#this is a story about two women making out and maybe there's a theme about trust and worship and love in there somewhere
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circesoracle · 4 months ago
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writing fanfiction is so weird sometimes because there's this pressure to elaborate on everything that existed in canon if you so much as breathe about it which does not mesh with my desire to use a FromSoft style of worldbuilding wherein I mention something in passing and it's meant to enhance the setting or be interesting and of note and imply a larger world, not be the focal point of the next ten chapters. anyways.
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justatypicalwizard · 3 months ago
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Virgin Bakugo x reader, suggestive
Imagine Katsuki who’s a total and complete virgin. His brash and aggressive exterior fooled others into deeming him a playboy. Handsome, successful and proud, what else would he need to perfectly abide the stereotype. Except, ever since he started UA, ever since he dreamed about becoming a pro-hero, ever since he laid his eyes on All Might, Bakugo had nothing else in mind except hard work. He bent his neck over homework, he cracked his knuckles before training and he broke his bones during missions, everything for the sake of greatness. Love didn’t exactly fit into his schedule.
It started when he was a kid. Other boys kept weird magazines under their beds and looked at girls wishing they got a lock of silky hair to keep. Katsuki didn’t understand. Girls in his class at school were weird and annoying. They always had to move in a group, went together into toilet stalls and whispered as if they couldn’t talk like normal people - loud and straightforward. What did his friends see in them?
Later, in middle school Katsuki finally discovered a few throughgoing differences between him and a set of new girls in class. His friends’ magazines turned into online videos that Katsuki despised. They felt unnatural and shameful. So he cut the topic short, deeming the girls in class boring and stupid. And honestly, that’s how he felt about them.
When a particular shortie with deep black hair, cut a few inches above her chin, stopped him in the middle of the track field, Katsuki sighed. What now? The girl confessed her crush, digging a small hole in the dirt with the heel of her shoe, and Katsuki felt almost nothing, maybe slightly uncomfortable with a tiny pinch of pity. She teared up but mumbled a sorry, to which he responded with a grunt and a ‘better not talk to me again, this is awkward’. Until the end of middle-school, no other girl built up the guts to confess to him.
UA made Katsuki feel like home. He was a cog, awfully clattering one, nonetheless a well working. When he moved into the dorms he was closer to girls than ever before, and once again it changed nothing. The blonde felt satisfied with himself, able to satisfy himself, with no need for another person turning his perfectly working plan upside down. He listened to his friends stories about kisses and, later, first times without much regret. When he gets to the top women will throw themselves to his feet, like Hawks or Endeavour. No need to stress about it, it’s not like he likes back any of the girls that lay eyes on him when he flexes and bends during workout.
This was the biggest lie Katsuki made himself believe. Time flew by and suddenly his friends were no longer making fun of each others’ stories about awkward first kisses or boob touching. They were no longer excited about relationships, they no longer made a big fuss out of every glance that lasted a second too long. It became events of the every day for them, and Katsuki felt left out.
When asked he turned a blind eye, he built a thick wall around his love life that no one was allowed to cross. Friends and family accepted the distance, deeming it yet another Katsuki thing. Given how handsome and successful he is, the man had to have a girlfriend or two, or three. They were simply kept a secret, nothing new for a pro-hero.
And so it went. Fear crept up Katsuki’s bones every time he imagined a botched relationship, an awkward one-night-stand, an adult-virgin first kiss. Girls were no longer girls, they were women, all grown up and knowing what they want. All expecting experience or mastery even from someone like him. All making him freeze, his body betraying, retreating in a defeated manner masked as brashness. ‘Dream on’ he used to say when an intern or a model from a small company approached during hero-themed parties.
Showing someone how utterly inexperienced Katsuki was, letting someone open up this new and fragile part of himself started to merge with the feeling of defeat. Quickly, the blonde decided that if anyone ever learned about his weakness, it would be the end of him. He saw, with the eye of his imagination, the headlines honking about Virgin Dynamite! Is it possible for the top handsome ranking pro-hero to be a virgin? Who stole Dynamite’s first kiss? And so on.
Out of options, Katsuki decided to let it go, unsure what to do, fed up with trying to find a solution.
That was until he found himself, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, on this painfully tiny couch, with you. There was a party, a fancy tuxedo one. There were people and drinks and perfectly glossed lips. There was music and vodka on rocks. And then suddenly there was none, only you and him, in a room forgotten by the ever-moving crowd.
Did the party end? Were there limousines lined up in front of the gold-dripping hotel, waiting patiently for their pro-heroes? Was there a villain attack and everyone went to the rescue? Was there a natural disaster happening? Where did these damn people go when Katsuki needed them? Where could he vanish when you were so close and so warm?
The blonde wanted to get up and walk away, spitting some bullshit in your face but his body froze. There it was, his secrets in danger. Despite not having much romantic experience himself, Katsuki was not stupid, he knew when lust filled his veins, he knew when someone wanted him. Right now you both felt the same way and while in fear of losing his pride, Katsuki couldn’t move away.
He couldn’t budge when you laid your palm on his thigh, he kept still as stone when you turned to face him fully, he stopped breathing when you moved close enough to let him feel your breath on his cheek. All the while he dug his fingernails into your knee.
Was it the uneven breathing that gave him away? Was it his hand that felt so lost on your skin? Or maybe it were his eyes that fought a battle between looking away and straight into your bust. The blonde wasn’t sure but when you glanced at him, with this frisky look in your eyes, he knew he was doomed. Katsuki nearly started waiting for a laugh when you tugged at his tie letting him fall over and cage you on the couch that was still painfully tiny.
“First time?” You breathed into the skin of his neck, climbing higher, pawing at his back and chest for support. Before he could answer your lips were on his in a hasteful and eager kiss. It was messy and all over your lips and cheeks and necks, all over the place. It was over in a blink of an eye.
Is this how a first kiss feels like? His friends told him stories about long, sweet and innocent pecks. This was nothing like the blackening memories at the back of his head. This felt like him, felt like his first kiss. Angry, bursting and forceful. Katsuki loved it.
“So it is.” Your voice, so close to his ear, tore him out of his head. You were still awaiting a response, one that would make him crumble, one that would destroy this perfectly unbalanced moment of lustful chaos.
Later Katsuki will wonder whether experience meant knowing what to say and do in the right moment, because you certainly knew how to do just that.
Gripping the collar of his shirt you tore the highest button, letting it fall down between your breasts for the blonde to find later. It were hands and knees everywhere for Katsuki, hotness and short breaths.
“You know what.” You asked, making him hum deeply into your skin. “If this is your first time then I cannot wait to see what you’ve got. After all an animal is the most aggressive, the most carnal when it’s starving.”
The little giggle that followed your smart remark made Katsuki grin widely. Fuck cliche stories about awkward frist times, fuck shy kissess and fuck confessions spoken with trembling lips. Katsuki will have to live with the fact that someone, that you, took away his virginity and you knew damn well about it. He will have to get over the loss of his mysteriousness (if you two are to date officially). Katsuki will gladly accept that. How could he not when once again he came out of a battle victoriously.Maybe it was his first time but it was his first time, his rules, his game and his girl.
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hardlyinteresting · 9 months ago
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Love, Guilt and Other Wounds
Aaron Hotchner x female reader
When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.
Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist
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"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 
He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 
Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 
The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 
After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 
The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 
It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 
“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 
“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 
It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.
“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 
Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 
“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 
Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 
The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 
It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 
The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 
“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 
“Please, Hotc--”. 
He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 
But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 
Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.
 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  
Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 
“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 
“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 
He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 
“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 
He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 
Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 
He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 
It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 
You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 
For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 
He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 
You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.
Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 
Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 
A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 
Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 
Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 
The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.
“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 
Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 
“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 
“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 
The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 
You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 
With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.
“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 
“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  
“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 
“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 
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annepi-blog · 2 months ago
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Save Dead Boy Detectives
Hey friends,
I’m hoping you can spare a minute to help out. Please take a second to sign the petition at the end of this post to help save Dead Boy Detectives!
Now, you might be thinking, “Why should I care? I didn’t even watch it.”
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Well, this isn't just about one show. Dead Boy Detectives is far from the first series Netflix has canceled, and we’re especially frustrated because this is part of a growing trend. LGBTQ+ inclusive series like this one are often axed after just one or two seasons, leaving fans heartbroken and hesitant to start new shows in the future. It’s become a sort of “throwaway culture” where unique, diverse stories just… disappear. And that’s honestly so disheartening for those of us who connect with these characters.
Fans are especially angry because Dead Boy Detectives is highly praised by both audiences and critics. The viewership numbers were solid and comparable to first seasons of shows like Emily in Paris or Heartstopper, which are now going into their third or fourth seasons. So it’s hard to understand why this show is being cut when it clearly resonated with people and had the potential to go the distance.
That’s why it would mean so much if you showed a little solidarity and stood against this trend with us.
And of course, it would be amazing if you gave the show a chance. Even though a second season may not happen, the storylines in season one are mostly wrapped up, so you can still enjoy the ride without feeling like you’re left hanging.
One of the best parts of Dead Boy Detectives is how diverse the cast is. For once, 3 of the 4 main characters aren’t white, and this level of representation has meant the world to many fans. There is also a high proportion of badass women in the series.
Plus, the story is packed with important themes like abuse, bullying, grief, finding and accepting yourself, and of course, the beauty of found family and friendship. Wrapped up in horror, detective stories, and genuine comedy-drama, Dead Boy Detectives strikes a balance that makes it both fun and heartfelt.
And the LGBTQIA+ representation! We've got a canonical gay Edwardian ghost, a gay human-crow familiar, a lesbian butcher, a sapphic librarian, and even a pansexual shape-shifting cat king.
So please, sign the petition, and maybe check out the show. It would mean the world to all of us in the fandom.
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captain-joongz · 8 months ago
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Space for two
Pairing: demon!Kim Taehyung x f!reader
Genre: smut, both angsty and fluffy, dark themes, positive ending, historical au (maybe like 18/early 19th century Joseon)
Summary: Trapped in a marriage arranged by our families, married to a cold, uncaring man and taking care of a farm in the middle of nowhere, I had sunken to the lowest lows. Aware of my husband's gambling habits and love for brothels that often kept him from home, I'd gotten used to the feeling of falling asleep in a cold, empty bed. But that changed one day, when an uninvited guest made himself quite at home and brought with him warm touches and scorching dreams. Gentleness coming from the one least expected may just be the push into the right direction.
Word count: 25.4k
Warnings: some dark themes, demon Taetae (he's a sweetie though), he's messing with the reader a little tho, he does have some slight yandere vibes, themes of depression and loneliness, infidelity, a shitty husband, some themes and mentions of domestic violence and verbal abuse (at one point the husband grabs her by the hair, throws stuff around the house), mentions of death and murder
NSFW warnings: slightly dubcon-ish (at first he visits her dreams), reader is inexperienced and embarrassed, slight innocence/corruption kink if you squint really hard, wet dreams, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, handjob, unprotected sex (it's joseon :// you be careful out there), some slight breeding kink, half clothed sex
A/N: super late but finally here!! i'm sorry for all the delays, but this just kept getting longer and longer and i had to juggle it between schoolwork, but i hope it is worth the wait! this is actually based on a korean folklore story of prince cheoyong, which i explain in the end notes so i don't spoil anything hehe
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I was preparing the food in silence, the only sounds in the room the clanking of my knife on the cutting board and slight bubbling in the pot over the fire. It was winter and so I kept the doors leading to the yard closed, but I still heard the thuds of my husband chopping firewood, the dull thumps of the wood hitting the ground, the swish of his axe in the air.
I was already well used to this, to the silence of this place.
It was a quiet that could only come from unhappiness and spite, the kind that made you feel lonely and desolate, knowing the only other person around rather chose to not speak than engage with you. It was what I had come to know very well in here.
I had found myself married quite abruptly. It was a little over a year ago, when a messenger from the Ryu family of the neighbouring village arrived at our door. My father accepted him, but didn’t speak of what the meeting was about, which raised some suspicions between the women of the family. I was the second child of the family and the eldest of the daughters, and way past the age when women of my standing usually married. It felt like we all knew what it would come to.
My unmarried status was a bit of a controversial story around these parts.
I wouldn’t call our family exactly disgraced, but we weren’t at the full glory the Kangs used to stand at, back in the days of my great great great great-grandfather, who built the family into a considerable fortune, but whose grandson to the family’s great embarrassment failed the gwageo examinations several times and couldn’t secure an official position. The family had tried to bribe their way into the office, but the local official came from a family that had been feuding with ours for a few generations, over something that was no doubt petty and no longer relevant. He basked in the desperation of our family and wished for nothing more than to see them crash and burn, thus if we couldn’t secure a position through the examinations, he wouldn’t allow any bribery in order to destroy our clan.
The embarrassment continued as neither his son, nor his grandson were able to pass the qwageo and our family was stripped of our title. We had been living on the rapidly thinning fortune, trying to keep some sort of decorum, but feeling the full force of shame the other inhabitants from our area showed towards us. To them, we were pathetic. Just some thirty years ago we were strolling through these streets as if we owned them and now, disgraced and quickly running out of options, here we were – on the same level as them.
My father was able to break the family curse by starting a successful shop with trinkets, toys and other useful little devices, which allowed us to stay afloat money-wise, but cast us further into shame, considering our family had once been part of the yangban class and thus weren’t supposed to work. Even if disgraced, rules applied to us, and we were a great embarrassment to those who we used to call friends and allies.
The curse was further broken when father in his quite advanced age managed to pass the gwageo and got a spot in local office. He pushed my younger brothers into studies, as his pride never took this situation lightly. He was brought up to be an aristocrat, but here he was, working his days away like a commoner. In the end, his obsession was fruitful when two of my three brothers also passed their examinations and entered into civil duty, one striving for the office and one for the military service. The middle son, who struggled with his studies, was put in charge of the shop where he excelled.
As such, we were suddenly catapulted back into our previous standing, after several generations of disgrace, after struggling financially and fighting for survival every month, we were back to walking the streets with our chins held high, wrapped from head to toe in silk.
And that’s where the controversy about my marriage started.
As most young people, I had been promised and engaged to a young boy from a different neighbouring village. Due to the fact that we lost our title, I couldn’t strive for marriage withing the yangban class – after all, social standing was inherited after the mother, so I couldn’t be more than a concubine since I would curse my child with low social status. But that would be a hit to my father’s pride. Therefore he rather engaged me to a son of a lower middle class trader. To them, I was someone of a better status as they had never received a title, and my family would expand their funds.
But then several things happened all almost at once.
We regained our status, thus our marriage in my father’s eyes was no longer appropriate, even though finding someone from the yangban who would want me to marry their son would be nigh impossible. He demanded the breaking of the engagement, which was something the society looked down upon, especially since he had sealed the deal years ago. The two families started feuding, the trader now even more eager to secure me for them, and my father with his regained confidence insisting upon marriage to someone “of our class”. And during this time, the boy fell ill and promptly died.
Since we were engaged, I now was to be considered his widow even though we hadn’t had our wedding, but my father insisted that the engagement was broken off and I had no such obligation. The trader of course claimed the complete opposite and demanded we go through with everything as was arranged. The people in the area, even if they followed the drama between the two families closely and listened to gossip religiously, they themselves couldn’t tell who was telling the truth. Our engagement had been in place for years, but it was also widely known that my father has changed his mind and demanded for the wedding to be off.
In the eyes of some I was free to marry, but some viewed me as a young widow, a ghost bride, and thus I couldn’t find another husband unless I wanted to bring huge shame on the family and reap cosmic consequences. But most simply disliked my father for his underhanded tactics and newfound arrogance.
But this situation had made the question of my marriage impossible to solve. It was already unlikely that a match of my father’s expectations would be willing to take me as a first wife and honour me as such, since the yangbans looked down on us heavily, and now I had become tarnished goods in the eyes of potential suitors. My family still tried desperately to pawn me off to someone, but we had turned into a huge joke between the families in the area and I was doomed. Some even started to view me as a cursed woman, touched by black magic, that would bring death to any man who would want to marry me, and that was a final nail in the coffin of my marriage.
But my father wouldn’t give up so easily. He still had something that many desired enough to risk a curse on their family – money and power.
Thus, when the messenger had come and father refused to divulge any information about the nature of the meeting, the wives and daughters that had amassed in our house over the years all whispered about a potential engagement. I thought it was possible, but it was probably for one of my younger sisters. I was wrong.
The Ryu family used to be a powerful local aristocracy, but over the last few generations they had fallen considerably. Their disgrace wasn’t as openly talked about as ours, even though they were the centre of some mean-spirited jokes, however they had one powerful advantage. They didn’t lose their title, just most of their money. While their children still could live their lives telling everyone they were yangbans, they didn’t have the money to uphold the lifestyle. Only one of their sons had an office and it wasn’t enough to keep the whole extended family afloat. There were rumours of gambling, addiction and unwise spending, which were the most probable factors in their fall.
They knew no one self-respecting would marry their children, who were all pushed into working for their livelihood, and they couldn’t marry under their standing lest the children lose their status. That’s when they came up with the bright idea to get into talks with our family.
My father didn’t waste any time. For him, this was perfect – the right class, family with still some respect left intact, he had enough money, so he didn’t mind striking a business deal with the mostly impoverished family and I was used to working, as I had also grown up before our rise. It was just the perfect deal.
From the moment I had first heard about it, it was barely two months before I found myself fully engaged and a week away from a wedding to a man I’d never met before. He was the second son; he had a house on the foot of the mountain a little further away from the town that was the heart of this area. It would take some travelling, but still remained close enough to keep close ties.
Our wedding ceremony was brief and awkward, a lot of stilted conversation and pretend joy, while my mother and sisters all gathered around me in silent support. I saw their sad and worried eyes, the graveness of their usually more cheerful voices, the barely masked sympathy they looked at me with when I interacted with my stone-faced husband. Marriage was something I had since long made peace with, after all it is what every woman has to face at some point in her life, so I had just squeezed their hands and smiled at them gently, whispered words of assurance and prepared myself for the long journey to my new home.
I had soon found out he was a cold quiet man, rough and unhappy. Most of the time he wouldn’t address me with much more than grumbling complaints, cross when I tried to speak to him, when I asked him questions or requested something to be bought, turning away from me and rather spending time tending to his house and to his animals.
I was suddenly confined to a few rooms within an unwelcoming dark house, knitting or sewing or cooking, trying to lose myself in the mindless tasks of caring for a man and a household instead of dwelling on the growing despair in the pit of my stomach. Since then the situation between us has considerably worsened, but I found that the angrier he grew with me, the less he wanted to see me and the more he avoided me, which had begun to bring me relief. I was lonely and I did feel abandoned, but it was better than surviving in the same room as him.
I had gotten used to the air of gloom hanging over this dwelling.
My hand reached over for another carrot and found none, and I startled myself out of reminiscing. The vegetables were cut and the stew was boiling vigorously, so I busied myself with finishing. The sounds of chopping wood have ceased and I could no longer hear any traces of my husband’s presence.
Curious, I opened the door and peeked outside. The bitter coldness of the air immediately bit into my face and I shuddered, my body shocked by the sudden freezing temperatures when it was so warm from the kitchen fire. Looking over the yard, I didn’t see the hulking form of the man I’d come to live with, but I did see his fresh footprints in the snow leading towards the pig sty. Satisfied I walked back in and closed the door again. Rubbing my hands on my arms and cheeks I hurried back to the pot to warm up.
Soon the sun would go down and night would fall, so he was tending to the pigs for the last time tonight, making sure they had everything, which gave me a little more time to finish up dinner.
Some maybe half hour later the door finally opened roughly and he made his way in wordlessly. There were wet footprints on the floor left behind and a puddle was slowly gathering as melted snow dripped from his coat. I bit my tongue and said nothing, just pulled out the table and started setting it for dinner.
No words were traded and yet the atmosphere chilled considerably, the mood dropping low along with the sun on the horizon. We sat down, we ate in silence. Once he was done, he again got up, put a fresh coat on and was out of the door before I could even wish him a good night.
I used to ask where he was going, but there was no longer any need for that. He spent his evenings and nights in the same place every day, it was a habit that must have started a little before our betrothal. He had found himself some new friends from the town, friends that very happily spent most of their time playing cards, smoking opium, drinking and crawling from brothel to brothel.
Around the time of our wedding, he only joined them a few nights of the week and usually came back in the middle of the night. Back then I saw it as a problem and oftentimes tried to dissuade him from throwing away money this way. His family lost all they had because their young lord lived this exact lifestyle, it was foolish for him to fall down the same trap, but it was a frequent cause of arguments between us and the more I pushed for him to not go out and spend so much money, the more he wanted to. Gradually he went more often, came back later, until I had started waking up to an untouched, unslept in bed.
But I do have to admit that nowadays I saw it more as a relief that he never spent his nights home, even if that meant our already hard-to-come-by money was being thrown out the window like it was nothing. I’d come to prefer spending time alone.
I cleaned up after dinner and started preparing myself for bed. The ritual of changing clothes, brushing out my hair and smoothing out the bedding on the mats was helping me calm down every evening, but tonight I couldn’t find rest for some reason. While I sat on the floor and carefully brushed my hair, the house felt chillier than usual and I kept hearing soft creaks from the outside as if someone was walking around on the porch. It’s just the wind and the frost, it must be.
Unsettled I lost the battle with myself and went to look out into the yard. The moment I got near the door, suddenly a gust of chilling wind bust the door open and I screamed with shock, covering my naked arms to shield them from the frost. Immediately I jumped towards the door to close it back up, not before looking out into the yard and the forest beyond the walls of our house. There was a full moon hanging over us in the night sky and its light allowed me to see everything with startling ease, casting an eerie silver glow over the murmuring trees. I quickly shut the door and sat back down to help my heart calm down, as it was beating so hard I feared it might tear right out of my ribcage.
After I laid down, it took me a long moment to settle down enough for sleep to start licking at my consciousness. I kept startling myself with every crack and every hum of the wind outside and the fright from before still coursed through my veins, making me shiver and trying to persuade me there was something wicked hiding behind the darkness, lurking in every corner and waiting for an unguarded moment.
But somewhere along the way I did nod off and when I woke up in the morning, I was certain the strong arms that at some point found their way around my waist and pulled me into a warm wide chest were nothing more than a dream. An embarrassing dream that just spoke of my sombre solitude.
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In the first months of our marriage, much to my chagrin, Minhwan practiced his marital rights almost nightly. Some nights he would return late from his outings with friends and immediately roll over on me and demand I submit. I did of course, it was expected of me and I was well aware of that. I had been taught that.
But over the course of several months, the frequency of such encounters lessened as I wasn’t getting pregnant, until we no longer even spoke to each other and his side of the bed became permanently unoccupied.
Of course, there was a simple, and really the only, reason for my introduction into this family – a child. A son. That was the end-goal of this union and the purpose for my existence in their eyes. After I had failed to fall pregnant despite months of effort, the man I married who already wasn’t very kind to me slowly turned into someone crueller, angrier. I could see the frustration taking over him until he completely lost himself in the rage at my uselessness.
He couldn’t divorce me, even though my inability to bear him an heir would be a legitimate reason. His family was already teetering on the edge of respectability, and this would make them the laughing stock of the town, since they definitely wouldn’t be able to find him another bride. That was because of the other issue. Money. They bought me with what last they had left and if divorced they would not only lose my father’s protection and financial help, but also wouldn’t be able to scrounge up enough money to buy another woman, if they even found one that was willing.
Minhwan knew that, knew that he couldn’t get rid of me, and even though his status would allow him to take a second wife or even a concubine, he couldn’t afford them. What little he had he gambled away and spent on girls in the red district; and not much was left for actually running the household and keeping us alive. No self-respecting family would let their daughter enter a family like that and women who were after money and status wouldn’t find anything here. And if he had an illegitimate son from a kisaeng, he could hardly bring it here and claim him as an heir, his father would never let him disgrace the bloodline like that.
Thus in his eyes I was worse than useless. I was his doom, a wasted effort that only pushed him further down and he no doubt felt that the best thing I could do for him was to die, so he could remarry. That’s why I preferred when he didn’t return home for the nights. Living alongside such pure hatred was draining.
When I was sitting by the mirror in the morning, I had just heard him return home. I opened the door a crack and peeked outside, just catching his eye as he was changing into fresher clothes. He held the contact for a few beats of my wild heart and then looked away.
“Breakfast?” he asked gruffly, not even forming a full sentence, while still looking away from me. I followed his gaze and found it stuck to the door leading into kitchen. I sighed quietly, making sure he couldn’t hear me lest he gets angry with my insolence.
“I will prepare it in a second,” was my short answer. He wasn’t interested in hearing anything more, the less I said the better. Thus my morning routine had to be cut short. Walking past him, I was suddenly bombarded with the smell of smoke, stale alcohol and cheap perfume and powder. The stench was a bit too strong for my queasy morning stomach and I felt it roll a few times, threatening to spill even though it was empty. I subtly covered my nose and busied myself into the kitchen smelling pleasantly of food and spices. This room has become my refuge. I knew he wouldn’t overstep here, this was my domain and I felt at least a semblance of power in here.
As distracted as I was, I kept finding my tools in places where I didn’t leave them in. I would turn around and suddenly my spoon would be laying two paces further into the room then I remembered leaving it. I told myself I was just tired, I was feeling unnerved by my husband’s hulking presence on the doorstep of the room, watching me prepare porridge as if fearing I’d poison him if he’d look away for a moment, I was still flustered by my dreams and nervous from the scare the night before. Surely it was that.
That day I spent mostly inside, sitting by a dying fire trying to mend broken and torn clothes, worn thin by hard labour and years of wear, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unsettlement that has been plaguing me since yesterday’s evening.
By the time the night fell and Minhwan left again, I found myself quite anxious to be left alone in the cold house, still feeling like a presence was glued to my side, invisible and watching me, but every time I would look over my shoulder, I’d find an empty room. Before settling down to sleep, I walked out and checked the courtyard again, and just like the previous evening, it was illuminated by a silver light so brightly it was almost shocking.
I looked to the sky and was stunned by the giant full moon hanging over my head. The night was calm, much calmer then yesterday, no wind shaking the trees and the only sound was the distant cawing of a bird. The white snow reflected the night sky and blinded me, but not enough to not notice the stark contrast of pitch black footsteps disrupting the otherwise clean coat over the ground. I could see their path clearly, leaving the house and disappearing behind the gate, and they filled me with gentle sadness. With my mind off of the ghost of a feeling that’s been following me the whole day, I made my way back inside to sleep. But I wasn’t prepared for what the night had prepared for me.
As soon as I closed my eyes and started drifting off, I felt the mat and bedding shifting as another body laid down next to me. I had fully accepted it, not questioning the arms making their way around my waist and pulling me into a warm hug. It felt as a very clear dream, and I found myself fighting to open my eyes to see, but instead chose to sink into the comfortable atmosphere. There was a hum behind me, but the voice was so deep and pressed so close to me it almost felt like a purr. Non-consciously I answered with my own, drifting with the current. I fooled myself into this, so desperately needing to feel a nice touch that I didn’t even want to think about why somewhere deep down I felt alarmed and unsettled at the situation. I buried that away and let the hands run along my sides, basked in the quiet humming somewhere right behind my ear and the warmth it filled me with.
When I woke up in the morning, it was to the sound of a door slamming open and heavy steps and sighs. I was confused for a few moments, subconsciously searching for the comfort I had felt in my sleep, only to be hit with a wave of embarrassment and mortification. I had been dreaming again, imagining inappropriately a stranger’s presence in my bed, hoping for a touch and comfort of man’s hands.
I felt the blush spill over my face just as the door to the bedroom flew open and my husband found my gaze. I saw suspicion in his eyes, most probably not used to seeing me in such a flustered state and questioning what could stand behind it. His eyes shifted subtly over the room as if looking for a hidden lover and in my mind I chuckled. He dragged me away into the woods, and living in the middle of nowhere and not allowed to leave the house without him or an attendant I couldn’t afford, how could I have possibly found a lover? No one came here and I went nowhere, the only company I knew was the animals and a warm fire, a needle and a thread and worn books, I couldn’t take the same liberties he has been taking for a better part of our marriage.
When Minhwan made sure I was completely alone, just as he left me, he looked back to me and asked for breakfast. That broke the strange silence and I was thrown right back into the routine of my normal days.
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Over the following few nights, the dream kept coming back to me, but every time the unknown man in my fantasy went a little further. More often than not I found myself waking up with a start, blushing red from head to toe at the daring hands that kept straying more and more south, embarrassed with myself but also not wanting them to stop before I had the chance to experience whatever my subconscious wanted to grant me.
At first, his hands would only lightly caress along my side, as if trying to console me and help me sleep peacefully, while he hummed along some kind of a lullaby behind me. Everything always felt pleasantly fuzzy and I’d come to think of him as my dream guardian. My days, in comparison, felt dull and sad, and I’d found some sort of peace in these dreams.
But soon, the direction started to change. The hands strayed lower onto my thighs, grabbing the flesh lightly and teasingly, or going over my stomach until they were right under where my breasts were. I could feel him pressed closer to me too, his front moulded around my back, shoulders caging me in, the sweet humming slowly turning into something more akin to satisfied purring, causing me to flush red and a rush of excitement to flow through my veins. He always laid behind me and his existence felt like half here half not, but the closer he pushed himself, the more solid his presence was, the warmer I felt in the embrace and the more flustered I woke up.
Clearly, I hadn’t been taking proper care of my body and it was screaming for some sort of attention, there was no other explanation for these embarrassing dreams. The shame I felt from such urges surfacing in this manner was overshadowed only by the pressing loneliness, and I kept telling myself that even if I am a married, proper woman, dreams are dreams, and indulging in them a little wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? So, I let myself slip into sweet sleep every night, anticipating where my mind would take me.
During the day the little slip ups would continue. I would misplace things, find them in completely different places then I’d left them before. Sometimes it felt as if I was losing my mind, that the combination of the strange dreams and my sudden scatteredness meant I was finally feeling the effects of the situation I’d find myself in. But I could swear sometimes I would catch a glimpse of shadow or hear a gust of wind that sounded suspiciously like a laugh when I couldn’t find something. It made me feel even more insane.
The moment I realised what was truly happening came a few days later. Even though I was a little unsettled, I’d grown accustomed to the dreams and I treated them as my little escape, no matter whether I should have been concerned or not. I felt comfort from them and they felt like a dirty secret of mine, something I shouldn’t have been doing but it felt so nice I couldn’t stop myself. My husband spent all his nights god knows where doing god knows what with god knows who, I could allow myself this little thing.
Usually, I would sleep through the night without a problem and in the morning I’d be woken up by Minhwan coming back home and barging into the bedroom to ask for a breakfast, but that night for some reason I was shaken out of my sleep somewhere in the dark hours of the early morning. There was some noise outside, something that sounded like a wolf howl, and it was so close I was almost afraid to check the yard in case there was a wild animal there, but I had to go see whether the rabbits and chickens we were keeping were peaceful, just to be sure.
I moved to get out of the bed, but found an arm around my waist pinning me to another body and keeping me in place. My first instinct was to panic, but quickly that was overridden by utter bottomless embarrassment. What if Minhwan has been returning home earlier than I thought and this whole time my mind only substituted some unknown man in the place of my husband as I was falling asleep? Had I been embarrassing myself in front of him the whole time, dreaming about such immoral things and imagining a stranger’s embrace? But he had never touched me like this, and even when we shared a bed at the beginning of our marriage, he never showed the habit of hugging something while sleeping. He always kept himself to his side and never touched me unless completely necessary, even during marital activities. I couldn’t imagine him slipping quietly into bed in the middle of the night and embracing me so tenderly.
Complicated emotions flooded me, not knowing what to make of this, but in a moment of weakness I fooled myself into thinking this could maybe be a beginning of a better marriage. That was shattered the moment I reached back to gently pat at his thigh to wake him up to go check on the animals. There was some shuffling, the arm tightened around my mid and suddenly I could feel him nosing at the crook of my neck, laying a single long wet kiss there. I froze and flushed, completely flustered and even more confused by the situation. Then he chuckled and ice cold flooded my veins. I felt myself freeze in place, terror keeping me so still I barely even breathed. That wasn’t my husband’s voice. It was deep and velvety, rich like the dark chocolate I’d once gotten the chance to try in the city, completely different from Minhwan’s quiet rough commands.
Fear was making it hard to think, but I knew he realised I was awake based on how stiff I’d gotten, I could hear him quietly breathing and waiting for my reaction. There was certain amusement to him, I didn’t know how I felt it, but somehow I just did, something about him gave off excited anticipation and I imagined a sly smirk stretching his lips as he laid there. Then suddenly as if everything caught up to me, I felt my body jumping into motion, tearing his arm away and flying out of the bed. I grabbed the first thing I could see, which were my shoes, and turned around to try my best in defending myself against this stranger that’s apparently been sneaking into my bed deep into the night.
But the moment my eyes fell on the bed, it was empty. No sign of anyone being there. Frightened out of my mind, I searched the room with my eyes, but it was mostly bare and there wasn’t a place that could hide a man. I knew he was bigger than me, I’d felt him behind me and I was sure he couldn’t have been hiding in the sorry state my bedroom was.
For a moment I just stood there and processed before my knees gave up on me and I slid down to the floor, shoes still tightly clutched in my hands, heart beating out of my chest. I wasn’t going insane. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. There was something not human in my bed.
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Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night sitting on the bed leaning on the wall and watching the room. My eyes frantically jumped to any movement, even the tiniest flickers of shadows would make my hands twitch, fingers tightening around my slippers, ready to jump out and fight for my life. But nothing happened. The only sounds I could hear were coming from the wind tearing into the walls of the house and messing with the trees and branches outside, and at some point the room was so still I almost felt as if I fell through the cracks into a painting and was now stuck inside.
Thus I had hours to sit there and stew in my fear and humiliation. Whatever the being was, it must have had nefarious intentions, why else would he sneak in like that and make my dreams turn to such depravity? And here I was, fooling myself into thinking it was okay to feel such cravings and giving into them, anticipating them and with bated breath hoping maybe the next night the dream lover will finally cave and touch me in a way I’d barely ever felt in my life. Instead I almost gave myself over to a demon, let him have my body and feed off of my energy, damn my soul and prove that I truly was cursed.
I also had a lot of time to think of my next steps. But what could I really do? I could never tell Minhwan and ask for his help, he’d chase me out as an impure woman. Once I’d tell him the nature of the encounters,  he’d accuse me of adultery and use it as an opportunity to get rid of me. If I was returned to my father in such a manner, death would be more welcoming than facing his rage and humiliating the family. Telling him would do more harm than good.
I could buy myself talismans and hide them around the house, but there were many, each of them used for a different ailment. I’d have to visit the village shaman and pay her to exorcise me and our home. I’d have to explain to her the troubles I’ve been having so she could paint me appropriate protective talismans. It was obvious that the being must have been a demon of lust and once I admitted that, the delicious  gossip would no doubt spread and I would be as good as dead.
No, I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening. I had to chase him out myself, no matter what it took. Come morning, I was completely exhausted but determined to deal with the situation myself.
When Minhwan barged into the house, pale in complexion and with dark bags under his eyes, I was already preparing the breakfast on the small table, looking similarly dead on my feet. The man’s eyes flitted over me, but he didn’t seem to take notice od my state and only grunted, pleased at not having to wait for food or scream for me to leave the bed.
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even notice when he left for the yard, didn’t even have time to process the usual air of coldness and disinterest he brought with him, as I was too preoccupied thinking of the unwelcome guest. The little tricks with misplacing things must have also been him. I felt rage lick at the edge of my mind, suddenly making itself known in such an intensity I surprised myself. I’d fully start to believe I was no longer capable of feeling such strong emotions, but here I was. Thinking of million ways to get back at someone who’s been making a fool of me for his own entertainment for the past weeks.
The next few days were suspiciously uneventful. No more visits, no more “dreams”, even all my tools stayed suspiciously still and didn’t suddenly appear at places they weren’t supposed to be, but I wasn’t a fool. I knew he wouldn’t give up so easily, not to mention I still couldn’t get rid of the feeling of being watched or messed with.
And slowly he had begun giving me subtle hints he was still as present as ever. The books that were put in order, the robe that was waiting for me on by the partition one evening, water refilled in a cup I knew I’d finished. He suddenly switched to being helpful instead of messing with me, but I knew it was all just entertainment to him.
One of the bigger ones was some days later in the evening. I’d taken to walking around the veranda checking on the yard and the forest outside of the yard walls. As usual, there were footsteps in the snow, my husband left them there every night when he left, but that evening there was something different about them. I frowned, trying to discern what about them caught my attention. I leaned over the railing to inspect them closer with a sense of foreboding looming over my head like a silent monument. The moment I realised what it was I gasped and dread and anticipation filled me. The footsteps, they didn’t lead from the house. They led towards the main entrance.
This must be it, I thought to myself. This must be the night.
When I walked back inside, I lingered around each room a little, watching the surroundings like a hawk and expecting him to jump out at me from every corner and every shadow. But the house was still and silent, not even any sounds from outside creeping in. I slowly walked towards the bedroom and found it empty and in the same state as I’d left it. I made it through my little nightly ritual without a hitch, but anxious and expecting something to happen any moment. It didn’t. Lying down in bed, I continued sharply watching the room, but to no avail. Even though I could basically taste the anticipation in the still air of the room, and knew the demon was most definitely watching me back, he didn’t make any move. I fell asleep suddenly, without realising I was even teetering on the edge and when I woke up, I wasn’t sure whether the fingers I felt gently carding through my hair just as I succumbed to sleep were my imagination or not.
He didn’t return abruptly, instead he slowly built it up, as if testing how far I’d let this go. Sometimes he would hand me things when cooking or I would be looking for something only to find it gingerly sitting on the table a few hours later, as if suddenly becoming helpful would make me more accepting of whatever his end goal was and I would let him return like nothing happened.
The problem began when he started leaving flowers for me. The gentle quivering of my heart when I saw a beautiful little flower in bloom laying by my bedside was alarming to me, and I didn’t want such a confusing feeling to enter my life. But I couldn’t help myself.
Without thinking I picked it up and brought it to my nose. It smelled sweetly, almost too ripe, the scent permeating the air and everything around it, making me slightly dizzy. I couldn’t remember when was the last time I received a flower like this, maybe when my little brother was still a child and brought it for me from playing in the fields. Our father scolded him then, for running around with other boys instead of studying, but after that whenever either of us saw the little white blossom, we would giggle at each other, sharing smiles like tiny secrets.
I was startled by a tear sliding down my cheek at the memory, the sudden reminiscing of my family, of the one person I was truly close to before he joined the military and went to Hanyang. He was to be married soon too, already at that age when the promises turn to actions and I couldn’t wait for the spring to come so I could travel for his wedding. I’d met the girl before, she was a shy quiet daughter of a smaller aristocratic family who just recently got their title for their merits. I quite liked her, even if I didn’t get much time with her before leaving.
He was the one person in our family who had a chance of a happy marriage, I hoped he would. No matter what our father tried to create out of him, he was a sensitive boy, full of mischief and laughs. I so desperately wanted his life to turn out better than mine did. Or that his marriage wouldn’t end up like our eldest brother’s did. He had married first, when we still scrounged for money, I remembered going to his wedding as a young maiden and being swept away in the celebrations, wishing for my own wedding with red blushing cheeks as young girls did. His wife was a practical woman, strong and resolute, but kind. They never had much affections between them, but they had an understanding and their marriage functioned well. I believed my brother respected her as a husband should his wife, but I was wrong.
After our title was restored, our father started pushing my brother to divorce her so he could marry a lady from an aristocratic family, but he couldn’t do that. She had given him children and wasn’t causing him any troubles, so a divorce wouldn’t be allowed. So my brother did the next best thing. He married a woman of a high standing and made her his main wife, pushing the first wife into a secondary position in the family and robbing her children of their inheritance of the title. Since then she became quiet and withdrawn, no longer she was allowed to make any decisions and lived only to serve a man that didn’t even look her way anymore, couldn’t even explain to his firstborn son that he no longer would inherit his estate and left her to pick up the ashes and survive such disgrace.
It was terrifying when it happened. While she never showed much gentleness, she always smiled at the children and sometimes would sneak me sweets like I was one of her own, even when I was the second oldest child of the family. My heart bled for her, and I started to fear my own marriage, knowing I would never get any aristocrat’s respect due to our family history. At that time, I had no idea that what would happen to me would be even worse.
I was startled by a sudden touch on my cheek, a finger wiping away the few stray tears falling down while I sat on the ground and stared at the pretty flower. I gasped and tried to flinch away, but another arm snaked around my waist and I could feel his head leaning on my shoulder. He sat behind me once again, like always, holding me as if he didn’t want me to see him.
“Shhhhhh…,” came his deep honeyed voice, whispering in such a gentle way that I could feel a wave of goosebumps hitting me, “I didn’t know it would make you cry.” Against my better judgment, I could feel my body relaxing into his embrace and a few more tears slipping out. He rocked us from side to side, trying to console me, but it was like my dams broke and soon I was sobbing in his arms, pushing my face into his shoulder and clutching the single blossom in my shaky hands.
I couldn’t say when the last time I was held so tenderly by someone was, but it must have been when I was a child still, begging for my mother’s touch any time something happened. I was warm, wrapped into him, and soft. There was a hand in my hair, carding through the locks and caressing me like a lover would. I couldn’t stop the stream of tears and emotions and I felt ashamed and scared. I couldn’t trust him, and it hurt because no one’s ever treated me so softly, but I knew. Knew it might be just a way to get closer to me. So I decided to allow myself this just for a moment.
I let him hold me, listened to him hum some kind of a song I didn’t recognise, let him lull me into a half-asleep state until I was draped over him, boneless and numb. His hands never strayed like before and he seemed to be genuinely trying to console me. In my mind I scolded myself, believed myself pathetic for falling for such tricks and for being so desperate I would let a demon embrace me just to feel some warmth, but outwardly I didn’t let anything show. I was too drained for that.
When I quieted down and just limply hung off of his frame, he must have decided it was time to sleep. He grabbed me and carried me onto the bedding, making sure my head was pushed into his shoulder so I couldn’t look at his face. I found it strange, but had no energy to ask him anything, just letting him manoeuvre us around until we were lying just like we used to before I caught him, on our side with him behind me. Sleep came and claimed me suddenly and out of nowhere, but I found myself strangely comfortable.
When I awoke in the morning, the house was silent and the bed was empty, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Would I have confronted him and demanded answers? Or did I allow myself to be vulnerable around someone that wished for my downfall and now I found myself inappropriately attached? One thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t like thinking about it, and so I got up and went about my day as if nothing had happened. I did find myself wondering what happened to the flower, as it was nowhere to be found, wondering whether it even was real or if I hallucinated it. But after that night, a fresh blossom was waiting by my bedside every evening, leaving me full of complicated confusing emotions. No sight of my demon, though.
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“Do you want that?” a gruff voice by my shoulder growled and I barely stopped myself from scowling. The hairpin I had been staring at was suddenly plucked from the table by the eager merchant who understood that question as my husband’s intention to buy it for me. The older man pushed it towards me and started reciting all the reasons why such a lady like me absolutely had to have such a decoration, hoping to pitch it to a loving husband doting on his wife. Unfortunately, his guess was completely wrong.
“How much is it?” I asked towards the merchant, who seemed confused by me talking to him while Minhwan stared daggers into my back. His eyes flitted between us, awkward silence taking over for a few seconds before he stuttered out the price, looking at no one in particular. I went to fish out the amount from my purse, but my hand was stopped by another much bigger and rougher one.
“You don’t need it,” Minhwan said resolutely, voice leaving no space for discussion, “Don’t waste money on useless things.” I gritted my teeth, minutely losing control of my expression as rage swept through me at his statement, but as soon as I saw my husband’s eyes narrow in warning, I schooled myself and pulled from the stall.
“Of course,” I answered with false demureness, shooting the merchant an apologetic smile before ducking my head down and following after Minhwan through the market like the picture of the perfect wife. We walked around for some time, from stall to stall, haggling for vegetables and tools, whatever was needed around the house. Minhwan didn’t like it when I spoke to the vendors, he had me trailing behind him with a veil on or my head demurely ducked down like an obedient wife, and I was to speak only when he asked me something. Thus I spent most of the time in the market saying only “yes, we need it” or “no, I think we still have enough”. I hated it, but there was nothing that could be done.
The ride back to the house was also incredibly tense. I could still feel my husband’s rage at my earlier behaviour and knew that the moment we walk back through the gates of our farm, he’ll have some things to say. So I sighed and waited for the endless journey to finally reach its final destination.
To my shock and unease, nothing came when we walked back into the house, supplies in hands and struggling to pull the baskets through the door. Silence was all that greeted me. Minhwan helped me pull things into the kitchen and then with one last burning hateful stare he walked across the house. I watched him rummage through a chest, pulling out his only other jungchimak he usually wore when outing with his friends. It was the better one, in deep indigo colour, that made him look like a young affluent yangban. I snickered behind my hand and pretended to sort through the different bags and baskets we brought back.
When Minhwan was done changing, he charged out of the door without even a second glance. I looked out of the kitchen door facing into the yard and watched him until the gate slammed shut behind him, then I returned to the task at hand with a sigh. He didn’t do this often, but sometimes when I would make him angry, he just left. Without a word. He likely wouldn’t return until late noon tomorrow morning.
I’d long since given up on trying to stop him when the sun was still high up in the sky, he would still leave, just significantly angrier, which would result in him throwing out more money, so it was better to not get in his way when he wanted to drink, smoke and fuck his frustration away god knows where with the other young men.
I busied myself cleaning around the house and caring for the animals, finishing the work he had left. I found myself gritting my teeth in anger and annoyance as I chopped the firewood, wildly swinging the axe around and taking it out on the logs. When the time to go to sleep came, I was drained, both emotionally and physically, too strung out and tensed to even enjoy my nighttime routine like I usually did.
When I turned to the bed, a single hairpin was lying on the bedding. A beautiful, red, lacquered hairpin with a carving of a flower and a single red gem in the centre. The one I’d been looking at while we were in the town and almost bought to spite Minhwan. A mix of emotions overtook me, the most prominent one being sudden anger. My heart stuttered under the weight of it, the frustration of the day and the past weeks bursting through me in one big eruption.
Our uninvited guest was keeping himself surprisingly scarce after that night I had cried, but kept bringing me flowers. I accepted them with complicated feelings, but I had convinced myself into believing that since they’re already here, since they already have been plucked, it would be cruel of me to not accept them. So, night after night I tucked them away so Minhwan could never find them. I didn’t even know where the demon was getting them, since we were in the middle of a tough winter, but after all, I should care for them all the more, right?
But the hairpin was a step too far. I did not need to be reminded of my shameful behaviour and of the fact that my husband felt it appropriate to blow all his money away but couldn’t spare a single silver to let me buy a hairpin, and definitely not in such a way.
“Okay, come out,” I spoke loudly into the empty room, “We need to talk. This can’t keep happening.” I looked around, but everything stayed silent and still. Then, a soft voice rang out.
“Close your eyes.”
I stood up and crossed my arms defensively, spinning around to try and catch a glimpse of the being.
“Why?” I asked gruffly, speaking to an empty bedroom like a lunatic, “Why do you not want me to see you?”
“I can’t let you see me until you truly want to,” the answer came, the voice just as melodic and soft as it was before, as it was always, and I involuntarily shuddered.
“I do want to see you, right now,” I replied, ticked off. He just wanted to have the upper hand and not face me head on, I was sure of that. There was silence again, seemingly even the wind outside the door quieting down to listen to us, the room unnaturally still.
“You want to scold me,” he answered petulantly after a moment, sounding more like a child. I could hear the pout on his lips, the childlike upset of doing something wrong and not understanding why. My resolve softened a little, but I pulled myself together, determined not to let the demon play me like that. I couldn’t keep letting him get away with everything.
“So you know,” I stated, the anger seeping back into my voice, “You cannot keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” I could hear genuine curiosity in his question, one that filled me with exasperation.
I gestured to the hairpin wildly. “This!” I exclaimed loudly, “The leaving of gifts, the creeping around, nothing of it. Leave while I’m still asking nicely.” Even as the words left my mouth, they felt like an empty threat. What could I possibly do against him? I’d let him go this far, what could I do to stop him now? But he completely ignored the second part and focused solely on the gifts.
“Do you not like them?” there was slight dejection present in his voice, like he didn’t understand why it was such a problem, “I thought you did. You never threw them out.” I cursed my soft heart. I should have never let him get away with bringing me flowers, I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. I should have been resolute and told him to leave right then, not let him coddle me and embrace me when I felt sad.
I hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to answer. I found myself not wanting to upset him by saying no, falling victim to his sweet demeanour. Again. I groaned with frustration and hit my forehead with my palm.
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” I started a little softer than before, “It’s just embarrassing.”
“Why?” I groaned again. Good lord, this was going to take a while.
“Because…” I stuttered for a moment, the vulnerability of words on my tongue shocking me, “It feels humiliating. My own husband wouldn’t buy it for me and it feels like an insult for a demon to do that.” There was a beat of silence, in which I almost managed to persuade myself that there was never anyone there and I had been talking to myself the whole time, but then he spoke again.
“I didn’t mean to humiliate you,” his voice was quiet, contemplative, “I wanted to make you happy.” That shocked me enough to have me stutter over a few breaths, wildly looking around the room with wide eyes. “W-why?” I managed to squeak out, flabbergasted at such admission.
“It felt like you needed it,” came his simple reply, as if talking about the weather. That statement drained the whole fight out of me, leaving me standing there unsure and confused, filled with shame and wonder at the simplicity of it all.
“What?” I whispered, not really looking for an answer, just voicing out my inner turmoil.
“It felt like you needed it,” he replied a little louder, “You were always so sad. I didn’t like it. You shouldn’t be so sad.” It was such a simple statement and yet it pulled down the walls of my heart and made it flutter. I chided myself for being so easy to fool with a few sweet words, but I couldn’t stop the lightness taking over my heart, the relief bleeding into my every pore.
Someone saw my suffering, I thought to myself. Someone noticed my pain.
“What are you?” I whispered the question into the empty house, but no man stepped out into the light, no shadow moved. He was silent for a moment and then said: “Close your eyes.” And this time I did.
The moment my lids fluttered closed, I could hear slight shuffling of clothing behind me and light footsteps. On instinct I went to turn around, but a hand suddenly tightly covered my eyes, startling me slightly. I jumped a little, pushing myself back straight into his chest, which embarrassingly enough was a position I’d gotten used to over the past weeks. Then a silken ribbon touched my cheek and the hand moved quickly to tie it over my eyes.
“So you don’t try to cut this meeting short,” he explained lightly, voice full of amusement.
“But I do want to see you, is it not enough that I no longer wish to scold you?” I asked, confused by the strange rules.
“You need to desire to see me, truly, with your soul,” he said lowly, voice deepening into the honeyed register I was used to hearing from him and I shuddered lightly, feeling the words trickle down my skin and bite into my very being.
“S-so I can only see you when I want t-to-“ I couldn’t bring myself to finish that thought, the sinful image burning into my brain making me stutter and blush so fiercely I felt as if I burst into flames. I ducked my head, but his chuckle followed me, melting over me. There was no longer any amusement in his voice, now there was something darker and heavier, threatening to consume me from the inside out.
“Smart girl,” he whispered and I couldn’t help the wave of goosebumps that hit my skin when I felt his breath on my ear and neck. The sudden turn from his earlier more innocent voice and words left me confused and flabbergasted, blushing at his newfound confidence. I felt him lean closer into me, nose almost touching the crook of my neck, only to whisper: “Time to sleep.”
Before I could react, he swooped me into his arms and I yelped in surprise, before hiding my face in my hands in embarrassment. He carried me to the bed and very gently laid me there, his hands smoothing down my nightgown and pulling the blanket over us. My face burned, but I stayed silent and let him happily chirp behind me as he pulled me closer to his chest and made himself comfortable.
It felt like years before I fell asleep. I just laid there, feeling his chest move and his breathing deepen until I was sure he was sleeping, but even then I didn’t reach back to untie the ribbon. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust his words. That’s how I finally got pulled under, with my heart trembling with careful hope.
Come morning, something new happened. When I woke up, his strong arms were still wrapped around me and as soon as I started wiggling in his grip, he woke up with a content groan and a big stretch, like a cat. I blushed again, which seemed to become more of a permanent thing in his presence. I went to call out to him to scold him, when I realised something. I didn’t know his name. I haven’t asked him for his name all this time.
“Good morning,” came his morning raspy voice, then he burrowed his face somewhere deeper into the bedding and my hair. The ribbon slipped during the night and with my movement it unravelled onto the pillow, making me freeze slightly. I reached for it, playing with it between my fingers a little, before I spoke to him too.
Good morning...” I trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to ask him his name, “d-demon?” I flushed in embarrassment. Truly perfect, why not just call him a pervert if I was going to be like that? Behind me, the man chuckled and wriggled a little, presumably to make himself more comfortable. I couldn’t believe I let myself lie with a man like that, but it was better to just not think about it.
“Taehyung would be a bit better, but I’ll take it,” he replied nonchalantly, but then suddenly stiffened. Before I could truly register his alarm, the entrance door slammed open and heavy footsteps made their way into the house. I panicked and flew out of the bed, but when I turned to warn Taehyung, I was met with an empty bed. The other half was even made as if nobody slept there.
Seconds later, the doors to the bedroom slid open and my disgruntled husband peeked in. His hair was a mess, his face taunt and white, bloodshot eyes adorned with dark circles underneath. He looked like death itself, the exhaustion seeping out of him in waves, but he still managed to scowl when he laid eyes on me still in my nightgown. I wondered what time it was, but concentrated on schooling my expression and not showing my flustered state, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. He regarded me with slight suspicion in his eyes, but ultimately decided not to comment on it.
“Make me a breakfast,” was all he said and then he disappeared into the house. I glanced at my little vanity sitting in a corner of the room and noticed the hairpin sitting gingerly right in the middle of it. I swiped it away quickly putting it with the flowers, and started getting ready for the day. But the thoughts of Taehyung and his words and behaviour wouldn’t leave me for the rest of the day, plaguing me when I was making breakfast, when I was cleaning up the melted snow Minhwan carried into the house on his shoes and clothes, and embarrassingly enough even when I went to wash up that evening, wondering whether he could see me now too.
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The peak of the winter came and went, but the layer of snow stayed thick, blanketed over the world and painting it pure white. I had found myself much fonder of the quietness it brought, how it swallowed all sounds and created a bubble of calm over everything, especially when my husband was gone from the house, which has become more and more frequent. Lately he left earlier and came back later, turning more and more pale with every morning. He didn’t speak to me about what he did, he barely ever spoke at all, but the tension in his shoulders and the troubled angry expression that has made itself home on his face told me that he must have gotten himself into some big trouble. I found myself just as anxious, waiting for him to tell me we would be losing it all because he made a bet or let himself be swindled.
Taehyung, during that time, worked hard on trying to distract me, bringing me little gifts and messing about the house trying to help me. Anytime I would come across clothes that have been rearranged or things that have been cleaned up, but put into the wrong places, I would sigh and jokingly glare around the room, but I couldn’t stop the fluttering of my heart and the fondness that spread through me at hearing his disembodied giggles.
During these evenings he took to covering my mirror, sitting behind me and brushing my hair for me. We would spend this time in comfortable silence, resting against each other and enjoying the simple companionship. It was such an intimate act, like we were lovers taking care of each other, like husband and wife who love each other, I would find myself flustered and blushing, feeling like it was my wedding night all over again. It was such a strong contrast to how tensed and hostile the silence was when my husband was around, that I often shamefully dreamed and pretended that Taehyung was my spouse, that this was a part of our life and our routine. He would caress my hair, my sides, press soft kisses to my shoulders, play with my hands and my fingers, and when we retired for the night, he hugged me tightly, pressing himself into me and making me feel safe and secure.
The longer this went on, the more torn with fervent longing I was, wishing this was my life and not just pity that a passing demon took on me. I was choked up with emotions, the words “stay”, “show yourself to me”, “love me” always on the tip of my tongue, fighting to spill, chest heavy and full like I was about to burst. It hurt. I hurt. I wanted a life I couldn’t have; I wanted a man that would take my soul and leave once he’d gotten what he came for, and I hated myself for it and I hated my life.
Taehyung felt this in me, felt this shift from happiness back into tortured silence, I could feel it in his touch, in how gently his hands and fingers regarded me, how reverent his lips were on the skin of my shoulders and neck, I felt it in his voice whispering praise to me. The desperation to make it all better, the frantic beating of his heart against my back because he feared he did something to upset me. No matter how much I wanted to ease him, the words would just not leave my mouth.
And my body, it betrayed me. It lit up with every touch, heat pumping through my veins with every brush of his lips, I could feel it swirling in my lower belly and oftentimes found myself hoping for his daring hands to explore as they had been doing back then before I caught him. But Taehyung stubbornly never strayed from the safe spots, never returned to his previous antics.
One night when he didn’t show up, I had a lot of time to think about where this was going and how I was dangerously teetering on the edge of improperness. When I sat alone by the bed and worried for him, called out to him and then promptly spiralled into believing he had grown tired of me, the feelings of pain and despair it filled me with shocked me. I missed him. I missed his touch, his presence, his voice. I didn’t want him to leave me. I’d grown attached to him, to a shadow that spoke to me and treated me with gentleness and kindness.
I wanted to see him. I looked at the ribbon lying on my vanity, the one he used every night to cover my eyes so I couldn’t swindle him and peek when he wasn’t paying attention. I wanted it gone.
I wanted. I longed. I needed.
Falling asleep that night was a challenge, I couldn’t find a comfortable position when I suddenly laid alone once again, too used to a warm comforting body behind me. And when tiredness finally overcame me, he visited me in my dreams, his bold hands exploring places that haven’t been tenderly touched before; drawing out sighs out of me, body trembling with unknown pleasure as his fingers dipped between my legs and leisurely moved in little circles over the bundle of nerves. My dream self was moaning and writhing in his arms, begging for him to never stop as the pleasure mounted until it burst out in a bolt of pure ecstasy. I jolted awake, breathing heavily and still shaking from the intense sensations. Startled I realised there was wetness coating my intimate parts and the top of my thighs, the sticky feeling making me blush in embarrassment. My whole body seemed to be tingling from this experience and I couldn’t calm myself down.
“Taehyung?” I called out carefully, checking that he wasn’t around to witness this. When no answer came and the man himself didn’t come out and shown himself, I quickly ran to the vanity to grab the first cloth I found and cleaned myself. My shaky hands couldn’t hold onto anything properly and I couldn’t get my breathing back under control, the experience leaving me full of confusing feelings, longing filled with arousal mixing with shame until I my head was spinning and my chest hurt. After that, I didn’t fall asleep again, instead I sat on the bed and tried to make sense of my own heart.
The only thing that saved me from getting suspicious stares from my husband was that he himself barely looked at me. But it felt different from his usual coldness, he looked haunted and worried, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to even realise anyone else was present. It made me anxious. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, it seemed bad and if it came to it, he’d drag me down with him. For the first time in so long I found myself wishing he’d just talk to me, tell me what was happening so I could stop drowning myself in worry. But I knew that if I had come to him and asked him, he would get angry. So I waited for my life to end with bated breath.
Taehyung returned after two days and acted as if he was never gone, as if he didn’t suddenly disappear without a word and left me spinning, thinking he’d never return. When I heard his voice ring out it the empty house for the first time in so long, I couldn’t stop the tears of relief and he spent the whole evening and night holding me and consoling me, whispering into my ear how he’d never leave again.
More than ever I realised the burning desire coursing through my veins whenever he touched me. I wanted him, like wife should want a husband, and it was getting harder to ignore the way my body responded to him. I wasn’t sure if Taehyung was aware of my plight, if he registered how I seemed to stiffen anytime he pushed me closer to himself, how I held my breath when his arms snaked around my waist, how I shuddered when his hands slipped through my hair when he tied the ribbon over my eyes. I didn’t know if he noticed, but if he did, he didn’t say or do anything. Sometimes he would get closer to me, nose at my neck or play with my ear and then he would suddenly stop, as if he remembered himself, and pull away. And I wanted to scream at him. To not go. To do more.
And the more the situation went south in my marriage, the more I realised that my heart has long since been stolen by a being I haven’t even seen, but whose actions spoke louder than thousand words.
And so I decided to take the situation into my own hands. Or, well, to put it into Taehyung’s hands.
Some nights I would dream about him, even when he laid behind me I just wouldn’t have enough. And in those dreams, he would do the things I desired from him. It felt like my dirty little secret, enjoying him in such way in the privacy of my own mind, but knowing he was there. That he could be witnessing me be improper, could be witnessing my needs resurfacing in this manner. He never showed it, but sometimes I wondered if he knew, if he was waiting to make a move. And it excited me even more. The tension kept thickening, and I boiled, I boiled until one day I just… burst.
I had woken up in the middle of the night, woken up by my own dream as usual, hot and breathless, but just short of release, pent up and frustrated and needy. Taehyung behind me stirred, but his breathing stayed deep and stable, arms minutely tightening before he relaxed again. I felt my wetness seeping down my thighs, squeezing them together on instinct to chase the pulsing and throbbing there, choking out a little whimper and squirming in my place.
That seemed to shake Taehyung out of his sleep, I could hear the shuffling of his clothes, his hand flexing on my belly. He raised his head and murmured something, but I couldn’t hear through the rushing of blood in my ears. I was so aroused my head was almost spinning, my mind zeroing only on getting back to the pleasure I had been feeling. I squirmed in his arms again and whined.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” came his quiet raspy voice by my ear and I could feel goosebumps breaking out over my arms. Without saying anything I reached for one of his hands and pulled it lower, until it laid over my thigh. There was silence behind me and neither of us moved for a moment.
“What?” he whispered again, confusion lacing his voice as he started caressing my thigh, thinking I just needed comfort, “Did you have a nightmare?” I shook my head, frustrated at myself for not being able to get the words out of my mouth, so instead I grabbed his hand again and this time I gently laid it over the very top of my thighs, the tips of his fingers just grazing my intimate area. Taehyung froze for a moment, and I held my breath, fearing his reaction.
But then he released a long breath and his hand moved, grabbing onto my nightgown and slowly pulling it up over my legs. “Are you being naughty?” he asked me playfully and I trembled with anticipation, the searing heat seemingly reaching a crescendo with the promise of his touch. The moment I felt him gently caressing up the naked skin of my thigh, I whimpered again and immediately lifted my leg to grant him access to where I wanted him the most.
Behind me, there was a chuckle, so deep and rumbly I felt it in my bones, satisfied and overjoyed with my eagerness. Taehyung nosed up my shoulder, until I could feel him laying searing wet kisses into the crook of my neck. His hand suddenly shot up back to my knee, grabbing it so he could hook it over his legs and keep me spread. I blushed, but another gush of wetness seeped onto the skin of my thighs at the prospect this finally happening.
“Want to have your pretty little cunt played with, hmm?” Taehyung whispered into my hair, the smirk evident in the smugness of his voice. This was his element, and I ducked my head into my arms, embarrassed by the words and the actions, embarrassed by my body screaming for him. He didn’t seem to need an answer, pleased with my shyness and with how my body responded for me, arching into his touch and begging for more. So he indulged, both himself and me.
His fingers descended between my legs suddenly, shocking a moan out of me as they glided through the wet folds until they settled over the little bundle of nerves. He touched me teasingly, circling it lightly, tapping and pressing on it and then sliding his fingers down to play with my entrance, as if testing how much I would be able to take.
I trembled whole, overflowing with relief, pleasure and burning need for more, spilling out of me on sighs and whimpers. I lost the control of my body as it swayed and arched, pushing into his elusive playful fingers. When my whines took on a more desperate tone, Taehyung finally seemed to be satisfied enough to stop teasing. He started playing me masterfully, fingers drawing tight quick circles on my clit, making me choke on my spit, brain not comprehending the sudden onslaught of sensations.
I found myself hurling towards that edge of ecstasy quicker than I’ve experienced before, my whole body singing under his touch, thrumming with the fulfilment of all the desires that had been piling up over the past weeks.
“Let go whenever you need to, don’t be afraid,” Taehyung whispered to me, voice low and aroused, and I arched with a silent scream as the release overtook me, bursting through my body in a single white flash. Taehyung carried me through it, fingers slowing down but never stopping, little quiet groans leaving him at seeing me blissed out. When the pleasure ebbed away gradually, I pushed his hand away with a quiet whine, feeling too much all at once.
He led me down from the high gently, hands running over my body, over my sides, his voice murmuring loving words into my ear, telling me how lovely I was, how well I did for him. I soaked it all up, preened under his care and attention and loved every moment of it, the fear and insecurity about his intentions taking the backseat for a few calming moments. My body thrummed with the after-shocks of my climax, and I pleasantly floated on the feelings of relief and release.
I was still catching up to my brain, when the words “I want to see you” tumbled out of my mouth. Taehyung’s hand stopped for a moment and then grabbed onto my arm gently. He hummed, non-committally, fingers suddenly teasing again as he lightly dragged them on my arm up and down.
“Do you really?” he whispered sensually, almost purring, and I gasped at the sensation. Before I could reply, he was suddenly gone. I heard him moving around in the room, the sound of his steps, his stable breathing and the light clanking of items as he moved them. I had no idea what he was doing, but when he was satisfied, he returned to me. Taehyung leaned down to me and grasped my arm, pulling me up to stand.
“Get on your feet, darling,” he told me sweetly, the sudden nickname making me blush as if we weren’t just wrapped in each other in such sinful ways. I stood, knees still a little shaky, but managed to hold my weight. I was a little achy, but it was a pleasant and boneless feeling, as if everything had been drained away and all that was left were soft sweet clouds.
Taehyung’s hands left me, and I could hear him stepping away, his heels hitting the wooden floor heavily. I held my breath in anticipation, my hands trembling, my body still confused from the screaming pleasure it was put through just moments ago.
Then, he spoke.
“You can pull the ribbon down.” His voice was smooth, kind and happy. My arms moved as if they had a mind of their own, lifting up to my head to grasp at the ends of the ribbon to pull. When it fell away, at first I was left blinded by the light for a moment. I blinked; eyes hurt from getting flashed with white after so long in the dark. I hurriedly wiped away the few stray tears and gently pressed on my eyelids to alleviate the pressure. When I opened them again, he stood in front of me.
He was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. I gasped as I took him in, the softness of him.
He had long black hair, half done up into a bun at the back of his head. He was dressed in a black cheollik with red hems and pulled together by a silk red string adorned with dark grey jade, and his underclothes were also in black. He was barefoot, standing on my cold wooden bedroom floor like he didn’t feel the chill at all, when I already started shivering in my thin night robes. My eyes shot back to his face. He was ethereally pretty, all sharp edges but still looking so soft and lovely it stole my breath away. Even though his eyes were shockingly blue, I could see the kindness in them, unlike his mouth that was pulled into a mischievous smirk. Just I as I imagined he so often had.
I could see he started nervously fiddling with his sleeves, face flashing with panic and unsureness. He stepped from foot to foot, looking at the ground bashfully, before looking back up at me with wide round eyes full of pure-hearted earnestness.
“What do you think?” he asked, as if I was looking at fruit at the market. He squirmed in his place again and I couldn’t bare to let him believe that I didn’t think he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. In a few quick strides I crossed the room to him and threw myself into his arms. He caught me, as always, and I had begun believing he always would, and pressed me closer into him. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled him down by his neck and pressed our lips together.
Taehyung caught on quickly, wrapping his arms around me and taking charge, kissing me like a man starved, passionate and hungry and all-consuming, filling my head and my heart with him and only him. I dreaded my husband’s return, because it would mean my little fantasy dream life would dissolve and Taehyung would have to disappear again, but for now I focused on his mouth claiming mine with such fervour it left me breathless.
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Seeing Taehyung made things both easier and more difficult. Nothing much changed between us, only now I saw him messing with my things and “helping out” around the house. I heard his endless giggles and sometimes would catch a glimpse of his figure before he disappeared into a different part of the house, and I always trailed behind him and looked for whatever it was he misplaced or swapped.
I found that even though he was visible to me most of the time, he still didn’t talk much, preferring to sit by me and watch me with fond eyes. He would silently take heavy things from my hands and carry them for me, only sending a playful grin my way, or push me away from the cutting board to prepare the ingredients himself with a simple quiet “let me help”. I liked it. Taehyung filled the space with his presence, with kind eyes and gentle laughs and comfortableness I haven’t felt with anyone else. Sometimes laughs would just bubble out of my throat at his antics or at his expressions and I stopped, surprised at my own ability to laugh. I was happy. I felt content.
I loved him, and I knew that. I wanted my life to be like this from now on until the end of time. More and more often I found myself thinking how married life wouldn’t be that bad if my husband was Taehyung, and I blushed at those thoughts, but couldn’t fully fight them away. I imagined him chopping the firewood in the yard (he already did that for me after he saw me with an axe one), taking care of the animals (it wasn’t unusual for him to feed the hens and the pigs after sundown, since Minhwan was already long gone around then) and then coming home to happily eat supper I worked so hard on (he loved my cooking and never failed to compliment me). I loved watching him walking around the farm as if it was him who owned it, him who married me. Him who loved me.
And during the nights… Taehyung was more than happy to dote on me, naughty hands suddenly insatiable once I showed interest, bringing me to the peak of pleasure every morning, wandering around my curves and gently squeezing and loving on every inch he could reach. I melted in his hands, my brain suddenly interested only in how to get him to please me again. But he never moved it further, no matter how much I gently probed, tried to touch him back or insinuated that I would like to do more, he always grasped my hands and pulled me into a tight hug until we ended up falling asleep.
I was confused. I wasn’t a virgin. I knew how it worked between men and women and I trusted him with my body and my pleasure, and I wanted to return it too, learn how to please him too, but he didn’t seem to want that to happen. He would always give me this unsure smile and then hold me all the tighter and I didn’t want to push him.
But while I found my domestic bliss in Taehyung’s presence, it was harshly brought down every time my husband returned home. Even though he’d become strangely withdrawn, he always seemed to fill the house with gloom and uncomfortable tension, choking every spare inch in despair. I was dancing on eggshells around him, trying my hardest not to draw his attention lest he redirects his ire to me.
This explosiveness was also new. He’d been angry at me before, but never like this, never with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, spewing poison until I was trembling with fear and shame, and then walking out. He would scream at me for the food not being warm, about spilling something on the floor, about not cleaning proficiently enough, and I begun to dread his returns, because he would always smell of alcohol, opium and other vices, and immediately find something to vent on, only to become silent and absent the moment after.
I could see on Taehyung he was worried for me. I wasn’t a fool, I knew he was present and heard everything, I could feel it in his sad tender eyes, in his loving caresses and the little gifts he would leave me. I wanted to assure him that everything was okay, that this was just my life and I had to deal with that, that him being around the house was already making a dreadful reality all the more bearable, but sometimes he just zoned out and I saw the cogs turning in his head, trying to come up with a way to somehow deal with this. But there was nothing that could be done.
While Minhwan spiralled and came home looking worse and worse every day, Taehyung tried his best to raise me up and make me feel better. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that.
One afternoon we were enjoying a particular sunny day, the door to the kitchen cracked open to let in the crisp freezing air, but I couldn’t feel the chill, not with Taehyung plastered to my back. He hung off of me, hugging me and whining playfully, his hands ever so often straying to my thighs or breasts, trying to rile me up while I made broth. I would always slap them away, but I couldn’t hide the blush on my cheeks or the way my body started responding to him and demanding his attention lower.
I was playing with the idea of letting him pleasure me right in the kitchen in the middle of the day, when Taehyung behind me stiffened, arms tightening around me. At first I didn’t register it, but when the sound of snow crunching under someone’s shoes reached my ears, I panicked. Throwing the wooden spoon away I turned and pushed Taehyung away from me.
“Quick, disappear! Minhwan must have returned!” I whispered urgently, almost sobbing with frustration when the dark-haired man just continued standing there as we both listened to the footsteps getting closer. He was looking out the door, his face curious but impassive, as if he didn’t realise the impending doom.
“Taehyung!” I cried out desperately, pushing him away just as the doors slammed opened. I froze and turned to the door, while Taehyung’s arm snaked around my waist and pulled me into his chest. At first I recognised the gesture as protective, but then I realised it was too casual.
I forced myself to see through the panic and registered that in the door stood a complete stranger. He regarded us both with a bored expression, his eyes sliding down my panicked frozen face and then skipping to Taehyung, sneering lightly in a pretend angry manner.
“So this is where you spend your days, I haven’t seen you in forever,” he grumbled a touch whinily and made himself comfortable on one of the seating pillows in the corner. He had elegant gestures and moved about in a graceful manner, he was also dressed in expensive clothes, showing off to everyone his status as a son of a wealthy yangban family. His face was sharp and impassive, but I could see a strange spark of something in his feline eyes.
“Hyung,” Taehyung said cutely and pulled me towards the man in expensive robes, “this is Y/N.” I stared dumbly between the two men, flabbergasted at the situation I had suddenly found myself in. Hyung? Was this another demon?
The man in question nodded towards me, showing polite interest. He looked intimidating, but whenever his eyes jumped to Taehyung, there was softness in them, and his face would suddenly relax and look more human and boyish.
“This is one of my hyungs,” Taehyung said towards me and then leaned closer until he could whisper into my ear: “He’s a tiger spirit.” I gasped lightly and looked at the man. He gave me a goofy toothy grin, his posture loosening as he made himself more comfortable. I slipped into the hostess mode and started offering drinks and food and he indulged happily, even getting Taehyung to take a glass with him. I listened to their gentle teasing for a while, content with watching him be so happy and carefree.
“So if one wants to see your face around these parts, they have to come here, huh?” said the tiger with a little smirk and winked towards me. I giggled and added: “As long as my husband isn’t home.” I immediately blushed, but the feelings of shame I used to feel over this have ebbed away and now I could only feel a little twinge of it as a phantom pain, before I put it away and focused on the men in my presence.
“Oh, I know your husband very well,” the man said, his face turning into a mysterious sharp hungry grin, “He isn’t home very often.” Taehyung tensed behind me, and I glanced at him, before throwing a confused smile at the visitor.
“What do you mean you know my husband well?” I asked, ignoring the way Taehyung’s hands tightened around me. I refused to turn his way, instead focusing my all attention at the dangerous being sat in front of us.
“He plays cards out of his league,” the man stated, eyes glinting with some feral contentment, “He lost a lot of money to a lot of people. An especially big sum to a certain very dangerous man that likes to prowl around those parlours.” It felt as if I was thrown into a freezing water, the panic seizing me at this information. I had known, to a certain extent, that he must have gotten himself into something, but losing in cards and owing money to someone dangerous, that would absolutely destroy my life alongside his. Distressed, I looked to Taehyung, who immediately pushed his hand into my hair in an attempt to comfort me.
“Hyung, stop that,” he scolded the man gently, “Stop scaring her.” I blinked at Taehyung owlishly.
“You knew?” I whispered the question, my heart aching when the dark-haired man looked away with guilt etched into his handsome face.
“I told him,” the older man piped up again, gently inserting himself back into the conversation he himself started, “I happen to have an insight into the situation. Don’t fear, dear, this is between your husband and the forces he messed with.” The vague statement did nothing to ease my anxiety and my eyes flitted between the two men again, but I chose to not say anything anymore. They shared a resolute look, full of determination, and then moved on from the topic.
Mr. Min, as I finally learnt his name, stayed for a better part of the afternoon, only departing once the night fell with only the moon lighting his way. His sharp eyes seemed to glow in the dark and once again I was reminded that he was a spirit of the mountain. I snickered gently at that. Look at me, the cursed widow dining with a demon and a tiger. If the old ladies in my home village knew that, they would lose their minds.
Taehyung wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we watched his friend go, looking at my amusement fondly, but the way his hand squeezed me I could tell he was worried about the conversation we had. I looked at him, truly looked at him, and contemplated whether to bring it up again.
He sensed it, his face turning a little guilty and sheepish again, before turning to me, grabbing both of my shoulders and saying: “Y/N, do you trust me?” Did I? Of course I did. I loved him, I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone. He never failed me, never gave me a reason not to trust him. So I nodded firmly.
“Then know that it will be taken care of,” he stated, voice gentle and kind, “I wouldn’t let this impact you.” I nodded again, looking at him fondly before caving in and seeking the warmth of his embrace. He held me tightly, then and through the night, whispering words of love. I trusted them.
I should have known that this would smudge lines, that me living my little fantasy with Taehyung and him living in the house fully visible would lead to us being careless and slipping. But still, when it happened, I was sorely unprepared for the whirlwind it started.
We depended too much on the belief that Minhwan wouldn’t return home early. He didn’t, in the past weeks. Every morning, I would watch the sun climb pretty high up on the sky before the door slammed open and he trudged in wordlessly demanding food. Taehyung spent the mornings lazily spread out in the bed, stretching like an over-sized cat, grinning at me lazily and watching me get ready for the day. And usually I would be woken up by his gentle hands or kisses, or by the sun shining through to my face, or the cold would make me turn and snuggle deeper into my lover’s arms.
So when I got woken up by a scream, I was shocked and confused to my core. I jerked up into a sitting position, eyes wide open and looking for the source of the commotion, heart beating out of my chest and throat tight. It was a cry of rage, a man’s ire bursting through the quiet comfortable space of early morning.
There was a flash of movement and then suddenly I was being painfully pulled out of the bed by my upper arm. I cried out, legs fighting to get into working order and stop the pain from the uncomfortable angle. Suddenly I was face to face with a seething Minhwan, his face red and bloated, twisted into a grimace of pure primal rage. He grabbed onto both of my shoulders, nails digging into my skin until I feared he would draw blood, shaking me violently.
He screamed something, but I was too tired and shocked to fully comprehend what has happened. Panic started pumping through my veins, my breathing getting out of my control as I choked on the instinctual fear of being met with a man in such an emotional state. He shook me again and I got dizzy. Behind me the bed was empty, but very obviously slept in.
 As if wading through a thick fog, I finally realised he must have seen Taehyung in the bed and my knees buckled. He let me fall, let me knock painfully into the wooden floor as he paced around the door. Thoughts going a mile a minute I scrambled to try and come up with something, with anything instead of just sitting there staring dumbly. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, slipping slowly down as my mouth opened and closed. My head hurt, my chest was so tight I could barely breathe and my heart was beating so fast I feared it might just tear right out of my body. I looked at my shaking hands and released a few strained breaths.
“Are you even listening to me?!” Minhwan was suddenly screaming right into my face and I flinched. It was as if a filter lifted off of the world and the sound was suddenly getting to me fully, the thumping of his feet on the floor, his ragged breathing, his enraged mumblings. I stared at him blankly for a moment and in a split second decided to play it the only way I could.
“W-what happened?” I asked quietly, still looking at him with wide confused eyes, movements sluggish. I put a hand to my head, shaking it from side to side. At least I didn’t have to pretend I had a headache.
Minhwan stopped pacing and regarded me with suspicion. Come on, I prayed to myself, I know you must have seen him disappear in front of your eyes. He watched me for a moment, and I made sure to look as disoriented as I could, blinking blearily around and pulling a blanket closer over my rapidly cooling body. The seconds ticked away as he just looked around the room, watched the bed, the doors, as if measuring whether the man could have gotten away around him. He wasn’t saying anything for the longest time, and I felt like I was losing my mind, fearing any moment he’ll decide I was a liar and do god knows what in a fit of rage, but then he looked at me again with eyes filled with more confusion and fear than rage.
“Do you really not know?” he inquired, and his voice was grating to me, rough from speaking and drinking the whole night. I nodded slowly and then asked again: “What happened? Why were you screaming?” His face filled with determination, and he wordlessly walked out of the room. I scrambled to follow after him.
“Where are you going? What’s going on?” I hammered him, looking for a confirmation that I was safe, at least for the moment, but he just silently started fastening his hat back on. Finally, right before walking back out of the door, he turned to me and said: “I’m getting the exorcist.”
The next few hours I spent sitting in the house in panicked silence, wondering what my fate would be beyond this day. What would the shamaness say? How will this go? Do I have to pretend to get exorcised? I tried calling out to Taehyung, but he didn’t respond once. I bit my nails and paced around the house, counting every second ticking by as if waiting for execution.
By the time the door slid open again and stone-faced Minhwan stepped in, my nerves were completely frayed, and I could barely support my own weight on my shaking knees. My head snapped into the direction of the noise, and I saw a man and a woman step inside. The moment their eyes landed on me, they bowed slightly to me, but said nothing and instead followed my husband through the house into the bedroom. I hurriedly trailed after them, shaky hands with nails bitten almost bloody grasping onto my skirt to ground myself at least a little bit.
When I stepped into the room, Minhwan was gesturing to the bed, still unmade as I was too panicked to clean, and explaining what had happened.
“I walked in and saw four feet instead of two,” he said darkly, anger shining through to the surface again, “They were clearly man’s feet. I threw a shoe at him and started screaming, but then he was just gone. He disappeared into thin air. When she woke up, she was disoriented and had no idea what was going on.” I listened to him with a lump in my throat and when they all turned to look at me standing in the door, my knees almost buckled. I hoped that my nervousness would be interpreted as my unawareness, but when the woman’s eyes bore into me with a startling intensity, I couldn’t help but flinch and look down.
She came over to me and an expectant silence fell over the room, all of us collectively holding our breath and waiting for her judgement. She grabbed my chin, not roughly but definitely not gently, and moved my head so that I was looking at her. Her eyes flitted across my face, in search of something. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but I wondered how I must have looked to her. Did I look guilty? Did I look sick? What did she see?
She examined me for a moment and then let me go and stepped back to the man. She looked at him and nodded.
“It is a demon of sickness,” the man spoke, “He was draining your wife’s life energy, eventually saddling her with plague or similar illness. It is good you caught him before he did irreparable damage to her.” I touched my own face, wondering how bad I looked for her to come to the conclusion I was getting drained in such a way, but felt immense relief. Before I caught myself, I swayed, the feelings of anxiety crashing onto me, leaving my body too weak to stay upright. I crashed into the door and barely managed to catch myself before I hit the floor full force. The woman rushed to me and pulled me up, holding onto my arm and helping me stand in a manner she must have believed was comforting.
“Don’t worry, darling, he will not get you,” she whispered in a raspy old voice, “We will take care of this.” I mumbled something out, an insincere thanks, and propped myself up by the door. Instinctively I looked to Minhwan and found him already looking at, eyes coldly assessing me. He was scaring me, I had no idea where I stood with him and what was going through his mind, but I hoped this would buy me some time. I looked back to the floor and started smoothing out my skirts with shaky hands.
“We will get the supplies we’ll need and return tomorrow with the dawn,” the man spoke again, looking mainly to Minhwan, “For tonight, hang garlic and onion around the house. The foul smell will keep the demons away. I will draw you a talisman for your door and main gate, plaster it on the wood and keep it there until we come.” My husband curtly nodded.
The pair started moving towards the door to leave and Minhwan followed them out. I took the time to slide down to the door. I was trying to keep myself calm, but the stressed tears came anyway, rolling down my cheeks and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Once Minhwan returned, I was silently sobbing on the floor, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in these few hours.
Minhwan regarded me silently and then moved to the main room, sat by the fireplace and didn’t speak again. I sat there, filled with dread, and waited. Waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to fly off of his handle and do something, but the house was eerily silent. In the end I pulled myself together and moved about my day as if nothing was happening, as if Minhwan wasn’t sitting in the other room counting minutes before sun went down. The uncomfortable atmosphere stretched over us like a suffocating blanket and even though I went with the motions, cooked food and served it, I wasn’t even interested in eating, and neither seemed to be Minhwan.
With dark setting over the dwelling, the moon shining over the snow and creating a silver glow over everything, I found myself anxiously glancing at my husband to see whether he would leave, but he stayed firmly sat. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had to have a talk with Taehyung, confide in him and see what he thinks we should do. I desperately craved his comfort and calming presence, I needed him to hold me and kiss me and whisper about all the things he loved, I needed him to whisk me away into the woods and keep me away from this life I had found myself in.
As I paced around the bedroom nervously, I realised that. I wanted to leave with him. I wanted to flee into his reality and leave my own behind. I needed to talk to Taehyung soon.
The door slid open, and I flinched and instinctively moved a few steps further into the room. Minhwan looked at me, his eyes empty and dark, and then moved to the corner of the room, sitting down and staring soullessly at me.
“Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?” came his gruff voice when I stood there frozen for too long, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I could hear a certain accusation in it and my heart jumped into my throat. Without saying anything, I mechanically moved to my vanity and started brushing my hair while keeping an eye on my husband’s dark form slouched in the corner. His eyes never left me, slowly with every second ticking by filling with more and more pure hatred.
The room felt as if it was freezing, the air so heavy with tension I could taste it on my tongue. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest, my clammy hands squeezing around the brush.
“I feel quite stupid now, you see,” Minhwan started suddenly, his cold voice startling me. I turned around to look at him, trying to keep my expression neutral but knowing I probably looked truly scared and guilty. He stared at me expectantly, but when I failed to say anything, he continued.
“I saw it,” he simply stated, “the hairpin.” It felt as if time stopped, the blood freezing in my veins with one simple word. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but I ultimately failed to say anything. He knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to the market to buy it myself, there was nothing I could say to excuse that.
“I saw how certain mornings you seemed to be flustered,” he continued quietly, “how you changed, I saw the flowers you tried to hide.” He chuckled darkly, mirthlessly, but stayed sprawled out in the corner, watching me. I sat frozen in front of my vanity, brush still in hand, thoughts going a mile a minute.
“I ignored it, of course,” Minhwan carried on, seemingly okay with being the only one to talk, “I know how hard it is to get here and there’s no one close enough to sneak here like this. But when I went to town for the shamaness, I started remembering these moments. I saw the hairpin in my mind, as clear as day. And it made sense. Whatever he is, you knew about him.” I gulped, but said nothing, staring at my hands. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movements and I looked up startled. Minhwan was now moving towards me, slow and calculated, and dread filled me.
I looked up at him and couldn’t help a few stray tears escaping me. Minhwan watched me coldly, but it was so different than what I was used to from him and it terrified me. This was a different kind of rage, the kind that made people unpredictable, the kind when you know the person is so angry they’ve become calm.
He slowly threaded his hand into my hair, gripping it tightly until I could feel slight pain. He angled my head, watching the tears slide down my face with a scowl. Then he pushed my head away and released my hair, sending me crashing into the vanity. I caught myself on my hands, but the impact still hurt and I whimpered through the tears.
I heard Minhwan moving about the room, thrashing the chest I kept some of my belongings in, tearing through my fine robes and sending little reminders and keepsakes flying through the room and crashing into the floor and the walls. With every crash I flinched again and again, shrinking into myself and slowly slinking into the corner behind my vanity.
Minhwan finally got to what he was looking for – the dried flowers and other little gifts Taehyung has been bringing me. Whatever he got his hands on, he destroyed, tearing the flowers apart or breaking things by throwing them on the floor. I watched him helplessly, now fully sobbing as I witnessed my life being torn apart.
Minhwan paid me no mind, his eyes catching onto something in the chest. He bent over to pull out the object, and I eyed him carefully before I realised what it was. The hairpin. He glanced over at me and when he saw my eyes trained to it, he smirked with such malice it made shiver. He gripped it with both hands and then with a quick gesture broke it in half. Before I could stop myself, I cried out with my hands outstretched going to grab it, grab him, just do anything to stop it from happening, but I couldn’t. Minhwan threw the broken pin on the floor, and I watched the little gem break away and fall through the tiles.
Minhwan walked over to me again and crouched down so he could look at me closer.
“Did he get you pregnant?” he suddenly asked, and it was such an unexpected question it shocked me into silence as I just stared at him dumbly. Then I just slowly shook my head. Minhwan’s face stayed impassive. He just stared at me until I started squirming in my place, my skin crawling with fear and nervousness.
Then he just got up and walked out.
I stayed put, not daring to move from my place, but I strained my ears to hear whatever he was doing. He walked around the main room for a moment and then his footsteps seemed to get further away until I heard the door slide open, slide shut and then silence. I held my breath, waiting for a moment before I allowed myself to decompress, immediately slumping down onto the ground. With the stress rapidly draining from my body, I found myself a shaking crying mess. I crawled over to the chest and grabbed onto whatever destroyed piece of memory I could, cradling them to my chest and desperately hoping that I could mend it, that it would all go away. That I’d wake up in Taehyung’s arms and he’d console me and tell me it was all a bad dream.
I didn’t sleep that night. And Minhwan didn’t return in the morning. The shamaness and her husband came knocking with the dawn and I sat on the porch and expressionlessly watched the main gate rattle and shake under their fists, listened to their raised concerned voices calling to be let in. I was drained, empty and exhausted. I waited until they got tired of it and left, and then I continued sitting there watching the trees move, the sun travel the sky. I could barely feel the frost biting at my fingers, my arms, my face. I could barely feel anything.
For two days, I waited. I sat around the house and watched the walls, walked around the yard and looked outside, into the forest and the trees. Minhwan didn’t return. Taehyung didn’t return. I was completely alone, in the silent house, just wondering whether I was forsaken by both of them, wondering what would happen if neither of them came back.
On the dawn of the third day, I heard footsteps in the yard. My stomach dropped and my heart felt like a piece of ice. Footsteps meant Minhwan. Footsteps meant the end of my life, meant my husband was back and there was no telling what he would do.
I drew the blanket closer to myself and resignedly made my way outside. I would accept whatever was to come. Except the moment I slid the door open, I saw a sheepish Taehyung nervously stepping from foot to foot in our yard. I could only guess how I looked, but when he saw me, he closed the distance between us in a few quick strides, arms immediately pulling me into his chest. I felt my resolve break and desperately clawed at him, pulled him closer, just needing to touch him and make sure he was real and he came back.
He pulled back and I whined, but he took my face into his hands, gazing upon me with tenderness and sadness and despair. His fingers smoothed out the worried lines on my face, touched the puffy cheeks and eyes, gently caressed my face until I could see my vision blurring with unshed tears. Taehyung sighed and bent down to lightly kiss my forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly, his voice like soft caress for my soul after days of loneliness and solitude, and sudden onslaught of emotions hit me like a stone wall. I grabbed onto his robe and looked into his kind beautiful eyes.
“Where were you?” it came out choked on a sob and I couldn’t even wait for his answer before the dam broke and I started crying. Taehyung held me through it, he took me in his arms and carried me inside, petted my back and held my face, whispered to me and it almost felt like a huge déjà vu to the first night I let him get closer to me. He apologised again and again, and I should have pressed for more answers, but I was so relieved he returned, I couldn’t bring myself to ask more.
When I calmed down, Taehyung’s attention was finally drawn to the state of the house. I didn’t clean up the bedroom, I barely even slept, and all the broken things were still lying around. It must have been quite a sight – a broken life, and in the middle of it all, a broken me. But instead of saying anything, he just reached over to grab the remnants of the hairpin. I watched him wordlessly, heart struck with grief at the sight of it, but he played with it for a moment, eyes peeking over at me and grinning mischievously. I returned it shakily, heavy emotions still weighing the corners of my mouth down but I tried, head leaning on his shoulder.
He encased the broken parts of it into his hands and shook them little. I thought nothing of it, watching his hands turn from side to side, expecting this to be just a way to distract me, but when his hands stopped, he uncovered his palm with a grand gesture and I gasped. There, lying on his palm, was the hairpin in one piece, looking as if it’s never been broken.
I immediately went to grab it, but he moved his hand away, keeping it out of my reach. Instead, he grabbed my brush and started slowly brushing out my tangled unkept hair. I let him care for me, I sat there on the floor of my thrashed bedroom, leaned on him and listened to him hum as he played with my hair. When Tae was satisfied with it, he tied my hair with his red ribbon and then pushed in the hairpin.
The fondness in his eyes when he looked over his work warmed my heart, and I relaxed into his embrace.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Taehyung whispered again, “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” I shook my head and tightened my arms around him.
“There was nothing you could have done,” I told him and attempted to smile. I wanted to ease his worries, but I still felt too shaken.
“I should have been here,” Taehyung reiterated, “You needed me, and I failed you.” I squeezed his waist, trying to share comfort to him as he did to me. He looked at me fondly with a little smile, then kissed me gently.
“Where were you?” I asked again, this time much more calmly. Taehyung’s face fell immediately and I expected him not to want to tell me, but with some difficulty he started talking.
“I went to my hyung,” he admitted to me, and I realised there was guilt in his expression, “I asked him to sort something out for me.” I looked at him confused, but his face has turned hard and cold, gazing out of the room. I wanted to ask more, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It didn’t matter now, all that mattered was that he returned.
“We need to leave,” I blurted out suddenly, the calmness leaving my body. I turned on my knees and grabbed onto his clothed shoulders, looking into his eyes with urgency. Taehyung smiled at me and attempted to sit me back down, but I wouldn’t let him. “We really need to leave, before my husband returns,” I continued, the words falling out of me quickly, “I don’t know where he went, he hasn’t returned for a few days, but when he returns I cannot say what he will do.”
Taehyung’s hands pushed onto my shoulders, gentle smile on his face, mouth opening to tell me something, no doubt to calm down, but I jumped in before he got a chance.
“No, you don’t understand Taehyung, he knows,” I whispered urgently, “He knows about us. When he returns… Taehyung, I’m scared of what will happen…” I trailed off, hands flexing and bunching up the fabric of his robes. A few stray tears escaped my eyes, and I was surprised I even had some left in me, after the last few days.
Taehyung gave me a soft smile, hands coming up to hold my face. He gently wiped my tears away and bent down to kiss my forehead, my nose and finally my lips. I watched him, despair mixing with love and fear inside of me, making me feel like I was about to explode. I didn’t know how else explain to him that we weren’t safe here.
“I’m ready to leave,” I whispered again, desperate and broken, “Please Taehyung, I’ll go with you. I’m ready to go. There’s nothing left here.” He said nothing, but caressed my hair, fingers smoothing out the edges of my cold wet face. His eyes were trained on his hands moving on my skin, as if he wasn’t registering what I said at all. I could see in them that he was battling something, lips pursed in a bittersweet smile like they were trying to keep in some awful truths.
My heart gave a few painful pumps before it felt like it stilled completely. My hands fell from him as despair and hurt took over. Suddenly the realisation hit me, the realisation of what this must have been for him. A goodbye. My lips curled around a silent sob, but I couldn’t cry more, there was nothing left inside.
Taehyung noticed my plight and immediately pulled back into him, and I realised why he looked so guilty when we sat down.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” the words barely left my mouth, so quiet they could be barely heard, but Taehyung reacted to them immediately, arms tightening around me.
“No, darling, of course I’m not,” he replied, but I didn’t want to hear more lies, not now and not ever. My own hands balled into fists in my lap.
“Please, tell me the truth,” I said resolutely, looking straight into his eyes that were coloured by confusion at my statement. “What are you talking about?” Taehyung asked, lost and worried. His hands travelled across my shoulders and back, grabbing onto anywhere they could and then passing on as he tried to comfort me without fully knowing what was happening.
“You didn’t respond before,” I told him, and the realisation seemed to hit him almost instantly. “Oh, darling,” he whispered and kissed me softly again, “of course I want you to leave with me. But…” He seemed to struggle there, looking down to his lap guiltily, fingers digging into my shoulders nervously. I grabbed onto his shoulders too and pressed a little closer, until our faces were just a breath away.
“What is it?” I asked, desperate for a resolution, desperate to leave this all behind and go into the woods with him, follow him wherever he’d take me.
“Your husband…” Taehyung started and I tensed at the mention, but I wasn’t prepared for what came out of his mouth next, “he isn’t coming back.” I scrunched my face up in confusion. Taehyung avoided my eyes again, this time looking towards the door with a quiet resolution painted on his face.
“What are you talking about?” I pushed out of my mouth, mind muddled and tongue tied, “Of course he is, and he’ll bring all hell back with him.” Taehyung sighed, hands flexing into my skin.
“Y/N, you don’t understand,” he reiterated, urgency taking over his sweet, honeyed tone, “He isn’t coming back. Ever.” I froze when I finally put together what he had tried to tell me. I wish I could say I was terrified. I wish I could say that I was filled with dread and panic and disgust instead of relief, I wish I could say that I pushed him away, confused and hurt, instead of letting out a shocked laugh, hands immediately searching for his face. I turned him so he’d look at me.
He was painted with shame and guilt, with fear that I would hate him for the implication, so I gently caressed his face and laid a little kiss over his furrowed brows. He closed his eyes, sighing in relief. My heart was beating fast, but I couldn’t tell if it was out of nervousness or joy. I wondered whether that made me a bad person, whether I was cursed after all. But when Taehyung opened his eyes and gave me a toothy grin, it didn’t seem to matter much.
“What did you do?” I asked the question in a hushed whisper, as if discussing my husband’s demise was a thrilling secret just between the two of us. Based on the dark-haired man’s reaction to it he was expecting to hear a horror-struck tone, not the casualness with which I spoke about this matter, but he shook the surprise quick enough.
“Do you remember my hyung? The tiger?” Taehyung begun his explanation, a small smile taking over his face when I nodded in answer, “He was the one your husband owed money to. It was a matter of time before he’d gotten himself reaped, I just called in an early favour.” I frowned slightly at that.
“You mean that my husband was always destined to die?” the question was asked more out of curiosity than concern, but Taehyung still seemed to be a little on edge, fearing my reaction and attempting to gauge my emotional state. Still, he indulged me.
“He was since the moment he decided to play cards against a spirit,” Taehyung explained, “Tigers don’t play for money. We have no need for earthly possessions. But the more the human loses to you, the more under your power they are. With the mounting debt, the spirit only bides his time, terrorising the soul and pushing them into losing more. Then the spirit only waits until they’ve lost the amount of money that could buy their soul, before reaping. Your husband was a lost cause since Yoongi set his eyes on him.” I took in the information slowly, but to me his death was inconsequential now. Taehyung would take me away, I didn’t have to fear being left behind and collected by a family-in-law and living out the rest of my life as a proper widow, a property of my husband’s relatives. With that my only concern was taken care of and I found myself empty of any big reactions regarding his impending sudden demise.
“Do souls have prices, then?” I inquired more, interested in his earlier statement. Taehyung’s eyes sparkled slightly, as if he was delighted I wanted to know more, delighted that I wasn’t mourning, that I didn’t think him a murderer.
“Yes they do,” he answered simply, “a saint would be hard to tempt, the amount would be higher. A tyrant on the other hand, a sinner, they don’t take much.” I hummed quietly, absent-mindedly playing with some of Taehyung’s long hair. It didn’t take much to know which category my husband fell to. Getting my questions answered, I was satisfied to let this subject go. I felt as if a great weight has been lifted off of my shoulders and off of my heart. I found myself cautiously hopeful, looking forward to leaving this house and everything in it behind, letting it rot and fall to the ground and never return. But Taehyung seemed to have something else on his mind still.
“It was me,” he confessed quietly and suddenly, leaving me confused what he meant. He looked at me, gauging my reaction, fingers nervously playing with the edge of my jeogori. “It was me who told hyung to seek him out and tempt him into playing,” the man finally got out and it seemed as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders too.
I said nothing, hands migrating to caress his hair gently, smiling softly, and then getting up. I walked across the room to where my possessions laid strewn across the floor as if they were violently gutted from the insides of the chest. I found a cloth big enough and started piling the most important things inside. Taehyung watched me quietly, unsure of where I stood, still believing I could shun him for this. I smiled at him again when I caught his sad eyes watching my hands move. He returned it, in the same cautiously hopeful way I felt, and I could just think to myself. How perfect. We’re perfect like this.
“I just need to grab a few things and we can go,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. His returning one was as bright as the sun itself and I felt my drained heart tiredly jumping in joy.
When I gathered everything, he took the bundle from me gently into one of his hands, the other holding mine as I quietly led him out of the cold empty house. Outside, the air was crisp and freezing, but the sun was shining and it filled me with happiness. The snow was sparkling, reflecting the rays of sunlight, blinding me slightly, but I had everything I needed, and it was a beautiful day outside. I squeezed Taehyung’s hand and he returned it.
Once stood in the gate, I turned back to the house wordlessly. I could see through the open doors the mess that was left inside, the state of the bedroom, and the two trails of footsteps leaving forever. Taehyung watched me carefully, making sure I was okay. I nodded at him and he grinned gently. We both turned and walked away.
He led me through the forest, up the mountain path. I’d never been here before, and it seemed that it was a long time since someone else than the demon himself took this path. Briefly I wondered if it even was visible to other people or if it was one of those paths you see once out of the corner of your eyes and then never find it again, even if curiosity kills you from the inside.
Taehyung was walking confidently now, once we crossed the threshold into his world he gained strength and resolve and led me through the trees until we reached a little clearing with a dwelling firmly in the middle of it.
It was smaller than our farm, but it looked much nicer, with little windchimes and colourful decorations hanging from the beam over the porch. Their clanking created a nice ambience in the background and their colourful flashes reflected off of the snow. I smiled fondly at that, feeling at ease.
The house only really had two smaller rooms and a kitchen, but they were filled with books and clothes and paintings. Taehyung seemed to be a lover of arts, his walls full of various pieces varying from flowers to landscapes and portraits. I peeked at them curiously, but Taehyung seemed eager to pull me along until we reached the other room, where a bed was unfolded but untouched. There was a vanity on one side, very similar to the one I had, ready with a brush and another beautiful hairpin sitting next to it, waiting for their owner. I smiled at that, heart filled with so much love it felt like bursting.
Taehyung carefully laid the bundle with my things on the ground and then skipped back over to me, plastering himself to my back, arms possessively coiling around me and lips and nose immediately running over the expanse of the skin at my shoulder and neck. I shuddered lightly, noting his palpable excitement at bringing me to his home.
“This will be our bedroom from now on,” he whispered in a rough voice, laying a series of wet open-mouthed kisses down my shoulder, “This house will become a home.” His hand splayed over my stomach and pushed me more into his form, his heated body melting over me instantly, lips travelling wherever a sliver of skin presented itself to them.
I shuddered lightly, squirming in his arms. I managed to turn to face him and immediately was met with fond eyes full of unshed tears. I grabbed his face and gently pressed our lips together. I meant for the kiss to stay innocent, but Taehyung clearly had a different idea, descending onto me with an urgency of a starving man, lips devouring mine in a hot all-consuming kiss.
I moaned lightly into his mouth, hands tightening in his clothes and subconsciously pulling him closer to me. He used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth, sighing with content when it met mine and twisted and pushed around each other. He towered over me, with every second bending down a little more, making me arch into the kiss. The dark-haired man was grabbing onto my hips, as strong as a vice, digging fingers into the layers of fabric with such force I still felt his nails biting into my skin. My own hands slowly travelled up, tangling into his hair and wrapping around his neck. When I pulled on the strand lightly, Taehyung sighed into my mouth and pushed us closer together.
My mind was quickly becoming muddled, only thoughts of the man in my arms swimming around in my brain, body heating up rapidly and begging for his attention in the way that he used to give me. And with the way he held onto me and pressed into me, he was in a similar state.
Without interrupting our kiss, Taehyung started slowly sliding down to the floor and pulled me with him. I gasped slightly and finally broke our kiss to breathe and take in the new position, but Tae didn’t get discouraged and continued his path down my jawline and my neck. I had enough mind to breathlessly move my head out of the way and present my neck for him, which made him hum appreciatively, his low deep voice purring into my skin. All I could really do was hold on to him and let the sensations sail me further.
I could feel his hands inching higher, until they were kneading my waist, thumbs slipping under the jeogori and messing with my undergarments. My whole body trembled like a plucked string, desire wreaking havoc on my psyche. I released a shaky sigh and decided to be a little bit braver. I grabbed one of his hands, Taehyung making a little questioning sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t stop his ministrations, and I pushed it towards the bow tying my top together.
Taehyung paused only for a second, eyes searching mine for any kind of hesitation, but I only blushed under his heated gaze, the lust taking over the control of my body and pushing my chest more into his curious hands. He no longer wasted time after that, leaning a bit back and making quick work of the binding and soon he had me sitting in his lap in only my undergarments. My lips found his again, needing to feel his touch more than I needed to breathe oxygen.
With new skin now visible Taehyung seemed to be over the moon, a little content sighs and quiet moans leaving his mouth as his fingers travelled across the expanse of my shoulder blades and my arms. The intensity of the kiss kept increasing, my body confusedly trying to move with the motions and seek even more pleasure. When Taehyung gently bit on my lower lip, my hips jerked forward on their own and I could feel a hardness sliding across my centre. We both gasped, Taehyung’s hands jumping to my hips to stop them, but I felt as if a lighting struck me to my core, pleasure zapping through me on a jolt. I gasped, hips mindlessly chasing after the feeling again. Taehyung separated the kiss on a groan, his head falling to my shoulder, hands now encouraging my hips to move instead of stopping them.
For a moment we just enjoyed each other, mindlessly kissing here, grabbing onto each other and chasing the pleasure, moving against each other. I managed to get Taehyung out of his outer robes too and he was clad only in a thin undershirt that teased a little bit of his collarbones, which I immediately covered in kisses. We didn’t speak and the room was filled with the sounds of shifting clothes and airy little gasps and moans, but I needed more. I needed so much more.
Taehyung’s lips travelled down to the edge of my undergarment, kissing the soft swell teasing my breasts, and I gasped and arched and curved into him, but I could feel the smirk settling on his face as he moved away again. I whined, mind gone and begging for more solid touch, for his hand between my legs and his lips biting into my shoulders.
I pushed onto his shoulders and as Taehyung wasn’t expecting it, he went easily, slight alarm painting his face, but I just grabbed him and pulled his face back to mine. The moment our lips crashed together, I keened, licking into his mouth desperately. The dark-haired man chuckled, but he seemed to take pity on me.
With one hand gently laid on my lower back, he slowly toppled us over until I was lying on the ground with his weight settling gently on top of me, legs tangled and lips intertwined. With a wet smack our lips separated and for a moment we both just looked at each other breathing hard, but then the time and reality caught up to my overheated excited brain and I immediately started tearing at his clothes, untying anything I got my hands on and pushing the fabric away until his whole torso was on display.
I choked on a moan, the desire reigniting within me tenfold. He was beautiful, strong and lean, honey-toned skin blemishless and perfect. Distracted with all the possibilities and my body screaming at me to have the man take me now, take me as soon as possible, my hands wildly flitted over his chest, kneading the skin but not settling anywhere for too long. I decided to pay back the favour and my lips latched onto his neck, making him shudder and moan. I played around lightly, just like he had, kissing anywhere I could, moving south to his pecks and then back up all the way to his ear with wet open-mouthed kisses, revealing just how far gone I was and how needy he made me with his earlier ministrations.
Taehyung buried his face into the crook of my neck, skin rippling with every touch, releasing low groans right into my ear, which made me work even harder. I was ecstatic that I was finally able to touch him too, ecstatic by the prospect of returning the pleasure he had been bestowing me with all these mornings that would have otherwise been cold and lonely.
With that thought in mind, my hands shifted to his hips, at first seemingly just sitting there and holding onto him, but slowly moving downwards, pushing the pants down. Taehyung didn’t seem to notice at first, but once I got low enough to expose the v of his hips and the thicker part of his happy trail, he let out a loud excited groan, body shaking with anticipation.
His lips pressed into my ear. “Do you want to see me? Touch me?” he whispered, voice rough and aroused. I gasped quietly, legs falling open more so that he could settle his hips more comfortably and I could see the moment I finally pushed them low enough, breath held in excitement.
“Yes, please,” I answered in a similarly debauched hushed voice, “please, Taehyung.” His chest rumbled happily, lips busying themselves with biting and kissing into my neck. I must have been absolutely covered with little red and purple bruises and the thought sent a bolt of arousal through me, my body jerking underneath the bigger man.
“Go ahead then, darling,” he said sensually, regaining back a little control. His hips stiffened, allowing me to pull them down the final stretch, releasing his erection. It hit his lower stomach with a tiny noise, the wet tip leaving a little smear of clear liquid there. I clenched on nothing, a gush of wetness suddenly leaving me at the prospect of having him inside of me. He was watching me closely, a wild look on his face, and the more excited I felt, the hungrier he looked.
Then Taehyung pressed his face to mine again, lips caressing the shell of my ear as he whispered: “Do you want it? Do you want my cock, darling?” I nodded, a whimper escaping me, thighs and pussy throbbing with pure burning need. I was so aroused my head was spinning and every thought inside curled around the pleasure this man was providing me with. He clicked his tongue though, and shook his head a little, giving me a playful grin.
“Then you need to say it,” he stated meanly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Good girls always ask for it.” The way his tongue wrapped around the words good girl made me borderline delirious, back arching and thighs spreading even further, until my hips hurt and I was gasping with the liquid lust coursing through my veins.
“Please!” I whined out again, hands grabbing onto his searing hot skin and attempting to pull him closer, but he didn’t budge.
“No, no, no, darling,” his voice seemed even darker and richer than usual and I was losing my mind on the little rasp, his tongue peeking out to play with the lobe of my ear quickly sending me spinning, “You need to say it.”
“Please, Taehyung,” I choked out, a few tears of frustrated arousal slipping down my cheeks, “I want you.” He smiled, giving me false sense of victory, but still kept his hips away from mine. I whined again, not knowing what else to do.
“I want to hear the words from your mouth, darling,” he stated firmly, “Say ‘Please Taehyung, I want your cock’.” I gasped at his words, the flush on my face deepening despite the lewdness of the situation I already found myself in. My tongue darted out to wet my dried lips and Taehyung’s eyes zeroed in on my mouth, fascinated.
“I want your cock,” I whispered, the arousal pushing me into boldness I’ve never displayed before, “Please, Taehyung, I want your cock so bad.” He groaned and I saw the exact moment his pupils expanded with pure lust and his eyes were overtaken by desire to have me. While his lips crashed to mine, his hand grabbed one of mine and pulled it towards his cock and wrapping it around it.
I squeezed on instinct and Taehyung moaned into me, hips bucking gently. I took a moment to feel him out, just gently ran my hands over the ridges and curves. I could feel the way Taehyung trembled, the way his breathing stuttered on tiny, muted groans, his eyes firmly shut. His hands grabbed onto my thighs and dug into them through the underskirt still half covering me from his eyes.
When I began sliding my hand up and down the shaft, Taehyung’s head once again fell to my shoulder, open mouth pressing into my skin and releasing rugged moans. His hips jerked forward in tiny motions, thrusting lightly into my curled hands. I was content with touching him, but my body also screamed for attention, thighs shaking and muscles in my belly contracting in pleasurable little ripples. I was so wet I could feel my essence sliding down my thighs and my bottom, leaving a little puddle on the bedding under us.
I squeezed around him lightly and he jerked into my hands harder, a debauched groan leaving him. I spasmed, pussy pulsing around nothing, begging to be filled up to the brim, an answering moan leaving my own lips. Taehyung looked at me through half-lidded eyes, reason completely overridden by the need to push himself into my tight wet heat at the clear need depicted on my face, he shuddered again, pre-cum leaking out the red tip of his painfully erect cock.
His hands scrambled to grab my skirt and push it up my legs until it pooled around my stomach, wet pussy exposed to his needy hands. He didn’t waste any time and pulled his fingers through my folds, teasing my clit for a moment and punching out desperate moans out of me, whole body spasming at the sudden onslaught of pleasure cursing through me, but then his fingers hurriedly slid down and pushed inside of me. At the feeling of his fingers getting so easily swallowed up by my wet cunt he groaned, thrusting them in a little and scissoring to make sure I was absolutely ready to take a cock, but both of us were beyond gone with desire.
I was enjoying the feeling of finally having something inside of me, but it didn’t last for long. After a few hurried thrusts of his fingers, Taehyung pulled his hand away and I whined, arching my back, pussy chasing after him. He quickly swatted my hands from his length and lowered his hips until we were pressing into each other, his cock snuggly sliding through my wet folds.
Our breaths were knocked out of us on deep satisfied groans. He moved his hips back and forth a few times, coating himself in my juices to ensure easier slide, and then pushed inside with one firm motion, cock driving inside of me without any resistance, filling me absolutely all the way up on the first thrust. I threw my head back, mouth open on a silent scream, the contentment of finally having him inside me lighting my every nerve on fire and satisfying something deep inside of my core. I trembled, desperately holding onto him as my brain turned to mush with barely anything.
Taehyung was having more trouble staying silent, mouth open and instantly pumping out groans and moans, shaky hands keeping my hips still and desperately trying to stop himself from immediately mindlessly driving into the divine pleasure that was the feeling of being enveloped by my wet tight walls.
I whimpered and squirmed underneath him, grabbing onto him. I wasn’t even fully aware of myself, body and mind consumed by the heavenly feeling of being filled by him.
“Please!” I whined out loud, desperately needing him to finally start doing something, like there was an itch deep inside of me that needed scratching, “Please, give me more!”
Taehyung chuckled above me, trying to stay suave and smooth but I could hear how breathless he was, could feel his hands tightening and loosening on my hips. His hips trembled against mine, jumping with excitement at my words.
He pulled his hips back and slowly slid back in, making us both sigh with content. He kept the pace slow and deep, covering me with his body and claiming my mouth with his while I fell apart on his well-aimed pace. I moaned on every stroke, arching my hips and spreading my thighs to let him hit deeper, pull him in closer.
The slow build up of the pleasure had me losing my mind. I felt like I was getting gradually submerged into boiling water, the heat steadily rising with every thrust filling me with deep primal satisfaction. My hands roamed over Taehyung’s body, appreciating his smooth skin and muscles as they jumped with movement, soaking up Taehyung’s little hick-uped groans when I passed over sensitive areas.
Taehyung changed the angle a little bit and when he pressed all the way inside, his tip pressed into a spot that had me keening loudly underneath him, eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open. My hands instinctively grabbed onto his waist and squeezed, nails digging into his skin, and Taehyung groaned loudly, hips jerking into me roughly, punching out a whiny moan out of me.
That seemed to break us into a frenzy, my hands sliding down his body and grabbing onto his ass, pushing him into me and encouraging his movements. Taehyung happily took the sign and started thrusting faster and harder, filling the room with sounds of our moans and the wet slapping of our hips. I couldn’t stop the sounds spilling out of my mouth, his every stroke hitting deep inside me and lighting my every nerve on fire, stoking the lust and the bliss in pulsing consuming waves.
I felt myself getting close to the peak I was so familiar with from his hands, the sensations drowning me and washing over me in over-powering waves. Taehyung’s moans were reaching crescendo, getting higher and whinier as his hips unfalteringly pounded into me.
“So close, darling,” he croaked with a raspy voice, “going to paint you with my seed, going to fill you to the brim.” I moaned in response, pussy throbbing and clenching around him, sucking him in deeper. I needed us both to peak, I needed it more than air to feel him unwind and release, get consumed with pleasure I provided him with.
“God, just a little more,” I answered to him breathlessly on a pleasured sigh. My hands squeezed his bottom and pushed him a little rougher. His breath hitched, but he changed his pace accordingly, slowing down but snapping his hips into me harder and rougher, making me wail with pleasure.
I felt myself spiralling into the heat, knowing I wouldn’t last too long like this. Above me Taehyung watched me through half-lidded eyes, mouth open and face consumed with raw lust at my blissed-out state. I caught his eyes just seconds before my whole body spasmed and then stilled, climax exploding over me with force that shocked a raspy scream out of me. I blanked out, trembling and overflowing with bliss and ecstasy, legs spasming and toes curling with the sensation of the fire consuming me inside out. It was the best feeling I’ve ever felt, the most intense thing my body has ever gone through, but I loved every second of it. It felt as if all the stress just drained away from my body and was replaced by molten gold.
Taehyung fucked me through the orgasm, and it took him only a few more thrusts before his hips jerked wildly, pleasure mounting until he released deep inside of me with his head thrown back and a long drawn-out moan. I felt his cock throb and pulse inside of me as it spurted his seed, his hips lightly swaying in circles to ride it out, until the boneless weightless feeling set in and he collapsed on top of me.
I was feeling so content, body pleasantly light and thrumming with aftershocks of our shared moment, eyelids heavy with sleep. I felt Taehyung slip out and move away from me, his release running down my legs and making me blush again, but I didn’t have any strength to move or wipe it away, so I just laid there and waited for the man. He returned with a piece of cloth, still just as naked, shooting me a little playful wink when he saw me looking at his body. I turned around, embarrassed, even though we had just enjoyed each other like husband and wife.
I heard his little chuckle, but then the cloth suddenly pressed onto my thighs, making me gasp quietly. Taehyung squeezed my leg in apology and continued cleaning me up. I couldn’t help the little sighs of content leaving me, the warm cloth and his gentle touches filling my heart with love.
When he was done, he threw the piece of cloth away carelessly, before jumping onto the bedding and snuggling up to me. We ended up like we always have, Taehyung holding me from behind, hands pulling me as close to him as I could go, lips and nose pressing into the crook of my neck and into my hair, trilling happily.
I let it gently lull me to sleep, melting into his loving embrace, listening to his content purrs, our bodies moulding perfectly together like it was always meant to happen. I closed my eyes, and welcomed sleep, feeling the most comfortable I’ve been in years.
I couldn’t remember what I was thinking right before I slipped under, but I did with the feeling of just everything being right.
I would be okay. We would be okay.
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hope you enjoyed yourself and see you around <3
A/N: the story of prince cheoyong, the son of the dragon king who neglected his wife to which a demon of pestilence took a liking and sneaked into her bed - one day cheoyong returned home and saw four feet sticking out of the bed instead of two, and he chased out the demon with singing and dancing, saving his wife and becoming a guardian god - it was said that no demon or evil spirit could enter a house as long as there was a likeness of cheoyong there, so people bought his portraits or talismans with his face and put them on their door, but i kind of switched the sides hehe
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kazekagevi · 4 months ago
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Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It
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PART ONE PART TWO
Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader
Word Count: 3.1k 
Tags: dark themes, indirect mention of r*pe, suicide attempt, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam, reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies. 
Summary: You, a competent researcher and writer, awoke from cryosleep a year ago, only to be imprisoned by the RDA—they intended to force you and many other women into a selective breeding program to kickstart human repopulation. However, you, the other prisoners, and allied wardens formed an escape plan; it was carried out, but you are the lone survivor. 
A/N and Disclaimer: This is my first x reader fic! This is also my first fic on Tumblr in years! I've been reading a lot of ATWOW fics and thought I would write my own. I am also challenging myself to write in present tense (I'm a past tense girly), so please forgive any grammatical errors. Hope you enjoy <3
This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work. 
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The tracking device beneath your skin feels like a ticking time bomb—although you’re certain it doesn’t have the power to detonate, should the RDA find your location before the prison sector’s power unit comes back online, it could still bring mass destruction to this region of the extrasolar moon. As if the RDA hasn't done enough of that already. 
As you walk barefoot through the unfamiliar forest of Pandora, you wonder if this is heaven. Surely, you must have died along the way—you survived the initial jailbreak, then the evasion at dawn, and managed to remain mostly unscathed from the chopper accident. On Earth, you’d feel compelled to buy a lottery ticket. The thought alone makes you chuckle, and your mask fogs in response. Your laughs, albeit quiet, turn maniacal. Maybe you hit your head hastily fleeing the first bunker, or got thwacked by metal shrapnel in the crash. 
If you live, the escape will count as a partial success. Living would make you a hero; but as darkness falls on this foreign planet, you silently wish you had become a martyr like the others instead. 
You’re completely defenseless. You have nothing more than your respirator mask that won’t stop fogging due to your panicked breaths, and the clothes on your back. You adorn an oversized jacket that you stole from the valiantly deceased helo pilot, and your prison uniform—it’s nothing more than a flimsy, green hospital gown. 
You should know more about this place. You were chosen among an elite class of writers to research alien life on Pandora. You loved traveling and writing about new cultures—studying language, customs, and history. It was your pride and joy, your life’s work. Yet, the nightmare started the day you woke from cryosleep and you were forced into a tiny cell with three other women. In your year of imprisonment, two of them had already been selected into the breeding program, while you and the other, Claudia, were awaiting that same fate. 
You almost slip on a patch of sludge and break your fall by grabbing a tree stump. 
You do know, however, that this hostile environment will kill you if you don’t find the tribe you’re searching for. Certainly, your luck will run out soon. 
So, you stop laughing, blink away the tears in your eyes, and regain your focus. You’d slap your own cheeks if you could, but your mask renders the act impossible. You have to survive, or else the girls’ and allied wardens’ deaths will be meaningless. 
As you continue on your path, the mud starts to dampen, coating the soles of your feet. You presume this is from a recent rainstorm, or perhaps you’re nearing a water source. You swallow hard—inevitably, you’re thirsty. But if breathing Pandora’s air will kill you, the water will likely do the same.
As you carefully wade through the soppy terrain, you repeat the same phrases under your breath like a prayer or mantra. Even if you suffered amnesia and lost all your memories like a slate wiped clean, you could suffice to lose it all, except a few words which you memorized in Na’vi. 
Using these phrases would determine if you lived or died, assuming you weren’t slain with an arrow on sight: after introducing yourself in the language, you must tell them you seek asylum with the Omatikaya clan at High Camp and Max knows you’re coming. Lastly, you needed to say there is a tracking device under my skin, please cut it out. 
You recite these phrases again, except this time you mess up the grammatical structure on the last part. You winge, correct yourself, and continue on your course.
The planet begins to dim as time passes. As you avoid tripping over tree roots and crushing delicate flowers, you notice Pandora’s subtle glow. The bioluminescent spots that dot the terrain look like freckles on skin. It’s the first time you’re seeing the real thing up close, instead of in a tiny photograph. You’re as enamored as you are terrified. 
Your feet hurt and your shins ache when night fully settles. You’ve been traveling by foot for hours. Imprisonment and preparation for forced motherhood meant there was little opportunity for exercise in the compound. Your body isn’t used to lifting heavy things or globetrotting long distances. 
As you use the last of your energy reserves to think—to consider stopping in a safe area for a break—a tremendous force stops you first. 
This is it, you think. You know you're going to die. 
The force is a Na’vi, whom you cannot see. From their position behind you, an arm wraps around your abdomen, lifting your smaller body off the ground like a doll. The Na’vi lodges their elbow into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you, all so they can wrap their large blue hand around your small, human neck. Despite the panic, you notice how controlled the Na’vi’s grip is—just enough to hold you still without choking you. It feels like a strange paralysis. Your oxygen mask fogs as you pant in distress. 
“Why I should not kill you?” The Na’vi asks in broken English. The timbre of the voice leads you to believe this one is male. 
Say the thing! your mind reels. You resist the urge to flail your limbs. The slightest movements make the Na’vi tighten his grip—at this very moment, you notice his other hand holds a dagger to your throat. The space between your skin and the blade is miniscule, as is your proximity to certain death. 
So you do it, you say the thing. Except, it comes out all wrong:
“My… My name is Asylum at High Camp,” you stammer in Pandora’s native language. 
The Na’vi makes a sound of confusion. You won’t know until later, but Neteyam thinks your pronunciation is mechanical, unpleasant, and downright horrible. 
Your chest heaves wildly and your heart thrums in your chest like a drum. The realization hits like a truck. “Wait… No, that’s not right,” you say in English. Your jagged breaths aren’t allowing oxygen to circulate in the mask properly—the same goes for your brain. 
The Na’vi growls against your ear. You’re running out of time. You gather the last of your composure. 
You tell him your name, properly this time, then continue with your monologue. “I-I seek asylum at High Camp, Max knows I’m coming,” you sputter like a dying engine. 
The Na’vi makes another sound of confusion, yet still seems dissatisfied. He gently presses the tip of the knife to your throat. 
“No! Please!” you beg. Your hands instinctively wrap around his glowing-freckled forearm, but you don’t tug. 
The Na’vi freezes. You can’t see it, but something is happening. 
Neteyam’s hairless brows furrow when a woodsprite lands on the edge of the blade he inherited from his maternal grandfather. The woodsprite lingers there, teetering on the edge. Then, it slots itself into the small space between your skin and his knife. You can’t help but cringe at the slight tickle of its tendrils against your collarbone. 
“Eywa,” Neteyam whispers to himself. His voice is so quiet that you cannot hear. 
The woodsprite travels over your clavicle and settles against the skin just below it. The woodsprite glows with vibrance. The light winks at Neteyam. He knows it's a sign. The tip of his knife drags gently against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. The woodsprite flutters away once his knife is over the spot where the tracker sits beneath the surface. His lips part—the area feels hard when he knows it shouldn’t be. 
Your eyes widen. You remember your lines, like an amateur actor taking the stage for the first time. 
“There’s a tracker!” you shout in English. Your shrill voice catches even Neteyam—the future Olo'eyktan—off guard. 
“A tracker?” Neteyam retorts, his voice laced with aggression and uncertainty. He doesn’t recognize that word, but your tone implies grave danger. 
You nod. “There is a tracking device under my skin,” you say in the Na’vi’s native tongue. “Please, cut it out!”
Fright flashes upon Neteyam’s face. Mentally, he’s reeling—were you sent here as bait from the sky demons? Is he falling into another one of their traps? Images of the tracker the Sky People lodged into the tulkun’s fin on the reefs of Awa'atlu flood his mind. His heart feels heavy when he thinks of Ro'a and her cub. 
Physically, however, Neteyam does as he’s told. He would never willingly take orders from Sky People, but he knows in this instance, it’s the only way to protect himself, his family, and his clan. He must abide by these orders for the greater good. 
Neteyam moves swiftly as he pins you against the nearest tree. He holds you there by your neck. Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then he zeros in on the neckline of your hospital gown. He uses his thumb to feel for the tracking device, raises his knife, and cuts. 
Pupils blown wide, you study his face in the moment of reprieve before he slashes at your skin. His eyes are bright yellow, like tiny suns or egg yolks. His lips are full, and as he grimaces, he reveals a shiny set of white teeth. His ears point backwards: he’s agitated. His tail swishes from side to side. He wears his hair in braids. Around his neck, he adorns an ornamental choker necklace. 
You howl through your teeth. Your jaw is clenched. The pain is unbearable, but at the same time, it’s the best kind you’ve ever felt. Even if this Na’vi should kill you right after, at least in your last moments, you’ll feel free. 
Blood pools around his knife as he cuts through the first layer of skin. He tries to ignore your cries as he presses his long fingertips into the open wound. He pulls when he feels a small piece of plastic; with a bit of effort, he dislodges it from your body. 
You sigh in relief when the Na’vi removes it, but the pain lingers—it worsens when you press your fingertips against the wound to stop the bleeding. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel lightheaded. 
The Na’vi removes his grip from your neck, only so he can destroy the tracker. Neteyam notes that trackers he’s encountered in the past tend to beep, light up, or some combination of both—this one has neither of those attributes. The uncomfortable knots in Neteyam’s stomach begin to untie, but he cannot give up his resolve. His work is unfinished. 
He presses the tracker against the tree bark, grunts, and he hacks away with his weapon.
Even as you’re bleeding—potentially to death—you continue to study the Na’vi’s physique and stature. This one in particular is muscular and athletic, and presumably taller than average. The way his muscles move under his blue skin is enchanting, and the way his freckles glow, you might as well be looking up at the night sky. You’re certain this will be your last chance to witness life on Pandora, or life at all—might as well bask in it. 
The tracker is chopped and diced into small pieces, like how you used to cut vegetables back on Earth. The Na’vi looks pleased with his work. Then, his hairless brows furrow again, he spits into his hand, and throws the pieces as far as he can into the Pandoran wilderness. He hisses. You think it’s some kind of power move, but you’re not quite sure, and you definitely don’t have the gall to ask. 
Neteyam stands still for a moment, bloodied hands on his hips. He has yet to face the elephant in the room—or in this circumstance, the tawtute against the tree. 
That blood is only yours. Your eyes roll into the back of your head; you see stars upon realizing just how much you’ve lost. 
---
You wake to the sounds of beeps and whirrs.
All is quiet. You’re in a small room with white walls. The lights are dimmed. Your breaths are slow and relaxed—but as the cogs start to turn, you begin to question if you’re safe or not. 
Pain shoots through your shoulder like a strike of lightning as you sit up in the cot you’ve been sleeping in. You wince loudly, and the noise echoes. 
Your mind briefly recalls the events of the last twenty-four hours, leading up to the encounter with the Na’vi. Evidently, it wasn’t a dream or figment of your highly active imagination. 
Your clavicle has been wrapped in a thick bandage. When you pull back the thin blanket that covers the rest of you, you realize the dirt and grime that covered your feet and legs has been washed away. 
You sigh in relief. You think you’re safe, until you discover that your old hospital gown has been replaced with a brand new albeit identical one—one with the Resource Development Administration’s logo on the tag. 
Your heart feels heavy. 
The escape was unsuccessful. The mission failed.
It makes sense now, as your vision swims through the confined space. This must be it—this must be where they took Seraphina, and Leah, and Clover. This must be where the girls who get picked go. Where they are prepared. Where they are taken. 
You sit there for a few moments, then begin to hyperventilate. The Na’vi male must have left you there to die, and the RDA must have tracked you down anyway. Given that they lost all of their prisoners in the jailbreak, it made sense. They would do anything to get you back. 
You shatter like glass.
Tears prick your bloodshot eyes like thorns. You pluck each wire from your arm like guitar strings, separating yourself from any machines. They continue to beep, but at a different pace, like a sounding alarm. 
You search the room for an escape. You spot a pitcher and sponge on the counter adjacent to the bed. 
In the laboratory across from the infirmary room, Max looks up from his microscope when he hears a loud crash. He jumps up from his swivel chair and dashes across the hall, opening the infirmary door. 
Max has no choice but to undertake—you have a large shard of glass in your hand, and you use all the force in your tired body to resist. He grimaces as you continue to aim for a critical slice on your opposite wrist. His words fail to soothe. 
“Norm!” the unfamiliar man calls. “We’ve got a cutter!” 
Footsteps thump down the hall, then another man enters. “Holy shit,” he says. “What the hell is going on?!”
“I don’t know!” Max shouts back. 
Norm, in his human form, hops over the pile of broken glass, and crouches to meet your bleary, downcast eyes. “Hey… Hey! Stop! You’re safe here!”
You can’t stop the tears from coming. You shake your head and continue to thrash in Max’s arms. “To hell with you RDA fucks!” you spit at him. 
Norm’s eyes fall shut when a glob of saliva hits his left cheek. He counts to three before responding. “We’re not with them!” He grabs your wrists. “Calm down! You’re at High Camp!”
You freeze. You choke on a loud sob. “What?” you ask weakly. 
“I’m Norm,” the one crouching before you says. “That guy, behind you, he’s Max. We’re scientists allied with the Na’vi. This is the stronghold. You’re in our laboratory.” 
You sniffle. The room goes silent. “But this gown?” you croak, showing him the logo.
Norm sighs. “We loot supplies from RDA… That’s all.” 
“Take a deep breath,” says Max. You do as you're told, and your muscles relax. Max docks the glass shard from your hand and eases his grip. Norm nods in approval. “One more,” Max adds. Inhale. Exhale. “You’re alright now.” 
Inevitably, you start crying again. But this time, your tears are joyous. The tension breaks like ice—it’s melting. You’re awash in relief you thought would never come. It’s euphoric. It’s blissful. You’re free. 
A year of suffering and imprisonment is released in your loud sobs. Max catches you before you can fall to your knees on the remnants of the broken pitcher. Neither of them know what to say, so they say nothing. 
Norm, the one on the floor, wipes his cheek with the collar of his shirt. Then he reaches into one of the infirmary cabinets, procuring a dust pan and small sweeper. He does his best to clean the porcelain shards quickly and quietly. “Get her an Ativan,” he mumbles to Max on his way to the disposal bin. Max swallows his nerves. 
---
You’re moved into another room in the facility after your incident in the infirmary. When you come to, you feel slightly embarrassed. You didn’t even check to see if the door of that room was unlocked, which it was. 
“I’m sorry about your pitcher,” you tell Max as he returns from the linen closet with the blankets you asked for. 
Max chuckles. He wants to say he’s more than sorry about all that’s happened to you. He was aiding and abetting the lead warden—the one who came up with the masterplan. “Don’t worry about it. That pitcher meant nothing to me,” he assures. 
You crack a crooked, uneasy smile. The Ativan is starting to take its effect. Max smiles back.
You feel grateful. The scientists here have been nothing but kind and patient. 
You can’t help but also feel grateful to the Na’vi male who presumably saved your life. You don’t know where he is, how to find him, or if you’ll see him again, but you feel indebted. You want to ask Max how you can show your gratitude, but that will have to wait. 
“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.” 
Max nods with a crestfallen smile. “If you need anything else, I’ll be around in the lab all day. Norm will be spending some time as his Avatar, so he won’t be around until later,” he says. “You were out for two entire days, I’m sure you’re hungry. Feel free to have anything in the walk-in or pantry. We don’t always have meals together as a crew, but tonight we’ll have dinner together,” Max explains. 
You’re left alone once Max is sure you’re settled and calm, and won’t break the vase on the coffee table that he does care about. 
---
A/N: Feel free to leave any and all feedback on this chapter! Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciate. In part two, Norm and Max will discuss your arrival with our king, Jake Sully. <3
NEXT CHAPTER: PART TWO
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punkshort · 10 months ago
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somewhere to run | 8. restrained
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Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Patrick gets released from jail. You and Joel are left to deal with the fallout.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, threats of violence, jealousy, possessiveness, destruction of property, DV is an underlying theme but not explicitly discussed, reminiscing of smut, emotional abuse, reader being called degrading terms for women (not by Joel), infidelity
WC: 8.1K
Series Masterlist
Helen greeted him when he walked through the front doors of the station and he nodded to her in return, just like always. As he walked through the bullpen and a few of his men said good morning or hey, boss, he replied in turn. Everybody was looking at him and treating him like it was any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. He surely must have been walking differently, or maybe his eyes shone a little brighter. Something had to be different because he didn't feel normal anymore. He felt like a brand new man. How was it not obvious? Wasn't it painted across his chest in red? Couldn't they see?
Joel had driven home early from your apartment that morning, the sun barely hanging in the sky in the hopes of avoiding prying eyes this time. At least he had the good sense to park a couple streets over, learning his lesson from the last time he visited you at night.
He had all but given up hope that you would be his one day. Especially after hearing your heart wrenching story, he thought you certainly wouldn't want anything to do with him. With anybody. How would it be possible for someone who had been through what you had been through to trust anyone ever again?
He wouldn't have even blamed you. But somehow, miraculously, you did trust again. And you chose to trust him. You let him into your life, into your heart, into your bed.
Leaving you that morning was the hardest thing he ever did. He was minutes away from calling into work sick, but you insisted he shouldn't, that you would be fine, that you would see him later. He struggled with it, guilt washing over him yet again, not knowing what to do. You were so used to putting up a facade, lying and pretending that everything was okay that you had become frighteningly good at it, sometimes making you difficult to read. The sun peeking over the tops of the trees and the reassurance that Patrick was still in jail, if only for a few more hours, made him finally decide to leave. But the moment he stepped out your front door and fresh air hit his lungs instead of your intoxicating scent, he knew he was done for. He already missed you.
As he pulled into his driveway, he began worrying about later that night. Even with a restraining order, he didn't trust Patrick. He wanted to be with you. But Sarah needed him, too. He had already left her with Tommy the night before and he'd never done that two days in a row.
When he walked into his quiet house, his first instinct was to follow his normal morning routine: shower, dress, coffee, but he stopped himself as he was picking out a fresh set of clothes for the day. He pinched his shirt away from his chest and took a sniff, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before letting it go.
He smelled like you.
Deciding to skip the shower, he begrudgingly changed his clothes, hoping that your scent would linger on his skin all day.
He jogged down the stairs as he blindly finished knotting his tie. Heading into the kitchen, he flicked on the coffee pot and grabbed his favorite mug before glancing around the room. He wasn't usually one for breakfast, but he had a feeling it would be a long day, so he swung open the fridge to see what was inside. His eyes immediately landed on an unfamiliar styrofoam box. With a frown, he picked it up and placed it on the counter, then flipped it open to reveal his favorite sandwich from Tommy's diner, completely untouched with a note written on the inside lid.
Weren't at the station, thought I would find you here but I guess I missed you. -T
So, Tommy already knew he wasn't working late and he wasn't home. Shit. It had only been a few hours and he already slipped up.
Carol's voice echoed through his head as he drove to work. A warning veiled as friendly advice to keep things separate. As much as it pained him, he knew he had to be careful. This town was too small and gossip travelled too quickly and he couldn't risk fucking up your case against Patrick all because he couldn't control himself and keep his dick in his pants.
He should have thought about that before he left. He should have talked to you about keeping your relationship a secret, although you seemed to come to that conclusion on your own, having urged him to leave before the town woke.
Hell, he didn't even talk to you about the nature of your relationship at all.
As he walked into the break room and poured his second cup of coffee, he mentally scolded himself for being so stupid. He needed to get his head on straight. Maybe he could lie to Tommy and convince him he went on a walk to clear his head when he had stopped by, when in actuality your thighs were probably trembling over his shoulders while he buried his nose and tongue deep inside your sweet, little -
"Shit!" Joel grumbled, shaking his hand to flick the drops of scalding coffee off his skin before running his fingers under some cool water for relief.
Yeah, he really needed to get his head on straight.
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"Hey boss, got a minute?"
Joel glanced up from his computer at Bobby standing in the doorway to his office with his hands on his hips. Shockingly, he had actually managed to get into a groove and gotten some work done. It was probably the longest he'd gone without thinking about you in a while, but he would find his mind wrapping itself back around you in a moment because his deputy was coming to talk to him about the last person on earth he wanted to hear about.
"The asshole's lawyer's here insistin' we let 'em go."
Joel knew he would have to do it today. Patrick posted bail and, legally, Joel was only allowed to hold him for a certain amount of time. But it still made his blood run cold.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to stand up, snatching his keys and rounding the desk.
"I'll take care of it."
As Joel made his way to the back of the station, his eye caught a younger man in an expensive looking suit waiting next to Bobby's desk. He was furiously tapping out something on his phone, but when he noticed Joel, he pocketed the device and picked up his leather briefcase from the stack of precariously placed files on the desk.
"Sheriff?" he asked, jogging to catch up with Joel's long strides.
"That's me," he replied gruffly.
"Beckett Kennedy," the man said, stretching out his hand. Joel came to a sudden stop, making Beckett stumble a bit in surprise.
"Joel," he replied, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. His eyes raked over the man's dark, slicked back hair as he tried to ignore his overpowering, and no doubt over-priced, cologne. "Joel Miller."
"Good to meet you. I'm representing -"
"I know, my deputy told me. I'm lettin' him out right now, heard he posted bail. Sorry, been a busy mornin'," Joel replied, turning on his heel to unlock the door that led to the holding cells.
"Much appreciated, Sheriff," Beckett said, trailing after Joel. The man looked very young. Joel was beginning to wonder if maybe Patrick hired a rookie, but when they rounded the corner and Beckett laid eyes on Patrick's bruised and swollen face, Joel quickly realized the lawyer was smarter than he seemed.
"The hell did you do to my client?" Beckett asked, his pleasant demeanor long gone.
"Didn't do anythin'," Joel said calmly as he sifted through the keys in his hand, trying to locate the right one.
"Bullshit. He fucking attacked me in a bar," Patrick said, standing up and gripping the metal bars. Beckett swiveled around to glare at Joel, who was still taking his time finding the key.
"You assaulted my client, Sheriff?"
"Didn't assault anyone," Joel said, finally finding the key and turning it in the lock. He swung the door open and leaned against it, rolling his eyes as Patrick made a big show about limping out of the cell. "Believe you lawyers call it self-defense. Your client swung on me when I was tryin' to have a calm conversation with him 'bout his alcohol consumption that night. Or don't you remember?" Joel asked, turning on Patrick now. "Maybe you had somethin' else in your system besides whiskey that's makin' it hard to recall."
Patrick was about to reply, anger flaring in his eyes, when Beckett held out his hand.
"Don't say a word," he muttered, and Joel grinned when Patrick ruefully clamped his mouth shut. "I don't like what you're insinuating, Sheriff, and all these charges against him are over the line. Two counts aggravated assault, aggravated sexual assault, public intoxication, assaulting an officer-"
"That one's considered a hate crime down here, by the way."
Patrick glared at him and it took everything Joel had not to bash his skull into the iron bars.
Beckett sighed as he scrolled on his phone, reading down the rest of the list of charges silently before glancing back up at the two men and saying your name questioningly.
Hearing your name out of that man's mouth made Joel's whole body ignite with rage. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as he tried to take deep breaths and focus on what they were saying. Keep it separate. Don't fuck this up.
"Yeah, that's my wife," Patrick had said, and again, Joel felt his muscles spasm under his shirt. As if they had a mind of their own, arms itching to reach out and strangle him. Wife. Wife. Wife.
"We're gonna have to talk about this in private," Beckett said to Patrick. Joel took a deep breath, grateful that they were leaving because he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold himself back much longer. But as Joel walked them back out to the front of the station, he felt compelled to say just one more thing.
"Now your client's got a restrainin' order against him. I trust you will make sure he understands what that means if he violates it."
"I know what it fucking means," Patrick spat. "You forget I'm a cop, too? Seems like it, considering the way I've been treated here-"
"That's enough," Beckett said, cutting Patrick off yet again. "Thank you, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."
"I am sure you will," Joel said, leaning against Helen's desk as he watched the two men leave, the front door clicking shut quietly after them.
"Piece of work," Helen muttered as she adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose and turned back to her computer.
"Yeah, you're tellin' me," Joel sighed. He shoved himself off the desk and headed back to his desk, only pulling his phone out when he had privacy once again.
Joel: He's out.
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You stood in the middle of your kitchen staring down blankly at your phone. The two little words taunting you, glaring at you, piercing your skin before knocking the wind out of you.
He's out. He's out. He's out.
You rushed down the stairs and triple checked your locks with shaky fingers before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. It will be okay. This time will be different.
You trudged back up the steps and locked the door behind you, one that you typically left unlocked because you felt it to be more of a hinderance than anything, but going forward you would have to take every precaution. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Patrick very well. He wouldn't take this lying down. He never has. He will find a way, he will find you and when he gets his hands on you again -
"Stop it," you mumbled to yourself, gently knocking the heel of your hand against your temple, hoping to shake loose the bad thoughts. Just as another wave of panic was about to surge, your phone buzzed again.
Joel: It will be okay. I won't let him touch you.
You took a slow breath in and closed your eyes. How did he know you so well already? How could he know you, inside and out, almost better than you knew yourself?
You knew why.
Because he cares. Because he pays attention and listens and puts your needs first. All of them. Always worried if you ate enough, if you took pain medicine when you were hurting, if you needed a ride back from work, if you could come for him again.
You couldn't live in fear anymore. You finally had someone fighting in your corner, someone who could actually help you, someone you trusted. You needed to be strong. Joel couldn't do everything for you, although you were fairly certain if he could, he would. You picked up your phone and typed out a reply.
You: I know. Thank you.
It was brief, but you knew he needed the reassurance that you were okay. And just as quickly as you sent the message, another popped up on your screen.
Joel: Me and Sarah will pick you up from work tonight and take you home. I'll check your place before I leave.
Tears burned your eyes instantly, overcome with so much gratitude you could just melt into the floor. You hadn't thought about being alone overnight yet, and the idea sent a shock of anxiety through you. Be brave. Be strong.
You: Okay.
Joel: Miss you.
You smiled, your eyes crinkling just enough to cause the tears you were fighting to hold back to fall down your cheeks.
You: I miss you too :)
You took another deep breath and looked around your small living room. You made it this far. You could do this.
It will be different this time.
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You had half expected the rest of the waitresses to know what happened when you arrived at the diner that evening. Every time you made eye contact with one of them, you kept waiting for the inevitable look of pity, or their eyes to travel over your face, trying to see past your makeup to what was hidden underneath, but they seemed to treat you exactly the same as always. The butterflies in your stomach quieted down after an hour when you realized Tommy and Maria must have kept their word when Joel asked them to keep your situation private.
At the very least you had expected Maria to try to talk to you about it quietly, or maybe Tommy to make some comment, but they didn't say a word. They welcomed you back to work as if you had been on vacation and you were actually able to push Patrick and the last few days out of your mind. Before you knew it, the dinner rush was nearly over, and you were close to surviving your first shift back. Your legs and feet ached as you unloaded a bus tub in the dish area. You felt sweaty and tired, but you still had a couple hours left in your shift and you could only hope that the rest of the night would be quiet.
"What can I make ya?"
Your head swiveled around in surprise, somehow not hearing one of the cooks, Thor, sneak up on you. He was leaning his big, hulking frame against the wall casually as he waited for your response, as though it wasn't the first time he's ever initiated a conversation with you that wasn't strictly work related. To say he was a big man was an understatement. With tattoo covered arms that were as wide as your torso and towered at least a foot over you, when you first met him, he immediately made you nervous. His intimidating physique and quiet demeanor set you on edge, but by the end of your first day you had realized he was actually very kind. Sure, he kept to himself and didn't say much, but he kept his cool under pressure and he was always doing silent favors for the waitstaff.
"Huh?" was all you could think of to say. He raised an eyebrow at you, giving you a look like it was the most obvious question in the world.
"I said, what can I make ya?" he said again, and then it clicked. He wanted to make you something for dinner. He's never offered before. In fact, you were fairly certain you've never seen him away from the grill once, let alone tracking down waitresses in the dish room for a chat.
"Oh," you said, setting the empty bus tub down and looking around uncomfortably. "You don't have to -"
"If you don't pick somethin', I'm makin' you a BLT."
You met his eyes again, trying to figure out what spurred this on, but his expression gave nothing away.
"Tommy told you, didn't he?" you asked quietly. He gave a small shrug and crossed his arms.
"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."
You dropped your gaze to the floor, trying to hide your reaction. He was just offering to make you a sandwich, but it was more than that. He was trying to do something to help. Essentially an acquaintance, a step up from a stranger, he was attempting to reach out and offer his support, in his own way.
He must have seen your eyes grow misty because he pushed off the wall with a grunt, ready to make a hasty exit.
"BLT it is," he said gruffly, and just as he was about to turn to leave, you spoke.
"With turkey?"
He glanced at you and you swore you saw the corner of his bearded mouth twitch, the muscles trying to pull into a smile, but he wouldn't let them. He gave you a quick nod and then headed back behind the line. You bit your lip to try to hold back your smile as you wiped your hands on your apron, then headed out the door back into the dining room.
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It was getting close to the end of the night. The diner was closing in thirty minutes and there were only two tables left in the building. With any luck, you would be able to get out of there on time, eager to climb into the safety of Joel's truck. You had been nervous about sleeping alone now that Patrick was out of jail, but now all you could think about was curling up in your bed that hopefully still smelled like Joel.
You were wiping down the coffee machines when you heard the door open and Maria greet a customer. You groaned inwardly when you heard her tell them that the counter was open, and you hoped it was just someone who maybe wanted coffee and a piece of pie so you could still get out on time. Glancing up through the kitchen window, you spotted Thor and Tommy putting away the salad bar and listening to a hockey game over the radio. You sighed, now wishing more than ever that the customer didn't want anything complicated since the kitchen was nearly all broken down for the night.
The fake smile that you plastered across your face fell when you turned around, and you felt all the blood drain from your face when you met a pair of cold, familiar eyes set around a broken nose, waiting for you.
"Y-you can't be he-"
"I know, just listen to me, alright?" Patrick pleaded, looking guilty for maybe the first time in his life.
You looked over his shoulder at Maria, but she was too busy sweeping the foyer to notice what was happening.
"Please look at me, baby."
"Don't call me that," you said softly, but still, your eyes involuntarily slid back to him.
You saw his jaw clench as he cracked a knuckle in his finger, but he forced a smile anyway.
"I guess I deserved that," he admitted, leaning forward as his eyes raked up and down your body. "You look good. Uniform's sexy."
"Stop it," you said, your voice a little firmer now, but still too quiet.
"What? I can't compliment my own wife?" he said with a smile and a tilt of his head. You just stared at him, not sure what to say, worried about setting him off again. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back.
"Can I get a coffee? My head's fucking killing me."
You hesitated and glanced around the dining room, watching as one of the two tables got up. Maria wished them good night as they left, and she continued to clean up the foyer.
"What do you want?" you finally asked, your eyes flicking back to him.
"I just told you," he said, his voice taking on a menacing tone. "I want a cup of coffee and I want to talk to my fucking wife."
You took a shaky breath in and reached down below the counter for a mug. This was the Patrick you were used to.
"And then you'll go?"
His eyes narrowed at you and his jaw ticked to the side, but eventually he nodded.
"Yeah. And then I'll go."
Your hand trembled as you picked up the coffee pot and filled a mug. Turning back around, you stepped forward and placed the cup in front of him, realizing a moment too late that you were within arms length of him, but fortunately he didn't do anything. Hurriedly, you stepped backwards a few feet, creating some distance.
His eyes slowly lifted up from the steaming mug as he stared at you, something sinister flickering behind his eyes. Something that sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart begin beating twice as fast.
"You-"
He stopped himself as he clenched his fists and took a deep breath, then tried again.
"You fucking whore."
Your eyes widened and you stumbled back, your shoulder blades knocking against the behemoth of a coffee machine. Sweat was beginning to accumulate at the base of your skull as your fear spiked.
Patrick stood up from his stool and beckoned you forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the last table get up to leave and part of you was relieved. At least whatever was going to happen wouldn't involve innocent customers.
His face was growing hot as he beckoned you forward again, accidentally knocking the coffee over with a clatter, the dark liquid trailing like a lazy river down the counter. And this time, you shook your head.
"I fucking smell him on you, you slut!" he growled lowly, anger and fury lacing every word.
You gasped, your hands coming up to clamp over your mouth as tears began to cloud your vision.
"There a problem here?"
Both of you jumped when Tommy's voice rang out from somewhere next to you.
"No, there's no problem," Patrick said, unphased by Tommy's presence. "Just trying to talk to my wife, do you mind?"
"Actually, I do. Pretty sure you ain't allowed to be around her right now," Tommy said, taking a step forward, almost standing between you now. Maria's head popped up from a booth when she heard the tone in Tommy's voice and she quickly made her way to the hostess stand, picking up the phone and dialing.
"Pretty sure that's none of your fucking business," Patrick sneered, eyeing Tommy up and down. "The fuck you gonna do about it?"
"Call the police, for one," Tommy quipped, and Patrick scoffed.
"Oh, your sheriff? That motherfu-" Patrick's voice trailed off as he froze, his eyes going round as he actually stumbled backwards, his gaze fixed on something behind you both. When you turned around, you found Thor was standing quietly right behind you, staring Patrick down. Quite literally, as he towered over him by a good five or six inches.
Thor placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to the side so he could step forward.
"You wanna try that again, boy?" Thor asked, his voice taking on a tone you never heard from him before.
"You got guard dogs now? How many men in this town are you fucking?" Patrick shouted, craning his neck to try to look at you, but Tommy stepped forward again, blocking his view.
"She's one of our own. We don't take too kindly to people talkin' to one of us like that around here," Tommy said, squaring his jaw.
"Jesus Christ," Patrick muttered, then huffed out a disbelieving laugh before glancing around the dining room. He realized his options were limited, so he began to back away.
"Fine. I'll leave," he said, looking at Thor and holding his palms up in defeat.
"Good idea," Tommy said, still not moving until Patrick slowly backed up towards the doors, trying and failing to think of one more jab to get in before he disappeared. Maria quickly locked the doors and twisted around, eyes wide.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, rushing towards you. "I had no idea, I didn't know what he looked like-"
"It's okay," you said, waving her off and sagging against the counter, your body suddenly feeling weak.
"I called the station, Bobby will be here in a minute. Let's take you to the office so you can have some privacy."
Maria wrapped her arm around your shoulder, turning you towards the kitchen, but just as you were about to walk through the door, you stopped and turned around to look at Thor and Tommy.
"Thank you," you whispered, your bottom lip trembling. They both looked at you, Tommy waving you off with a smile, about to say something, but Thor unexpectedly spoke up.
"Don't need to thank us. Like he said, you're one of us now. We look out for each other."
You were pretty sure even Tommy was surprised by the amount of words Thor said at once because he slowly turned his head to look up at him in shock.
You gave Thor a small smile and nodded before letting Maria lead you to the back.
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"When do you think I'll have a shift where we don't have to get the police involved?" you asked Maria, and she chuckled. It had been about twenty minutes and the adrenaline was wearing off. You were beginning to feel more like yourself again, more at ease. Maybe having people in your life know the truth wasn't actually a bad thing. You felt safe. You felt protected. And most of all, you felt like you belonged. But you also felt an unshakable cloud of guilt and fear. Guilt for dragging innocent people into your drama, and fear that Patrick won't back down so easily next time someone tries to stand up for you.
"To be fair, the Marcus thing could have happened to any one of us. You just got lucky that day."
You laughed and leaned your head against the wall.
"Yeah, guess you're right."
There was a soft knock on the office door and Maria stood to open it. You rolled your head to the side then straightened up when Joel walked in, looking frazzled and shaken up with the curls on top of his head messier than usual, most likely from his fingers anxiously combing through them.
His eyes locked onto you immediately and you could tell he was holding back. His hands fidgeted at his sides as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. He glanced back and forth between you and Maria before clearing his throat.
"Sarah's out front. I didn't tell her what happened, didn't wanna scare her. D'you mind-"
"Of course not," Maria said, already understanding what he needed. "I'll take her in the back, let her pick out a dessert or two."
"Thank you," Joel said, waiting until she walked away before he shut the door and turned back to you.
"I'm so sorry," he said, quickly stepping forward to wrap his arms around you. You sighed, your arms draping around his neck as you leaned into his chest, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. Your muscles instantly relaxed in his hold, your mind went blank and all of your worries, the guilt and the fear, began to drift away.
"I'm okay," you murmured into his shirt, but he just squeezed you tighter.
"I shoulda been here."
"You can't be here all the time, Joel," you said, leaning back to look up at him. "I know you want to do it all, and it's so sweet, but it's impossible." You reached up to cup his face, your thumb rubbing across his stubbled cheek gently. His eyes were still filled with worry, so you stretched up on your tiptoes, brushing your lips softly against his. He responded quickly, lips massaging yours before he pulled away all too soon. He let his forehead rest against yours and sighed heavily, his arms still holding you flush against him.
"I got three cars out lookin' for him. We'll find him and toss him back in jail."
You nodded, your eyes closed as you leaned against him, perfectly content to stay that way until your legs gave out.
"'Til we find him, you shouldn't be alone. Tommy said you could stay with them, or you could stay with me." He tried to keep the hope out of his voice, wanting you to make your choice without his influence, but he desperately hoped you would take him up on his offer.
"I-" you paused, eyes still closed, guilt slowly swelling back up in your chest. "Maybe we shouldn't confuse Sarah," you finally decided to say, and you felt his shoulders slump under your arms.
He wanted to argue with you, wanted to convince you to stay with him, but he didn't. He didn't say anything. He just nodded and stepped back. When your arms slid down from around his neck, he caught your wrist and brought it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss against your pulse before letting you go.
You stared at one another for a long moment, so many things you both wanted to say, but couldn't.
A sudden trill filled the room. An upbeat tune playing from deep within his pocket. He slid his hand down to pluck out his phone from his pants, his thumb sliding over the screen before answering.
"Yeah?"
You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest, watching as his eyes drifted around the office while he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call. He stared blankly at some old bankers boxes filled with receipts underneath the desk as he nodded along, his thumb coming up to rub anxiously against his lower lip.
As the phone call continued, with Joel only giving brief answers, you heard a knock at the door. You cracked it open then pushed it further when you saw Tommy waiting on the other side. He stepped into the small space, his mouth open about to ask Joel a question until he realized he was on the phone, then turned to you, instead.
"Any luck?"
"I don't think so," you said, shaking your head.
"We got a spare room, you can stay with us tonight. If you want, that is," Tommy offered awkwardly. You gave him a tight smile in return.
"Yeah, I - if you don't mind, that would be great."
Just as Tommy was about to answer, Joel turned around to face you both, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"Can't find him," he said, trying to mask the frustration he was feeling, but you could see the muscles in his neck tense.
"Why don't you take her back to her place so she can get some things, then drop her off at our house? I'll take Sarah, you can pick her up when you come by. I'll make somethin' up 'bout a burst pipe or whatever," Tommy suggested, and again you could see Joel's exasperation seeping through as his eyes shifted back and forth between you and his brother, but he eventually agreed.
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Joel drove you back to your apartment in silence. It was only a few minute drive, but it felt like it was an hour. So many things swirled around in your head, words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't get them out. You were beginning to feel like a burden. You were asking so much of him and this poor town. The guilt was weighing you down, suffocating you, and you wished you had just run again when you had the chance, but then his hand slid across the console and his fingers brushed against yours and your selfishness won. You allowed his fingers to lace together with yours as his eyes remained focused on the road, looking for a parking spot and again, the words were right there. I need you. I hate that I'm so much trouble. I'm sorry.
"Alright," Joel said, pulling his hand back and cutting the engine. "I had one of my guys drive by earlier, but just in case, I'm goin' in first. You wait for me at the bottom of the stairs, door locked behind you til I come and get you. Got it?"
Only when you quickly nodded did he allow you to exit the truck. You stayed behind him as he approached your door, giving the knob and experimental twist before reaching his hand back towards you, waiting for your keys. You fumbled for a moment and handed him the correct one.
The door had been locked. You just assumed everything would be fine, but you would soon find out you were wrong.
You stood at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, watching as Joel walked up the steps, pulling his gun out only once he reached the top, then disappeared into your kitchen. You shifted your weight nervously, lower lip pulling between your teeth as your ears strained to try to figure out where he was. The place was very small, it shouldn't take that long. After several minutes without a sound, your curiosity got the better of you.
"Joel?" you called up quietly, and you finally saw the shadow of his frame darken the doorway before he appeared and looked down at you, his face unreadable.
"It's clear, but..." he trailed off, his eyes casting over his shoulder before looking down at you again. "He was here."
"What?" you asked, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "But the door-"
"I dunno," Joel said with a sigh before pulling his phone out and dialing a number. "Maybe he made a copy of your key or somethin'."
You shakily sat down on the bottom step, his words repeating over and over in your head. How could you be so stupid? Have you learned nothing? He could have killed you and these locks wouldn't have done a damn thing.
You vaguely heard Joel talking to one of his men over the phone, presumably asking whoever had stopped by your place earlier if there was anything suspicious that jumped out at him, but it didn't matter now. Just when you thought he couldn't violate you any more, he did. He had been in your space. In your safe haven. What did he do?
"Joel?" you called out again, standing up and leaning forward. You wanted to obey him and stay at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, but you needed to see what Patrick did. Joel was still talking on the phone, unable to hear you, so instead of calling out again, you went up. When you walked through the doorway, you gasped.
All of your plates, glasses, mugs, dishware were shattered in tiny pieces all over the kitchen floor. Cupboards were left open, food was poured all over the countertops, spilling down the wood cabinet doors and mixing with broken glass on the floor.
You kept your shoes on and tiptoed into the living room where you heard Joel's voice speaking lowly into the phone. You covered your mouth as you looked around the room. The few plants you had were smashed, dirt was spewed and ground into the old carpet. Books were flung onto the floor, some pages even ripped out, and the couch was turned upside down, thrown against the wall. You barely even noticed the TV was lying on its side, the screen smashed, because you were fixated on the holes punched and kicked into the walls, pieces of plaster and dust piled up on the floor under each one.
Eventually, you must have made a noise because Joel swiveled around to look at you.
"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, and hung up before rushing over to you. "I told you to wait downstairs."
"I know, but -" you lost your voice, unable to continue. Your whole life was in this apartment, and now it was destroyed. How long did it take? Minutes? An hour? Was that really all it took to pick up your entire world and shake it like a snow globe?
"It's just stuff," he said, trying to reassure you. "It can all be replaced. You can't be replaced, though. You hear me?"
You looked up at him, tears already streaming down your face. His eyes softened and he sighed before pulling you against his chest, his strong hands wrapping themselves around your middle, cradling your head against his pounding heart as you sobbed.
"What am I going to do?" you wondered out loud, your voice muffled against his shirt.
"Stay with me."
He felt you stiffen in his arms and he looked down at you.
"Please. I'd feel better if you stayed with me. Just until we find him, okay?"
"Okay," you agreed, trying not to show your relief but you already felt safer just knowing you would be under his watch that night. You still worried about Sarah, but you would make sure she knew you were sleeping on the couch. You refused to complicate Joel's life any further than you already had.
"Okay," he repeated, his voice soft. He leaned back and swiped a thumb over your cheek, drying your tears. "Let's see if we can get any of your clothes. Then we'll go get Sarah and go home."
Home.
You nodded and let him lead you to your bedroom, grabbing a tote bag from your small closet as you began to rifle through your dresser drawers.
Patrick had tossed your clothes around your room, but they didn't look like they were destroyed. It probably would have taken too long, you realized, as you packed a bag with whatever you could think of, ignoring how your comforter and sheets were piled at the foot of your bed, the strong smell of urine emanating from your mattress. When you stood up, you noticed for the first time the stuffed penguin Joel had won for you was torn in half, white fluffy stuffing spilling out in a corner of your room.
Choking back a sob, you walked towards the bathroom, but Joel reached out to stop you.
"What d'you need? I'll get it."
"What do you mean?" you asked, giving him a confused look as you wiped your nose on the back of your hand. "Why can't I -"
"Just tell me what you need and I'll grab it for you," he said, not allowing you to ask the question. You stared at him, trying to figure out what could possibly be worse than urine on your bed. When neither of you budged, you brushed past him and flicked on the light.
You only paused for a moment, Joel standing right behind you as you read the words repeatedly scrawled all over the mirror and walls with the few lipsticks you owned. Whore. Slut. Badge Bunny. Cunt.
You swallowed and looked down, averting your gaze to focus on packing your toiletries as quickly as you could. You heard Joel say your name softly from the doorway, but you ignored him and continued to throw things into your bag - shampoo, toothbrush, whore, face wash, slut, hair brush, deodorant.
A chill went down his spine as he watched your face harden and your eyes glaze over. Memories of how you pulled away from him in the past came creeping back: the cologne, the robbery, your marriage... Patrick, and everything he's done. He couldn't let you slip through his fingers again.
"I'm ready," you said numbly, pushing past him and heading to the door.
Joel followed you outside, making sure to lock up after, although you could hardly see the point, with what little belongings you had left clutched in your hand.
He jumped into the driver's seat and started the truck, glancing sideways at you, trying to figure out what to say to give you some comfort, but he was coming up empty.
"He knows," you said after a few painfully silent minutes. Joel flicked his gaze to you quickly before focusing back on the road, immediately knowing what you meant.
"How-"
"He said he could smell you on me," you told him, refusing to look at him as shame coursed through your veins.
Joel flinched. Now he was reading those words on your wall differently. Now he knew Patrick wrote those things because of him, and it made him feel sick.
"Did you say anythin'?"
"No," you said, shaking your head, still staring out your window. "Of course not."
"Good," he said. "That's... good. I mean-" he glanced over at you again, stumbling over his words. "Not good, it just-"
"I know what you're trying to say, Joel," you said quietly.
He tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh as another tense silence filled the truck.
"I'll have someone go over in the mornin', process the scene so we can press additional charges," he said, breaking the quiet. You just continued to stare out the window, exhausted.
"How will you prove it was even him?"
"DNA," was all Joel said, and you closed your eyes. You refused to give the situation any more tears, so you forced them back and opened your eyes, resting your forehead against the glass as Joel drove the short distance to Tommy and Maria's house.
"Why don't you just stay here and I'll go talk to Tommy?" Joel suggested, unbuckling his seatbelt as he turned to look at you. You stared straight ahead and gave him a slight nod.
He scanned your face, wishing he could see you smile again. He reached a hand over and gently squeezed your thigh, finally pulling your gaze off the dashboard and onto him. He hated that look in your eye. A distant, sad, hopeless look that made him want to comb through the whole town until he found Patrick so he could break every bone in his worthless fucking body.
"You're okay," he whispered, lifting his hand off your leg and sweetly pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger.
You forced a small smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. You took his hand in both of yours and brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you kissed the back of his hand before pressing it into your soft cheek, and he felt a modicum of relief.
"I'm just tired," you said quietly, hoping that would placate him enough for the time being.
After about fifteen minutes, you saw Joel and Sarah exit Tommy's front door, her backpack slung over one shoulder, still clad in a soccer uniform. You hadn't realized she had a game that night, and you hoped the game had at least ended before Joel dragged her away to come to your rescue because you couldn't stomach ruining one more person's night.
He must have told Sarah you were in the car because she wasn't surprised to see you when she opened the door to the back of the cab.
"Your apartment's wrecked, huh?" she asked as she buckled her seatbelt. You looked at her, surprised, as Joel twisted around in his seat.
"We told her 'bout the burst pipe," he said, making sure to hold eye contact with you until you nodded in understanding.
"Yeah, it's a mess. Thanks for letting me crash with you," you said, turning to give her a smile. She grinned and nodded.
"It'll be fun. Can we do movie night tomorrow instead of Saturday, Dad?"
"It's a school night-"
"Please! Dad, please! She might not be here on Saturday," she whined.
Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes as he waited for a streetlight to turn green. You could tell he was exhausted, too, so you turned back towards Sarah to try to help.
"Tell you what. If I'm back in my apartment by Saturday, I'll still come by for movie night. Deal?"
Sarah thought it over for a moment before nodding.
"Deal."
Satisfied, she sat back in her seat and hummed along to the radio as she gazed out the window. Joel tilted his face towards you and mouthed thank you, and you smiled in return before looking out your own window.
You weren't sure what you expected when you saw Joel's house, but once you saw it, you could tell it was undeniably his. It was a remodeled two-story white farmhouse. There wasn't much in the way of decor, but what he did have was simple and tasteful. There were framed family photos that littered the mantle and bookcase, and the sparse art that hung on the walls were mostly landscapes. It just felt like him. Rustic, homey, and comfortable.
The light fixtures in the kitchen were dated, and the cupboards looked old, but in true Joel fashion, everything worked. Everything was taken care of. Not a single loose handle, squeaky hinge or burnt-out lightbulb in the place.
It was just after ten at night by the time the three of you arrived home. Joel urged Sarah to go get ready for bed while he walked down the small hallway to grab some linens from the downstairs bathroom. He dropped them on the couch and pointed up the stairs, where Sarah had just disappeared.
"You can have my bedroom, I'll take the couch. Lemme show you-"
"I can't let you do that, I'll sleep on the couch," you insisted, taking a step towards the living room but he wrapped his arm around you and pulled your back against his chest, his nose getting buried in your hair. You sighed and melted against him, weak and completely drained.
"Want you safe and sound in my bed. Please," he murmured against your ear. "I won't be able to sleep otherwise." You didn't have the strength to argue.
"Joel?" you whispered, your eyes closed as you relaxed into him further, letting him lightly sway you side to side as he nuzzled the back of your neck.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For... everything."
You wished you could put your gratitude into words, but everything you thought to say didn't seem like nearly enough.
"Don't want you to thank me," he mumbled before taking a deep breath. "But can you promise me somethin'?"
You frowned and turned around in his arms so you could look at him, waiting for him to continue.
"Don't shut me out, okay?" he asked softly, his fingers caressing your cheek. "I want you to talk to me, tell me what's goin' on in there," he said, gently tapping the side of your head. "No matter what it is, just... talk to me."
"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling guilty, yet again. "I'm just not used to having anyone."
"You got me now, okay?" he said, giving you a quick kiss and then pulling back when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom above your heads. "I ain't goin' anywhere."
You gave him a small smile and took his hand as he led you upstairs. He made it crystal clear that the two of you were sleeping apart as he showed you his room, knowing that Sarah would have heard from the other side of the bathroom door. But before he left, a pair of pajamas in one hand and a pillow in the other, he gave you one more kiss, letting his lips linger until he heard Sarah flick the bathroom light off.
"You know where I am if you need me," he said, his voice once again a little louder than usual, for Sarah's benefit. He winked at you and shut the door, leaving you all alone in his bedroom.
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yandere-writer-momo · 11 months ago
Text
Doomed Yuri in my brain. Doomed Yuri. Doomed yuriiii based of Bloodborne
May or may not make a part 2. Idk. Just needed to throw this out here before I lost my mind.
Yandere Short Stories: Doomed From The Start
Yandere Lesbian Paladin x Saintess Reader x Onesided Yandere paladin
There is a secret third Yandere but that’s only if I ever decide to continue
TW: uncomfortable religious themes, body horror, internalized homophobia (religion), monsters, Yandere and toxic behavior, etc
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Swoosh! A strong gust of wind blew through Ludwig’s long black locks, which made the cleric appear to have a dark halo above his head. His face remained stoic as he made his way towards the church with his worn out entourage. Another successful hunt and he had made it back to the church once more… a shame his peace was quickly shattered by a certain saintess.
“Ludwig!” The tall paladin froze when small arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. His icy blue eyes turned to glance down at (your name), the saintess, in disinterest. “I’m happy you returned safely. How did the hunt go?”
Ludwig hummed in response while he moved her arms off his waist. He merely put up with the young woman to get close to her friend, Desiree. (Your name) was not his type like the other paladin was. (Your name) was a delicate flower but Ludwig longed for the thorn.
Ludwig himself had no interest in the bubbly flower but he needed her to get closer to his dream maiden. (Your name)’s affection for him did not matter.
“It was fine.” Ludwig told her as the two of them headed to the church together for him to give his report. His blue eyes softened when they landed on Desiree, she was magnificent as ever, even with the dried blood on her silver armor. Desiree appeared angelic even when she was drenched in the blood of her enemies. The white haired woman made a beeline toward to the two of them. “Lady Desiree-“
Ludwig was shocked when Desiree pulled (your name) into a constricting embrace, one that was most common with lovers rather than friends. Her lofty body easily wrapped around (your name) like a blanket, her pale nose buried into the crown of (your name)’s head. Desiree’s hot breath tickled the smaller woman’s scalp, which made (your name) burst in a small fit of giggles.
“You act as if you haven’t seen me for years!”
“Maybe it felt like years since the last time I saw you?” Desiree lifted her head off (your name)’s head to stare into her eyes. Desiree’s silver eyes pierced (your name)’s very soul. “I hurried back from my mission just to come see you, (your name).”
“I’m just happy you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if my precious friend didn’t return from the front lines.” (Your name) squealed when Desiree ruffled her hair, the smaller woman immediately began to protest. “Desiree!”
Desiree smiled brightly at (your name). She couldn’t help but tease (your name)… especially in front of Ludwig. The dark haired man’s glare was so intense, it burned holes into their heads. Jealous much? “I brought you something too.”
Desiree reached into her leather satchel and handed (your name) a white rabbit foot. “I know you hate the blood we collect, but I made sure to bring you back a good luck charm.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything-“
“Of course I did. You’re always in the church all alone." Desiree smiled warmly at (your name). The taller woman took (your name)’s hand in hers. “How about we head back? It’ll rain soon.”
“Oh but…” (your name) glanced over at Ludwig whose jaw was clenched. His icy eyes narrowed at the two women with disdain. Why was he so upset? Was it because she put all of her attention on Desiree? “I was going to walk back with Ludwig. We can eat supper together if you’d like, Desiree?”
Desiree frowned but sighed in defeat. The white haired woman turned to the brunette with a frown. She didn’t understand what (your name) saw in Ludwig. He was awful to her. A starving wolf would be kinder to (your name) than Ludwig ever could be. But Desiree knew it wasn’t her place to dictate (your name)’s choices in life. “I’ll see you then, (your name). Be safe, okay? I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“I will. I’ll see you around.” (Your name) waved her friend off before she turned her attention to Ludwig. “I apologize for that, Ludwig. Shall we be on our way before the rain falls?”
Ludwig clicked his tongue and nodded. All he needed to do was walk alongside the gregarious woman and satiate her incessant chatter with a simple nod or hum in agreement. Ludwig was only close to her to get to Desiree. (Your name) was simple like a dog.
(Your name) beamed and walked alongside Ludwig, a heavy blush on her cheeks. She was happy to walk beside her crush. It was wonderful to see such a soft side to the normally stoic man.
Ludwig ignored the shy glances she snuck his way. He could not wait for the day that Desiree would look his way. Ludwig knew she had no such need for a burden like (your name) around her. Desiree nor him needed a pet… no. A dog around them.
Ludwig would have to gripe about this experience in his journal once more. The tea colored paper was his only confidant in this cruel world. For Ludwig trusted no one in the church’s that he dutifully served. Not the head of the church and certainly not the saintess.
A shame Ludwig would one day regret the way he treated the ‘dog’ that once so loyally stuck by his side like a tick…
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.
The candlelight dimly lit up Ludwig’s study. His striking features now on full display to the prying eye. His slender fingers scribbled fervently into the tea colored paper of his leather journal. He wrote his woes with utmost sincerity in obsidian ink. Bits of the thick substance splattered all over his hand and onto the desk. Speckles that rivaled the abysmal eyes of the beasts he had slain now stained the mahogany wood. A mockery to his ‘holy’ mission to cleanse the land of the curse that plagued the land.
The monstrous beasts that roamed the valleys demolished villages with no mercy. There was no end to the wave of madness that had sprung up over the last few years when the nearby villages became plagued with poverty and famine. The monsters seemingly sprung up from the ashes and began to try to attack the kingdom. It sickened Ludwig.
Many fighters have come and gone throughout the years. Many have even gone missing in action… yet Ludwig and Desiree remained as the top two paladins of the church. The only two that had fought side by side for nearly a decade… which was why Ludwig was so smitten with the white haired woman. She was a force to be reckoned with. A magnificent fighter he wished to keep by his side until he drew his final breath. An unattainable goal that was thwarted by a mere saintess. If that wench didn’t exist, Ludwig was positive that Desiree and him would have been wed by now.
It was all (your name)’s fault that Desiree did not covet his affections. The only good news was that (your name) admired him. A ‘holy’ woman longed for a pious man like himself. It was so pathetic, it was comical. A weakness he would exploit until his daydreams burst into reality.
Ludwig clenched his fist when he finished the final line to his long list of complaints about his disdain for a certain saintess. A big splotch of ink covered her name now which made him even more annoyed. Even when (your name) wasn’t present, she still disrupted his peace.
Ludwig stood up and moved his quill and ink back onto his desk. Perhaps a walk would clear his head?
Ludwig gathered his snow white robes and exited his study, the door slammed shut behind him.
Unbeknownst to him, the pot of ink toppled over and split all over his desk. A puddle of black now laid all over the floor in a river of ink. An insidious omen.
.
.
.
Desiree sat in the confession booth, her hands folded together while she babbled a prayer. Forgiveness… she needed forgiveness for her sin.
“I am in love with someone of the church but I can never be with them. For I would burn in a pyre if I confess.” Desiree’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will god forgive me for my grave sin?”
“You are forgive. Your sins are absolved.” The priest told her in a soft tone. “Lady Desiree, your devotion to god is like no other but even you are not without sin. I pray that you never stray from our god’s light and bring justice upon the land. That the blood you harvest for healing the sick and strengthening our clerics continue in a never ending flow. Bless you Lady Desiree, the Righteous.”
Desiree nodded and gathered her white skirts in her hands. She felt better now that she had gotten this off her chest. Yet she could not deny the queer feeling she had for her beloved saintess… her friend. Her precious (your name). Her angel. Her muse.
Desiree hurriedly made her way back toward her room, her mind raced with impure thoughts. She must paint… she needed to paint her muse.
Desiree paid no mind to her surrounding in her haste and her shoulder slammed into Ludwig’s. The cleric nearly doubled over in shock and joy. Had fate finally united him with the woman he desired? This was the first time they’ve had alone time since their last hunt.
“Lady Desiree, it’s lovely to see you-“
“Get the hell out of my way.” Desiree shoved past Ludwig with a huff which caught the cleric off guard. When was Desiree so uncouth? So ill-mannered? This was not the female paladin he knew, no. This was not her. This was not Lady Desiree, the Righteous.
The man ran a palm down his long black locks in shock. His heart didn’t stammer this time when he watched her silhouette disappear around the corner. The magic he swore she contained had fizzled out and died. The image he created of her in his head disappeared with it.
A reality slowly sunk into Ludwig. Perhaps he was not attracted to Desiree, but to the idea of her…
Ludwig sighed, perhaps he could pry information from (your name) about it? It was so easy to get the information he wanted from the saintess with sweet words.
(Your name) had her uses and Ludwig would exploit them for his own gain. He needed to be sure on whether or not the woman he saw tonight was the real Desiree. For if that was the case, perhaps he would settle for the saintess.
Possibly.
.
.
.
Desiree slammed the door shut behind her once she entered her study. Her hand hurriedly picked up some paint off her oak desk, a few brushes clattered to the floor in her haste. She had an irresistible urge to paint the woman she loved… wait. When did she paint such a perfect portrait?
Desiree collapsed to the floor to caress the delicately painted features of (your name). A desirous shudder escaped her plump lips as she traced her fingers over the face of her muse. She would sin once more. Desiree deserved this, she needed this.
Desiree had slaughtered thousands of beasts and harvested their blood in the name of the church. She deserved a reward. She deserved (your name) more than Ludwig did.
Desiree pressed her lips against the painting with a moan. She didn’t care that flakes of acrylic paint were on her tongue, she didn’t care that there was no warmth, and she certainly didn’t care that she was sexually attracted to another woman. To Desiree, this felt right. This was god’s will.
Desiree hurriedly untied the sash to her robe, her bare body now revealed to the eye of the moon. The moon her witness of her great sin, of her love for her friend.
“God forgive me… forgive your selfish soldier for I cannot deny this earthly pleasure. I do not wish to break my oath…” Desiree felt a few tears fall down her cheeks, she felt as if she lost control over her desire. Her head spun with dizzying emotion that would drive any sane person mad… ever since the church had insisted their soldiers drink the blood of the monsters, Desiree had been restless.
Restless with desire for her unreciprocated love… yet she’d never tell her precious angel the sinful feelings she held. Desiree would take this overwhelming affection to the grave.
Desiree turned to the painting that lay on the floor with a smile. For now, she could be satiated with this… for now.
And while she indulged herself in pleasure, white fur and various eyes began to sprout on her arms.
This was the start of a transformation. The beginning of the end.
.
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.
“Help me. Help me!” (Your name) shot up from the bed, her heart raced in her chest like a race horse. Her body covered in a thick sheen of sweat. Another nightmare…
(Your name) couldn’t sleep. She was often plagued by nightmares of people crying for help ins own sort of dungeon… and it terrified her. She often had psychic dreams due to her divine power, but never ones these vivid… or terrifying.
There was something amiss in this church. That there was an invisible evil lurking in the air.
(Your name) rose up from her cotton sheets, to quickly wrap a robe around her white nightdress. Maybe a walk would clear her head?
(Your name) slid some slippers on her feet, snatched up the oil lantern beside her bed, and a match. She hastily brought the flame to life to find her way through the dark. (Your name) wanted to satiate this inordinate curiosity before it killed her.
She quietly left her room and glided down the hall like an apparition. Her long robes billowed behind her in the light breeze once she reached the open windows.
The moonlight illuminated her soft features, making her appear angelic… a suitable appearance for the saintess herself.
She allowed her feet to guide her down the hall and toward a hidden stair well. There was a sinister phenomenon going on beneath her. A truth that screamed for her to discover.
The farther she went down the stairs, the stronger the feeling of déjà vu became. The wall became more familiar… it was the one that haunted her dreams. The one in her nightmares.
And when she finally made it to the bottom of the stairwell, her entire body nearly convulsed in horror.
This wasn’t a dungeon… this was a laboratory. A laboratory full of the clerics and paladins who went ‘missing in action.’ Or at least what human pieces were left of them.
(Your name) begrudgingly stepped forward to glance at the books that laid open on one of the desks. The church was researching immortality through the blood of the monsters? Is that why they encouraged citizens and clerics alike to drink the blood? Good god… this was a crime against their god. This went against their entire purpose…
“Kill me… kill me…” (your name) put a hand over her mouth as she quietly began to sob for the poor soldiers whose humanity remained in tact. They didn’t deserve this… but she didn’t have the strength to kill them.
How was she to know that the church wasn’t actually helping people? That the church merely wanted to research how to gain immortality?
She needed to tell someone… she needed to report her findings to the citizens!
(Your name) quickly scurried away when she heard voices. Unaware that one of the paladins that laid in the dungeons had caught sight of her…
“(Your name)?” A distorted voice asked softly in the dark, multiple clawed hands grabbed at the steel bars that kept him contained. “My lovely girl is still so beautiful…”
.
.
.
“Hello, (your name).” (Your name) nearly leapt out of her skin when the familiar baritone voice of Ludwig reached her ears. She quickly whipped around with a rosy blush on her cheeks. (Your name) hadn’t seen the paladin over the last few weeks since she had been so busy sneaking around for information.
“O-oh you scared me, Ludwig…” (your name) bowed to Ludwig to try to hide her embarrassment. “I’m not used to you seeking me out.”
“Is there a problem with me seeking you out?” Ludwig quirked a brow at her which made (your name) hurriedly shake her head. She was like a rabbit. It would have been adorable if he were any other man, but alas he had no interest in her in that sense. She was a means to an end to him was all. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Not at all… have you come to ask about my whereabouts?” (Your name) asked in an excited tone, her face lit up with hope. “I found out something rather interesting. You see, the blood-“
“No. I actually came here to ask about Lady Desiree.” Ludwig frowned at how instantaneously (your name) deflated like a ballon. He needed her for this info so he should cut to the chase. “I ran into her the other night and she seemed a bit off… I’m concerned about my peer.”
“She has been a bit off lately… everyone has.” (Your name) replied softly. “The two of you, as well as the other paladins and clerics, have been consuming a lot of the blood for power right?”
Ludwig nearly sighed aloud in frustration. Was (your name) trying to sneak her research into this conversation? He couldn’t care less about that, he merely wanted to know if Desiree was actually uncivilized.
“Yes.”
“Desiree has been quite stressed lately. She’s been working really hard.” (Your name) frowned at Ludwig. She may be naive but she wasn’t stupid, she knew Ludwig didn’t want to hear about her secret discover… no one did. “I think she should take a break for a while, maybe she’d get back to normal quicker? I’m worried about her too, Ludwig.”
Ludwig nearly screamed aloud in frustration. (Your name)’s information wasn’t useful at all! She wasn’t useful and it took everything in him not to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze-
A flash of white hair caught his eye, which made him compose himself. There Desiree was- what on earth?
Desiree slammed her shoulder into Ludwig’s to bend down to hold (your name)’s hands with a soft smile on her face.
“You’re worried about me?” Desiree’s breathing is irregular and that’s when Ludwig noticed the bandages wrapped around her arms. Had Desiree injured herself? She didn’t have any injuries during the most recent hunt… “You don’t have anything to worry about, I’m perfectly okay.”
“Desiree, you have not been coming to my healing sessions and you’ve been so irritable lately.” (Your name) whispered, her eyes filled with concern. “Desiree, what happened to your arms?!”
Desiree looked nearly euphoric when (your name) fretted over her which raised alarm bells in Ludwig’s head. Why did Desiree act so strange around (your name) when he was right here? Ludwig deserved Desiree’s attention-
Ludwig felt bile rise in his throat when he thought he saw a red eyeball on the back of Desiree’s neck. What the hell was that?
Ludwig rubbed his eye and it was no longer visible. He swore he saw an abnormality on Desiree but perhaps his mind had played tricks on him. He had been exhausted as of late due to the mess the ink left behind on his desk and floor. It took days to scrub it all out. He had to get on his hands and knees like a beggar!
Yet there was still black ink stuck under his nails. He had tried to pick under them with a sharp tool but even then, the tar black wouldn’t leave his nails. It was unsightly… just like the disheveled Desiree before him.
“Nothing to be concerned about. I’m perfectly okay.” Desiree glared at Ludwig who seemed puzzled over the matter entirely. Desiree couldn’t stand that narcissistic jerk. “How about you come to my study with me?”
“Your study? We should go to the infirmary.” (Your name) grabbed Desiree’s hand and began to drag the paladin toward the infirmary. “Goodbye, Ludwig.”
Ludwig bit his tongue, his eyes narrowed at (your name) who dragged Desiree away. He was angry yet… why did Desiree look at (your name) like a starved animal? (Your name) was a helpless lamb… what if Desiree hurt her? Wait.
Ludwig felt his stomach flip in anxiousness. Why were his emotions so jumbled? Why did he care what happened to the saintess?
Ludwig went to turn on his heel to head back to his own study but an overwhelming emotion overtook him. He needed to follow them. He needed to know the truth.
And so the cleric slinked after the two in the shadows. Ludwig hoped Desiree didn’t find him creepy…
He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if his angel hated him.
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(Your name) felt bile in her throat at the many eyes and patches of fur that littered Desiree’s arms. This was so much worse than she thought… Desiree was turning into a beast.
“It’s really not that bad-“ (your name) smacked her hands on Desiree’s cheeks. The healer slowly began to sob which instantly made Desiree frantic. “No, don’t cry. I’m okay-“
“I made a discovery awhile ago...” (Your name) sobbed as she placed her head on her friend’s shoulder for comfort. “The blood is tainted. It’s evil… but I can’t get anyone to believe me-“
“Darling, I assure you that I’m stronger than ever. This is merely a setback-“
“None of you are slaying monsters.” (Your name) muttered so softly, Desiree almost didn’t hear her. “You’re killing humans. I… I saw the missing soldiers in the basement and they started to turn into monsters. I don’t want you to go there too. I don’t want you to be an experiment…”
“I’m just so happy you care so much about me and the other soldiers.” Desiree smiled at (your name), her hands held (your name)’s in her calloused palms. “Your eyes are always on Ludwig so I had assumed he was the only star in your galaxy… it upsets me to see you fawn over that narcissistic bastard.”
“Oh I merely admire Ludwig. He’s very goal oriented and a great role model. He just makes me nervous is all. I don’t like him like that-“
(Your name) gasped when Desiree suddenly flipped her over to rest on the desk. Her hands desperately grasped at (your name) clothed skin. What on earth was Desiree doing?
“W-what are you-“ (your name) gasped when Desiree slammed her lips against hers in a hungry kiss. Desiree ground her hips into (your name)’s which made (your name) quickly shove her away. “Stop!”
Desiree gasped and began to stammer our apologies. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!” Desiree felt tears gather in her eyes from the rejection. She hadn’t meant to make (your name) uncomfortable… she thought (your name) had wanted to kiss too! “I don’t know what came over me-“
Desiree gasped when (your name) leaned forward and began to use her divine power on her. A warmth enveloped desire as the eyes and hair slowly began to fade away.
“Do you feel better?” (Your name) sucked in a deep breath before she exhaled in relief. A bit of sweat dropped down her forehead. She didn’t realize how much divine power it would take to reverse the change… but it was possible. “If you start to change again, can you come to me?”
Desiree nodded her head, her cheeks still red with embarrassment. How foolish was she to believe the saintess harbored romantic feelings for her…
“I’m sorry for doing that. I’m so ashamed-“ Desiree’s eyes widened when (your name) placed a finger over her lips.
“You shouldn’t be ashamed.” (Your name) gave Desiree a reassuring smile. “Loving someone should never be shameful. You just shouldn’t kiss people without asking them.”
Oh… oh! Did this mean Desiree had a chance?!
“Then… can I kiss you, Saintess (your name)?” Desiree asked in a hushed voice. Her silver eyes heavy with lust as her body caged (your name) to the desk.
“Of course Dame Desiree.” (Your name) was instantly pulled into a hungry kiss. The two women’s hands awkwardly roamed each other’s bodies until they found the perfect ratio of petting to kissing.
Little did the two lovers know of a certain paladin who had seen the entirety of their confession. Large horns began to sprout from his head as black fur covered his body.
What did (your name) mean she didn’t like him like that? Then why did she always seek him out if she didn’t love him? Was this all a game of hers to take Desiree from him? To play with him like a cat does a mouse until it gets bored?
No… he couldn’t accept this. They couldn’t be together. No, one of them had to be with him.
Ludwig quickly scurried off into the shadows before he was discovered. His body rapidly changing from man to beast as his jealousy consumed him.
When Ludwig finally made it back to his study, his new appearance horrified him. He was now as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside…
He was a monster.
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romana-after-dark · 2 months ago
Text
Our Gentle Sins: Part 4 (Formerly Be Quiet)
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Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader
My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say
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Series summary: As the only human teacher at the mutant school, you're nervous. When you meet Logan, you have a past he doesn't know, and you know nothing of his. Circumstances say he needs to stay away from you, but one day he can't help himself and forces you down, getting you pregnant. Through the past and present, we learn how you and Logan's relationship grew, and we learn the consequences of what he's done.
Chapter summary: Past. Logan tries to help break you out. Present. Remy offers Logan his words
Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
2.2 words
AN: Not a super eventful chapter, but I feel sometimes it's nice to have a breather, lot us get to know our characters, digest it all, you know?
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Past
“I dunno, Logan…” You are nervous entering the mall, walking close to Logan. People give you a wide birth when you’re with him, and you have no idea why. You’ve noticed it at the school too. Sometimes people go out of their way to avoid you and Logan in halls, and it baffles you. Logan is the sweetest, nicest man you know, except for Remy of course. That’s why you were even here in the mall, walking past a Victoria's secret store that made you blush. Logan complimented a dress you wore, and proceeded to say you have a lot of nice dresses, you tell him that all you have are dresses. After giving a whole bit about your family and husband believing pants were for men only, Logan insisted on taking you to the mall and buying you your first pair.
Yes, you left the church, yes you disassociated from IBLP, but letting go of everything was not as simple as people thought it was. You still believed in God, and you didn’t think your husband had the right to do what he did to you, but what about the in between? Still, Logan wanted to spend time with you. You were okay with that.
“C’mon. It’s just a pair of jeans.” He guides you into a JC Penny. “Do you know your size?” You shake your head. “That’s fine. Jeans can be a shit show anyway. Different stores just kinda make up their own shit.”
“No? I got jeans plenty for my brothers, it’s pretty standard.” But you hear Logan chuckle.
“For men, yeah, women no. Different story. Here.” He hands you a pair. “Start here.”
You hated it. Stalling, you talk to him where he stands outside the room. “How do you know so much about women's clothing?” You can hear him laugh again.
“I’ve been around a time or two, baby doll.”
You were sure he had. 200 years, he’d problem been stuck with on more than one shopping trip. But you had a problem. Logan had given you skinny jeans, and it was… bad.
“You good in there? Too small?”
That wasn’t the problem. The jeans fit the way they were intended too, hugging every bit of your skin and showing off the shape. This was too much. The voice of your mother rang in your ear, you were being vein, showing off your body, inviting men to-
“Can I try something else?” You’re voice cracked at the end before you could stop it.
He was suddenly right at the door. “You alright there Dolly?”
A steadying breath. He was doing something nice for you, be a big girl about it. Your dad doesn’t get to control you anymore. 
“Can I maybe try something… baggier? It’s just….”
“It’s a lot just starting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Got it.”
After a minute, he’s handing you jeans under the door. These ones were better, but the fact it wasn’t a skirt… it felt wrong. It felt bad.
“Yeah, these are better.”
“Can I see?”
You supposed you had to. Logan drove you out here, was buying the jeans, had been so kind to you lately… you owed him, didn’t you?
Slowly, you open the door. Logan had a little smile on his face, eyes looking down at your legs and you wanted to throw up. You didn’t want to be perceived like this. It’s crazy, you know he knows you have legs, so what’s the big deal? Logan certainly doesn’t care, most people don’t care… why do you?
“You look- hey, what’s going on?”
Only then do you realize the tears burning in your eyes.
“Shit,” You quickly try to get it together, to not make a scene, to be better and just be fucking normal, but then he reaches for you, and you can’t help give into him
*
He wasn’t sure if hugging you was a good idea. He knew you were stiff with touch, even Remy had commented to him you are avoidant, and you spent most of your free time with him, although Remy insists it’s just as friends. Still, you looked so… upset. He couldn’t bare it, he couldn’t stand the thought of such sweet girl being so sad. 
Hugging you, he asks about it. “Is it the jeans?” He feels you nod against his chest. “It was too soon, wasn’t it?”
You nod again. 
Of course, he should have known. Logan wasn’t a fucking idiot. He’d lived in the world long before women regularly wore pants, he’d been alive and watching the news when things like these fringe religious groups rose up even if he didn’t pay much attention. Still, you left. You left your husband, which is an brave choice to make when you were raised the way you were. Did you believe these things still? Had he pushed you too far?
If you were still married, and hadn’t gotten divorced… did you even want one? Marriage after a divorce to many religions was adultery… There was so much about you he didn’t know, so many questions he wasn’t sure he was going to get the answer too… he thought he was content with this just being your friend, but now that he held you in his arms….
Logan knew it wasn’t the right time. He knew you were upset. He’d control himself, he could… But then you pulled away, looking up at him with those big wet eyes and he was cooked. You looked so needy, so sad, so vulnerable… he wanted to protect you, to destroy everyone that made such a precious thing so anxious that putting on jeans made her cry. He’d get his vengeance.
But first, he needed you.
When he kissed you, there was a moment where it was okay, where the memories of pasts pains faded around the LED lights and electricity thrummed through the metal inside his body because you leaned into him, you kissed him, back. You kissed him and everything was right and good and beautiful and the world smelled like strawberry shampoo.
And then you stumbled away. And then you looked scared. And then you shut the dressing room door, locking him out.
And it took 20 minutes to coax you out again, not a single word was spoken on the ride home.
After
“You need to go to the doctor, Dolly.”
But you tried to ignore him, You were running late to teach, and you weren’t letting Logan get in the way more than he had. You were still telling yourself you could get an abortion, that Remy would probably take you. He’d ask questions but when you say you don’t wanna talk about it, he’d let it go. 
Logan, on the other hand, was following you like a lost puppy. It was becoming insufferable and terrifying all at once. Logan had the power, that if he wanted to rape you again he could take you anywhere, any time. He could end your pregnancy and knock you up all over again, he could end your life in seconds. But that’s not why you couldn’t look him in the eye.
You hated him, but you hated that you missed him.
You missed the way he’d eat lunch with you, the way he’d been helping you disentangle your beliefs. After the mall incident, he’d taken it slower. There were many long nights when both of you were too torn up over your nightmares that you just sat up and talked, talked, talked. Logan had seen a lot of religious movements come and go and shift, and although he was not religious himself he had done as he’d always done. Obsesserved. 
Logan made for a good person to work through things. He didn’t tell you what to believe; he had no skin in that game. Instead, he occasionally gave perspective, but mostly it was questions.
‘Do you feel good when you do that?’
‘Do you think he said that because he believed it, or because he wanted to control you.’
‘Was your mom just as brainwashed? Was she the problem?’
All this helped you move through things more and more. He made you fall in love, quickly at first that day you met him, and then slowly all over again as you got to know him.
And then he destroyed all the trusted you’ve built up.
You hated that you still wished you could talk like you used to. You hated that you got wet. You hated that you missed him walking you to your room. You hated that while he touched you, you were close to coming and you wanted it. You hated that you missed the smell of his cigar and leather and bike fumes. 
You hated that, after he was done betraying you, in the disgust you felt and sickness that wracked your body all you wanted was to be held, so you let him. You rested your head on his chest. You pushed your body back into his. You let him whisper the words in your ear as you cried from his own actions.
Comforting you and breaking your all at once.
“I know how you feel about doctors-”
You whirl around to face him outside your classroom door. It was decorated in a rainbow main from linking lines o paper together, the background of construction paper panting a picture of green fields. It’d taken you and Remy and Logan a few hours on a Saturday to get it done.  “You don’t know a thing, Logan!” You whisper shout, trying to look calm for the remaining students scrambling to class. 
His voice was irritatingly calm. “I do, Dolly, I know why you don’t like hospitals and don’t trust doctors-”
“But you don’t!” A little louder, and someone looks at you. You lower your voice, glaring at him. “You can’t possibly understand. Just because I told you, doesn’t mean you get it. It wasn’t you that got beat, it wasn’t you that lost the one thing you wanted more than anything, and it wasn’t you that was betrayed by everyone who is supposed to love or protect you, Logan. You can never understand what happened and you can never understand what you did to me. So please, pl-e-ase-” Your voice breaks hard, and you’re forced to hunch over as you clutch at your heart in pain. “Just leave me alone!”
When all he did was blink at you, sad eyes and mouth slightly open, you took your opportunity and joined your class, attempting to brush off the pain as you apologize for being late.
*
“I don’t know how you managed to fuck this up, but it can be unfucked.” Remy’s accent echoed in the halls as the last door shuts. 
Logan rolled his eyes. “You following her?”
“No more than you, cher.”
Ignoring him, Logan begins walking. As much as he wanted to follow you into the classroom, make a scene, beg for forgiveness or force your mouth to his or whatever the fuck it took for you to realize you and him were meant for each other, that it was inevitable, he wouldn’t. You loved your job, you loved those snot nosed kids, and he wouldn’t do that to you. What he needed to do was find a way for you to go to a hospital. Logan understood the pain there, how badly you’d been failed the last time you were there, but he couldn’t let that affect the baby growing inside you. You wanted this child and so did he, and if something went wrong again you’d never forgive yourself
Unfortunetly for Logan, Remy was following him.
“Got a crush on me or something?”
Ever gleeful, Remy quips back, “Not particularly, but I’d be an idiot to say no if you are offering.”
“I’m not.”
“Logan.” His voice is more series this time. “Logan!”
He turns around, impatient face at his… what is Remy? Not a friend, but not not a friend? “Just say what you wanna say, cajun, for sucks sake.”
Remy’s face softened. “She loves you, Logan. I might be biased because I’ve been pushing her to you since day one, but she does. I’m not gonna ask what this is about… but she’s sweet. She’s forgiving. She believes in eternal salvation and forgiveness and the God of second chances, and all the sweeter sides of the shit she grew up in. She’ll forgive you too, just keep trying. Little things like flowers, her favorite foods, things that show you know her, they go a long way.”
There was a pause of silence as Logan took in Remy’s words. He should be more concerned that Remy was this aware. He told charles he’d stay away from you… and yet, here he was. Still, it was Remy, your best friend. If anyone knew anything, it was him, and clearly he didn’t know everything.
“Why do you care?”
“You make each other happy, cher.” He said honestly. “And I like seeing both of you happy. Right now, she isn’t happy. I want to fix that.”
Logan could fix that. He could make you happy. He could make you happier than you ever thought… he just needed a second chance.
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As you can see, I decided to change the name!!!! I thought Our Gentle Sins fit way better, a call to the hozier song take me to church which heads the playlist!
As always, if you have songs you think match the vibes, lmk and ill add to the playlist!!
Thank you for allll your support!!!! You are all v wonderful
Please stay safe if you are in the hurricanes path, and remember as you watch the destruction, project 2025 wants to cut aid funding. Consider making a donation to aid groups, and remember that during the next US election.
Let me know your thoughts on the story below!!!
Comments mean the world!
@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia
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protagaster · 2 months ago
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Part 3 of the Warrior!Penelope Swap AU
Do you guys have any idea what I've been through this past week!?
Here I am in the middle of this vignette, wondering how I can write Ares' abilities so they are not copies of Athena's powers while also staying canon-compliant, when out of nowhere Mr. Jalapeño himself releases more details regarding Epic!Ares!?
I was both extremely happy (as my fic continues to be canon-compliant) and very much exhausted (you guys have no idea how much I had to change in order for it to match Jorge's canon)
With that out of the way, hope you all enjoy part 4! I'm so glad to introduce to you all one of my favorite Greek Gods ;)
[Appropriate Credits: @gigizetz, for it is Gigi's variation of warrior!penelope that I picture whilst writing this AU.
Also, special shoutout to @somereaderinblue (GeminiWillow on Ao3)! Blue's lyrical rewrites helped shape the dialogue!]
(Cross-Posted on Ao3)
EDIT AS OF (10/24) - I changed the title of this vignette, and so the lyrics were also changed to both sound better and more naturally fit the themes of the story! Hope you all enjoy!
Warrior of The Heart
Penelope knew that in order to successfully lead her comrades home she had to be more than a captain. More than a queen even. No, what Penelope needed to be was a warrior.
A warrior of the heart.
However, as with all mortals, there are moments where she needs to be reminded of who she’s meant to be. 
And who better to remind her than her own mentor… 
~
Penelope and Circes had just about finished up on the lotus eaters’ island. 
After the emotional conflict and resolution they had faced moments ago, the two women decided a light rest was necessary before sailing their raft back to the main ship. Upon their return Penelope would be sure to inform the others of the cave the lotus-eaters had revealed. 
Looking up from where she sprawled, Penelope saw Circes playing with one of the little lotus-eating creatures. Despite the danger the captain initially thought them to be, they were actually quite helpful (not to mention a little cute). 
She was glad Circes convinced her not to resort to violence. 
This resolution with the lotus eaters proved that peaceful solutions were an option and did achieve results. It proved that cruelty and success did not go have to go hand-in-hand. It proved that, when left to make a decision of her own will, Penelope would go for the one that displayed kindness and mercy. 
It proved that without the Gods’ intervention Penelope was not a monster.
That was a thought that gave her an immediate sense of comfort, even if it was a relatively selfish one. 
Maybe, just maybe, it really was better to greet the world with open arms…
Suddenly, Penelope felt her mind and senses tingle with anticipation. 
A very familiar dose of adrenaline rushed through her body, traveling to the very core of her soul. Time around her began to gradually slow, her thoughts and reactions starting to increase in speed. 
Penelope blinked, this action lasting only for a second. 
Upon re-opening her eyes she found she was no longer on the island. Instead she stood in a sandy plain, reminiscent of the Trojan battlefields she had fought in not too long ago. Circes, the lotus eaters, even the thoughtless creatures of nature and the night, they were all gone. The only thing Penelope could see, apart from miles of endless dark sand, was a red hourglass floating above her. 
The hourglass was tilted precariously, dangling over a metaphorical edge. But if one were brave enough to look beyond it's glass frame they'd notice a faint, distorted halo circling above it; dangling from that halo was an invisible pendulum, dancing constantly in circles a safe distance away from the instrument.
Everything around her was silent, leaving Penelope to hear only the sounds of individual grains of red sand streaming down the hourglass
Until the call of a vulture screeched from above.
Looking up, Penelope saw the carnivorous bird circling over her similar to how a normal vulture would. He was covered with majestic brown feathers, the tips colored a deep red akin to the aftermath of a victorious battle. He had an array of feathers atop his head, formed in such a manner that it almost looked as if he wore a war-man’s helmet. 
Looking at the vulture from a distance it would appeared as if his eyes were void of thoughts and emotion. However, if one dared to look closely enough, they could see the fowl had the gaze of a man; one eager to stain the ground with blood. 
A voice boomed inside Penelope’s head, coming from nowhere and everywhere. 
“Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you?” 
“Ares!” 
The bird continued to circle her person, coming closer and closer with each flap of his daunting wings. 
“Have you forgotten to close off your heart? This is not you!” 
The vulture was finally within reaching distance to Penelope. His talons, sharp and glinting in the moonlight, were dangerously close to her flesh; If he really wanted to, he could dangerously maim, or possibly even kill, the woman with a simple dive and strike. 
Still, despite knowing what he was capable of, Penelope knew she was safe. In spite of his label as nothing more than a bloodthirsty brute to the majority of Greece, she was one of the few who knew his true nature. 
His lust for blood revealed itself only to those deserving of it. 
But that was not to say she was completely off the hook in this situation
“I see you changing from how I've designed you!” 
The vulture landed on the sand not too far from where she stood. Though much smaller in size, for the moment, his presence alone very much made up for it. It was quick to make itself known to Penelope, rattling her deep to her very core. 
“Have you forgotten your purpose? Let me remind you…” 
With a flash the vulture set before Penelope was no more. 
Standing in its place was a very large, very intimidating man, in both height and figure. 
This man was taller and stronger than any mortal man could ever hope to be. His arms and legs, thrice the size of a normal male, proudly displayed the tell-tale scars of a warrior with experience. He adorned red and gold greek armor, its design a natural mix of traditional Spartan origin with recent additions of Ithacan influence. His helm, a golden one with a deep red plume, very clearly symbolized what he himself represented to Sparta and what the kingdom meant to him. 
This helm covered the entirety of his upper face, the only features left clearly revealed being his nose and mouth. Shadows in the place of his eyes were displayed to the outside world, but the emotions behind them were masked to all who dared to gaze. 
“Master of Courage, God of the War,” 
A magnificent glowing spear, Ares’ signature weapon, manifested inside his hand. 
“My life has one mission…” 
Ares thrust the spear-point in Penelope’s direction. An outsider might have thought his intent was to kill her. Thankfully, all he wanted was to place the blunt end of the spear-point on her shoulder.
“Create the greatest warrior!”
Using his divine power as a war God, Ares performed his signature “quick-thought” and dove into Penelope’s mind. Momentarily one, the God sifted through Penelope’s life experiences until he found the memory he wanted her to recall. 
~
Penelope remembered that day as if it were yesterday. 
About 20 years ago, having barely entered her teenage years, a young Penelope had been asked by her father to accompany him to Ares’ challenge: the magic hunting field.
“I had a challenge, a hunting field, a divine spear only the best could wield!” 
The magic hunting field, created with the aid of the Goddess of the Hunt, was a challenge orchestrated to see which mortal was worthy of pulling a divine spear, created by the God of Forging, out the earth. Once that mortal took hold of the spear they were to honor Ares by spilling as much wild blood as they could in His name.
Whoever was able to wield the spear, if anyone could manage such a feat, would be blessed by the God of Courage himself. 
Penelope remembered her younger self feeling quite uncomfortable. She was never able to forget what her father tried to do to her as a babe, despite trying to desperately make up for it by being so affectionate toward her; something he continued to do to this day. 
However, despite her hesitation, Penelope also recalled feeling elated. 
Sparta was a kingdom that believed all their people should at least be familiar with the art of combat, females included. The great kingdom had influenced a few other lands in Greece to adopt this progressive mindset, with others well on their way. 
But even then, that day in the hunting field was one of the first times that women were allowed to participate in a challenge set forth by the Gods.
“One day a girl came for the thrill,”  
That young Penelope, eager to prove herself to both the world and her father, was determined to show that she could be both a lady of the court and a soldier of the battlefield.
It was one of the many qualities that intrigued her to Ares in the first place. 
“A girl whose heart rivaled the spear’s own will!” 
Penelope did not know it at the time, but the random spear buried in the dirt that she just happened to pull out on a whim would catch her the eye of the God of War himself. 
And he only found himself growing more and more impressed with each wild game whose blood she spilled in his name. 
“Let’s go!” 
By the final hour of that day young Penelope had proved herself to be a more formidable hunter than any of the numerous young men who tried to prove themselves worthy. Not only had she offered Ares a pleasing amount of blood, but she had ensured her carnage was not without purpose. 
She distributed the pelts of fur and rounds of meat amongst her fellow hunters in an act of goodwill.  Penelope even gave a sizable chunk of boar and a beautiful wolf pelt to her father despite her reservations toward him, most likely as some sort of thank you for allowing her to come. 
Half of the hunting field’s participants were appreciative of her kindness and impressed with her physical prowess; these people consisting of her father, the few other female hunters, and the men who knew there to be great merit in empowering a young lady beyond what was expected of her.
The others, men who were angry by the fact they were bested by a mere little girl and longed to put her in her place, could only accept their peace offerings with strained smiles and wicked eyes. Still, despite their irritation, these men knew they could not do a damn thing about it; for they were in Ares’ land, and one does not dare harm a young lady under the Protector of Women’s gaze without longing for an excruciating death. 
Regardless of how her spectators felt with the matter, everyone knew that the girl had gained the very thing they all were hoping to obtain: the blessing of Ares. 
“Maybe one day she'll follow me and we'll make a greater tomorrow, then they'll see I know she'll change the world 'cause she is a Warrior of the Heart!”
As the day’s events unfolded a mysterious vulture, one bigger and more sublime than a vulture should be, flew into the scene. He fit in perfectly with the background of the field. 
No one had noticed this vulture watching the young Princess of Sparta since the moment she first stepped foot on the field. 
“Maybe one day I'll reach her and we can build her skills as I teach her. If there’s a problem she’ll know to act first,”
Penelope, her father, and their guards had stayed in that field until nightfall. The exhaustion behind the day’s events claimed the girl with an instantaneous sleep, though this was of no surprise to her loving father. 
The vulture followed the young girl even while she and her entourage made their way back home. Upon arrival at the palace gates King Icarius carefully carried his daughter inside. However, the princess had not yet been fully claimed by sleep. 
Feeling the presence of someone watching her, Penelope looked up from her father’s shoulder. 
Right there, perched on a tree branch just outside the gates, was the brown and red vulture. The same one that was watching her back in the magic hunting field. 
Penelope’s eyes never left the vulture, even as she was carried inside. 
“She is a Warrior of the Heart!” 
Later that night, the Princess of Sparta snuck out of her room. 
She ran outside the confines of her palace, an easy thing to accomplish with the secret exit she and her siblings shared amongst themselves. Penelope then made her way to the large clump of trees behind the royal palace, not necessarily a forest but more grand than a grove. 
Penelope looked around, searching for the vulture that followed her all the way from the hunting field. She gazed from treetop to treetop, gawked from branch to branch, and even tried to search for any dead carrion that may have resulted from its hunger. 
But alas, nothing. 
… 
Well, not entirely… 
Penelope just knew something, or perhaps rather someone, was watching her. She could feel their eyes. 
“Show yourself.” Penelope searched in every direction, hoping she could finally catch sight of the mysterious presence. “I know you're watching me, show yourself.” 
Still nothing. 
Unbeknownst to the young girl, a large man was watching her from nearby. If he were a normal man Penelope would have spotted him the second she snuck out; however, this man was anything but. 
He had covered himself with a special spell, a divine air that made it so he and his kin could roam the earth without being seen by mortals. He needed to use this spell if he wanted to continue discreetly watching the girl, for it seemed she had recognized his animal form to be more than met the eye. 
The divinely-clouded man watched as the girl continued to whirl her head around in search. Finally she stopped, most likely giving up is what the man thought. 
But then, and much to his surprise, the girl smirked. Because her back was turned to him the man could not see the mischievous glint in her eyes. 
“I can see you.” 
The man grew stunned, quick to remove the divine mist that shielded him from mortal eyes. 
“How can you see through my spell?”
“Aha!” Penelope whirled around at his voice, hands on her hips in triumph. “I was lying and you fell for my bluff. Hahahaha.” 
The man’s eyes grew wide behind his helm, astounded with the bravery and daring of the tiny human before him. Many of his kind would have found themselves insulted at being so easily deceived by a mortal, especially one so young and feminine. 
This man, though, was unlike his kin in many ways. He saw no offense, but untapped potential…
Wearing a smile, the man approached little Penelope with not a single hint of hostility in his step. 
“Not bad, enlighten me, what's your name?”
Penelope raised her eyebrow at his question. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away in a playful motion that betrayed her supposed suspicion. 
“You first, and maybe I'll do the same.”
The man, while not known for his patience, found it no trouble to entertain the child’s stubbornness. He was, after all, no stranger to the whims of daughters. 
“Nice try, but two can play this game.”
Penelope silently scrutinized the giant man, quick to note how his carefree personality did not match his intimidating appearance. Based on this observation any normal human would have assumed him to be just another man of Sparta, albeit much bigger compared to the rest and most likely blessed by the Gods. 
But alas, Penelope never did fall into the category of “normal”. She knew this man was no mortal simply blessed by another God. 
“Nah, you’ve got me wrong, I'm aware you're a God, let’s drop the facade…” 
Allowing herself to beam a smile, Penelope revealed to the man a truth she had already known since first becoming aware of his presence. 
“Your name is Ares!”
Ooh, Ares
“Badass in war, you carry! Unmatched, Fearless, and very much King of the Battlefield!”
Ares was already impressed with the girl based on what he had seen back in his magic hunting field. This moment, though, of her being able to surmise his identity with barely any clues to help her only further improved his impression of her. 
Looks like his challenge truly did end in a success. 
“If you're looking for a mentor I'll make sure your time's well spent.” 
Penelope had to stop herself from jumping with glee. A God, and not just any God either, but the patron deity of her kingdom and the personification of battle himself had just offered to take her, small and inexperienced Penelope, as a student! 
“Sounds like a plan! God and woman, Bestest of friends!" Penelope ran to embrace the God but instead phased right through him. 
“We'll see where it ends.” Ares answered in response to her attempted hug.
“Okay.” Penelope said undeterred, lifting herself back up as if nothing had happened.  
And with that the God and his mortal made their way back to her room. The memory may have concluded, but that moment forth led to a long and fruitful friend partnership. 
“Maybe one day they'll follow me, and we'll make a greater tomorrow,"
Ares would go on to watch over and advise his student. Sometimes he would take the appearance of a standard human male, posing as a Spartan guard trusted to keep the princess safe. Other times he would assume his vulture form, flying over Penelope and guiding her from the skies. Most times, though, Ares would shape himself into a small snake that wrapped around Penelope’s throat; conspicuous enough not to arouse suspicion but with just the right amount of menace to keep any adversaries from coming too close. 
"Then they'll see I know we'll change the world ‘cause we are the Warriors of the Heart!”
Ares and Penelope would spend a lot of their time together in training. The mortal learned how to properly wield a spear, handle a dagger, and even aim a bow. She learned that her feminine rage was a good thing and that setting it free could be beneficial at times. And, thanks to some advice from his loving partner, Ares found ways to help Penelope build up enough muscle to enhance her strength while also keeping her body just lithe enough for the sake of norms and appearances. 
“Maybe one day we'll reach them and we can build their skills as we teach them,"
And it did not stop at just his student either! 
Penelope was thankful to have married a husband who was so supportive of her endeavors and even wished to help her in achieving them. Ares was too, he supposed (even if he vehemently opposed the idea of marriage in the beginning). 
Penelope became the paragon of female warriors. She would lead and become a role model to the women willing to put themselves through even harsher training regimens than what the men in their lives partook in. In the beginning there were never a lot of women who were willing to learn, but as time went on more and more strove to push their limits. 
"If there's a problem, we'll know to act for we are the Warriors of the Heart!”
The point is over the years Penelope grew to be more than she ever thought she could be. She had shown the world that it was possible for a woman to be a formidable warrior while also staying true to her femininity (remember, Penelope was known all throughout Sparta and Ithaca for her immense talent in weaving). 
All of it thanks to the guidance of Ares. Of what he had allowed her to become. 
~
Back to the present, Ares was satisfied with the knowledge he wanted Penelope to recall. Enough to motivate her, but to also remind her of their goal. 
“I still intend to make sure you don't fall apart. Don't forget that you're a warrior made to be a work of art-” 
Even if she had learned almost all he could teach her, Penelope was still only a mortal. The Gods had only so many stories of what could happen when mortals are left to their own devices. 
And Ares couldn’t allow that to happen. Not after all the time he devoted into molding her. 
“You are a Warrior of the Heart!” 
Penelope, the current one, let out a sigh. 
Ares was right, of course he was right. As a God he knew best; he knew what needed to be done to accomplish his their ultimate goal. 
As his student it was her duty to heed his every command. For both their sakes. 
Seeing that she had taken his words to heart, Ares prepared to release her consciousness back to reality.
 Before he did though, the God gave her one more warning…
“Don't disappoint me.”
And with that he was gone, the only proof of his presence a cluster of vulture feathers carrying the scent of burnt torches and carrion.
The sandy landscape quickly faded, returning to the grassy thicket that was the lotus eaters’ island.
The top end of the red hourglass was practically empty, save for a lone grain of sand. That faint halo, the one holding the invisible pendulum, inched closer to the instrument. 
This single grain fell, joining the rest on the bottom of the glass. The Invisible pendulum swung a hair of a distance away from the sand clock’s glass, not quite close enough to crack but very close.
In a flash everything went back to how it was before. Circes, the lotus eaters, even nature itself, they all returned to their normal speed. It was as if nothing happened. 
Penelope let out a breath. They needed to get return. 
Now. 
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unholybacon355 · 4 months ago
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Everything stays in the family: Part Two
Park Jihyo x Huh Yunjin
Word Count: 3.4K
TW: Incest.
[PART 1] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]
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DISCLAIMER: I'm adding this disclaimer because I think it's necessary.
This story have some taboo themes like incesto to name one. I need to say that obviously some of the things I wrote here aren't good and by any means I'm trying to make it look like good and normal things. Read at your own discretion.
Everything you see here is fiction and many things in this story are not really good. This is for fun and only for that. Also, all the characters you see here are adults and Jihyo is older, but I'm not specifying how old she is.
Another thing to say is that I have no clue about how human bodies actually work, so you can't expect me to be very accurate about some things. I'm not saying what because I want you to figure it out as you read.
CHAPTER TWO
Both women were petrified, not knowing what to do. Yunjin had her face covered in breast milk, and she barely managed to open one eye. While Jihyo slowly began to lower her hips, until her butt was resting on the bed again.
The older woman was the first to come to her senses. She put down the vibrator and quickly grabbed a towel from somewhere, but instead of covering herself she went over to wipe Yunjin's face. “Dear… I'm so sorry, sorry.” Jihyo apologized as she dried her daughter's face with gentle touches.
“N… no, it's my fault. I shouldn’t have entered without knocking.” Yunjin excused herself, speaking between the touches of the towel on her face. "I'm truly sorry"
“It doesn't matter, I know it was an accident. That's better." Jihyo finally finished drying the girl's face and left the towel on the bed while sitting cross-legged . Yunjin opened her eyes for a second and quickly closed them again to avoid seeing her mother's nakedness. “Dear, you don't have to cover your eyes. I'm sure you won't see anything you haven't seen before. Besides, we are both women.”
A lump formed in Yunjin's throat and he swallowed heavily. The truth was, Jihyo always knew the girl had a dick, and that never ever made any difference for her. That was one of the many ways Jihyo had always treated Yunjin well. But at this very moment Yunjin wished with all her might that she didn't have a cock between her legs, because the truth was that she had formed an embarrassing erection. She didn't quite understand if it was from seeing her mother's naked body or from the way she had found her, but that was seriously tormenting Yunjin with the way her cock was throbbing inside her boxers.
“Don't feel ashamed, open your eyes. I think we already had a few talks about sexuality and self-pleasure a long time ago. ”In fact Jihyo had been the one who taught her almost everything she needed to know about that subject, in a mother-to-daughter talk when Yunjin still didn't even think about considering her as such. Maybe that's why it was embarrassing to have Jihyo naked in front of her.
“Okay…” Yunjin finally gave in reluctantly. “But I'm still embarrassed, sorry.” She quickly apologized again, more for having all that blood flowing to her crotch than for seeing the woman's naked body. Well, even though Jihyo had her legs crossed, her daughter could still see the mop of hair on her pelvis, and not only that. There was also the fact that her heavy tits hung free of all restraint, those perfect nipples still hard from the pleasure she had been giving herself just moments ago. And Yunjin could swear that there were still a few small drops of milk on her tits, which in some strange way made her cock throb even more.
“Don't worry…” Jihyo interrupted what she was saying because she had just realized that a small hum could be heard behind her. She quickly reached over to turn off the vibrator that was still working, and placed it back on the bed. "Sorry." This time the girl could hear some shame in the older woman's voice. “Anyway... Do you need anything?” Apart from the noise of the vibrator, Jihyo didn't seem to care at all about the situation.
Yunjin almost started laughing suddenly because the whole situation had made her forget why she was in her parents' room. “Yes, I think I forgot an SD card here. It has the project I'm working on with Chaewon, and she's going to kill me if I don't get it back.” Yunjin suddenly felt bad for mentioning her girlfriend. Chaewon was waiting for her outside, while she was inside here trying to resist obscene thoughts about her mother. “I'll look on my father's nightstand.” Another pang of guilt invaded her, this time for looking at her father's wife that way.
Yunjin quickly glanced at the small piece of furniture on the side of the bed, but she didn't see anything on the cover. Damn, this whole situation was for nothing.
“Look on the ground too, it may have fallen to the floor. Let 'me help you."
“No, I'm not going to let you bend over like that.” But it was too late. By the time Yunjin finished saying that, Jihyo had already stood up and was walking towards the nightstand. And before the girl could say anything else, her mother had already gotten down on her knees and she was groping on the floor between the bed and the nightstand.
At the sight of Jihyo's beautiful buttocks, and a small glimpse of her still wet pussy lips, Yunjin thought that she should see a doctor sooner since her brain was probably suffering some kind of damage from missing blood because it was clearly all building up on her cock. That in addition to urgently needing a priest to exercise the demon that had surely gotten into her body.
"Here it is." Jihyo said triumphantly, holding up the small card between her fingers. "Are you OK?" She asked when she saw her daughter's face, clearly not knowing why she was making that expression.
"You should not do that. You're supposed to take care of yourself.”
“My dear, you know I only agreed to stay home more than anything to please your father. I'm not crippled or anything like that, I just have a baby inside me." She touched her belly as she said that, causing Yunjin's erection to subside a little. Only a little. “Besides, I think you verified a few minutes ago that I'm still quite flexible.” Then she shamelessly started laughing after cracking that joke, making her chest jiggle in the process. Which was both good and bad for Yunjin's erection.
“Eeeewwwww!” ¡Mom!" Yunjin instinctively rolled her eyes at that joke, snapping her out of the trance Jihyo's nakedness had put her in. “Thank you for finding the card, but I have to go.” She took the card from her mother's hand, thanking her once again, and put it in her pocket so she wouldn't lose it again. “I'm sorry I interrupted you, goodbye.” She then quickly attempted to flee the room.
“Dear, maybe you should wash your face before you go out again. I think you smell like milk.” Yunjin didn't say anything, she just turned to wave goodbye and finished fleeing the place. Seconds later, somewhat tormented by what had just happened, she went into the bathroom on the first floor, so she could wash her face in peace. Yunjin wanted to be as far away from Jihyo as she could.
With her thoughts racing at a thousand miles per hour she threw water on her face, to try to clear herself a little and finish cleaning the milk. She felt bad for getting so horny but it had been instinctive, something totally uncontrollable. Still, no one could blame her for having that tremendous erection. Jihyo was a beautiful and hot woman, anyone in their right mind would have gotten like that. The problem was that, someone in her right mind wouldn't have their cock on the verge of exploding right now for having found her mother masturbating.
The memory of Jihyo pressing the toy against her vulva and playing with her nipples came to mind, even as she was trying so hard to think of something else. Yunjin splashed more water on her face, but that only reminded her of how her face had been soaked with the woman's milk. Damn, she had to do something about that boner.
Yunjin found it doubly perverse to have that painful throbbing erection of hers at the thought of Jihyo's breast milk covering her face, but really nothing she did was helping to calm her down. Actually things were only getting worse. Damn, she really had to get rid of that boner asap. But was she willing to do it?
Yunjin couldn't go out like this, and she needed to calm down immediately or she and Cahewon wouldn't even make it to the second period of class. She still wasn't entirely convinced of what she was going to do, but she had no options left. So, despite herself, she unzipped her pants and lowered them to her knees. Yunjin looked in the mirror for a moment asking if she had the strength to do it, but when in doubt she still pulled down her boxers to free her penis.
Yunjin was instantly surprised to see that there was already precum all over her glans, she was really very excited. But if she was going to do this it was going to be her way, Yunjin didn't want to give herself over to sin completely. She took her cock and tried so hard to imagine her girlfriend naked with her, she tried to remember how she had fucked Chaewon the day before. How she had made her girlfriend moan with pleasure, how Chaewon's pussy felt squeezing her cock so deliciously.
Boom, boom, boom! She began to pump frantically thinking about her girlfriend's small tits, and how she made them bounce with each thrust. Yunjin licked her lips wanting to have Chaewon's big brown nipples in her mouth... Wait, Chaewon had small pink nipples, this wasn't right. Now Yunjin was trying to imagine her girlfriend's pussy lips opening to receive her throbbing cock. How that small, well-groomed bush of hair crowned the pussy of… No! Chaewon's vagina wasn't like that.
Yunjin couldn't understand why even though she was trying so hard to think about her girlfriend the memories of Jihyo's naked body were getting in the way, that didn't make sense. But there was no point in trying to deny that she was this horny for her adoptive mother either, because Yunjin couldn't get rid of the woman's moans that continued to echo in the back of her head. There was no longer any point in denying that finding Jihyo pleasuring herself hadn't driven her to the brink of madness itself.
Pushing Chaewon out of her mind, Yunjin bit her lower lip and increased the pace with which she moved her hand. Her cock hurt, but Yunjin knew she was already close to climax. Just a little more and she would spill all her cum all over to the thought of Jihyo milk…She could almost taste Jihyo's breast milk on her lips. She wondered what it would feel like to suck milk straight from the woman's tits, if it would be warm and thick. Yunjin wanted to put those huge nipples in her mouth and not let it go until she had drunk gallons and gallons of Jihyo's milk. After all, the baby was still months away from being born, so they weren't going to need the milk until then. Meanwhile it could be everything for Yunjin.
Oh god, this was so wrong. It was so sick that Yunjin was masturbating locked in the bathroom, thinking about sucking her mother's tits. What kind of pervert had she become to end up like this? She was sure she deserved hell, but she couldn't stop pumping to the thought of how Jihyo's swollen lips had opened almost enveloping the head of the vibrating wand. Surely that pussy wasn't going to be as tight as Chaewon's, since it was clearly bigger, but that thought made Yunjin salivate like crazy.
Bum Bum bum! She was already so close, just a little more. A few more pumps and she would climax, just a few more. But when she was about to reach glory, her phone started vibrating in her pants. Shit! She had forgotten that Chaewon was waiting for her in the car. Unfortunately, her girlfriend's thoughts mixed with her mother's thoughts at the least opportune moment, as Yunjin's cock began to release thick ropes of semen. She had finally reached orgasm, but it had been ruined.
Without time to reflect on what she had done Yunjin took her cell phone out of her pocket and picked up the call. “I'll be there in a second.” She hung up immediately without giving Chaewon time to say anything, because now she had to face the problem that she had thrown her semen on the mirror and the sink.
As Yunjin pulled up her pants and wiped away the traces of her orgasm as best she could, hoping not to leave any visible stains. She wet her face once again to try to calm down and checking that the sd card was still in her pocket Yunjin ran out of the bathroom on the first floor. Place where moments ago she was masturbating thinking about her naked mother.
“It took you forever.” Those were the words with which Chaewon welcomed Yunjin back to the car. "What happened?" She added when she saw that Yunjin's face was red and her breathing was somewhat labored.
“Not now Chaewon.”
“Did something bad happen back there?”
“Kim Chaewon, I told you not now.” Yunjin responded more sharply than she should have. Actually she shouldn't have even been angry at the question, but by god she couldn't deal with her girlfriend interrogating her now. Yunjin could barely keep her mind off what she had just done, and her guilt was flooding through her.
“What's wrong with you? Why are you so mad? I'm the one who should be upset. It was supposed to be quick but you took forever, and on top of that you come back like this. Not to mention we already missed the first period of class all because of you.” Yunjin had to admit that Chaewon was right.
Yunjin took a deep breath and tried to squid for a few seconds before answering. “Sorry, but I really can't do this right now Chaewon.” She tried to hold her girlfriend's hand but she wouldn't let her. “I promise you that once they review our project I will tell you everything in more detail, but please don't make me do it now.” The truth was that Yunjin was just trying to buy some more time to make up a lie, because there was no way she was going to tell her girlfriend that she had just masturbated thinking about her adoptive mother. "I promise."
Chaewon thought for a few moments about what she should do, but quickly came to the conclusion that her girlfriend was going through a lot of things right now and it was better not to add another burden. “Ok, but you owe me a real explanation or I'm going to be really upset.” Despite giving Yunjin her space, Cahewon was hurt because her girlfriend didn't usually explode like that or treat her that way.
"Thank you." She really didn't deserve her girlfriend. "I love you." Yunjin added more as a reminder to herself, than actually expressing her feelings for Chaewon.
The trip to university was tortuous for both of them. Yunjin didn't say a word the entire way and was lost in her thoughts. She even got distracted from the road a couple of times, which earned her reprimands from her girlfriend. For her part, Chaewon wanted to know what was happening with her girlfriend, but she understood that this was not the best time. Chaewon still couldn't help but feel sorry for how Yunjin had treated her, especially since she really cared about her girlfriend.
Fortunately, the girls managed to make it to the second period of class, and present their project for review without many problems. The teacher only made a couple of corrections but he assured them that they were on the right track, so with that resolved, Yunjin only had two more class periods left to have that inevitable conversation with Chaewon. So it was evident that she needed to continue dilating things.
Unfortunately for Yunjin, the following classes were real torture. Even though she was a pretty good student, today she was having a harder time concentrating. Memories of when she had found Jihyo in her room, and how she had pleasured herself with those images, kept coming toYunjin mind. Damn, even she could almost hear the woman's moans in the back of her head, like an incessant drip that she couldn’t stop. Yunjin was really trying with all her might to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, but she wasn't succeeding.
Opting for a different method, and perhaps driven by the growing guilt she was feeling, Yunjin decided to focus on holding her girlfriend's hand and trying to blow her kisses without anyone else noticing. Chaewon usually sat next to Yunjin in class and this time was no different, so it was easy for Yunjin to hide her hand under the table and caress her girlfriend's hand, moving her thumb from time to time. Luckily for her, Chaewon didn't move her hand away like she had done in the car.
It was a crude strategy, but it still managed to considerably improve the mood of both girls. Yunjin was able to partially push away thoughts about Jihyo to focus on the many reasons why she loved her girlfriend, and would never try to betray her. While Chaewon slowly let go of the sadness that the argument with her girlfriend had caused her. At the end of the day, Yunjin's mere presence always managed to put Chaewon, who was generally a fairly cheerful girl, in a good mood.
Despite this small advance in the situation, Yunjin could no longer ignore the erection that had formed in her pants. Her rigid member throbbed and stained the inside of her boxers with precum. Considering how much she had dripped all over Jihyo before she could masturbate and that she hadn't had time to change out of her boxers, they were already completely ruined at this point. There were only a few minutes left of class, but Yunjin believed that she couldn't hold out any longer. She needed to release all of her libido again as soon as possible.
The girl was still holding her girlfriend's hand, but she had managed to move it to Chaewon's thigh. Who had cast furtive glances at her as if to tell Yunjin that she shouldn't dare touch her right now. But Yunjin, knowing the carnal weaknesses her girlfriend had for her, ignored her silent warning and, releasing Chaewon's hand, moved her own slowly towards the girl's crotch.
Luckily for Yunjin that day her girlfriend had decided to wear the tightest shorts she had, ones she would normally wear to gym, so she could practically feel the underwear under the fabric. Plus she didn't need to lift her skirt, or push aside some other annoying clothing. At how far Yunjin's hand had gone, Chaewon looked at her, opening her eyes wide and pursing her lips, but her intruding hand did not stop.
In the slowest and most subtle way she could, Yunjin began to trace small circles on Chaewon's crotch. She barely moved her fingers a little, but the way Chaewon's legs slowly spread to give her more room was the victory Yunjin was needing right now. Taking advantage of the moment, she moved her hand more blatantly, making her girlfriend need to put all her effort into keeping her mouth closed so as not to let out any noise. It would definitely be the end of both of them if they were found doing something like this in the middle of class.
Once again luckily for both girls the last period teacher dismissed class, which resulted in their classmates standing up and making a lot of noise. Yunjin quickly removed her hand from her girlfriend's crotch and put her things into her backpack. Chaewon took a little longer because now she herself was really missing her girlfriend's hand between her thighs. What a strange turn of events it was to go from feeling sad to having her panties practically soaked because of the same person. But at least now both girls had their underwear ruined, although for very different reasons.
The fact that Chaewon took longer than the others to collect her things caused the couple to be a little longer in the classroom, a situation that of course Yunjin took advantage of to grab one of her girlfriend's buttocks. Those small, round buns that drove her so crazy. Chaewon's response was to grab Yunjin's cock over her clothes and give it a quick stroke. Now they were both at hand.
“Honey, I don't think we'll be able to get to your car.” Chaewon whispered into Yunjin's ear, before stepping forward and walking around moving her hips as much as she could to flaunt her perfect ass.
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agentrouka-blog · 4 months ago
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What made you first interested in Jonsa? I really want to love Jonsa. Which may sound strange. But hear me out. I’ve read all the metas and from a metatextual level I really agree with and believe in Jonsa. But I have trouble actually enjoying it and I think maybe it’s because so much content seems to focus on Jon pining over Sansa. I’d much prefer to see things from Sansa’s perspective where she sees the hero in him and sees that maybe all the songs aren’t lies after all as opposed to him “winning her over.” I feel I have been inundated my whole life with stories of outcast men pining over beautiful women they see as out of their league and “winning them over” and I honestly find the trope tiring because it’s so male perspective focused and doesn’t give Sansa the agency of choosing her lover, instead, making her something to be won or earned. If you have any suggestions for Jonsa content that focuses heavily on Sansa’s point of view, on her falling for Jon first (or at least falling for each other at the same time without realizing it) I’d love to hear them! And I’d love to hear what makes Jonsa appeal to you on a personal non-meta level!
Hi there!
I too draw a difference between Jonsa as a theory and shipping it for entertainment.
I've drifted quite a bit away from what you describe as "content", which is fanworks, art and fanfiction. My tastes are very narrow and that puts me outside the target audience for a lot of what is being shared by creators. Plus, I get a great deal more personal enjoyment out of just interpreting the canon text. I enjoy what the couple represents in the narrative more than I necessarily enjoy immersing myself in different non-canonical variants.
And there's a lot of variants. You have two similar but also very different canon-sources (books and tv show) and within those two sources very different takes on the couple. For as many "Jon pines for higborn Sansa" approaches you get an equal amount of "Sansa jealously pines for her brother's oblivious best friend" modern au's. What we enjoy in recreational reading is extremely personal and subjective.
That said, for fear of disappointing you, I don't particular enjoy the "Sansa falls first" scenarios because what I like about the couple especially is the idea of Sansa finally being appreciated for who she is. Canon offers us plenty of examples of Sansa extending affection and crushes on other characters. They are never truly reciprocated, and they join in on a theme of Sansa going unappreciated for her qualities by the world around her. She is disregarded, mocked, criticized, belittled, humiliated. So much so that a large part of the fandom considers this to be justified and educational for her. She has given up on being loved for herself, but she will not sacrifice her values as a consequence. So someone falling in love with her is to me a very compelling and cathartic validation of Sansa as a person. Of course, this only works if the person falling for Sansa is actually attractive to her and embodies the things we know she has been looking for all this time. But specifically the idea that Sansa falls first fails my personal taste because it contains a sense of lacking reciprocation that we've already seen multiple times in her story. She's been not-loved-in-return a lot already.
I do enjoy the concept of Jon being loved by Sansa, too, because it validated aspects of him he usually keeps close to his chest. Things that touch on his specific mixed sense of identity as a nobly-raised bastard. He has soft sensibilities, a romantic disposition, pedestrian dreams of family and home, and highly idealistic and emotional ideals surrounding leadership that center on duty and honor. But he is generally not appreciated for those specific things. He is appreciated for his brains and his abilities, his bravery, his pragmatism, his loyalty to his friends and duties - but not for the boy who wants to be Lord of Winterfell with a lady wife and babies, who wants to be a hero from the songs, Florian the Fool, Ryam Redwyne. It's a lovely and very specific recognition of a very private part of Jon, to be loved for his secret soft self.
But it's not my primary focus because unlike Sansa, Jon still receives a lot of validation and love in the source material. It's just not the specific kind he wants. So that makes it comparatively less compelling to me.
That doesn't mean that Sansa primarily falling in love with Jon isn't an equally valid thing to enjoy! It's just that I can't make you any good recommendations on this subject specifically because it's not my specific favorite flavor of jonsa.
I wish you good luck though!
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igglemouse · 28 days ago
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What's Going On In The Iggleverse?!
Hi! Hello there! So I know one of the concerns for my legacy is it can be a lot! I always want to emphasize for anyone that goes "Oooh this looks cool but it's too late in!" it is not! NEVAR! Just jump in and if you are ever confused I'll be happy to answer any questions!
So what is this post?! I guess this is just a weekly wrap up post to help everyone keep up with things and also just a chance to summarize things!
So let us start!
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We start with Gracelyn as she was mostly featured last week and while it is only her 2nd episode there is a lot going on in her story! Right now, she seems to have a love interest that is tied to her destiny in some form or fashion? Is it love or is it something else?! Well, they certainly are digging on each other what ever it is!
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It helps that Niklas, the man who seems to be her fated lover, seems to do everything right! He's happy to help her do chores even when he doesn't live with her...yet!
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But Gracelyn has other worries. For instance, her dear friend, Valerie Van Vilet, AKA Triple V, AKA V, AKA Vee, AKA VVV...invites her out to witness some magical ritual or some other crazy event. Gracelyn, a spellcaster not allowed to practice magic, is eager to go see what's going on...
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And once there she not only witnesses her friend chanting and practicing some form of magic and she also meets a mysterious robed figure named Alana Thayer. Alana claims to be from the Matlock Society, a ermmm...well, club, that is dedicated to practicing alternate forms of magic. It's also a club named after Gracelyn's family, she is Gracelyn Matlock, after all.
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She really isn't sure what to make of the whole thing just that it is someway connected to her. It is not the last time we will hear from the Matlock Society that is for sure! She's also dealing with being watched by The Realm itself AAAND by a vampire as well. She has a lot going on and Episode 3, titled Spellbound, is not too far away!
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As for Frida, who is currently expecting, she's not dealing with vampires or sorcery or anything of the sort but that doesn't mean things are all peachy!
Her friend, Irene, is hoping to start her own restaurant but the problem is she's quite broke. She's been searching for an investor, someone to foot the bill while she runs the place and hopes that Frida will help but she's been having issues with finding one that the last guy she met seemed more interested in investing INTO her and not into her business...
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But as for Frida?! She's happily expecting and you know what...we might meet a future heir very very soon! I'm excited, now only if she could get Pascal excited about it too...
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In other Iggleverse news here is a banner you will be seeing soon as Zer will be making her out of this world debut! Every heir has a theme and vibe and hers is basically goofiness. The banner kind of gives me a Nickelodeon vibe and maybe she's like a once little green alien that was obsessed with taking over the world...
BUT that's not all...
There will indeed be a 4th heir, an idea I've thought of for a while and one that I feel like is necessary. One, because I want to do it and two...because I want to do it! One thing is I really enjoy playing normal sims too and while Gracelyn's story and vibe will be a bit darker and more twisted...and Zer's will be silly and stuff..I'd like another normal sim like Frida to balance things out. It will also assure that when there is a heir vote I can still do the old rules of I pick one heir and the rest you all vote for! Also yes, the heir is a she. I'm biased, I like playing women!
This heir is in Early Development though and I'm sure once I start playing them I'll have a banner and posts for it all!
Any ways! This kind of weekly wrap up was fun to do so expect more of it!
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mllemaenad · 6 months ago
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Why so anti-Brotherhood?
At their best (Roger Maxon, Elder Lyons, Paladin Danse) they're massively effective humanitarians; even at their worst (Father Elijah, Paladin Casdin) they posess admirable traits (valour and determination); and most of the tine they are somewhere in the middle (Arthur Maxon, Knight Maximus): flawed but ultimately well-intentioned men and women trying to stop humanity from repeating its biggest mistakes.
They helped out in the early days of California, and when the NCR began to start following in the doomed footsteps of the old world, the Brotherhood tried (unsuccessfully to stop them). On the East Coast, they helped to save the Capital Wasteland from drought, and they stood up to the reckless experimentation of the Institute. In Filly, Lucy Maclean would probably have died without Maximus's intervention.
They can be unsubtle, and heavy-handed, and sometimes almost arrogant, but they ARE good people.
Hi, Anonymous person.
It feels like ... maybe you have the wrong end of the stick here? It sounds like you think I've got some kind of specific grudge against every individual member of the Brotherhood. And I ... don't. That would be silly and unfair. The Brotherhood has existed for a couple of centuries now. People are born into it, or indoctrinated as children. That's ... sort of the point Fallout: New Vegas is making with Arcade and Veronica – the forward-thinking children who have to contend with the mistakes of their very backward parents.
My issue is with the institution, not some random guy in power armour.
I'm not going to go through that whole list, because that's a lot. But – well, Maximus, since the TV show is going to be the hot topic.
Maximus is a refugee from a recently fallen civilisation who joined up with the Brotherhood of Steel because he was briefly impressed by the image of a knight in very literal shining armour, whom he saw breezing safely through the destruction of his home.
Then he found out that they are a group of militant cultists who use brutal beatings and ritual humiliation to "condition" their recruits (and possibly force them to take on new identities, as Maximus seems to be a name they "gave" him). His friend Dane is so frightened of going out on a mission with one of these knights that they actively injure themselves to avoid it, and Thaddeus's experience confirms that Maximus's treatment is completely normal.
When he is assigned to a knight, he quickly discovers that literally all of Titus's dignity comes from wearing a helmet that makes his voice sound deep and commanding, and underneath all that armour he is a bully and a coward. Not just a bully and a coward, but the kind of bully and coward who can't figure out that specifically bullying the only guy who might be able to save his life is a really fucking stupid move.
Nothing in that series made me think "Wow! The Brotherhood are good guys!" It made me think ... "Get out now, kid. Run as far and as fast as you can."
It is true that Maximus steps in to protect Lucy. It is equally true that Maximus would have very much died of dead-battery-in-soldier-suit had Lucy not intervened to help him. I'm not sitting here wishing ill on Maximus. But this ain't a story about how the Brotherhood are worthy saviours of the wasteland; it's the story about two lost kids (and one embittered pre-war Ghoul) finding their way together through hard won trust and understanding, which are pretty much always presented as the hopeful counterpoint to Fallout's grim "war never changes" theme.
I mean ... Maximus also falls uncritically in love with Vault 4 because they give him oysters and slippers. This is his standard for joining up with anywhere. He is a starving refugee whom the Brotherhood exploited.
I have no patience for The Brotherhood of Steel because they are violent, bigoted, technology hoarding isolationists whose defining trait is their extreme arrogance. They treat every problem as a nail and themselves as the hammer, and even when individuals in the organisation are actively trying to do good it's astonishing how ineffectual they are. I'm not sure they've had a relationship with another organisation they haven't poisoned.
They are actively genocidal towards Ghouls, Super Mutants and Synths. Owyn Lyons is undoubtedly one of the more open minded members, but a) one of the reasons they are able to appear as "the good guys" in Fallout 3 is because the particular nature of the FEV disaster going on in the Capital Wasteland means that there are virtually no non-hostile Super Mutants b) even Lyons' people still just shoot indiscriminately at Ghouls, an attitude that is simultaneously so morally bankrupt and tactically stupid that it makes me tear my hair out every time I think about it.
Also: The Brotherhood of Steel kills Danse. I don't think you can reasonably put Danse on your list of reasons why they're worthwhile without also noting that they, you know, send you out to murder him because he's a Synth.
And ohhhhhh they are so very bad at everything. It's actually quite difficult for me to think of things they've done that don't piss me off.
In the original Fallout they're sending aspirants off to die in The Glow because they think it's funny.
Lyons may be the (relatively) benevolent protector of the wasteland in Fallout 3, but he's also responsible for The Scourge: the wanton slaughter of half the population of the Pitt, the looting of their technology, and the kidnapping of their children. Undeniably conditions in the Pitt were awful, but this was no mercy mission: it was more of their mutants-aren't-people-and-all-your-stuff-is-ours bullshit. And they leave a guy behind who starts a raider gang and is basically the reason slavery exists in any large scale form in the Capital Wasteland. I'm not sure it's possible to fuck up worse than that.
Even in Fallout 3 ... they are not what you'd call an inspiration. Half of Lyons' forces threw a hissy fit and went off to sulk in Fort Independence because apparently obsessively hoarding laser riles is infinitely more important than helping people. By 2277 no one's even looking at the water purifier. That situation gets resolved because James finally decides to get off his arse and finish the project (I respect the man's commitment to procrastination). They don't manage to deal with the source of the Super Mutants. They basically spend a couple of decades mostly adequately guarding GNR – while places like Big Town get overrun – and tinkering with their stupid robot. They don't even fix the stupid robot. You know what the answer to fixing the stupid robot was? "Hey, did anybody think to ask Madison how the power supply works?" Useless.
In Fallout 4 they roll in and start extorting the settlers, like those people don't have enough to deal with, and the things they say if you bring Nick or Hancock with you to visit them are appalling.
I've recently been reminded of them threatening their allies at gunpoint in Fallout 76 because they think they have the right to steal everyone's research.
Okay. Enough ranting.
What's my problem with The Brotherhood of Steel? They are the walking definition of "following the doomed footsteps of the old world". They are just about Vault-Tec: military edition.
So we have to grab every schematic, every holotape, every book, and every goddamned note that holds the building blocks of the Old World before it's too late. Our Scribes will hold onto them, preserve them, perhaps even progress beyond them. And the Knights will protect them. Like a hard shell around a precious seed. One day, when the time is right, that seed will grow. And a new civilization will be born. – Fallout 76: Preservation of Technology
They think that somehow they are the true last bastion of civilisation, and that they have the right to decide when the world will begin anew. They can't even deal with the idea that there are different kinds of people in the world these days that your standard homo sapiens. They hoard, and they look backwards, and for all their self-righteous we-are-protecting-the-world propaganda, in practice all that means is that they get to keep all the big guns and threaten everyone else with them.
But civilisation has always just been people choosing to collaborate and help each other. And they have zero right to interfere with that.
Also: I think power armour is stupid and no fun at all to play in, and I am sitting here judging the Brotherhood for their obsession with the stuff. :)
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stormandforge · 18 days ago
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Raw reactions to X-Force #5
Yup, someone dies.
MASSIVE spoilers (and controversial opinions) below.
It's Nori. There'd been so much foreshadowing in the comic - and so much fan discussion about the upcoming character death - that I had started believing it wouldn't be her. But no, it was always going to be her. When you consider the way she joined the team, her post-Krakoa trauma, her selflessness and her relationship with Forge, it makes complete sense.
That death scene goes hard. We actually see her burned-up corpse, we hear her farewell words - oof, my heart. Rest in power, little blue-haired hero.
This said, everyone attacking Geoff Thorne over Nori's death needs to calm down. I would understand this amount of upset if he'd done her dirty, but he really hasn't. He's consistently written her with respect, gave her as much spotlight as he could in a team book, and gave her a heroic death. Stories kill characters, people. That's just the way it is.
Also: Nori's coming back, maybe even in this run. We just don't know yet. And don't give me nonsense about the resurrection protocols being gone - mutants came back from the dead before Krakoa, they will continue to do so.
"Forge always has a plan." YES. Nothing to do with his power; he's just always up to something. That's Forge 101. Fuck me, it's so good to have a writer who understands him. And because Thorne has done his homework, I believe what we're witnessing is a typical Forge plan: something that he believes will benefit the greater good, but that is also misguided and full of hubris and will repeatedly backfire in his face.
Forge can be cold, but this is subzero. He loves Nori, he wouldn't act that way if he was fully himself. Something's going on. Someone needs to shake him real hard - beat him to a pulp, really - and realign his neurons. The two most qualified people to do that are showing up in the next issue, so I'm thinking this is what will happen.
Why does he take her gauntlets? It can't just be for the sake of getting his tech back. As i said he's not that cold, and also he can probably make those again in his sleep.
FORGE ALMOST KILLED AN ALT VERSION OF STORM IN COLD BLOOD. The man is not well, I'm telling you.
There's a theme of Forge hurting the women he cares about in this issue. Trust Sage to see the pattern and get the hell out before anything can happen- the hurting or the caring.
OK, now he's levitating with a big shiny triangle around his body. That's magic, isn't it? For a second I started thinking the Analog must be magic after all, but then I remembered Sage loves staring into it too, so it can't be. Mmm...still processing.
Thorne understands Forge's power better than any writer I've seen (yup that includes Claremont), and I appreciate that he mentions his need for materials to build anything. It should be obvious, but most writers have him make things out of thin air. There's only so much he can fit in that utility belt.
So many people, so many things! Poor Marcus To.
Marcus To is still doing excellent though. Do I need to tell you that Forge is hot? I think I've been clear on that already, but let me reiterate: FORGE IS HOT.
"Slippery as ice": oh, that made me hap-py. Such an evocative, accurate way of describing Sage.
No, Forge's power doesn't let him see what will happen. But you know whose power can see every eventuality? Sage's. This was highlighted in the very first issue, and Forge repeats the exact same words from this moment in this issue. THERE'S SOMETHING TO THAT.
I continue to dig the dynamic between Forge and Sage, curses and all. The little cerebral push and pull they have going on is very interesting.
Also continue to adore Tessa herself. The way she challenges Forge at every opportunity, the way she always asks the right questions *chef's kiss*. Everyone obviously wants to murder Forge on that last page, but I love that she's the one who tells him to go fuck himself, even though she's been the person closest to him on the team. She's my girl. I'm this close to opening a side blog entirely devoted to her awesomeness. (I see what Geoff Thorne means when he says she tries to steal the show. She does!)
OK, so, there's no way Forge has a team anymore at this point, so I assume the next issue will be a downtime one. I imagine he'll go home, have an existential crisis featuring his two exes (as you do) and then get back on the road. Or something? Also, the next issue has a Sage variant cover, which could imply she plays an important part in it. One can only hope. If it's the issue of Forge getting his ass kicked by awesome women, she should take part.
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silverskye13 · 4 months ago
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talks to u
You will regret talking to me I'm very very sorry
So recently my sister has been reading out loud to me [it is very fun I wish I had someone to read out loud to] and the book she picked was Haunting on the Hill. This book was an absolute minefield of a read because it was advertised as a spiritual sequel to Haunting of Hill House and HOHH is probably one of the books I've been the most emotionally invested in ever. Mostly because I see people take the book and Try To Do It Better constantly, and they do it wrong over and over and over again. I don't know how this became My Hill To Die On, but no one can do a remix of the genre right, especially those that pretend like they're trying to.
Hell House, for example, a book that I hate with my entire being, was a very intentional stab at HOHH. It took the trope of four people -- one a slightly older gentleman who is doing research on the property -- two women -- who is a lonely homebody, and one who is a (implied) bisexual psychic -- and one younger man about their age who has some Obvious Substance Abuse Problems, and sets them in a haunted house to try and figure out why its haunted. The author then spends the rest of the book punishing those characters for obvious perceived societal slights. The old man's sin is being old, and dies because he isn't virile and strong enough to withstand the house [unlike the young male protagonist]. The psychic is punished for believing she is psychic, being a confident woman who lives alone, and being implied bisexual [this is evident in the nature of her death, which I won't share here. It's fucking bad]. Then after these characters die, the white male savior comes back, something to do with the old owner of the house haunting it with his willpower, in a closet with a glass of water? It made no sense. But the metaphor the book was obviously leaning towards was, the Good Guy can win and get the girl if he has strength of mind, is vaguely psychic [but better than the psychic lady obviously] and fucking stands around long enough while his friends are killed.
House on the Hill, which should have been marketed as a reference to Hill House and not as a spiritual successor, is a passable haunted house book that attempts to remix the story by making all of the main characters theater kids. There is an older lady who has been ousted from her community for being too old, the young woman main protagonist who is the Ellie parallel, the Theadora parallel is her girlfriend, a bisexual actress who is maybe a little too full of herself, and their single male character has a substance abuse problem involving cocaine instead of alcohol, like Luke from the original book. The author even seems to have grasped some of the original intention of HoHH as a conversation about isolation and loneliness. However about halfway through the book, it takes a turn and seems to punish Theadora for being the character she was written as, in the same way Hell House punished its Theadora allegory character. The rest of the book proceeds with a lot of standard haunted house tropes -- not a bug exactly, but they don't reinforce any extended metaphor. They're mostly there to be spooky. Which would be fine for a standard haunted house book, but not for a haunted house book that claims its the sequel to HoHH.
You see, Haunting of Hill House, and by extension, Shirley Jackson, the author, have a very subtle but also deeply impactful metaphor about loneliness going on in the background, and everything from the haunted house to the fallout of the characters reemphasizes this theme.
Ellie, Eleanor, is an exhausted housewife-style woman in the 1960s, whose never gone anywhere or done anything with her life, because instead of marrying and moving across the country somewhere, she stayed home to take care of her ailing mother. Now that her mother is dead, she lives with her sister and brother-in-law, and believes herself to be a general tax on the family. She fills stuck, alone, unloved and unwanted. The story is in her point of view, and you quickly realize her way of coping with her trapped feelings involves fantasticizing the world around her. She dreams of who she would be if she just lived over there in that little cottage, how differently her life would turn out if she had a cute little life in that one room house. Etc. When she accepts the summons to Hill House, she steals her brother in law's car and drives there on her own, her first trip alone anywhere in her entire life.
Theadora is a psychic who, if I'm remembering right, lives alone and owns a flower shop. She lives a much more interesting lifestyle than most women in the 60s, in a big city with many different friends and lovers coming and going, completely independent. There is an implication that she has trouble keeping interpersonal relationships -- she's a little too flighty -- and really a woman who can't settle down with a man is a red flag.
Doctor Montague seems fine on the surface, if a little jaded. He's a professor at university who is being slowly pushed out of his scientific field because he believes in the supernatural, and wants to prove it using empirical evidence. You find out his wife is very supportive in this venture -- too supportive. He thinks all of her contributions are nonsense, and so is she. His loneliness is self inflicted. He has a fan club right there with his wife, if he gave two shits about her opinions.
Last is Luke, an alcoholic, and the person in line to inherit Hill House. His loneliness is that he, doesn't want the fuckin' house. But because of his alcoholism and gambling problems, the family has decided he, as the cursed child, gets to take care of the cursed mansion no one else wants to touch. So Luke, ostracized from the family and a little shitty about it, decides he might as well rent out the place for some extra cash to fuel his various addictions. The family is going to be cutting him off soon anyway...
These four characters, over the course of Hill House, become haunted by the house, not because of tragic deaths there, or because the house is alive in any literal sense of the word. But because the House has the quality of an overbearing mother, smothering its children with its expectations. Any piece of furniture moved in the place is replaced as soon as they leave the room. Any door opened to allow air or light inside is shut the minute they walk into the next. The house rights itself back to a self-inflicted perfection that is unlivable, and it wants to isolate you too, to be like it. Hill House tells you exactly what it is and what it wants to do in the first paragraph: And all who walk there, walk alone.
Shirley Jackson wrote this very intentionally. As a woman in the 60s trying to have a successful writing career, none of her books were taken seriously. She was pigeonholed into mother and housewife first. Articles that wrote about her works at the time held the patronizing tone of someone congratulating a child who found a new hobby -- not a serious writer wanting to make poignant stories. Her books are lovely now, the few that were published. But Shirley Jackson lived a life that was full of anxiety and agoraphobia, in a world where she felt belittled and token. Her books are written the way they are for a reason. There is great loneliness in being shoved in a box.
I really love that exploration. I love how the people in the book descend into the box of Hill House, the expectations they place on each other, and the way all the women feel tonally dissonant in their token roles. And that's why I hate so many modern adaptations, or inspired-bys, or spiritual sequels. Hill House is a metaphor before it's a ghost story -- and that is why it succeeds as a ghost story! It is scary because you get invested in the characters' wellbeings, their doomed qualities, their individual, very subtle, madnesses. Watching new writers read the book and punish those characters over and over again for not acting right [especially Theadora, Jesus Christ.]
In fact, since I'm already ranting, I'm going to give you a quick rant in defense of Theadora.
Theadora breaks into the book as a very bright star in Ellie's world. She is, literally, everything Ellie wishes she could be. She lives an interesting life, alone, without being too cripplingly lonely. Theadora, used to a little bit of flirting and over friendliness, falls in with Ellie and Luke immediately. She is charming, and bright and beautiful, and Ellie, who's character flaw is romanticizing everything, falls head over heels for her. They get scared together. They comfort each other when the ghosts start acting up. They get haunted together. And Ellie decides, in the way of someone romanticizing something, when all this is over, she would like to live with Theo. But when she tells Theo this, Theo laughs it off. "This is just a holiday, Ellie dear. We will have to get back to our lives eventually." It's unfair to say this is a game for Theadora. I feel like her feelings in the book, all her charm and her flirting, are genuine. But they're genuine in the way of someone going on vacation and flirting around with the people they meet -- she has a normal life she enjoys that she plans on getting back to. Ellie, who is incredibly alone, and who feels like she has only just tasted happiness now that she's come to Hill House, doesn't want to go back home after this. This is the happiest she's ever been.
Ellie informs Theo she is going to follow Theo home, and Theo turns very, very mean. She starts hitting much harder on Luke [something that makes Luke uncomfortable, but something he never really stops, because Luke also likes the attention he's getting] and belittling Ellie and her wild fantasies. She pushes Ellie away. It isn't kind, but what else can she do? She told Ellie she doesn't want to be followed home and Ellie, trapped in her daydreams, doesn't listen.
The rest of the book unfolds. Hill House isolates Ellie, and makes her feel like she can have no happiness outside its smothering walls. She gets taken by it.
In every book that takes on the mantle of trying to tackle the themes that made Hill House great, I would like to ask you all this: Why do they always punish Theo?
Hell House straight up kills its Theo allegory in a very brutal, overt way, implying she deserves that brutality for her promiscuity. The House on the Hill kills its Theo for being too full of herself, for believing she was entitled to greatness.
Why?
You can make a case for the queer aspects of her probably. Or for misogyny. Or for infidelity. Or for the fact that she appears to choose Luke over her relationship with Ellie. But I notice none of these books punish their Ellie allegory for also falling for Theo. For also aspiring to be something other than a stuffy housewife somewhere. For also falling for Luke, and wanting him to be a part of her happiness fantasy.
In honesty, I really think these authors read Theo and think she's the antagonist. So they write their stories to punish the angry woman who was mean to poor, lonely Ellie. But, here's the kicker, Theadora isn't the antagonist. The house is. Loneliness is. The house leads Ellie to a perfect world, and Ellie, who is the way that she is, cannot fathom a world where that perfection is broken, so she ignores it. So she scares people with her over-attachment. So they try to send her away, because whatever is going on with her, it's not safe and it needs to stop. So she decides she would rather die than leave.
Theadora is only "the bad guy" because she's the one that reminds everyone that the fantasy of this perfect house must break eventually. The Doctor will have to go back to his university that doesn't take him seriously and his wife who takes him too seriously. Theadora will have to go back to her shop with her rotating friends who aren't as close as she'd like, but whom she can't force to stay. Luke will have to go back to his place as the unwanted, failing heir and Eleanor --
Well. Eleanor doesn't leave Hill House.
Everyone gets so mad at Theodora because of Ellie's investment in her. Because Ellie is lonely, and sad, and relatable. The first time I read Hill House, some of Ellie's lines made me want to cry they hit so close to home. All her assertions that when she spoke to people she said too much and was too stupid, she would be better tomorrow. All her quiet chastisements that she needs to be more interesting. All her attachments and how scared she is of being spurned. All her wonder when she looks around at the world and tries to imagine a better life. But it's not Theodora's fault that Ellie doesn't get that. It's Ellie's fault for becoming too attached to something that isn't there, and it sucks, and if this were a story with a happy ending, she would realize that and grow past that, but she doesn't. That's not how the story is written.
On one of the nights when the haunting happens, Ellie and Theo are sharing a room. They are laying in bed and holding hands while the house comes alive around them. Knocking on the walls. Slamming doors. Claws, and whispering, and scraping and screaming. Ellie and Theo hold each other's hands tightly. She hears the torturous sounds of a baby in the other room, a child in pain, screaming for its mother, and she's terrified and she's holding tight to Theadora's hand.
And finds, when the haunting stops, that Theo was out of reach the whole time.
Ellie asks, who's hand was I holding?
[The Haunting of Hill House is a metaphor.]
One of these days I'm going to sit down and write the Haunting of Hill House remake in my head, that I am just egotistical enough to believe I could do well. I would find a more modern metaphor first. Something to do with the loneliness of an infinitely interconnected world. Something to do with how boxed in we all feel, how trapped, and how so many people blame it on computers, even though they should be able to connect us more.
I would build a Hill House where the four characters meet on a forum, the first time they've found someone with similar interests. They would meet in person for this haunting expedition. They too would take in the oddness of a house that rights itself on its own, pretends they were never there. They two would fall in love with each other, and bond, and find community in a group of people who are constantly isolated and are glad to finally find someone they relate to.
They too would have to dear with the objective, lonely horror of realizing this doesn't magically fix their problems. That they were alone in the rest of their lives not just because the world isolated them, but because they're bad at forming connections. They would get catty, and disagree, and worry about the lives they need to go back to, and complain about spouses and partners. And one of them, as is Hill House's tithe, wouldn't be able to cope.
One of them, as is Hill House's tithe, wouldn't be able to leave.
Anyway, not sure where exactly this rant was going. Uh. Nice Sunday we're having anon. Got any niche special interests you've been meaning to unload recently?
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