#the word fills me with unbridled rage

[pinksparklelps]

anytime someone says sigma im gonna respond interpreting it as some variation of its meaning

"yes, i know the greek alphabet thank you"

"sum? sum of what ?"

"i don't think you can use the busy beaver function here dude"

"are you talking about physics in the middle of a game???"

"tau :) wait we aren't reciting the alphabet ?"

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

ceo!sukuna x secretary!reader, modern au

tags: degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, spanking, true form sukuna notes: minors dni, one sequel to "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴" - you decided to not text your boss Sukuna wc: 1.3k

Sukuna was fuming with rage as he sat at his work desk, eyes glued on his door waiting for you to finally come in. He gave you his private number, a number no one got (since he mainly fucked women at work anyway) and you didn’t call him? Not even bother to sent a message? Did you even save his number? Sukuna's rage was a tempest, a storm swirling within him, threatening to burst forth and consume everything in its path. His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned bone-white, his jaw tensed, muscles coiling like springs ready to snap. Each breath he took felt like fire searing his lungs, fueling the inferno of his fury.

It wasn't just anger; it was a primal force, raw and unbridled. How could you crawl over to him like a slut and then just ghost him. After he left the bar he couldn’t even get his cock soft – it waited to be buried deep inside your cunt. Suddenly (and finally) his door opened and you walked into the room, your eyes staring at the floor.

“Good morning, sir”, you greeted him sheepishly.

“Lock the fucking door and come over here, now.”

Your boss didn’t even bother to hide his anger and you were smart enough not to question his mood. Without a word you walked over to his desk. His red eyes were burning holes into your skin.

“Why didn’t you text me? I told you to do that”, Sukuna stood up, his fingers tapping on his wooden desk as he moved closer to you.

“I don’t think that would have been appropriate, sir.”

As the words hit his ears, a surge of anger coursed through Sukuna's veins like a bolt of lightning. The sentence struck him with the force of a physical blow. His jaw clenched so tight it felt as though his teeth might shatter under the pressure. A torrent of emotions roiled within him, a turbulent sea of indignation and frustration threatening to engulf him entirely. How could you dare utter such words, he seethed inwardly, feeling his temper flare hotter with each passing moment. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, for a release of the pent-up rage festering within him. Yet, beneath the anger, there simmered a sense of hurt, a wounded pride that stoked the flames of his fury even higher.

“Inappropriate, huh?” Sukuna's heart pounded with an adrenaline-fueled rhythm as he pressed you against his workdesk, his palm firmly planted beside you, caging you in. The suddenness of his action caught you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise before a flicker of excitement danced within you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a silent declaration of desire. The scent of your perfume filled his senses, intoxicating him further as he leaned in.

“You know what’s inappropriate? All the times you went on break just to rub your little pussy after I praised you. The way you press your legs together in an attempt to not cum all over the place after I yell at colleagues who fuck up their work. You think I’m dumb, little one?”

Sukuna's lips grazed your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. The faintest touch of his lips against your skin ignited a fire within you, a wave of sensation coursing through your body like electricity. His kisses were rough and urgent, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His grip tightened on your arm, a rough urgency in his movements as he spun you around, your back now pressed firmly against Sukuna’s chest. The suddenness of his action caused your breath to catch in your throat, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. His touch was possessive yet intoxicating, sending a jolt of desire coursing through your veins. With your back against him, you could feel the heat of his body, the strength of his embrace and his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“You need to be punished, baby, Was waiting for you the night to text me”, he whispered into your ears before taking a step back, “Bend over the desk, slut.”

As you leaned over your boss's desk, the air seemed to crackle with tension. Your movements were graceful, yet purposeful, the lines of your silhouette casting a spell of allure. With each subtle shift, the fabric of your blouse hugged your curves, your skirt rocking up, teasingly revealing hints of the allure beneath. Sukuna, momentarily captivated by the sight before him, struggled to maintain his composure and not just fuck you right there and then.

“You’ve been a bad girl”, all of sudden, without any kind of warning, his hand smacked down on your ass, earning a small squeal, “You a little cocktease, huh? Knew damn well how fucking soaked you got after our simple kiss and then you decided to not text me after?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir”, he whimpered as another blow hit your ass. Sukuna pulled your skirt down to the ground, exposing your behind. Now it would start to hurt.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, baby. I wanted to fill you up real good last night. I would have come over just to let you bounce on my cock. Beg for forgiveness, slut.”  And once again he smacked your ass.

“I’m sorry” Another blow. “Pl-please…Please forgive me, Mr. Sukuna.” Another blow. Your ass was turning red at this point. “I’m begging you pl–please…ahh.” That moan was everything Sukuna needed to hear – so needy and eager, he imagined you would love for him to manhandle you like this. Such a dirty whore.

You were a begging, trembling mess before him and he loved every inch of the view. Grinning he reached his hand out, his finger grazing over your thong covered slit. “Soaked through your panties already, baby? That’s all it got? Some dirty talk and spanking? Want daddy to help you out?”

Self-respect? Professionalism? Everything left your body as soon as he called himself daddy. “Yes, please help me out, daddy.”

“Now you’re a good girl.” Sukuna pulled your thong down and you groaned as you felt him use his finger to circle your clit. Seemed like daddy knew your body well, knew the pressure and the patterns that could turn you into a stuttering and groaning mess. When he dipped his fingers inside of you, you shifted slightly to make him go deeper. His fingers fucked you open so well, deepening his strokes to rub your g-spot and draw you closer to the edge. You felt yourself give in to him, becoming more wet as he continued touching your clit and pumping his fingers into your sloppy cunt as well.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. Can you hear it? How my fingers ram in and out of your slutty hole, huh? Clenching me so well, sucking me in. Tell daddy what you want, little one, tell me.”

“D–daddy…please, please fuck me”, Sukuna never stopped fingering your hole and restarted spanking your ass, “I need your cock, daddy, ahh– I’m begging you to fill me up.”

You heard Sukuna unzipping his pants, something warm now pushing against your entrance about to replace his fingers.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll call me your god.”

Maybe you were way too horny and desperate, losing touch with reality because suddenly you felt two hands grabbing your waist while two other hands wrapped around your body and cupped your tits. Sukuna rammed his cock into your pussy but you could feel something even thicker and bigger laying on your ass.

“You’re my favorite human, little one.”

[senualothbrok]

Carried Away

Summary: A response to @dekariosclan 's request for some good old fashioned boring bed sex with Gale. (Read the ask as it's a masterpiece of smut in itself). I hope this is boring enough for you, my dear 🫶 (it became more tender than hot, I hope this is ok😅)

Word count: 817

Disclaimers: NSFW. Smut. Vaginal sex / penetration.

AO3 link

When a rustle of cool air tickles your shoulder, you clutch at the blanket. Cocooned in the darkness of sleep, you are vaguely aware of the warmth of his body, his tired heave as he slides into bed beside you. You roll towards him, the scent of his teaching robes still clinging to his pores.

“What time is it?” you croak.

“Four o’ clock,” he breathes. “Go back to sleep.”

You grizzle. As his arm drapes over you, you bury your nose in the silk of his hair.

“So late,” you mumble.

Memory flickers in your slumber. The untouched dinner left on his desk in the study. His brisk peck on your cheek when you wished him goodnight. Your fleeting resignation as you glanced at the Gale-shaped hole beside you before you blew the candle out.

“Forgive me, my love.” His soft lips graze your forehead. “I got carried away with the modifications I was making to--"

A gaping yawn swallows his words. You nuzzle into him, your fingers seeking his. His legs tangle into yours, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your bodies. He lets out a small sound, half-moan, half-breath, as his nose settles into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

It could be minutes or hours. You drift through the veil between dreams and wakefulness, Gale’s breathing a soothing rhythm against your skin. From a distance, you feel the firm brush of his toes against your calf, a hard heat whispering against your thigh.

You ignore it at first. But a gentle pressure is circling your nipple, trailing down to your navel. A faint wetness tingles on your earlobe, his rasp trembling through you like a siren. Your lips search the roughness of his beard as you press against him. 

His mouth is open when you find it. His length nestles into your core, firm and insistent. Your tongues are lazy and slow as you savour his taste, thick with sleep and stupor and need. In the blind haze of exhaustion and desire, you do not need speech. Nor do you need light to find the points of each other’s pleasure, imprinted on your senses like an ancient map. 

He does not need to ask when he hooks his knee around your waist, pulling you closer. You do not need to check before your hand dips into his briefs to free the thrust of his cock. It surges against your touch as you skim his leaking tip, tracing the veins that twitch on his girth. You know them as well as the lines on your own palm, the heady fragrance of his musk. You relish each other’s groans as you lift your leg over his, guiding him into your waiting folds. And when, with one long stroke, he fills you to the brim, the ache that flares is like a spell. 

Your fingers fist into his tousled hair, the peaks of your nipples rubbing raw against his chest as he rocks. He clasps the cheeks of your ass in a silent demand, and you whimper as you angle your leg wider, inviting him deeper, into the deepest parts of you, reserved for him alone. You arch your back as he pumps into you with growing urgency. A throbbing hunger pulses with his every pant and plunge. You are fully awake now, and so is he.

“I missed you.” He laps and sucks at your mouth, your earlobe, your chin. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I'm here.” You grind against him, desperate for more. For all of him. “I’m yours.”

You clutch at his muscles, hard and taut as he rolls into you with gathering speed, a raging flood against your banks. There is no reserve, no restraint in him, nothing but love and unbridled need. Your walls clench around his stretching stiffness. 

“I love you."

He spasms, a shaking hand cupping your cheek, his forehead pushing against yours in a mist of sweat and sandalwood and desire.

“I love you.”

Your tongues are a ravenous frenzy, his beard a dizzying rasp against your chin. His hips snap furiously as he bottoms out again and again.

“I love you.”

You can no longer tell if it is his voice or yours, or where his touch meets your own in the darkness. You are one body, one soul, and when you cry out and shatter into each other, you cannot tell where his ecstasy ends and yours begins.

He remains inside you as your chests rise and fall, your breaths slackening. Sated, complete, your kisses become languid and halting. When he pulls out, he plants a feather light kiss on the tip of your nose, and you let out a silent laugh. Your fingers remain intertwined as his arm returns to drape over you, where it belongs.

“I forgive you,” you murmur, and you feel him smile into your skin as you sink back into sleep.

***

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[orcasoul]

Joel Miller Headcanons:

Joel's Reaction When You're Sexually Harassed

Warnings: Swearing, violence, fluff.

Ahhhh I love me some protective Joel :)

Word Count: 1,498

Joel didn't think nights like this could ever exist again; Night's reminiscent of the 'Before Times', when you could unwind, leave your stress and worries behind for a little while and just enjoy the moment. The jovial laughter and carefree atmosphere that fills the community hall still amazes him.

For too long, people in this world just existed, trying to make it from one lousy day to the next, always having to look over their shoulder. But here in Jackson it's different. Life doesn't just go on, it thrives, breathes, grows stronger, a testament to the resilience and determination of the human spirit.

Even though some things here seemed frivolous at first, Joel had to admit the room did look beautiful, with fairy lights strung up and handmade decorations adorning the walls - all for the anniversary of Jacksons' founding- but it all pales in comparison at the sight before him now.

There you are, his "partner in crime" (as you so often playfully referred to the both of you as), looking effortlessly radiant as usual, long hair draping over both shoulders, the ends trailing down to the low cut top that accentuates your cleavage, (not that he's looking, nope, not looking at all), a pink tint to your cheeks and a smile that could bring Joel to his knees.

"Hey guys, mind if I sit?" you gesture to the empty seat at the table. "Please join us," Maria smiles warmly. Joel removes his coat from the back of the empty chair beside him and pulls it out, an invitation to make yourself comfortable. "Such a gentleman," you beam at Joel, gently nudging his shoulder with your own. Joel smiles, "Always am, darling."

He doesn't miss how your already pink cheeks flush even brighter at his response, but no, couldn't mean... nope she'll never see you that way, so don't even go there. He listens intently as Tommy and you discuss your patrols with Joel, blushing slightly as you praise him for his capability and competence beyond the walls, even going as far as to calling him a good teacher.

"Well, you're a quick learner. Not everyone catches on as fast as you." Joel has to fight with the small smile threatening to break into a full on grin at his pride in you. Tommy raises his eyebrows in amusement as he watches the easy back and fourth between you two. The night goes on and Joel wishes it would never end.

Just sitting here with you, listening to the sweet lilt of your voice, watching the way your face lights up in genuine laughter brings a warmth to Joel's already thawing heart. He watches you leave as you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. He knows what's coming just from the smug looks his brother and sister-in law are giving him.

"Don't...," Joel rolls his eyes, "It's not like that at all." "Mmhmm...," Tommy hums, smirking into his glass. Joel huffs, returning his attention to his drink. A few minutes later he sees you making your way across the room, weaving in and out of dancing couples, when you are suddenly blocked from view by a large back and broad shoulders.

Joel is instantly on his feet, defence mode triggered in his brain, suspiciously eyeing this seemingly insistent man. The look on your face tells him everything he needs to know; You're uncomfortable and looking for a way out. His feet move as if they are their own entity, taking large strides across the floor, fists balled up and jaw clenched.

He can't make out what you're saying but it's obvious you are refusing this mans' advances. As you try to push past, the man grabs your wrist, making you wince in pain. Joe's eyes widen in shock. This fucker actually had the audacity to lay his hands on you. Pure, unbridled rage burst through Joel's veins, burning him from the inside out, his objective now crystal clear.

In the next moment, Joel had spun the asshole around, connecting his fist to his jaw, relishing the satisfying crack that resulted. "Don't ever put your fucking hands on her again!" Joel roared while pulling you behind him, shielding you with his large frame. He could feel you trembling as you placed a hand on his back, which only angered him more. How dare this entitled piece of shit treat you that way. You deserve to feel safe in your own community!

"What the fuck, man!" fumed the stranger as he picked himself up off the floor, rubbing his injured jaw. The room suddenly became void of voices, the jukebox being the only continuous sound for a moment, as all eyes shifted to the unfolding scene. The man's gaze shifts from Joel to you. "Seriously?!" he narrow's his eyes at you, anger painting his face red. "You'd rather fuck this old timer than me!"

"Back. The. Fuck. Off... Now!" Joel growled lowly. The guy looks back to Joel. "You know what...," he scoffs, "You're fucking welcome to it! God knows where that whore has be-" Crack!! He falls onto the table, then onto the floor with a sickening thud as Joel rains down, blow after blow. '"Joel! Joel stop!" He can hear you, but he can't stop, not after the vile comments aimed at you.

"Joel, please!" Only upon feeling your hand on his arm did Joel stop, turning to face you, hoping his actions haven't frightened you. But instead of fear or disgust all he sees is concern in your eyes. He turns back to face the man when he hears him groaning while being picked up and escorted out by a few other men.

Tommy appears at Joel's side, quietly reminding him that there are better ways to deal with people like that, - even if his look is silently conveying an 'I would have done the same thing' message -, then he makes sure you are okay before trying to ease the tension in the air by encouraging everyone to return to their business.

"Joel...," you whisper while gently taking hold of his bloodied hand, examining the gashes and forming bruises. "Let's go. We need to take care of this." Joel nods at you, allowing you to lead him outside.

Joel sits at your kitchen table, watching studiously as you sit in front of him, rummage through your first aid box. The deep concentration etched onto your face as you carefully dab at his split knuckles, stirs up a multitude of feelings in Joel's gut; Relief that you're okay and not afraid of what you saw, appreciation at how attentive you are and a fierce need to protect you from any more harm in future.

"I think it's broken," you say, sadly. "Yeah, probably just a hairline. It'll be okay," he shrugs it off, trying to reassure you. You sigh and shake your head. "You shouldn't have done that, Joel." Joel's brows knit together in confusion. "I shouldn't have helped you?" "I mean, I appreciate you defending me, I really do...," your eyes meet his and he can feel the sincerity of your words. You return your focus to Joel"s hand. "But he's not worth breaking your hand over."

It kills Joel that you sound guilty, as if you're blaming yourself for what happened, when it was all the fault of that arrogant prick. "No, he's not...," Joel replied flatly, then gently lifts your chin with his other hand to look softly into your eyes, "But you are." Joel watches as your frown softens into a heartfelt smile, your eyes glistening with un-shed tears.

His eyes momentarily drop to your lips, looking so soft and plump, he wonders if they'd feel as soft as they look. He doesn't have to wonder for long. In the blink of an eye his collar is in your grasp, your lips crashing onto his, and oh, they are soft, just like he knew they would be. Is this really happening?! Joel skims his tongue along your bottom lip and immediately you open, welcoming his tongue as it claims your mouth.

His hands settle on your waist, gently hoisting you up off of your chair and onto his lap. Joel feels your pert tits press against his chest and his cock press against his jeans. He moans into your mouth, running his good hand up your back to cup the back of your head. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss, tounges and teeth battling it out in a game dominance and passion.

When you both finally part, panting for breath, Joel rests his forehead against yours and murmurs, " You don't know how long I've wanted to do that, baby." "You don't know how long I've wanted you to do that," you coo sweetly. Joel chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. "I'll do that for however long you'll have me." Whatever is happening between you both, Joel knows this is the start of something amazing.

[vampsywrites]

balance of life

synopsis: "if you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the tsa-hik." as quadritch and his men launch a ruthless attack on your village, your life hangs in the balance.

pairings: olo'eyktan! aged up! neteyam x tsahik! fem! reader

tags: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND DEATH, mentions of guns, blood, gunshot wounds, violence, war, neteyam going feral, ambiguous ending hehe, mother neytiri suffering (again)

☄️part 2 💫

"Mawey! My people! Mawey!" Your anguished plea echoes through the air, tainted with a tremor of unbridled fear.

Gasping, you find yourself shoved to the ground as the weight of a marine's boot presses upon your back, mercilessly crushing you. A bone-chilling sensation courses through you as his rifle hilt presses against the side of your skull, the threat it posed abundantly clear.

The air fills with haunting screams, a cacophony of agony and desperation, as your people struggle frantically to break free from their restraints.

Quadritch chuckles, moving his gaze to the forest before him. "I know you're there, Sully. You and your little soldier boys."

Jake takes in the situation, clicking his tongue as he pressed his back further against the solid trunk of a tree.

Clutching his rifle tightly, he curses under his breath. The crackle of his communication device interrupts the tense silence as Neteyam's voice comes in.

"Sir? What's wrong? We have them outnumbered and surrounded…Why aren't we initiating an attack?"

Jake hesitates for a moment, a palpable fear gripping his heart as he struggles to find the right words. With a shaky hand, he presses a button on his neck, activating his device. His voice quivering as he delivers the news, "They've got Y/N at gunpoint."

Neteyam chokes, feeling the air get knocked out his lungs, his entire body tensing, muscles coiling like a tightly wound spring. From afar, Neytiri meets his gaze, and he can see the worry etched on her face as her hands shake immensely around her bow.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she rasps, watery eyes peeking at you from behind a tree.

Neteyam's teeth grind together, his jaw clenched so tightly that it might as well break. Swiftly, he pushes through the green foliage, moving closer and closer until you were in his sights. His heart plummets, and a nauseating feeling spreads through him as he catches sight of you.

Tears mar your dirt-streaked face, mingling with the soil as a soldier forcefully presses your face deeper into the ground. His heart shatters as he catches fragments of the frantic prayers that escape your trembling lips.

In the midst of the chaos, Quadritch's voice slithers through the air, its lethargic slur accompanied by a thick, heavily accented drawl. "Let me make something abundantly clear," he enunciates, his words laced with malice, "If you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the Tsa-hìk."

In an instant, Neteyam's snarl tears through the air, his fangs bared in a primal display as his instincts roar, urging him to protect you at any cost. The soldiers swiftly pinpoint his location, their weapons trained upon him.

Unwavering, Neteyam prepares to draw his bow, poised to take action. However, before he can make any moves, a hand firmly seizes his shoulder, dragging him into safety just as a barrage of bullets whiz through the air. He finds himself taking cover beneath a fallen log, with Lo'ak gripping onto him tightly.

"Bro," Lo'ak seethes through clenched teeth, arms wound tight around Neteyam in a chokehold as he struggles to hold the raging male down, "Listen to me! If you make any hasty moves, you'll only end up getting yourself killed."

Neteyam's muscles strain against Lo'ak's grip, his chest heaving with a mix of anguish and fury as his eyes dart to the direction where you're held captive. Eventually, Lo'ak's words begin to sink in, and he reluctantly relents, slowly easing his struggling.

Gritting his teeth, Neteyam focuses on the situation at hand, his mind scrambled and racing. The weight of his helplessness settles upon him, but a fiery resolve ignites within his core. He locks eyes with his brother, an unspoken understanding exchanging between them.

"Lo'ak," he growls, "I need you to cover my right flank."

.

A muffled sob bubbles up your throat as the sky demon circles you, his monstrous gaze drinking in the sight of your fear-stricken figure.

"That boy's takin' his sweet time, ain't he?" The colonel chuckles, his boot nudging against your cheek, forcefully lifting your face up. A low, contemptuous whistle resonates from deep within his chest as he scrutinizes your features with an unsettling gaze. "Well, well, ain't you somethin' to behold? No wonder he went ahead and crowned you queen."

The colonel's sadistic chortle then drops abruptly, his smug expression contorting into a frown as the forest echoes with a thunderous war cry.

A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins, compelling you to lift your head defiantly, your eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadows. "Ma Neteyam!"

Neteyam moves through swiftly, drawing his bow back and knocking an arrow dead set into a soldier's skull. The RDA, caught off guard, attempt to mount a defense. Their weapons swing and shoot haphazardly, their strikes frantic. Neteyam growls, easily avoiding their feeble attacks.

With a low hiss, he strikes, his blade digging deep into a marine's skin, leaving behind jagged, gaping wounds that mar their flesh. In a blood-soaked frenzy, his vision narrows, focusing only on his enemies, while the world around him blurs into a backdrop of carnage.

More warriors surge forward, joining the relentless attack. Arrows streak through the air, finding their targets with deadly precision, striking down the soldiers that had once surrounded you.

In almost no time, the weight pressing onto your back eases as the marine holding you hostage falls lifelessly to the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, you propelled yourself onward, stumbling amidst the grim aftermath, desperately seeking sanctuary and cover from the chaos.

You were in such a state of blind panic that you failed to notice the piarcing gaze fixed on your back. Quadritch watched as you moved along the edge of the fields, a wry grin spreading over his lips, "Hey there, pretty bird."

In a single, fluid motion, he raises his weapon and mercilessly opens fire, his shots striking and finding their mark in your chest, sending a searing pain coursing through your body. You stagger back, a choked scream slipping from your lips as you feel your legs giving in.

"Y/N!" Neytiri's piercing shriek fills the air, her desperate cry reaching your ears as she swiftly drops down beside you, enfolding you in her protective embrace.

The crackle of gunfire intensifies, another relentless barrage of bullets tearing through the battlefield. With nimble agility, she hauls you into her arms, racing towards the nearest cover.

As her back finds respite against the rough bark of a tree, Neytiri's attention immediately turn to your injuries. Panicked, she assesses the extent of your wounds, her hands becoming stained with your blood as she applies pressure.

"My sweet girl," Neytiri's voice trembles in despair, her words saturated with raw emotion. Tears stream down her face, mingling with the dirt and blood that now stains her skin.

Sobbing, your body goes limp in her arms, sending the woman into a frenzy. Her voice rises in a haunting wail, a soul-piercing cry that reverberates through the battlefield.

"No. No. Great Mother! No!" she beseeches the divine with all her being, as if her fervent cries alone could alter the cruel course of your fate.

In that heart-wrenching moment, a figure drops down beside her, and Neytiri turns to see Neteyam, shrouded in blood as his usually steady temperment crumbled.

"Oh, Ma'Eywa, Great Mother, please no," he falls to his knees, his arms reaching out for you as he frantically takes you into his embrace. You whimper and stir, your head spinning as it falls onto his chest.

"Yawne? Hey, syulang. Hey, it's me," he cradles you closer, his lips gently pressing against your temple as you heave and shake in his embrace. "Shh, shh. I'm here now, right by your side. I'm here. I won't let you go."

"Ma'Teyam," you rasp, your eyes fluttering as the abyss of sleep beckons. "I…I am so tired."

With quivering lips and a voice choked with grief, he whispers your name, his voice a fragile plea."No, no, you have to stay awake, yawne. You have to stay with me," he presses in a hoarse whisper, his words trembling with a vulnerability you rarely see.

"Please," Neteyam's tears drip onto your pale face, fingers trembling as they brush against your blood-stained skin, gliding across your flesh with an almost desperate tenderness, as if his touch alone could heal the wounds that mar your body.

The battle rages on around you, the chaotic sounds of war blending into muffled ringing. In this moment, time stands still, and the world around you fades into shadows.

"'Teyam…" Gasping for breath, you feel a final heave escape your body before everything is consumed by a blinding light.

07/16/23 — I am writing a part 2 due to popular demand 🙈 I have a taglist ready as well! So feel free to comment if you would like to be added!

☄️part 2 💫

[entername322]

Beautiful Symphony

Minji (New Jeans) x Male Reader

Length: 13204

Previous part

Next part

Warm, that's the first thing Minji noticed as her consciousness starts to come back. Then the smell, an addicting brew from the mixture of bodily fluid that you and her ooze last night. “Morning cutie”, Your voice, reverberating all over the empty room, kick-starts her brain. She opened your eyes to see your smiling face, not the lusty and hungry smile from last night, rather a warm and loving smile. “Morning oppa”, She smiled before crawling forward to kiss you.

“Hmmm, you need to brush your teeth”, She scoffed and retaliated by slapping you, “Are you tired?” She nods her head, although it's more like she's rubbing her head all over your chest with a motion that resembles a nod, but that's a mouthful to say. “Hey, stop that, you'll leave a burn mark”, You pulled out her head making her frown at you. “Hahahahha, oh god, you're so cute sometimes”, She knows it, but she wants you to reward her for being cute.

You gave her a kiss which is enough, for now, “Hey stop daydreaming”, You blow some air into her face making her open her eyes. “I'm hungry, so why don't you go brush your teeth and wash your face so we could go out and get breakfast”, Minji shook her head and hugged you tighter, “Babe, please?” She sighed and sat up, “Let's go then”, She grabbed your hand trying to pull you up. “Oh no, I've already brushed my teeth and washed my face when you are busy sleeping”, Minji frowned at you before leaping in to get another kiss. “Still come with me oppa”, She grabbed your hand and pulled you up. 

“I have to go till night today, I might not come back here today”, Minji glared at you through the mirror as she is brushing her teeth. “I got some matters to attend to, I'll see you tomorrow”, She quickly finished brushing her teeths and cleaned her mouth. Then she turned around to look at you, anger and jealousy was written all over it. 

"Night?" Minji's voice was husky, thick with sleep and something else – a shadow of suspicion that sent a shiver down your spine. You met her gaze, her eyes narrowed, searching for cracks in your façade. "Band practice, internship, the usual grind," you said, your voice lighter than air, barely a brushstroke against the taut canvas of her suspicion. "Thought I'd give you the morning to yourself”, How thoughtful of you.

The silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken accusations. You knew this game was dangerous, playing with fire you couldn't control. Minji's possessiveness, once endearing, now loomed like a storm cloud, ready to unleash its fury. "And Haewon?" she spat, the name a poisoned dart piercing the fragile bubble of your lie. "Is she part of your 'usual grind' too?” The question hung heavy, a bitter pill coated with suspicion. Haewon. Just a name, a footnote in a story already written. You hated yourself for using her, for dangling her ghost before Minji's eyes, just to see the flames of jealousy lick at the edges of her love.

"Haewon is-" you started, but Minji cut you off, her voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that twisted your insides. "Nothing? Like I'm just a distraction until your precious Haewon decides to make up with you again?" she hissed, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Thrill starts to crept up on you, this charade, this twisted puppet show you were orchestrating, it's beautiful. The urge to push, to see how far you could bend her before she snapped, remained a serpent coiled in your heart. Taking a deep breath, you reached out, a tentative touch tracing the curve of her jaw. "No, Minji," you whispered, the words choked with regret. "You're not a distraction, you're… everything. I'm just…”

With inhuman speed she jumped into you, her hand grabbing your cheeks as she crashed her lips onto yours. You had to hold her up again, the same way you did on your first kiss last night. The kiss felt raw, passionate, filled with unbridled rage that has ignited inside her. It was ecstatic, you wonder how much can you get away with? How far is too far until the relationship between you and Minji got ruined? For now, you'll carefully dance around the edge, try to find the line you can not cross, try to, ruin her.

“I'll spend time with you until lunch, but at lunch I'll have to go meet up with my friends”, Her body tensed up, the paranoia and anger has overtaken her. “You don't have to go, just stay here with me oppa”, She's right, you don't have to go, especially because you don't really have plans for the day. “I do, but come on, stop being so gloomy, I'll spend time with you till lunch. I promise I'll make it up for you”, She felt itchy all over her body, just the thought that you'll be gone, doing god knows what, it infuriates her. “You don't have to make it up to me, if you stay at home with me”, You carry her back to the bed, gently laying her down as your hand starts to undress yourself. “How about this then, I'll fuck you and emptied my balls inside you. That way I won't be able to go and have fun with Haewon even if I want to, not that I ever want to do it”

The proposal intrigues her, but she still doesn't want you to leave her. Her life has been so empty for a while that she just can't let go of the person who manages to bring some warmth into it. “Come on babe, don't you want me to fill you up again”, You pull up her hoodie and your finger starts tracing around her belly. Instantly she remembered the hot burning sensation you gave her last night. How addictive and pleasurable it was. Just like that, you managed to convince her.

“Fine”, She undressed herself as well, her eyes staring at you hungrily, wanting nothing else but to eat you whole. “I want to try something first oppa”, Her hand grabbed your cock, gently holding on to it as if it might just break if she wasn't being careful. “Oh? Here I thought you were a pure girl”, Oh she is, until two days ago. Scared of embarrassing herself Minji has done a few, research, regarding sex. She did it just for you, how romantic.

Minji slowly caressed your cock to make it erect. It was a bit of a slow process but seeing how eager she was to suck your cock made you feel a little excited. Her hand wrapped around your shaft and stroked your cock up and down as she looked up to me and smiled. She moved in closer and kissed the tip before licking it like a popsicle. Her small face made you feel like your cock has grown larger, maybe your ego needs to be kept in check soon, before it gets out of control.

She slowly moved her lips down to the head of your cock and started to suck. It goes in halfway before she starts letting out some gagging sounds. “Don't need to take it all in babe, it's your first time after all”, Your word of reassurance only made her feel insecure. “Don't give me those eyes, I mean it, it's okay, nobody can't take my full length with their mouth anyway”, Damn, calm down with the bragging dude. Minji felt content with your words, slowly she moved her head back and forth as she sucked on it, looking up to you while she did it. Her eyes are begging for your approval.

“Good girl”, She squeals, giving you some funny feeling on your cock. The compliment made Minji feel more excited as she stepped up her game. She slurped on it doing some very sloppy and messy blowjob. She looks up at you, her eyes red and tears falling down her cheek, she sucks your cock like her life depends on it. Moan after moan came out of her mouth, which made you wonder, how dirty of a girl is she? She grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to her as she sucked you harder. Her spit starts bubbling around her lips making a very thick liquid concoction as it mixes with your precum.

“Enough baby girl, let's get to the main course shall we?” She wanted to protest as you pulled her off your cock, “Did I do bad?” The cute pout seems to contrast very hard with all those saliva running down her lips and chin. “You did great, I just want to fuck you right now”, Hearing that you didn't stop her out of pity, she excitedly turns around and offer you her pussy. “Look at you, so wet already?” Your finger starts playing around with her hole, “Ahhhh, oppa, you said you want to fuck me already”, Minji doesn't like when she's being bullied like this. “I'll do what I want, babeee~” Yet she really likes it when you get so aggressive and dominant.

As you start fingering her, you wonder how on earth did you managed to fuck her last night. “Oppa, stop playing around”, Her stomach is already hungry for your cum. “Fine, take a deep breath”, She smiled full of anticipation as you slowly slid your cock into her pussy. The tightness is almost suffocating to you, yet you persist and push deeper. The moment she swallowed your whole cock her leg starts to quiver, “Oppaaaaa”, You just made her cum.

“Hehehehe, this is fun”, The sight is amusing to you, especially since Minji's face is trying to keep her cool and fails. “Haaaa, haaaa, haaaa, oppa, move”, Despite her apparent fatigue she still wants you to fuck her. “Okay babe”, You started slow, not wanting to break her. Yet with how sensitive she is, even the slow movement is enough to make her moan and shivers. “You're gonna lose your mind if I continue this”, You tried to warn her, but Minji doesn't like that you're pitying her. “Just, fuck me, oppa”, Whatever Minji wants, she'll get it. You pick up your pace and start pounding her for real this time. 

Minji tried her best to keep herself in check, yet her moans can't lie to you. After a minute of pounding she already reached her second orgasm. “Oppaaaa”, She screams, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her legs locked on to your waist, her pussy is strangling your cock as she squirts all over you. Due to the leg lock you can't really continue fucking her, although you really want to.

“Baby, look at you, you're already so defeated”, Come on now, stop bullying the poor girl, “I can still take it oppa”, Her tears are falling down her cheeks already. “Really?” She nodded furiously, “Okay, one more chance okay? If you cum again then I'll stop”, She nodded. Of course you wouldn't make this easy for her, you leaned down and started kissing her as your waist went to work. Minji tried her best to focus on your mouth, the sweet taste of your lips, the fight between your tongues, the… it's really hard to disregard the huge cock that's breaking her in two right now.

“Oppa, cum sooner please”, She said it with such adorable tone you can't help but laugh, “I'm not joking, cum in me oppa, I can't wait anymore”, Thankfully for her, those cute gestures really push you over the edge. “Fuck I'm cumming”, Minji immediately grabbed your head and pull you for another kiss. She moans and screams into your mouth as she is trying to hold her orgasm. Then the warm feeling she's been waiting for came and all her walls crumbled. Both of your bodies are intertwined, Minji is pressing on to you so hard there's probably not a single pocket of air between the two of you.

It was heavenly, for both you and her. Minji felt like she might pass out any moment, the sudden increase of dopamine in her brain caused it to short circuit. Her body is also dying from the three consecutive orgasm, yet her hand just won't let you go. “Babe, let go of me, let's cuddle for a second”, You drag her to get in position in the bed for cuddling. Her breathing starts to slow down as her eyes are struggling to stay open. “Go rest up baby, you had your breakfast already”, She smiled victoriously before dropping her head on your shoulder.

“I don't want you to go oppa”, She whimpered, “I have to baby”, One day she will learn how to read through your lies, then you will be fucked. “But what about me?” She looks at you like a lost puppy. “You’ll be fine baby, you're a strong girl. You can handle one day without me right?” Minji felt scared, just the thought of going back to her quiet lonely days is haunting. “I need you oppa”, She sobbed, “Ssshhhh, babe, I'll be gone for one day, I promise I'll make it up to you didn't I?” Always pull her harder after you pushed her away, you've mastered this scummy technique huh. “I want a date”, Yeah that was already part of your plan, “I want oppa to sing for me”, That one too, “And I want oppa to make me pregnant”, Okay not that one though.

“You're insane babe, you're not ready for a baby, neither am I”, You can't really see Minji since she's pressing her back to you, yet you can already tell she's frowning. “I don't care”, With how childish she is, getting a kid would end up with you babysitting two childs. “You’ll care when you realise getting pregnant means we won't have sex for 8 months”, She didn't think of that, “Oppa, please?” Oh right you're forgetting something, “I need to buy you some birth control pills, I'll be back”, Minji was thoroughly pissed when you let go of the cuddle, she turned around to find you already leaving the room. “OPPAAA”, You hear her screams echoing the hallway as you run off into the sun. “This will be fun”

.

.

.

“Alright, so you're gonna tell me everything or what?” Your dad finally got home after 3 days in vacation, yes you do realise it was a vacation as soon as you heard your mom also left. “Dad, did you and mom plan this out?” He shrugged, acting carefree despite there's some excitement and worry in his mind. “Weirdos”, Quite hypocritical of you, “Says the guy who cheated on his girlfriend for his new sister”, You know what? Your dad is weirder than you since he doesn't seem to care that much about it. “Okay, just tell me what did you and mom planned for me and Minji?” You decide that it's not the time to talk about Haewon.

“Well, as you may have known, Minji is not exactly a very sociable person. Jinwoo is very concerned for her. So as any parents would, she tried to find someone to befriend her”, You put out your hand to stop him, “Befriend?” He laughs and nods. “That was the initial plan. However she met me, and we got in a relationship. The talk about introducing you to Minji has been around for awhile. I think it was around the time we plan to announce our relationship to the two of you that she plan to just play matchmaker and try to hook you two up”

You stay silent for a while, “You two are an idiot”, Well that's kinda rich coming from you don't you think? “I told her it might have gone wrong, but she insisted that you won't be able to handle Minji's charm. Your mom is very good at judging characters you see”, Is it judging characters or just straight up omniscience? “Okay so now me and Minji have become a thing, and you two are fine with it?” He nods, hiding his worry for now. “And if things went wrong, the two of you will take full responsibility for the family drama?” They won't, but your father nods. 

“So, you two are getting married then?” You tried to change the topic, “Yes, in December”, There's this little question that hangs around in your mind, which surprises you. For now you'll just leave that question alone, after all you might still be too high with the moment to think clearly. “I think, Minji wants us to move together”, It was pretty obvious due to how vocal she is with her dislike of leaving you for the last few days. “Figured, we do plan to move in together soon, me and Jiwoo of course”, Living together like that might prove to be complicated.

“Why don't you, move with mom, Minji and I can stay here”, Very bold proposal bro, “That can be arranged”, Seeing your dad just approve it makes you anxious. “Really?” He laughs seeing your bewildered face, “Yeah boy, we can deal with that. Do you want us too or not?” Do you want to have a full empty house to yourself so you can have sex with Minji everyday? “Yes”

.

.

.

The next day, you came back to Minji to update her on the talk you had with your dad, also the future plans. The words, "we're moving in together," hung in the air, vibrating between you and Minji like tangible threads of your future. Her eyes, wide with a disbelief that morphed into pure, unadulterated joy, were like fireworks exploding in slow motion, each spark a reflection of the sunbeam dancing on her nose. "Really?" she breathed, her voice a delicate whisper, barely audible above the excited thump of her heart. You could see it, the question hanging in her eyes, the echo of past insecurities threatening to steal the spotlight from this moment.

"Really," you confirmed, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Your thumb lingered on her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her smile, a silent assurance that this wasn't some fleeting dream, but a sturdy brick laid in the foundation of your love. The dam of her happiness burst then, flooding her entire being. A shriek that contained all the pent-up joy, excitement, and relief of a thousand insecure whispers, erupted from her. She jumped into your arms, her laughter a melody against your heartbeat, her tiny fists pummeling your chest playfully.

The sunbeam on her nose flickered like a dying ember, replaced by a glint of something darker, something predatory. An unnerving stillness descended, broken only by the frantic drumming of her heart against your chest.

Just you and me oppa. No distractions, no Haewon, no whispers and touch from any other girls. It will only be you and me. 

You've noticed these changes, Minji's golden eyes, once pools of sunshine, shimmered with obsidian depths as she spoke of your shared home. No, it wasn't just joy radiating from her, it was the glint of a dragon guarding its hoard, the intoxicating aroma of a love so absolute it bordered on smothering. And you, my oh my, you relished every charred note. "Together," she breathed, the word a possessive caress, "just us...in our own world", You chuckled, a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down her spine, just to watch the fire in her eyes flicker with a touch of uncertainty. Yes, let the doubt creep in, let the fear linger, for it was in those cracks that your obsession took root.

"Always, Minji," you murmured, the word dripping with honeyed deceit. You traced the curve of her jaw, her skin like warm satin under your fingertips, a fleeting touch that promised eternity. She leaned into you, a moth drawn to a flame, unaware of the inferno she danced with. "No secrets, oppa," she purred, a silk-wrapped threat. "No more 'band practice' or 'internships' to hide behind. Just us, woven together, you know what moving in together means right?" You smiled, a predator savouring the thrill of the hunt. Yes, let her weave her web, let her trap herself in the gilded cage of her own devotion.

The possessive tremor in her voice, once a source of amusement, now sang a melody of exquisite dissonance. This love, hers, it wasn't a symphony; it was a cacophony of desperation, a twisted masterpiece you were eager to conduct. You, the orchestrator, the puppeteer, the master of this danse macabre. "A haven, oppa," she whispered, her fingers tracing invisible circles on your chest, branding you with her touch. "A haven just for us”, You let the word echo in the air, a gilded cage morphing into a labyrinth of your own design. Yes, let her believe you were the captive, the bird trapped in her song. The irony, oh, the intoxicating irony.

For as she spun her web, thread by thread, brick by brick, she was building not a prison for you, but a mausoleum for herself. Each whispered promise, each possessive gesture, etched your name deeper into her soul, leaving no room for anything but you. You, the poison in her veins, the obsession in her eyes, the only melody her heart could play. You, the wolf in sheep's clothing, the puppet master playing with strings of devotion. She, your willing prisoner, slowly, deliciously consumed by the inferno of her own making.

The lines, oh, the lines had blurred beyond recognition. Were you the hunter, or were you the hunted? The answer, a delicious enigma that danced on your lips, was both and neither. You were two sides of the same coin, bound by obsession, tethered by the twisted cord of a love that devoured and consumed. In this game of hearts, there were no winners, only survivors. And as you watched Minji's eyes, once radiant, now burning with the feverish glow of your design, you knew, with a wicked twist of your lips, that the only real prisoner here was her, her heart a gilded cage locked around your name. “Take off your clothes oppa”, Minji said, removing her sweater, “Isn't your mom right down the hall?” Look at her, such an innocent sheep, broken beyond belief after tasting the sweet fruits of sins. “She won't mind”

The two of you dived into each other, both of your hands are busy undressing the other person while your lips are interlocked together. As you take off her sweater you abandon the kiss and went to her tits. “Oh, yeah oppa, that feels good”, Your held her body close as your mouth start devouring on her tits. You bite her nipple, maybe a little too hard than you usually do, “Fuck oppa, more”, Yet she likes it. Oh yeah, she will be perfect for your sadistic tendencies. “Let me leave you a mark okay babe? So you don't miss me when I'm gone”, She nods so quickly her head might fall off.

First one, right around her nipples, a beautiful cage right around her stiff nipple. “Fuck, oppa, that's it, just like that”, Minji starts to whimper as her hand are pushing your head deeper into her. “Beautiful”, You kissed her nipple as you watch the first mark. “Ohhhhh, I love you oppa”, Minji moaned as she sees the bite mark, “Now, now, I'm not done yet”, The second one, at her cleavage, usually you left this on Haewon and let her parade it around. Of course Minji never leave her house, but the hickey will be enough for her to see everytime she glances under her shirt. “Fuck oppa, come here” as you finished your second mark Minji pulled you in for another kiss, her hips start grinding on you.

“Babe, one more?” You break off the kiss and start grinning, “One more okay? Then we fuck”, Minji's pussy is sorry itchy for you, but the whole marking things are too good to pass on. “Thanks babe”, You peck her lips before moving to the final mark, her collarbone. “Ohhhh, oppa”, She shivers as your lips touched her skin. Your tongue slowly licked around the bones, sending shivers down her spine. Then your lips created a vacuum like seal before your teeth sinks into her skin. “FUCKKK OPPA, you're gonna make me CUMMM”, Her legs wrapped around your waist as her hand locked your head in, then her orgasm came. 

“OPPAAAA”, You would go deaf if she keeps screaming like that, also her mom probably has figured out what's happening in here. “Oppa, you're such a bully”, Minji panted as her exhaustion starts to show, “Am I? Don't you like being bullied babe?” You kissed her cheek before throwing her off to the bed. “No I'm not”, Yet her squirming legs tells you otherwise. “Sure babe, I trust you”, You laughed and pull down her pants and then yours.

“Fuck me oppa, and stop bullying me”, You laughed and aligned your cock with her entrance, “You're ready?” She nodded furiously. Then you shoved it in, except that it doesn't went in, your cock just slid through her pussy, grinding on the outside. “Oppa”, She let out s frustrated cries, “Oh ooppps, my bad”, Minji frowns harder trying to show she's angry, although you can see she's getting aroused by this. “Should I put it in babe?” You used your cock to rub around her pussy, making her body shakes around. “Yes, oppa please”, She moaned, “Be a good girl and beg for it”, You said.

“Oppa please fuck me, I need your cock, I need your hot load inside me, please split me in two oppa”, Well, she got you there. “Fuck you're so tight babe”, You moaned as you plunge into her. “Fuck, you're just too big oppa”, She moans, her hand grabbed on the sheets as you pound her. “Fuck oppa, harder, fuck me harder and cum inside me, please fill me up oppa”, Her small whimpers are getting more and more desperate as another orgasm is building up inside her. 

Her walls are tightening around you again, milking out the warm milk she's been addicted to. Your hips keeps on crashing on to hers making her body jiggle in every touch. With every thrust your cock is fighting against her inner wall. Every day, slowly but surely you've been reshaping her pussy to be the perfect vessel for your cock. “Fuck oppa, I'm cumming”, Minji moaned, your hand pinched her nipples making her let out a scream of ecstasy, “Take my seed babe”, You groaned as you plunge yourself as deep as possible. The two of you are connected, the waves of pleasure and ecstasy are washing over each other.

As the waves subside, you collapse on to her, not our of fatigue, you just want to press her down on the bed. “Oppa, you feel so warm inside me”, Minji also like it, being pressured like this by you, it's so hot. “I know babe, we should take a shower”, She smiles and kiss you, “Let's go together, the bathroom has better sound insulation, so mom don't need to hear us longer than she needs to”, Well, one round is certainly hasn't been enough for the two of you.

.

.

.

Haewon's voice, normally a sweet melody, turned into a serrated knife scraping against your nerves. "Breaking up? What do you mean breaking up?!" Her anger, raw and palpable, hung heavy in the air, suffocating the sterile atmosphere of her room. You swallowed, forcing a smile filled with deceitful guilt and anxiousness. "Haewon, sweetheart”, You began, choosing your words carefully, "It's not you, it's me." The age-old cliche, twisted to serve your purpose. "These fights, they're tearing us apart. You deserve someone who makes you happy, someone who doesn't…" your voice dipped low, feigning regret, "bring out the worst in you."

Her face, a storm cloud of fury, contorted with disbelief. "The worst in me?" she spat, her voice cracking. "Is that what you're calling it? Me not wanting you to spend every night at the 'office' me questioning your sudden need for 'alone time,' me asking for some semblance of… normalcy?" You shook your head, acting as the sorrowful martyr. "See, that's what I mean. The accusations, the mistrust. It's toxic, Haewon. We're just… incompatible." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you held firm. You had to. This façade, this twisted narrative, was your only escape from her, an escape, to the gilded cage you've prepared for the one true love you have. 

"Incompatible?" she scoffed, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "We were perfect, remember? You said it yourself, you and I were made for each other. Just a few weeks ago, and now… incompatible?" You sighed, feigning exasperation. "Things change, Haewon. People change. I'm evolving, moving on, and you… you need someone who can handle being left behind." The cruelty of your words, veiled in concern, struck her like a physical blow. You saw it in her eyes, the flicker of pain battling with the rising tide of rage. This, you knew, was your most dangerous gamble. Push her too far, and you risked losing control, your meticulously crafted web unravelling before your eyes.

But the alternative, it's too disastrous, she is an unpredictable variable in your game with Minji. Having her around could be, unwise. You needed to let her go, even if it meant breaking her in the process. "Left behind?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're the one leaving, the one choosing your ‘internship’ fantasies over me, over… us."

You leaned closer, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Haewon, baby”, you murmured, "think of it as… a sacrifice. I'm setting you free from this unhealthy attachment, from a love that was… consuming you." The gaslight, subtle yet potent, began to take hold. You saw the doubt creep into her eyes, the flicker of self-blame replacing the fire of her anger. It was a delicate dance, this manipulation, a waltz on the edge of her emotions.

"Consuming… me?" she echoed, her voice trembling. "Is that what this was? My love for you… toxic?" The final blow. You placed a hand on her cheek, your touch a feather-light caress. "It wasn't healthy, Haewon. We both know that. And sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go. Do you remember how you were before you met me? A model student, perfect attendance, perfect grade, perfect, everything. When was the last time you got an A in a test? How many class did you attend this last few months?" Her eyes, once pools of adoration, were now glazed with a mix of pain and confusion. You had woven your web, spun your narrative, and she, trapped in the cocoon of your lies, began to believe it.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the unspoken consequences of your manipulation. You had won, for now, but the victory tasted like ashes in your mouth. You have to let her go, yes, but at what cost? As you looked at Haewon, her spirit slowly withering under the weight of your deceit, you knew one thing for certain: even if the chain you formed on her neck was opened, the memory you've left in her heart will not go away. An invisible mark to the darkness that danced within you, the darkness, that had corrupted her. 

I never hated you Hae, I always looks up to you. You were such a perfect girl, you just happened to catch my eyes.

You like her, it's just that, she's not Minji. It was her greatest sin, not being the girl you loved. Even the sight of her crumbling down isn't fun to watch. Those perverse thoughts can not manifest in your mind. It was as if Hyde looked at her and just snorted before looking the other way. The only things you feel for her, are compassion, and empathy. “I'm sorry Hae, I really do, but things got complicated at dad's place. I might have to drop out”, A flurry of emotions washes over Haewon, on one hand, she was panicking that the two of you might not meet again. On the other hand, she felt somewhat glad that she can go through her breakup without having to deal with meeting you everyday.

“Hae, I like you okay? I really do, which is why I wanted what's best for you. We both know that we can't deal with distances. If we continue this, things would just crumble even harder. I really hope, and I mean it when I say this, I really hope you didn't see this as me being selfish. Sometimes, people just don't work out. I was, this sounds so cringe, but I was honoured to be your first love. I just wish I would never have to be your first heartbreak”

Such a beautifully crafted poem, sounds so natural too, Haewon really finds that speech to be something you would come up with. “I really didn't expect things to go down this way”, Never in her mind she thinks that you found someone else, you've crafted a perfect image of herself in her mind. “Neither do I, but you know, life”, Her laugh was filled with pain and nostalgia. “Can we still be friends?” Yeah, that could work, a friendly ex is much more manageable than a public girlfriend. “Yeah, sure, why not?” A glimmer of hope blossoms in her heart, but this isn't hope, even though she acknowledged this friendly relationship could turn this break up to be much harder for her, she disregards it. “Then, can we do it one more time? A farewell for our love?”

After calming Haewon down, you promised her that you'll still be friends, before leaving her to own her demise. You decided to go to Minji's place, without changing your clothes. Once you got there, you saw Minji's anger simmered like a neglected pot of tea, the air thick with her unspoken accusations. You stepped through the door, weary from the emotional battlefield you'd just navigated, only to be met with her fiery gaze. "Where were you?" She spat, her voice tight with suspicion. "Hours. Gone. Alone."

You feigned a weary sigh, slumping onto the couch. "Haewon," you mumbled, the name of a bitter pill on your tongue. "She needed me, breakup, you know, messy stuff."

Minji's eyes, normally shimmering with adoration, narrowed to dangerous slits. "I know, but you said it won't take more than an hour”, Thousands of voices start painting a sickening picture in her mind.  "Things changed”, You cut in, your voice clipped, playing the role of the reluctant victim. "She couldn't handle it well. She needed someone to calm her down, someone who…" you trailed off, letting the silence hang heavy, an eerie pause to fuel her insecurities.

The smell, of course, hadn't escaped her scrutiny. The faint sweetness of Haewon's perfume, the musky aroma of a hurried embrace, clung to you like an invisible accusation. Your clothes, rumpled and slightly damp, spoke volumes of the emotional storm you'd weathered. "Liar", she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. "You reek of sweat, and her”, she added, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Whose sweat was it oppa?" She sat on your lap, pressing her body against you.

The question struck you like a drug. The haphazardly constructed lie, your bait against her possessiveness, it was a fuel to the fire. You stammered, acting weirdly, mumbling around some nonsense, letting out some choked words here and there. “It's hot, Minji”, you choked out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "We… talked, cried, you know how it is”, But Minji wasn't buying it. Her eyes, once pools of molten gold, were now icy daggers, piercing through your facade. You saw the doubt slithering in, a venomous snake coiling around her heart.

"Talked?" She scoffed, a humourless laugh escaping her lips. "For hours? In a sweaty mess, smelling like her cheap perfume? Do you think I'm a gullible idiot oppa?” The heat of her anger was both intoxicating and addicting. You felt the familiar thrill of manipulation rising, the urge to twist the narrative, to turn her insecurities into weapons against herself. A seed of doubt had been planted, a tiny crack in the dam of your lies. "Minji," you began, trying to reach for her hand, but she recoiled like a frightened animal. "It's not what you think. I swear…" Your words hung in the air, unanswered, as the silence between you grew louder than any accusation. You had pushed her, toyed with her insecurities, and now, the monster you'd created stared back at you, its eyes filled with a raw, primal rage.

Minji's touch, once a feather-light caress, became a desperate claw digging into your arm. Her scent, the sweet lavender now laced with the acrid tang of unshed tears, filled your lungs like a storm cloud. The air crackled with unspoken accusations, the silence a gaping maw waiting to swallow you whole. "Promise me," she rasped, her voice raw with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "Promise me it was nothing."

Each word was a jagged shard, slicing through the carefully constructed facade you'd built. Her eyes, once pools of molten gold, were now storm-tossed seas, threatening to drown you in their depths. You tasted the usual cocktail of amusement and control, slowly getting drunk off of her. "Of course, it was just a rough break up for her”, You stammered, showing off a made up guilt to poison her mind further. The puppeteer clinging to his strings, the predator savouring the edge of the precipice.

She leaned in, her face inches from yours, searching for the flicker of truth behind the mask of your devotion. Her breath, hot and ragged, mingled with the cloying sweetness of your lies. "Then tell me," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. "Tell me everything. Every touch, every word, every stolen glance. Make me see her, make me understand, so I can fill the space she left in your heart"

The challenge, the raw vulnerability in her eyes, ignited a spark of something akin to… respect. This wasn't a pawn anymore, not a puppet dancing to your tune. This was a queen, battered but not broken, demanding answers, reclaiming her throne. You tried your best to hide your smile, suppressing the urge to welcome the new Minji into your world. For the first time, the thrill of manipulation exploded, enthralled by a flicker of…. The final act.

"Minji," you began, your voice rough with a truth you hadn't planned to share. "It… it wasn't much. Just a conversation, a hug, a reminder of what we almost-" But her lips, once a source of endless pleasure, cut you off. A kiss, fierce and desperate, slammed into yours, a drowning man grasping at straws. It was a plea, a demand, a desperate attempt to exorcise the ghost of Haewon from your soul. As you kiss her back the taste of sweet victory is mingling on your lips. Every day you spent with her has ruined her, soon she will be the perfect doll for your puppet show.

She pulled away, her eyes searching yours, not for confirmation, but for a flicker of understanding. A silent plea, not for forgiveness, but for a future where Haewon was a forgotten memory, a footnote in the epic novel of your love.

"Just… promise me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Promise me she's just a whisper in the wind, a memory soon to fade. Promise me she's nothing”, The plea, so naked and desperate, ignited a strange, twisted thrill within you. A beautiful symphony ringing in your ears. “Of course baby, Haewon and me is just an old tale, something you no longer need to care about”, The moment your lips touched her cheeks she felt a suffocating hunger for control. “And the smell", she whispered, her voice barely audible, "It'll vanish, right? It will wash away, alongside all the marks she left you?” The desperate plea in her voice has changed into a stern demand for your obedience.

"My love belongs only to you, Minji”, You purred, your fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, a phantom brand claiming her as yours. "The scent, the touch, they are nothing but a vivid memory, they'll fade away soon enough”, Her thumb gently caressed your cheek as you speak, and the moment you finished your answer it moved to start tracing around your lips. “Then let's have sex”, In a split second you decided that you wanted to plant seeds of doubt in her mind, and having sex would turn that doubt into a confirmation of your affair. “We have to move out tomorrow, let's get some rest for that. Also, dealing with Haewon for the day has drained me, I need some rest”, All the bells are ringing in Minji's mind, those paranoia are tearing her mind apart.

“Okay”, Her voice sounds cold and distant, even her eyes are hollow and emotionless, “Thank you babe, let's get some rest”, Unlike usual she didn't react at all as you kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and so on until forever. You'll only have me right oppa? I'm your one and only?” Her voice almost sounds robotic, cold and stiff, jeez you don't plan to break her down this fast.

Minji's voice, once a melody that wrapped around you like silk, now scraped your nerves like a rusty blade. You leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she remained stiff, a porcelain doll devoid of warmth. "Of course, babe", You murmured, the lie tasting like ashes on your tongue. "Always just you”, Her cold, hollow eyes stared into yours, searching for something you were careful not to reveal. The thrill of manipulation, usually intoxicating, curdled in your gut, replaced by a gnawing unease. You hadn't meant to break her, not this quickly, not to turn her into this emotionless servant. You'd envisioned a slow burn, a gradual descent into obsession, not this robotic devotion devoid of even the embers of anger.

As you crawled into bed, Minji followed, her movements strangely mechanical. She nestled close, her body has become a foreign landscape you barely recognized. You craved the firecracker warmth she used to radiate, the spontaneous touch, the whispered secrets. Now, she was a chilling mirror reflecting the monster you'd created. Sleep eluded you. Minji, despite her stillness, pulsed with an unsettling energy. You felt her gaze burning into you, a dark star charting the map of your body.  Was this part of the new Minji? This cold calculation, this predatory gleam in her eyes? Your twisted amusement had given way to a prickling sensation of uneasiness, a whisper of regret playing on the edge of your mind. Had you unleashed a force you could no longer control? A puppet is only fun to play with they can struggle, when they don't know the strings above them and have the illusion of control. A literal puppet, an inanimate doll that would just follow your every move isn't an enjoyable toy. You want the struggle, the possibility of losing, this Minji, isn't in the form you want her to be in.

Her hand grazed yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Before you could react, she sank her teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder, a hiss escaping her lips. Pain lanced through you, but it was the raw possessiveness in her eyes that truly aroused your reaction. It was a brutal mark, a claim in crimson ink, the first brushstroke on her twisted masterpiece. You felt annoyed by the sheer audacity of it all, should you calm her down? Or just finish her transformation soon? Would finishing it cause her to be even more boring for you?

"Minji," you croaked, the word catching in your throat. "What are you doing?" Her smile, when it came, was devoid of warmth, a predator eyeing its kill. "Marking you, oppa", she whispered, her voice a silken snare. "Making you mine, forever and always. Just you and me, a world with no distractions”, You were caught in a whirlwind of your own making, the thrill of manipulation swirling dangerously close to the edge of terror. You saw the future stretching before you, a path painted in blood and obsession, a cold path with no one else but you and her. 

The crimson mark on your shoulder throbbed, a pulsing reminder of the new Minji, the one you'd sculpted from the ruins of her trust. You weren't scared, not truly. The thrill, the raw audacity of it, was a potent cocktail coursing through your veins. Yet, a shadow of doubt, a flicker of something akin to….. responsibility, perhaps, gnawed at the edges of your amusement. The hunt, oh, the hunt was exquisite. The dance of manipulation, the gradual unravelling of her sanity, that was where the true pleasure lay. Watching her transform into this possessive, cold-blooded creature, a twisted reflection of your own desires, was like watching a masterpiece unfold stroke by agonising stroke.

But the kill, the final act of conquest, held no allure for you. It was the chase, the slow, agonising descent into obsession, that fueled your twisted fire. The kill, the moment of surrender, felt like the closing of a chapter, the end of the game. And you, the puppeteer, craved the endless, exhilarating performance, not the curtain call. Slowing it down, yes, that held promise. Dragging out the game, relishing each twisted step, each mark of her devotion, each whisper of her descent. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

But there was a risk, a precipice you teetered on. Minji, this new Minji, was a firestorm, a force you'd unleashed and could no longer fully control. Slowing it down meant playing with fire, dancing on the edge of a volcano, and the flames, you knew, could easily consume you both.

The night stretched before you, a canvas painted in shades of crimson and gold. You held Minji close, her cold fire branding your skin, a constant reminder of the power you wielded, the chaos you'd unleashed. This wasn't the ending you'd envisioned, not the final act of your twisted play. This was a new chapter, a thrilling, terrifying improvisation, and the symphony, you knew, would be sung in blood and obsession, a symphony conducted by your own twisted desires. You would slow it down, yes, but not out of fear. You would enjoy the hunt, the exquisite dance of control, and watch, with a predator's glee, as Minji, your creation, your queen, became your most devoted follower.

The silver moon, a tarnished cymbal kissed by rust, clanged discordantly against the silence of the night. Minji, a watercolour portrait smudged by storm clouds, lay beside you, her gaze a piercing brushstroke dissecting the secrets you pretended to conceal. Sleep, a lullaby lost on deaf ears, would not grace her tonight, her heart a frantic drum solo fueled by the cacophony of lies you'd orchestrated. And thus, you played your part. A sigh, a melancholic cello serenade, escaped your lips, laced with the practised vibrato of feigned anguish. "Haewon, no", You whispered, your voice a mournful bassoon lamenting a love you never felt. "Don't take her again."

Each word, a barbed arrow stab in the canvas of Minji’s insecurities, sank deep into her heart, cultivating poisonous vines of doubt. You watched, through narrowed eyes, as the melody of suspicion rose in her, crescendoing into a possessive symphony that almost drowned out the echo of your fabricated despair. It fucking work, Minji was a whirlwind of abstract expressionism, her emotions shifting between obsessive brushstrokes and jealous splatters. Haewon, the spectre you'd conjured in your sleep, became her thematic nemesis, a distorted oil painting dripping with paranoia and misplaced passion. She dissected your every phrase, your every touch, searching for the phantom brushstrokes of this imaginary rival. When she found nothing, the relief in her eyes was a fleeting sunbeam on a rain-slicked canvas, swallowed by the ominous charcoal clouds of disdain that pulsed beneath.

Her charcoal sketches morphed into a nightmarish collage. Haewon, inside Minji's mind, became a grotesque cubist portrait, her features fractured and reassembled into a discordant jumble of envy and rage. You watched, a silent maestro conducting the chaotic orchestra of her descent, as Minji poured her insecurities, her growing madness, onto the canvas, each stroke a dissonant testament to your manipulation. This isn't just control anymore; this is a twisted opera for a broken soul, a crescendo of obsession where Minji, blind to your cruel scherzo, worshipped your fabricated villain. You revelled in the spectacle, the way she clung to your lies, turning Haewon into a monster so she could feel safer, more secure in your fabricated devotion.

Midnight, a velvet curtain, draped the room in hushed expectation. Minji, a tigress coiled and simmering, lay beside you. Her breathing, a low growl, vibrated against your arm, a promise of the storm brewing within. You felt her gaze, a laser beam drilling through the veil of your feigned slumber. She let out a vow to your ‘sleeping’ body a thunderous oath echoing in the darkness, "No one will bother you again," she'd hissed, her devotion, a tangible entity coiled around you. A perverse smile played on your lips, hidden in the shadows. You craved the storm, the tempest of her jealousy fueled devotion. And so, you played your part. A sigh, a whispered secret meant for no ears but hers, drifted from your lips. "Only you, Minji," you murmured, your voice a silken snare laced with feigned passion. "Forever."

The words, a barbed arrow dipped in the twisted concoctions of love, struck their mark. Her breathing hitched, the tigress recoiling in surprise, then settling with a low purr that reverberated through your bones. You felt the anger drain from her, replaced by a fiery possessiveness that licked at your soul. She shifted closer, her body a furnace branding yours. Her touch, once delicate, was now an insistent claim, a possessive map drawn on your skin. You revelled in it, the power she unwittingly surrendered feeding your twisted amusement.

In the ensuing silence, you spun another lie, a cruel melody whispered into the night. "Haewon… no….. more”,you breathed, your voice a mournful cello lamenting a fabricated sorrow. "Only you…… Babe”, The lie, a venomous kiss, landed on the raw wound of her insecurity. You saw the flicker of doubt, the spark of jealousy reignited in her eyes. But this time, it was different. The doubt was a flickering torch, drawing her closer to your darkness, not away. Minji, your tigress, rose from the bed, a predator prowling the room. Her movements were predatory, fueled by the twisted cocktail of love. Her limbs coiled around you, trapping you inside her embrace. “I love you oppa”, The final movement has been averted, replaced by an interlude.

Sunlight crept through the curtains, chasing away the shadows of the night. “Morning oppa”, Minji hasn't slept for a moment, yet her body feels rejuvenated. “Morning babe”, Your hand caressed her back making her purr. “I love you”, Under her bubbly and innocent smile, you can hear her demand for your answer. “I love you too babe, let's get ready for the day”, The answer is correct. Minji, a butterfly reborn, fluttered around the room, her laughter like wind chimes tinkling in the breeze. The storm of the night seemed a distant memory, replaced by a sunny facade that clung to her like a second skin. But you saw it, the glint of the monster you'd sculpted, lurking beneath the bubbly surface. A flicker of a possessive glint in her eyes when she caught you glancing at the phone, a subtle tightening of her grip when you spoke about another woman. The tigress slept, but it dreamt of fire, its claws honed and waiting.

The day stretched before you, a journey marked by boxes and goodbyes. Your parents, a melancholic cello duet, stood in the doorway, their faces etched with bittersweet smiles. “Take care of each other now”, your mother whispered, her voice filled with joy and excitement with her successful plan. You watched Minji's hand steal into yours, a vine coiling around your fingers. A smile, practised and perfect, bloomed on her face. "Don't worry, mom", she chirped, her voice a bright soprano masking the darkness beneath. "Oppa and I will be just fine", Of course, it was also an ultimatum for you, she won't let you mess anything up from now on. "Of course, we will be just fine”, Well, fine is a pretty wide term, but in some way and form, the two of you will be fine. “Don't get pregnant while-”, You dragged Minji out before your dad could finish his sentence. “Oppa, I want to get pregnant”, Minji whispered in your ears, a clear test for your own devotion for her. “I'll get you pregnant, after we got married”, The little monster consumed her eyes, emitting ecstasy and anticipations, “We'll get married soon right?” Her voice was laced with poison. “Soon enough”, And so does yours it seems.

The drive to your new home was a silent opera. Minji, a capricious soprano, chirped about decorating and future plans, her voice a sugary veneer over the churning turmoil within. You watched the scenery blur past, a discordant landscape mirroring the dissonance in your heart. The house, when you finally arrived, stood cold and empty. A blank canvas waiting for the splatters of your twisted masterpiece. Minji, with a childish glee you knew was feigned, skipped through the rooms, claiming them as her own.

“This bed is kinda big oppa, there's plenty of space for us”, Minji really wants to take the main bedroom for the two of you. “Listen, I'm not fucking you on my dad's bed okay?” Just, no, you hate the possibility of imagining your dad while you're rawdogging your girlfriend. “Come on, pleaseeeeee?” However Minji really wants to claim it as a way to show this house belongs to the two of you. “No, I'll ask for a new bed soon, come on let's move to my bedroom”, For now she'll be content with filling your bedroom with new memories of her. 

The moment she got to your bedroom she dived into your bed. Smelling to find any scent of a bitch on it. “Oppa….” She does not like what she finds, “Yeah, I haven't changed my sheet in a while”, You did two-time Haewon and Minji for a week or two after you took Minji's virginity. “You've been sleeping here? With that whore’s cheap perfume staining this place?” You shrugged, letting her let out her anger. “I hate this place”, The walls, the bed, the floor, the sheets, it's all tainted by the touch of a whore. “Ssshhhhh, we can drown out her smell, just you and me. Wouldn't that be fine babe? Erasing her trace with your own?” It is so easy to poke at her weak spot.

“Fine, come here oppa”, Slowly you take off your clothes, making sure to let her suffer through the wait. Minji has already turned fully naked when you only opened your top, which frustrated her. “Oppa, come on, stop teasing me. Don't you want to fill me up again?” She spread her legs as her fingers started playing around with her pussy. The desperate looks she gave you push you to move faster. You get on your knees, enjoying the food that has been presented for you. “You, are so fucking perverted babe”, You kissed her inner thighs making her body shivers, “Oppa, I need you, please”, She let out a desperate plea. “Well, thank you for the food”, Your tongue slowly rubbed her pussy, giving her some surge of arousal.

“Yeah oppa, just like that, do that again”, Minji has slowly become more and more vocal with her moans ever since you told her how much you like hearing her scream. Of course you can't really hear much since your hearing is being hindered by the thighs ear muff wrapping your head. “Fuck oppa, you're gonna make me cum”, Her body jolt out, raising her waist while her leg is cutting the blood circulation to your ear. Grabbing her waist you keep her in place before your tongue starts going ham inside her pussy. “Fuck oppa, that's not fair”, She moans as her hand grabbed your hair. “Fuck, oppa, I'm cumming”, It was a split second after that did you feel the sudden sprays of her juice on your face.

Your head is being squeezed by her thighs, your hair is being torn off by her hand, your face being soaked by her juice. What more could a man ask for? “Oppa, that was incredible”, Finally she let you go, you just let out a sigh before taking her t-shirt and wiped your face with it. “I'm not eating you out ever again”, It's okay, she'll find a way to talk you into it. Oh my, she is growing, into something as scummy as you are.

“Well come on, fuck me oppa”, Despite the state she's in, Minji still fingers herself to prepare her hole for you. “So fucking eager aren't you?” She nodded before turning her back to you, without hesitation you plunged into her making her let out a scream. “So fucking tight too”, Your hand moves by itself and slaps her ass, “Ahhhhhh, oppa”, Her cries of pains made you feel even hornier. “Shut up you”, You slaps her again making her shriek, “You like this don't you slut?” Another slap, this time you felt her walls tightening around you. “No”, Yet the moan doesn't lie to you, “Liar, tell me how much you like it”, Minji is loving it, but she doesn't want to show it to you. 

“I'm not a slut”, You spank her again, “Lies, tell me how much you like this babe”, You leaned down and kissed her back making the playing field less even for her. “No, I hate it”, She moans again, completely failing in convincing you. “Babyyyy”, Your hand reached to her neck, gently wrapping around it. “I don't like liars”, With one rough pull you dragged her up. Now she's standing alongside you, although her leg doesn't really reach the ground. “I'm not lying”, Being grabbed like a useless doll makes Minji feel so aroused. “Is that so?” You bite her ears, you use one hand to hold her by the waist, you open your legs wider so that she can stand on her own two feets.

“I know you're lying, sluts”, You tightened your hand on her neck as you pound her harder. “Aggg, not… lying…” The ecstasy, the feelings of being absolutely used as nothing but a tool for your pleasure, it overwhelmed her. “Say it slut”, Your hand slapped her tits this time making her let out a choked cry. “I’m cumming”, She managed to let out a squeal as her body started to spasm out of control. Yet you didn't stop, you continued strangling her while your waist continued pounding her. The absolute thrill of being degraded like this makes Minji's orgasm last a long time. Long enough by the time she finishes you actually feels yours getting closer.

“Fucking slut”, You throw her to the bed letting her fall limply to it as you grabbed her waist and fuck her harder. “I'm cumming bitch”, Minji was out of it, the oxygen deprivation had sent her mind wandering off somewhere. Of course, the moment your hot load fills her up she immediately gets another orgasm.

Did I pass out? Have oppa been fucking my unconscious body this whole time? That's so hot.

Yeah she's definitely broken, you did this by the way. Soon she will be nothing but a sentient sexbot who only has one variable in her mind, you. “Fuck, Minji are you okay?” Your hand reached out to grab her head, “Hold me oppa”, She whimpered. You jumped on the bed and cuddled her closer to you, “I'm sorry babe”, You laughed as she started crying on your shoulder. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you” that's all you hear from her for an hour or so.

As the time passes, you get bored, thinking about what's the next plan, how do you slowly turn Minji into much, well, degenerate. “Oppa, let's go again”, Minji already starts stroking your cock, “Do you want to have a house tour with sex baby?” Why bother asking, just go and spread your mark all over the place.

.

.

.

"Promise me you'll be back by ten”, she rasped, her voice strained with a tremor that tugged at your heartstrings. "Ten, oppa. No later”, You stare at her through the reflection of the mirror as you put on your tie, “Ten? Baby the shows end by 11, and as the leader I need to stay around for some after-party for the band chemistry”, The last month of living together has calm her down a lot, no longer is she a dragon anxious for her treasure trove being stolen, you are the treasure by the way, now more like a needy cat that doesn't want its owner to leave for work. 

The knot in her chest tightened. Minji's pleading eyes, reflected in the mirror like twin pools of worry, chipped away at the carefully constructed nonchalance you wore like a shield. "But it's just a formality, baby” You soothed, forcing a smile to calm her down. "A quick toast, maybe some pictures, and then I'm out of there. Back before you can finish that book you've been reading", The book is about a guide on how to navigate through marriage for a newly wed wife. Your words seemed to hang in the air, caught in the web of her suspicion. Haewon, the phantom you'd conjured, loomed large in the unspoken spaces between you. 

Minji hovered by the window, sunlight glinting off the nervous tears clinging to her eyelashes. You finished tying your boots, the leather laces a stark contrast to the fragile tendrils of doubt she was weaving around you.

"Haewon won't be there", You assured her, your voice firm yet it has no effect on her. "I told you, it's just the band and those basketball kids. Trust me, my spotlight tonight only shines on you”, But her smile, usually as bright as a sunflower, remained wan, painted with the worry of shadows not yet cast. "You promise?" she whispered, her voice a trembling melody in the morning air.

You crossed your heart, the gesture feeling almost sacrilegious in the face of your web of lies. "Promise," you lied, the taste of ash settling on your tongue. "No Haewon, just me and the boys”, Of course Haewon will be there, it will be fun. Unfortunately for you Minji starts to notice the signs of your lies, which means she's still hesitant about your departure. A playful sigh escaped your lips, laced with a touch of deceptions. "Look," you pleaded, turning towards her, "how about a compromise? I'll sneak out as soon as the formalities are done, okay? I'll text you the second I'm in the car, even give you live updates through if you want."

Her expression wavered, a fragile pendulum swinging between doubt and reluctant trust. You knew the fear still lurked beneath the surface, a predator coiled and ready to pounce at the slightest hint of your betrayal. But amidst the tension, you saw a glimmer of the Minji you'd grown to cherish, the girl who believed in your promises, the girl who craved your return, not your confinement. "Fine," she whispered, the word falling from her lips like a reluctant concession. "But no later than half-past eleven. And text me every step of the way, even if it's just a boring picture of your shoes under the table."

A wave of relief washed over you, warm and cleansing. You pulled her into a tight embrace, inhaling the scent of her lavender perfume, letting her imprint her scent on you. "Deal," you murmured, your lips brushing against her temple. "I'll be back soon babe”, You won't.

The ride was quiet for you, yet your phone is bombarded with Minji's text, since she knows the address to the venue you decided to answer her just in case she would come and wreak havoc. “Baby I'm driving right now”, A glint of worry attacked her, “Why did you call me then?” Minji hurriedly closes the call and sends a long text telling you why texting while driving is dangerous and other stuff. You only read her text once you arrived at the venue, “Why does her book have a chapter about drunk driving?” The book was supposed to be for a newlywed wife right?

“Well, well, well, look who decides to show up”, Bae said, drilling her gaze into your eyes, “Bae”, Haewon grabbed her hand trying to calm her down. “Evening Bae, as pleasant as always”, You ignored the two of them and went to find Jin. “You can't just keep running to me to escape Haewon”, You can and you will continue doing this, “I'm running for her own sake”, How noble of you. “Yeah whatever, what's up?” You look around to see that everyone is fully ready for the performance, “Is there any plans for after the performance?” It would be nice if there is, after all things has been going too well for you and Minji. “Drinks? Karaoke? Dinner? Whatever you want dude”, Come on now you're the shot caller for your band of misfits. “Karaoke fuck it?” Doing karaoke after a straining performance will be very tiring even for you, of course it was the best option to wreck Minji's heart.

“You're the boss”, It's nice that Jin reminds you of that from time to time, or was it a complaint for your lack of responsibility? “Alright boys, gather up, briefing time”, Ah, you get his hint. A quick briefing for the performance, rundown on the songs you've prepared and of course a little soundcheck. Throughout all this you managed to sent some text to Minji just to update her. These text is the only thing that's keeping her sane throughout the hours. She can't even focus on anything else but your text, trying to analyse every pixel for any detail you might try to hide.

Who is that girl oppa?

You?

What? The girl in the room with you. That's a girl's leg on the top left corner.

That's Bae, one of the boy's girlfriends. You want to meet her?

Why is she there?

To meet her boyfriend?

Stop answering with questions. You said there will only be your ‘boys’, or is she on of the ‘boys’ as well?

It's 2023 babe, we need to be inclusive, boys, bros, it's all universal term.

Your text certainly doesn't help, Minji's hand was gripping the phone so hard it could've broken. “Who is that bitch”, A low whisper more akin to a growl came out of her. 

STOP EVADING THE QUESTIONS

Yeah okay, there's a few girls here, they're my boys’ girlfriends.

YOU SAID THERE WILL ONLY BE THE BOYS

IT'S ZE BOYS, but yeah they are bringing their girlfriend. It's okay babe, they won't even bat an eye on me.

If you come back.

With their scent on you.

I won't let you leave the house again.

Okay, I need to do some soundcheck, I'll text you before the performance.

Minji gnawed on her thumbnail, the bitter taste of nail polish mingling with the sour cocktail of worry churning in her stomach. Your band's music pulsed through the apartment walls, a distant but tantalising echo of the world you were currently inhabiting. She tried to focus on the self-help book titled "Newlywed Wife's Guide for Marriage," the words blurring before her eyes. Each sentence about "trusting your spouse" and "maintaining healthy communication" felt like a hollow balm on her burning anxieties.

The image, the one you'd sent from the venue, had burrowed into her mind like a malevolent worm. It wasn't even the girl's face, just a glimpse of legs beneath a short skirt, a flash of tanned skin that, to Minji's twisted perspective, screamed calculated seduction. While you basked in the spotlight, she wrestled with the phantom threat of another woman stealing your gaze, your touch, your entire universe.

The book, supposed armour against these insecurities, offered nothing but platitudes. "Accept your husband will be flirted with," it droned, "but trust his commitment." Trust? How could she, when every laugh shared on stage, every casual brush with a friend, felt like a tiny betrayal chipping away at their fledgling relationship? Frustration, acrid and bitter, welled up inside her. She slammed the book shut, its pronouncements useless in the face of her torment. Outside, city lights winked like mocking eyes, each twinkle a stark reminder of the gulf between her and you.

The stage pulsed with energy, sweat and amplified riffs painting a portrait of your adrenaline-fueled world. Your voice soared, carrying the melody of the band's hard work for the last few months. Amidst the cheers and ambiance lights, a phantom audience of one haunted your every note. Minji. Back in your apartment, she continues biting on her nails, a habit she has developed from dealing with you. Each text message, a bland chronicle of "soundcheck done”, "opening act killed it”, felt like a brushstroke obscuring a hidden canvas. No mention of the ‘girlfriend’ , no picture of the whore’s leg. The silence, louder than any roar, amplified her anxieties.

You'd promised the picture wouldn't come, and yet, the absence felt like a deliberate omission, a carefully crafted lie. The silence between your texts, once filled with the comforting buzz of the concert, became an abyss of doubt. Minji slammed the phone on the bed, the screen's blue light leaving ghostly afterimages on her tear-filled eyes.

She tried to focus on the book, the "Newlywed Wife's Guide," but its platitudes about communication and trust felt like hollow echoes in the face of her mounting suspicions. You, her rockstar, her sunshine, were now a phantom figure dancing in the shadows, your every move shrouded in a veil of deceit. The book is mocking her with its empty promises of trust and communication. Trust? How could she, when every update felt sanitised, every emoji a carefully chosen mask? Finally, unable to bear the torment any longer, she typed out a message, her fingers trembling making her have to retype the whole message a couple of time. "When are you coming home?" the words screamed, a desperate plea for a shred of truth in the labyrinth of your lies.

I'm chilling until the closing for now.

The response was read almost immediately.

Karaoke????

You said it will be dinner

It came back, the question mark a venomous punctuation mark. You smiled, picturing her curled up on the couch, the book abandoned on the floor, her mind spinning with suspicion. You knew the image too well, the monster you'd created reflected in her haunted eyes.

There was a change of plans

I'll just drink a little and sing a song or two and I'll be right with you.

She read it, but she didn't respond at all. This radio silence caused some uneasy feeling inside you, so you left the bathroom and called her up. The call was answered instantly.

“Hey babe”

“Why are you going to a karaoke oppa? Please just come back home”

She's crying.

“Baby don't cry, it's just an hour at most”

“Oppa, please, I need you”

She's crying, hysterically.

“Baby, I promise, after this I won't leave your side for a week”

“You're not leaving my side for a week regardless”

Good point, how do you counter this.

“A month, I'll take you out to my internship”

“Baby, please, just come home. I miss you already”

Her heart wrenching wails can be heard echoing around your bedroom.

“Baby, why are you like this? Please it's just a karaoke, nothing is gonna happen”

“Babe, I miss you”

The pain whimpering she let out made you realise, if you push it harder she will do something stupid.

“Okay, I'll see what I can do okay?”

Have you gone too soft?

“Hey, are you still busy with your ‘internship’?” Haewon’s voice can be heard followed by the knocking on the door. “Who's that?” Minji roared, “I'll be back soon, and stop following me weirdo”, Right, let's feed Minji's insecurities of finding you getting flirted on. “I can't believe I dated you”, This time Haewon's voice is lower and you're not really sure that it can be heard through the phone. “Oppa, please, come home now”, Minji pleaded, it's all just too much for her.  “Baby, once the performance end I'll come home okay? There's only half an hour left”, That's like 30 minutes too long for Minji. “Oppa, please, come home”, She sounds so pathetic already, “I'll be back soon babe, I love you”, She didn't answer with words as the only thing you can hear is her sobbing. You stay in line for a minute or so, then you hang up, making her cries even harder.

As you get out of the bedroom you find Haewon just standing there in the hallway. “Evening, Hae, anything I can help you with?” Her eyes narrowed, then she strides over to you and grabs your collar before pulling you down. “I know that internship is just a fucking lie”, Well, it seems things are getting annoying now. You frown and tilted your head as if you're not getting what she means by that. Haewon's eyes, once smouldering embers of adoration, now crackled with the fierce heat of suspicion. Her accusation hung in the air, a tangible thing you could almost hear "Don't play dumb with me, Oppa", coming out of her mouth. Yet her lips stay still, she knows that you're getting her message.

The urge to scoff, to dismiss her claims with a smirk and a well-placed lie, warred with a prickling sensation at the back of your neck. Her sudden awareness, like a rogue vine twisting towards your carefully cultivated garden of deception, was starting to annoy you more than frighten you. "Hae," you began, playing the clueless card like a well-worn suit, "you're scaring me. Really. What on earth are you talking about?" Your voice, a touch too high, a shade too rehearsed, was met with a sardonic smile that sliced through your feigned innocence. "Oh, spare me the ignorant act”, she spat, her voice laced with the bitterness of betrayal. "The internship, the space – everyone knows it's a charade. And I know more than just that."

Her words, each one a subtle jab, prodded at the carefully constructed walls you'd erected around your secret life. Haewon, once a pliable puppet in your game, was now a tigress clawing her way out of the cage. Your puppets, it seemed, were becoming a touch too sentient for your liking. "Hae, come on," you sighed, spreading your hands in a gesture of mock bewilderment. "Fantasies? Look, if you think there's someone else… well, that's your prerogative. But don't drag me into your suspicions."

Haewon's eyes narrowed, scepticism dancing in their depths. Her hand reached behind your head and pulled it into her neck, you can feel her breath tickling your ears, just like old times. "Fantasies, you say? I know your secrets better than you think, Oppa. And let me tell you, I'm not going down like this. Whoever that bitch is, I'll find her. Also, you might be a father soon, so don't run too far, daddy~”, Then she let go, and before you can get a glimpse of her face she already turned around.

Haewon's footsteps, once sharp staccato, faded into the distant hum of the city like a final, angry cymbal crash. You didn't chase her, nor did fear twist your gut. This, you realized with a chilling thrill, was the finale, the crescendo of your intricately orchestrated chaos. Silence, filled with anticipation, settled on the stage. The piano, normally your bandmate's playful confidante, now hummed a melancholic blues, each note heavy with the weight of revelation. The drums, a once-joyful pulse, echoed like distant thunder, a rumbling premonition of the storm you'd unleashed.

And then, Minji's imagined cries, not screams of accusation, but soft, wounded whimpers, joined the symphony. They twined around the piano's melody, a mournful oboe solo weaving through the discordant tapestry of your unraveling masterpiece. This wasn't fear, this morbidly exhilarating waltz of consequences. No, this was the conductor relishing the final flourish, the maestro gazing upon the wreckage of his deliberate chaos with a cold, artistic detachment. Haewon, the scorned tigress, had merely been the catalyst, the final push needed to send your marionette strings flying, the puppets tumbling into their inevitable fall. Her sudden sentience and defiant is only a step back to your plans for Minji's transformation.

You pictured Minji, eyes red-rimmed, tears tracing silent melodies down her cheeks. The sight, far from being a gut punch, fueled the perverse fire within you. Her pain, you imagined, was another instrument in your twisted orchestra, a mournful cello adding depth and despair to the symphony of your destruction. The crowd, their chatter a distant, muffled chorus, became the audience to your private tragedy. Their oblivious enjoyment of the band's now-sombre performance merely emphasized the irony, the cruel disconnect between the staged entertainment and the real-life drama unfolding in the wings.

You closed your eyes, the music swirling within you, a dark, intoxicating vortex. And in that swirling chaos, you saw not the wreckage, but the possibilities. This wasn't a failed performance, it was a liberation, a shedding of the puppeteer's mask, a descent into the raw, unchained melody of your true self. A sick and twisted smile starts to form on your face, filled with anticipation, ecstasy and most importantly, sadistic perversion.

No longer would you play by society's rules, dance to the rhythms of expected outcomes. This was your symphony, discordant and raw, yours to conduct until the final note, the bitter aftertaste of chaos clinging to your lips like a final, triumphant encore. As the jazz band, oblivious to the storm they'd unwittingly orchestrated, ended their set with a soft, resigned coda, you stepped back into the shadows. The curtain hadn't fallen, not yet. This was merely the intermission, the pause before the final movement of the song, the grand finale where the puppeteer became the protagonist, the villain, the tragic hero of his own twisted, beautiful symphony.

AN: I really wanted to wrap things out in this chapter but my hand just start writing and I lost control. Anyway, second chapter out of three, the third one might take a while since i have some plans for new years. Till then, cheers

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: detailed description of: violence, scars. mentions of: domestic violence, overdose, infant death, family death. a man's way of thinking.

[Please read while listening to this.]

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Once, a horrible man, with breath tainted by the acrid stench of tobacco mixed with the remnants of a newly drained liquor bottle, said to Simon. Bloody ‘ell, the amount of shit that came out of that bastard’s mouth, acting like he was some kind of philosopher instead of a wife-beating alcoholic who made his sons’ lives a living hell.

Young Simon didn't understand what it meant; he couldn't think much other than that his father was telling him to burn himself alive. Something he would do, something he would find temporary pleasure in until he stole the next alcohol money his wife earned during her 12-hour nursing shift.

Entering his teenage years, he didn’t think much of those words anymore, thinking of them as just another addition to the incredible amount of shite that came outta that bastard’s mouth.

But it returned when he joined the military. He thought that's it—that “burn” his father spoke of was the passion to serve, to protect. To combat the injustices that had lingered since the dawn of time. He wanted to be the one to make at least one change, a difference. To be the best. It served him well, that fire, all through his rookie training.

Or was it fury?

That white-hot rage that burned his gut, driving him forward as the soil crumbled and leaked through the planks of his coffin. It was that very rage that kept him alive, even when he was condemned to suffocate in his own grave. The spark coursing through his red blood cells, filling his fingertips as he dug with someone else’s jawbone for thirteen hours.

It was his unbridled fury that had stayed steadfast by him when he pledged his vengeance for the blood of his family. It was fury that had carried him out of Roba's burning mansion—another one to add to his record of outwitting the Grim Reaper.

Simon went on with his life thinking that that was it—he needed to stay angry to survive in this world. Nothing else matters but getting out, getting vengeance for every cut, every drop of crimson on the dirty tile beneath his combat boots. He had nothing left to fight for—no family, no home to protect anymore. So, fury had to be the answer. Simon just had to stay an angry man.

And he grew rotten. A stray dog always baring his canines. Ill-suited for domestic life, dropping in only when he needed sustenance—something, anything to hold between his teeth to chew and tear.

Those fingers were corrosive—fluoroantimonic acid in human form, but he did his job even better than he had when he was Simon Riley. Perhaps it was his identity that held him back. Now that he was just an old soul in miraculously intact flesh, there was nothing chaining his feet.

Simon is given three primary roles: hunter, judge, executioner.

Meeting his towering figure means never going home again—any poor bastard who has crossed paths with him is presumed dead. For he has grown rotten; sometimes more corrosive than fluoroantimonic acid, even. He gets the job done, quick and clean.

Simon Riley walks through this world in fury. He is fully conscious, with a dying heart that still beats, filled with deep, deep envy for those who don't have to be angry all the time. Because as much as he needs to keep burning, this is not something he does willingly. It leaves more harm than good. But men like him never have a choice.

Because the pain reminded him that he was alive.

With every blow of the gunstock to the back of his head, he was reminded again and again. As his fist swung at the other guy and the knuckles beneath his gloves connected with a jaw, he was reminded again and again that he was alive.

Simon still hadn’t decided whether he was the luckiest or unluckiest bastard alive.

To be tortured, only to realize that he had survived worse—that he would survive this one and would have to live through the aftermath. And so on until it created a never-ending loop of hell that felt like some twisted form of divine retribution.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

It was just one of the many bollocks his father spouted. The old man probably wanted to leave some grand, motivational words—to leave a mark. But the truth is, he didn’t need to do that. He’d left enough on him. Like all the times Simon stood in front of the mirror, shaving cream around his jaw—almost scared the shit out of his own mum, thinking he was his father.

And he despised that—the fact that he would be reminded of that pathetic excuse for a father for the rest of his life. That even after years since his father left home to lie in the hospital, counting his days from that bloody cancer, his mother still had the same fear every time she saw his father in him.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

He needs to burn.

He needs to…

Burn.

The burning ember at the end of the cigar flares up as Price takes a deep drag of it, holding it in the cave of his mouth before exhaling the remaining smoke and mixing it with the alcoholic aroma of a London pub they visited to “celebrate” another successful mission.

As if this was anything close to a celebration. Though Gaz and Soap were indeed deep in their pints and laughing like a pair of drunken fools, the way the Captain and Kate Laswell bend close together tells him that they have already begun discussing some hints about the next op.

Simon massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling the unfamiliar emptiness where his hard-plate mask would usually dig, but instead he found wire beneath the polypropylene. He tapped his fingers boredly on the aged wood, feeling the itch to hold a cold glass in his grasp but having decided not to order anything—there was no point; he wasn’t really planning on staying for too long anyway.

Instead, he tried to find a distraction by doing what he did best – people watching. He watched the bartender serve some fancy cocktail to two birds at the end of the bar, probably those fruity, overpriced drinks that made his throat sore.

Turning his gaze to the far corner, he saw a couple sitting in awkward silence. Looks like some first date gone wrong—judging from the bloke's fidgeting and the lass staring down at her drink, not saying a word. Bloody painful to watch.

Simon glances out the window, watching the steady stream of more people passing by. London is always busy, no matter the time of the day. A city of millions, with each person having their own life, their own stories—the things they wake up to and go to sleep to.

Often, he compares it to old, half-dead Manchester for familiarities, something that might help him blend in with this city. But it’s always the same ending—the differences far outweigh anything he recognizes. The bright lights, the bustling streets, the life—all of it foreign. Seems like the gritty, depressing streets of his youth still suit him after all.

For an hour, he sat there before feeling himself growing more and more restless. Finally, he pushed himself up, ready to make his escape. Soap and Gaz protested, which he ignored before he gave a nod to Price and Laswell, who didn't question him further, already knowing him well enough by now whenever he wasn't in the mood for socializing.

Simon made his way towards the door, stepping out into the soaked streets of London. The rain is coming down hard, and judging from the dark clouds hanging low, it's only going to get worse and more gloomy. Finally, something that reminded him of Manchester.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked beneath the raging sky, trying his best to stay under the awnings and overhangs whenever he could. Droplets of water began to wet his leather jacket, but he kept walking, deliberately letting the rain soak him to the bone.

Self-preservation kicked in as he turned the corner onto another block; Simon was about to try to flag down a cab. However, his eyes landed on a lone figure, almost blending into the shadows, standing under the awning of some shop, trying to stay dry.

Simon knows he wasn't a good man, sure as hell not a gentleman. So is this sudden surge of concern some sort of sympathy, or is it because of all the times he's played the hero—saving countries from missiles, taking down terrorists, all that stuff—that now he can’t turn it off? He walks, long strides stretched out without hesitation even when he knows he’s more likely to do her harm than good—as evidenced by the growing fear in her eyes, her whole body tensing up like a frightened rabbit.

“Nasty night.” He said, being first for the sake of a conversation. That's new.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” she stammers out, those big doe eyes of hers flickering up to meet his for just a moment before darting away again.

And bloody hell, if that doesn't just about do him in. The way she tried so hard to act innocent, as if she hadn’t just snuck a glance at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Sweet little thing. It’s enough to set his blood on fire.

“Subway, yeah?”

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it. The familiar burn and taste of nicotine soothed his nerves, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he was so bloody on edge in the first place. He had planned to avoid any socializing tonight—that’s why he left the lads so quickly, trying to get back to his blessed silence.

And yet, here he was, in the middle of a storm, talking to a strange bird he didn't even know.

It wasn’t like he was looking for a quick fuck or anything like that—he really wasn’t in the mood for any of that tonight. So why? He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. Do you enjoy playing savior, Simon? To make sure she gets home safe and sound before a bad man comes?

And who’s to say he’s not the bad man in question?

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He threw his cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.”

The woman shook her head, managing a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

Smart girl, he admitted. Turning down offers from a sketchy-looking man like himself—she has a good head on her shoulders. But as he watched the rain pouring down and the wind howling louder, he couldn't help but wonder if her self-preservation only applied to men and not to the bloody storm and the fever she's definitely going to get if she keeps on insisting on staying here.

“Really, I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to force a laugh. “The rain can’t last forever.”

And he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at her refusal. But there was a crack in her answer—the way she wasn’t entirely sure, the uncertainty clear as day. He knew the kind like her, the ones who needed someone to turn their back on them and walk away to make them think they’d made the wrong choice.

It’s just how some humans operate, and he’s eager to test that theory.

“Suit yourself, love,” he said, watching her eyes widen slightly. "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

Simon started to take a few steps away, counting the seconds in his head. One, two, three…

“Wait!”

When he heard it, he felt a victorious feeling swell up inside. Pausing like some considerate, concerned bloke, he turned to face her, waiting for her to speak.

And when she does, shame leaks from her voice. “I'm coming with you.”

On that stormy night, Simon ends up sitting opposite the skittish bird in a pub, her eyes sweeping around the room with a mixture of curiosity and unease. She looks like she doesn't belong here, probably the first time she's ever set foot in a place like this, judging from the way she keeps glancing at the shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar.

The stranger ordered “something light,” and while he gives in and orders bourbon, his drink of choice for as long as he can remember—a therapist he once saw told him it’s some sort of control thing, the need to stick to the familiar, not the kind that appreciates changes.

As he took a sip of his bourbon, the woman started making small talk. She gave a name. Sweet girl asked about his job and apologized before getting an answer, saying she didn't mean to pry, that she was just making conversation.

Too sweet, he thought. Worrying about small things like that.. How do you manage to get any sleep at night?

Simon says he’s in the military, leaving out details about which part of the military he’s in. She feels obligated, then tells him she’s a ballerina—and he wonders if she sees the differences between them. The stark contrast between her delicate, graceful world and the dark, violent one he’s used to.

It's a shame that you have to cross paths with the likes of him – a man like Simon Riley, who's no better than a stray dog ​​with the need to hold something between his teeth.

Worse still, he's a sweet tooth, too.

And so, Simon managed to fuck you on the second meeting.

Fucking hell… His tongue flicked against your swollen clit, bringing you to climax, tasting your juices against his taste buds. But nothing could compare to when he was finally inside you—the tightest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of defiling. A virgin – the thought of being the first to breach that delicate, untouched flesh—the faint crimson around his condom like lipstick stains—set his blood on fire.

Tears in her eyes as her nails dug   on his naked back. Pretty girl tried to play tough, trying to hide the searing pain as the head of his cock continues to press into you, walls fluttering in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. Lips parted in a cry that turned into a moan. Then, his name is uttered in the most vulgar way.

“Ah! O-oh, Simon! Simon!”

Something snapped inside his mind—but Simon didn’t have time to care, not when he was buried deep in your warm flesh, watching himself slide in and out of that wet hole like cinematography. Your smaller form flushed and glowing, hair spread in a halo above your head. He held back another growl as you pulsed around him, only to follow with a climax that burned through his entire body.

When it was over, he shouldn't even think about coming back. That's not how he operates; after all, he's the type to jump from one body to the next, never looking back, never a second time.

But the second time happens anyway.

Straight to London after deployment, driving his truck like he has an absolute purpose, like he doesn’t hate the city. He parks in front of a grand Neoclassical building and leans against the door, pulling out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket. He lights it up and waits. He doesn’t know your exact schedule, doesn’t know if you’re coming to work today, and doesn’t know anything about your life outside those two nights. But still, he waits.

As the minutes ticked by, his cigarette began to shorten, the smoke swirling around it. Something wet touched the back of his palm.

“Fuck.” He looked up at the sky, realizing it was starting to drizzle.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a rushing shadow. Simon turned around just in time to see you emerging from the building, coat wrapped tight around you as you sneezed. He saw you walking, so rushed, like you got somewhere to be. What's got you so worked up, sweetheart?

You walk fast, as if on a single-minded purpose, eyes ahead but mind elsewhere. And that’s when he sees it—a car barreling towards you at an alarming speed, and you still don’t realize it until the blinding headlights catch the corners of your eyes.

Without a second thought, Simon rushed forward, pulling you out of the road before the red image in the back of his head became a reality. The car blares its horn, and the driver shouts a string of curses before speeding off again. He felt the cold air seep into his airways too quickly, painting him dry inside yet his body wet with a mixture of sweat and rainwater.

“Christ, pay attention will ya?”

At the sound of his voice, you finally look up, snapping out of whatever nearly cost you your life. Simon watches your eyes widen like you’ve just seen a ghost—some sort of apparition that’s just materialized out of thin air.

Someone who shouldn’t be here, and he can’t help but think the same way.

In the second instance, Simon has you pressed up against the kitchen counter, his hands nomadic on your skin, feeling every rise and dip of your body. He groans as your warm, raw walls clamp down on his cock longingly. Once you’re both sated, he slings a wet towel around your inner thighs, and you return his gentleness with a bottle of bourbon you pour into two glasses.

Simon heads out in the morning, but not without letting you help him find his missing device. The damn thing was hiding in the cushions of your couch. He shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, and that nagging, controlling voice (the one that despises changes and relies on familiarity) keeps reminding him to leave no trace, just like he had done with every previous one-night stand.

Against the itch in his brain, he didn't even bother deleting his number from your log afterward. Instead, he let you save it in your contact list.

(The wandering stray dog ​​froze when the door of a house opened.)

“Will you at least call? Or text, if you can. You have my number now.” You say.

(Warm light seeps out from within, bathing his brown eyes in a goldish hue. That stray dog of his has stopped its roaming, has stopped its restless pacing. It loosens its jaw, saliva dripping down its chin. The tension in its body starts to mellow. Something delicious inside. He should have known better than to get carried away—the last time he did, someone kicked him in the shins and hung him by the ribs.

The last time he did, his house was transformed into a gruesome showcase of all he held dear, ending in a bloodbath. His olfactory receptors still remember the scent of iron. Little Joseph’s socks soaked in crimson.

You're just a rotten mongrel, Simon.

But-

That sweet, intoxicating scent spreads like pollen carried by anemo. And before he could stop himself, his legs moved towards that warmth—)

Simon ended promising a text, then disappeared behind your door.

(—like a moth to a flame.)

The pretty girl takes him to a family event—your cousin’s wedding in the picturesque countryside of England. He finds himself surrounded by happy people—people who don’t need to be angry to live. They simply love and are loved, their smiles, laughter, and kisses genuine, fueled by the bonds of affection and not by selfish pursuits.

You introduce him to your cousin—the bride—named Sabrina, then to your aunt, Joyce. For people you call a family, you look pretty wound up tight, sweetheart.

And then, just as he thinks that, your mother comes strolling into the conversation, all smiles and pleasantries. But, he doesn’t miss how the tension in your body skyrockets, your smile turning into something more forced.

Simon knew that. Because he’d been there himself, growing up with a father who was more interested in the bottom of a bottle than he was in his family; the father who taught him to laugh at a dead prostitute because he thought she deserved it—“She’s jus’ some dumb whore, a drug addict. She was hell-bent on a bad end.” Nothing good in that man, and nothing good in your mother either when you throw up everything you’ve eaten after a conversation with her.

Funny how he used to react the same way. Until something changed, that is. The fear and the shame morphed into something else. Fury. Rage.

“Ye need to burn to survive in this world,” and maybe for once in his detrimental, too-long life, the bastard was right. And as much as Simon despised staying angry, he stayed angry because it saved him.

When the big day arrived, Simon stood in front of the mirror and stared at a reflection he didn’t recognize. Dressed in that damn suit he hadn’t worn since God knows when, the jacket clinging to him like a skin that just didn’t fit right. He fidgeted with the cuffs, trying to loosen them a little.

It's like Tommy and Beth's wedding all over again, back when he was his brother's best man. Everything smells just as sweet and flowery as it did then, and it's making him sick to his stomach.

“All set then?”

Simon turns his head at your voice, watching you walk out of the bathroom, your hair styled and your makeup done in a dark and smoky way that suits you so well. Christ, the way it makes him feel.

You spot his tie on the bed, then pick it up and approach him, closing the distance between the two of you. As you stand in front of him, so near that he can feel your breath on his skin, something begins to creep up his chest. It settles beneath his ribs, burning, spreading like a wildfire. But, it's unlike the fury and rage he's familiar with. This one leaves a warmth, a pull towards you that makes him ache to touch you, to hold you.

Simon couldn't take his eyes off you, watching the way your fingers worked in and out to tighten the knot. The way you bit your lip in concentration.

When you ask him to lean down a little so you can reach the back of his neck, he’s made even more intoxicated—the mix of shampoo and soap you’re devoted to, the delicate yet familiar fragrance of your favorite perfume that always trails after you. Sweet, but the kind of sweet that leaves him wanting more, like a wild animal who's just discovered a gourmet feast.

It’s a hunger, a need, to plant kisses on the pillar of your neck and feel the thrumming pulse that lives beneath your soft and supple skin. The ache to hold you, to keep you within his orbit. Something grips his heart—and before Simon can register, he’s leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a fervent, greedy kiss. He guides you towards the bed, his bulky frame poised to envelop your smaller form.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Made to cry, his pretty girl, by the woman who brought her into the world.

In this world, there are many kinds of mothers. The ones like his, all smiles and kindness, baking good pies and forgiving, perhaps too forgiving. And then, there are the ones like yours—all faux smiles, pretending to be an angel of a mother when he knows full well she’s the reason you turned out the way you did.

Dependent, easy to manipulate, always trying to please everyone. You thought you could maintain a distance from others, but all it takes is a single act of kindness to dismantle them completely—the seemingly impenetrable walls were actually brittle.

A kitten masquerading as a lion, only to purr and melt at the slightest touch.

It annoyed him sometimes, because he knew you deserved better. But it’s also the reason he stayed, he thought. Because he loved playing the hero, especially to a woman who didn’t know any better.

(Something, anything to hold between his teeth for him to chew and tear.)

As you wait in the car, he hurriedly gathers the last of his things, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag. The embers of anger still simmer within him, but Simon chooses to be the wiser—getting you out of here as soon as possible is a priority.

“I know men like you,” the devil behind him spits. “You think you’re protecting her—you think you’re saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you’ve grown bored.”

And Simon stops. It strikes a chord within him, punches him right in the gut.

Though, he doesn’t say anything. He wants to lash out, to defend himself and his intentions, but doesn’t. What’s the point? He thinks it would be a waste of time, and you’ve been waiting for him in the car for too long. It would just be a waste of breath.

Yet, another part of him knows the real reason.

That she might be right. That she might be right, and he did not like that.

It was always easy to turn away from reality. He pretended to be the wiser man, leaving pointless conversation for good reasons. But the voice in his tainted head always reminded him of what he was made of, what was left of him. He was a rotten man, selfish. Full of desire without the consistency to commit—

Pretending to stay when he knows he is nothing more than a stray dog who loves to wander.

Simon slashes, rips, and kills men as sport; feasting on the raw hearts of women like his own personal dinner, collecting their teardrops like diamonds on his crown. And yet, he has the bloody nerve to think he can keep something as soft as you in his calloused hands without laying a wound.

(A predator wearing the skin of a man.)

A voice in the back of his head began to whisper, telling him to let you go, to walk away before his teeth sank in too deep and caused you even more pain. Before he became too ensnared, too intertwined.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Not when you're sensually rolling your hips on top of him, your jaw slack as those pretty, plump lips make sounds that cause his cock to twitch in his boxers. The sight of your puffy eyes, the soft curve of your lashes, and the furrowed brows. He groans as you grip his thighs, anchoring yourself to him.

The moans you let out—oh, love, what is this? Why does it feel holy when they're sinning? Like some kind of ablution. He is reborn. He is being sent to heaven, and it is between the plush of your thighs—the divine liquid dripping down your folds.

You drag your fingers across the raised tissue of his skin, and he is blessed. He observes as your eyes glide over every part of his body, recognizing the differences between the scars he bears—guessing how they were created. Fire, knives, hooks.

And fuck, angel.

That sickening clench clutches his chest again as he gazes upon your tear-streaked face. This perfect creature is mourning his scarred flesh, once burned and healed, textured. Your lips quivering as you sob.

What are you grieving for, pretty?

Probably thought he was some sort of good guy who didn't deserve this. So consumed by her turmoil, she forgot that every cut and burn meant he survived; he won and survived. Can't say the same about the other guy, though. Not that Simon would—no.

He's too selfish to share your attention.

Because what if mentioning others who died in his hands makes you pity them instead? Something a sweet thing like you would do.

“Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” You ask, and Simon answers in his mind: Why wouldn’t they? “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

“Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,”

Simon was given three primary roles: hunter, judge, and executioner, but you didn’t know this. Nor did you know that the bastards who had caused these scars had long since died in the slowest and most gruesome way possible. That house fire he told you about didn’t spare them like it spared him.

All of this was evidence that he had hurt and killed—a mortal sin, darlin'. But you let another fat tear slip, thin red roots spreading across your sclera.

Oh.

There was always the other side of the moon that Simon never realized until now, until you did. His God—you—are all-forgiving and shed tears because the other side of the story is that he has been hurt and almost killed. So far, Simon has only seen himself in three main roles: hunter, judge, and executioner. Never the other way around: prey, defendant, and victim.

And oh—oh.

The “God” on his pelvis rocked her hips, taking him to many pleasant places—places a sinner would never have the luxury of visiting. The burn inside him twisted into something different—something warm that pulsed in the chambers of his heart and spread and crawled across his chest.

This wasn't the old fury. So, Simon convinced himself this was lust.

The conclusion must have been made in a hurry, or more like in desperation to see past the truth. He tried to bury it in the depths of his mind where he wouldn't have to acknowledge it. But Simon knew lust shouldn't last this long, nor should it leave him feeling invigorated simply because you had smiled at him.

This was—

“Gonna watch a ballet, LT.?”

Simon snaps out of his thoughts, blinking back to reality. Between his bare thumb and index finger is the special pass you gave him a week ago—the same piece of paper Soap was questioning just now. He turns in his chair to face his sergeant, greeted with that infuriating grin of his.

“Didn’t know you were the artsy type.” Soap added.

“You should’ve knocked, Sergeant.”

Soap laughed. “Aye, I did. But you were too busy starin’ at that ticket to notice.”

The lieutenant didn’t respond, just shoved the pass into his drawer, shutting it with a snap. Soap raised an eyebrow, a sign that he was still curious, but had no intention of voicing his questions, at least for now anyway.

“What’s this about?”

Soap's grin faded. “Ah right. The Captain’s askin’ for ye.”

Johnny watched those brown eyes flicker to the flip phone and then to the skull glove on the table as Simon considered something. Unfortunately for him, that was all—the damn balaclava prevented him from seeing the slightest glimpse of expression that might have been hidden behind it.

“I’ll be there,” Simon said, dismissing Soap with a wave of his hand.

The sergeant narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips in that way he always did when he was trying to figure him out. Then, he walked toward the door, twisting the doorknob. Just when Simon thought he was finally gone, Soap stopped, pausing for a moment.

“Yer obsession is gettin’ worse, sir,” he commented.

At first, Simon didn't understand what he was referring to until he followed Soap’s gaze, and his own brown eyes landed on his duffel bag. Where the skeleton charm you bought him was hanging.

Simon didn't say anything. The door closed with a click.

The voice of his old therapist echoed in the back of his head, saying how he had this need to always be in control, that he hated feeling like he was losing it, like there was something out there that he couldn’t predict or manage. That’s why he clung to what he knew and hated changes.

But as he sat in his office, surrounded by the same four walls, the same desk, the same chair, the same bloody routine he had followed for years, he felt something twisted itself inside him, grafting itself into the tissue of his scars.

It triggered an itch in his skull.

Simon stood up from his chair, jaw clenched, as he strode over to where his duffel bag sat. That voice was louder, the words he had heard playing back like they were on a cassette tape—“there’s gonna be things in life that are out of your control. An’ that’s okay. You don’t have to be in charge of everythin’.”

“An’ when that happens, you just have to let it happen. You can’t avoid it forever, Lieutenant. Avoidin’ it doesn’t mean you’ve solved it—”

Clenching his fists, he tried to deafen himself, only to end up inviting another sickening voice. “Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world,” at that time, he didn’t understand what the hell his old man meant by that, searched the whole world for answers.

Now, after all this time—after mistaking it for passion, for fury, for lust—the answer stared back at him, daring him to face it. He let out a scoff, thinking how that was the most uncharacteristic word to ever come out of that man's mouth. Fuck.

“—it just means you’re signing yourself up for more pain—”

Simon yank the skeleton charm off his bag, the metal clinking against the zipper as he tears it free. He exhales, his chest empty after he’s done what he’s best known for.

“—an’ self-destruction.” The voice finishes.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

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[dittolicous]

hear me out

stealth black!sanji where sanji does indeed start losing his emotions and word makes it way back to judge, so he has him kidnapped/his death faked and uses science to rush the removal of emotions along with wiping a good chunk of his memories to make him easier to control... the focus however was high-key placed on emotions such as empathy, humility, kindness, joy, etc. since judge wanted to ensure to an absolute degree that sanji's 'flaws' were wiped clean, leaving only the perfected stealth black he was always meant to be

but judge makes a mistake

in his hurry to eradicate the humanity, he didnt consider the consequences of leaving even an inkling of negative emotions within an abused, aching shell - smattering of disjointed memories, blurry faces in sporatic dreams, voices that are just outside his grasp, a longing for something but yet lacking a name...

injured, raw, bloody from unknown wounds he may be, but stupid, sanji is not

he's stealth black, espionage is his specialty, he knows how the human mind works, how words can be twisted, the ways a tide can be turned with the right leverage. all people, with the right tools, are malleable. he also knows the range of his 'father's' skills, knows how far judge would go to secure a victory, how little he fears damaging his own to get the right outcome...

sanji knows

there is a hole where his heart ahould be, deep, dark, and endless. he cannot feel love, but he knows its absence. there is no sympathy for the innocent lives ravaged in the vinsmoke name, yet its mention brings bile to his throat. he sees the sunrise across the sea with blank eyes and watches it set on the corpses of kingdoms with growing repulsion

his brothers laugh, they were taught how despite it having little meaning to them. they echo the teachings of their father.

sanji had that ripped away. he can recognize a hole when he sees it even if he doesnt know what once filled it. there are no empty laughs. no fake smiles. no uncaring boasts. he cannot, there was no reason for him to (were even the echos of joy a risk?)

instead he burns

hot loathing makes a home in his chest. contemp and fury settle in his lungs, growing with every breath he takes, fueled by the embers of despair settling in his stomach

sanji knows despair, knows how deep their roots take in humanity, that to be human is to suffer... but without the other half, the joy of human connection which makes it all worthwhile, the act of living, he cannot conceptualize the value of being alive in the face of such suffering

instead he stands back and watches. unbalanced, unchecked, and under-estimated, stealth black plans. he'll rid the world of their filth, finishing the job blackleg sanji was too weak to do

for in his hurry, judge forgot about sanji's rage, about the depths of his grief and the ferocity of his burning passion. so afraid of one little boys generosity, he brushes off the dangers of unbridled resentment, that malice cannot always be reigned in by an iron fist alone

and where once, there were certain teachings of honor and integrity, of love and belief to temper this flame, judge left nothing. he took away the soft words of a kind mother, the sharp kicks of a caring father (his real father), the unabashed voices of true nakama...

is it really all that surprising that once loving flames would turn into a blazing inferno, one which burns the world indiscriminately?

judge doesnt realize he didnt defang the wolf, no, he removed the muzzle

tl;dr - if a person is made of burning passion and you remove their kindness, wouldnt that just leaving burning? judge focuses only on getting rid of sanji's soft traits not considering that he'd never actually be able to control a sanji that rages indiscriminately, which eventually comes to bite him in the ass as stealth black sets the world on fire out of self-loathing

[geutori]

⠀ ⠀ 🥀⠀ ⠀ /⠀ ⠀ SIX FEET DEEP IN ROSES

⠀ ⠀ 𝓢𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲ℐ𝖲⠀ : ⠀ 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌。

⠀ ⠀ 이희승⠀ ⟡⠀ 𝒇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ⠀ ⠀ 𝟪𝟫𝟩 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 ⠀ ⠀ 𝗰𝘄. ⠀ 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝗋-𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌

LEE HEESEUNG WAS HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH YOU, AND STILL IS.

your relationship didn’t pan out the way either of you had anticipated – you both were supposed to be together happily for three years, but it ended bitterly when heeseung cheated on you near your three year anniversary. he thought he could get away with it, but you had already caught wind of what happened.

filled with unbridled rage at the time, you tossed his belongings out of your shared apartment and changed the locks. he cheats? he loses the roof over his head. and he loses the girl he loves most.

it had been two years, and you haven’t thought of him since. yet he had been constantly thinking about you.

especially the pictures you’ve posted after your chaotic break up. the pictures with your new mystery man.

he was a shameless man, creating a burner instagram account to like all your posts. he couldn’t care less if you found it and confronted him about it. in fact, he wanted you to find it, constantly commenting on your latest posts in hopes of getting your attention.

your most recent update was a picture of a bouquet of crimson red roses, roses he never seemed to buy for you now that he thought about it. this new man of yours was clearly a better boyfriend than he was, treating you like the queen you were. and he resented that.

it should have been him giving you those flowers, treating you like you were the only girl in the world, loving you as if you were the last two on the planet. had he messed up? yes, but he was set on making things right.

he needed you on his arm again. he was determined to make you his. you were going to be his.

heeseung already knew you like the back of his hand – he knew your favorite things, knew how to make you weak. getting you back was going to be simple.

roses were your favorite, right? what better than buying a bouquet and gifting it to you.

heeseung had stopped by a flower shop, curating a bouquet of freshly grown roses for you. he was going to surprise you with them.

and surprise you, he did.

he arrived at your place of work, asking around to see if you were there. your ears picked up a familiar voice, your eyes looking up from your computer to see heeseung with the bouquet in his left hand. roses like the ones your boyfriend had gifted you just this week.

his eyes scanned the room for you, his face lighting up when his eyes landed on your pretty face.

you blinked in pure astonishment as you made eye contact. he had quite the audacity to show up at your job after two long years. getting up from your desk, you strode towards heeseung and pulled him aside.

holding out the bouquet, heeseung smiled breathlessly. “hi babe.”

that stupid petname, it made you cringe internally. he had no right calling you that after what he did two years ago.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you scolded him in a hushed tone, eyes darting to every person that passed the two of you.

a cunning smirk formed on his lips as he cocked a brow, leaning against the wall of your office. “can i not visit you? after all, i missed you these past two years.”

he missed you? that was hilarious considering the stunt he pulled before your anniversary.

“you don’t get to miss me after you cheated.”

heeseung’s smirk then twisted into a mocking pout, his right hand clutched his chest, feigning pain from your words. “aw, c’mon baby. that was two years ago, i’ve changed since then.”

you swayed your head side to side, countering his words. “i don’t care. you cheated, and now you’re making up for it.”

was his plan really that transparent? surely not. it hadn’t even set in motion.

he chuckled wryly, shaking his head. “do you truly think so lowly of me?”

“i do, actually.” you responded, giving him a snarky and fake smile.

what did he expect? he had cheated, and suddenly he thinks roses could win you back? did he forget you had a boyfriend?

“you can take those flowers and leave. give them to someone that is truly interested in you, because i am not that person.”

you began to walk away, only to be stopped in your tracks by heeseung. his hand held your wrist, and he spun you around to face him.

“baby, please. let me prove i’ve changed.” he pleaded, his eyes asking for a chance to attest his claim, his hand holding the bouquet out towards you again.

your eyes flickered between the bouquet he held and his begging eyes. it would be a lie to say you hadn’t missed him. but you had a new boyfriend, someone who truly loved you, someone you were devoted to. your feelings were conflicted, but part of you wanted to hold heeseung to his words, to see that change. with a dejected sigh, you took the roses from his hand, gripping the stem tight.

“fine. but don’t think this means all is well with us.”

heeseung nodded, a crooked smirk appearing on his face.

his plan to get you back had only just begun.

© GEUTORI, 2024 ⠀/ ⠀my works are purely fiction and, in no way, reflect the idol as a person. please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 9

Sorry for the late post. My days off were busy, but now I'm back at work so we should be back on daily updates.

So many military inconsistencies and just overall incorrect military vocabulary. I’m sorry. 

tw:  revenge, light torture, sensory deprivation, bondage (not the fun kind), 

It’s dark, so dark you weren’t sure if your eyes were open or closed, the only light is the red blinking of a camera above your head. Your wrists were bound with a soft rope as you sat on the edge of a measly cot, using your other senses to learn about your surroundings. You couldn’t hear much besides the rustle of footsteps above your head and the rare voice as guards changed out in front of your door. 

The smell was what permeated everything else though. The coppery tang of blood hung in the air, burning your nose, but there was something else. The faint scent of burned and rotting flesh tinged the edges of your senses, making you gag as the smell almost coated your tongue. A choked laugh had filled the silence in the space when you realized someone had sprayed an air freshener just before you’d been deposited in your cell. The lavender had only made the smell worse, almost thankful when it finally faded only a few minutes later. 

You’d spent the time counting, focusing on the numbers as if they were going to save you. Reaching 85,000 meant it had been about one day since you’d been taken. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t eat. You never stopped counting, not even when the door opened and light shone on your body. “Aw, precious, just as pretty as I remember.” 

When the boys realized you were gone, all hell broke loose. Price was out of the room and on his phone in seconds, calling the one person outside of his team that he trusted: Kate Laswell. Kyle was on Price’s heels, his calm, level headedness the only thing keeping him from tearing the entire hotel down to the studs. Johnny stood staring at the picture that had been left behind, staring at the word as if he was waiting for it to burst into flames. Simon saw red, fists clenching and relaxing at his sides. 

Grabbing Johnny’s arm, he hauled the younger man out of the room to follow Price. They were going to get you back, no matter what it took. Simon just hoped they’d make it in time. 

Bursting into the room just as Price ended his call, Simon deposited Johnny on the couch and squatted between his legs just to reach up and slap the sergeant. Blue eyes shot to Simon’s dark ones just to be followed with a grunt and nod. Simon stood and Johnny followed, all of them standing around the table. 

“Laswell just informed me that they’ve received a video. She’s sending it now. She said it’s not pretty,” Price revealed, grunting quietly as his hand rubbed over his face to scratch at his beard. Kyle was quickly working to set up the laptop and getting the video pulled up. 

“What do we know?” Simon asked gruffly, arms crossed over his chest in an effort to hold in the unbridled rage that threatened to endanger the men in the room. He hadn’t been this angry since getting back from leave and finding his mother and brother in such terrible shape and he’d kicked his dad out for the abuse. He should have gone back and killed him. 

“She was being stalked by someone using your mask, so it must be someone from your past,” Kyle reasoned, looking over at Simon. He wasn’t accusatory. It was a good reasoning, but Simon growled at the implication it was solely his fault. Kyle raised his hands in surrender, showing the largest member of their team that he didn’t mean to offend him.

“There were pictures of all of us. What’s the likelihood that it’s someone we’ve dealt with before?” Johnny questioned, looking at Price with wide blue eyes that didn’t seem to look AT Price, more through him. Price was startled by that look. He’d never seen the sergeant look so mentally far away. 

The computer dinged as Kyle got the video pulled up, cringing already at the capture that served for the video icon. They all gathered around behind him and he hit play, all of them watching the screen intently.

The shot is focused on a blacked out truck when the door opens, zooming in on your still fighting form as they drag you from the vehicle. One of the masked guards, about the size of Simon, has his arm around your neck in a chokehold when you manage to tuck your chin and bite him hard, blood coloring your teeth. He releases you but another hidden man steps up and backhands you across the face causing you to fall to the ground. You’re hit in the temple with the butt of a gun and your body falls limp on the ground while the man who backhanded you lifts you from the ground and carries you off screen. 

Another man, this one wearing a copy of Simon’s mask, steps into frame and slowly pulls the mask off, revealing oily black hair and beady eyes that look down at the mask almost fondly. “You know, Simon, this is quite the mask you wear. Makes for a pretty good scare tactic, don’t you think? Though, I suppose that’s why you wear it, huh?” The man lifts his head and makes eye contact with the camera before it goes black.

“How the fuck does he know my name?” Simon growled, low and deep, a menacing sound that would terrify anyone but the men in the room. John’s phone rang once, answered immediately and put on speaker. “Kate, what do you have for us?” Price was no longer the sweet caretaker. He’d been replaced with the Captain the moment they realized you were gone. 

“Name’s Darin Moses. Bold of him to show his face, to be honest. We’ve been after him for years, but he’s usually flying so far under the radar, that we couldn’t find him. Nothing would get him out of hiding either, except…” Kate’s voice trailed off, sighing into the phone. “Your girl. Whoever she is, she’s important enough for him to come out of hiding.” 

They were all listening intently, memorizing every bit of information. “He’ll be keeping her in a compound of sorts. I haven’t figured out where yet, but based on that video, I can tell you he’s still in the UK. We’ve grounded every private flight out of the UK for now. He wouldn’t be able to take her on a commercial flight with how much she seems to be fighting back.” Kate continued, papers rustling in the background before keys clicked on a keyboard. 

“Get us back and we’ll get started on a plan. In the meantime, try to figure out where they’re keeping her,” Price said, picking up the phone and clicking off the call before Kate could reply. “We’ve got work to do, boys.” 

When the team landed on the tarmac about 24 hours later, Laswell was there to brief them, walking alongside as she informed them that they’d received a new video. Finally inside, they huddled around a table and watched as their anger roiled and raged inside each of them.

The camera angle now looked down on you from the corner of your cell, more of a security camera type of placement. It showed you up and pacing, muttering what sounded like numbers under your breath as your hand drug over the wall. 

A voiceover began playing, blocking out most of your sounds. “John Price, Kyle Garrick, John Mactavish, and Simon Riley. Task Force 141. I have to thank you boys for taking out some of my competition. Making a lot of money now that I’m the only one that can collect information like I can. But the thing is, the men you’ve taken out? They weren’t little pawns or weak. They were powerful men. So now you’ve made yourselves targets.”

There was a rustling sound and you sat down on the bed, now staring up at the little blinking light. “Do you think she knows you’re watching? Or maybe she’s hoping you are.” The screen zoomed in on you, the night vision making your eyes look like they were glowing white. “Pretty little thing. I think once I’ve got you all taken care of, I’ll keep her. Break her down until she can’t fight back anymore. Maybe I’ll bring her your heads so she knows no one is coming to save her.” The screen cut to black.

Little bit of a shorter part.

Thank you to everyone who is supporting this series.

[simphornies]

A/N: The final part! This was definitely a ride. I hope you all enjoy! Who knows...Maybe I'll write an epilogue <3

Word count: 3k (3,038) Warnings: violence, reader goes kinda crazy for a little bit, nifty behavior

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Deal Breaker [ Vox x Angel!Reader ] FINALE

“Alastor!”

The voice was all too familiar. Vox opened his eyes to see your silhouette in the dust and smoke. Your hands were stretched out to your side, blocking any attack from landing on him. He didn’t want to believe it but you were really there. In front of him. He was speechless.

“Alastor stand down!” You screamed. “He’s had enough. He won’t be another voice in your broadcast. I cannot allow it.”

Alastor shrunk down to his regular form, disappointed but compliant. His ears lay flat on his head showing his discontent but it quickly faded away as soon as he saw your wings weren’t lifted. They were dragging behind you. “Y/N, my dear, your wings…” Worry laced his voice, something nobody had ever expected.

“I’m fine. I need to tend to everyone else. But first-” You turned your body to face Vox, “I need to deal with the Vees.” You looked him in the eye and Vox broke at the sight of seeing you in that state in front of him. Only four of your wings were up while two were down, golden blood covering them. Your eyes were puffy and filled with tears but you didn’t look sad. He opened his mouth to speak but the pain caught up to him. He coughed out blood and clutched the crack across his screen before powering down.

You caught him before he hit the floor and carried him in your arms. “Bring them all inside. Lucifer, we’ll fix the damages as soon as I deal with this bullshit.” He simply nodded and made the two Vees float on in while you carried Vox inside. You were gentle when you set Vox down on the couch while Lucifer dropped the other two, making them exclaim out in pain.

“Did you have to drop me on my face?” Valentino complained. Lucifer shrugged and gave him a smug look, “Whoops!” He laughed, making Valentino growl.

“Watch it, moth.” You hissed. You stood up tall and loomed over them, your wings fully spread out with the exception of two. Your heavenly glow made them squint in response. Maybe it was the adrenaline but you felt no pain. “I must applaud the audacity the two of you had.” You knelt down and grabbed their faces harshly. “To no avail, of course. But the attempt was there, though not something to take pride in.” You pushed their faces away in disgust, wiping your hands off as if they were the filthiest things you’ve ever touched. You began to pace around them with your hands behind your back. “Tell me, demons. Do you value your lives now? Do you value your power? Your status? Your money?” You asked. They didn’t respond.

Your hair and wings were covered with eyes as you flared up at them, “I asked a question.” You stabbed each of their legs with two angelic daggers, “Please. Do answer.”

“Yes.” They said in unison, breathing unevenly due to the pain.

The hotel staff felt fear watching you lose composure. It was a rare sight and nobody dared to speak up. Besides Lucifer. “Yeah you tell ‘em, bitch!” He cheered you on, making Charlie face palm at the comment.

“I suspected so.” You smiled sweetly at them, the same smile you give every sinner you’ve met. But this smile was a facade for you felt pure unbridled rage at the fact that they thought they could bring this tower down with meager attempts. You pulled the daggers out, making them scream.

“How about we make a deal?” You offered, hand held out knowing they wouldn’t even be able to shake it.

“What do you want?” Velvette asked, voice shaking.

“Nothing much. I just want you both to never fuck with us again and never even think about doing so. And…” You trailed off.

“And?” Valentino’s voice was shaky too. Angel Dust found pleasure at the sight, sneaking in a photo.

“And your souls, of course!” You happily exclaimed, folding your hands together. Their eyes widened before glaring at you.

“And what if we say no?” Velvette contested.

“Well…That certainly is an option. Of course, you can say no.” You hummed, pacing around them once again. “But know that once you do…The power, the status, the money, your businesses…Well. They will simply no longer exist!” You smiled.

“Wh-what?” Valentino’s voice was small. He was terrified.

“You fucking bitch you can’t do that!” Velvette screamed and tried to jump at you. You flicked her away effortlessly with your wing, sending her back down with Valentino.

“Ah but I can, my sweet sinner!” You smiled at her, “The King of Hell can make that entire building disappear with a snap of a finger! Isn’t that right, Luci?”

Lucifer nodded and stood with pride, his hands on his hips, “Sure can! Effortless too.” He grinned.

“And without this deal in place, Alastor will be free to do whatever his morbid little heart desires with you two!” You spin around happily, “Why, that would make a fantastic broadcast, don’t you think so, Alastor?”

“It would be one of my best ones!” He grinned, his aura darkening.

“Fine! Fine.” Velvette gave up, “We’ll make the fucking deal.”

“Wonderful choice!” You clapped, “Nifty, dear! Come here please.”

Nifty came running to your side, laughing maniacally.

“Oh fuck why is she here?” Valentino tried his best to squirm away from the little demon child, fearing his life.

“Because! You’ll be giving her your souls.” You gave them an innocent look.

“WHAT?” Everyone, with the exclusion of Lucifer, Alastor and Nifty, screamed in unison.

“Who would own you better than this one here? She hardly cares for such things and I do believe that it would be such a wonderful gift for her. She’s done so much for the hotel and I think I should award her with something more…hellish!” You placed your hands on Nifty’s shoulder, “Do you want to own your own souls, Nifty?”

She nodded excitedly, “Ready!” She cackled. “I want my own souls.”

Velvette and Valentino were sweating in fear, a little bit terrified of the tiny one-eyed demon. “Ah but of course, if you try to do anything to her. Well…Let’s just say you’ll get what you give!” You pushed Nifty closer. With a snap of your fingers a written contract appeared in front of the two Vees and they were allowed to hold the pen that came with it.

“Sign right there on the line stating that your soul is now ours combined. There’s quite a couple of fine prints in there though I don’t think you’d need to read it considering you will never harm this hotel, its staff and whoever they’re involved with ever again.”

Velvette and Valentino signed their souls away, their scleras turning black. Lucifer released them from their binds and you shook their hands. “Wonderful doing business with you two!” Your smile quickly dropped to a glare. You wiped your hands as soon as you let go of them. “Now go home.”

Velvette and Valentino wasted no time leaving the hotel, almost tripping over the mess they created on their way out. For a moment, it was silent. Alastor stood by, impressed at your devilish behavior. Angel Dust was relishing in the fact that you kicked Valentino’s ass, showing off the photo he took to Husk. Nifty just went straight to sweeping. Charlie and Vaggie ran to you, giving you a tight but careful hug.

“Y/N…I thought we lost you.” Charlie sobbed. You hugged the two back, your healthy wings wrapping around them.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me. I wouldn’t have made it out okay without you guys.” You smiled. You pulled away and wiped the tears in Charlie’s eyes, “It’s okay, Charlie. I’ll be fine.”

Lucifer claps his hands together, “So…” He smiles, “Should we get to fixing or…”

You laughed at him, “Yes. I’ll catch up with everyone. I have one more person to deal with.” You looked at Vox, your heart heavy. His screen was off, sparks still flying out of his screen. “Before you all leave though, do we still have Sir Pentious’ tools and manuals?”

.

Vox powered back up. He winced as his body still remembered the pain from the earlier fight. He looked around the unfamiliar room on an unfamiliar bed. He sat up slowly and as he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. His screen was fixed, not up to his standards, but he didn’t have the crack across his screen anymore. His screen was completely replaced. His ears finally caught on to the sounds of construction outside.

You opened the door to your room with some books on how to fix screens. Upon seeing Vox awake, you dropped them and ran to his side. “Vox! You’re awake. How’s your screen? Does it feel okay? Despite my lack of knowledge on fixing technology, I did my absolute best to fix the crack. The wiring-”

Vox cut your rumbling off by pulling you into a tight hug. He held you with fear that he might never get this chance again. He was afraid that if he let go, that’ll be the last he’ll ever see of you. It wasn’t until he felt you hug him back that he relaxed and sobbed into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Was all he could muster in between his cries.

You let him ride his emotions out, not letting go until he calmed down and stopped glitching. When he did you pulled away from him. “Vox…”

“I know! I lied. I lied about a lot and…And I let my pride stop me from coming sooner.” He started, “Even if you don’t believe me, please give me a second chance and your trust when I say that I am so fucking sorry. You opened my eyes a lot and I’m sorry.” He looked down with shame, unable to look you in the eye.

“Vox. I know. I get it.” You sat on the bed next to him, “I’ll admit that it pained me when I found out you lied about Alastor. I was shattered. I was stuck between choosing my dear friend and, well, you. If I’m being completely honest, trusting you again after that…that elaborate and evil plan is difficult.”

He sighed, guilt engulfing him.

“But, if there’s one thing I learned here that I didn’t in Heaven is that everybody deserves a second chance.” You said softly. He finally looked up at you. You weren’t looking at him but instead you looked at the group picture that everyone took together when you first arrived. “I’m going to need an explanation, a detailed one and then…” You turned to face him, “And then we’ll make that deal.”

He looked at you dumbfounded. He didn’t understand why you’d give him another chance let alone reconsider the thing that started this all to begin with. “Y/N, I don’t care for that deal anymore. I want to make it up to you. For everything.”

“Let’s change that first one then.” You phased in the original contract you two had created when you first met and ripped the unsigned contract in half. “Promise me you won’t ever lie to me again and in return, I shall do the same.” You held out your hand to which he gladly shook.

“You have my word.” The deal was sealed as he shook your glowing hand. “Now…Let’s start from the beginning.”

It took a while for him to cover everything from the initial plan to how it ended up like this. He covered the first half quickly but slowed down at a certain point.

“And then when we came back from the hotel and you stayed in my building with me…” He trailed off. “Well I…”

You tilted your head to the side, “You…?”

“I came to the realization that I truly fell in love with you.” He confessed. Your face flushed in response.

“Me?” You gasped out, “No. You couldn’t have.” You awkwardly laughed, “What is there to love about me?”

“Look at your friends, Y/N! They truly admire you and trust you. You’re a being worthy of trust and love. You protected this hotel and left your home behind for sinners.” He began, “Your heart is a blessing. You’ve saved them outside of battle. You became their deal breaker, freeing them from their chains. Even when you’re hurt, you always do the right thing. You’re forgiving. Your beauty goes past your brain and your looks. Your entirety, your soul. It’s all beautiful. And anyone that can’t be changed by that is fucking stupid.”

You blush at his flattery, your heart pounding out of your chest. But he didn’t stop.

“And me? I didn’t fall in love with you for your power or for how pretty you look. Even if it did kickstart this whole thing,” He laughed, “You’re kind. You find joy in everything even in the worst places. You’re strong and resilient and your heart is in the right place. The look in your eyes when you saved me, it…it broke me in a way that I’ve never felt. I don’t want you to ever feel that pain again. And I don’t want somebody to try and pull the same shit I did to you. Allow me by your side, forever and always.” He held your hand, giving you a soft kiss on your knuckles, “And let me be yours as I want you to be mine. No bullshit attached.”

“Vox…” You smiled sweetly, tears in your eyes. “You speak such nonsense at times.” You laughed.

“It’s true, angel. I don’t know if it’s some magic of yours but, I’ll leave it all behind. You are my pride.”

“Vox. I adore you. I do. I fell in love with you with your acts of service, your gift giving. You truly spoiled me. As much as I absolutely want to kiss you right now, words are nothing but words. Actions are what truly matters.” You responded.

“I’ll do anything Y/N! I’ll lea-Did you just say you’d kiss me right now?” He paused, his screen warming up.

“Yes! I absolutely do. But you just…You hurt me Vox. You absolutely shattered me.” You got up and flared your wings at him. At that moment, he saw your injured wings. They were wrapped up with sticks holding them in one position to heal. “I thought you were going to die from all of that. And to think!” You started to cry in front of him, “To think my last thought of you would have been betrayal! Do you understand how badly that hurt me? You could have died and I would have been left wondering if you truly meant everything. If you truly did love me! And when I couldn’t reach you with this watch, I thought you were dead!” You were hysterical.

Vox got up, ignoring his pain and cupped your face in his hands. “I can’t tell you how much I want to stab myself right now seeing you cry over me.” He wiped your tears away and you’ve never seen such sadness in his eyes before.

You kissed Vox in the heat of the moment, your arms wrapping around him. He shut his eyes and kissed you back and for once it wasn’t filled with lust. He felt different. He felt love. Your crying ceased and you just held him close, not wanting to part with him.

“Help me trust you again. And then you’ll be mine as I’ll be yours, forever and always.” You smiled, wiping the remnants of your tears from the corners of your eyes away, “But can you please tell me how to properly fix you. I fear that my lack of skill with wiring affected you.”

He laughed and hugged you. “Is that really something you’re worried about right now?”

“Yes! I don’t know how much my heart can take if you catch on fire! And lay back down! You’re in no condition to be up at this moment.” You forced him back down, basically tucking him in. You held his hand in yours, this time you gave him a kiss on his knuckles.

Charlie came in to check in on you two and excitedly gasped at the sight of you two making up. She hugged you two a bit too tightly, making Vox groan in pain. “Oops! Sorry! I’m just so glad you two made up!” She exclaimed.

“Oh…Vox I may have forgotten one thing…” You trail off.

“What?”

“Well! Since the two other Vees kinda maybe sort of ruined our new building a little bit, I proposed to Y/N that you stay here at the hotel to make up for it!” She grinned.

Vox blinked and stared at her, and then to you, and back at her. “With…Alastor?”

As if on cue, Alastor teleported next to Vox on the bed. “Yes!” He grinned, a bit too menacingly for the situation. He screamed in response and almost fell off the bed. Alastor played a laugh track as soon as he heard the thump on the floor.

“Alastor!” You said with a scolding tone.

“Ah don’t fret, Y/N! I’m just having a little bit of fun!” He flipped on his stomach and started to kick his legs in the air, “I do just revel in watching others suffer! Haha!”

“Even if you’re not trying to get into Heaven, I think having you here will be a good start to becoming a better person!” Charlie smiled, “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

Vox sighs, “Alright alright, I guess I’ll give this shit a shot for real this time.” He got up and rubbed the spot he landed on, “But seriously do not put me next to Alastor!”

You took his hand in yours, “You need not worry about that, Vox. You’ll be staying with me.” You smiled. “Oh and I own Val and Velvette’s souls now.” Vox didn’t know whether he should be shocked about staying in your room or the fact that his overlord friends lost so badly that they no longer own their own souls.

“...What.”

Taglist!: @emekeneme @ghostdoodlen @chewbrry @dawko-fanpage @lofasofabread @hxzbinwrites @rapunzelbro @elsihiaweee @blackrose8425 @dickmastersworld @lofasofabread @rosiethevoxobesser @themetalbabygirl @markster666 @riskyraiker @fadingflowers-world (it still won't let me tag the two of you)

[preciousbarnes]

Always

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Tensions rise as Bucky continuously seems to throw caution to the wind during missions. Your heart breaks when you learn his true motivations.

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort-ish, arguments, injuries, illusions to violence, anger

Content Warning: Discussions of mental health, depression, and suicidality.

Word Count: 1.8k

There was an eerie silence between you and the man in front of you. You sniffled and hugged yourself as Bucky stood across from you, his chest heaving with residual anger. You feared it was more than just anger, but instead resentment, hatred, rage; All of these all-consuming emotions taking the forefront of Bucky’s mind as he looked at you now, instead of the love and compassion you were once used to. You both stood there, in your pajamas, but feeling anything but comfortable.

The fight had been building up for a while. For the last month, things had been rocky. Bucky had been coming home later and later, missions were longer and increasingly more dangerous, and Bucky’s feelings of self-preservation was severely lacking in your opinion. Tonight he had come home with a collection of injuries; two broken ribs, three gunshot wounds in various states of healing, and gashes on his knuckles and face. His response to your concern? They’ll all be healed up by tomorrow afternoon, probably. That was the phrase that cut to the bone and made you finally say something. Ugly things were said. Accusations were made.

The living room was now in disarray. Things were thrown in frustration and anger, Bucky’s pent-up adrenaline needing an outlet other than just his voice climbing in volume. The room seemed lifeless and colorless, the tealight candles you had set up with the goal of a cozy night in having burned themselves out over the last hour. There was shattered glasses on the floor. A picture of you and Bucky hung crocked on the wall after being shifted by Bucky’s fist. The tv laying face down on the floor after being shoved off the tv stand.

“Just make me understand, James,” You plead, voice broken and barely above a whisper.

“Understand what?” He asks, voice bland and dry. Resigned. It was a tone of voice you weren’t used to hearing directed at you by him. The tone cut through your core like a dull blade.

“Everything, James. You can't win every time, some time it's going to be too close of a call,” You say seething, angered further by his lack of understanding when it came to your concern.

“You have that little faith in me? Think I can't get the job done?” He says with a scoff, followed by a humorless laugh.

“It’s not about the damn job, James. I know you can do your job. It's about you. Your health. Mental, physical, emotional, everything. You put yourself on the line the way the others don’t. You jump into fire without a thought,” You tell him, choking up again, reaching out to him and pleading with your eyes for him to understand. It hurts as he takes a step back from you.

“That’s what I’m paid to do,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a lack of understanding that angers you further.

“No it’s not. You’re paid to help, to advise; not to be a fucking human shield and practically go on suicide missions,” You spit out, full of unbridled rage at his lack of care for himself.

“Tell me this doll,” He begins, running a tired hand over his face, “what do I do when a fellow agent dies on my watch when I could have taken the hit and lived?” He asks with a new softness. Of course, he wants to protect others. It's one of his most noble traits, but it fills you with frustration this time.

You shake your head, muttering that he still doesn't understand the point.

“I might have abnormally good hearing, but I don’t know what you just said,” He says blandly, looking at you imploringly.

“I said, what will I do when you don’t survive? What do I do when the haul your body off the jet in a fucking body bag? What do I do when I have to bury you? When I don’t have you anymore? What do I do then, Bucky?” You ask, heart in your throat, feeling like vomiting just from stating your worst fears out loud.

Bucky blinks at you, jaw slightly open.

“What will I do then, James? Because with your lack of self-preservation, it is not an ‘if’, it is a when.” You ask him softly.

“Doll, I-“ He starts, before you hold up a hand, silently asking him to not continue with what you are sure is another faulty reasoning for his actions.

“Please, James. Just answer this, what if roles were reversed, and you were in my shoes. Waiting for the day I wound up dead because I didn’t care about my own safety?” You ask him.

You watch as he looks down at his hands. He swallows dryly and thinks before he looks up and meets your eyes again.

“I’d be terrified,” He says softly, unspoken apologies in his eyes.

“Exactly. I am filled with dread and fear nearly every day.” Honesty is now pouring out of you without stopping, the flood gates now wide open.

There's another pause. You reach up to wipe away the leftover tears on your cheek. Bucky gingerly steps forward, hands reaching out to you and softly landing on your hips as he holds you at arms length.

“I can’t quit,” He says quietly.

You immediately shake your head hard, hands reaching up to hold his face.

“Bucky, you love what you do, and I love that for you. I’m not asking that of you. I'm just asking that you take more precautions. Think before just running into situations. Bring more back up with you when possible. Keep yourself safe. And come home to me.” You explain, as you gently stroke his jaw.

“Doll, I- well, no, nevermind,” He trails off, closing his eyes and stepping back from you as his arms fall to his side dejectedly. His quick withdraw confuses you.

“What, Buck? What's going on in that mind of yours?” You ask him, a slight fear of the answer you may receive.

“Maybe this should be it,” He says softly, not meeting your eyes.

“What are you saying?” You ask in a whisper.

“Sometimes I have to do solo missions. That’s something I can't stop. Less people, less parts of the equation to worry about. And if something happens to me, it’s not like it's not deserved,” He explains to you, voice oddly stoic. The real reason for his recklessness was much darker than you imagined. It wasn’t ignorant carelessness, instead he truly did not care if he died. He felt it was deserved.

It feels as if the floor is crumbling beneath your feet.

“Bucky, baby, what?” You choke out.

“You’ve seen the files on me and my past, doll. I know you have,” He tells you as he sits on the couch with his back to you, like that explains everything. In a way, it does.

Anger suddenly lights all your nerve-endings on fire. Anger for the past, anger at HYDRA, anger at the abuse and torture Bucky faced, anger that he is still suffering now. You find yourself marching to the front of the couch and kneeling in front of the still broken man you love.

“James, look at me,” you order, taking his face in your hands gently.

He looks up to you, his eyes a window to his torment. There are unshed tears there, and a frown present.

“Baby, you deserve a long, healthy, and happy life. You have made your amends, despite your past actions not even being your own. That was not you. You do not have to throw yourself into the worst conditions to prove your worthiness to be alive. Please know this,” Your voice brokenly begs.

His hands rise from their place on his knees to rest on your own, pulling them from his face and holding them in his own, thumbs stroking the back of your hands.

“Let me talk to your bosses. Let me call your therapist. It isn’t good to feel this way, baby,” You suggest.

Bucky thinks for a moment, looking at your face, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“Please, Bucky, let me call them,” You beg him, tears streaming down your face again.

A moment passes, as Bucky continues to look at you.

“You know, the only reason I’ve had a shred of preservation on missions lately is for you. Guess I’m too selfish to give you up yet,” He softly tells you, breaking your heart even more.

“Bucky, I want you to want to live and survive for yourself. Not just me, baby. I’m going to call them okay? But I’ll be right here by your side the whole time. It’s going to be okay,” You tell him, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and taking a seat next to him on the couch.

You made quick work of calling the necessary people. You called his therapist, who asked you to drive him to the compound as soon as possible, where they would do intake and he would be taken in for observation and inpatient therapy and treatment. You then called into the office, explaining vaguely that Bucky needed to go in for some treatment, and would be taking a leave of absence until he was well again.

You held his hand as you lead him past the mess of the living room to your shared bedroom, sitting him on the bed before you turned and grabbed both of your suitcases from the closet, bumbling around the room as you quickly packed bags for you both.

“I’m sorry, for all of this, I don’t know how my head got so messed up again,” He tells you dejectedly, not making eye contact.

You tsk, coming to stand in front of him and wrapping your arms around him, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Brains can get unwell just like the rest of us. You have nothing to be sorry for. You let me help you help yourself, and that’s all I can ask for. I’m here with you, and were going to be okay,” You tell him, before giving him a gentle kiss and moving back to packing.

You both stay in your pajamas, loading your suitcases in the trunk of the car before quickly driving to the compound, you having one hand in Bucky’s and one hand on the steering wheel the entire drive.

Upon arriving, Bucky and you are met at the door by his therapist and a nurse Bucky knows well. They usher you both back to a private room and explain the upcoming process of how things will go as he is admitted for inpatient services to help him with the way he is feeling. As they begin to ask in depth questions, you offer to give him privacy.

He quickly grabs your hand, firmly but gently all at the same time. His eyes shine as he looks to you.

“Please stay,” He whispers.

You smile at the sweet man in front of you, leaning in to give him a kiss before whispering against his lips a promise you vow to always keep.

“Always.”

[beauttifullife]

Epilogue: The Silence that Comes After the Echo

234 Years Later

The world had truly gone to shit. Global warming. Plagues. Food shortages. Greed. War. It all came together like Thanos’s little infinity stones, and with a snap of the universe’s cruel fingers, chaos reigned. Rio had never been so busy. And she’d been around during the Black Plague—unjustly blamed on her, of course.

There was so much death now.

More than Rio could handle at times, though she'd never admit it. The air was thick with it, the stench of rot and decay almost suffocating. It clung to her, followed her through every town, every city, as she quietly took the souls who still had somewhere to go.

There were fewer of those lately. She used to be able to walk among humans with a sense of detachment, knowing she was there to serve a purpose. Death wasn’t something to mourn; it was a passage, a release. But now? Now the ones who died weren’t going to the beyond.

No, they weren’t deserving of it anymore. Not after the cruelty they had unleashed.

It was a strange thing—how the balance had shifted.

In the past, death was a tragedy, something that cut lives short, something that wasn’t supposed to come so soon. But now? Now Rio saw death as a mercy. It was the rare souls—the ones still clinging to hope, to love—that she found herself walking alongside. The ones who deserved rest. The ones who still carried light in a world that had gone dark.

Rio knelt beside a dying man, her expression cold, unmoved by the grotesque gurgling sound that came from his throat as he choked on his own blood. His body twitched, fingers clawing at the dirt in desperate attempts to hold onto life. His little gang had made the fatal mistake of stealing an ancient tome of death magic, using it with a sadistic glee that even made Rio’s stomach turn. The way they’d torn through towns, leaving nothing but ruin and screams in their wake, had drawn her here. And now, as the life drained from him, she watched without a flicker of emotion.

She had seen it all before. Death was her world. But some deaths—like his—were earned.

His eyes glazed over, and as his soul began to slip from his body, he finally saw her. His face contorted in horror, his final breath catching in his throat.

"Please... take me," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken, the weight of fear palpable in every word.

It always amazed her, how the worst of the worst always begged in the end. They’d tormented, slaughtered, and destroyed without a second thought, showing no mercy. And yet, when they saw her, they pleaded. They fell to their knees, terrified of the fate they knew awaited them. The irony wasn’t lost on Rio—their victims had begged too. Their screams had echoed in the same way, only to be met with cold indifference.

So, she returned the favor.

Rio didn’t flinch. She simply stood, silent, and turned her back on him.

Behind her, his screams turned from the agonized wail of a dying man to something far darker—a sound that echoed around the room, the scream of a soul trapped, torn from this world but never allowed to leave.

She had no mercy for monsters.

His soul would rot here, forever bound to the misery he had created.

The air in the room was thick with the stench of death, bodies strewn across the floor in dark, crumpled cloaks. These men—no, these monsters—had brought this on themselves. Rio had only come to deliver the consequences.

From across the room, purple magic crackled and hissed, cutting through the air with a savage intensity. The beam hit one of the last remaining men, and his scream reverberated through the hollowed-out room, bouncing off the stone walls and filling the air with its haunting sound. It was the kind of scream that stuck with you, that crawled under your skin and stayed with you long after it stopped.

Rio’s gaze landed on the source of the magic, knowing exactly who it came from.

Agatha stood at the far end of the room, her face twisted in pure, unbridled rage—the same fury she had carried in her youth. But time, as it always did, had marked her, like it had everything else, even witches. Her once dark hair had turned a striking shade of silver, the strands catching the dim light of the room like threads of moonlight. Her face was lined with wrinkles, etched by years of heartache and battles.

Rio didn’t age.

She never had.

It was both a perk and a curse of being what she was—a cosmic being, beyond time, beyond death itself. But she could manipulate bodies, shift her appearance to blend in. As Agatha aged, so did she. Gray streaked through her hair, wrinkles carved themselves into her skin, and the look of frailty clung to her like an old cloak. But it was all a façade. Beneath it, she was still as powerful as ever, capable of breaking someone in half if necessary.

Sometimes, it was even fun—taking those by surprise who thought they were dealing with an innocent old lady, only to find out they were woefully mistaken.

But now, as she watched Agatha—watched the weight of centuries hanging off her like heavy chains—Rio felt an ache deep inside her. Agatha had truly aged. Time had marked her, left its fingerprints in the silver strands of her hair and the lines etched across her face. And yet, there was something about her in this moment, something raw and untouchable, something that transcended the years.

The fire in Agatha’s eyes, the strength that had never waned, even in the face of all they had lost—it was still there, burning just as fiercely as ever. And it made Rio’s heart clench with that same familiar ache of longing she had always felt for her.

Gods, even now, after everything, Agatha was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Rio stepped forward, her eyes glued to Agatha’s labored breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. There was something unbearable about the sight—the weight in every breath, the weakness in Agatha’s posture that shouldn’t exist in someone like her. This woman, who once set the world on fire with a glance, now seemed too heavy, too tired to stand straight.

A century ago, Rio had felt it. The first soft tug, like a whisper from the universe, telling her that time was running out for Agatha. She’d felt it deep in her bones, the same way she felt Nicky's, and it had nearly broken her. The first time the pull came, it tore through her so violently she nearly brought down their entire house with a storm of magic that hadn’t erupted from her in over 5,000 years.

She never told Agatha. Rio didn’t lie to her, ever—but gods, she had thought about it then. She had considered lying, just once, to protect her from the truth. But Agatha had never asked, and so Rio had kept her silence, grateful for that one small mercy. Agatha had chalked up Rio’s outburst to another tragedy in their broken world, and Rio let her believe it.

That night, Agatha had simply made her soup, sat beside her on the couch, and read aloud from their old, worn copy of Candide. It was a balm to the storm inside Rio, soothing her without words, without questions. It was just what Agatha did.

But time was relentless. The pull on Agatha’s soul had only grown stronger, harder to ignore, louder with each passing year. It gnawed at Rio, a relentless, unyielding force. The truth was, no matter how powerful she was, Rio didn’t have the ability to stop the world from turning. She couldn’t hold back the sunrise, no matter how hard she tried. And every time she felt that pull, she knew—Agatha’s time was running out.

She had even considered finding the Time Stone, diving into the multiverse to seek it out, but she couldn’t risk it. Time was fickle in the other dimensions. A day spent searching could mean centuries lost here. She could come back to a world where Agatha was long gone, and that... that was a fate Rio could never accept.

And now, standing here, the pull on Agatha’s soul was like a scream. Rio felt it in her core, in the way her magic hummed with warning.

Something had shifted.

She stepped forward again, her heart pounding in her chest. Agatha’s face twisted in a wince, her hand pressing hard against her side, trying—futilely—to stop the steady flow of blood pooling beneath her shirt.

“Agatha,” Rio’s voice came out as a broken whisper, her chest tightening painfully. 

Agatha met her gaze, stubborn as always, even in pain.

“It’s nothing,” Agatha muttered through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched tightly as she pressed her hand harder against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

But Rio knew better. She could feel the pull, that terrible, familiar sensation gnawing at her insides—the countdown had begun, and this time there was no turning it back. Agatha’s soul was slipping away, and if Rio didn’t stop the bleeding soon, it would be gone for good.

“Let me see,” Rio demanded, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands shaking as she reached out, helping Agatha sit down. She winced at the sound of Agatha’s sharp intake of breath, the pained whine that escaped her lips as she sank against the crumbling wall behind them.

Rio’s chest tightened painfully, her heart twisting at the sight of the woman she loved suffering like this. She’d patched Agatha up more times than she could count—this wound wasn’t even the worst one she’d seen. But somehow, it hurt more now. It hurt in a way that felt deeper, sharper, like her heart was curling in on itself, folding under the weight of the inevitable.

Rio knelt beside her, carefully pushing Agatha’s blood-soaked hand aside to get a clearer look at the wound. The crimson seeped through her fingers, warm and unrelenting, as she tried to assess the damage. 

“You’re getting slower in your old age, my love,” Rio said, her voice teasing, knowing the jab would bother Agatha just enough to distract her from the pain. Normally, those words would have come easily, a playful banter between them, but now they felt heavier on her tongue.

Agatha’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She let out a ragged breath, wincing at the sharpness of the pain that spread through her side.

“Don’t… push your luck,” she muttered, her voice weak but defiant.

But Rio saw through it. She always had. She could feel the pull—Agatha’s soul, slipping away, the countdown nearing its end. It terrified her more than any enemy they had faced together. More than the armies, more than the wars, more than death itself.

“Here—let me fix this,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling despite her best effort to keep steady.

She moved forward, green magic already flaring at her fingertips, desperate to heal—mend—anything to stop the inevitable. But before her magic could do its work, hands—wrinkled now but still so familiar—came down gently on hers, stopping her. The feel of them, the way they grasped her, firm but tender, sent a wave of emotion crashing over her.

Agatha.

Rio didn’t want to look down, but she did. She stared at their hands, intertwined over the wound, and felt it before she even had to look into Agatha’s eyes. The release. The quiet, heartbreaking acceptance. Agatha’s soul—ready to let go, ready to move on.

Once, that feeling had been a comfort. It used to bring her peace, a soft melody of closure. But now, coursing through her veins, it was unbearable. Like fire. Like loss. Like her world was being torn apart, and this time she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“No,” Rio whispered, but her voice came out so weak, so broken, that she hated herself for it.

“Let me fix it, Agatha” she said, her voice more urgent as she pushed against Agatha’s hands, desperate to bring her magic back, to do something—anything.

But Agatha held on tighter, her grip weak but unyielding. She wasn’t going to let Rio save her this time.

“Mi amor,” Agatha whispered, and there was something so soft, so final in her voice that it made Rio flinch. Their fingers, once pressing against the wound, slowly intertwined—holding hands now, not to stop the bleeding, but as if to hold on to something far more fragile: time.

Time that was slipping away.

Rio felt like she was shattering, piece by piece. The weight of it all—Agatha’s life slipping through her fingers, the helplessness that wrapped around her like a vice—was suffocating. She couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t face the truth that was already written in Agatha’s eyes.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice cracking as she tried again, even though she knew it was useless. She pressed her trembling hands to Agatha’s wound, trying to summon her magic once more, feeling it surge beneath her skin, but Agatha’s hand came down gently, stopping her.

“Please, let me fix this,” Rio begged, her voice raw with desperation, trembling as she struggled to hold back the rising tide of panic. The words hung in the air, desperate, pleading, like a prayer she knew would go unanswered.

But there was only silence.

A heavy, unbearable silence, one that pressed down on Rio’s chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. The stillness of it stretched on, filling the space between them like a gaping chasm, an unspoken truth that Rio wasn’t ready to face.

She could hear Agatha’s shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last, the sound growing fainter, like sand slipping through an hourglass. Time was running out, and Rio could feel it, could feel Agatha slipping away, even as she fought to hold her close.

The silence felt like a scream trapped in her throat. It felt like death, creeping closer with every heartbeat.

“Look at me,” Agatha rasped suddenly, her voice faint but commanding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Rio hesitated, her heart pounding as she blinked back tears and forced herself to meet Agatha’s gaze.

Agatha was slumped against the wall, her body growing weaker by the second, but her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—still sparked with life. The fire in them had always been Rio’s beacon, the thing that pulled her back from the edge, time and time again. But now… that light was fading, and the thought of losing it made Rio’s chest ache like she was being ripped in two.

Agatha shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m tired, Rio.”

The words sliced through Rio like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, piercing through every defense she had left. She wanted to fight, to rage, to push against the reality of it, but Agatha’s hand—weak as it was—held hers in place. Agatha’s grip was enough to anchor her, pulling her back to the truth neither of them wanted to face.

“No,” Rio’s voice broke, a sob clawing at her throat, threatening to escape. She felt helpless—completely powerless.

Gods. It felt like Nicky all over again.

That same unbearable pain, that same crushing grief. Only this time, it was worse. This time, Rio had the power to heal it. Agatha still had time.

“Agatha, please,” Rio’s voice was barely audible, her hands shaking against Agatha’s. Her magic flickered, weak and unstable, but Agatha’s purple magic just deflected it.

“I need more time,” she pleaded, the words strangled in her throat. “Just… a little more time.”

Agatha’s lips quirked in that familiar, tired smile, the one that had always undone Rio, and the sight of it now shattered her all over again.

“We’ve had centuries, Rio,” Agatha whispered, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her hand slipping weakly from Rio’s grasp. “And I… I’ve loved you every single second of it.”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fiercely, refusing to let go, refusing to accept the finality of those words. She clung to Agatha’s hand, her heart shattering in ways she didn’t think possible. The centuries they’d spent together flashed through her mind—a lifetime of love, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet. Not ever.

But Agatha, with that familiar stubbornness, gently unraveled their intertwined fingers, and then, Rio felt her hands on her face, cradling her with a tenderness that made Rio’s breath catch in her throat. Even now, Agatha was the one offering comfort, and it broke her all over again.

"Look at me, please," Agatha murmured, her voice soft but insistent, knowing exactly what that one word—please—would do.

Even after 580 years, Agatha had never quite mastered manners. She used them only when absolutely necessary, when she wanted something desperately enough to break her usual defiance. And this… this was something she wanted from Rio, something final, something that made Rio’s heart splinter and fracture with each passing second.

Reluctantly, Rio opened her eyes, her vision blurred by the tears she had fought so hard to hold back. They fell, one after another, and Agatha’s thumbs moved gently across her cheeks, wiping them away as if they were nothing more than droplets of rain. That simple tenderness, the softness of her touch, undid Rio completely.

Agatha pulled Rio forward and kissed her, so soft—so tender—that it broke something deep inside Rio. The kiss felt like a farewell, so final, so filled with love and acceptance that Rio couldn’t hold back the choked sob that escaped her, the sound muffled against Agatha’s lips.

When Agatha pulled back, she brought their foreheads together, resting against Rio with a familiarity that felt like home and goodbye all at once.

Rio’s breath hitched, tears spilling freely now, and Agatha just stayed there, her fingers curling weakly into Rio’s hair, offering the last of her strength. She was slipping away, and Rio knew it, could feel it. The countdown, the pull, the inevitable—all of it crashing down in this moment.

Agatha’s voice, barely a whisper, was the last thing Rio heard before the world shifted.

“Take me on an adventure, mi amor.”

The sun rose on the horizon, and Agatha was gone.

Agatha Vidal died on October 19th, 2258.

She was 584 years old.

She died wiping out an entire coven of witches who had been harming innocents. The world had gone to shit, and people no longer deserved to walk with death. But Agatha Vidal walked with her wife out of the world hand in hand.

She lived a long life, full of adventures, but her favorite one was her last.

[meow-xine]

Enough for me. (Roy Kent x Fem!Reader)

pairing: (Coach) Roy Kent x Fem. reader

word count: 824 words.

warnings: roy being sad/doubting himself, roy x reader fluff, reader comforting roy, slight sexual themes suggested (near the end), roy hating on trent crimm

a/n: hi!! this is my first ever fic so... pls be gentle. this fic is based on season 3 episode 2 of ted lasso. thanks for clicking on my post out of the millions, i appreciate you :)

summary: roy comes home, frustrated and in need of some comfort after a confrontation with trent crimm about the column he wrote on roy's premier league debut.

It was a normal day- mundane if anything. You had not too long ago returned home from work, now lazily being slumped over the couch scrolling on social media. Your shared home with the newest coach of AFC Richmond was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Roy, you expected, would be home soon, probably coming through the door stringing curses together. Something of course happened at work, the only question was who exactly he would be pissed at this time.

Just as the scenario of an angry Roy played in your head, he walked through the door. You chirped up, happy to see him after a long day, when you noticed the down look of his face. It was less angry and more...disappointed? "Hey, Roy" You spoke, gently due to the unawareness of what was happening. As you stood up and walked toward him, his eyes planted on the ground, you noticed closer the expression splayed on his face. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed to be in a deep solemn thought. It was only when you lightly touched his harm that he seemed to snap out of his thoughts.

You offered him a comforting smile, "You alright? Talk to me." After you spoke, you moved behind him, beginning to take of his coat. "I don't know." He finally spoke, his tone being gentle. Silence filled the air for a brief moment until he spoke again, "Can I ask you something?" He was now meeting your gaze. "You know you can."

"Do you think I'm good? Like, good enough?" What? A puzzled look fell over your face, and he spoke again before you got the chance to. "I don't know- fuck. It's hard to explain." His gaze diverted once again, now focusing on his fingernails he softly picked at. "Roy, I'm not sure what's going on, but you can talk to me. What happened today?"

"Today was fucking fine. It was normal until that prick Crimm had to interfere." he paused, alternating his eyes from you and the floor, "It's bad enough he prances around the fucking place like he owns it, but today he just had to come talk to me and shit." He picked at his fingernails, a little rougher this time, and you could tell he was wallowing in a mixture of hate for both Crimm and what had gone down today.

You knew he wasn't very fond of Crimm, but not exactly why. You had always figured it was because he was a-in his words-pretentious dick. But this was deeper than that, you just had a feeling. You shot Roy a concerned look. He slowly reached for his wallet and drew out a slip of paper, placing it in your hand and urging you to read it.

What welcomed you was a small excerpt claiming "Newcomer Roy Kent is an overhyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premiere League debut a profound disappointment.” As soon as you read it, you shot Roy a sad glance. You were angry for him, not believing someone had the will to write such negativity.

"Crimm wrote that." He paused to take the small slip out of your hand. "I was 17, and I had just started playing. Seven fucking teen." He gritted his teeth, grimacing. You rubbed his arm, waiting for him to start again. "I have been living my life since then feeling like I was shit. Then today Crimm revealed he did it just to be 'edgy' and make a name for himself."

Not knowing exactly what to say, you continued to rub his arm. "Roy I'm so sorry. I can't imagine the dejection you’ve been feeling all these years.” He gave you a weird look, a mixture of solemn and happy.

“You know what I really can’t believe? I kind of want to forgive his ass.” You were shocked at what you could assume was Ted’s influence. “Really?” He nodded. “As much as I don’t want to fucking admit it, yeah. He was trying to do his job I guess. I just wish he would have picked on..some other prick, I don’t know.” He was now stifling chuckles, just as shocked from the situation.

“You know what Roy?” you spoke, not breaking eye contact. “Hm?” He tilted his head. “I’m proud of you for coming to that conclusion. You could have blown up, yeah? Been angry, upset. But you handled it all well.” Your graze moving up from his arm, now on his cheek. A good minute passed as you enjoyed holding his rough face.

He leaned down to kiss you. It was gentle and sweet, spreading a honeyed heat through your being. He continued placing small kisses on your face, your neck. Slowly turning into esurient nibbles.

“I fucking love you.” He spoke through kisses.

“I love you too.” You felt him smile against your skin. “And Roy?”

“Mhm?”

“You will always be enough for me. Always.”

[euphoricfilter]

always forever

pairing: jungkook x f.reader

genre: angst || hints of fluff || hurt with minimal comfort ? || non-idol au

summary: you're right there

word count: 2.1k

tags/ warnings: it's just kinda angsty, not exactly a happy ending? but not exactly a sad one, very much open for interpretation, grief, alludes to insanity, and slight slight slight yandere themes towards the end

notes: made the end a little less angsty than originally intended because i too like soft endings :D also got the idea while listening to ‘exit music (for a film)’ by radiohead, that’s kinda the vibes for this

navigation for my masterlists

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It will always be a strange phenomenon, how anger will almost always equal shouting. Such a human response to such an ugly human emotion.

Anger is such a raw feeling, bubbling, burning beneath the skin that you need to let it out, release the pressure that rage had built. So many words you had never thought to even say spilling past your teeth before you even know what’s being said. Never enough time to bite down on the bitter tasting filth thrown at someone else. Not a thought behind such horrible language, tearing your heart up, because surely if they’d hurt your fragile emotions then it was only fair you did the same to them?

It had been an accumulation of things leading up to this moment. Jungkook hadn’t realised his patience was wearing so thin to the point his unbridled anger had been directed at you. A bad morning, cold shower, no one to help him at work and too many people complaining when really their issues were never his faut. It had rained and he had no umbrella, and the bus was running late. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Just too too too too much for his fragile human brain to handle.

“Why won’t you fucking say something?” it comes from his chest, throat scratching, his own voice ringing inside his head at how loud he’d gotten.

A pitiful mix of desperation and wrath mingled, clawing its way up his throat, digging into his mind, slowly pulling him apart until he doesn’t even recognize his own voice as he shouts at you. Doesn’t even recognise the words as his own.

“One thing I asked you to do, and you couldn’t do it?” a rush of air fills his lungs, burning slightly as he swallows down his growing upset.

He wanted you to shout back, tell him how horrible he is. How terrible of a boyfriend he was calling you names, horrible things that he knew you weren’t because you could never do any wrong in his eyes. Picking you apart of the little things you’re scared of.

The days the both of you had sat down, you handing him your heart on a platter for him to cradle to his chest as he’d told you how he’d always be there. Your secrets, your insecurities, all locked away within a small box, trapped in his heart, protected by his ribcage. Thick layer of skin and muscle and other gross bodily things encasing your hurts and worries. So many things he’d kissed away and locked within himself to help you hold the burden of your hurting.

His words are venomous as he tries to rile you up, anything to get you equally as mad as he was. Logic long gone, tucked away in the far crevices of his mind.

Somewhere beyond him, he doesn’t even remember why he was so upset in the first place, words being thrown around, eyes rage filled as he just watches you sit there.

And then he sees it, something almost like pity painted behind your eyes.

“Say something!” he cries, your face blurring over as tears glaze across his vision.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask him, the first thing you’d said to him since he’d gotten home, the first words he’d really let you have. Having exploded the moment he’d seen you lounging in his room.

He opens his mouth, words almost there before he flinches. Loud knock on the door to his bedroom.

He sees you turn towards the door, your eyes flickering back over towards Jungkook when there’s a second of silence, thick as it coats the room. Lost words thrown around seeping out of the walls now that it was quiet, a silent witness to what had just happened.

“Jungkook?” Jimin calls from the hallway, “Jungkook?” he calls again, palm of his hand smacking against the door, rattling the wood; vibrations shaking the walls.

He hadn’t expected his roommate to be home, shame slithering up his spine as he takes one more look at you before trekking over towards the door. It wasn’t often the both of you argued, let alone with people being there to hear what was happening.

He yanks the door open, anger still fizzling somewhere within him, annoyance coating his tone as he comes face to face with his older friend.

“What?” he almost barks, reeling himself in, chest shaking as he takes in a long breath. Edging himself to take a calmer approach.

Jimin peeks into his room, eyebrows furrowing a little.

“Who are you shouting at? It didn’t sound like you were playing any games, are you okay?” Jimin peers over his shoulder, eyes falling on Jungkook’s computer; switched off, plug pulled from the wall.

Jungkook swallows, “Sorry”

Jimin shakes his head, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“It’s fine, I was just a little worried…”

Jungkook looks back at you sat on his desk chair. Your eyes meeting his instantly, though you don’t make a move to open your mouth, eyes telling enough of how you were feeling.

“You don’t need to worry hyung… me and y/n just had a disagreement” he tugs a smile onto his face, evidently forced, though he can only hope Jimin doesn’t point it out.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow a little deeper, forehead creasing.

“Right, baby?” Jungkook pulls the door open a little more so his roommate can see you. He motions for you to answer, eyebrows raising a little as you keep your mouth shut.

“Jungkook?” Jimin says, tone ever so careful.

Jungkook turns, eyebrows creasing at the concern on his friend’s face.

“What…?” he asks, “We’re really okay, right y/n?” he turns back towards you, desperation growing.

You smile over at him, gentle as he stands there. Eyes locked with your own.

“Come on, don’t be quiet now. Tell him we’re okay” he almost laughs, “We’re always okay, just me and you remember? Forever”

Jimin’s eyes flicker between Jungkook and the empty chair.

“Jungkook…” he presses a hand to his shoulder, tugging his friend towards him, “you haven’t forgotten, right?” he asks, catching sight of his friend’s eyes. Eyes wired and feral as he turns towards him.

“Forgotten what?” he asks, glancing back at where you’re sat. Just as pretty as the day he’d met you. Jungkook’s rage simmering out into confusion as he looks between you and Jimin.

It briefly crosses his mind, how awful he had been to shout at you, just pretty you sat like a dream in his room. And what a piece of shit he’d been to even raise his voice at you, a vow he’d made to never do. One he would spend the rest of his life proving to you that this was one little slip up. That he would never have reason to shout at you again.

He thinks it must be desperation, your silence stretching out for too long. He wanted to hear your voice, for you to tell him it was okay. That the both of you were okay. Just like always. Just like it’s supposed to be.

“I’m sorry” he steps towards you, shrugging Jimin’s hand off his shoulder.

“No—” Jimin’s fingers wrap around his arm, “Jungkook no. She’s gone”

Jungkook stops at that, muscles locking up. Cogs of his mind cranking back into action, hazy thoughts clearing for a moment at what he’d just heard.

Ever so slowly he turns towards Jimin, eyes narrowing.

“Pardon?” he seethes.

“Look!” Jimin points to the chair, “It’s empty. She’s not there. No one’s there. You’re imagining things Jungkook, you need help”

“What?” Jungkook turns back to look at you, “She’s literally right there!”

He points to you, frantic, “tell him you’re here. He can see you, you’re literally right here”

He pulls his arm from Jimin’s hold, feet dragging against the carpet, “Come on, baby. You’re right here” he kneels before you, warm fingers slipping through yours. Desperation seeping from every pore as he holds onto you.

Jimin watches, slipping his phone out his pocket to message one of the older roommates, concern shrouding him as he watches Jungkook whisper to nothing. Your name slipping off his tongue like it were the only thing he knew.

“Tell him” Jungkook whispers, pressing his forehead to your knees.

Your fingers slip from between his own, gentle as they brush over his hair. How many times the two of you had been in this position, or the roles swapped as he pampered you with his love.

“Jungkook” you murmur, hand running over his cheek. Your thumb brushes over a tear, swallowing as you call his name again.

He looks up at you through wet lashes, “I’m sorry” he whispers.

“I know you are” you nod, “But I’m gone”

He shakes his head again, hands running up your legs, fingers digging into your skin.

“I can feel you, see?” he laughs, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, “You’re right here, we’re together”

You blink down at him, slow as your arms snake around his neck. You slip off the chair to sit with him on the floor.

He pulls you closer to his body, arms wrapping around you, cradling you like you were the most precious little being, so fragile and small and all his.

“I’m not here anymore” you whisper, “You know that too”

He shakes his head, “No, because if you were dead then I would be too. I can’t live without you”

“Yes, you can” you look up at him, “I’ll always be here” you press a finger over his heart, “Here too” that same finger pushes against his forehead.

You notice Jimin’s absence from the doorway, eyes flickering back to Jungkook who had been looking at you. Scratching the image of your face into his mind. Regret finally settling over him as he catches up with what he had said earlier, a million apologies lined up on his tongue.

“I’m the only one that can see you?” he murmurs, fingers tangling into your hair, “Just me?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, “I suppose”

Jungkook wipes his cheeks, mouth pulling into a wide smile as he pulls your body closer to his, “Then we can really be together forever?”

You press your cheek to his shoulder, nodding. Unsure what else you were supposed to do.

“It seems so” you whisper, eyes closing, knowing it would only take so long for Jimin to get someone. Gentle peace between the both of you only lasting so long before they come and break Jungkook apart.

You wonder what they’ll do. You can only assume he’d fall into hysteria the more they tell him you’re dead. Remind him of what happened, how you lay six feet under, flowers he’d brought you rotting over your grave in that exact moment. Decomposing along with your body.  

Your eyes peek open, catching sight of the last photo you and Jungkook had taken together, pinned beside his bed. A good omen he’d told you, so that on the days you would sleep at your apartment, at least you’d be looking over him. There even if you weren’t.

It was a small beach house the both of you had rented out for the summer. The final photo before you’d taken the long drive home, his fingers interlaced with yours, sweet smelling sea air slowly fading out the longer you drove. With the promise that you’d come again next summer, just the two of you.

“What about the beach?” you pull away from him a little, his eyebrows furrowing in question.

“The beach?”

You nod, “To be together forever” you watch his face, careful of his reaction.

“They’ll take me away from you”

“They?” he asks, “No one’s taking you away”

You glance back at the door, “Your friends… they’ll make sure we’re never together”

Jungkook follows your gaze, silence stretching out between the both of you. Faintly you can hear Jimin on the phone, too far away for you to catch any of what he was saying.

Jungkook turns back towards you, “The beach…”

You nod, gentle smile toying at your lips. Because even in death, there would never be a day you’d want to watch him suffer. Any excuse for him to escape and for you to trail along behind him, truly in his shadow. Nothing more than an bodyless being that only your lover would be able to see.

Your arms wrap around him tighter, pulling him a little closer to you until his face is pressed into your neck.

Jimin can’t see you when he comes back upstairs, can’t see the lack of expression on your face as he worries about his friend. Blissfully unaware of the little seed of hope planted in Jungkook’s mind.

[myrddinthewizard]

sometimes i remember that s4 ep9 lancelot du lac exists and im filled with just unbridled rage. just the whole- i cant even put into words how this has kept me up at night like i genuinely think ive lost it. the fact that they will always remember lancelot, not as the most noble and kind man who sacrificed his life for camelot, but as the man who kissed gwen the day before her wedding day. the fact that gwen will never understand why she did what she did because she didn’t know she was enchanted and had to live with that guilt that wasn’t even hers. the fact that arthur will never know that gwen never really betrayed him and though he came to forgive her it’s still something that broke something irreparable in him after being betrayed time and time. oooh and the fact that merlin never told anyone what really happened and no one will ever know and that’s just the way it was and i-