#the EXPRESSIONS the BLOOD the little HEARTS I carved into his skin god he’s perfect

[whump-queen]

isn’t he just adorable 🥰

late night doodle

tw: pet whump adjacent, demon whumper, intimate whumper, masochistic whumpee, whumpee is very attached to whumper, blood, bruises, cuts

@whump-queen really likes my new blorbo Deo, so i drew them holding him after hurting the little guy

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 1

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: panic, trauma, blood, physical violence such as punch!ng, de@th of both parents + witnessing it + footage, Dojin has influence over law enforcement and whatnot, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mentions of wounds, jealous Jungkook, autopsy lap, mentions of bodies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K

a/n: okay Angels, here's the first chapter *yeeey*! It's just a little warm-up to the story. Hope you enjoy ☺️ a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • masterlist • 02

The warmth of the September sun wraps around you like a tender embrace as you sit on the wide field of grass of the campus park with your closest friends. The day is nothing short of perfect, yet their conversation drifts past you, lost in the gentle chorus of birdsong from the tall and old trees above. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, letting the sun’s rays and the dappled shadows of leaves play across your flushed skin. Somewhere in the distance, church bells toll at lunch hour, their echo both a call to mess and a cue of time’s steady march. It’s a peaceful moment, one that you savour with quiet reverence, knowing all too well that such moments are fleeting.

Taehyung rests his heavy head in your lap, his hair soft beneath your fingers as you play with his curls all while he relaxes before your next class. You remember the days when you begged him not to ruin his hair with dye, and back then, he didn’t listen. But now, he leaves it natural, save for the perm that enhances the curls you adore so much. It’s a small victory, even though this victory didn’t arise from you, but won through his newfound obsession with colour analysis,  face shapes and whatnot which you’re thankful for nonetheless. 

But as your fingers weave through his hair, your mind drifts back, step by reluctant step, to a night you’d rather forget—a night with the sight of Taehyung’s hair dyed an electric blue. You remember standing at the door of his family’s home, drenched in the blood of your parents, clutching the CCTV footage your father had obsessively recorded of your house’s every room. You never understood his need for those cameras, but that night, you were as grateful as you were traumatised.

Taehyung had opened the door after you rang their door bell repeatedly like a madman, his freshly dyed hair framing a face shocked to the core as he took in your pale, frightened expression and the dried blood covering you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he yanked you inside behind him by the front of your shirt, quickly glancing around to see if any neighbours were watching, and immediately shut the door behind you as if trying to shut out the nightmare you had brought with you.

“Oh my God, ___! What the fuck happened to you?” he asked, his hands hovering above your shoulders, his eyes searching your body for injuries. 

Fresh tears left your eyes then, carving paths through the blood on your cheeks. You didn’t recognise your voice, feeling utterly alienated by its rawness as you stuttered out, “Auntie…Uncle…”

“MUM! DAD!” Taehyung belted without a second guess, he had always understood you, even when words failed.

He dragged you into the living room where his parents froze at the sight of you, the shock in their eyes mirroring the horror in your own fragile heart.

“What happened? ___, where are your parents?” your aunt inquired, her voice trembling before she even knew what happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, couldn’t force the words past the lump clogging your throat. How could you tell her what had happened not only to her sister but your whole family?

Instead, you forced your hand up, clutching the CCTV footage with all your strength, terrified it might disappear. It took every ounce of your willpower to pry open your cold fingers and offer the device to them.

On high alert, your uncle and aunt stepped closer. Your aunt, unable to tear her eyes from your dilated vibrating pupils, remained frozen by your side. With concern etched across his face, your uncle gently took the device from your trembling hand, retrieved his laptop, and plugged the footage in at the coffee table, all the while your aunt stayed close, her gaze never leaving you.

“Honey, should we get you cleaned up?” your aunt bid you softly, attempting but stopping just after she moved to caress your hair as she always did, sensing you were too fragile to be touched.

You shook your head, only pointing to the laptop for her to just watch. She turned just in time to see the front door of your house being kicked in on the screen, in another frame, your father shoving you into a closet in a desperate attempt to protect you.

Slowly, you all gathered around the laptop as if hypnotised by it’s screen, the room falling silent as the footage played, each of you transfixed by the horror before your eyes. The door to your parents’ bedroom burst open on the screen, and as Dojin with his bodyguards began their brutal assault, your uncle’s grave voice broke through the spell, “Taehyung, take ___ upstairs and clean her up.”

“But, Dad…”

“Now!” he boomed, and with difficulty to get his eyes off the screen, Taehyung led you away from the gruesome repeat of a nightmare.

In the bathroom, he cleaned you with a soft cloth, washing the blood from your hair over the sink as best as he could, all while moving quickly. After, he brought you a fresh  set of his clothes to change into, meanwhile you sat motionless on the closed toilet seat, staring ahead like a broken and lost doll.

When you finally emerged, clean and dressed, the house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of your aunt’s anguished sobs echoing from downstairs. Her cries tore at your heart, ripping open the fresh wound that was your new reality.

You had become an orphan in the blink of an eye. Dojin had taken your parents from you, the people who had meant everything to you, without a moment’s warning or a care in the world.

You sat down at the top of the stairs, where Taehyung held you as you silently wept, his gaze fixed on the distant flickering of the laptop screen. From where you sat, the details were blurred, but you could still make out the terrible truth captured by the CCTV cameras.

Soon after they finished watching the recording, you all drove to your house. You couldn’t quite grasp why; they had seen the footage to the end and knew there was no one left to save. You remember sitting in the backseat with Taehyung, watching the houses you passed, each one brimming with life and laughter, happy families enjoying their evening together. All the while, your world had come to a standstill, shattered into pieces like fragile glass, leaving everything around you feeling devastatingly meaningless.

Throughout the drive, your uncle tried calling the police. The first time he reached an officer, the line abruptly disconnected as soon as he mentioned your parents’ names.

“He just hung up.” Your uncle frowned, glaring angrily at the display on the centre console.

“Maybe the signal was lost. Try again,” your aunt reasoned quietly, trying to hold on to hope, though her voice had already faded into a broken whisper. But as the subsequent calls went unanswered or were immediately declined, it became painfully clear that the mayor’s influence reached far and wide, and with it, any hope of retribution was snuffed out.

When you arrived, your house was already burning down in hot raging flames, the crackling drowning out your inner screams. The police present dismissed you once more, leaving you more powerless and desperate than you ever felt.

Weeks passed as you lived with your relatives. Taehyung gave up his bed for you, sleeping on an inflatable mattress nearby. You recall fragments of the funeral, the strain of attending school while keeping your grades intact, and the mask you wore for the public as you fought against the official statement that your parents had perished in a fire caused by a forgotten stove. But after weeks of crying, mourning, and desperately seeking justice—whether through the authorities or the media—all your efforts proved futile.

One night, unable to bear the helplessness any longer, you lay awake until the weight of your anger and agony drove you to action. You dressed in silence and ventured into the city, determined to find someone who could help. The despair and fury within you pushed you toward desperate measures, and you knew then that justice would have to be taken into your own hands to rid the city of its devil.

It took seven nights before you stumbled upon an underground fighting club, where Kim Seokjin, the owner and Godfather, took an immediate interest in you. To your surprise, he listened to your story and agreed with your perspective, though he refused to let you fight alongside what he disdainfully called “those Neanderthals.” Instead, he trained you in private. It was during your first session, when you were obviously hurt for the first time in your life, that you discovered a rare condition you had inherited—one that left you unable to feel pain.

NTRK1, a mutation in your genes that prevents the development of certain nerve cells. You learned that your mother shared this mutation, explaining her stoicism on that fateful night, and that your father had been a carrier of the same mutation.

It was truly absurd how this condition swiftly elevated your skills, almost as if it were in agreement with your darker side and wanting to pull you to your full potential. You learned with remarkable speed and efficiency, especially how to assess the severity of your injuries without the sensation of pain as a guide.

Nearly two years later, Taehyung uncovered your secret as he caught you throwing up blood in the toilette after you arrived home early in the morning from training when the sun hasn’t even risen just yet. The confrontation was intense, but he eventually accepted your decision after days of radio silence and evil side-eyes, and supported you as best as he could, even if it meant simply covering for you in front of his parents or hiding your bruises with makeup where you couldn’t reach them. 

When you started medical school, you were relieved that Seokjin allowed you to leave with an arsenal of weapons of your choice, though you knew all too well that his acceptance came with a debt attached.

The vibration of Taehyung's laughter pulls you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present, where the sounds of the world around you slowly come back into focus. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant tolling of church bells, and the low hum of conversations among other students fill your consciousness once more. You open your eyes, blinking against the dappled sunlight that filters through the trees above, and glance down at Taehyung. 

His laughter is infectious, his face half-hidden behind one hand as if trying to contain his mirth, but failing miserably. His other hand clutches his stomach, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the corners crinkle with joy, the lashes fluttering as his laughter bubbles over like a tsunami hitting the shore. His lips, stretched wide in a broad grin, reveal the perfect rows of his white teeth, something you both inherited from your mothers, and the sound that escapes him is rich and full-bodied, resonating deep in his chest, a melody that never seems to tire. It’s the kind of laughter that makes you want to join in, regardless of whether you know the joke.

You tear your gaze away from him and look up, taking in the scene around you. Your friends are gathered in a loose circle on the grass, all high-achieving students like yourself, brought together by your shared aspirations and ambitions. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ they say, and on the surface, it might appear true. But only Taehyung knows what truly lies beneath your carefully constructed exterior, the only legacy of your happy childhood. 

Like you, Taehyung was a remarkable student in high school, his ambition clear as he set his sights on a career in the medical field as well. In those early semesters of med school, his passion for perfection became his guiding force, leading him to specialise in plastic surgery—a choice that suits him as seamlessly as a lid fits its pot. Taehyung embodies beauty, his eye for aesthetics almost uncanny, each detail observed with an artist's precision. His finesse in sculpting is flawless, and the way he’s able to seamless stitch skin up—a skill he’s honed on you over the years, using you as his more or less willing test subject after all the injuries you endured—stands as a testament to his natural talent and the field he’s chosen, one where art and science blend in perfect harmony.

Yoongi is sprawled out lazily on the grass to the left of you both, one arm bent behind his head as he taps away on his phone with the other. His expression is indifferent, almost bored, as if the conversation around him holds no interest. But you know better. Yoongi is always listening, always aware. His sharp, calculating mind misses nothing, a quality that makes him perfect for the path he’s chosen—neurosurgery. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, a subtle superiority that others might find off-putting, but which you have come to admire. His brilliance is undeniable, his genius almost intimidating, and in many ways, you’ve taken a leaf out of his book, learning to project the same calm authority when needed. 

Next to him sits Hoseok, or Hope as everyone of the friend group calls him. He’s also engrossed in Yoongi’s phone, his face full of concentration as if the device was his or holds the secrets to the universe. Hope is destined to be a heart surgeon, a choice that fits him as well perfectly. He once told you that he wanted to mend broken hearts, to give hope and love to those who needed it most. It’s a noble goal, and one that suits his gentle, empathetic nature. Yet, at this moment, he’s as distant as Yoongi, the two of them forming a quiet duo on the edge of the group, absorbed in their own worlds.

Jennie sits directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you with an expectant expression. She’s a vision of meticulous care, her skin glowing under layers of sunscreen, her large sun hat casting a protective shadow over her beautiful, doll-like face. Jennie is training to be a dermatologist, and it shows. Her otherworldly radiance aligns perfectly with her chosen field, as does her keen eye for aesthetics and detail. She’s the kind of person who never steps into the sun without a shield, and you can spot others like her scattered across the field, equally guarded against the elements. It’s amusing, really, how easily you can identify someone’s future specialty with just a glance.

And then there’s Jeon Jungkook, the quietest of the group but perhaps the most intriguing. He’s sitting not far from Jennie and on your right, his dark hair parted neatly in the middle, the short strands catching the sunlight and shining with a healthy sheen. His eyes, large and expressive, are fixed on you with an intensity that never fails to catch you off guard. He rarely speaks, yet there’s a quiet strength in his presence, a steadfastness that draws you in. 

Like you, he’s pursuing a career in trauma paediatric surgery, a demanding path that you’ve shared since the beginning of your studies. Though you don’t talk much, there’s an unspoken understanding between you as the only two students specialising in this extremely rare field, a bond forged through countless hours in the same classes, the same labs, and the same late-night study sessions. His gaze remains locked on yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The eye contact is so intense it leaves you a little breathless, a little unsettled, his dark eyes holding yours with a quiet question you can’t quite decipher as he cocks his head to the side. He’s toying with his teeth, his lower lip caught between them as if he’s waiting for something—for you to say something, to answer a question you didn’t hear.

“Huh?” you ask, glancing around the group, feeling a little disoriented. Jennie’s raised eyebrow brings you fully back to the moment.

“I asked if you and Tae are dating or what? You live together, and now this,” Jennie says, gesturing to where Taehyung is still snuggled against your thigh, his laughter finally subsiding into quiet giggles as your fingers still absentmindedly play with his hair.

You snort, amused by the absurdity of the question. Before you can answer, Taehyung starts laughing again, the sound bubbling up like a toy doll—the kind that never seems to run out of laughter, perhaps something like a Laughing Elmo, the comparison would definitely fit perfectly. The ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you can’t help but join in, your laughter mixing with his in a joyful belting that rings through the air.

When the laughter finally dies down, you wipe the tears from your eyes, still grinning as you look back at Jennie and Jungkook. Jennie’s expression is a mix of irritation and curiosity, a reaction that doesn’t surprise you. She’s never hidden her infatuation with Taehyung, a sentiment she’s held since your freshman year. But what does surprise you is the similar look on Jungkook’s face—something close to annoyance that gives you pause. You clear your throat awkwardly, trying to stifle the last remnants of giggles that threaten to escape. 

“We’re cousins, Jen,” you say, the words slipping out between breaths as you attempt to regain your composure.

The surprise on Jennie’s face is immediate, her mouth dropping open slightly, while Jungkook’s expression softens into one of mild disbelief. Yoongi, who’s been silent all this time, glances your way with a knowing smirk, his eyes glittering with amusement. Hoseok, Taehyung, and you can’t help but start laughing again, the absurdity of the situation too much to keep in.

“Oh…” is all Jennie manages to say, a flush of pink rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, still smiling as you reply, “No one really does. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours once more, a subtle smile playing on his lips, his eyes shining with something that looks like relief. You don’t quite understand why the relief is so evident in his gaze, but it has a calming effect on you as well. You send him a small smile in return, a silent exchange that’s broken only when Yoongi groans and begins to rise from the grass, his movements slow and lethargic, like an old man who has trouble moving with age.

“We’ve got class, kids. Get up,” Yoongi announces, his voice dry as he stretches, his joints cracking loudly in the otherwise quiet air.

Reluctantly, you all begin to gather your belongings. Jennie links her arm through yours as you stand, a gesture that’s as familiar as it is comforting. Taehyung trails behind her, still chuckling softly to himself, while Jungkook falls into step beside him, slightly to your side. It’s something you’ve noticed before—Jungkook always seems to gravitate toward you when the group is together, as if drawn by some invisible force. You’ve dismissed it as a byproduct of your shared major, nothing more than a coincidence of proximity. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to it, something unspoken that lingers in the spaces between you.

Yoongi and Hoseok lead the way, Hope talking animatedly as always, his hands gesturing in the air as he makes a point. Everyone instinctively makes space for Yoongi as he walks, his presence commanding a quiet respect that few others can match. The group moves as one, a well-practised rhythm that speaks of years spent together, each of you falling into your familiar roles as you head toward the autopsy lab.

The path is well-trodden, the grass worn down by the passage of countless students over the years. The midday sun sits high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the campus, the air thick with the full warmth of the day. Despite her sunscreen and wide-brimmed hat, Jennie still shields her face with her free hand. You walk in silence for the most part, the only sounds the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chatter of other groups making their way to their respective classes as well.

As you approach the lab, the building standing proud in its massive built, its stone facade weathered by time, ivy creeping up the walls in a silent conquest. The heavy wooden doors stand open, the cool air inside beckoning after the warmth of your lunch break as you step inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and old books hitting you immediately, a smell that’s become synonymous with your studies. 

The group disperses slightly as you each head to your lockers, retrieving the necessary equipment for the class. Jennie is still linked to your arm, her earlier embarrassment forgotten as she chatters away. Taehyung is beside her, humming to himself as he pulls on his lab coat, his hair a dishevelled mess from where you’ve been playing with it.

Jungkook, as always, lingers close by, his presence natural, almost indispensable. His movements are precise, each action deliberate as he retrieves his lab coat and other small materials, methodically preparing for the class ahead. There’s an ease to the way he handles everything, a confidence that doesn’t leave you room to breathe steady. Even in these seemingly mundane moments, he exhibits a meticulousness that reflects his commitment to mastering the complexities of the field, and it’s this very dedication, this quiet intensity, that first drew you to him.

You’ve always admired his unwavering determination that reflects your own, the way he approaches each task with such care, precision and intelligence. It’s no wonder that over time, those feelings of admiration began to multiply like tumour cells, developing into a quiet crush that you’ve never quite managed to shake. His character, his relentless pursuit of excellence, and that calm, assured demeanour—these are the things that have captivated you, leaving you secretly drawn to him in ways you’ve yet to fully understand. Even now, as his gaze occasionally drifts in your direction, though he says nothing, there’s a desire for him you can’t ignore, a magnetic pull that keeps your attention fixed on him, even as you all prepare for the class ahead.

You exchange a few words with Yoongi and Hoseok, the latter of whom is still engrossed in whatever conversation he’s been having with Yoongi, though it’s clear Yoongi’s mind is already in the lab, his focus sharpening as the thrill to dissect draws near. The energy in the room shifts as everyone dons their lab coats, seriousness descending as you prepare for the new semester.

You step into the autopsy lab with your friends and two other students whose names escaped you long ago, the cold, sterile air immediately wrapping around you like an welcome embrace you longed for all summer break as your steps squeak on the tiled and freshly cleaned floor. The harsh fluorescent lights bathe the room in its pale glow, illuminating the gleaming steel of the dissection tools and tables that stand waiting, four in total, each an empty stage for the work that will soon begin. Mr. Choi stands by one of the tables, looking as though he could be mistaken for a cadaver himself, his skin drawn and pallid, eyes sunken into deep sockets. His expression is as lifeless as the bodies soon to be laid out before you.

"Good morning, everyone," he greets, his voice a flat monotone that does little to lift the sombre atmosphere as you and the others line up instinctively, muscle memory guiding you to your usual places from previous semesters. Without a word, he tosses a small tub of Vicks VapoRub toward Yoongi, who catches it with effortless accuracy, not even glancing up from his phone. 

As Mr. Choi begins his customary review of the last semester, recapping the techniques and knowledge you’ve all supposedly mastered, the tub of ointment makes its way down the line. One by one, each student takes a small amount, dabbing it beneath their noses—or in Taehyung’s case, smearing it more liberally into his nostrils—to block out the inevitable stench of decay and death that permeates these walls. When it reaches you, you pass it straight to Jungkook, not bothering to use any yourself. Jungkook's tattooed hand hovers in place when he realises you’ve skipped it, his brow arching in that familiar, questioning way.

“You sure?” His voice is low, soft, the kind of voice that always makes your pulse quicken slightly. He holds the tub out to you, lingering a moment longer than necessary as he waits for your response.

You shake your head, declining the offer with a small, dismissive gesture. “’S fine, thanks,” you murmur. The smell of death has never bothered you—not since the night you were bathed in your parents' blood, not since Seokjin showed you what true decay smells like and what the sound of an infinite number of flies sound like. In some twisted way, the scent is almost comforting now, a reminder of your secret purpose.

Jungkook’s eyes search yours briefly, but he doesn’t press further. “Okay,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he takes a small amount of the ointment and rubs it along his perfect Cupid’s bow, the menthol sheen catching the light momentarily before he caps the tub and passes it along to Ben.

“This semester, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Choi resumes, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of enthusiasm—or perhaps it’s just your imagination, “we’re going to spice things up a little. You’ll be working in pairs—well, I’ll be assigning the pairs—and together, you’ll dissect two of our friends here over the course of the semester. Each pair will be responsible for writing a detailed report on both dissections, and these reports will determine your final grade for the class.”

The room erupts into a low murmur of excitement, with a few claps and cheers punctuating the otherwise grim mood. You join in half-heartedly, your mind already racing ahead, wondering who you’ll be paired with. Ideally, you’d be matched with Taehyung, Yoongi, or Jungkook—people whose work ethics and routines align with yours, whose presence wouldn’t be a distraction. But as the names are called, you can feel your anticipation teetering on the edge of anxiety.

Mr. Choi pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his lab coat, squinting at the list of names. “First pair: Ben and John.”

One of the unfamiliar students immediately speaks up, correcting in a flat tone, “My name’s Juan, sir.”

There’s a smattering of laughter around the room, and you feel Taehyung lean in toward you, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Same same but different.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly beside you, and you have to elbow both of them, suppressing your own giggles like the hypocrite you are. The room settles down as Mr. Choi offers a terse apology, the faintest hint of embarrassment colouring his otherwise lifeless expression.

“Next pair,” Mr. Choi continues, “I would call this one mind and heart.” He chuckles at his own joke, though the room remains silent. “Yoongi and Hoseok.”

The two men exchange a high five, their smiles wide as they pull each other into a brief hug, their deep friendship between them clear in their mutual excitement. You can’t help but smile at the sight—there’s something infectious about their excitement, something that makes the dark work ahead seem like a walk on rainbows. 

Mr. Choi scans his list again. “Next pair, our future beauty doctors: Jennie and Taehyung.”

Your eyes shift to Taehyung and Jennie as they turn to each other, their faces lighting up with matching smiles that seem to glow with a warmth that could almost outshine the harsh overhead lights. It’s a look that makes you realise something you hadn’t noticed before—an attraction Taehyung seems to have for Jennie that you’ve been oblivious to until now. You silently root for them, hoping this shared project might be the catalyst for something more.

And then it hits you, like a slow dawn creeping over the horizon. The only ones left are you and Jungkook. The realisation wipes the smile from your face, leaving you with an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation twisting in your gut.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Mr. Choi announces, “our future superheroes who will someday save all the children: ___ and Jungkook.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face Jungkook, who’s already looking at you with a grin so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes. His ears, you notice, have turned a vibrant shade of red, a sure sign that he’s just as affected by the pairing as you are. That gleam of triumph in his eyes, the kind that says he’s more than pleased with this outcome, makes your own smile waver. You force yourself to reciprocate, though you’re acutely aware of how hard it’s going to be to stay focused on your work with him so close, day after day. Something you previously ignored in its fullest. There’s something between you, something unspoken but oh so real, an longing that you can’t afford to let bloom. Not when you know that no sane person would ever truly love a killer, someone who hides a part of themselves so dark and twisted that full honesty is an impossibility.

Mr. Choi continues, oblivious to the turmoil beneath your composed exterior. “You’re free to use the lab whenever you need to. The first autopsy and report must be completed and handed in within six weeks.” He strides over to the cadaver cooler and, with a theatrical flourish, pulls open two of the stainless steel doors. The sound of the vacuum seal breaking echoes through the room, and two bodies slide out on their own, propelled by the sudden rush of air.

Glancing around at the faces of his students—some pale with nerves, others flushed with excitement—a ghost of a smile playing on Mr. Choi’s lips as he quips, “May the odds be ever in your favour.”

prologue • masterlist • 02

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[sorceresssundries]

Oh, What A Circus!

Pairing: Gale x gn Tav - SFW

Word Count: 900

Summary: The spawn of the God of murder and their Wizard boyfriend have a day out at the circus!

A/N: I've been writing a lot of smut/romance/angst and wanted to try my hand at something a little more light-hearted.

I hope you enjoy it!

“You look ridiculous.” Gale muttered with his arms folded.

Tav stood in front of the unimpressed wizard, towering above him at almost seven feet of rippling muscle, with eyes as red as bloodstone and tattoos that looked like carved, ancient curses. They were a trained, hulking barbarian whose blood-drenched origin had, until recently, been lost to tampered memory. They were the flesh of Bhaal himself, spawn of the God of Murder, flayer of innocents, and inspirer of savagery. Condemned to forever be whipped and tormented by the whispered urges that pulsed through their blood and haunted their dreams.

They glared at Gale from beneath their freshly applied clown face paint and waved their candyfloss at him. 

“You look ridiculous!” Tav snapped back. “We’re at a circus and you look like someone has pissed in your porridge.”

Their tiff was punctuated by squeals and laughter of children, and Karlach, revelling in the nearby circus games. Even Astarion seemed to be enjoying himself, hurling particularly cutting insults at a mime. It was hard to tell whether the mime was exceptionally talented at their craft or if Astarion had actually driven them into a silent breakdown.

Tav turned towards the merchant with whom Gale had been conversing. The small mephit, previously engaged in lighthearted banter, was now cowering in the shadow of the clown-faced elf.

“You buying something?” Tav asked Gale with a mouth full of candyfloss.

“Well!” Gale raised his finger and Tav mentally prepared themselves for an unnecessarily long explanation “This fine fellow here”, he gestured towards the now trembling mephit, “And his delightful wife are exceptionally talented artists and dealers of the finest, bespoke sculptures in all Faerûn! Isn’t that right, my friend?”

“Erm, yes absolutely.” replied the mephit, still not taking their eyes off Tav, “I was just explaining to your….”

“Boyfriend.” cut in Tav.

“Oh…right…” The mephit’s eyes flicked between the two adventurers, as though the pairing of the wizard and the barbarian was completely ridiculous. The tiny mephit looked over to his huge, hulking, earth elemental of a wife in disbelief. “For a reasonable fee, we can provide you with a completely bespoke creation in whomever's likeness you desire!”

“I was thinking…” Said Gale, who thought a bit too much for Tav sometimes, “We have enough coin to make a considered purchase, perhaps it would be a kind gesture to gift a statue to our brave, vampiric friend?” 

Tav glanced over to Astarion who was now in hysterics at the mime having to be comforted by some of the other circus performers.

“Right...”

“He has, after all, been through a tremendous amount of suffering, and throughout his decades of torture and islolation, has forgotten what he looks like.” Gale looked genuinely downcast at the thought of his friend’s ongoing trauma. “How poetic would it be, to gift him with a statue of himself. As pale and marbled as his own alabaster skin - complete with a face he will be able to gaze upon in place of the cruel void of an empty mirror.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Said Tav who had only been half listening. “I love poetry.”

“Excellent!” Gale clapped his hands together, evidently proud of himself for his empathetic use of wisdom “I’ll leave the coin with you, you are after all, a much more skilled negotiator than I!” He raised himself on his tiptoes and quickly pecked a kiss on the tip of Tav’s clown-red nose, before heading in the direction of an unimpressed looking Djinn. 

Tav waited until he was out of earshot before turning back to the merchant. “So, you’ll make me a statue.. Of whatever I want?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect.” Grinned Tav, in what they hoped was a friendly expression. In reality, their stretched, clown-painted smile was more intimidating than if they had offered their most murderous scowl. As such, they unintentionally managed to get a hefty discount and priority delivery as part of the deal. 

Tav handed over the coin, finished their candyfloss, and went over to join in the mime-baiting with Astarion. They were having an excellent day.

“TAV!” Gale’s voice was sharp with anger as it bounced off the walls of their quarters in the Elfsong Tavern.

“Yep!” said Tav, bounding over to where he was standing, where a delivery had just arrived.

“What in the hells is this?” Gale hissed.

“Oh great! It's here! They weren’t kidding when they said it would be quick” Tav’s eyes were wide with artistic appreciation. The statue was beautiful, crafted with such delicate intricacy it looked as though it was draped from silk rather than carved from rock. Tav could hardly believe that something sculpted from the unforgiving, stubborn hardness of marble could appear so soft. Looking at it, glowing in the gentle candlelight, they felt they could finally understand the deep, personal connection and enrichment of artistic skill and mortal interpretation. 

“Why is it of me?!”

“Oh, right.” Tav had forgotten they had completely ignored Gale's original plan. “Erm, I guess there must have been a mix-up” 

“Why is it nude?!!”

Tav grinned at him, delighting in the furious way his brow furrowed and lines of his face deepened. 

“All the most famous statues are, right?” Tav sighed in adoration as they looked back at the statue. “I like it.”

“Is that an accurate representation of the wizard’s penis?” Asked Lae’zel who had quietly appeared between them and made Gale jump. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely” Tav said with a grin, taking in Lae’zel’s impressed expression. “I love the circus.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

what was it like the first time Mc met Skull in the portal Au?

Is it story snippet time? I think it’s story snippet time.

The vent cover was loose.

You’d noticed, as soon as you’d rounded the corner. It didn’t matter that the facility was dark, quiet, deep in one of its night cycles... in the faint illumination of the safety screens and directional arrows left on, you picked up the silhouette of the cover. You were so familiar with the area of the lab around the room you slept in that you probably would’ve seen it anyway... but what immediately made all your attention snap to it was the fact that the glint of sleek metal in the darkness was, in fact, misaligned.

... Sans wanted everything neat. Sans wanted everything right. Red liked it that way, too, but Sans seemed to have the final say. And it showed- the entire facility was neat, angled, symmetrical and impossibly clean. It was so regimented and unnatural that you felt like an outlier yourself; a strange, curved, imperfect biological creature in a space that seemed to bleed robotic perfection from every corner.

... So... something about this one plating... this one vent cover, at a bad angle, tilted just against the grain...

... You were hyperfocused.

You moved over to it, bare feet cat-silent on the warm white floor, crouching down. You weren’t supposed to be out of your room at night, Sans didn’t like you wandering around when he was unaware, powered down for system maintenance and repairs... your fingers sealed around the loosened ends of the vent cover, and with the gentlest of tugs the whole thing came off, leaving a gaping hole in the wall large enough for you to crawl into. 

...

It was like you had a fog, separating one half of your mind from the other. Every day in this strange lab was confusing- and when you tried to ask yourself normal questions, like “where am I?” or “how did I get here?” or “why do I have no memories before this place?” your brain supplied you with absolutely nothing. And not only that, it couldn’t even supply you with the concern you knew you should be experiencing... the fear, the panic, it wouldn’t come. It was the most paradoxical and horrible sensation... the feeling of knowing something was wrong, of knowing you should be scared, but something in your head just not letting you access it.

... Maybe that was why the sight of the hole in the wall, the gap in the artificially perfect world around you, made your heart skip in excitement instead of fear. Maybe that was why you normally would have stuck to what was safe and not done stupid shit like going into vents...

... But this time, you got on your hands and knees, and crawled right in.

You weren’t crawling for a very long time; after what couldn’t have even been a minute of moving in a straight line through the smooth metallic system, the dark space opened up above you, more than enough for you to stand up to your full height in. Your eyes were wide, childlike in wonder- unlike the rest of the facility, that at least seemed to try and fake an air of safety, this place behind the walls... every surface around you was dirty, stained and rusty, there were tubes and buttons and tangled wires sticking out of the floor and ceiling, the whole place was lit up with an unnerving orange glow that was leaking through slits in the flooring. The air was filled with a nasty tang, metallic and almost blood-like, heavy and claustrophobic...

... It was like you’d crawled into hell. Like you’d gone from the head of the facility to the entrance of the throat. Another world...

...

As your gaze lowered...

... There was something in the room with you.

The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Near the other end of the room there was a large, metallic box, most likely containing important wiring of some kind. From where you were standing you could judge that it was about your shoulder height... pretty big. 

... But it wasn’t the box that had your attention. It was what it was blocking from your view. A perfectly circular crimson light was peeking out from behind that box... a turret eye, bright and awake and alive, cutting through the murky coloured darkness. And the more you stared, the more you could make out, the more you could see the partially obscured hunched figure attached to the eye that was trained directly on you. 

...

“H-hello?” You whispered.

...

“sh-ouldn_t.. be.here.”

... The voice was like nothing you’d ever heard. Deep, deathly deep, you could feel it in your chest like standing next to a speaker- vibrating in your stomach, the palms of your hands, even tingling along your scalp. It sounded... automated, jittering and autotuned and with inflections no human would use, but so clearly with thoughts and feelings behind it, the unmissable edge of somebody who’s cautious, afraid... a downright uncanny mix of machine and man.

“... Should you?” Your voice sounded so... weak. So biological. Your heart was pounding.

... The eye noticeably changed; the dot in the centre became a fraction wider. It took an odd shape, too... from your distance it... looked like a heart...?

A soft, low “... no_.”

“... Then that makes two of us. Right?”

...

The owner of the eye stood up. 

He stood slowly, too. And as he did, the box he’d been crouched behind just got smaller, and smaller, and smaller... a beast, made of the facility’s leftovers. Large enough to crush you like a beetle. The dim orange light touched his silhouette to reveal thick tubes, misshapen metal plates, wires hanging off him like cut vines... a gaping cavity in his chest where a half-broken plasma motor was faintly humming and glowing. One of his hands looked vaguely humanoid but the other was just a badly affixed pincer claw... the plate on his face had been haphazardly cut away so his one red eye could see, and a skeletal nose shape had been carved into the centre. Everything about him was asymmetric, uneven, mismatched... 

You opened your mouth-

[Bleep!]

...

It floated through the room. A light noise, like a phone notification. You took note of the fact that you couldn’t hear it echoing through the rest of the facility... something that was only heard in the backrooms, perhaps? It was a very gentle little sound, nothing more than a light jingle...

... Except he flinched like a gunshot had gone off, eye blinking out entirely. Immediately, he turned around- you let out a little “H-hey, wait!” and raised your arm but it didn’t stop him. In a few giant steps he’d completely disappeared around a corner, clanging sounds moving so much deeper into the metalworks in such a short amount of time that you found yourself immediately disoriented. How... you were just standing there, how did someone that huge and heavy move so fast?

...

You wanted to pursue. You wanted to chase him deep into the bowels of the lab, down where you weren’t ever supposed to go, where no light would reach... you wanted to so badly you’d already moved a few steps without realising.

... But at the same time, you felt like you’d done enough for one day. Your nose stung from the strange smells in the air, your eyes were straining in the orange darkness... you wanted to go to sleep, back to your relaxation chamber, to rest for now and figure out what the hell you’d just seen.

What the hell you’d just spoken to.

... You turned, and clambered back through the vent. It took no time at all to re-emerge back in the regular facility... back to the whiteness, the cleanliness, the perfect and fake.

...

You had no idea why he’d reacted the way he had to that sound. What did it mean? You trailed your hand along the wall as you walked, making your way through the halls back to your chamber, the floor smooth and faultless under your bare soles. Was it... some kind of warning? An alert system? Was he running toward something, or away fr-

“subject.” 

- You almost jumped out of your fucking skin.

You were never sure where Sans’ voice was coming from. It always seemed to just spontaneously exist all around you, disembodied and impossible to describe, surrounding you on all sides as if emanating from the air in the building itself. No matter how hard you searched you could never seem to find any speakers on the cold, unfriendly white walls or floor... just further adding to the confusion and dream-like quality of this whole place. You clutched your chest, taking a little breath, trying to disguise the wild flinch that you’d just experienced.

“Y-yeah?” You said, smooth as always, and totally completely not-startled.

Sans always heard you, no matter how quietly you spoke- and judging by passing comments he’d made he always seemed to be able to see you and your expression. God, you hoped he couldn’t read the panic in your face.

“the facility is in night cycle.” Calm, emotionless, slightly autotuned, as per usual... but a little softer than the norm. “why are you out of your relaxation chamber?”

You glanced up at the nearest camera, a small black orb close to the ceiling with a gently blinking blue light.

...

“I-I can’t sleep.” Was all you could think of.

...

“... perhaps it will be easier to sleep... if you are reclined in a position, in which you can actually sleep. you should return to your chamber.”

“... I’m just walking around.” You kept moving, hoping he wouldn’t think about where you’d come from. “I mean... N-not all of us have a ‘go to sleep instantly’ button. I’m clearing my head. I’m fine, I'm on my way back anyway.”

...

“you’re stammering. your heart rate is elevated.”

Shit. Shit. No, it’s-

“... did you experience a nightmare?”

...

“O-oh. Yeah. Uhm...” You rubbed the back of your neck, eyes drifting down to the floor. “You know about those?”

“i have access to the combined entirety of human knowledge. yes, i am aware of nightmares.”

“W-well... yeah. Yes. I... had one. I’m walking it off.”

... A pause, on his part. 

...

“... i can turn the lights back on. if... you’d like to walk around.”

“No thank you. It’ll just make me feel more awake.”

“i see. ... well. i need to complete some more system reboots. i will be partially offline again. if... you need me, just call.”

“Okay. Sure. I will.”

[arvandus]

CONGRATS ON 500 OMG 🎉🎉🎉 IT'S MORE THAN DESERVED!!!!

Can I put in a request for All Might, #35 with a fluff ending?

Sooo.... I’m gonna be honest, I was so excited when I saw this request because.... angsty dialogue with a happy ending?  That shit is my jam.  And with All Might?  Perfect.

 A couple things before we get started: I went with All Might in his skinny form, cuz the prompt lends itself to that (so sorry if you were hoping for buff Might!) Also, took the artistic liberty of giving reader a healing quirk for this one called ‘Cat’s Cradle.’ You’ll (hopefully) see why it’s called that when you read it…

 I hope you enjoy, and sorry it’s taken so long to get this out!

 Um... Warnings: Blood (sorry, it’s Yagi... kinda a given), angst + happy ending

 Word Count: 3,223 and no regrets!

35. “I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

 There was a familiar knock at your door, and in an instant you knew exactly who it was.  Your teeth clenched, your jaw stiffened.

 You weren’t going to answer it. Not this time.

 Knock knock knock

 You waited, frozen, unwilling to move, yet listening intently.  The sound of wet, guttural coughing reverberated through the wooden barrier.

 God damn it.

 When it came to a certain world-famous hero, it didn’t really take much for you to give up your resolve.  You made your way to the door and peeked through the peephole.  Yagi supported himself with one hand against the door frame as his other hand clutched at his chest.  The front of his shirt was bunched in his grasp, blood coating his pale hands and the white fabric beneath it.  A curse fell from your lips as your hands unlatched the lock on your door, swinging it wide open.

 Yagi looked up at you with grateful blue eyes, sunken deep into dark pits. His wild, blond hair stuck to his ashen face with sweat, his brow furrowed in pain.

 “Hey,” he greeted with a lighthearted grin.

 “Jesus Christ, Yagi…” you growled.

 You grabbed him by the elbow and ushered him into your space before closing and locking the door behind you.

 There was no time to rush him into the bathroom like you normally did.  Instead, you had him sit in a dining chair and began to peel off his blood-soaked shirt.  Just as the fabric lifted off his head, another round of coughing doubled him over, blood splattering the tiled floor.

 “Shit…” Yagi muttered.

 “Don’t worry about it.” You replied.  But it was hardly convincing.  Your tone was cold and hard with frustration.

 You weren’t mad about the floor, though… honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. What mattered was the man currently looking like he was on Death’s doorstep.  It pained you to see him so clearly suffering, his skin covered in sweat and blood even as he tried to smile reassuringly at you.  It didn’t matter how bright his smile was; it held little weight against the scar carved into his side, or the atrophy that stretched over his bones.

 Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

 Gently, you pressed your hands against the front of Yagi’s shoulders until he was sitting up, back straight.  Even without his buff form, Yagi was tall.  With your body so close to his, you could feel his ragged breath on your cheek, hear the air rattling from his lungs like leaves.  You couldn’t help but look him in the eyes then, and a faint flush crept across his sallow cheeks that made your own skin feel hot.

 “Stay still.” You instructed.

 You carefully placed one hand in front of his chest and the other behind his back, your fingertips hovering over his body.  Glowing, translucent-white threads emanated from your fingers, passing through him to connect together deep within his lungs. Slowly, you began weaving, fingers dancing and flicking like a game of Cat’s Cradle as your quirk stitched and healed the damaged tissue.  It was painstaking work, what was left of his lungs already in poor condition, and the more he pushed himself past his limits, the harder it was to repair what he’d repeatedly broken.  Sweat beaded your brow as you worked, your hands moving meticulously.  One wrong move, one wrong stitch…

 But you’d done this countless times over the years.  It was nearly second nature to you now… you knew his body nearly as well as your own.  You stared at the glistening red staining from his lips to his chest as you worked, your vision blurred as you focused on your quirk’s senses.

 Slowly, you could hear Yagi’s ragged breaths begin to improve.  His gasps for air filled deeper into his chest, expanding his rib cage.  His exhales followed clean and steady.  The tension in his face relaxed, his brow smoothing over as he closed his eyes.

 Finally, you broke the connection and slumped into your own chair, exhaustion overtaking you.  It was far from perfect, but it was the best you could do given his level of deterioration. You watched Yagi take a few more deep, experimental breaths before he looked up at you.  You opened your mouth to scold him, your brow furrowed into a frown, but froze as soon as you saw his gentle expression become guarded as he prepared for your verbal onslaught.

 An ache filled your throat where your words were supposed to be, and you closed your mouth.  How easy it was to revert back to old habits when you were together.  The two of you were broken; the same old wounds seeping red because they were never given a chance to properly heal.

 You weren’t going to go through it again; not this time.  You were too tired.  And it wasn’t like it made much difference anyway.  It didn’t matter how much you begged, cried, or yelled.  Yagi wouldn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop.

Silence fell between you as you both stared at each other, the space between you feeling empty. No doubt your hurt was evident in your face, your body language, your eyes.  And if there was one thing you knew Yagi hated, it was seeing you upset.  He wanted to hold you.  You could see it in the way his body leaned towards you of its own accord, arms shifting just the slightest bit closer to your torso.  You could see the words on the edge of his tongue too, suspended between parted, bloodstained lips.

 Don’t. A part of you begged.  You didn’t want his comfort.  You didn’t want his excuses.

 Just as his mouth opened wider to speak, you averted your eyes and shifted your body away from him.  It was difficult – painful, as if you were a plant being pulled from the earth, fragile roots breaking in the soil.

 “You should go clean up.” You said quietly.

 Another long pause greeted you before he finally spoke.  “Yeah.  Okay.” He stood.  “Do you still have my clothes?”

 “Yeah. Dresser, bottom drawer.” You replied.

 Yagi excused himself, and a moment later you heard the sound of running water in the bathroom.  You stared at the bloodied floor and the stained shirt balled up on your table.  Nausea filled you, twisting your gut.

 Quickly, you grabbed your cleaning supplies and set to work, watching as the blood soaked into the white paper towels like an inkblot test.  Each fresh bloom of crimson spelled the foreshadowing you tried to erase, until you were wiping and scrubbing at the floor in frantic anger, tears dripping from your lashes.  It felt futile.  No matter how many paper towels you used, you always seemed to need more.

 By the end of it, the trash can was full, the roll noticeably smaller than when you had started.  You added Yagi’s ruined shirt to the top of the pile and stashed the bin away out of sight beneath your kitchen sink.  You’d take it out as soon as he left.  

 You could still hear the shower running in your bathroom, so you went to your living room and slouched onto your couch, waiting for Yagi to finish.

 You had hoped that cleaning up the mess would help reduce the severity from the situation, help you mask your growing fears.  But it was too late.  All you could see was red.  The red on his lips, the red on your floor, the red in the paper towels...

 The emotions you had hoped you could suppress until he left began to crest in you, and you vacated the living room in favor of the privacy of your bedroom. Maybe if you could let a few tears out during his shower, then you’d have enough composure until he left.  You curled onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in your arms as you buried your face into the plush fabric.

 For so long you’d held out, hoping that one day he’d understand.  That he’d see the damage to his body, see how quickly he was deteriorating.  That he’d see the fear in your eyes every time he showed up on your doorstep needing your help.  You’d hoped that your countless conversations would eventually amount to something, your words secretly unravelling the veil he chose to wear over his eyes as he fought battle after battle.

 It was that pesky, lingering hope that had been keeping you going.  Hope that eventually, there’d be an end to it all. Hope that Yagi could finally stop killing himself for the sake of the greater good.  Hope that the two of you could eventually pick up where you’d fallen and live a happy life.

 And it was hope that made you open the door for him each time.

 But now, that hope was finally gone.  You were done trying.  You realized it as soon as you’d finally given up talking to him – finally given up trying to save him.

 An emptiness took its place, cold and heavy.  Its absence gave no place for your love to nest, no place for your dreams to take root.  All you had left was the heavy, gut-wrenching reality that eventually, inevitably, you’d lose him.  Either he’d die in battle, or worse… He’d show up at your doorstep, his body beyond repair, and the only thing you’d be able to do is hold him as his lungs filled with blood.

 Your chest constricted so tightly at that single, horrible thought that you couldn’t even breathe, your lungs burning in a frantic need for oxygen.  There was nothing in the world worse than that single moment coming to life.  But you couldn’t erase it, couldn’t run from it.  It sat there, as real and permanent as the blood-soaked rags lurking in your kitchen trash.  You tried to suck air into your lungs, but the knot in your throat didn’t allow it, a suffocating sob lodged like a rock.  Your arms tightened around your pillow.

 You were going to lose him.  And there was nothing you could do about it.

 Grief settled itself onto your shoulders, heavy as an anchor.  Grief for a future that could never be. Grief for the death of a love that never fully had a chance to bloom. Grief for a man who would eventually slip through your fingers to become bones and dust, leaving nothing but the ache of his memory upon your soul.  You buckled under its weight, the heavy sob finally spilling from your parted lips as tears soaked into your pillow.

 You didn’t even notice as Yagi entered the room to find you curled up in your bed, sobbing.

 “Hey…” He whispered as he rushed over.

 His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you up against his bony chest, your head tucked under his chin.

 “Hey, hey…” he soothed as he held you.

 You leaned into his embrace, letting his presence envelop you.  Maybe you should have fought it; pushed him away instead of letting yourself indulge.  But it felt too good, too safe, and your arms tightened around him selfishly as you cried.  It brought back familiar memories of a time when the two of you had been happy, surrendering to your feelings for each other, before it all fell apart.  

 God, how you missed this.  Love had never been the issue for the two of you.  No, that was the easy part.  But it wasn’t enough.  Not when all of Japan rested on his shoulders, leaving little space for you no matter how deeply he cared for you.

 He held you as you cried, silently holding the space for you, his arms a safety net for all of the emotional weight you couldn’t carry alone.  Your tears soaked his shirt, your arms wound tight around his ribs, as you wished for nothing more than the power to change what was.

 “I don’t want to lose you…” you sobbed.

 “You won’t.” He replied.

 His words were meant to be comforting, but their effect was the opposite, making your heart ache even more at his inability to address the issue head on. He always was an optimist when it came to things of the heart.  It was part of what made him such a great hero.  But optimism wouldn’t save either of you here.

 You pulled away from him slightly, already missing the closeness of him.

 “Don’t…” you pleaded.  “Don’t do that.”

 Yagi looked down at your tear-stained face.  “Do what?”

 Quietly, you grabbed a tissue from the tissue box on your nightstand and wiped at your nose.  The material crumpled into a ball within your fist and you stared at it, your vision already blurring with fresh tears.

 “Don’t try to give me hope.” You replied.

 Yagi stared with wide eyes before withdrawing his arms. His expression fell, wounded by the truth in your honesty.  

 You struggled not to let it sway you.

 “I… I can’t keep doing this.” You whispered as you wiped the last of the tears from your cheeks. “Every time you show up on my doorstep, you’re worse than before. I won’t always be able to help you.”

 He watched you in silence for a moment before looking away in shame, his fingers interlaced in front of him as he leaned forward.  “I know.” He replied.

 Regret filled you at rejecting him.  You wanted him to touch you, to hold you. To have his presence surround you. To feel him alive beneath you, whole and here.  But you had to set a boundary.  You had to stop following him, stop hoping… if you didn’t, it would destroy you.

 Instead, you sat with your arms wrapped around yourself, a pitiful defense against the familiar allure of the man next to you.

 “You keep wanting me to save you, Yagi… but how can I save you if you won’t save yourself?”  You looked at him then, your eyes locking with his.  “You keep choosing to fight, to push yourself well past your limits. And you keep coming here, because you know that I still love you and won’t turn you away.”

 Yagi sucked air into his lungs, his posture going stiff at your words. You were right.  He knew you were right.  His inability to counter your statement was evidence enough of that.  Disappointment and guilt filled you as you broke eye contact to look at your shaking hands.

 “But… I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself. And you shouldn’t expect me to.” You whispered.

 The words were heavy, filling the empty space between you with their finality. You refused to look at Yagi; you knew he’d be hurt.  You knew his shoulders would slump in defeat, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.  Guilt filled you, making your hands fidget and your shoulders tense as you waited for his response.

 “You’re right.”

 His words were a whisper and your eyes snapped up to stare at him, bewilderment on your face.  He’d never said those words to you before... not about this.  His mask had cracked, and you could finally see his emotions flashing across his face as he struggled to transform them into words.  Remorse. Panic. Love. Fear.

 He cleared his throat and repeated himself.  “You’re right.  I have asked a lot of you.” His brow furrowed.  “I don’t know why I keep coming back.  I guess I just get… homesick.”

 Your breath hitched in your throat as your heart pounded like a battle drum in your chest.  You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were stolen from you when Yagi’s eyes met yours, deep and familiar.

 “I miss you.” He stated.

 “Yagi...” You cupped his cheek in your hand.  He leaned into it briefly, before removing your hand from his face and holding it within his own.

 “Listen... I... didn’t intend to come here for your help.  Not this time.  But you know how these things are...” He explained.  “I was on my way over when a villain showed up, and...” Yagi’s words faltered as he saw the expression on your face begin to fall.  He was doing it again, getting caught up in his work, making excuses... hurting you.

 He cleared his throat. “It’s... not important.  The point is, is that there was something I wanted to tell you.  But... I’m not sure it’ll make much of a difference.” He averted his gaze, his brows pulled together pensively.

 Your own brow furrowed in response, confused by his ambiguity.  A part of you was hesitant... you’d truly felt that you were done, that you’d reached your limit.  But could tell that whatever it was, it was important to him, and it was something that he wanted to share specially with you.

 “Just... tell me.” You said quietly, as you emotionally braced yourself.

 His blue eyes looked back at you, and he took a steady breath.  “Alright...”  He took your other hand in his own.  Now he held both of your hands between you as he sat with you on your bed.  “I... found a successor.”

 Your eyes widened, as you felt overcome with dizziness.  You were lightheaded, suddenly floating on his words that still lingered in the air like morning mist.

 “W... what??” you choked out.  Your heart pounded wildly as your hands gripped his, the warm, firm touch barely grounding you.

 “I found a successor.” He repeated, a slow smile starting to spread across his lips at your dumbfounded reaction.

 A smile began to spread across your lips.  “Does that mean... you’re retiring?”

 “Yeah-”

 Your lips were on his before he could say anything more, your arms flinging themselves around his neck.  He laughed against your lips as he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his lap.

 You pulled away for a moment and stared into his eyes. They sparkled with mirth, blue as a summer’s day.

 “Well, that went better than I expected...” Yagi teased.

 “Tell me it’s true.  You’re really done?” you asked.

 “Well, I still have to train my apprentice... he’s got a big heart and a strength in him that I don’t think he even realizes he has yet.  But it’s going to take some time for him to learn how to wield all that power.”  Yagi’s expression turned from happy to serious.  “And... I have to admit that I can’t retire just yet.”

 You opened your mouth to protest, but he covered your lips with his finger.

 “Hang on a second, firecracker.” He grinned.  “I will retire. But I still have remnants of One For All in me, and I need to protect this kid until he’s able to master that power.  I’ll still be All Might until that last spark leaves me. I’m sure you understand that much, right? I have a responsibility to him.”

 You brushed aside his long bangs, relishing in the feel of the golden locks between your fingers.  Of course, you understood.  You’d never expected it to be immediate anyway.  But at least things were in motion.  All he had to do was survive.  And if Yagi was good at anything, it was surviving.

 You had to believe in him.

 “Yeah...” you whispered.  “I understand.”

 Now it was Yagi’s turn to be surprised. “Really?”

 You smiled and kissed him again.  “Really.”

 You had hope.

[lazarettta]

Misthios VII

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (M)

Word Count (4.6k)

Warning (probably language right now)

You and Miranda are finally moving on to having that long chat that's separated you both for centuries.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open, finally waking with the morning rays of the sun peaking over the mountain. Her balcony doors were wide open to let the cool night breeze into her personal chambers while the two fireplaces burned well into the night. It was a combination of warm and cool that her majesty enjoyed greatly as it helped her with sleep.

Of course, sharing her bed with you also aided with her troubles with sleep for the past few months since your arrival to the region. Wonderful in all the ways she could never have imagined; a warrior and a lover, the two things that made her life easier—and the lives of her enemies that much worse.

It had been well past dinner time when you returned to the castle along with the squadron of soldiers you'd gone with including a Captain of the military who was leading the raid. Part of your armor had been slashed and torn, stained with blood and whatever else you encountered outside of the castle walls.

But when Miranda stood in the doorway of her private bath watching as you stripped of your amour—she witnessed no open wounds for her to tend to or fret over, but blood stained your skin anyway. Even though she knew that she should have the moment she noticed: Miranda never questioned why you'd always have a new scar every other day or why your shirts had the evidence of a stab wound taking place right above your hip, including a blood stain, but all you could do was smile when asked about it.

“ Is everything alright, your majesty?”

Miranda blinked, her mind coming back to reality now finding herself sitting up in her bed currently being blinded by the morning sun. The Queen sighed heavily, looking down at your sleeping form—as always you were on your back with one arm tucked beneath one of the pillows behind your head and the other was being used as Miranda's pillow for most of the night. As always.

Like herself, you were bare as the day you were born...your entire torso shamelessly revealed for her roaming insatiable eyes...and she smirked when a particularly cool breeze swept through the room. She watched the goosebumps rise under your exposed skin, including your nipples making Miranda hum softly.

“ Y-your majesty?”

Miranda, suddenly remembering just what, or rather who, had bothered her before and looked towards the girl, pleased when she saw that her eyes were on the floor.

“ Everything is more than alright, girl, however you may leave... I'll be out shortly.”

A hand curling around her waist brought Miranda's gaze from the closing double doors where the meek girl disappeared through and back to you. Your eyes were still closed but you were starting to wake up, stretching like a feline and again Miranda's eyes were drawn to your chest.

“ Carved by the Gods,” she mumbled, the tips of her nails tracing your firm abdomen with no particular pattern, simply enjoying the light marks she was leaving behind around your belly button, knowing how much you enjoyed when she did that as well.

You saw the thoughtful look on Miranda's face when you opened your eyes but you couldn't stop the giant yawn from escaping, “Morning,”

Miranda smiled down at you, enjoying the way the sun made your skin glow but you weren't fooled by that smile—you were used to Miranda's smiles and this was one of her worries. The sort of smile where she wanted to reassure you while scolding you at the same time. You pulled away slightly, and sat up a bit so you could give her your full attention. When the monarch remained silent, simply staring at you, all you could do was raise an eyebrow...waiting.

Miranda scoffed at the action, shaking her head, “It's ironic isn't it, how we the others tales...but we do not truly know each other, do we?”

You shrugged, smirking at her—refusing to hint at the nerves beginning to crawl up your spine, “Pretty sure we know each other inside and out, your highness.”

Miranda gave you a look, clearly unimpressed, “Yes, beneath that charm and nonchalance...is something quite fascinating, isn't there? And...it seems that your truth only comes to light during battle.”

“ Pardon?” you sat up a little more now, eyebrows furrowed—unsure where Miranda was going with this but you no doubt that it probably wasn't going to be good for you. Especially since you're naked and vulnerable but not defenseless.

“ Captain Ake came to me last night after I left you to your bath, he seemed quite concerned with something...and quite frankly, I'm curious myself.” Miranda's hand had stopped tracing patterns on your stomach, but her hand still lingered...and the moment her index finger traced over the raised skin right next to your belly button, the brand new one, you knew you fucked up.

“ About what?” You mumbled not daring to look down at her hand, and her eyes burned into yours—playing dumb would only get you so far—probably the dungeons if you were lucky. You knew exactly what Ake was concerned with though you weren't sure if he actually saw you take a sword through your gut as it was so dark and everything happened within a blink or two.

“ What I am going to say next may sound crazy, however, Captain Ake is one of my most loyal subject in this castle, and quite sane...he claims to have witnessed you being impaled,” Miranda exhaled slowly, “By the enemy...and somehow managed to walk away from it, unharmed. Would you mind telling me what happened, my dear?”

You stared at her for a second, “And...you believed him? Could I have really been stabbed by a sword and do what I did last night? Do you know how insane you sound?”

“ Watch your tongue! You're still addressing your Queen, warrior.”

“ I'm sorry, but you seriously don't believe that shit do you?”

“ I've been noticing a few things myself, (Y/n)...and I would really like some answers myself.”

“ Right. I'll take that as my signal to leave, your majesty. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly, reaching out to grab your wrist to prevent you from running from her, “(Y/n), do not run from me...I'm only trying to understand! You can trust me, this I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you had to learn the hard way that trust was nothing but a word—a word that can be broken over and over. You were too stupid to learn in the past but you weren't about to do the same thing now. Pushing the covers aside you threw some mundane excuse over your shoulder but before you could actually get to the edge of the bed, you were pulled back and pushed back into your previous position. It didn't actually hurt but it wasn't gentle either but you were pretty sure that it was Miranda that moved you, but you hadn't actually felt or seen her move a muscle.

“ W...how? Miranda?!”

Miranda smiled shyly at your bewildered expression—a very rare expression from the Queen but like yourself, she was feeling quite vulnerable, “You're not alone, (Y/n)...and neither am I.”

“ Neither....are you?” Miranda chuckled at your expression and your inability to put two and two together. When you tried to sit back up, Miranda's shy smile morphed into something more amused and predatory because you realized that you couldn't move—and Miranda still hadn't moved an inch.

“ Ah, now do I have your full attention?”

The closer you got to Miranda's home the more treacherous the path became and you'd lost sight of the woman flying low above the trees ten minutes ago—or what you thought to be ten minutes, you weren't sure. Your eyes were glued to the ground, keeping a firm but relaxed grip on the reign of your stallion, Bruce, whispering gently to him. Alcina called him a gentle giant and she wasn't exaggerating. The path was narrow and very unkempt but you wouldn't expect Miranda to make things easy, especially access to her private home.

There was a point that you weren't even sure you and Bruce were actually going to make it across but there was no way you could've turned the massive horse around either, forward was the only way and you weren't ashamed to admit that your heart was pounding hard enough to crack bones. The moment you cleared the trees, Miranda's home finally came into view—and you were not disappointed. It was a simple two story cabin practically etched into the mountain and you wanted to know how the hell she managed to get this place on the sliver of rock.

You'd brought Bruce to a stop just as Miranda appeared and landed gracefully on her porch even with her heels on (you caught a glimpse of them earlier when she started flying). From her porch alone, Miranda had a perfect view of everything . The village, the manor sitting on the waterfall, the factory and of course the castle. There was a light blanket of fog obscuring most of the view, but it was still breathtaking all the same.

You dismounted Bruce easily, gently guiding him to the post next to Miranda's porch. You fed him a few sugar cubes, gingerly untangling part of his dark mane and pulling free a few twigs and leaves.

“Further up the path I have there's a stable for him, we can take him later.”

You turned to look at Miranda, finding her standing in the door looking at you, her expression unreadable and you were too tired to try and decipher it. You double checked the post before steeling your nerves and joining her on her porch, it was roomier than it actually looked and you spotted a hammock on the other corner—not the usual netted sort, it looked like a quilt and quite comfortable too.

You followed Miranda inside, shutting out the cold—the interior of Miranda's home had you stock still at the front door with your hand still on the door knob. The space was open, having the living room and the eating area open with no barrier, and you could easily see the kitchen from where you stood. It was...cozy and warm.

“Surprised?” Miranda's voice brought your eyes to where she was, now half way up the stairs behind the kitchen wall, she wore a soft smile, the front of her robes already opened (you didn't even realize the fucking thing even had a zipper), revealing the slacks and blouse she wore underneath, “Did you expect me to live in a cave?”

“I expected you to at least have a TV.”

Miranda smirked but it didn't reach her eyes, “Are you going to stand there bitching about the lack of media corruption or do you want that shower?”

Your hand finally relaxed off of the door knob, the light throbbing resulting in just how hard you were holding the poor thing. You kicked off your boots at the door—they were covered in mud, snow and probably horse shit at some point, they were filthy. And the last thing you wanted to do was dirty up Miranda's wood floors.

She waited until you were on the stairs to continue up herself while slipping her robe from her shoulders and casually throwing it over her arm as if it were just a towel. “There are only three rooms on this floor. My own, the guest room and the bathroom.”

You raised an eyebrow, “One bathroom?”

“I don't exactly keep guests, dear.”

“So then why the extra bedroom?” you were being a shit, you knew it, but you couldn't help it—Miranda made it easy for you to tease her sometimes (all the time). You wanted to be more bothered over how easy it was for you to fall back into old habits with this woman.

“The longer you stand there being an idiot, the colder your water gets.”

You raised your hands slightly, moving past her towards the door she pointed to, flipping on the light—it was roomier than you expected it to be, dark and a bit modern but Miranda somehow still managed to keep it grand and medieval. The floor was made of stone, there was a grand shower with a curved glass door and next to it was a bear claw of a tub, melded into the floor like it was a hot spring. Across the floor was a single sink and a mirror, and next to it a door where you assumed you'd find the towels and toiletries. Just past the tub, was the toilet though there was a half wall there to offer some privacy and you spotted your backpack sitting on top of it neatly and that finally gave you pause.

“Figured you didn't want to walk around naked or wearing any of my clothes.”

You hadn't even noticed that you had actually walked into the bathroom, admiring it's simple yet beautiful décor or that Miranda followed you in until the shower sprung to life next to you.

She smiled at you apologetically, not having meant to startle you—but seeing you so easily bothered helped put her at ease. Miranda was good at hiding it, but she was quite nervous. Having you so near and so far from her at the same time in the comfort of her own home, her sanctuary—none of the other Lord's knew where she lived, they probably thought she lived in a cave or a nest or something. You were Miranda's first house guest since she arrived in this village.

She closed the shower door, watching you open your backpack—checking through it, and she couldn't stop the small smile from forming after you smirked, realizing that you were still without your weapons. But you didn't make a comment on it, instead beginning to pull out the things that you needed—until you realized that she was still in the room as well.

You raised an eyebrow at Miranda, and her smile only grew but the blonde simply shrugged her wings and tucked her wings tighter to her back as she exited the room, “I'll be downstairs when you're finished...”

“Miranda—”

She paused and you froze, fuck, why did you do that? You hadn't meant to call out to her, but your mouth was faster than your brain sometimes and now she was looking at you expectantly and all you could do was stare at her like a jackass. There was so much, too much, that you wanted to say but where could you even start? Why were you getting this courage in the fucking bathroom of all places?

“Downstairs.” She reminded you gently when the silence stretched too long—you had panicked and she saw that, and instead of jumping on you like the predator you knew that she was fully capable of being—she left you alone to your thoughts and the hot water steaming the room, calling your name. It was a welcome distraction even if it wouldn't be a forever one.

“Being immortal really is overrated.”

Miranda didn't go downstairs immediately, instead making a beeline for her bedroom and closed the door behind her but left it ajar enough for her to still hear you in the bathroom. Miranda carefully hung up her 'Mother Miranda' robe and began stripping out of the clothes she's been wearing for the past two days along with her rings; finally taking off the crown of Mother and just becoming Miranda with every stitch of clothing she removed from her flawless skin.

Standing naked in front of her full-length mirror, Miranda whispered a delicate but very familiar spell she's known since she was a small child and she winced quietly as her wings folded back into her body for the next six or seven hours. The spell wasn't forever but Miranda often used it when she was home to avoid breaking her things as she often did if she let her wings remain as they were, they often got restless if she stayed home and still too long so she just opted for putting them away to save herself the trouble. And money.

When the last two smaller ones on her lower back finally retreated into her skin, Miranda rolled her shoulders to pop out the kinks. She got dressed in a pair of washed out pants and a v-neck shirt, and at the last minute Miranda threw on her dark wool cardigan before heading back downstairs but not before pausing outside of the bathroom door. She heard you humming over the shower and though she didn't recognize the song, it still made her smile.

Suddenly feeling like a creeper, Miranda moved away from the door and went downstairs to start on the coffee she was craving earlier. She got her fireplace going but that all took less than ten minutes and now she found herself back in her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her refrigerator to give her something to do besides fret.

“ You shouldn't be so comfortable with your champion, in public.” Fritjof complained for the thousandth time in her ear—he was one of her primary advisors, having been employed by her late husband, the former King. He was always a bit of an annoyance, but he often proved himself useful and unwittingly saved his own life time to time from Miranda's ire.

“ I was only congratulating her on another victorious raid on a neighboring kingdom that thought it wise to steal from us, or have you forgotten that little fact, Fritjof?”

He frowned, not liking her tone but he quickly corrected his features knowing that they were still in the halls on their way to the Queen's study, but there were still eyes on them, “I...yes, but it sends the wrong message when you send a blood wolf to handle this kingdoms affairs instead of your loyal officers! You make us all look weak!”

Miranda stopped walking, and whirled around on Fritjof, her coat wrapping around her leather clad legs as she did so, and the frail man jumped back a step, knowing that he overstepped a line severely, “A-apologies—”

“ You will apologize with your tongue!” Miranda hissed, “Though I'm sure (Y/n) would rather have your head for all the times you've questioned her loyalty to this kingdom! We're coming up on eight years, Fritjof, and (Y/n) has helped this kingdom prosper more than you ever could've in your twenty years with my late husband.” Miranda sneered dangerously, edging closer to him and the terrified man could only back up into the table, knocking over a vase but Miranda paid it no mind, “One more word about this and I will have you removed. Permanently.”

Fritjof swallowed harshly, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and rolling down his face, and Miranda's sneer deepened in disgust, “Please, your highness, I'm only looking out for the future of the kingdom! It—it needs an heir and a King! The other kingdoms will never recognize your power without either—” his words were cut off when Miranda struck him down, a single line of blood staining a portrait on the wall behind him. Miranda struck faster than he could react and Fritjof cried out in pain, alerting the guards who came running but stopped when they saw their Sovereign standing over the slimy advisor holding part of his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

“ For every brilliant woman, there's always a stupid man thing to be found.” Miranda stepped over his pathetic body and continued on her way, rolling her shoulders back when her back began to twinge in response to her high and irritated emotions, and she needed release. “Get him out of my sight and find my champion; send her to me when you do.”

“ Yes, my Queen.” They both replied, one of them roughly hauling Fritjof to his feet and pushing him forward, but not before the man could cast one last glance at Miranda's retreating back until he was shoved forward. “Move!”

The cabin was filled with the aroma of sweet bread and coffee and your stomach was growling something vicious halfway down the stairs after you put your back in the guest room. Miranda had her back to you and you took the moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to just observe her. The very first thing you noticed was that her wings were gone and she was more relaxed—it probably had a lot to do with her being in her own home, and it was starting to make more sense why she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home for this conversation. Though her argument for privacy was valid as well.

Your eyes flickered around the open space, spotting something tucked in the corner of the living room and scoffed without meaning to and alerting Miranda of your presence, if she wasn't already. She turned from her task of fixing you both something to eat to watch you walk across the room to where the object of your interest lay with a carefully crafted expression.

“Didn't take you for owning a rifle.”

“It's ten years old, I believe.” Miranda hummed quietly, dusting off her hands before taking down a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. You looked at her when she didn't elaborate, really curious now.

“It's in pretty good condition, really beautiful...where did you get it?” you checked the clip and saw that there were exactly ten rounds in there. When Miranda didn't answer you immediately, you found her watching you.

“It's not mine.” Miranda set the plates at the small eating table that could easily seat two other people, “I took it from a witch hunter as he was so kind to come all this way to visit. He tried to kill me in my sleep like a coward. He intrudes upon my home and couldn't be bothered to give me an honorable death. The audacity of men certainly hasn't changed over the years.”

Her tone was not lost on you and you knew that the witch hunter was long dead. You traced the steel design grip, impressed at the detail—and distracted.

“Oh, so now you hate men?” Ah... and once again your mouth was faster than your brain could process, and just like that her eyes were on your back—you felt it.

“I've always hated men, (Y/n). I...” she sighed harshly, her eyes turning into a glare, “Stop doing that, you don't have the entire story so if you're done being an ass and running from this conversation—I would really like to clear the air between us so we can move on from this.”

“You mean your truth that you want me to hear so badly?” You chuckled though it lacked any amusement. You set the rifle down, finally giving her your full attention then sighed heavily—a sudden exhaustion falling over you, “Would it really matter at this point, Miranda? It happened centuries ago...we both moved on, why do you want to drudge this back up?”

“Why don't you?” Miranda moved around the table, the coffee and snack forgotten in the moment, but she didn't try to approach you, “I'm not the only one who was in the wrong, (Y/n).”

“Do you think I cared about your status when I found out the woman I loved married a man behind my back and didn't even fucking tell me! I had to find out in the middle of that stupid ball you wanted to throw so bad after we invaded those rebellion villages. I gave you everything and you betrayed me . I crossed lines for you, Miranda. I thought that would warrant enough decency to be honest with me. I-”

You stopped, your face was hot and you exhaled heavily—doing your best not to sniffle, you hated that you were the type to fucking cry when your emotions bubbled to the surface too fast. Especially when the topic is something you've buried long deep in the dark corners of your mind with no hope for daylight again. You just never thought you'd bump into your past like this. And it's been years since you've had to deal with anything on a personal level after your last child passed away fifty years ago at the tender age of eighty-six.

Miranda saw the emotions playing across your face with a frown but otherwise her own emotions were carefully hidden, she was always better at that than you were, and inched closer, “(Y/n)...”

“We've both obviously lived with this hurt and came out fine,” you cut her off, not looking at her but instead at your bare toes with your hands back in your pockets, “What's closure gonna do besides bring up old hurt?”

“No, that's not it at all, I just...” Miranda coughed lightly and cleared her throat,—your question was valid as she's asked herself this many times before, asking herself why she didn't just let you go in the forest—she could've let you go and saved you both from this reopened wound. But she didn't because she couldn't and Miranda wouldn't apologize for it. Because she's always been a selfish woman, and one of her most selfish needs—even when she first laid eyes on you—she knew that you were hers. That never changed, time could never take that away from her.

“This life is long and lonely, (Y/n)...and I've made many mistakes, most I will never have a chance to atone for...and when I saw you,” Miranda looked into your eyes and bit her bottom lip, you weren't even looking at her anymore, “I've lost so much in this life, and I refused to lose you a second time. The first time I was...I was corrupted with greed and power, but I was stupid and it cost me everything too, (Y/n).”

You looked up, surprised by her words, “He took your kingdom from you, didn't he?”

“ You!” Miranda moved closer, though you hardly noticed because you were focused on her eyes that were duller than they were down in the village but just as clear, bright and brimming with tears, “He took you from me. He took us away from each other, (Y/n). I'm not innocent in it either, I...I could've done something about it, but I didn't and it was the biggest mistake I could've made in my entire existence. And I think about it more than I care to admit, I think about you...wondering what sort of life we could've shared together had I made better choices. I'm...I'm sorry, (Y/n).”

Miranda was close enough to touch you now, and this time she didn't hesitate nor did you pull away when both of her hands cupped your cheeks, making you shiver. “Miranda...”

Miranda's hands tightened on your face, obviously thinking you were about to argue again but you were tired of arguing with her, over this...before she could speak, you took Miranda by surprise and pulled her into a tight embrace, both of your arms around her waist and you caught her when her entire body sagged in your arms. You had no idea what was going to happen after this, but that little piece of you that longed for the closure you never got...began to grow.

“I'll stay.”

[otonymous]

(Otonymous’ Follower Milestone Celebration): From the Pages of Le Comte’s Diary (IkeVamp - NSFW)

Description: You happen to find le Comte de Saint-Germain’s diary by chance.  Do you dare to take a look inside? Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: very mild hints of somnophilia & dubcon (without actual violation), mentions of death.  SPOILERS for something minor noted in Leonardo’s MS. Author’s Notes: Hey everyone!  This piece was heavily inspired by a personal headcanon I have of le Comte’s backstory and, for all intents and purposes, can be seen as a continuation to an earlier fic I wrote for him, Bitten.

(SPOILER ALERT!!) I also noticed while playing Leonardo’s route that he sometimes refers to le Comte with his name in quotation marks.  It happened so frequently that I was inclined to think that this was no mere typo.  This observation will figure in the following piece as well.

I’ve never played le Comte’s route before in the JP server and I try to stay away from spoilers, so the rest is just pure speculation on my part!  That being said, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Tagging the following lovelies: @ambrosiallkiss​, @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons​

All characters & Ikemen Vampire owned by Cybird.

17th of May, XXXX

She sleeps; soft skin taunting beneath the gossamer silk of her nightgown - satin ribbons and blush pink and almost coquettish in how it barely concealed anything of the wonders beneath:

Breasts exquisitely tipped, nipples hardening like jewels beneath the heat of my stirring breath.

Hourglass curves limned in silver moonlight spilling into her room (for even after lifetimes apart, she maintains the habit of retiring with the curtains open) — lending her the ethereal cast of the goddess Diana herself.

The shadows between her legs, darkness undulating every time she shifted upon the bed; thighs parting...then closing…then parting again as her lips dropped in a wisp of a moan that reverberated nonetheless like an orchestra in my ears.

For she had called to me.  

Writhing upon her bed in the throes of what seemed a particularly feverish dream, she had uttered my name — that which had never been revealed to her nor any of the mansion’s other residents aside from Leo.  And there is no other man I trust more with a secret.  Yet, there it was like a miracle…spilling unbidden from those perfect lips.

How long has it been since I was last addressed as such?  Not “le Comte de Saint-Germain” but by the name of my birth.  Not since she was in my arms last, hundreds of years in a past when I knew her by an entirely different name and face.

Different, yes, but beautiful no less.  And though she returned to me changed, I recognized her immediately by scent — fragrant blood ripe with the sweet spring of life, pulsing hot beneath delicate skin that flushed when I approached her that fateful day, palm outstretched like a hopeful supplicant to return what she had lost:

An earring of amethyst.

The same precious stone as the one in which I had carved the elegant profile of her face; the cameo the very first gift I had given her...and the very last piece of jewellery I adorned her body with the day they laid her to rest all those grey seasons ago.

But my lover has returned.  And though many say our kind walk in darkness, God has revealed itself to me by this very act of faith.  For she is the light: the spark in her eyes more brilliant than a thousand suns, the warmth of her soul the very fire of a hearth, forever burning.

Yes, she has returned.  And I am home once more.

Yet, I linger at the threshold, paralyzed by the thought of her dissipating like smoke before my very eyes.  Could this much happiness be allowed for one such as myself?  Would Cupid’s arrow be tipped with sympathy for a creature’s plight, striking twice like lightning bearing down upon the selfsame tree?

Alas, caution, caution.  To be exercised constantly.

I remind myself, always, to stay the haste that would urge me to reveal all, as fantastical as the story may seem to a woman both worldly and hailing from a time that, I’ve learned, has very little tolerance for things incapable of being stripped away by science.

Thus, I must find contentment in observation, watching the slow procession of my bride as she fumbles among the great men I’ve gathered.  Waiting…hoping for the day that she’ll discover her place by the side of one who has loved her and only her since time immemorial.  For I would never force her hand.  If she is to love, it would be completely of her own accord.  

Such is my situation: to look but never to touch.  Never seeking to interfere.  It is torture of the most acute degree.

In a stark reminder that I, too, was once a man possessed of love and passion, jealousy and lust, I almost succumbed tonight.  Her soft moans had drawn me to her bedchamber, and when she failed to respond to my inquiries as to her well-being, I entered her room without express permission, fearing the worst.

And there…a sight to rival Venus’ birth upon foamy shores:

Tresses of silk fanned out upon down pillows as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, ma chérie had thrown off her bedcovers and continued to writhe under the influence of a dream.  Her lashes fluttered long like butterflies in flight, and I was captivated by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the perfect flesh of supple breasts visible beneath the gauzy layers of her nightgown.

I pressed a hand to her forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch and tried to keep from being distracted by her tongue as it slipped out to wet pink lips from corner to corner, as if fighting to quench some unfathomable thirst.  I wondered from which well of desire she had drawn in the hazy web of sleep to excite her so.

I wasn’t left ignorant for long, for it was then that she moaned my name, beckoning like the goddess of love herself and impossible to ignore as the sound stirred something deep in my enraptured heart and loins.  And just when I gathered every last shred of willpower to pull away, she grasped me by the wrist, fingers curling tight and with surprising strength.

Selfishly, I yielded.  Allowed her to draw me in any direction she saw fit until I was positioned over her sleeping form on all fours, like the basest of beasts.  I told myself that I did not wish to disturb her slumber, but the heart knows its own darkness.  For I was hopelessly drawn to the flush of her cheeks, the way her hands sought purchase in my hair — pushing my head lower and lower, allowing my gaze to take in every glorious inch of her body as it moved towards the heat between her legs.

She stopped then, spread herself even wider and lifted slightly off the bed as if seeking the warmth of my breath.  It blew shaky upon bare skin, for she had worn no undergarments.  Her heady scent wafted towards me, a bouquet delectable and sweet, as if deliberately fashioned to please my palate, and I smiled to remember the times I’d feast upon her until the candles burned low.

She glistened — rosy flesh trembling as her arousal beaded to drip from her entrance, leaving a salacious trail that ended in a growing spot of moisture on the bed beneath her.  She called for me again, the wanton whine of her voice mixed with a desperation I only knew too well, and it would’ve been so easy to take up her invitation with the tip of my tongue, lapping at the nectar offered up by her beautiful flower in bloom.

It would have been easy, yes.  But I am not one unaccustomed to hardship.

And so, with the greatest care not to rouse her, I extricated myself from her grasp, pulling the covers over her sleeping form once more.

On this night, I allowed myself this: the gentlest press of my lips to her forehead.  The slightest touch of my nose to the tip of hers.  Then I bade ma chérie “bonne nuit” as I closed the door behind me.

She will come to me once more, awake and willing.  And when she does...

…she will know my name.

(End of Entry)

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📓

[cottoncandyjester]

Hey guys im sorry I haven't been posting, honestly tumblr is making it hard to. every single story I write tumblr crashes then deletes it so it's been HIGHLY frustrating...guess I need to invest in a laptop or a better phone

Sorry this was so long I always want the boys' back stories to be only 2 parts

This story contains: death, torture, abuse, toxic relationships, murder, violent themes

"you're too soft! They are sinners theodore why are you being so damn sensitive"

Theo winced at the punch his father landed which caused him to stumble back his back hitting the table which held their latest victim, a young woman that theo cleaned up and dressed in his mother's clothes, he didn't like the sight of her all bloody and mangled it made his heart sting.

Theo never helped to Kill any of these women, only cleaned them up and made sure they looked beautiful in death it was his way if asking for forgiveness.

When he was ten he idolized his father but it's been two years since he caught his father and been training under him to take his place and all that love vanished he found himself feeling nothing but hate and disgust for his father, what made matters worse was the fact that his mother had to take half the brunt of his father's anger.

"I won't do this anymore, you're wrong. Women aren't devils, mother is an angel and I wont hurt her"

Theo's harsh remark earned him yet another punch in the face this one knocking him down as he spat out blood the metallic taste making him sick to his stomach.

"you're a damn fool boy, I'll make you see her filth"

With that his father left him in the attic to starve for the night which was always a common occurrence. As he laid back on the floor the boy let out a dry chuckle.

"Just a little more...then you'll be the one burning in hell father"

Theodore felt everything go black and it wasn't long until he had passed out soon waking back up in bed with his mother caring for his wounds. He could smell her sweet perfume and hear her soft humming, something about those things made his heart flutter in the purest of ways.

"you should be careful theo, you know making him angrier will only result in pain"

"it's okay, we'll leave together one day..just me and you.."

There was silence after that and for a while things were okay, the family was quiet during dinner and once it got late theo figured his father would have went to bed forgiving him for his outburst in the morning.

Theo woke to the sound of two metal objects clashing together, the sound was enough to stir him awake though when he tried to move he realized he was tied up against a chair. That clashing noise he heard was his father sharpening a few knives, the sight made theo's blood run Cold.

"f-father?"

"god told abraham to kill his son, and abraham was about to do it like a loyal sheep. God will make you do awful things theodore and as a man we must do them"

Theo frantically struggled against the ropes binding him only feeling more and more stressed as his father stepped closer and closer thing soft steps of his shoes making theo feel like he had to puke.

What's going to happen to me?

Am I going to die?

Theo felt his father press the tip of the blade pressed softly against his forehead on the left side of his face, the cool metal only brought theo to reality more, his father was going to kill him cause god said so.

"i-i know we are nothing alike but please-"

"we are absolutely nothing alike! You are exactly like your mother a sissy little housewife! You were never going to be a good man or husband! When I asked God for a son I thought he would send me one I could be proud of!"

Rage fuelled theo, he wasnt sure why but something about what his father said made him want to scream, his father was wrong... absolutely wrong.

"I'll be a perfect husband, and a better Father than you"

As soon as he said those words theo felt the sharp pain of his father pushing the blade into his skin earning a sharp inhale of breath trying not to show too much weakness. Theo kept thinking about his mother and how in a way he was protecting her, their goal were to run away safely together.

"we might have one thing in common theodore, you have a devil in you just like me..it's time to show you just how tainted you are"

With that theo felt a harsh intense pain as his father dragged his blade along the boy's face earning screams coming from him as he thrashed and tried kicking but his father pressed his knee onto the boy's legs now carving his skin off in such a slow and unbearable way that it was driving theo crazy

"accept your sins theodore! This is your punishment for being unloyal!"

Theodore couldn't stop screaming as the knife raked down his face roughly cutting a large chunk of his skin clean off, the pain was so great he was close to fainting but his father came prepared and injected him with an adrenaline shot.

"p-please f-father please please please..."

Theodore at this point didnt know what he was begging for, maybe death? The overwhelming taste and smell of his own blood was making him sick and not to mention there was a lot of blood pouring down his face.

I'm dying.. god has forsaken me

"may you be reborn as a perfect child next time"

Theo kept his head down but felt a soft kiss on his head before hearing footsteps walk away from him before the door to the attic closed, his father left him to die!

Theo swayed side to side hoping to get free, if he could just get to his father's desk and grab a knife though without his glasses seeing things far away was near impossible though he could see the shape of the desk.

"mother needs me, I can't die.."

Theo grunted in pain as he fell forward which wasn't his plan but he'll take it, with every fiber of his being he crawled and scooted along the ground towards the desk before seeing a knife handle over the edge of the desk. Thankfully his legs were tied just his arms so with some embarrassing attempts to stand of even kneel before turning around to grab the knife with his hand.

Before he could cut himself free he heard banging on the attic door before a crash, the sound was enough to startle him into cutting the palm of his hand and dropping the knife

"argh! I-it hurts!"

Soon the attic door opened and rushing towards him was his loving mother, her frantic questions and worrying about him made him feel far better especially when she untied him from the chair.

"I'm leaving tonight theo, my fiancee is waiting for me outside"

"t-then let's go mother! Now is the perfect time to go!"

There was a tense silence after that as theo felt his mother bandage his wound up, his mother was hiding something and he didn't like it.

"w-we have a little girl and he's very protective of her and well with how your face looks now you'll scare her and I don't want to bring any baggage from my pa-"

Theodore felt as if his head was spinning, what was she saying? He did everything for her he almost died for this woman and she saw him as baggage to toss away before going to her new family.

"y-you're going to leave me here? J-just like that?! I protected you from him! I made sure he never hurt you! Were you ever going to bring me with you?!"

"keep your voice down theo, please calm down you're scaring me-"

"I'm scaring you?! I'm the one scaring you?! How could you?! I'm your child! I love you!"

He watched his mother look down shamefully and slowly back away clearly afraid of what will her next words do to him. Theodore was feeling a little unstable at the moment, his own mother just betrayed him can he truly trust no one in his life?

"your eyes just...look just like him. I can't theo I'm so sorry I can't it's too painful for me.. you're too much like him"

That was the thing that broke theo all together, it was like his brain just snapped and no clear thought came just pure anger and pain. How could she think that?! Theo thought he was nothing like his father absolutely nothing!

"no! I'm nothing like him! Nothing! He's abusive and a horrible man how could you say that!? I thought you loved me but you're just like him-yeah you're like him not me! I'm pure! A good person"

Theo couldn't stop himself, before he knew it he had grabbed the knife he dropped earlier, the large blade held tightly in his hand and scaring the one person he thought he can trust.

"w-why do you want to leave me? You're just embarrassed of me..you don't want me around cause you hate me"

"no no no baby I love you I just-"

Theo swung the knife slashing his mother's arm, hearing her cry out in pain made him only smile as he gazed at her fearful expression. His sense of reason was vanished and all he wanted now was to show everyone how much they hurt him

"maybe if you were a better mother I wouldn't have gotten hurt all the time, maybe if you weren't too busy being a good wife instead of a good mother I wouldn't be in such pain!"

"t-theo please I just-"

"why couldn't I just have a normal family?! I prayed for one! So why!?"

Theo slashed at his mother again and again over and over sloppily slashing at her without caring about where he aimed. He was far more focused on releasing all this pain and betrayal he felt

"why doesn't anyone want me?! Why don't you want me! I want you so what's wrong with me?! Why am I so broken?!"

Theo ignored the sobs and begging for her to stop, they were not processing clear enough to him he just wanted to hurt them to hurt them in ways they hurt him. Her thrashing soon stopped but it wasnt enough for theo, he moved ontop of her now raising the blade and slamming it down inside her chest his eyes glossed over as he did so.

"I'm not like him, I'm nothing like him! I'll be a good father! A good husband! I'll never abandon my family! Never! Never ! Never!"

The knife slipped I his hand and when he tried to catch it he grazed his hand before hearing the knife clatter onto the ground, theo panted heavily before looking at his hands seeing hands were lightly bruised from gripping the knife so hard, he then looked down at his mother and her horror stuck face.

"look at what father did, I told you we should have left before...it's okay I'll protect you"

Theo reached out taking the scarf his mother wore before putting it on himself before pressing it to his nose and taking a deep inhale, the sweet scent gave him shivers.

The sight of his dead mother made the boy tear up but he honestly didn't realize he was the one who had did such a thing, it was something he refused to accept. Now gripping the knife he once had before he creeped down the attic stairs each step more and more anxiety fuelling, from the quiet sounds it seemed like his father was asleep.

Theo had never acted out so violently than when he saw his father sleeping soundly in bed, once again much like before he had completely snapped now walking over and plunging the knife deep into his father's side earning a painted grunt along with his father's eyes to snap open

This caused theo to panic and he did the first thing he could think of which was to bite his victim's ear using that time to shove the blade into his father's chest before biting his ear off and spitting it onto the ground in a feral snarling mess.

"t-there's your demon... y-you're just like me"

"I'm nothing like you! Nothing!"

Theo gripped the knife blade shoving it deeper til it became stuck and his father stopped breathing, what struck theo as odd was the lack of struggling..didn't his father want to live? That escaped his mind as he tried wiggling the blade out of the corpse only to whine lightly at how stuck it was

"heavy, too heavy"

Theodore decided his next plan was to change out of his bloody clothes except for his scarf of course and to turn on the gas stove as high it can possibly go, he used his bedroom window to escape since his mother's boytoy was still waiting for her outside.

One match, it took one match to burn the place down starting the fire in his bedroom and letting it spread. A few minutes after theo jumped out the window the house roared to live now completely on fire.

Theodore only 12 years old had killed his parents and burned the place down, he had no one else to turn to no family or anything so he turned to his local church. They sent him to a boarding school where he grew up and found a passion for medicine as well as helping others.

His dark past always haunted him, he was known as the boy whose family died horrible deaths. There were always rumors about what happened that night some say that his father killed everyone before burning the place and stabbing himself others think that his mother's lover killed them all in an angry rage. Theo would always just shrug and laugh it off thanking God that he's alive

Those dark desires of having a family only grew as he grew older, it became a twisted obsession that festered stronger and stronger by the time he was 18 he was already waiting for marriage..after all a good husband waits for the perfect bride.

"theo? Hey theo? Hello earth to theo?"

Theodore snapped awake only to see his sweet darling staring at him worriedly, he must have fallen asleep in his office again. Theo simply smiled as he stood from his chair

"what's wrong?"

"well, dinner's ready have a good dream or something?"

Theo chuckled softly before running his fingers through his hair trying to come up with a suitable answer

"just dreaming about the past my angel, though I should focus on the future with you after all the past is the past..."

[voidstilesplease]

love and war

a demigod au [companion] ficlet

~•~

Theo's eyes snap open when he hears the loud honk from outside the motel they're staying. He sits upright in his makeshift bed on the cold floor. It's still dark, and when he checks the clock in the room, only an hour has passed since they went to bed.

He transfers his gaze at the sleeping lump on the single bed, wrapped tightly in the comforter like a human burrito. Stiles is dead to the world, open-mouth with a bit of drool on one side. He looks so young and innocent and can't hurt a fly like this. But under his pillow, Theo can see the handhold of his dagger. They're almost to the entrance of the Underworld now. More monsters are after them. Caution and vigilance are of utmost importance if they want to come back from this quest alive.

Soft snoring takes his attention from Stiles to the shape on the couch. Involuntarily, Theo scowls at the sight of him. Derek Hale, son of Poseidon. He still can't believe he's on a quest with him, or even that all three of them are together in some mad twist of fate and managed not to kill one another yet. Barely, but still. Their godly parents are the worst rivals and are the three Olympians on the verge of a war if Theo, Stiles, and Derek fail. The last thing they should become is allies.

Derek shifts and Theo notes that he looks uncomfortable in his position. It makes him oddly satisfied.

He hears the loud honk again, but it's apparent now that only he does among them. Otherwise, his two companions would have sprung up, wide-eyed and ready to pounce, no matter how exhausted they had been from a full day of running and fighting monsters.

Theo gets up to his feet, clutching the hilt of his sword, and approaches the window guardedly. With sure fingers, he pulls down the blinds enough to peek. The image that greets him gives him a moment's pause, lips parting in surprise. 

Outside, a spotless, white limousine casually parks on the deserted road. A muscular man in black jeans, combat boots, and a red muscle shirt underneath a black vest leans against it. There's a familiar sneer in his mouth noticeable even from afar, and though he's donning sunglasses, Theo knows his eyes are on him. 

He's imagined this happening since his claim at Camp Half-Blood. If he appears to him right now while Theo's in the middle of a make-or-break mission, things must be getting worse in Olympus. He usually communicates to Theo in vague dreams, in a voice in his head, in some other weird manifestation since this started, but never coming to him in the flesh.

He lets go of the blind, delays for a second of contemplative silence, and then opens the door to meet his father, the God of War, Ares.

~•~

He slows his steps as he nears the broad figure. Up close, Theo notices the fire reflecting from inside his glasses. He has heard from his siblings that their dad had fireballs in his sockets instead of eyeballs. And that any children of Ares are compelled by unexplainable force to meet those flares, cowering.

Theo stops and raises his chin to meet his father's gaze, and no matter how he tries and how tough he is, he still dips his head in submission to the god. He swallows, "Father,"

His reply was a terse and detached, "Son,"

Theo lifts his head again, not quite meeting Ares's eyes this time, and hesitates for a second, but asks, "What are you doing here, father?"

The god's face twists like he has swallowed a lemon. His head fastens in the direction of the room Theo is renting for the night. "You have such unpromising companions," he spats, glaring at the window as if he sees through it. Ares probably does. "The son of Poseidon I can scarcely forgive," his attention slips back to Theo, and even without the proper organs, Theo can feel the disgust that would be reflected in them if he had eyeballs. The disapproval is rolling like waves in his aura, and it makes dread crawl up Theo's spine. He hates that his father can evoke such emotions just with his presence. He's also starting to feel his blood boil. "but Athena's spawn?"

Theo bites his lip and balls his fists to avoid saying something that will make his father smite him to smithereens. That is not at all the way he had imagined his first meeting with his father to end.

"She dares call me a thief," Ares's voice does not rise, but it doesn't have to. Theo's hyper-aware of his father's rage, and it makes his knees quiver to kneel and supplicate. 

Theo forces to say the words, "Stiles is helping to find an end to this conflict,"

Ares scoffs, unimpressed. "And by an end," he crosses his burly arms. "You mean victory against our enemies in the war."

Theo shakes his head, breathing through his nose. "I was thinking about not starting a war at all."

The look Ares gives him makes his stomach coil, and he hates it. The god regards him similarly to an insect: small, insignificant, and revolting. "No child of War runs from war."

Theo breathes in deep, his blunt and dirty nails digging in the skin of his palms. "There isn't one yet, that is necessary."

Ares's face thunders and the fire in his eyes glow brighter. It seems the god expresses no aversion to smiting his son right then and there. "She slandered my name-"

"Ares, dear, do be nice now." A silky, feminine voice interrupts his father from inside the limo. And amazingly, the god's anger deflates, albeit grudgingly. He's still enraged, but he's holding himself back from committing a crime. Theo inwardly sighs in relief.

The god purses his lips, nose flaring slightly, "My Lady wishes to give you a weapon,"

Theo draws his eyebrows together, "Your Lady?" Just as he says the question, the answer comes to Theo. He remembers the afternoon Stiles discussed with him in their session about his father's amorous relationship with a fellow Olympian.

"Aphrodite is the goddess of love and beauty and is married to Hera's son, Hephaestus, the god of the forge. The union forced upon Aphrodite as it was a condition made by Hephaestus so he would free his mother, Hera, from being bound into a magical throne he built and tricked the queen of the gods into sitting. Zeus granted it, and so they were married. Aphrodite resented his husband because Lord Hephaestus was, in the standard of the divinities, ugly and lame, and therefore, not befitting the goddess of beauty.

The god tried to gain her affection by designing beautiful jewelry for her in his workshop. But she wasn't interested. Instead, she used the opportunity of his husband's work arrest in his workshop to be unfaithful and be with other gods or goddesses, and even mortals.

Then she met Ares, and they fell in love. They kept on having affairs with other immortals and mortals, but they always came back to each other -even though that's against the rule of formal infidelity of the Greeks."

"Bring him in, dear,"

The soft voice breaks Theo's reverie, and with a huff, his father motions him to the door as requested by the goddess Aphrodite.

He doesn't know what to expect the goddess of beauty would look like, but when the door opens, Theo catches a glimpse of the car's occupant, and he thinks he hallucinated Stiles for a brief moment. When he blinks, he now sees the flowing hair and feminine features instead of gelled up hair and slender muscles.

He takes a seat, and the door shuts. Theo finds himself captivated by the different aura that she emanates in comparison to what he had felt with his father. His skin feels warm instead of burning, and his heart steadies instead of races. He stares at the face of the goddess, and if he isn't so gone, he would have remembered his manners -whatever little he has. At least, the goddess doesn't seem offended by the rapt attention -she's probably used to it- but amused.

Theo had never mentally built a picture of the goddess, but he didn't expect for her to have moles sprinkled in her pale face or have amber, almost molten liquid, eyes. But she has an elegant upturned nose and pink cupid's bow lips, which are as expected. Her features remind Theo so closely of Stiles. That must be why he thought he saw him for a second there.

When she smiles, it even feels familiar to Theo.

"What do you see?" She asks.

"Um," Theo swallows and licks his dried lips. "Your beauty, goddess."

She emits a soft, coy chuckle. "It is not universal. Do I resemble someone specific that you know?"

The question throws him for a little, and he blinks. "Yes," He says honestly, figuring there is no point in lying.

The smile on her face broadens, "My beauty is an individual's perception of it, son of Ares. It is one or the other, depending on who's looking."

He frowns, confused. Before he can ask what the goddess is trying to say or process it himself, Aphrodite procures an object in her hands that she passes to Theo. When he looks down at the item, it's a palm-sized rose looking-glass. He sees his reflection as he studies it. It's a simple circular mirror with roses encrusted around it; each petal is elaborately carved.

"It is a present from my husband," the goddess says.

Theo nods, thinking it makes perfect sense. Something as well-crafted as the item he holds must only be from a god. 

"When you absolutely need it," she continues, "look upon the mirror, and help will come. It grants only one call."

He gives the goddess a quizzical look, "Why are you giving it to me, though, Lady Aphrodite? I am grateful and honored to receive such a gift," he hastily adds, remembering Stiles's warning of always showing gratitude to the gods. It avoids spontaneously combusting. "But I don't know why me?"

Thankfully, she seems to be in good spirits because she only inclines her head. "Do you think it appropriate if I gifted that to the children of my beloved's rivals?"

Theo made a humming noise.

"I must say," she adds, "I assumed if it was the son of Poseidon I invited, I know what image he would see in my face. But, I wonder," she gives Theo a look, her brown eyes twinkling in the same fashion as Stiles's when he formulates a clever, and devious idea. "If it was the son of Athena, whose face would he have seen between two?"

Theo pauses, caught off guard.

Then, the goddess straightens. "Remember. Only once. Choose the moment wisely."

Theo opens his mouth to thank her once more and asks what is in exchange for the goddess' generosity. Stiles had also taught him that gods don't just hand out presents to the mortals they favor without a deed or a sacrifice. But, the next time he breathes, he's back inside the room, sitting in his comforter on the floor.

He blinks rapidly and scrambles to his feet toward the window. He pulls the blinds aside and sees nothing but a deserted road outside where the limo has been.

He almost thinks he dreamt it, but when he looks at his hand, Aphrodite's mirror is in there.

"Remember. Only once. Choose the moment wisely."

~•~

[1][2][3][4][comp 1]

[hansoulo]

mother knows best

part 7 of ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves)

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, his mother (aka my love letter to judy moncada) is finally shown, mentions of canon-typical violence and blood, discussion of dead spouses, me finally giving these idiots a backstory and more characters, they go on a Date™, light angst for ✨spice✨

Word Count: 2.7k

Gif Credit: x by @padfootwantsatummyrub​ who is amazing and talented

A/N: ye ye

masterlist carrd

One Saturday morning you lift Isabella out of her crib, a small oomph pushing past your lips when she squirmed in your arms. “You’re getting heavy,” you teased as she reached for your collar, gurgling happy syllables that vaguely sounded like mama. You didn’t dwell on it.

“Are you hungry, hm?” you bounced her, drawing out a bubbly giggle. “Let’s go see dad, he’s probably somewhere out-”

There was a woman standing in his living room.

You thought you recognized her from somewhere, maybe a market or a passing street, before it clicked and you remembered the photo tucked in the lining of Horacio’s leather wallet, a grainy print of a boy and a woman on the shores of a beach. It was his mother.

Her hair was different, though, a little more gray and in a neat twist at the nape of her neck. There were a few more lines nestled in the skin of her cheeks but her face was elegant, long and carved like her son’s.  She was wearing a silk blouse and you looked down to meet the sight of your capris and bare feet, suddenly feeling extremely inadequate.

“She’s very pretty,” the woman told Horacio in a stage-whisper, a graceful hand adorned with red nail polish nestled in the crook of his elbow. He smiled as heat flushed your cheeks, your lips parted in momentary shock before you offered a quiet greeting, setting Isabella down. She toddled the few steps to meet her father’s legs, wrapping her small arms around his calves in a bid to be held.

“This is my mother, Paloma,” Horacio introduced as he picked up the small girl. The woman patted his hand lightly before letting go, her heeled flats making muffled sounds on the rug as she came towards you.

You offered your own name, laughing in surprise when, instead of reaching for your hand, Paloma pulled you into a tight hug. “It’s- it’s nice to meet you,” you said weakly against her hair. She smelled like jasmine flowers and you could just make out her son’s silhouette in your vision, cast in soft sunlight and standing easy.

“Come here,” she said, her hands resting on your arms as she let go. “Let me have a look at you.” You raised your eyebrows when she motioned for you to spin, turning slowly at her request. Paloma nodded a few times, seemingly pleased after she looked you up and down. You could only bite down a grin, bemused when Horacio mouthed something that looked like I’m sorry.

It’s okay, you mouthed back. I like her.

“I was right,” she announced, the clink of her gold bracelets shaking. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you laughed, following when she moved to sit down. She clasped your hands in her own, her rings cold on your skin but her palms soft. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” you offered.

“And I, you,” Paloma hummed, calling for her son to hand her her granddaughter. “My son adores you,” she gushed, eyeing him with a whisper, “I see why.”

Horacio set Isabella down beside you with a brush of his fingers against your shoulder, a quick kiss at your temple before he straightened again. “Mijo, can you get me something to drink?” his mother asked in her native tongue. “And your girlfriend, too.”

Girlfriend, you thought, not trying to fight the goofy smile that spread across your face.

Nice.

⫸ ——–- ⫷

Paloma talked to you in lilting Spanish, the words hushed as the subject of her gossip opened kitchen cabinets in search of clean glasses. “He was the cutest little boy,” she said after a moment, humming as she looked down at the child on her lap. “Looked a lot like her, actually.”

You turned to Isabella, grinning. “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Paloma nodded, goading you to come closer with a conspiratorial wave of her hand. You leaned forward on the couch, feeling the cushions shift underneath your weight as she continued. “I have this one photo, from preschool. I found him in my closet, wearing these bright red heels and a pair of black lace-”

“Mama,” Horacio interjected, hearing from the other room.

“What?” she responded, “It’s a good picture!”

You swallowed a small chuckle and shook your head. “Sounds like it.”

“I’ll show you one day,” Paloma assured you with a mischievous smile. “It’s wonderfully embarrassing.”

“Promise?”

“I swear on it,” she winked. “Next time you’ll have to visit me instead. I’ve been dying to meet you, and you’re just the sweetest thing. Isn’t she sweet, Horacio?” she called out again, meeting his nod as he walked from the kitchen, drinks in tow. Another rush of warmth spread across your face, blotching your neck and up your ears in mild heat.

You were grateful when Horacio handed you a glass of water, the ice washing down a cold relief in your throat. Paloma took her own sip, dainty and somehow not leaving any lipstick stains, before she spoke again. “I came here to take Isabella off your hands, actually.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but I didn’t think we were going any-” you began.

Horacio interjected, moving  as he stood behind you until his hands could rest warm at your shoulders. “That would be perfect.”

“Really?” you asked him, turning your head with a small smile. His thumbs rubbed a light circle into the rise of your neck before he spoke.

“We can go out somewhere,” he offered. “Are you hungry?”

⫸ ——–- ⫷

Horacio’s palm was broad on your back when he pulled out your chair.

You caught a glimpse of metal peeking above his waistband, sleek and dark and ever-present, but it didn’t really bother you. Only nagged a little bit, like an echo you’d grown accustomed to hearing and feel strange without. Guns were a given seemingly everywhere.

“Very chivalrous of you,” you laughed, meeting the shrug of his shoulders as he sat across the small table. Military men were like that, you supposed. Gentlemanly. Stoic.

His hand didn’t leave you, just traveled up your arm and down to rest heavy over your knuckles on the worn wood of the table. He touched you like someone would porcelain, rounded and cupping soft as to not disrupt the china cracks filled in by glue, yellowed by time and by tears. I won’t break, you wanted to whisper. I’m stronger now.

Your knees knocked against his and you gave a playful kick.

I have found a home in you, you thought as the waitress asked what you’d like to drink. Black coffee for him, pink lemonade for you. Horacio teased you about being juvenile and you only wrinkled your nose, insisting that it tasted better than regular lemonade.

He conceded as he looked behind you for a moment (his back was never to the entrance, of course) and you were reminded of when you were a child, sitting on the outer banks of a stream on a sun-warmed stone and watching the shadows get longer. You didn’t really know why you thought of that.

Maybe you could take him one day, to the stream. To hear the babbling of water over rocks and to feel the way your bones soaked in the quiet. He deserved quiet.

I have found a home in you, his eyes seemed to say when you wrinkled the damp wrapper of your straw because you always needed to be doing something with your hands, reaching for sugar packets and picking at their paper seams. He pushed his mug forward on the table and you dumped the sugar in.

You could both round the words on your lips when you leaned over the table, your kiss chaste and tasting like lemon crystals. I have found a home in you.

Funny, how things worked. How life worked. It wasn’t perfect, because neither of you were, but it was alright. Better than alright. You still had nightmares but now he held you, steady and strong and whispering for you to breathe.

You didn’t know if he had nightmares. He didn’t sleep much, though. Hours getting longer and such. Maybe he was used to it all. Which scared you a little, if you were being honest, but not as much as it might someone else. You’d seen the shards of glass refracting in his face sometimes, when something unspeakable happened or the weight of the gun at his hip dragged a little too heavy. But you stared right back. A steady compromise. Eye for an eye. Heart for a heart. Soul for a soul until the blood crusted in your nostrils and you grew to like the taste of iron.

Home could be scary. But it could also be comforting. Because for every stain and bruise of his body, every cock of an unfamiliar trigger and the way people whispered, he kissed your cheeks and smiled. Tender-hearted for a drawn-out moment. For you.

You ate in a comfortable sort of silence, not needing words but not minding them either.  The restaurant was a bit cramped but you liked it, enjoying the way you could hear the din of kitchen pots and feel its heat on your cheeks. An older woman wearing an apron smiled at Horacio and you raised an eyebrow.

“She knows me,” he explained as he gave her a passing wave. “I used to take Juliana here.”

“That’s nice,” you offered gently, following the way his eyes seemed to track a memory as they swept over the mismatched chairs. “When José got off work early, he used to take me to this restaurant downtown,” you remembered, nodding solemnly. “It was god awful.”

Horacio choked into his coffee and you grinned, lips curling up over the straw of your lemonade. “It was!” you protested when he looked at you again. “But he loved it and was always so excited, so I never said anything.”

“I get it,” he assured you after a moment, his expression settling. Yeah, he did. You both did. That was the thing you liked about him. About all this. Maybe it was bad to be glad you’d both been married, but maybe not. José was a good man and, from what you’d heard, Juliana was a good woman. They were good people. They’d loved you. Led you here.

Your eyes brightened at a shuffle of sound, discombobulated notes echoing through the small hall as strangers’ fingers plucked at guitar strings.

“He liked dancing,” you remembered wistfully, turning your head slightly to look at the small band now seated in the corner, a section of tables being removed to make room on the floor.

Horacio’s eyes softened when yours became glassy. “Juliana used to dance, too,” he said, cocking his head with a wrinkle of his brow. “Took me to salsa classes on our honeymoon.”

A laugh fought its way up your throat. “You- you went-” you sputtered as he reached over with a hand at your back, rubbing soft circles until your coughs slowed. “You- she-” you shook your head at the thought, incredulous. “Salsa?”

He nodded, slightly amused but stiffening at the way your gaze fell back to the small crowd of couples now gathering on the floor. Your name fell from him in a warning tone but you pretended not to hear, drowning out the sound with a scrape of your chair as you stood.

“C’mon,” you pulled at him with a wink, your hands curling around his biceps. “I’m sure you remember something.” A sigh escaped him, seemingly bone-deep and teetering on dramatic, and you rolled your eyes. “Pleaaase?” you asked, dragging out the vowels. He moved to stand up and you smiled again, victorious.

The music playing was slow, thankfully, so salsa dancing wasn’t on the agenda. It was enough for you to ask and for him to say yes. So you led him by the hand (not pressing too hard because his knuckles were still bruised) and stood on the edges of the small “dance floor,” giving a wide berth to the other couples as you settled against him.

You felt a little silly just standing there and swaying, but his arms were strong and his eyes were soft so you just smiled, leaning in a bit closer. Friend to lover to friend to lover. Friend and lover. Aching, quiet, and familiar.

His chest was broad. His shoulders, too. Wide and steady for you to lean on when your demons were too loud and the world became too big.

The world is small when you’re with him. Cupped in your hands like spring water, holy because you believed it to be.

Saints and sinners have beautiful faces.

You don’t know which one he is.

You don’t think it matters.

Whatever cord that ties you to him, you don’t mind it being soaked gold or scarlet. As long as it doesn’t break. Doesn’t fray to snapping and leave you alone again on cold tile. Warm wood. Splinters.

“What are you thinking about?” Horacio mumbled, the words muffled into your hair as his hand moved to meet the swell of your waist. You lifted your head.

“Not much,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the line of his jaw and the dark stubble on his cheeks. “Just... you. Us.”

You could feel his lips, brushing a feathered ghost of a smile. “Really now?” he asked, humoring your syrupy confession.

“Mhm,” you nodded, steadier this time. “Us.”

Horacio opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again, a muscle in his jaw tensing and prompting delicate concern. “Is something wrong?” you asked, not really wanting an answer because it meant you’d have to think of something else, outside of the little house you’ve built that dampened the noise of ugly things. He turned his head to the rest of the tables, still silent, shoulder blades shifting as a hand reached for the gun in his waistband. “Horacio,” you pleaded a bit more urgently, grabbing at his arms.

He whispered into your hair, gentle but firm. “Get your things. I’ll take care of the bill.” You nodded slowly, trying to keep from frowning as you made the few steps from the floor to your table, your purse hanging on the back of the wooden chair. The leather strap dug into the meat of your shoulder as he made quick conversation to one of the waiters, a flash of currency changing hands before his touch met the crook of your elbow. “We should go.”

“Horacio, is everything-”

“Now, please.”

He wasn’t one to beg and you weren’t one to whine. So you left, not exactly rushing but not slow either. The woman from before, the one he knew, caught your eye with a sad sort of smile. Like she was used to hurried exits.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in the Jeep, your hands reaching for the seatbelt, that his shoulders rolled back on their joints, loosening his tactical tenseness only slightly. He offered an apology as the ignition rumbled with a quiet engine roar, the street bumpy underneath you.

“It’s okay,” you replied, still concerned but knowing not to press. Men like him told you what you needed to know. If he wasn’t telling you, it was probably for a reason. At least, you hoped it was.

“I recognized some of his men in the restaurant,” Horacio explained with his eyes still on the road ahead. “Pablo’s,” he finished.

“Oh,” you responded, the word coming out more like a puff of deflated breathing as you fiddled with the bracelet on your wrist. You picked at the metal clasp with your thumbnail, needing something tangible to turn in your hands while the thoughts turned in your head, rolling backwards and forwards in your mind like they were billiard balls. Every so often they knocked together and you would open your mouth, but nothing came out in the end. Only air. Only thoughts.

“Horacio,” you turned to him, shifting until the material of your seat made a noise that dimly registered as funny. “Are things getting worse? With Escobar?”

A hand left the steering wheel, over the center console, reaching up and taking your own from where it was held balanced above your legs, your left elbow resting in the flesh of your thigh. Horacio squeezed lightly and you let yourself smile, pressing your lips to the sloping bone of his wrist as your fingers interlaced. He held tighter. It hurt a little.

“It’ll be alright, cariña,” he assured you. “Nothing we can’t handle, right?”

We. You and him.

“Right,” you repeated back to him. Maybe by saying it out loud, you could make it true.

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[towerfandoms]

Hanahaki Disease

“When the victim coughs up petals from one sided love”

A/n: Ok so I know I have a bunch of requests to get through but I was reading about Hanahaki disease and thought about Khun and one thing led to another. Regardless I hope you enjoy this even though it’s longgggg. I just feel like this will help me get out of my writing slump so yeah enjoy. And please feedback is always appreciated. Part 2 is now up here

Genre: ANGST, ANGST, ANGSTY ANGST. idk did I mention angst?

Warnings: mentions of death

Word Count: 2.2k

Aguero made it impossible not to believe in love at first sight. His angelic smile, velvety laugh, porcelain skin and his piercing, bright blue eyes. He was the definition of perfection. When you first met him you questioned if he was hand-carved by the Greek Gods themselves.

Khun was a reserved man. He didn’t let many people in. Despite his cold and harsh exterior you had seen something else in his eyes; exhaustion, pain, a little bit of weariness. He was hurting, badly. That’s why you made it your mission to break down those barriers and offer him a little kindness. Try and ease his pain.

Your efforts eventually paid off. Khun considered you as one of his closest companions and cared deeply about you. Although he still couldn’t fully open up to you he let his guard down more around you. And in that moment that was enough.

With each test, every fight, every loss you two went through, the pain lessened knowing you had each other by your side. At first your attraction to him was purely superficial. Nothing more than a typical “high school crush”. However as the years went on these feelings developed into something much bigger. Every time your shoulders brushed it sent a fizzle of electricity down your spine. Or how the blood rushed straight to your face whenever he leaned down to inspect your wounds.

Slowly, everyone around you began to notice. It was to be expected really. Hell, you couldn’t even look at the blue haired man in the eye anymore. Even Bam, who was as dense as a brick, noticed your lingering eyes on Khun whenever he turned his back. If Bam noticed then there was no doubt Khun knew or at the very least had an inkling suspicion. Of course he stayed true to his ways, never letting you know whether he knew about your crush on him or not. Soon these feelings became something much harder to control. They were threatening to explode, crush you. You knew this wasn’t healthy. You had to do something about it. And soon.

So you did what you decided to be the most rational idea. You were going to confess. You were pretty sure he didn’t like you romantically. He never flirted or showed interest in anyone. You supposed he was much too busy trying to survive to court anyone but you still had a little shred of hope. Maybe you’d be the exception. Maybe he was waiting for you.

You shook your head trying to shake away these thoughts as you walked to his room. Getting your hopes up was far too risky especially as you were 99% sure of the outcome. Still it did ease your nerves and even added a light spring in your step as you walked through the hallway.

You slowed down as you neared Aguero’s room. Come on y/n. Now is no time to chicken out. You reached his door and breathed deeply. It’ll be ok no matter the answer. He likes you back, yay. If he doesn’t then that means you got closure and can finally go back to normal. So just knock already damn it. With that, you knocked sharply on the door three times.

You wanted to curl onto the floor and die. Why were you doing this. What if you ruined the friendship. Damn it, damn it, DA-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Khun opening the door. His face contorted in worry when he saw your scared expression.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?!”

“Can we talk inside please,” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Of course.” He opened the door further to let you inside.

When you stepped in, you knew it was now or never. So you let out a shaky breath and tried your best to speak normally.

“I know this is completely out of the blue but I came here to confess. I really like you, Khun. A lot more than friends do.” You nervously chuckled and looked down at the floor, avoiding his face. “Actually it’s be better to say I’m completely in love with you but i know you probably don’t feel the same way about me but i just felt like letting you know”

Only when you finished your tangent did you look back up at him. You expected to see a blank face, maybe surprised. Even a small smile. Not this. Not like he was in agony.

He looked like he was in so much pain it was all you could to stop yourself from reaching out and comforting him. There was something else though mixed with the pain. Pity. Complete and utter sadness… for you. You felt a sense of dread blossoming in the pit of your stomach.

The air felt heavy, it was a struggle to even breathe. Time felt so slow. What was happening? When did it get so cold? Why isn’t he answering?

However Khun smoothed out his features just as fast, quickly replacing the pain with a blank face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. You always prided yourself on being one of the only people who could tell what Khun was thinking and be able to read his face. But now, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

You were afraid.

You swallowed thickly, waiting for his response.

Time ticked by slowly. How long had it been? It felt like 10 minutes though you knew it couldn’t be more than 30 seconds. At last it seemed like Khun finally knew what to say. He opened his mouth to speak. You braced yourself for his harsh words. In fact you prayed they’d be cruel. Anything to help you get over him faster.

“I’m sorry. I appreciate your words and I do care a lot about you but… I’m sorry I don't feel the same. I know this sounds stupid but it would probably be the best for you to get over me.”

Quick answer him now so you can get out of here.

“Of course, I expected this. Thank you, Khun and have a good evening” You surprised yourself by giving him a big smile and quickly walking over to the door before you could hear if he said anything back. You half hoped he would run after you and tell you he shared the same feelings. But you knew this would never happen. Aguero was not this type of man.

He was kinder than expected when rejecting you but still. It hurt so much more than you would’ve thought. Although you expected that answer why was it not the closure you needed. Why did your heart still quicken at the thought of him. You felt tears threatening to spill and you raced to your room before you could see anyone.

Every day was becoming more and more painful. Even looking at Khun hurt. He treated you more or less the same way acting as though the confession never happened but there was a noticeable distance. He was probably trying to give you space and you hated it. Every second of this. Every step was excruciating pain. It took everything in you to hold it all in. To not break down at any second.

Then after a week when you thought you would’ve been over it, came the flowers. You didn’t notice at first how the pain in your lungs wasn’t normal. You chalked it down to heartbreak but when you began coughing up blue petals mixed with blood you knew this was far from normal.

The petals seemed oddly familiar. Blue Himalayan Poppies. Your favourite as they reminded you of Khun’s bright blue hair. Your chest hurt more at the thought. No matter what you did there were always constant reminders of him. You couldn’t escape. You let out an empty laugh. When will this pain end?

Wait- choking up petals??? It sounded familiar. Almost like an old tale your mother used to tell you about. You quickly searched up the symptoms on your pocket and found what you were looking for- Hanahaki Disease.

Hanahaki Disease: It’s a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear. There is also a chance the victim may forget their old lover.

Your eyes widened when you read through it. It described your predicament exactly. It was obvious you’d have to get surgery but the thought of forgetting Khun, forgetting your love for him seemed too real. You knew it was stupid clinging on to one sided love like that. But your love for him was one of the main things that had driven you up the tower. Now what. Everything seemed so bleak. You felt so lost and confused.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! You weren’t thinking properly. You had to get surgery. If you didn’t and died, Khun would blame himself. And besides you were in so much pain, it physically hurt to breathe. And these damned petals. Blue. Never letting you forget about your love for Khun. You tried not to think about how you could potentially forget about Khun. Those were just rare cases anyways. Best case scenario you’re fixed and can go back to caring about Khun normally. Like the old times. So you went to the hospital in the tower to get the surgery done.

You decided not to tell anyone about this. Maybe you’ll tell Endorsi after the surgery but she couldn’t be trusted not to blab. You didn’t tell Khun because you didn’t want him to blame himself. You never blamed him for a second. He was allowed not to love you back, as much as that thought hurts. Khun was driven by his desire to get you, Bam, Rak and himself to the top of the tower. Of course he wouldn’t have time to court anyone. You tried to console yourself with the thought that at least you were one his cherished companions. But now, it was ruined. You slapped the sides of ur head trying to get rid of these thoughts. No. after the surgery everything will be ok. You kept repeating this as you walked to the hospital, barely convincing yourself

The surgery was successful. All the roots were removed from your lungs and you could take deep breaths again without feeling like your chest was going to rip apart. However there was something off… you felt like you were forgetting something. But you just had surgery so it was to be expected with the anesthesia.

You didn’t remember the last time you felt this good. The air felt so light. You skipped along, feeling so happy and free. Breathing had never felt better and all you wanted to do was run and around and play like a kid again. Your thoughts were so positive and you couldn’t wait to go back. You had to hurry up though as you had another test soon and you needed to train. Maybe you’ll get Hatz to show you how to use a sword properly. He may seem rude and stand-offish at first he was a sweet boy deep down and you knew he’d be glad to help. Yes everything felt so much better after the surgery. You didn’t know why you hadn’t confessed earlier.

Confessed to who?

You brushed that thought off with still being groggy from anesthesia and nearly skipped up the steps of the penthouse. You felt so giddy and all you wanted to do was laugh and talk. You had a big smile on your face as you rooted through the fridge looking for something to eat. You were so lost in carefree thoughts that you didn’t hear someone creeping behind you.

“Y/n!” came a foreign voice startling you out of your pleasant thoughts. You stood there confused as you couldn’t pinpoint exactly whose voice it was, thought it was familiar.

You turned around, still with a smile on your lips.

“Hm?” you replied, taking in the sight of the person in front of you.

He had an angelic smile, velvety laugh, porcelain skin and piercing, bright blue eyes. He was the definition of perfection. You questioned to yourself if he was hand-carved by the Greek Gods themselves.

“Are you ok? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days?”

“I’m so sorry if this sounds rude but do we know each other?”

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 7

Hi! I spent the last three days writing this chapter by smashing my head against the keyboard! I hope you enjoy! Also, SURPRISE! Lucifer!

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10] 

Pairing: Simeon x Lucifer x Reader   Genre: Smut   Wordcount: 6,200 ish   Tags: Angst, Self harm/Self Mutilation, threesome F/M/M, Voyeurism, spitroasting Summary: Simeon asks for forgiveness and for a helping hand to finish his book.

Drip

He could ask for your forgiveness all he wanted, but you were under no obligation to give it to him. It was to be expected that you would pull away from him as soon as you awoke. It didn’t surprise him at all when you couldn’t bear to stand his touches. He deserved it for pushing too far.

He could ask for forgiveness, but God had long forsaken him.

Distance made the pain more tolerable. As long as he turned his mind off from everything else, he could imagine that it had all been a terrible dream that fueled his writing. If he focused everything he had to the sound of fingers on the keyboard, he wouldn’t have to think about the way you choked out his pen name, the despair in your eyes or the tears streaming down your face when you begged for mercy. He didn’t want to think about how shameful it was for him to be elated to see those desperate expressions from you.

He didn’t ask if your cuts and wounds were healing well. He knew they would. The inperceivable amount of magic he had used on you while you were passed out in his arms would ensure that. The only thing he wasn’t sure about anymore was his relationship with you and how you felt about him after what he put you through.

You managed to somehow keep things cordial. Despite what happened, you were both professionals in your field. Deadlines didn’t change just because of a botched session. You still had to read through his words and relive everything he did to you. It was mandatory to stay objective and help him create the most immaculate product possible. In the end, it was all about business and you had learned long ago to separate work from your personal life. It was just unfortunate that your personal life had also become your work with your current project.

The distraction of work didn’t stop the pain though. It didn’t stop you from waking up covered in a cold sweat every other night having dreamed of those dangerous dark eyes. You hadn’t gone to see him ever since that day, not like you really could. You weren’t sure if you really wanted to see him again. Work was piling up, the world around you kept spinning even if yours had stopped momentarily. Regardless of what your feelings were, you needed to run to keep up with the world and didn’t have time to think of yourself.

The scars he left behind healed well, they left no marks except for the invisible ones he carved into your heart that day. You could still feel the cold steel of the knife being dragged slowly across your skin, right at your ribs as he spelled his name, made you his and owned you for a brief moment in time. The cuts to the corners of your mouth and tongue healed remarkably quickly without leaving any blemishes. But the ghosting feeling of something cold and sharp never seemed to disappear along with the scabs.

Days melded into one another. You were able to bury yourself into work, wrecking whatever sleep schedule you normally had to distract yourself from reality. Piles upon piles of manuscripts all melted into one another and you slowly lost track of who wrote what along with the remnants of your sanity. The crinkle of paper as you turned pages was the last physical reminder that your reality was intimately tied to Simeon regardless of how much you wanted to get away from him.

Distance made things easier to bear. The need to stay separated was mutual. Simeon had a lot to reflect on and a lot to do. For the most part, his manuscript was done. The only thing he had left was the concluding chapter. He couldn’t bring himself to write it. Every time he put his fingers on the keyboard, he thought of you and everything you had done for him along with everything you did with him. His book had became an oddly intimate look at his desires and the inevitable end that he needed to write.

His eyes ached from staring at the screen for so long. The blinking cursor on the document taunted him. No matter how many times he wrote and rewrote, the ending wouldn’t come out right. He needed you the most, yet he could not rely on you when you were so far away. Toys had gotten him so far, but describing the intimacy of affection between two humans felt like an insurmountable task. There had to be away around it. The heavy burden of sin weighed on his shoulders as he warred with himself. His name, his reputation, all for the fall? It was impossible.

He had to see a way through it.

Until he could figure it out; he deserved every little bit of scorn you threw at him. Every passing day, hour, minute, and second that went without being in contact with you drained him. The color in his world slowly disappeared until there was nothing but the black text on white paper.

It started just at the corner of his vision. In his dark office, it was easy to ignore when his focus was on the words in front of him. It was easy to pretend nothing was wrong when he went to get a cup of tea. But, the change was definite and true. Soon enough, he wondered just when did he own so many mugs in various shades of gray.

Ah, so this is what it’s come to. I suppose it’s fitting.

He could feel his senses slowly seeping away from him, ashamed of everything he did. He held the facade of an upright and chivalrous angel, but internally he was a husk of himself. Somehow, he had managed to become a demon without falling from grace. He supposed it should have been considered a miracle. It meant that not all hope was lost. If he applied himself, then surely he could claw his way out of the hole he created.

If.

If only he cared enough to do such a thing. Living as a shell seemed to be so much easier than pretending he was immune to human temptation. In pursuit of a perfect craft, he lost himself to all the allure the human realm had to offer. Two steps away from the gates of Hell, there seemed to be no turning back. Sacrifices had to be made in order to obtain perfection. Perhaps selling his soul to the devil was the last option he had to achieve it. It would be a worthy price to pay.

Pain made it easier to bear the weight of sin. It wasn’t a modern method by any means, but it brought him closer to the light once more. He repented with every crack of the whip upon his back, every scar he inflicted on himself. For every drop of blood he shed, he returned to the good he dedicated so much of his life to. The injuries would heal within a day, but the lingering ache would linger across his skin. The pain made him forget you and remember who he was. He was good. He was good.

He was good.

The most poignant thing he learned in the world of humans was the emotion of fear. That deep terror within him stirred as he thought of losing everything he had with change. After centuries of living, Simeon never doubted his powers or his wisdom until he had his finger hovering over your contact number to call and beg you for help. His hand shook while he stared blankly at the screen in front of him. He was so close to the end, yet so far away from the one person who would get him there. He was better than this, but he didn’t want anything greater than what he had created with you.

His simmering desires for you convinced him to call while the last vestiges of his goodness prevented him from making the call. He lost track of just how many hours he berated himself mentally all the while staring at numbers on his phone screen taunting him to take those last few steps to Hell.

And then. A light in his darkness.

[SMS: Do you need help?]

You knew exactly why he had been ignoring all your emails and your attempts at contacting him. You had needed your own time to heal and process everything that happened. Nearly a month had passed without a peep from him and you sincerely started to wonder if Simeon was alright. He canceled an unprecedented number of appearances and interviews. The PR mess that followed from that was enough to make you lose a full week of sleep. You didn’t blame him though, after you left his home that night when the storm finally passed, he seemed so tired.

You didn’t want to push the issue if you could help it. The book was almost complete. You had read it so many times over in your editing you swore you had a majority of it memorized. With only the final chapter missing, you could predict where his story was going, and the man rarely ever strayed from his outlines. An intimate and loving scene with his protagonist and her love interest who saved her from the clutches of evil was in order.

With the nature of the subject and were your relationship had just taken a turn to, you weren’t surprised at all he hadn’t submitted anything to you. Three days before your final deadlines and he still hadn’t contacted you. It was so uncharacteristic of him to turn in his work late; you had to take the initiative to get him to finish on time. So, it was a fair amount of despair that you sent that text, asking him if he needed help. Even if you skin crawled just thinking about being touched by him, you needed to do your job.

You clenched your phone, waiting for the screen to light up, your knuckles turning white from the force of your grip. You didn’t want to do this, but you had to. Someone had to be the adult and take one for the team. With Simeon’s name being so revered, it was clear to you that the minor sacrifice of your comfort for one more session with him would be worth it in the end.

So why couldn’t you stop yourself from crying?

The way he lilted his voice when he chased you still haunted your dreams at night. No matter how many blankets you wrapped around you could save you from the chill of that dreaded cold knife he dragged across your skin. There was no point in distancing yourself from him. Despite what happened, he was good. Having spent years working with him, you were sure you had a firm grasp of who he was as a person.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do...”

[SMS: come see me when you can]

You let out an earth shattering sigh. Whether it was from relief or from fear, you didn’t know. What you did know that it would all be over soon. The stress of the book, the anxiety you felt about Simeon, the pain that spread across your chest every time you thought about him, all of it would be over as soon as you got to see him again and figure it all out in person.

There was a terrible little part of you that was so curious about how he was going to solve the last piece of the puzzle to his book. The only way to find out was to go see him.

~~

“What a surprise. A call from the great Christopher Peugeot himself.”

“Listen.”

“I am. Go on.”

Simeon sighed, already regretting the call he was making. After receiving your text, he wracked his brain for a solution to the ending of his book. He was so close, he could feel it; but the guilt he felt towards you prevented him from taking what he craved. It was after much agonizing and staring blankly at a wall that the idea struck him. He’d have to take matters in his own hands and direct the ending himself.

For that, he needed an extra helping hand.

Which is what landed him in the situation he was in at the current moment. Bargaining with the devil to help him. He didn’t think he’d stoop so low to pull on old connections. Yet, there he was, on the phone with someone he hadn’t spoken to in decades.

“I need your help…” Simeon admitted, still struggling with voicing his needs.

“Well, I assumed as much if you’re making the effort to talk on a personal line. How long has it been since I gave you this number? Twenty? Thirty years, now?”

“Twenty-seven, but that’s besides the point.” Simeon could feel the inkling of frustration creeping into his voice. His old friend always had the ability to pull out the worst in him. Spending over half a century in the human realm, they managed to stay out of each other’s hair for the most part.

His friend chuckled on the other side of the line. “Alright, what can I do for you?”

“Are you free this weekend? I uhm… I need some help with the last scene of my book.”

“Oh? The great Christopher Peugeot himself needs assistance from me? I’m flattered you’d consider me.”

“Just call me Simeon, Lucifer. Stop playing around.”

“I’ll clear up my schedule. I wouldn’t miss the chance to help you.”

Simeon sighed. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified that Lucifer agreed to help him out. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Oh, I know.” Lucifer was practically singing on the other end with smug excitement. “Should I prepare for anything in particular?”

“I… Uhm… I can explain when you get here.”

“Always the mysterious one...” Lucifer chided, chuckling softly. He didn’t push the subject any further and Simeon was glad for it. “From what I’ve seen from the press releases of your upcoming title, I can only assume I’ll need to wear my best underwear.”

“Do whatever you want. I’ll see you this weekend.” Simeon grumbled before ending the call. His face felt like it was on fire. He didn’t think he had hit rock bottom until he made an agreement with the devil.

It was truly unfortunate that the devil was the only person he could trust with this task.

~~

“Oh, welcome! Come on in. We’ve been waiting.” The actual CEO of Akuzon was the last person you expected to see when you arrived at Simeon’s home that weekend. To say you were stunned was an understatement. You were stuck standing at the doorway, mouth agape and eyes wide, looking like a fool. It took a surprising amount of prying to get you to move past the door and into the home.

Simeon was already hard at work in the living room, typing frantically while Lucifer ushered you in. The grin on his face was full of mirth and amusement. It was clear he knew exactly the effect he had on people and he wasn’t pulling any punches when it came to throwing the weight of his power around.

“Simeon and I go way back.” Lucifer explained, taking a seat once he was sure you weren’t going to faint from shock. “When he asked me to help him out, there was no way I could deny him.”

Your words needed to catch up with your brain as the pieces started to clicked together. All you could manage was a lame “Ah.” You nodded slowly, looking back and forth between the two men, waiting for someone to confirm your suspicions.

Simeon finished typing and finally looked up. It seemed like he wanted to approach you, but he stayed put, unable to bring himself to get closer to you without your permission. “I cannot ask for you to trust me again. Not after what I put you through. I… I still need help with the last chapter of this book. So, I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but would you be comfortable with putting your trust in him?”

You blinked rapidly digesting what Simeon was proposing. You slowly turned your head to look at Lucifer who was casually lounging in his seat, his head resting on his propped up arm. A knowing smirk on his face while he waited for your answer. He practically exuded endless charisma and carried himself as every bit of the CEO he was. It was hard to deny his charm and you felt yourself nod before you could really process the gravity of your situation.

You hadn’t realized the anxious pressure in your chest relieve itself when your brain finally grasped the fact that you wouldn’t be at risk with seeing that side of Simeon again this time. This was a new partner, a new experience, a new touch, a good touch. You could do this.

There was still the hurdle of getting over being intimate with a man you had only seen in headlines. You expected that to be a rather difficult hindrance to the authenticity of the scene Simeon wanted to write. After all, it was supposed to be a soft and loving scene, nothing like what you had last gone through. Managing that with a stranger seemed to be a rather tall task.

Lucifer didn’t seem bothered by what he needed to do at all. Having been filled in with the gist of the situation, it was easy to slip just a hint of charm magic into his words to coax you out of your shell. He smiled, taking off the casual blazer he had on to reveal a perfectly fitted dress shirt hugged his frame in all the right places. Well, he doesn’t spare any expenses when it comes to looking good, no matter what the circumstances. Duly noted…

“Come here.” He beckoned, tilting his head and calling you over with just that motion.

Your body moved on its own, drawn to his aura, entranced by his name and his looks as well as his natural allure. When you locked eyes with him, it was as if Simeon wasn’t even in the room with you two anymore. The world faded away and you felt a warmth spread across your chest where the anxiety once was. He effortlessly made you feel safe somehow and you found yourself sitting in his lap without being asked to. He placed his arms loosely around you and the air between the two of you was absolutely electric.

You only noticed Simeon again when he walked over and adjusted his friend’s arms. He mumbled to himself as if possessed. He was present in the moment, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, writing his book while he posed the two of you in the ideal scenario. You could hear him come up with dialog on the fly, guiding Lucifer’s hands to your lower back to cradle you gently in his lap. With a little more direction Simeon had Lucifer rest his head at the crook of your neck. “I need you two to pretend to like each other… Please...”

You could feel Lucifer smirk against your skin, his lips just brushing against your pulse point when he spoke. “Oh, I won’t need to pretend to like her.”

You suppressed a shiver. Lucifer’s breath was so warm and his cologne was so cloying it made you feel rather lightheaded. There was an element of unspoken shame between the three of you. Allowing a stranger into what you had already established with Simeon felt so wrong. To do this with an old friend of his no less, there was distinct sense of sin about it the scene that felt rather right given the circumstances that lead up to it.

It was a blessing that Lucifer was so naturally handsome and mesmerizing. You were sure if it had been anyone else, it wouldn’t have been so easy to feel at home in his lap. His long fingers playing at the hem of your blouse while he pressed soft kisses at your neck. If you remembered the sequence of events of the book correctly, the main character had just been saved by her ‘husband’ who happened to be an assassin given the same target at she had been. You needed to put yourself in the protagonist’s mind, pretend that the man in front of you was as precious as a spouse and as marvelous as a savior.

Lucifer fell into his role seamlessly, kissing your skin as if he had almost lost his most treasured possession. His embrace tightened just enough to draw you closer to him. It was easy to tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. The way his lips played across your skin was so tender and soft, you sighed in satisfaction just from his kisses. Instinctively, your hands went to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, encouraging him to keep going further.

You could hear Simeon typing on the other side of the room; the usually distracting sound of the keyboard was negligible compared to the sound of Lucifer’s breathing so close to you. His teeth nipped the shell of your ear and you shied away out of habit. He chuckled softly, licking your skin and humming in approval at your reactions.

You weren’t sure how someone so suave was allowed to exist. He was barely doing anything and you were absolute putty in his hands within an hour of meeting him. He had been completely correct, there was no need to pretend you liked one another. The innate attraction was there, all you needed to do was react to his lead. “Lucifer...” you breathed, testing how it felt to have his name fall from your lips.

The verdict? It felt right.

Lucifer glanced over to where Simeon sat, catching the heated glare that was fixed on him. He couldn’t help but beam in self-satisfaction, knowing that the angel very much wished to be the one in the scene and not him. He turned his attention back to you, eliciting more breathy moans out of you. He said he was going to help with the scene; he never said anything about being mindful of relationship between you and Simeon.

“I like those noises you make. Make some more.” He demanded, slipping his hand under your blouse to finally get a handful of your skin. His touch left a trail of fire across your nerves. It felt like it had been years since you were last this close to anyone; it only made you more receptive of anything he did to you.

Lucifer was meticulous in his ministrations. He made sure to take his time exploring you with his hands and lips before moving onto the next step. It was almost torture how slow he was taking it. By the time he worked the first button off of your blouse, you were ready to rip his shirt off him.

“Kiss...” Simeon said from his seat. His voice curt and short as if he was directing a scene from a movie. “Kiss her before you do anything else.”

Lucifer was quick to comply. He had been hesitant in claiming your lips with his own, but with the approval of Simeon, he lost no time in taking your breath away. With one hand at the back of your head to keep you steady, his lips brushed against your own, seeking tentative permission before he went further. The warmth of his body enveloping you so gently made you melt and accept his kisses eagerly. His tongue traced your lips before delving into your mouth, tasting you for the time.

You moaned, breathing deeply through your nose as he overwhelmed all your senses with just his lips and tongue. While one hand held your head firmly in place for him, his free hand caressed your cheeks, your neck and your collarbone. While he swallowed all the pretty little noises that came from the back of your throat, he continued to work off the buttons of your blouse. Your clutched onto his shirt, unable to break the kiss even if you felt your head spin from lack of oxygen.

By the time all the buttons of your blouse had come undone, you were a breathless, whimpering wreck for him. He pulled away and admired just how swollen your lips had become from all the kisses. “Beautiful.” he praised, making your whole body heat up from the simple compliment. “Think you can help me out of these clothes? It’s gotten pretty warm in here.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice to help him. As much as you wanted to savor the moment and really draw out the intimacy between the two of you; you were also desperate to see what he looked like under that dress shirt. You licked your lips at every inch of skin you exposed, your eyes glittered with glee as you uncovered his chest and abs.

As soon as his shirt was completely open, he went back to exploring your body with his lips. His kisses trailed down your neck, to your chest and right to the outline of your bra. “Ah, silly undergarments… They always get in the way of fun.” In one swift motion, he slid his hands under your bra, freeing your breasts and also divesting you of your top along with it as it went over your head and arms. For a second, you felt distinctly vulnerable under his gaze and moved to cover yourself, but his hands kept your arms at your side.

You squirmed under his touch, your brain completely blank as he lavished you with attention. Lucifer noticed the freshly healed cuts on your skin and made sure to give them extra affection. He did it partially to stay in character, but mostly to spite Simeon who was definitely fixated on the scene he orchestrated. He was getting too much enjoyment out of pulling the most lewd sounds from you all the while the angel watched, unable to participate. The control he had over the both of you was absolutely exhilarating and turned him on more than the kisses and fondling.

Lucifer pushed you to lay on the couch, settling himself between your legs and hovering over you. The opened ends of his shirt tickling your sides briefly before he leaned in and took your nipple into his mouth. His tongue laved at the sensitive skin, coaxing it into a perky little bud before moving onto your other breast and doing the same. By the time he was done with that task, you were sure that the knee he had pressed up against your crotch could feel just how wet you had gotten.

Looking down between the two of you, you were grateful to see he wasn’t completely immune to the scenario. The impressive bulge in his pants at least proved to you he was enjoying this as much as you were. Pulling him into another searing hot kiss, you tugged at his hair, rolling your hips against him. You didn’t care that Simeon was watching, with Lucifer, you could get what he would never give you. “Fuck me.” you whispered, barely believing you were making such a demand.

“With pleasure.”

The rest of your clothes came off in record time. The need for a release was almost unbearable. Just seeing Lucifer’s cock spring out of his boxers made your mouth water. You were more than happy to spread your legs for him, giving him all the access in the world to seat himself in you.

But, it seemed he had a different idea for you. Turning you to face Simeon on the other side of the room, he pulled you up to your knees and slid into you from behind, groaning as your cunt greedily accepted every inch of him with no resistance. “Let’s give him something to write about.” he suggested right before making you see stars with his cock.

Being filled with an actual dick and not a toy was an experience you had missed so much. There was nothing better than the warmth and the feel of a real cock sliding in and out of you. Toys could only simulate so much, nothing could compare to what Lucifer was giving you. “Oh… fuck.” You gasped, leaning against his chest for support.

His hand grabbed your hair, pulling you flush against him as he rammed his whole length into you over and over again. His breathing hitching every time you squeezed around his cock. “Oh yeah, that’s a good girl.” he praised. “Look at how hot and bothered he is.” Lucifer brought your attention to the author across the room. His fingers frozen across the screen as his eyes were glued to the scene you were creating with his friend.

You didn’t want to look, but everything Lucifer said was a command you could not disobey. Glancing over, you were blessed with the image of Simeon, blankly staring at what you were doing. His expression completely unreadable, but his eyes were dark from just how blown out his irises were. His hands that were supposed to be on the keyboard stroked his clothed cock in time with every one of Lucifer’s strokes.

The feeling of shame washed over you as you saw just how pitiful Simeon seemed so distant from the two of you. His heated gaze was fixated on the spot where Lucifer and you were so intimately joined. Lucifer continued on railing into you, his hand wrapped around your waist and teased your clit, drawing you closer and closer to your climax. You couldn’t even think about the guilt you felt in your gut as Simeon was forced to observe you. All you could focus on was just how good Lucifer was with his cock and how close you were to coming undone.

“Think we should let him join us?” Lucifer’s voice was like the devil on your shoulder, voicing all the things you couldn’t say out of embarrassment. “He’s always been bad at saying what he wants.”

You didn’t have time to respond as all the pleasure came to a screeching halt. Just as you felt like you were going to cum, Lucifer pulled out of you, making you whine and whimper in need. “I… what… I...”

The smile he gave you was soft, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. There was a devious glint in them while he waited for you to compose yourself.

“What? Why did you stop? What happened?” Simeon busied himself with sitting up straight again, hunching over his computer as if he hadn’t just been stroking himself to what was in front of him.

“I got bored.” Lucifer stated plainly, getting up and leading you over to the author who was furiously typing away, trying to the capture the scene he just witnessed. “I thought you might like to join in the fun...”

“That… that wasn’t the agreement.”

“I’m bending the rules a little.” Lucifer shrugged and gently pushed you down on your knees in front of Simeon. You crawled under the folding table he set up as a makeshift desk. It was a snug fit, but not entirely too uncomfortable. “I’m sure we can all benefit from a little more fun, right?” He laced his hand into your hair and gently, but firmly pushed you towards Simeon’s bulge.

You didn’t even need any encouragement to start working on freeing Simeon’s cock from the confines of his pants. The man above you couldn’t protest, the need to feel you and the need for release overriding his scruples he had worked so hard to maintain. “I… You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” You said firmly, licking your lips when you got your hands around his length and pulled it out, giving it an experimental pump. With just that simple touch, Simeon hissed and rolled his hips up to meet your hand. “And it looks like you want to, as well.”

“Let’s see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” Lucifer encouraged from behind you. “If you do a good job, I’ll make sure to finish what I started.”

You were more than eager to wrap your lips around the tip of Simeon’s cock, licking and swirling your tongue around the tip. Your hand pumping the length of his cock you couldn’t fit in your mouth just yet. Simeon’s moan encouraged you to keep going, taking more of him into you until he hit the back of your throat. Lucifer’s hand in your hair was soon replaced with Simeon’s as he held onto you, setting the pace as your head bobbed up and down his cock.

You moaned into his dick, sending vibrations down his length and making him shiver. His grip in your hair tightened and he pushed your head further down his cock, wanting you to take all of him. With a bit of an initial struggle to suppress your gag reflex, you relaxed enough to take every inch of him with just a little coaxing. Soon enough, your nose brushed against his coarse pubic hairs every time he made a full pass down your throat.

“Amazing...” Lucifer breathed, lining himself behind you to enter you again. Just watching Simeon fuck your mouth had heightened the sexual tension in the room into something palpable. He timed himself to enter you at the same time Simeon was at his deepest down your throat. “Time for your reward.”

Your screams of pleasure were muffled by Simeon’s cock being stuffed into your mouth. Lucifer taking your cunt again made you nearly lose consciousness for a second. Simeon’s grip in your hair became almost painful as the two of them worked in tandem to fuck you senseless.

It felt like there was an unsaid agreement the moment the two of them started to move. As soon as Lucifer pulled out of you until just the tip of his cock remained in your pussy, Simeon would be fully seated down your throat. The moment Simeon’s dick slid out of your mouth just enough to give you a chance to breathe, Lucifer would ram his whole length back into you, making you forget to take a full breath before the cycle continued once again.

It was a dizzying experience and the orgasm that had been abated for the time being built itself back up to be something explosive. The two of them played your body like a toy meant for their pleasure. All your holes were meant to please them; and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Lucifer’s fingers once again found your clit, bringing you right up to the edge within a few passes of his digits across the sensitive nub.

“Cum for me, beautiful...”

His voice was magical, pushing you right across the threshold into your climax. You moaned into Simeon’s cock, causing him to also unload his cum down your throat. Even if it was hard to breathe, the lack of oxygen only seemed to enhance the high you had been brought to. Lucifer only needed to thrust into you a few more times before his own pace stuttered and he came, releasing his hot seed into you and completing the euphoric feeling of climaxing.

Simeon was the first to regain his senses, carefully pulling out his spent cock from your mouth. Even if you did your best to swallow all of him, some of his cum mixed with your saliva and dribbled down the corner of your mouth to your chin. He carefully wiped away what he could with his thumb before pulling you in for a kiss.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry… Please forgive me…” He begged in between kisses. He could taste himself on your lips, something he didn’t expect to enjoy as much as he did. With every kiss, the color returned to his world, the grays that permeated his every existence faded the more time he spent with you. Without you, he wasn’t himself anymore; that much he learned.

Ah. So this is what forgiveness feels like...

Lucifer pulled out of you once he softened enough to do so. He was about to say something rather snide, but he also didn’t want to ruin the moment of reconciliation between the two of you. So, he decided to save it for later. He waited patiently for you to reassure him everything was going to be all right before speaking up.

“So, you think you got the scene?”

“Yeah… I think we got it. Do you think we can make the deadline?”

You looked up at him, feeling satisfied and elated in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

[fletchphoenix]

Let Me Adore You

Part 2 of Hopelessly Devoted To You because someone suggested a Varian POV and I simply couldn’t resits! Also, I accidentally posted this without a HUGE chunk written so =D I hate myself!!!!! But here’s the finished product! <3

-------------------

He laughed as him and Estelle swayed across the ballroom, twirling her around and watching as her hair seemed to float around her, before her head rested against his chest and they settled into a little sway. A smile played on his lips as he looked down at her, Estelle returning the expression as he held her close to his chest and she rose to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead, the hair that usually covered his eye slicked back. He thought it made him look pretty fancy, though Hugo had teased him about getting dressed up for his little ‘date’. It wasn’t even a date, he just didn’t want to be rude and not ask her to come with them. After all, she’d seemed so excited about the idea of going with him, so for him to just let her down…he couldn’t do it, even though there was someone else he’d much rather be swaying with. Still, he couldn’t help the grin that graced his features, the goofiness of it making her grin. He didn’t even hear the ballroom door closing from across the room, Estelle immediately pulling him into another ridiculously energetic dance.

After a few more dances (much to his disappointment, as he really wanted to find a certain person and talk to them) he was pulled along to the balcony with Estelle to look out at the gardens. “A beautiful night, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice with a slight hint of the local accent cutting through the silence of the night. He glanced over, met with the sight of her looking over at him with a wide, lovestruck and infectious smile that he couldn’t help but return, despite his best interests. 

“Yeah, very quiet too. Kinda unusual where I’m from. Usually there’s something like an explosion or someone dying-” He began, cut off by Estelle pressing her lips against his and, almost as quickly as it happened, she broke it. He stood speechless and, though he knew he should say something to her, he caught sight of the person he desperately wanted to see on the other balcony.

Boy, did he look handsome. 

Dressed in a green suit, the blond rose his glass in their direction, a little smile on his face as Varian returned it and waved in his direction. The blond simply looked away, however, downing the contents of his champagne flute as Estelle pressed a kiss to his cheek and cuddled into his side. Helplessly, he watched as Hugo wandered back inside. “I...excuse me a second. Okay?” He stuttered to Estelle, wrenching his arm away from her vice-like grip and running through the ballroom, out the doors and down the hall to catch up with the blonde. 

He shoved the doors to the mansion open, looking around for the other man and calling his name, though there was no sight of him anywhere. “Cmon, sweetheart. I’m sure he just went to the horses and went to the inn. He seemed really tired.” Estelle reassured as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him back into the fray. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, though. Hugo had looked so upset and solemn on the balcony. Maybe his date for the night had left or something? He just...couldn’t believe the man would be alone all night. Not when he’d so often bragged about being able to have ‘any woman he wanted’. It just didn’t seem plausible. Still, he let himself get dragged into even more dances, though his mind still worried and fretted over the blonde. He’d ask him later.

--------------------------------

Varian let the cool air of the night hit his face, walking beside Nuru and Yong as they laughed with Estelle on his arm and leaning into his touch. Their laughter and chatting filled the night, the stars in the sky shimmering down on them as they made their way through darkened streets, street lights only barely shining down to illuminate their path. They didn’t care though - they were all together. It was almost a picture perfect moment.

Almost.

Varian hadn’t seen Hugo since the incident on the balcony, the blonde seemingly disappeared into the night. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been himself since they’d met Estelle - the preppy baker’s daughter who had practically dragged Varian onto the dancefloor. Of course he was happy to oblige, she was a beautiful woman and he’d never really danced with, well, anyone before. Well, other than Hugo. That was...certainly an experience. His face flushed at the memory, it coming to the front of his brain and playing out like a fairytale.

It was as though it came from one of those romance novels in the Corona Library, Hugo’s hand on his waist as they glided over the dancefloor. If they weren’t on a mission and he hadn’t hated the man’s guts at the time, he would’ve let himself sink into the moment as the marble floor clicked under the heels of the shoes they were wearing. He’d let himself be spun around in the candlelight and dipped down (even lifted and spun, which he let out a little laugh to - though he’d never admit that to Hugo) until they were forced from their moment to go. He supposed that was the first time he’d even entertained the thought of having feelings for Hugo.

The second time he’d felt weird about Hugo was after the trial at the water kingdom. After being attacked by a siren, he’d been broken out of his vision by ghastly screaming and the sight of Hugo stabbing the wrist of one of the sirens. He’d looked...rather handsome, if Varian was being honest, his hair floating around his head and his glasses, presumably set aside on the floor, now gone allowed an unobscured view of the little freckles that were scattered over his face. The view almost made Varian forget he didn’t know how to swim, until a strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled them both up to the surface where Yong was waiting patiently with the totem. 

“Can’t swim?” Hugo had asked by their fire that night, an innocent enough question if it wasn’t for the smug grin on his face and his hair that was out of its stupid ponytail and bobbed just above his shoulders. His green jacket had been set aside to dry, so the blond had settled on some trousers and a green, short sleeved shirt that showed off a few scars littered across his arms as well as his muscles. Muscles that Varian found extremely distracting and made a deep flush come to his face. 

“Shut up.” He replied as he quickly looked away, hoping the dim light of the fire concealed his flush as the blond took a seat on the log beside him. Yong had gone to sleep a few hours ago, leaving the two men alone. Varian could swear that Hugo had shuffled closer - close enough that their shoulders pressed together and, if they turned their heads, their lips would touch. Which was the exact reason Varian kept his head turned away from the blonde. 

His blood ran cold as a finger rested on his chin and turned his head, Hugo coming into view with a confused and curious look on his face. “Look..even if you can’t...I’m glad you’re safe, Varian.” Hugo whispered into the night and, god, Varian could feel the other’s breath on his lips and his eyes showed nothing but him being genuine and actually happy about Varian being safe. He could swear that the other’s eyes flicked down to his lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own before the blond retracted his hand and moved away. “I’ll take the first watch, go get some sleep.” He replied as Varian rose to his feet and hurried to his tent, the flaps closing as he felt the familiar rush of heat over his face. Needless to say, he didn’t get much sleep last night.

Last, but not least, was during a visit to a town. He’d been walking and, admittedly, hadn’t looked where he was going, as Yong talked his ear off and Nuru tried to prevent Hugo from stealing anything. Absentmindedly, he’d wandered into the road before arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him close, away from a carriage speeding down the path. “Woah, you alright there, hairstripe?” Hugo had teased, his hands resting on Varian’s waist and his thumbs tracing little circles into his flesh, it heating up under every movement and brush of fabric. Their chests were pressed against each other, well, until Varian pushed himself away. “Wow, I saved your life and this is how you repay me? Not even a kiss?” Hugo teased, though Varian hesitated to entertain the idea for a second. No. He was just teasing. It wasn’t worth pondering over.

He flashed back to the moment as they stood outside the bakery, Estelle pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The skin didn’t tingle like it did when Hugo touched him. It didn’t heat up as her lips pressed against it, and he didn’t feel his heart break as he saw her go inside. Sure, it sucked to feel that way, but all he could feel was excited to see the blond again. Now, with a smile on their faces, they headed towards the inn.

It was only a quaint inn, a small oak sign swinging outside with the “Rabbit’s Foot Inn’ carved into it along with a few other intricate details, and a matching door, about 6 foot tall. The exterior was mostly stone as well, the surface rough to the touch as he trailed his hand across it, with little notches and cracks where it had been worn away. It almost reminded him of the Snuggly Duckling back in Corona, but with a sufficient lack of thugs. The interior was mostly wooden, namely spruce and oak like the sign, and a floor that let out little creaks if you stepped in the wrong place. Downstairs was a tavern, so the place was never truly void of people. Contently, the group headed upstairs, saying goodnight to each other. Varian and Hugo had decided to share a room to save money (definitely not so Varian could talk to the other boy and stay with him if he had a nightmare - no way).

And as soon as he walked in, Varian could tell something was wrong. 

He could see Hugo, sat at the desk with a glass of what looked like ale beside him on the wood and a saddened expression on his face. “You two go to bed, I’ll handle this.” He muttered to Nuru and Yong, the pair not bothering to protest, though he did receive a little nod from Nuru. “Good luck.” She whispered as he turned on his heel and headed over to the blond. 

“How are you holding up?” Varian smiled as he sat on the desk beside the other, his fingers trailing across the red fabric decorating the back of the chair Hugo was sitting on. Felt like some kind of cotton stuffed into pillows. It felt like a soft material, satin maybe? , though he couldn’t indulge himself as the frown on Hugo’s face just seemed to deepen as he turned his head away from him. “Hugo?”

“I’m fine. Just ordered a drink to have before bed.No big deal.” He muttered before his eyes stared at the table in front of them, his fingers tracing across the little trails on the glossy wood. Varian could tell Hugo was distracted, the look in his eyes (though they’d never meet his) seeming distant and lost in thought as he continued his little detail outlining on the table. Hugo never ceased to confuse Varian, a frown on his face as he watched him, mesmerised by his fingers moving. “What do you want?”

The question almost didn’t register, though Hugo looked at him with such sadness in his eyes that Varian felt his heart break a little. “I...Hugo, what’s wrong? Have I upset you? I didn’t mean to...are you jealous that I got a dance with someone? I swear I didn’t really want to dance with Estelle, she kind of just pulled me into it and I had to go along with it-” He began, though the blond cut him off as he rose to his feet quickly, the chair knocking to the floor behind him and startling Varian for a second.

“You wanna know the reason I’m so pissed off? Fine. I’ll tell you!” The blond yelled, shocking Varian into a stunned silence - had Hugo ever yelled at him before? “I like you, Hairstripe! I like you so much and your dumb fucking smile and dumb hair and dumb eyes and you’re so dumb but if you even asked me to, I’d go to the ends of the earth just for you to bring you anything you wanted, because I love you! And-and seeing you tonight with that girl just made me feel so fucking dumb and I can’t keep this in anymore because your dumb face keeps me coming back to you like some dumb servant because I’m just so-so devoted to you! I’ve never felt this way about anyone and-” The blond ranted, as Varian’s hands wrapped around his tie and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, his hand drifting to the back of the blond’s neck to hold him in place, as Hugo’s hands rested on the desk either side of Varian and he stood in between the ravenette’s legs. 

It was a messy kiss if he was being honest, but you couldn’t blame him - he’d never done this before with anyone. He really tried though, tilting his head and leaning into it as Hugo reciprocated and moved his hands to Varian’s waist. And for that moment, it felt like just them and an awkward clashing of lips and teeth, until one of them, he wasn’t sure who, broke it. A small smile grew on Varian’s face as he took in the dumbfounded, shocked expression on Hugo’s face. He’d be sure to dedicate it to memory.

“But...but Estelle-what?” Hugo stuttered, Varian grinning at the confusion and pressing a gentle kiss to Hugo’s nose as he moved a hand to rest on the man’s cheek. “I don’t get it, Varian I...why me? You two seemed so happy-”

“Yeah, we seemed happy, but I was searching for you all night. We were dancing, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind, Hugo. I love you too. I wasn’t planning on telling you now, because I didn’t think you felt the same, and I just assumed you were jealous of me for dancing with Estelle, but...no. I really wanted it to be you.” Varian explained as he ran his thumb along the other’s cheekbone. “I love you, Hugo.” He repeated as he flushed red, the blond following suit. He looked cute with a flush on his cheeks - Varian should make him have one more often.

“Oh come here, you big dweeb.” Hugo finally declared, picking the other up and pressing fleeting kisses all over his face as Varian laughed and tried to stop the onslaught of seemingly never ending kisses, until they both fell back onto the bed, giggles and laughs leaving their lips as they stared at each other with nothing but love and affection in their eyes. “I love you, Varian.” The blond finally said, raising his prosthetic hand to rest on the ravenette’s cheek and press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Hugo.” Varian replied, cuddling closer and falling asleep in his arms. 

[jgukmilk]

he won’t know (m) 02

➔ summary: after an unforgivable weekend at Jimin’s summer house, you come home and decide to set things right, you wish you hadn’t.

➔ pairing: Jungkook X Reader

➔ genre: cheating!au, smut (not this chapter tho), lots of angst.

➔ warnings: sexual harassment (please refrain from reading if this is a trigger), lots of angsty scenes, reader cries so much:(( protect her, mature language, degrading, a lot of inner-conflict my gOD, jungoo is a soft idiot.

➔ wordcount: 9k

➔ notes: If you haven’t read the first part, then please make sure to do so otherwise the story won’t make sense!

part 1 part 2, part 3 (final)

Sunday, 07:36 AM

You swear you had never bolted out of a bed as fast as you did the morning after, which wasn’t like you since you always enjoyed staying in under the sheets a few hours more than necessary, especially because this was the perfect opportunity to get a little extra shut-eye.

But when you fluttered your eyes open the next morning, only to find yourself wrapping your naked body around another’s – you couldn’t even begin to explain the adrenaline rush that had coursed through your body.

It felt as if Satan had visited the room with a flick of fire from hell on his finger, and scratched it along the naked spine of your back. 

Faster than a prey being chased by a predator, you grabbed your shirt that had been thrown to a far corner of the room the previous night. Along with your panties, you threw on all clothing items swiftly yet quietly in attempt to not wake the boy sleeping soundly on the master bedroom’s bed.

You stopped wrestling through your shirt when you caught a glimpse of his ruffled hair peaking throw the duvet. You walked to the side of the bed, seeing him sleeping peacefully. Subconsciously a warm smile threatened to twitch on the sides of your lips.

His eyes were gently closed, letting his dark lashes lay perfectly just above his cheekbone. His lips were cutely pouting, slightly chapped but you found it adorable. His shoulders were rising and falling slowly indicating he was taking small gentle breaths. He looked so peaceful, so warm.

In an ideal world – you would’ve crawled into bed with him and wrapped your cold form around his, in attempt to warm yourself up while nuzzling your nose into his neck. But this wasn’t an ideal world. This was your reality, and things were different whether you liked it or not.

You made your way to the door; slowly opening it you scanned the halls making sure they were empty. The lord was on your side today, having marked the hallway completely clean from any trace of your friends. You sighed lowly in relief as you quickly tiptoed back to Jimin’s room you had supposedly shared with Mina.

Mina…

“Fuck,” you had completely forgotten about the possibility of your best friend noticing the lack of your presence throughout the night. You stood just outside the door with your nose a few breathes away from the finely carved wood while looking up at the ceiling, silently praying that you would open the door, only to find your best friend asleep on the bed.

Your sweaty palm turned the knob gently as you made an attempt to peak your head through the opening of the door you had just created.

You saw an outline on top of the sheets of what looked like a spread out body, you couldn’t see her face but you saw locks of hair hanging down the edge of the bed. Once again you sighed before stepping into the room completely as you gently shut the door behind you.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Your feet sprung from the ground as if hot lava was under them, “Christ, Mina!” You whisper-yelled placing your hand over you chest to see if your heart was still where it was supposed to be. You took a moment to collect yourself before looking up at the girl who had now sat up on the bed, back leaning against the headboard of the bed with her arms crossed, awaiting an explanation from none other than you.

“You just made my heart drop to my ass, you know that?” you huffed while rubbing your chest, trying to ease your increased heartbeat.

“Then you know how I felt when I woke up this morning to see you weren’t there, where in the world were you, woman?” she tapped her index finger that was placed over her right bicep.

“I was—uhh…”

Getting dicked down by Jungkook the entire night.

“Out for a walk! Yeah!” you exclaimed happily, you coughed awkwardly when you noticed her eyes squint in suspicion. Only by then had you realized how made-up your tone made the statement sound.

“I-I mean—I was out for a walk, you know, fresh air and… stuff,” you casually leaned against the door behind you, blowing the lock of hair in front of your hair to give you that chill, laidback image, while you calmly held eye contact with the unconvinced friend in front of you.

Her eyes left yours, scanning you from top to bottom. You saw her eyebrow raise in confusion, you mirrored her action unaware of her state of puzzlement.

“Dressed like that?” your cool left you face, you stood up straight on both feet, tilting your head down to scan your clothes, when you realized. You were barely wearing any.

“What’s wrong with what I put on?” you pouted a fake pout, acting completely oblivious about the fact that you were basically half naked as you spoke.

“‘What I put on,’” she mimicked you, “Y/N, the catch here is that you barely have anything on!” she wasn’t wrong, you stood in front of her solely wearing an oversized t-shirt along with a pair of very petite panties that covered just enough to maintain your dignity. 

You sighed in defeat not knowing how to properly tell her the truth, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but at least don’t lie to me,” she uncrossed her arms in sync with her facial expressions beginning to soften.

“Yeah, you’re right. I know you are,” you started, “I just don’t know how to tell you without sounding like a complete jerk.”

Did you regret it? You didn’t know, but you knew you felt guilty. Not because you cheated – well that too – but because you actually had to dig deep to find any form of moral regret. You felt bad because you hardly felt guilty.

Or maybe you just hadn’t wrapped your head about what had happened yet, you hadn’t even been awake for a full hour, and you knew for a fact you needed more than that to give it some proper thought and wrap your head around it.

“I want to talk to you about it, I just need to process some stuff before I let you in on this whole mess,” you cracked your knuckles as you spoke, a habit that had grown on you every time you grew nervous or even slightly uncomfortable. “I just… I want to understand the situation,” you wanted to understand your feelings.

You looked up only to see Mina’s face soften with slight concern, “is it that bad?” she tilted her head, “n-no—well, yes… I don’t—I don’t know?” you shrugged defeated. “It’s – it’s just very fresh and I-“

She held out a hand in front of her, “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, at least not yet,” the edges of her lips curved up softly, forming a smile, “come to me when you’re ready to talk about it, take all the time you need.” Mina’s kind words only made you sigh in relief. You truly could not express how grateful you were to have gained such an understanding and patient friend like Mina.

You nodded, running your hand through your hair only to grimace at the oily feeling of your locks, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Yeah please do, you stink.” She pinched her nostrils shut with her thumb and index finger, “I can smell you all the way from here,” she waved the air in front of her, playfully. You too a quick whiff at your armpits, “it’s not that bad…” you pouted.

–

Wrapping the towel around your frame, you exited the shower while rubbing another towel in your hair trying your best to dry it. You scanned the room quickly seeing that you were alone. Strolling over to the mirror to get a better look at yourself, you flipped your hair to your other shoulder wanting to dry your hair from a new angle.

“WHAT THE FUC-“ you slapped your hand over your mouth only to remove it again seconds later, you rubbed your eyes, internally praying that your eyes were playing some kind of sick joke on you.

You traced your fingers over the reddish-purple like bruises that had been painted generously across your neck, “no, no, no, no!” you tried rubbing it away as if it was some prank someone had pulled on you and that there was no other explanation to the hickeys smeared all over your neck. Though it only resulted in you hissing from the pressure you had applied to the sore skin.

You ran to your bag, rummaging for your makeup bag to desperately pull out the concealer to cover up the marks. When spotting the tube, you raised it up in the air as if you had made a marvellous discovery. Jerking the applier in and out of the tube you heard a sudden knock on the door. You looked at the door in horror.

“Just a second!”

You turned your gaze back to the mirror hurriedly applying the liquid over your necking, blending it in to look as natural as possible. “What kind of blood-sucking leech–” you whispered aggressively to yourself when you saw the kiss marks still very noticeable. You could have done better applying it but time was against you, so you spread your hair in front of you to cover up as much of it as you could, fluffing it out.

“Come in!” You said to whoever was behind the door. You saw the knob of the door twist and open, revealing Jimin sticking his head in with a bright smile. “Morning, Y/N,” he entered the room completely, “breakfast is ready,” you smiled forcefully, “who’s cooking?”

“Jin, as always, anybody else would burn the kitchen down,” you giggled at his comment, “perfect, ‘cause a bitch is hungry,” you pointed dramatically at yourself which only led him to smile even brighter, he extended his hand out for you to take it, and you gladly did so.

You both walked down to the kitchen to see that most of your friends were already present by the kitchen bar table.

“Good morning,” you exclaimed kindly, they all greeted you back, “what are we having,” you licked your lips, clapping your hands excitedly at the smell of the goods while hovering over Jin’s shoulder to get a peak of what he was cooking, “there’s French toast, omelet, bacon, bread and spreads of course.” He explained.

“Oh! There are also fruits like strawberry, blueberry and raspberry in the fridge if you’d like some. So a little bit of everything,” you let out a pleased hum, turning over to the bar table where the cutlery and plates were placed.

Heaven, is that you? 

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” you asked hovering over the French toast to pick up a couple of pieces.

Yoongi wiped his mouth with some paper towel before looking at you, “Hoseok went with Namjoon to the grocery store to buy some milk and orange juice,” you felt your throat burning from the name you felt on the tip of your tongue, “and Jungkook?”

“He’s out for a morning jog, he’ll be back in a few, at least that’s what he said,” you nodded while seating yourself between Taehyung and Mina.

You grabbed a plate and started to grab bits of everything, assembling the food nicely on your plate, “someone’s hungry,” Taehyung snickered playfully as he watched you fill every corner of your plate. You rolled your eyes followed by a flick to his forehead, you had quite the appetite, you couldn’t help it.

“Yesterday was exhausting, I need to fuel my body,” you justified yourself and grabbed a fork and knife. “What did you do yesterday since you’re left so famished,” You gulped, cutting the toast on your plate with your knife, with little more pressure than necessary.

“S-swimming, obviously,” you felt the palms of your hands start to break a sweat. Before anyone else could comment, the doorknob to the main door jiggled loudly, followed by three figures entering the room.

“Honey, I’m home!” Hoseok had his hands cupped around his mouth, a bright smile plastered on his lips. Behind him stood two tall frames. Jungkook and Namjoon panting behind Hoseok from the weight of the grocery bags they were carrying. The youngest was panting slightly heavier than the rest, you had assumed it was from the jog.

“I sent you to buy milk and juice not the whole store!” Jin clapped his hands on the side of his hips annoyed. Namjoon smiled innocently, “If it makes you feel better, half of this stuff was on discount.”

They walked over to the kitchen counter, placing the heavy bags filled with goods on the marble surface. The youngest made his way out of the kitchen, while Namjoon and Hoseok comfortably joined the rest of the group at the table, “you not gonna eat?” Yoongi asked with his mouth stuffed with berries.

“I’m gonna take a shower, don’t wait for me,” Jungkook announced before speed-walking up the stairs. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy at how he didn’t spare you a single glance from the moment he stepped in.

–

After breakfast you were left to dry the dishes. Everyone had helped clean up and now you were simply doing your part of the chore, “sure you don’t need help?” Taehyung asked nicely for the umpteenth time

“Yes Tae, I’m sure. Thank you though,” you smiled at him sweetly and he returned the gesture before running off to wherever, leaving you alone in the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes that needed to be cleaned.

You turned your focus back to the plates that needed to dry. Rubbing circular motions of the fine white porcelain with the sky blue towel.

“Wow… you don’t even smile at me that way,” you almost dropped the plate then and there before snapping your head toward the all too familiar voice – Jungkook entered the kitchen with a towel hanging around his neck, a white t-shirt that was stained with a few droplets of water dripping from his hair. You subconsciously gulped the thick spit that had gathered at the back of your throat, fist tightening on the plate at the sight of wet spots sticking to his solid frame.

Without a word you fixed your gaze back at the plate in your hand and continued to wipe the already dry platter, you tried to convince yourself that your palms weren’t sweating, but that they were wet from the beads of water on the plate.

You heard footsteps approach you, “why are you ignoring me, angel?” your toes curled at his calm and collected tone, “don’t call me that,” you chimed firmly. You weren’t looking at him but you saw him tilt his head to the side, he leaned against the counter, which you were sternly facing.

“You liked it yesterday,” you shivered when you felt him brush your hair out of the way, exposing your neck to him. He frowned at the layer of concealer on your skin, anything but the logical answer raced through his mind: why did you cover his marks? Did you regret everything? Were you ashamed? Were you disgusted when seeing the marks in the mirror?

“Why’d you cover them up?” his voice shifted into an unknown tone. A tone you’d heard before, but still – you couldn’t put a label on. He could switch so easily around you; one moment a confident smirk was plastered across his lips, subtly getting on your nerves, and the next he would look so fragile, so insecure, as if you could blow a breath of air his way and he would collapse.

 His fingers travelled across the covered red and purple shades on your neck, rubbing off the makeup with his thumb gently, but you only pushed his hand away with a hiss from the applied pressure on the bruise, “I don’t want people to see,” you sighed as if the answer wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world – which, frankly, it was.

“Can I give you more?” You sat the plate down on the pile of porcelain, “what?” you turned around to face him completely, sure you had heard him incorrectly, “I want to mark your skin up some more… will you let me, angel?”

You felt weak to your knees, if your hand hadn’t been on the counter you would’ve fallen on your face for sure. You looked in his eyes for any sign of sike-bitch-you-thought, but you all you saw was hope – hope that you might let him touch you again.

You wanted to slap yourself in that moment. His duality was driving you to the brink of insanity. His eyes were so gentle, so big and doe, god you felt like crying, but his words contradicted his facial expression completely.

You couldn’t bring yourself to utter a word; any trace of your voice at the back of your throat was gone. You stood there, in front of the beautiful boy completely lost in his eyes that held the universe.

You wondered – when stars die, are they reborn in his eyes?

When you didn’t answer, he placed a tender kiss on the curve of your jaw, testing the waters. He knew this could go either way – you’d either slap him across the face and proceed to bolt out of the kitchen screaming, or you’d let him.

He pulled back shivering, seeking for any sort of hint that you wanted him to resume. But all he saw was your closed eyes. Your eyes were so tightly shut it looked like his lips had stung you. He pouted; did you still not feel safe with him?

Forcefully brushing the thought out of his mind, his fingers began to travel up your arms, stimulating every fine hair he’d touch to stand up on its own. Though you never saw, his eyes never left you.

He cupped your jaw with both hands, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. You flinched when you felt a pair of soft rosebud-like lips right under your eye – peck – the bridge of your nose – peck – the tip of your nose – peck.

Your closed eyes softened, slowly opening them up letting your blurry vision adjust to the exposure of light. A relaxed exhale left your lips at the meeting of his eyes.

He damn near melted at the docility in your orbs, you were looking at him so sweetly, so gently.

What he wouldn’t give to have you look at him like this all the time.

He leaned in closer to your face, eyes fixated on your parted lips. You held your breath thinking he was going to kiss you – well he did, but he kissed your chin. Leaving you to have intuitively puckered your soft lips right above his upper lips. His dramatically defined cupids bow barely brushing against your bottom lips.

You had to force yourself from sinking your lips down to his.

He pulled away with a sigh, smiling gently, but you could see it was enforced. He turned around making his way out of the kitchen.

You wanted to stop him, but you knew it’d be for the best to let him leave. Still you stood there, facing the entrance of the kitchen perplexed.

–

Monday 06:16 PM

The weekend was now over, and so was the small break at the beach house. You were now back at your dorm, sat at your desk hitting the books – quite literally – you slapped your fist on and unknown page of the book, frustrated at your lack of concentration.

A line of curses left you mouth, rubbing your hands aggressively against your face in efforts to slap the procrastination out of your system.

Once you got back from the beach house, you immediately rushed to your shared dorm room with Mina, while she had left shortly after to visit Jimin at his dorm, you dug through your pile of school books to find something – anything, that would take your mind of off this weekend.

You sat with your mathematics book, opened up to the chapter about calculus and analytic geometry. You spent the last 45 minutes or so reading over the same sentence talking about how calculus is used to improve architecture, not only buildings, but also bridges and such. Or something along those lines, Ugh!

Finally, you came to the conclusion that this was absolutely useless, so you closed the book and jumped onto your bed. Reaching over to your nightstand to grab your phone, you pressed the button on the side to light up the previously black screen with traces of unread messages.

-1h ago

Jaehyun <3: hey princess

Jaehyun <3: can you come over? 

Your stomach curled in an unknown way. Guilt hitting you like a ton of bricks all at once, fuck. You rose from the bed; leaving the phone on your pillow only to look down on it as if it was the ugliest thing you’d ever laid your eyes on.

You covered your mouth with a hand as the other pointed to the phone like it was a maleficent device. You felt your eyes begin to sting with fresh tears. It hit you – It finally fucking hit you. You cheated.

You felt overwhelmed with emotions, all the sentiments written down in the book washed over you to the point where you felt like you were going to burst. Infamy covered every inch of your body – how could you do this? 

You felt ashamed, embarrassed of yourself. Not because you were afraid to hurt someone’s feelings, but because this wasn’t you – this wasn’t what you believed in. Cheating was never something you believed in. If you stood by that statement then how could you have let this happen?

How could you let the devil in the form of man tempt you this way? Cajole you to throw away what you believed in for the sake of – of what? God, you didn’t even know.

You didn’t want to admit that you had been selfish enough to carelessly give yourself to Jungkook, while your heart was supposed to belong to someone else.

Someone else, who you were supposed to dedicate all your faith to, all your loyalty, and you couldn’t even do that. How were you supposed to trust yourself if you couldn’t let yourself stay true to one person.

You threw it away – this relationship – you shoved it down the drain, and for what?

Jungkook.

Jeon fucking Jungkook.

The spawn of Lucifer himself. All of your sadness and shame slowly turned into anger. You hated him, you hated Jungkook. He seduced you, and you let him.

Did he do it on purpose? Was he trying to fuck up your life, your relationship? Your faith in yourself? You convinced yourself that this was his plan, that he wanted you to feel like this all along. What other explanation could there have been? 

You never exchanged more than two – three on a good day – sentences with the boy, until Saturday. You never spoke to him properly, and he never approached you, until Saturday. He never showed any form of interested in you, Christ – you thought he hated you. You were never sure, until now.

He wanted to fuck up your life, that’s why he did it. Yes, that’s why. There was no other possible explanation to this, but why did he want to ruin everything for you? Did he actually hate your guts so much? You had never done anything to him, at least not of your knowledge. As mentioned, you barely spoke to him at all.

You tried to convince yourself you wanted him to hate you, and you almost believed.

Almost.

It would make things so much easier: You could reciprocate his hate, never speak of the night you two shared together, and then proceed to never speak to one another.

You sat yourself back on your bed with your hands aggressively running through your hair. Looking down at your thighs you saw a wet stain. You wiped your eyes not realizing you had been crying.

“Shit, I forgot my – Y/N?” snapping your head up to the source of the voice you automatically put on a fake smile, forgetting about the contradicting tears streaming down your face, “h-hey.”

She shook her head entering the dorm room completely, shutting the door behind her, “no, Y/N. You don’t give me that shit,” she fell onto the bed with you, wrapping her arms around you in which you immediately accepted.

You couldn’t stop it. Your tears were flowing freely now, low sobs were heard from you whilst your best friend was rubbing her palm in circular motion on your back in attempts to comfort you.

She didn’t speak, and you were thankful for that. All you could do was quietly sob on her shoulder, dampening her pink woollen sweater with your tears, but she didn’t care.

Once you finally calmed down, Mina pulled away, her hands still rubbing up and down along your arms, “is it really that bad?” Her words only made fresh tears dwell under your eyelashes – you instantly saw the regret in her face from asking, but you shook your head trying to communicate; It’s okay. 

Rubbing on your already red nose, you sniffled before taking in a deep breath.

“Who’s bed do I need to shit on?” For the first time in a while, you giggled genuinely. God, you were thankful to have her.

“You seriously don’t need to tell me what’s going on but –“ you shook your head, “n-no, no I think it would be nice to let it out to someone.” Her gaze softened.

You lifted your feet from the edge of the bed, turning to her completely and folded you legs comfortably. Mina mirrored your action.

How were you going to tell her? Fuck, she would be so disappointed in you, wouldn’t she? Sure she had always secretly paired you and Jungkook together but certainly this wasn’t what she was thinking. Deciding there was no way to sugarcoat it, you told yourself the best option was to be straightforward.

“I cheated on Jaehyun.” You exhaled, not realizing you had been holding your breath in the first place.

“With, uhm.” You exhaled, “with Jungkook,” her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her skull, neck leaned forward. Not sure she had heard you correctly and surprised ‘what now?’ left her throat.

You couldn’t bare to say it again, so you simply hid your face behind your hands as your head sunk low. You jumped at the feeling of her arms wrapping themselves around you, squeezing you comfortably.

“And you’re beating yourself up because of it I’m guessing?” you pulled away looking at her, “how could I not?!” her eyebrows furrowed melancholically at your glossy eyes, “I cheated! I fucking cheated, I am not that kind of person!” your eyes were pouring with tears at this point.

“At least I thought I wasn’t.”

“You’re not,” you looked at her perplexed, “I’m not telling you cheating is okay, and I definitely think you should talk to Jaehyun about this,” she wiped your wet cheeks, “but your relationship with him… isn’t even a relationship anymore.”

You sniffled, “yeah I know, it’s not a proper excuse,” she explained, “but you of all people would never do this to someone you truly loved.”

You looked down at your hands that were placed comfortably on your lap, fiddling with your fingers while her words rung through your ears, “but I…I do like him.” 

She smiled sadly, “and that’s the problem. You don’t love him, you only like him.” She caressed your arms, soothing running her palms up and down. “The way you said that sounded so depressing,” you looked at her, “you even hesitated.” You’re eyeballs were stinging from the hot tears.

“Y/N,” Mina chimed softly, holding your hands in hers, “does he make you happy?”

You nodded looking down at your lap, “look me in the eyes and tell me he makes you happy, and I’ll believe you.” Your blurred gaze shifted to meet hers. They were such easy words, why couldn’t you form them?

“He’s really nice,” you sniffled, “he’s just nice?” she questioned your statement, “damn, I would cheat on my boyfriend as well if nice was all I could describe him as – OW!” she rubbed the sting on the side of her arm, a result of your semi-playful smack, “I’m just messing with you.”

She cheekily smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but feel the corners of your lips twitch.

“It still isn’t an excuse… I should’ve talked to him about our relationship instead of –“ you couldn’t finish you sentence, feeling yourself choke on the words.

“Well.. maybe that’s what you should do now then,” she smiled softly. Yeah, maybe that’s what you should. He deserved to be told the truth, even though it was ugly – but what would come after that? Would he forgive you? If he did, would you even want to keep going with your, so-called, relationship?

What if he absolutely hated your guts after? He didn’t deserve it. Jaehyun wasn’t a match for you, but that still didn’t give you an excuse to go and have sex with Jungkook. You knew that very well.  

“Yeah, I’ll go talk to him,” she nodded. You stood up from the bed, grabbing your leather jacket, “wait – right now?” she asked stunned. You nodded back at her while unlocking your phone to text your boyfriend.

“I might die from guilt if I don’t,” you put your phone in your pocket, “I’ll see you tonight,” and with that, you were out the door.

–

You knocked three long knocks on the fine wooden door in front of you, your palms damp with sweat as a result of your boiling nerves. It felt like years before the door opened.

“Princess,” you boyfriend smiled at you, pulling you by the forearm to engulf you with a hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist while yours were hanging loosely around his shoulders, he didn’t seem to notice however. “Come in.” he smiled fondly at you, guiding you into his own dorm.

You both sat yourselves on his bed comfortably, it didn’t take long for you to start fidgeting in your seat and it took just as long for him to notice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with concern in his voice. God, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him.

He placed a finger under your chin attempt to have you look at him, “w-we need to talk.” Your eyes met his. He raised an eyebrow at the significance in your voice. “Okay, talk.”

Where the fuck were you supposed to start?

I fucked a guy I hardly talk to over the weekend, what were you up to? No

I cheated on you because I don’t have feelings for you anymore. No

We should break up. No!

“Hey,” Jaehyun started when your breath became unsteady, “you can tell me anything, you know that right?” No, this you just couldn’t tell him.

“I uhm…” your eyes started stinging. Not the best timing you fuckers! You mentally cussed your tears, “I’m sorry,” a small sob ripped from your throat, “I’m so sorry, Jaehyun,” you were already a mess, tears streaming uncontrollably like they had not even an hour ago.

Jaehyun’s face twisted with concern, puzzled at why you started crying. “I’m horrible. I’m fucking horrible and you don’t deserve it.” Similar to Mina’s actions, his instinct was to wrap his arms around you, soothingly rubbing his thumb on your back.

“No you’re not, you’re perfect for me, Y/N.” you shook your head, disagreeing, “why would you say that?” his voice was gentle.

“I slept with someone else.”

You said it, you finally said it. You had expected that the feeling of a burden taken off of your chest would take over – however, that wasn’t your case at all.

If anything you felt even more terrible than you did in the first place, and the way your boyfriend’s arms loosened around you only made you cry harder.

“What?” was all he could say, looking at you. Any sign of mildness left his face, a cold stare washing over his face.

“Who?” you didn’t answer, “who did you fuck?” your cheeks had turned red at how hard you were rubbing them in attempt to dry your face.

“Y-you don’t know him,” you decided. Who it was, didn’t matter. You didn’t want any drama to escalate; you could clearly imagine a fistfight take place in front of you between Jungkook and Jaehyun. So if you could prevent it, you most certainly would.

“Bullshit,” he spat, “was it one of those fuckers from the weekend,” it was your turn to bark, “fuckers?” you were the one at fault here, there was absolutely no reason for him to label your closest friends so harshly.

“I’m the one who fucked up, don’t attack them,” you pointed at yourself, he scoffed, “you didn’t even deny it,” you stood up from the bed, tears still present under your eyelashes, “I told you! You don’t know him! Does it even fucking matter who it is?” he stood up with you.

“Yes! I have the right to know who the fuck you’re whoring around with!” your eyes widened. 

Whoring around with?

“Tell me who you fucked!” at this point you were afraid the whole goddamn campus could hear what you two were fighting about. “No –..!”  

In a matter of seconds you were pushed onto the bed, your boyfriend hovering right above you while placed perfectly between your legs. His fingers were tightly wrapped around your wrists, pinned above your head.

All the oxygen was punched right out of your lungs when he aggressively eyed the skin of your neck. Fuck, you hadn’t put concealer on. “You let this fucker shamelessly suck your neck, huh?” he practically crashed his mouth onto the already sore skin of your throat.

“J-Jaehyun what are you doing?” you squirmed uncomfortably beneath him. “Reminding you who the fuck owns you.” You couldn’t help but cringe at his words.

You twisted your wrists uncomfortably, “w-we should talk about this.” He scoffed, his tongue licking a long strip up you neck, sucking harshly. You wanted to scream. “Stop – stop,” you pleaded, wiggling in attempt to shove him off of you. You couldn’t.

“I don’t think just talking is gonna make you keep your hands to yourself. I need to discipline you, princess,” he uttered bitterly. The hairs at the back of your neck rose. Your face was wet, you couldn’t tell if it was from your previous sobs or if new tears had formed.

He moved his lips onto yours, forcefully moving them over yours.

You had kissed him before – many, many times, but it felt so unfamiliar to you. You didn’t like the feeling, not one bit. At this point you had stopped trying to get out of his grip, it was no use.

You felt useless, you felt numb. You didn’t move your lips, you stopped moving your feet, your hands. You didn’t even know if you were breathing anymore.

You laid there, completely still. You were sure the blood circulation at your wrists was cut off from the tight grip around them. You couldn’t feel your fingers, you wondered if they had turned pale from the lack of blood.

You felt him gather both your wrists in one hand, the grip still tight. His hand descending down from your arms down to you neck, and finally your chest. His grip on your breast had you whine out in discomfort, but he misunderstood it as another emote, “you like that, slut?” You didn’t answer. You just looked up at the ceiling with your glossy eyes, wishing you didn’t feel so weak.

His hand moved away from your breast, descending lower. You felt his cold fingers cup your sex above the fabric of your pants 

And that’s when you felt it. It was as if his hand had been the electricity you needed to ignite your nerves back to life. “This cunt belongs to me.”

Your eyes shot directly to the disgusting man in front of you. “Get the fuck off me!” with all of the strength you had left in your body, you yanked both hands as hard as you could away from his, jolting your legs up and onto his chest trying to kick him off of you.

You bolted off of the bed, only to find a tight grip on your shirt yanking you back on the bed. However, it didn’t stop you from trying to escape – no – you had to get out of there.

With his fingers tangled in your shirt you pushed yourself near the door of his dorm. Reaching for the knob of the wooden material, you felt your shirt rip – you didn’t care.

You twisted the doorknob, opening the door and ran away as fast as you could. 

You felt drowsy, but the adrenaline in your blood fuelled you enough to make it far enough for you to be safe, however you didn’t stop, you didn’t feel safe. So you kept running.

“Y/N?” a grip on your wrist stopped your feet in place. You looked back with fright written all over your face. Wincing in pain at the pressure applied to your already bruised wrist.

You were panting with heavy tears streaming down your face, your lipstick was smeared all over you lips, your hair was a complete mess, your shirt was ripped, revealing so much skin you felt your dignity wince. You tried holding the torn fabric in place but your bra and skin was still very visible. Bruises and marks were plastered all over your neck.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, taking in your appearance. You yanked your hand out of his grip, “d-don’t touch me…” your voice was weak 

“Who did this to you?” his voice was quiet, stepping closer to you he took your hand in his, “Y/N, who the fuc-“

“I said don’t touch me!” once again you jerked your hand back, turning away before running back to your dorm.

You couldn’t stand to look at his face, you hated him with all of your heart. It was his fault. If he hadn’t touched you, your relationship with Jaehyun wouldn’t have ended, it would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine. But you weren’t – and it was Jeon Jungkook’s fault.

Making it back to your dorm, you found Mina already sound asleep on her bed. Thank god, you sighed out of relief to yourself. In no way did you have the physical or mental capacity to explain your wrecked form to her, and on top of that would she, with no hesitation, go down to his dorm and beat the living shit out of Jaehyun if you told her what had happened.

You didn’t want any more trouble, so this was a secret you were going to take with you to the grave. You took off you leather jacket and changed your shirt into a non-damaged one. You wiped your face with a baby wipe in attempt to remove your smeared makeup.

Sinking your head into the pillow you let your quiet sobs mute themselves through the soft material.

–

Tuesday, 08:34 AM

You woke up feeling like absolute shit. Lazily you dragged yourself out of the bed to make your way over to the hall bathroom to get yourself ready for the day. Taking the essentials that you needed you dragged your feet down the hall.

Looking at the mirror, your eyes were slightly red from the countless amount of tears that had poured down your face the previous night. You wanted to cry again when you saw the marks on your wrists and neck.

No more crying, you have a day to get through, you thought to yourself while applying the concealer above the stains of dark purple and red. You applied cold water to your face in attempt to make them look somewhat normal again.

You finished your routine and made your way back to the dorm only to find Mina awake, on her bed scrolling through her phone. The sound of the door shutting caught her attention, shifting it to you, “Y/N, oh my god,” she dropped her phone beside herself on the bed, “how did it go yesterday?”

Trying not to have you voice crack you shrugged, swallowing thickly, “we broke up,” you smiled sadly. Her eyes softened.

Opening her arms to invite you into a hug, you gladly ran into her arms. Tears starting to form on your waterline once again, but miraculously you were able to stop them from spilling. “You wanna skip classes today? We could make it a fun girl’s day out!” she exclaimed excited.  

You couldn’t help but chuckle a choked giggle, “n-no that’s okay, It’d be nice to get busy with studies – I need to distract myself from this mess,” you pulled away from her embrace, “we could do something after classes are done if you want?” you suggested, but she only returned an apologetic look.

“I can’t, I have plans with Jimin – I could cancel them if you’d wa-“ you shook your head rapidly, “no, no don’t do that, there’s no need.” She smiled, “I have classes in like,” you checked your phone, “twenty minutes,” you told her while making your way over to the door, “I’ll see you later?”

She nodded, smiling warmly at you “definitely,” and with that you shut the door.

You couldn’t focus. Images of the previous night kept flashing through your mind. Never had you ever imagined your now ex boyfriend would forcefully prey himself upon you. And Jungkook… his face was smeared with concern, he looked so worried – why did he care?

He didn’t give shit about you, clearly since he tried to jeopardise your relationship with Jaehyun, and frankly, had succeeded clearly.

Class ended – packing your shit you left the hall with your gaze low, you weren’t in the mood to see, nor talk to anybody. You wanted to go back to your own dorm room and bury yourself in books until your disturbing thoughts left your mind.

You felt your phone vibrating against your hip. Reaching towards your pocket you pressed the home button, lighting up the screen.

-1m ago

Jungkook: Y/N

Jungkook: are you done with your classes?

You rolled your eyes; a text from Jungkook was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

You: yeah why

You put your phone back in your pocket but he was quick to respond, having you sigh as you stopped walking to view his message.

Jungkook: can we talk?

Fuck no you couldn’t talk. You couldn’t talk now, heck – you never wanted to ever talk to him again. Your stomach couldn’t bare the thought of talking to him, much less – see him. 

Not after everything that happened between the two of you. You wanted to claw your fingers at his face for turning your life into a living hell. Or was that entirely his fault? 

You: no

Jungkook: please, we need to talk.

You: I said no

Your phone kept vibrating but you didn’t care. You had to put your own mental health first here, you wanted to focus on yourself and your own goddamn well-being before fixing things with everyone else, and by everyone else you meant Jungkook.

There was no way in hell you were going to talk Jaehyun again.

Finally, you made it to your dorm room safe and sound. You placed your phone on your nightstand before dropping yourself onto your comfy, welcoming bed.

It had been such a long day, and it wasn’t even over. You felt like dunking your head in the toilet and flush, thinking it would feel much better than whatever you were feeling now.

Your eyes grew heavy, feeling yourself slowly shut them as you were about to fall asleep when and loud, too loud in your opinion, knock was heard from the door.

Whining, you stood up from your bed, unwillingly dragging your feet over to the door and opening it. What a big mistake that was. “Y/N,” you didn’t respond, attempting to close the door in Jungkook’s face, but his foot stopped you from doing so.

“Move,” you said sternly, “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” his eyes widened at the vulgar tone in your voice. “Move your foot,” you warned, that didn’t stop him though, “No, wait please –“ he attempted to open the door you had so rudely, almost quite literally, smacked in his face.

You didn’t care; being rude to him was the last thing you cared about.

“I really need to talk to you,” he pleaded, “ten minutes, that’s all I need,” you stopped abusing his foot with the door. Sighing heavily you thought about his proposition, “five minutes.” 

You opened the door to let him in, “ten,” your patience was running thin, “five, take it or leave it,” you said coldly.

Nodding gently, he entered the dorm. You sat on your bed, watching him awkwardly stand in front of your bed, “you can sit I’m not gonna stab you,” you huffed, which only made him chuckle, “you look like it,” he coughed awkwardly seeing the unamused look on your face. He quietly sat himself beside you, keeping a closer distance than you’d like.

“So…” he started, looking at you cautiously, “you’ve wasted two minutes,” you said checking your phone. Your cold eyes glanced back at his warm ones. “Uhm… Saturday huh.”

“Get out,” you pointed to your door, he furrowed his eyebrows sadly, “wha – I still have three minutes,” he let out gently, “yeah, not anymore. Get out of my dorm,” you stood up from your bed. “You can’t keep running away from this, Y/N,” he started, still seated on your bed, “we have to talk about this one way or another.”

You ran your fingers through your hair frustratingly; you really weren’t in the mood to talk to Jungkook, let alone talk to him about what the fuck had happened on Saturday. As immature as it seemed of you to run away, that’s what you needed. You needed to run away from this situation, from him.

“I don’t want to talk about Saturday, so if that’s all you came to talk about then you can be so kind and get the fuck out of my dorm, before I shove you out myself.” He tilted his head, rising from your bed, you stepped away when he took a step closer to you and he noted to keep his distance with you.

“Why are you so mad–“ you almost punched him in the face, “why am I so mad?” you repeated to yourself, “I don’t know, Jungkook. You tell me, why am I mad?” you smiled, but it wasn’t sincere, you were sure you looked like a complete psychopath to him.

“I d-don’t know, that’s why I’m asking…” he said in a small voice. You questioned why he looked so fragile in front of you, Jungkook had a well-built body, and if he needed to he could put it to use. Visibly he was much stronger than you, so why did he look scared of you.

“Because I fucked you!” you yelled, “we fucked! We had sex!” your voice grew louder by every word, you could visibly see him shudder at the sudden volume of tone.

You, however, kept going, “have you even begun to understand what the fuck that means?!” he shook his head, “that’s why I wanted to talk, I want to know what it means–“

“It means I cheated! I cheated on Jaehyun with you!” he sunk his head low, he looked like he was getting scolded by his mom.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in attempt to calm yourself down, “what were you trying to achieve. Honestly,” he was about to answer but you beat him to it, “were you trying to ruin my relationship.”

“What – no I wasn’t–“ you didn’t let him finish, “we broke up, so congratulations. Mission accomplished,” you clapped sarcastically with a bitter smile plastered across your lips. He stood there, completely mute. Silence took over the room. Was he supposed to say something?

“Do… do you want me to talk to him–“ your fists were tingling, begging you to put them to use and launch them towards his jaw.

“No!” feeling his knees giving up on him, he sat himself back on your bed, “don’t you want to get back with him?” he questioned in such a small voice you almost felt bad.

“No, I don’t,” the relief that washed over his eyes briefly only fuelled your anger, “why are you mad then?” Unbelievable.

“This is not about me cheating on Jaehyun, this is about me cheating in general!” he looked puzzled. “Why did you seduce me into it? Is this what you wanted? To see me on the brink of insanity?” he shook his head no, “then what?!” 

“B-because I actually wanted you!” for the first time, he raised his voice. “that’s why.”

The protest at the back of your throat died, “you fucking liar,” you were fuming with anger, you were sure you were going to go insane. “I’m not lying, I never acted to hurt you or make you feel used. I did what I did because I want you.” You didn’t believe him, no matter how reassuring his words sounded; you didn’t believe him one bit.

“Angel–“

“Don’t call me that.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so mad at me… didn’t you want me?” You felt like crying, you had explained yourself to him countless times, he just didn’t understand. He wanted to hurt you, and clearly it was working. You were sure of it. Warm, fresh tears started forming, slowly blurring your vision and you saw Jungkook’s eyes softened at the sight of your teary eyes.

“I don’t know how the fuck I am supposed to feel about this. I cheated on my now ex boyfriend with you, and I have no fucking idea how I should feel about it.” You let your tears fall. “Do you regret it?” you felt weak, you forced your knees to keep you standing. 

“Are you shitting me – was that all you heard?” your mouth was quivering. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to appear weak, but the damage was already done.

“Jaehyun can go to hell. How you feel about this is what’s most important to me,” you felt powerless under his gaze – it was your turn to feel small. “it’s a simple ‘yes’ ‘no’ question, Y/N, it shouldn’t take this long to answer.”

“what, I-“ it was his turn to cut you off, “did I fucking stutter? Do you regret it yes or no?” you stayed silent, “do you regret fucking me?”

“I don’t know!” you finally let out, your form trembling, “I don’t know…”  You sighed deeply; you rubbed your temple, trying to ease the agonizing headache that was forming. 

“I hate that I let myself go this far with you, but what I hate more is the fact that I don’t know if I regret it or not.” He rose from his seat, once again – attempting to reach out to you but you gave him a warning look. “Don’t,” you held out your hand in front of him indicating that he should stay in his spot exactly.

You mentally cussed yourself when you saw his gaze shift to your wrist – your bruised wrist. Completely disregarding your warning, he took your hand in his, carefully inspecting the dark blue and purple stains plastered all over your skin.

He ran his thumb over the dark discolouration gently, but even at that did you hiss – causing the dark-haired boy’s eyes in front of you to shoot up and meet yours. There it was, again, the unreadable expression on his face. Was it pity? Was it anger? Was it sadness? – You couldn’t tell. “Did he do this?”

Jungkook’s voice was quiet; his eyes sunk to your wrist. You lazily pulled your hand back to have it fall to your side, you didn’t have the energy to yell at him anymore, you didn’t have the energy to explain yourself, you didn’t even have the energy to lie to him.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m done with him,” he looked at you again, “of course it matters, he hurt you,” he started in disbelief, “how could that not matter?” his eyes widened as if he had realised something, “yesterday… in the hallway, when I saw you running.” He didn’t finish his sentence, taking in your lugubrious expression. His heart sank when he saw your face twitch in discomfort, as if you a painful image had flashed before your eyes. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, lips trembling while small quiet sobs rung through his ears.

He wanted to hug you. Fuck, you looked like you were going to break in half if he didn’t wrap his arms around you then and there. But you’d push him away and he knew it, so he restrained himself. “Y/N... I-I’m sorr–”

“Leave,” you whispered, you were tired, you were exhausted. You just wanted to be alone why was that so hard for him to understand? You looked down at your feet, you felt embarrassed. You didn’t want him to know you couldn’t protect yourself; you didn’t want to tell him what had happened to have left you with so many bruises.

“Jungkook, please, I’m begging you,” your voice was shaking at this point, and at that he let your hand go.

“Leave me alone.”

You failed to notice the hurt in his eyes, he slowly stepped away from you, heading towards the door with his head hanging low – to leave you alone, just like you had requested. You failed to notice the tears that had begun to sting his big doe eyes.

You failed to notice him.

–

A/N: not gonna lie, writing this part kind got me emotional. please don’t hate me for taking forever to write this part i’m sorRY, i tend to rewrite things a lot so i take my sweet sweet time :(( hope you liked it cuties, pleaseeee let me know what you think, i would love to improve my writing so don’t hesitate to give me some feedback! I think i rewrote this part at least twice ajhndshb. okkk bye for now! mwahhhh

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 22

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~7,200

Warnings: Blood

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13  

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Lilah might have been knocked out by the blow to the head Benny gave her, had she not been properly fortified a few hours before. She took the cue, and let herself go limp. As they bound her in handcuffs, she broadcasted across the bond that she’d been taken. There was no response. Not the unholy fire of his rage. Not a reassuring ‘I’m on my way.’ Nothing. Lilah couldn’t even feel the bond activate.

Subtly flexing her wrists, Lilah rolled to her side in the back of the van, trying hard not to grunt as they sped over uneven ground. Straining her left arm and every muscle of her neck, Lilah eyed the cuffs they’d slapped onto her. There were symbols carved crudely into the metal. They glowed faintly in the dim light, sending little shimmering reflections onto the skin of her wrists and forearms. She glared at them, wondering what kind of magic had been put into the cuffs.

Lilah had little time to contemplate it. The van skid to a stop in complete darkness, she could discern nothing through the windows on either side.  Forcing herself to relax in the restraints, Lilah listened as the van door slid open and closed. The back doors swung open and hands grabbed at her, throwing her over a shoulder. Arms hanging awkwardly behind her, Lilah was carried through an opening in a rock face and down into a small cavern lit with a few lanterns scattered through the space.  

They dropped her onto a platform, giving her as much attention as a forgotten suitcase. She tried to listen to their conversation, but the lowered whispers were cut short. Benny walked in, and though she couldn’t see him, she could certainly discern that he was gloating—mainly because he didn’t shut the fuck up about it. For at least five minutes, Lilah listened to him talk about having captured Brasa’s bondmate, having infiltrated his lair, having beaten an enemy.

In an effort to save her sanity, Lilah wiggled to an upright position, fixing the entire room with a glare. There were four of them standing in a group, Benny not far away. Three men. One woman. And Benny. She eyed them, her lip curling when she recognized Naya among them. The woman was avoiding her gaze. Good.

“You gonna let me out of these?” She taunted, shrugging her arms forward to indicate the cuffs.

Taunting was a risky strategy, but Lilah felt comfortable pushing buttons. Rather, she was annoyed enough that pushing buttons came as naturally to her as breathing.

Benny smiled. It wasn’t nice, “Not just yet.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “Scared I’ll make a stunning escape?”

He laughed, stepping towards her and kneeling, “Those cuffs are covered in Xibalban magic. Keeps you from telling you lover where you are. Not yet, at least.”

Well, that confirmed why she couldn’t reach Brasa. She’d have to try another tactic.

“You need him to open the portal, don’t you? You’ve tried twice now without his heart, and you can’t fucking do it.”

Benny’s mouth thinned, and Lilah sensed his anger spike. She also sensed that she’d missed the mark, but couldn’t quite figure out why. He rose and returned to the group, asking one of them to go out and get the bags from the van. She watched Benny amble to a large circular indention in the cave wall. He touched it reverently. That had to be the portal.

Looking over his shoulder at her Benny asked congenially, “Do you know how I found you? All tucked away underground?”

Lilah let her expression relax into apathy, choosing only to lift a brow. Let him think what he wanted about that.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a phone. Lilah recognized the black and blue case, the cheap model making it perfect for tossing at a moment’s notice.

“If you’re going to keep tracking software on your device, you should probably take better care of them.”

Lilah allowed herself to sigh. It really didn’t matter how he’d found her. She could (and would) be angry with Seth later. She would also find a way to better encrypt their apps.

Looking disappointed at her lack of response, Benny returned the phone to his pocket and turned his attention back to the portal.  He spoke periodically to the others, hands touching here and there around the indentation. It took little to no cognitive effort to figure out that he was definitely going to make another attempt. She only hoped that this one would be as unsuccessful as the last.

Scooting to the back edge of the platform, Lilah let her shoulders sink down so that her hands fell below the stone lip. As quietly as she could, Lilah started scraping.

The guy Benny had sent out returned, loaded down. He dropped the bags in front of Benny with as much ceremony as he had done with Lilah.

“You got everything?” Benny asked, his voice quaking with eagerness.

“I did.”

Benny patted his shoulder, “Excellent. Help Naya set up.”

From the bag, they pulled—the fucking cup, knife, staff, and the god damned book. Lilah felt her jaw go slack as she tried to figure out how they’d managed to get them. They would have had to have broken into Brasa’s private office. Her angry gaze went to Naya, the only link between their groups. Lilah allowed herself the leeway to break her ‘let’s try to be diplomatic’ rule with her.  

“Now,” Benny said, looking smug, “You might be wondering how I’m going to get the heart of a Xibalban.”

She wasn’t...but now that he mentioned it…

He shot a conspiratorial look at her, “We both know that Brasa won’t give his up willingly.”

Lilah felt a strange sense of irritation that not only was he going with the villain’s monologue, he was also going to use her as bait.

She sneered, “He won’t do it for me, either.”

This was debatable.

That stupid, smug expression on Benny’s face got even more smug, “I guess its good that I don’t need him. Not anymore.”

Her stomach dropped. Evidently, he was going to put a new spin on an old cliché.

Benny touched her cheek, “Not when I have you.”

Repulsed, Lilah pulled away, “I’m not Xibalban.”

“No,” he drawled, his voice rising in song-song, “But, he’s been feeding you—he’d be stupid not to after what happened yesterday, and we both know he’s not stupid.”

Lilah swallowed, keeping quiet, anxiety crawling up her spine. She recalled every argument she and Brasa had ever had about how the bond changed her, and wondered if it had gone far enough that the heart beating in her chest would be enough to kick start the ritual.

“I know how bonding works, despite not having yet claimed my Naya—couldn’t have him know I’d sent a spy into the castle.”

God. Fucking. Damnit. They’d let her right in because Lilah had asked for diplomacy, had asked to bring more culebras to the table. Regret stirred shallowly in her belly, bubbling with acrid bile that nauseated her. Lilah set her jaw, deliberately setting the feeling aside so that she could deal with what was happening in front of her. She could feel bad about how they got here later. Now, the only goal was to get out the cave alive and (relatively) intact.

Benny watched all of these thoughts play out in her expression with self-satisfaction. She returned his gaze with a hard stare of her own. There was no helping the way her heart pounded in her chest, or the fierce rush of adrenaline in her veins. But, she could face him head on, show him that she wasn’t afraid. That, she could do.

Mouth curling, Benny rose, his attention focused on ensuring that ritual was set up for maximum efficacy. Lilah took advantage of the group’s distraction, scraping at the cuffs. She had no hope of actually breaking them open, but she might be able to disrupt the symbols enough to open the bond.

Acutely aware of any attention Lilah garnered, she kept at it. Her wrists sore, she dug further and further into the platform while pressing hard against that place in the back of her mind where the bond normally rested. Minute after minute passed, and she began to worry that she wouldn’t be able to reach out in time.

She could feel the anticipation for the start of the ritual rise in the room, the occupants moving with more purpose. There were smiles and little shared laughs, low voices talking excitedly about being able to finally finish their plan. Lilah kept having to shove down the fear with every step forward in the ritual they completed.

Those fears appeared to be unfounded. The bond exploded in her head, a starburst of flame that temporarily blinded her. Hunching over, she tried to ease the ache that bloomed in her shoulder and temples while simultaneously keeping the others in the dark about her success.

I’m here. I’m here, she repeated, hoping he could hear her over his own rage.

Where? Tell me where!

She told him. Lilah relayed that she was okay, but that she didn’t have much time.

Let me through, he demanded. All the way, Lilah.

The shake of her head was stopped with only sheer force of will, I can’t. They’re using magic. I can’t get the bond open enough.

It was then that she felt him burst into action. He would find her, and soon. Her ears rang with an inhuman, vengeful roar.

Opening her eyes, Lilah checked to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn’t. She just barely resisted a sigh of relief.

Benny picked up the book from where he’d set it down, flipping through the pages until he found what he wanted. In his other hand, he held the staff, the glint of metal somehow ominous despite the fact that Lilah had held the thing, herself, not long ago. His voice called out in Xibalban with none of the fluency Lilah was used to hearing. The sharp, almost guttural language became sloppy and disjointed on his tongue. It worked, nonetheless.

The ground shook with growing tremors, dust kicking up. Benny raised the staff and slammed it down. The sound of it was disproportionately loud. It rang with the crunch of stone, the howl of an unfelt wind. The tremors ceased. Gingerly, Benny let go of the staff. It stood on end, glowing faintly with the same light as the cuffs.

And then his eyes turned to Lilah. He gestured to her and two of his people walked forward. They grabbed her on either side and dragged her bodily so that she could be presented to Benny. Lilah glared at him as he brandished the knife. The aged metal glinted with a fresh sharpening, the handle fitting easily in his hand.

In almost any other situation, she would be talking, trying to delay. Lilah found that the words wouldn’t come. She had nothing to say to him. There were very few options for her at this point, so late in the game, and none of them were particularly palatable.

“Release her,” Benny ordered. When Lilah’s brows came together in confusion, he continued, “I want him to know where you are. I want him to find your body as I give your heart to our new lords.”

She felt the urge to spit at him, to gloat that not only was Brasa on his way, he was ahead of schedule—hopefully fast enough to save her and slaughter them. Lilah said nothing, her hands flexing as the cuffs came off. With the increased variability in movement, she added a few more options to her small list of choices.

Benny paused with a false look of surprise, “Nothing to say?”

Lilah pretended to think, mouth screwing up to one side. Then, with as much sass as she could manage, she raised her hand and lifted a single finger.

Seth’s voice sounded over Benny’s indignant growl, If you can’t beat ‘em, piss ‘em off. Angry people make mistakes.

Lilah had definitely pissed Benny off. The knife rose above her, his arm crossing his chest, telegraphing that he was going to swipe the blade over her face in retaliation. Lilah did the only thing she could think of. The hand flipping him the bird became a closed fist and shot out to punch him as hard as she could in the groin.

The effect was as expected. Benny doubled over, which put the knife within reach. She got her hands on his wrist and dug her thumb in before her own arms were grabbed by the culebras on either side of her. Planting one foot on the ground, she yanked first towards her and down, then up and away, breaking his grip.

It was at about that time that Lilah was pulled off balance, thrown to her side. Benny backpedaled away and out of of her reach. She had the knife, though, which Lilah counted as a win. She took the inertia of the fall and kept going until she’d rolled right underneath the guy on her right. He pushed down, laying his weight on her in an attempt to keep her still. Lilah held the knife to her chest, using her legs to lift him just enough to angle the knife up until it sank into the center of his chest. Too low. She risked losing control of the blade by adjusting her grip and utilized every muscle in her core to pull up until she hit her mark.

The dust of his body hadn’t yet settled before her arms were grabbed once more by the other culebra. Lilah let her body fall slack, hanging from his grip. Then, she slammed one foot down to get enough leverage to catch his hip with her free leg. He stepped back to keep his balance, giving her room to repeat her previous technique and aim for his crotch. She missed, but he reflexively let go of her arms to protect one of his most vulnerable areas.

Lilah landed hard on her ass, drawing her hands and the knife into her chest. She stood and stumbled back until she hit the wall, her eyes frantically trying take stock of the room. Benny and his goons formed a three person wall in front of her, Naya’s nervous face blurring in the periphery. She stared them down, ready to continue fighting until Brasa got there or they cut her heart out, whichever came first. Dust and blood spotted the air, her bare feet standing on solid rock. Lilah breathed deep and prepared for whatever wold come next.

Above the pounding of her own heart, Lilah heard a roar that shook every bone in her body. She nearly fell over with the force of it. Not a moment later, Lilah was smiling with relief.

Benny shoved his compatriots towards the opening, “Go get him!”

They went.

And then he did what all cowards do. He ran, leaving Naya standing alone. Lilah took a moment to note which way he’d gone, then turned her attention to the whole reason he was able to get her here in the first place.

Baring her teeth, Lilah bit out, “You betrayed us.”

Naya lifted her head high, “You betrayed us first.”

“We gave you a home.”

“No,” Naya replied, shaking her head, “You gave us another master to obey.”

Lilah felt the anger she’d been feeling all along blossom into incredulous rage, “And you think they will be any different? Do you know what they do to culebras in Xibalba? No, don’t answer that. Answer this: Did you know that Benny would have to offer what would amount to his entire following to them in sacrifice the second the portal opens?”

At this, Naya hesitated, “That is not what he intends.”

Her eyes narrowed, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Naya’s mouth pulled down in distaste, “We aren’t opening the portal to let them through. We’re opening it so we can kill them, too.”

At this Lilah rolled her eyes so hard that she thought they might actually fall out of her head, “You can’t even beat one Xibalban, Naya. What makes you think you can kill of an entire dimension of them?”

Naya knew. She knew the plan was going to fail. There was resignation in her eyes—eyes that looked to where Benny had run. Lilah wondered how she felt about being the bondmate to such a person. She wondered if Naya had negotiated a delay because she knew what Benny was, what he could drag her into if she wasn’t careful.

Lilah watched the other woman follow Benny through an opening in the other side of the cave, wishing she had the courage to follow her and finish it. As it was, Lilah was just too tired to keep fighting. She dropped her arms to her side, but was unable to put down the knife—she wouldn’t, not until she felt safe.

He swept in with all the power and command afforded to him, bringing with him heat that fairly ignited the air. Righteous and angry, Brasa took in the empty room, the ritual tools, the bloody symbols, and Lilah. His relief was palpable, the temperature cooling almost instantly. She stood, frozen, not quite believing her eyes, not quite ready to think that it was over. But, there he was. And, here she was. Alive.

Dropping the knife, Lilah ran for him, arms around his neck, a sob on her lips. He squeezed her to him, his face buried in her hair, coffee and caramel wafting from his skin. They stood like that for a long time, bodies swaying, until the sound of an approaching car filtered through the opening.

Lilah pulled back, angling around Brasa’s wide body to peer out into the darkness. Headlights flashed, the engine cut off. Car doors opened and slammed closed, followed by arguing, angry voices. She smiled, shaking her head.

Armed, the Geckos stormed into the cave. They clocked Lilah and Brasa, noted the lack of assholes to kill, and dropped their weapons.

Seth gestured to the room, “The fuck happened here?”

Lilah shrugged, “Uh, I got kidnapped and they tried to cut out my heart to open the portal.”

He sucked his teeth, frowning, “Looks like they didn’t do that.”

“Looks like it.”

“And, how did you manage that?”

She cocked a hip, crossing her arms, “I punched Benny in the dick.”

Beside her, Brasa breathed a soft laugh, the word ‘impossible’ passing his lips as he moved to look at the symbols drawn over the closed portal.

A gloved hand touched one near the bottom, “This is incorrect.”

Standing, Brasa moved to pick up the knife she’d dropped, his free hand scooping up the cup. He stood, brandishing both with half a smile, “At least they didn’t take the ritual tools with them.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “At least.” Then, “They still got away—oh, hey, Naya was a mole.”

Brasa stilled, his dark brows coming together, “Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll have Javier screen our applicants more thoroughly.”

That was it. No anger. No frustration that she’d gotten so close without them noticing. Just acceptance and a plan to keep it from happening again. Lilah envied that kind of level headed attitude. If were her—and it technically was her—Lilah would be through the roof with rage. To be fair, they both had other things to worry about and HR hiring practices was not high on the list.

Richie peered at the staff, looking down its length, “Looks like they got the party started, at least.”

“They did,” Lilah confirmed, picking the tome up off the floor, “I think having the book helped.”

Brasa set the cup and knife on the platform Lilah had been sitting on, taking the book from Lilah, “Since we’re here, I think we should go ahead and do what needs to be done.”

She eyed him, “You’re ready?”

He nodded.

From near the mouth of the cave, Seth holstered his gun, “What do we do?”

Brasa looked at him, “Keep guard. I can do the rest.”

Richie took a position near the opening Benny and Naya had run through, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. The lenses of his glasses glinted in the lantern light, his mouth thin. Lilah looked from him to his brother, saw the seriousness with which they were taking their part in this. It sobered her.

She turned to Brasa, “What do you need from me?”

He set the book aside, taking her hand and pulling her close, “I’m going to lose a lot of blood. I’ll text Javier, he has a cache for me. But, until he gets here, I’ll be...hungry. I’ll be blind with it, won’t be able to think of anything but feeding. Do you understand?”

Lilah nodded, despite not quite believing that he could be anything but the calm, determined person she’d come to know.

Brasa leaned further into her space, “Even in that state, I will know you. Only you. Keep me calm until Javier gets here.”

“I can do that,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word.

He searched her face, evidently finding what he was looking for. Pulling out his cell, Brasa sent off the text, then set the phone down. Then, he began to tug off his gloves. The glossy leather landed on the platform, and he immediately began to work on the cuffs of his shirt. He stripped it from his body, letting it fall to lay near his gloves. From his pocket, he pulled an oh-so-familiar knife. Lilah nearly smiled, remembering the last time she’d seen that knife. His belt,  his shoes, socks, slacks, and briefs followed, leaving him standing naked before her.

Lilah found herself looking away awkwardly, though she’d seen him laid bare over and over. From behind her, she could hear Seth rolling his eyes. Thankfully, the man kept his mouth shut. Richie, however, was not so conscientious.

“We gonna get dinner with this show?”

Brasa cast her friend a baleful look, red taking over the brown of his eyes. Saying nothing, he picked up the cup and knife, getting to work. The blade sunk into the skin of his forearm, blood falling to the vessel in a heavy pour. He let it fill until the cut began to heal, stemming the flow. Then, he dipped two fingers into the cup and began to cover Benny’s markings in his own blood, the wet sound of his paint filling the empty air.

Lilah stood to the side, both disgusted and fascinated by the way he moved. She had spent many nights watching him study the book, his eyes tracing the symbols he was now painting on the wall. He worked with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this many times in his head, until he’d not only gone over the initial markings, but added an uncountable number of his own. When he finished, the cup was nearly empty.

Brasa opened the book and set it next to the staff, still standing on end where Benny had placed it. He faced the portal, steadying himself. In a low voice, he spoke. Long, complex sentences sounded in cadence from his lips. The rhythm was a physical thing, pounding into the ground in a way that Lilah could feel through her bare feet.

Static sizzled in the air, power building in the room as goosebumps rose on her skin. Frightened by the escalation, Lilah looked back at Seth. His attention was on Brasa, his eyes focused intently as he watched for danger. Across the room, Richie had pushed from the wall, his hands in his pockets.

Brasa’s voice rose in volume, and when Lilah looked back in his direction, she was surprised to see the entire wall lit up. His blood glowed with orange fire, smoke wafting faintly from the stone. She resisted the urge to get closer, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

He kept going, until he was nearly yelling, the force of the magic he was working creating a physical wind that began to push her back. Lilah, with effort, held her ground, gritting her teeth as it picked up.

As whatever the fuck he was doing grew to a crescendo, Brasa raised the knife and slit his own throat. The depth of the cut, the angle with which he slashed, sent a spray of blood onto the wall. It kept going, spurting out in a waterfall of red that soaked the portal. Lilah could not contain the scream, the sound of it ringing out above the wind in her ears.

She kept screaming, unable to even move as more and more blood burst forth from his body. The symbols on the wall burned with a light that cast him entirely in shadow. His wide shoulders tipped back, chest bowing under the weight of the magic that cracked the stone wall down the center of the circular indention.

With what had to be unimaginable strength, Brasa took hold of the staff and thrust it into the crack. It sank deep with a metallic ting. The rock crumbled, falling down to the ground at Brasa’s feet, leaving an empty opening that appeared to lead to nowhere.

Quite suddenly, the oppression of the magic in the room dissipated, leaving them all standing in nothing but silence and the lantern light. Brasa stumbled back a step, then fell. Lilah knew that she would never forget the sound of his body hitting the ground, the way the staff rolled uselessly from limp fingers.

The second her feet could move, she was scrambling to him, landing hard on her knees. Hands shaking, Lilah held them above his body, trying to figure out what she could do. It scared her that he was so still. It also scared her that she couldn’t feel any heat coming from his skin. Tentatively, she touched his throat.

The wound was clean, but so deep that she could tell he’d severed his own windpipe all the way through. If she were so inclined, Lilah could sink her fingertips into the cut and feel the bone of his spine. Tears formed in her eyes, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Lilah just kept staring at it.

Shoes appeared in her periphery, “Is he…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Seth knelt next to her, a silent comfort while she waited for Brasa to come back from a move that she was absolutely going to yell at him about later.

From the other side of the room, Richie called out, “He needs to feed.”

Lilah glared at him, angry at the interruption to her grief. And then her face relaxed as she realized that he was right. On her hands and knees, Lilah crawled a few feet and snagged the knife from where he’d dropped it. She returned to Brasa’s side, hesitating only a moment before she dug it into her arm.

Grunting, Lilah kept going until her blood flowed freely. Breath still, she held the wound over his open throat, trying to keep from wasting it. The wet plop of each falling drop made her physically ill, fear turning her stomach. She swallowed down the bile and made herself keep her arm in place.

Slower than hours before, but faster than it had any right to be, the wound began to close. Lilah leaned on her hands, eyeing him for more signs of healing. She could see where her blood had coated the inside of his neck, but didn’t know what to look for. Everything looked the same—red, glistening flesh.

It wasn’t until his eyes fluttered beneath his closed lids that Lilah felt herself begin to breathe again. Cupping his cheeks, she whispered his name, careful not to jostle him. Though faint, she could feel his body begin to warm, a tremor working its way over his limbs.

“Thank God,” she whimpered, an unfathomable weight lifting.

“That’s one way to put it,” came an amused drawl from across the room.

“Shut up, Richie,” Seth and Lilah barked in unison.

Though his eyes remained still, Brasa began to show more life. Encouraged, Lilah slashed her arm again, hoping to speed the process along. As he soaked up more of her blood, she could see the muscles all along his throat quiver, the fibers knitting together.

Two more times, Lilah opened herself up for him, until her arm began to ache. By then, his body had rebuilt his carotid and jugular, his windpipe sealing together. Air pulled through and into his body with a high pitched whistle, his chest expanding the slightest bit.

Lilah hovered over him, watching helplessly as his skin began to seal together. So focused was she on his throat that she didn’t notice he was looking back at her until a soft, strange sound hit her ears. Startled, Lilah touched his cheek, saying his name.

He didn’t seem to recognize her, his gaze unfocused and glassy. She’d seen that look before, recalled that it had taken him several minutes to come back to himself. He blinked sleepily at her through dark lashes, the rest of his body still.

Utterly relieved, Lilah leaned down and dropped a short kiss to his mouth. She pulled back a few inches, saying, “Hey. Welcome back.”

He stared up at her blearily, a little crease forming between his brows. Mouth pursed, he attempted to speak, only managing a rasping groan. Lilah hushed him gently, pushing his hair back from his face. Eyes fluttering at the feeling, Brasa lay still and relaxed.

Lilah glanced up at Seth, still kneeling next to her, “I think he’ll be alright.”

Head ticking to the side, Seth scratched the stubble on his chin, “Let’s just hope his assistant gets here before his stomach starts growling.”

Laughing softly, Lilah reached out and touched Seth’s shoulder, a silent thank you for his support. Seth lifted his hand and laid it atop hers, giving it a soft pat. The body beneath her other hand growled. Normally deep and rumbling, the sound came out high pitched and wheezing. It was no less threatening for it.

Lilah looked down, noting his unhappy glare. Eyes red, Brasa focused on Seth, his mouth turned down. She could feel the muscles of his body tense to rise, could sense primal anger reflecting in the bond. On the low end of panic, Lilah pulled her hand away from Seth and shooed him away with it, cooing at Brasa to try soothe the growing fire. She was entirely unsuccessful.

Having gained more strength in the seconds he’d been awake, Brasa’s lips curled back, fangs sharp. His body temperature skyrocketed, limbs shifting restlessly as he worked up the energy to rise. She had to distract him, but her touches, her voice, weren’t reaching through the fog of his fury. Lilah needed something stronger.

With one hand, she grasped the knife, turning it so that the blade faced up. Two fingers pressed hard, until it broke through the barrier of her skin. Very deliberately waving her fingertips on the side opposite to where Seth was carefully crawling backwards, Lilah was pleased when he caught the scent and turned his head towards them.

The tender skin of his wound twisted, but remained intact, he showed no outwards signs of pain. Lilah held her bleeding hand out of his reach for a second or two, ensuring that she had his full attention.

“If you want it, you need to calm down,” she told him firmly.

From not far away, Richie drawled, “You know, Kate did the same thing to me that time I got shot in the stomach.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Lilah ordered, keeping her eyes on Brasa.

He flicked an annoyed look at her, but dipped his chin in acquiescence. She touched her fingers to his lips, biting back a sigh when he drew them into his mouth. The hot muscle of his tongue wrapped around and through them, licking and sucking noisily.

“If he gets rough with you, I’m going to put an entire clip into him,” Seth announced lowly.

Lilah nodded, “Duly noted.”

A scraping sound echoed in the opening to the tunnel that lead deeper into the caves. In the next blink, Richie was gone, dust swirling in his wake. A moment later, he appeared again, dragging one of Benny’s goons along behind him.

“Looks like we got a visitor,” Richie said with a wide, unkind smile.

Lilah didn’t bother to stop Brasa as he sat up, angling himself so that he caged her in with a snarl. She kept contact with him, running her hand up and down his side, ready to react if he attacked the wrong person.

Kicking hard, Richie sent the other guy sprawling across the room towards them, “You want to tell us what you were doing lurking around like a damn, dirty, lurker?”

Lilah would have laughed, but she was too busy being man handled around and behind Brasa. She rocked back, almost tumbling over herself, before righting her body and pushing onto her knees. A steady sound rolled out of Brasa’s chest, the air around him shimmering with heat.

The goon looked from Richie, to Brasa, and back, his mouth open in abject fear, “He just wanted to know if you’d destroyed the portal. That’s all.”

“He being Benny,” Seth sneered. Lilah could hear him cock his gun, and she had no doubt that he was keeping constant aim.

“Yes. Yes.”

Richie tilted his head to the side, “I don’t think you’re going to be giving him that information.”

Knowing he was done for, the goon tried to stand, tried to get his feet beneath him. Brasa moved. Fast. Lilah barely blinked and he had the guy in a fierce hold, teeth tearing into his throat. She tried to keep her breathing even, but couldn’t help the way her adrenaline kicked up. Having only experienced something like this one before, she didn’t have enough information to know how to keep herself and her friends safe while Brasa came back to himself.

He drank deeply, the sound of it smothered by the gurgling screams of the culebra in his grasp. The room spiked with heat, a glowing red pulsing below Brasa’s skin. As the goon went limp, his body sizzled, burning brightly until he was nothing more than ash floating aimlessly to the ground.

Someone made a sound—a rasping, wheezing sound—and Lilah realized that it was her. She realized that her hand was up, as if to somehow stop him. Brasa’s attention turned to Richie, who was nearest to him, and Lilah feared he would turn that awesome power to immolating the other man.

Swallowing down any trepidation, Lilah called his name. It came out in a croak. She cleared her throat and did it again. Brasa finally looked at her, red eyes assessing. Lilah beckoned him over in what she hoped was an inviting way.

He obeyed, crawling over the stone floor towards her. Lilah’s gratitude showed in a carefully controlled exhale. She gathered him into her arms, hoping that he would just rest there until Javier arrived. Hearing him breathe her name told her that he was gaining a semblance of control back, that he at least knew who she was.

Brasa inhaled against her skin, one hand resting at the back of her neck. She felt him wrap an arm around her waist, a firm embrace. He rubbed his cheek against hers, dipping down to touch his lips to her neck. He nuzzled there, and it was almost too late when Lilah realized he was trying to find the best way to bite down.

Her arm snapped up, fingers in his hair. She yanked, pulling him back so that she could look in his eyes—eyes that had bled into black, “No.”

The last thing she needed was for him to inject a healthy amount of venom into her veins, rendering her almost completely useless for an indeterminate amount of time. It would take nothing for him to lash out at Seth and Richie, possibly even Javier. Lilah needed to stay focused and alert for the time being.

Brasa’s mouth formed an adorable pout that in any other situation would have earned him a sweet kiss. Lilah resisted the urge, not wanting to encourage him. Instead, she pulled her legs out from under her, sitting beside him, one eye on the cave opening. Brasa sighed, put out, but followed her lead.

Footsteps sounded, obliterating the calm she’d only just managed to achieve. Brasa growled, the sound taking on the smooth timbre she was used to hearing. He pushed her down so fast that she could do nothing but land on her back, the air knocked out of her. Still growling, he hovered over her, the glow returning to his skin.

Lilah craned her neck to see Javier strolling in with an air of nonchalance. He stopped just inside the cave, looking from one person to the next.

“So, you were successful.”

Seth spoke up, gesturing with the gun in his hand, “Yeah. I think we broke your boss, though.”

Javier smiled, lifting a Trader Joe’s bag, “I brought sustenance.”

“Well, he’s already eaten one person, a la carte.”

Giving a little chuckle, Javier took a step forward only to be met by another warning growl. He cocked his head to the side, considering the scene before him. Then, with a smile that said he’d be talking with Brasa about it later, he tossed the bag within a few feet of them.

“I put a pack of body wipes in there,” Javier announced genially, “I figured things would get messy.”

From around Brasa’s arm, Lilah sent him a smile, “That is appreciated.”

Although it was to be expected, Brasa’s face, neck, and chest, were covered in drying blood. In the moment, he didn’t seem to mind. But, once he was well fed and thinking clearly, it might be another matter entirely.

“I think,” Javier commented lightly, “That we should give them a little privacy, don’t you?”

Seth balked, “He’s half feral. I’m not leaving her alone with him.”

By this time, Richie had crossed (carefully) to his brother. He laid a hand on Seth’s shoulder, “She’ll be fine. He can’t hurt her.”

“You don’t know that,” Seth shot back, eyeing how Lilah was laying prone on the ground.

“Actually,” Richie countered, “I do. Its impossible man. Couldn’t hurt her, even if he wanted to.”

Javier nodded sagely, “Your brother is right. Lady Lilah is quite safe.” Then, “Make sure he drinks them all.”

Though he clearly didn’t believe Javier, Seth allowed his brother to tug him through the cave opening and out into the night. Lilah listened to their voices fade, until all that was left was the lantern light and Brasa crouching over her.

Slowly, Lilah pushed up to one elbow and reached out one hand to snag the bag, dragging it in close. Blindly, she dug around in it. She pulled out a bag of blood, not quite as warm as Brasa would have preferred. When she offered it to him, instead of taking it, he leaned down and sank his teeth into the plastic. It tore audibly, the bag shrinking steadily as he drank.

The first bag emptied quickly, but before Lilah could reach for another, Brasa was up and moving. He grabbed both her and the tote, grip unforgiving. Nearly dragging her, Brasa hustled into the niche left by broken portal. In the shadows, Brasa sat back against the wall and hauled her into his lap. Lilah smiled and let him hug her to his body, let him take whatever comfort he needed.

When the trembling in his body waned, she leaned away and grabbed for a blood bag. He turned his head away when she brought it close, trying to ease her down to lay against his chest.

Lilah scoffed, holding up the bag, “You need to eat.”

He glared at her, a stubborn set to his jaw. She mirrored that stubborn look, wiggling the blood at him. Mouth opening very slowly, Brasa dipped his chin and dug in. Lilah hummed in praise, using her free hand to comb through his errant curls. She didn’t mind feeding him by hand, if that meant that he would eat.

The second bag went as quickly as the first, and was thrown aside so that Lilah could reach for a third. The process repeated in much the same way as it had the first two times. But, when she offered him the fourth bag, Brasa pushed her hand down and leaned his head back against the wall, fatigued.

Lilah set the bag down, resting her hands on top of her thighs as she waited for him to get his second wind. Though she tried to keep still, Lilah couldn’t help fidgeting. Her nerves were still working to come back to baseline, all the excitement of the day catching up to her.

Eventually, Brasa opened his eyes, “Are you alright?”

She paused, then said, “Are you?”

He lifted a shoulder lazily, “I’ve had worse.”

“Worse than slitting your own throat?”

His eyebrows quirked, humor working its way into his expression. Lilah slapped his chest playfully, reaching for another bag. She took his hand and set it firmly in his palm. While he drank, she dug around until she found the body wipes. With as much care as she could muster, Lilah cleaned his skin. Long, smooth strokes that washed away the bulk of the blood covering his chest and neck. When he finished with the blood, she took a clean wipe and ran is over his cheeks and chin.

“There,” she murmured when she was done, “You almost look human again.”

He hummed, hands running up her sides and back down again. Lilah relaxed into the movement, shaking herself and pulling out the last blood bag. Brasa sighed, defeated. Then took it and drank it down, swallowing quickly and heavily.

As he finished, Lilah found herself saying, “You killed yourself. Right in front of me.”

He tossed the bag aside, licking his lips, “I said that I would lose a lot of blood.”

“Not by your own hand,” she retorted, failing to keep the anger out of her tone.

Brasa laid his head back against the wall, saying, “It wouldn’t have made a difference if I told you.” He ran his hand over his face, “You weren’t supposed to see it. I was going to come here, do the ritual, take a day to recover, and come home.”

She would have fought him on it, would have demanded that he let her come along. Lilah didn’t know if he would have even told her where he was going, in that case.

When he was able to stand, Lilah helped Brasa get dressed and threw the ritual tools into the Trader Joe’s bag. Outside, Javier and the brothers Gecko were waiting. Lilah threw the bag into the floorboard of Javier’s SUV, then gave Brasa an assist to sit inside.

Turning to her friends, she said, “There’s still more to do. Benny got away.”

“Fucker,” Seth muttered.

Richie lit a cigarette, “I take it you have a plan.”

“I have some thoughts.”

Seth pulled his keys from his pocket, “I need a drink. Let’s blow this joint—you can tell us your thoughts over a beer.”

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XIV)

Chapter 14 : Or Perhaps A Blossom?

 Ha… here we go again for another chapter. I'm torturing our poor baby, sorry about that. Angsty chapter ahead… I hope you like it!! Tell me what you think about it!!

The next four chapters are ready, so I'll have no trouble keeping the rhythm of an update every 48 hours through the next week.

Word Count: 3921

The realization made it hard for him to look at you and Gareth holding hands.

It also made it hard for him to look at you altogether.

He was in love with you, and he had to stop being in love with you as soon as possible.

Loving you wasn't something he could manage, on a practical point of view.

First reason: because you were his best friend, and there was no one on earth – except for his mum and his sister perhaps – whom he trusted more. You were so important to him, and he knew that he was important to you as well. He was your best friend, and he couldn't throw it all to the wind simply because he was being silly.

Second reason: because he was pretty certain that he wasn't truly in love. A crush, maybe? Yeah, probably. He simply needed to control his heart, and it would all be over before it could put him in trouble.

Third reason: you weren't single. And he knew you well enough to be certain that if you learnt about his feelings for you, you would never want to see him again. You were too loyal and honest to break Gareth's heart like that.

No, no, no, most definitely no. It wasn't possible for him to keep this up. He needed to clear his mind and heart and things would get back to normal.

The fact that he had dreamt of snogging you senseless the previous night didn't make his efforts easier, but he wouldn't give up so easily. Still, he had to hide the way he felt while he was going through this dinner with you and Gareth and try to ignore the way his blood was boiling at the sight of this man touching you…

"Harry? You listening?"

He shook himself, finally realizing that you had been talking to him and he had completely ignored you, his eyes still resting on your and Gareth's hand intertwined on the wooden table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't sleep last night. I zoned out. What were you saying?"

You gave him a worried frown.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"No, no… I… umm… just didn't sleep well. I don't know why," he lied.

He bloody knew why he hadn't slept so well the previous night, and you were the reason. Between his messy thoughts and how he had dreamt of your lips, the poor man had found barely any rest.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Nothing's wrong. I'm sorry I zoned out, I'm focusing now. What were you saying?"

"I was saying that Gareth and I are gonna go on holiday together!" you smiled, excitement shining in your eyes.

"Amazing!" Harry lied. "Where are you going?"

"Maybe Canada! How awesome is that?"

You seemed genuinely happy. Overexcited even. Was it about the destination or the fact that you were leaving with Gareth though? Harry tried to search for the answer in your eyes but it was hard to tell.

"Wow! Awesome indeed! Where in Canada?"

"We are hesitating between Toronto and Ottawa, what do you think? You've travelled to both, right?"

"Umm… yeah… umm."

Under the table, Harry's fists clenched so tightly his short nails were ready to cute the skin of his palm. You were asking him advices to plan your romantic trip with Gareth?!

Cool… so nice… perfect… it was perfectly okay…

Hell if he was going to help the two of you plan a perfect romantic escapade to Canada…

"Harry?"

"Yeah… erm… I was thinking… I have to admit that I was touring then, so, I didn't enjoy all that you can do in these cities, you know?"

"Sure," Gareth nodded.

"But which one did you prefer?" you insisted.

"I… I genuinely don't know."

"We should ask a travel agent, sweetie," Gareth said, and Harry wanted to punch his stupid smile out of his face.

"Sure," you nodded, clearly a little disappointed.

Harry hated seeing this expression on your features, it made his heart sink in his chest.

"For how long are you leaving?"

"Five days," Gareth answered. "We want to leave for Valentine's Day."

Oh dear God, a romantic escapade for Valentine's Day… Harry was suddenly nauseous.

"That's nice."

You had grown quiet, and Harry knew why. You had probably waited to see him in person to talk about the trip with him. You were excited. You would be going to a place you had never been. And you wanted his help to plan it, because you knew he had been there and would give you the best advices.

And he was letting you down completely.

"I… I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be back in a sec," Harry excused himself, standing up and walking across the restaurant too fast.

He was relieved to find the toilets empty, and he rested his hands on the sink, heaving a deep sigh. He finally realized that his hands were shaking.

What was he going to do?

Get his act together, that was what he was going to do.

He was going to stop feeling the way he felt for you. You were his best friend, and nothing more.

He kept on repeating the words in his head, like a mantra he hoped to carve in his brain if he traced the letters again and again.

Y/N is just a friend. Y/N is just a friend.

Just a friend…

The realization kicked all the air out of his lungs.

He was just a friend to you. Not the other way around. Not anymore…

Tears blurred his vision, stinging his eyes. Why the hell was he crying? He wasn't really in love with you. He was just tired, and being stupid. He had to get his act together, because you were sitting in this fancy restaurant with Gareth, and you were waiting for your best friend to come back, and he couldn't let you down.

You and Gareth…

The thought of the two of you walking hand in hand in the streets of Toronto rushed before his eyes: walking and laughing through parks, kissing in the sunset on the islands, and you laughing and being so damn happy with Gareth.

Harry hadn't noticed the sob forming in his chest before it was shaking his whole frame.

Why was he crying like that?

It meant nothing. A few dreams, okay, big deal? He was just really tired. The previous evening when he had felt… that way… it was just… a meaningless moment. Yes, that was all there was to be read in it. A meaningless moment. And he was not really in love with you. It was just his head being a mess, he had to get a grip on his own emotions and…

But then he saw you and Gareth walking in the same hotel room, and sharing the same bed and…

Another sob was suffocating him.

Slowly, he looked up to stare back at his reflexion. And he realized he was being a fool. The truth was painted all over his features.

He was in love with you.

Not just a crush, not anything he could push away. He was in love with you.

And he didn't want you to leave with Gareth to Toronto, because he wanted to be the one holding your hand while taking a walk in a park. He wanted to be the one kissing you by the edge of the river, he wanted to be the one carrying your suitcase in the hotel room you would share. He wanted to be the one lying down by your side in your pyjamas at night. And he would have done anything to be the one waking up in the morning to see your face.

What the hell was he going to do now?

He turned on the water and poured the cold liquid all over his face. He took a few deep breaths to calm down.

He was your best friend. And he couldn’t let you down.

If it wasn't something he could brush off as easily as he had hoped, he had to keep a mask on. Act as if nothing had changed. Because otherwise, he would hurt you, and he couldn’t live with the mere thought of causing you any pain.

If something had shifted in his heart, to you nothing had changed, and he owed it to you to pull himself together and protect you.

Would he tell you about the way he felt now?

He played the scenario in his head. What would happen if he did?

You were with Gareth. You were so loyal, it was annoying. Was there a chance for you to choose him altogether?

He didn't think so. Besides, would he take the risk so soon? He had barely realized how he felt, damn, he couldn't even fully believe it himself for now. How could he put you through this? Making you choose between your best friend and your boyfriend, it wasn't fair. Not for now, at the very least.

He shook his head as he stood straighter again. For now, none of this mattered. Whatever he would choose to do the next morning, or the day after that, for now, you were waiting for him to come back. You were having a nice dinner with him and Gareth. For tonight, at the very least, he ought to bury his feelings and forget about it all. He had to stay strong and wear an unbreakable appearance.

He needed to act like the friend you deserved. It would be selfish of him to settle for anything less.

He took one last deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom again. He shot you a smile as he took his seat around the table once more.

"You know, actually, I think Toronto would be great. I liked the sight on the islands, very romantic in the sunset. I'm sure you'd love it."

"Really?" you asked back, and all traces of disappointment disappeared from your features in favour of a grin.

He forced a smile, even though he could feel his heart growing heavier and heavier.

Oh, how he wished you were this excited about a trip you would take with him…

"Yeah. I remember a few restaurants with very nice views too. I'll look for the names, and send them to you tomorrow. Would that be okay?"

"That would be amazing! Thank you so much!"

You nudged Gareth, a proud smile on your face.

"See? I told you Harry would give us good advices."

"Of course," Gareth gave your best friend a smile that longed to be grateful, but remained a little too cold to convey the right feeling.

But Harry didn't notice that detail at all. His eyes were fixed upon you, his smile growing a little sad, a little dreamy.

He didn't even notice when the waiter came back with the main course, and only mumbled a thank you because he recognized the words on your lips.

You really were beautiful in this light…

Gareth was gone home to sleep, but nor Harry nor you wanted the evening to finish just yet, so you had decided to take a walk together before going home.

It was quite cold at night, once the sun wasn't spreading its warmth anymore, November settling for a moody weather. Harry covered your shoulders with his coat without a word. He didn't even think about it, didn't ask if you wanted him to. It was natural by now.

"It feels good to have you back for a couple of days," you grinned, locking your elbow with his.

He returned your smile.

"It feels good to be back."

"I was surprised that you didn't go back to see your family though?"

Harry was taken off guard by your statement. He realized then that… he hadn't even thought about this possibility. He had a few days off, so he had booked a flight to L.A. He hadn't hesitated for a second. And he realized then why he had made this decision so naturally, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Because when he had booked these tickets two months before, he was already in love with you.

He was going to L.A. not because it was home, not because he missed the city or some of his friends. He was always going back to L.A. because you lived there, and because he longed for you.

He didn't miss the beach, the sea, the rush of life, the Californian sun. He realized then that, whenever he went away, he missed the long walks across the sand you would take together while talking for hours. He missed throwing you in the ocean to make you laugh. He missed going around the city in crazy errands with you. He missed spending his evenings and afternoons outside with you, sitting in his garden and drinking lemonade while you destroyed him at whatever gameboard you had chosen.

He didn't miss L.A. He had never missed L.A. He had always missed you.

The realization hit him like yet another punch in the stomach, and he discreetly brushed the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He shivered but it wasn't because of the cool breeze.

He felt so lonely all of a sudden. He noticed that he had felt lonely for a long time, actually.

And he had thought just a couple of hours before that it was just a silly crush that was disturbing his habits, when actually, it had been love all along that was shaking his whole life.

How could he deal with that? And for how long had it been there?

He noticed that you were talking, but couldn't find a way to focus enough to decipher whatever words you spoke. He listened to the sound of your voice though, it sounded as soothing as a melody, and he found it easier to breathe again.

He looked through his memory, tried to pinpoint when he had started to feel this way for you.

But he couldn't.

He knew that he had longed to see you again as soon as he had left for the tour, of that he was certain. So… it had been there for months.

He reckoned that it had been there before though, a tiny seed slowly growing to bloom into full feelings as weeks went by. Maybe it had all begun once he was single again? Maybe it had started the minute he had bumped into you in that hall, at the wedding?

Did it matter though? He couldn't deny anymore that the feelings were there, and that was terrifying.

He couldn't tell you about it though. For all the reasons he had thought about before, but most importantly because he felt too lost to confront you with the way he felt. He couldn't do this. Couldn't drag you down with him. He had to figure things out first.

Figure things out? He didn't even know what that was supposed to mean. He had just figured out that he was in love with you, what else did he have to figure out?

He noticed that you were talking about your trip again, and he focused more on your words this time. He was starting to get a severe headache out of all the thoughts tearing his mind apart.

"I can't wait to be there," you told him with excitement, making that cute little wiggle you always did when you were particularly happy about something, and Harry was certain for a moment that he was going to melt into a poodle right there on the dark pavement. "It's gonna be amazing! And thanks to your help, we'll know all the spots to see! Besides, I think it'll do us some good."

Harry frowned at this last remark.

"What do you mean 'it will do you good'? Everything's alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine," you heaved a sigh, and you didn't seem so merry anymore. "I mean… It's just… nevermind."

"No, no, tell me."

"I… I don't know… I'm just not so sure. I like him, and he's very sweet to me. But he doesn't make me feel like I'm his dream come true, you know? He doesn't make me feel like he adores me. I don't know, it's silly. We're having a great relationship, I bet we just need a little time. We've only been together for a few months after all, it's rather normal to not be like… madly in love yet."

We're not even together, and I'm already madly in love with you. And from what I could gather, it seems I've loved you for a long time.

His thought tore a hole in his lungs.

"I'm very happy with him though," you smiled more brightly to him. "He's very nice to me. And… he tries hard to keep me happy. Can't say that it's been the same for all my relationships. I reckon that… I got real lucky with this one."

Would you say that you were lucky too if you were with me instead?

"What about you? Is there anyone these days?"

You. I've just realized, it's been you for an awfully long time. And maybe that's why I can't settle for anyone else…

"Not really," he shrugged your question away. "I'm too busy to think about that."

"Really?" you questioned, not convinced, but he chose to ignore your question.

"Do you really have doubts about you and Gareth?"

It was your turn to shrug.

"Not really. I wouldn't say that. I… I'm happy with him. It's… safe. It feels safe. But it doesn't feel as… exciting as I would like it to be sometimes. I don't know."

"Maybe you would have that too with someone else. Maybe you'd have both the safety and the excitement. Maybe it's a sign that he isn't the right one for you."

You laughed at him. He reckoned that it was the first time that your laughter was hurting him.

"No, no… I wouldn't say that. It's not that bad. I don't reckon it is. Maybe I'm just fantasizing about something I can't have, because it doesn't exist."

"I'm not boring! And I'm safe!"

For the second time, you laughed and it pierced his heart through and through.

"No, that's true. I feel safe with you, and you are everything but boring."

"See?"

"Yeah, but you're my best friend, not my lover! That's not the same at all. Can I have both in love and not just friendship? Not sure."

He was about to speak again, but you guided the conversation towards his shows once more, and he yielded when you asked him to tell you about the crazy things that had happened on stage that you had missed.

Meanwhile, he was processing your words, and it was quite clear to him then that if he told you how he felt, he would lose you.

What choice did have then? All he could do was bite his tongue, take the pain, and put on a smile. Because the other possibility was to never see you again, and anything was better than this option.

You didn't see him as a lover, only as a friend. He was ready to take anything you would give him, if it meant keeping you in his life.

If he were honest with himself, he would have admitted that he was heartbroken.

Gareth.

Harry could hear your words echoing through his mind again and again even though it had been over a week now and he was back on tour, even though he was in a cold hotel room now…

I don't know… I'm just not so sure. I like him, and he's very sweet to me. But he doesn't make me feel like I'm his dream come true, you know? He doesn't make me feel like he adores me. I don't know, it's silly. We're having a great relationship, I bet we just need a little time.

A little time?

Harry pressed too hard on the tube of his toothpaste, cursed under his breath as he covered too much of his toothbrush with the white minty substance. He shoved the toothbrush in his mouth, and brushed his teeth with too much strength, glowering at his own reflection as if he were facing Gareth instead of staring at his own green eyes.

He couldn't get you out of his mind at all. With a little time and self-reflection, he had reached a better understanding of his feelings for you. The conclusion to his study was that he was utterly fucked.

He loved you. He loved you so damn much. It had been here for a long time and he couldn't even believe that he had managed to remain in denial for so long. But you were with Gareth…

Gareth… if he didn't make you feel like you were a goddess then what the hell was the point of him being with you at all?

Harry would treat you better. He would make you feel worshipped. Hell, he would make sure that you knew how much he cared, how much he wanted to be with you, how much he loved everything about you. He would make sure to make you happy.

You deserved the best way of loving someone and nothing less. And if a man wasn't able to make you feel special and loved, then he didn't deserve you, it was plain and simple.

Harry would bring you breakfast in bed every Sunday. He would buy you your favourite treats, and your favourite flowers and tons of useless little things just to spoil you a little. He would buy you even more scarves even if you always complained that you had too many already. He would be just as stubborn as you were when you were wrong. He would compliment you about everything you did right. He would show you that he didn't take you for granted. He would… he would adore you the way Gareth couldn't.

He spat the toothpaste in the sink, angry, his stomach twisting in a way that made him feel like he could throw up. When he looked up at his own eyes in the mirror again, he was on the verge of tears.

It wasn't anger that could be read in his eyes now. It was just pain.

"Why won't you let me adore you?" he asked to his own image, but it was your eyes he imagined staring back at him instead of his.

The ache that coursed through his chest, spreading across his heart to reach his lungs and through his ribcage, was so sharp that he rested a hand on his bosom. He heaved a tired sigh, walked out of his bathroom and reached for the notebook on his nightstand.

There was only one thing to do when the pain became too much for him to bear. He traced his sorrow with ink in an attempt to transfer it onto paper and forget about it. And for a little while, he knew it would work. It would ease the pain better than any painkiller would, calm his mind enough for him to sleep through the night.

And in a few days, something else would hurt him just the same, and he would have to write it all over again.

So, that was what his life would be like from now on?

The pen traced his thoughts on the blank page, simple and too earnest.

Just let me adore you

***************************************

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