this season. Like, Harmony herself still absolutely is evil and will hang around trying to feed on people heading home late from work in the dark -- but when she recognizes her intended victim is Cordelia she immediately drops the vamp face and they cheerfully walk back to Cordelia's place chatting about high school and how much they agree Xander sucks.

I think Cordelia would also help to push Giles out of his mid-life crisis a bit earlier than he manages in canon. Partly in the same way she does for Angel in his show. Sure, she can't fix everything going wrong in her own life but she can stop Giles sitting around feeling sorry for himself in his large house [much larger than some people's houses, she'll point out] and maybe push himself into finding an actual job more quickly. I think that would set up some tension with Anya later (when she gets a job at the shop Giles opens, a little ahead of canon) which I think would be nice to see. (I also think it would be fun to see Anya interact with Cordelia more generally, the way they did in The Wish when Anya was first pretending to be human. They are both pretty blunt speakers, after all, who both see themselves as being outside of the core Scooby Group, and it would be fun to see them commenting on things together. Or to imagine Cordelia's puzzled/disgusted reaction whenever Anya starts talking about how great Xander is and how much she enjoys having sex with him.)

Once we get to Season 5, I'd love to see how Dawn and Cordelia interact. As I think I've said before, I think they'd get on really well (and that this would annoy Buffy a lot). Dawn looks up to Cordelia as somebody a lot like her own sister before she became a Slayer (but infinitely superior because she isn't actually her sister), while Cordelia loves having somebody tell her how great she is and tells Dawn how much cooler she is than Buffy (and not entirely just to annoy Buffy). I think Cordelia might even replace Willow in some contexts (in particular, I think it parallels Cordelia instantly agreeing to drive Buffy home in Helpless if Dawn demands to stay at Cordelia's after Joyce's funeral and Cordelia instantly accepts even though we've already established she doesn't want anyone she knows seeing the reduced circumstances she's living in). Cordelia never interacts with Joyce in canon as much as Buffy's other shadow selves do, but she does seem to admire her [in their very limited exchanges]. Actually, maybe at some point in Season 4 Cordelia quits her retail job to go and work for Joyce at the art gallery? I mean, if Season 4 is (in part) about Buffy losing touch with her mother as she moves away from home, what better way to represent that than by having the character who represents Buffy's younger, pre-Slayer self start spending more time with her?

When Riley delivers his stupid ultimatum to Buffy in Into The Woods, Xander would still give his ridiculous speech to Buffy about how great Riley is and how this is all Buffy's fault, but Cordelia (who, it turns out, has views of her own on what to do when your boyfriend cheats on you and expects you to forgive him and take him back and indeed about whether you should take Xander Harris seriously about anything) would interupt and point out just how bizarre what Xander was saying was (and probably be the catalyst for him to realize that what he's saying applies far more to his own relationship with Anya). We cut to Riley waiting by his helicopter ready to go and pacify Central America for Christian missionaries [or whatever] when a female figure emerges from the woods ... Riley looks up, hopeful, but it's not Buffy. It's Cordelia ["what," she says, paraphrasing Gunn; "you were expecting somebody else?"]. Cordelia gets to give Riley a piece of her mind and tell him how great Buffy is [something she'd never tell Buffy, of course] and how badly Riley messed things up, and then she cheerfully waves him off as he leaves Sunnydale forever. [And, okay, yes, Buffy will still be upset about their relationship ending and she will still blame herself later when the topic comes up -- that's just who she is and how she approaches all of her romantic relationships. But at least we don't have to humor Joss Whedon's ego by pretending that she was right to do this and that her relationship with Riley was actually great all along.]

[eirenical]

New WiP, who dis?

OK, so I've been sitting on this plot bunny for a while, and it finally got big enough to start jumping on my head with this last rewatch. One thing I've noticed about how Jiao Liqiao and those around her speak of her heritage, it always seemed to me like she was not just descended from Nanyin royalty, but somehow raised as Nanyin royalty, either by a secret enclave of Nanyin royalists... or because she is significantly older than she looks. I went with option 2. ^_~

Enjoy? ^_^

*

The End

*

"Xuan-tangjie!  Xuan-tangjie!!  You can't go.  You can't.  If you go, we'll never see each other again!"

Princess Longxuan turned away from her mirror to catch the child running at full tilt towards her from the door.  She was forever getting away from her minders and none had been hired yet who could effectively corral her.  Since her mother had died, Princess Longxuan was the only one she would listen to.  Longxuan pulled the girl up into her lap, gently rocking her and dabbing at her tears.  "Qiao-er, my Qiao-er, you mustn't think that way.  Our two countries are to be allies.  There will be visits of state.  You will one day marry, perhaps to a noble of Great Xi and we might live together once more.  You never know what may happen in the future."

Longxuan sat holding her young cousin until well after dark.  When she eventually calmed, they talked over other things, gentler things: Qiao-er's new dress, her maid's newest son, born with hair white as snow, what she was learning from her tutors, anything to take her mind off of their upcoming separation.  When she finally fell into an overtired slumber, Longxuan returned her to her rooms and tucked her into bed.  By the next night, Princess Longxuan of Nanyin had become Consort Xuan of Great Xi… and Nanyin was no more.

Qiao-er had been more right in her fears than she knew.

They never saw one another again.

*

The Middle

*

"Xue-gong… I need more time.  I know my cousin.  Xuan-tangjie wouldn't have gone to her death without a plan in place for her child.  I know he's out there somewhere.  I Just have to find him!"

Xue-gong clenched his fist at his side.  His parents had served his mistress until an unexpected bandit raid ended their lives when he was ten years old.  They had never been warriors, never trained to fight.  They never stood a chance.  It had been just he and the princess ever since… until several years later when they'd caught wind of others. 

Servants who had escaped the palace before the army of Great Xi tore it down and slaughtered all inside.  Peasants, nobles even, who had fled across the border, carrying all they dared of their heritage with them, knowing that every word of Nanyin script might give them away.  They'd found many on their journeys, none who recognized the princess for who she was.  Though this frustrated her ambitions, Xue-gong could not help but be grateful.  After all, the more known it was that a princess of Nanyin had survived its destruction… the more likely it would be that she would not survive another day more.  He would not have that.  He would not have the princess' death on his conscience.  No matter how it might anger her to sleep in barns, to hide in rags, to force her tongue to the speech of Great Xi until her native accent was not even a memory.  It would all be worth it if she survived.

"Your Grace, I suggest patience.  To seek recklessly after the prince could be to reveal his presence to those who would do him harm… as well as your own."

The princess threw her hand in the air and waved him silent.  "Bah!  Patience.  Caution.  That's all you ever council.  You would have me hide among the filth until I'm old and grey-haired and too dull-witted to care about the destruction of my homeland."  She began to pace, chewing at the ragged edge of a fingernail that had split just the other day and caused a tantrum the likes of which Xue-gong had been sure would bring the authorities down on their heads.  "It's all about time, isn't it?  Revolutions take time.  Resources.  Allies.  I just need more of the first, so I'll have time to collect the rest."

She turned back to Xue-gong, tapping her fingernail against her chin as her smile widened.  "There have always been stories of people cultivating to immortality.  I don't need immortality, I just need a bit more time.  To hold my youth for a bit longer.  I will find what I need, if I have enough time.  And you will find a way to get me the time I need."

Xue-gong bowed deeply.  What was one more impossible task among the hundreds he'd already fulfilled?  If his princess wanted more time, then surely there would be a way to get it for her.  He just had to find it.

*

The Beginning

*

"You Grace.  You know I will serve you until the day that I die, and beyond that, if I can find a way, but you are playing with fire, and I must caution you—"

"Caution again, Xue-gong?  When we are so close to achieving everything we desire?  What do I tell our people if we back down now?  We have the Rama Vessel.  We have the ice shards.  Shan Gudao has an army ready to take down the demons who stole our land, and Zunshang if finally within my grasp!  Why would you possibly urge caution now?"

"Because Xue-po is gone and she served you well for over 60 years.  Because Zunshang may seem broken and defeated but the look in his eyes screams otherwise.  Because Shan Gudao is not your cousin's long-lost heir and you know that as well as I do.   Because so many of our people are counting on you to build them a new home.  Because you and I have all the time in the world if we wish it and this is not a race, especially if the cost of winning is to lose everything else."

The princess turned, a stubborn look on her face that Xue-gong well recognized.  But even as he watched, that face relaxed, the stubbornness faded.  She took a deep breath.  "As always, there is wisdom in what you say, Xue-gong.  We will think.  We will make plans.  We will bide our time once more if necessary.  We will need an exit strategy."

Xue-gong bowed deeply, relief flooding his veins.  "As you command, Princess."

*

Xue-gong stood in the shadows, safely dead in the eyes of their enemies, as was his mistress… and he hardly believed what he saw.  The Mother Bug… gone.  That could mean only one thing.  He turned to find his princess' eyes just as wide and horrified as his own.

"Li Xiangyi… Li Xiangyi…?  Li Xiangyi is…"  She whirled away, stalking off into the shadows, her voice rising further in disbelief with every step she took, with every bound of qinggong that carried her away from the site of Shan Gudao's defeat.  When they finally stopped, coming to ground near the newest safehouse they'd established, she grabbed Xue-Gong's lapels and shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth.  He let her.

"How can Li Xiangyi be Xuan-tangjie's lost heir?  How?  How is this possible?  He's so… he's so…!"  At this, she ran out of words and simply screamed, pushing Xue-gong away as she began to pace the courtyard.

He waited until she slowed, her breathing ragged, her limbs trembling, before approaching once more.  He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling until she turned and buried her face in his chest, wailing quietly into his robes.  "He stole Zunshang from me!"

Xue-gong held her, softly stroking her hair and down her back, soothing the tears that she seemed unable to stop.  When the storm finally eased, he took a step back, offering a handkerchief for the princess to dry her eyes.  As she did so, he tapped a finger under her chin… and smiled.

"Then won't it be incredibly satisfying for you to use him to steal Zunshang back… and achieve everything else you've ever wanted?"

The princess's mouth dropped open into a little 'o', her eyes widening at the playful tone of his voice.  She breathed out just one word: "How…?"

His smile widened.

"I'll show you."

*

[itsa-me-lily]

Here is the Master Playlist for MPS AU

Here is Simon & Thimble playlist

Note;

This takes place early on in your marriage to Simon. So way before Baker or anything. Also I actually googled something about COD for this, look at my growth

Content warning;

Mom feelings, just a lot of mom feelings, crying, poor humor from Simon right out the gate

Some days it'd be nice if terrorists could actually be useful and be a great reason to get out of meeting the in-laws. Just a small attack somewhere, an empty building being blown up, no one had to get hurt. And given the colorful threat you had told Simon, the terrorists might have been nicer. At least they wouldn't have him vacuuming the same damn rug for the third time. Though given how you had spent the last hour and a half simultaneously power cleaning and winding yourself up for a possible heart attack, it wasn't like you were just lounging around eat bonbons.

Simon could almost understand the anxiety. He had never had to worry about it before, but he could recall a frazzled phone call with Tommy the first time he was going to meet Beth's parents. That he had been worried about being deemed not good enough. Simon at least knew that deep down he wasn't really good enough for you. Too much blood and violence in him. But as long as you were around he'd at least pretend to be alright. And if being alright meant over vacuuming an area rug well, he was trying to be a good husband.

Being a good husband probably meant he wasn't suppose to find it a little entertaining how you froze and looked at your phone like it was a live bomb. But after having to deal with actual live bombs, the way your eyes got big at the ringing electronic rectangle was a little silly. He watched as you answered the phone with all the seriousness of a man going to the gallows, fingers tapping against the kitchen table like you needed to channel your energy elsewhere. You didn't say a whole lot, and after you hung up you looked at Simon as if the end of the world was coming.

"She's here a half hour early."

Oh. Yeah that would probably explain the expression on your face. You had lost thirty minutes of compulsive cleaning of your tiny home that was already pretty damn clean. And as if to harken the end of times the dryer unit that had been crammed into a utility closet loudly declared itself done, the towels you had deemed needed a wash now dry and fluffy.

You looked...stuck. As if you were trying to pull yourself in two opposite directions and the force of it meant you weren't moving anywhere. Simon recalled that you had explained it once, when he had caught you staring at five different projects one evening. That having so many choices stunned you because you couldn't decide what to do first. Seemed like you were stuck between your mother and some towels. Truly a rock and a hard place. But again, Simon was at least attempting to be a good husband. He'd deal with the hard place.

"Go get your mum. I'll handle the towels."

He watched as you nodded, the deep inhale you took becoming a deeper sigh as you seemed to finally deflate a little, coming back into yourself more.

"Right. Thanks uh...you can-"

"I'll hang out some new ones in the washroom and fold the rest. Get going so she isn't stuck at the gate for longer."

With that it seemed that you were finally free to actually head out the front door. Honestly it was one woman. How bad could it be?

Those were famous last words. He had finished up the towels and had been setting the kettle on the stove when you had returned with your mother. Simon could see the family resemblance. It wasn't in the body build, your mother was taller and a little slimmer, but you both had the same arch to your eyebrows, the same round cheeks, and the same personality. It only took one look at Simon for it to start.

"What's with the face mask?"

Oh god. Fuck, if the earth could split in two and swallow you it would have been a god send. Yes you could recognize that maybe explaining the situation, you know the whole you were now married thing, before she had decided to come visit you would have for the best. But that would have meant having an entire conversation with your mother about why you had even signed up for the stupid program in the first place, why you didn't think it was going to amount to anything anyways, and why you went through with it. Which honestly you could answer the first two parts of that, you could. It was the last part that kind of left you spinning your wheels, and you didn't really care to explore it on a deeper level.

So here you were, in your front hall/kitchen/living room area with your mother questioning your technically husband, about why he was wearing a face mask that covered half his face. This was fine. Before Simon could respond you were stepping in, really unsure what was going to come out of Simon's mouth.

"Mom this is Simon. He um-He's not feeling a hundred percent and he didn't want to get you sick."

You could lie better than that. You knew you could lie better than that. You knew your mother knew you could lie better than that. Thankfully Simon didn't throw you under the bus and instead went with it, clearing his throat and responding in what you think was him trying for a sick voice.

"Would hate for ya to catch what I got ma'am."

You could tell your mom didn't believe any of it, but she didn't argue with it. Instead she let you show her around the house, humming in approval of how tidy it was. You were happy to note that Simon had chose to hang up the nicer towels in the wash. An hour and a half of anxiety cleaning paid off. It wasn't until you were showing her the bedroom that you mom closed the door behind her, turning to fix you with the stare, arms crossed over her chest and everything.

"Alright cut the bullshit. What is going on here?"

Oh the jig was up. You both knew it, but just like the time when you were ten and you had decided to give yourself a truly terrible haircut, you tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Mom, I don't know what you're-"

"Since when are you Mrs. Riley?"

Fuuuuuck. Busted by the gate guards and they didn't even know it. Clearing your throat you tried so hard not to scratch the back of your neck or fiddle with your hair, or do any of the other tells your mother had watched you develop. It was hard, so was trying to think of another lie to get yourself out of the situation. You would have made a terrible spy.

"So...I kind of got married?"

"What?"

What were you supposed to do when you were faced with the mom stare. It was practically patented to make you spill your guts. And so it all came stumbling out. How your college best friend had told you about this matchmaking program she wanted to try but was too nervous too. How you decided you'd sign up with her for moral support because honestly you didn't expect to be anyone's cup of tea, it'd be something to laugh over later. And then how apparently you were someone's cup. You chalked up agreeing to benefits, and weren't going to touch any other reasons.

By the time you were done you had seated yourself at the end of the bed, hands motioning into the air like it would further explain yourself. It did not if you were to judge by the unimpressed look on your mother's face.

"I swear to god I raised you with more common sense than this."

"Mom-"

"If Dovey were to throw herself off a bridge would you?"

"That's not fair-"

"Isn't it? Why would you sign up for this just because she doesn't have-"

"Don't fucking even Mom."

You didn't mean to curse at your mother, you really didn't but there were things you weren't okay with your mom just simply assuming. Dovey was one of them.

"You've met her parents mom, they are that bad. She's my best friend and she was there when I got diagnosed, so yeah I'm going to be there for her in this stupid idea."

It seemed your mother hadn't expected you to curse or be as passionate as you were. She looked a little shocked, then a little hurt before she sighed, shoulders slumping a little as she came to sit next to you. You lowered yourself back to the bed, unaware that you had even stood up to shout at her.

You both sat there in silence for a moment, as if trying to find the right word to say. Sure the two of you had your spats over the years, but it was always just the two of you, and eventually you always found a way back to center with each other. It was just a stumbling process sometimes. You were both awkward like that.

"I know Dovey is important to you-"

"Mom-"

"But, you're my baby, and you're important to me. And this idea of you marrying a stranger? Honey that's terrifying. Especially since you didn't even tell me you were doing this."

She was right, and you knew she was right. You had tried to talk Dovey out of it before, with a laundry list of ways it could all go wrong. Hell it could still go terribly wrong for you, you had only known Simon for a few months. You felt your eyes burn a little, a wave of sudden guilt washing over you for scaring your mom.

"I know...and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I don't know what I'm doing...And I don't want to bother you with my stuff..."

"Baby. I signed up for a lifetime of being bothered by your stuff the second I knew I was having you."

You loved your mom so much, and a part of you had been terrified that she'd be disappointed in what you had done with your life. That she'd realize she had done the whole single mother thing for a waste.

You couldn't help the sniffle, you really couldn't. Thankfully your mother didn't say anything, instead pulling you into a hug where you could wrap your arms around her and just hold on. The two of you sat like that for a while, both of you ignoring sniffles and some stray tears. It was so nice to be held like this again. Like nothing bad could get you because you were with your mom. After a while though she pulled back, wiping at her face while you did the same with your own.

"He doesn't hurt you or anything right?"

It took you a moment to figure out who she was talking about.

"Simon? No, no he doesn't."

"And he doesn't force you to.."

Explaining your lack of sex life to your mother was probably about as awkward as your mother trying to give you the sex talk when you were twelve but you did manage to get through it. At least your mom seemed to approve of the separate bed.

"And you're sure he's not a serial killer with the whole..."

She motioned to her face, indicating Simon's face mask thing. The idea made you laugh. Not because you didn't think Simon was a serial killer, jury was still out on that one. But because the two of you had pretty much had the same train of thought.

"Pretty sure he's not. At least I don't think so."

"Well call me if you find a body in the freezer."

"We'd need a freezer big enough first."

Your mom made a face at that, and you both chuckled. The house was tiny, but so far it was shaping up to be an okay home. With a soft look on her face she brushed her thumb against your cheek.

"But really, don't hesitate to call me if something happens okay? I love you."

You felt your chest hurt with how much love you felt in that moment, throat getting choked up all over again.

"I love you too Mom."

Simon stood outside the bedroom door, not meaning to eavesdrop but well...the house was only so big. Plus when he heard you shout it had made some part of his brain light up with the urge to check if you were alright. From the sounds of it, you were at least. So for now he'd let you two have your moment.

He could wait to ask what kind of tea your mum wanted.

Edit;

I love my mom so much, so yes writing this did make me cry a little. Also in my head Thimble's mom has been dubbed Mama Pincushion.