#this is why I drink in such a way to tear you to shreds within like 15 years. because I dislike you.

[isdalinarhot]

Oh I am going to be SO sober by bedtime aren’t I :(

[christinebloodwrittings]

Smart Dress pt2

Request: Hiiii Could you do a Loki x reader based off Green Green Dress from tick tick boom?? It’s a 3am idea and I can’t get it out of my head. It’s probably dumb but you’d def be able to do it actually well. By: @amesmorningstar

Re requested by: @eleniblue

Sorry for the delay, I went through some stuff.

Part one

*My requests are open*

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Summary: Will Loki be able to fix his mistakes?

Warnings: angst, NSFW.

Loki Taglist: @lokisprettygirl22 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @high-functioning-lokipath @thereadinggeek @el-zef @beakami @lokiprompts @ilovefanfictions @eleniblue @novena-proxy  @lulubelle814  @beakami @laurenandloki @tjellisworld

“Stay” he pleaded against your hair, “Give me one good reason”.

“I really…uhm” it wasn't the best moment to be at loss of words, but he tripped with all sorts of different sentences, not a single one made sense or was good enough to express how he felt.

He took way too long, in tears you sighed, putting your hands on his arms to force him release you, "I knew it" you murmured.

"Fuck" he cursed. Loki turned you around, closed the door with your back against it, and before you could protest he kissed you.

That kiss took you back to the beginning of the year. New year's eve, you just got back from a two week mission, that wasn't supposed to last two weeks.

You almost missed New year's eve, your plan was a night of sleep, not caring about the whole thing, because you were bruised and tired, because you just had to be undercover rescuing some dumb cop that got caught spying some mobsters.

Apparently it involved the avengers because the cop is a mutant of some sorts, so because of his dumb ass you were stuck in a dirty cell instead of celebrating.

And why you? Because no one else wanted to go, and you were late to the meeting. Stark had the laugh of his life.

Stark on the other hand, teared that plan to shreds with his whole event going on. There was no way to reach the dorms with the party in your way. Also with Natasha and Wanda being all over you to get you to stay and have fun.

You ended up staying because, what the hell, right? You needed the drink and to kick someone's ass for the horrible mission they threw you in.

After a lot of drinks, Thor saw pertinent introducing his brother to the team, seeing that no one would be within reason enough to refuse him, bold but smart move.

Loki, in your drunken eyes, was the most beautiful being you had ever seen, though, what came out of your mouth was simply humiliating.

You called him weird, because you believed aliens were supposed to be green skinned, he actually laughed and told you his actual skin color is blue, in his ever so sarcastically polite manner of course.

Since he was in a mean mood, your drunken ass had no other better idea than making him absolutely uncomfortable. "So if your skin is blue, then so is your tongue and your dick?" Everyone of course laughed at your dumb question, Thor on the other hand was a bit worried the temper of his brother might get him to set you on fire.

"You talk to me like that again, mortal, I dare you" his voice resonated through the room, making the other 'ooh' in response, like when a classmate is being called out by the teacher.

After a good laugh, you stood up, poked his leather covered chest and spoke, "Listen popsicle, I had a rough couple of weeks, okay? Threaten me again, and I'll throw you out that window" pointing the open window behind you. "You wouldn't dare" he lowered his head enough to be face to face with you, his lips very close to yours.

After a little snicker, you stole a kiss from him, "Behave handsome, and you'll never know" after a wink you sat again, taking a big sip out of your drink.

To say he was stunned was an understatement, he had his revenge though. After Wanda changed your liquor into water, pulling what you called a reverse Jesus, you weren't drunk enough for when Loki cornered you against a wall and kissed you.

"An eye for an eye, minx" he purred in your ear before vanishing in the air.

Funny, he swore you wouldn't remember, but when you reminded him of it the morning after, he spilled his coffee all over the kitchen counter.

--

"Please stay" he brought your mind back to the situation, "Ask the bitch you were with to satisfy you, she must be looking forward to fuck you" he chuckled at your spite, finding it both cute and alluring.

"Is that why you've been unbearable all week? You're jealous." His eyes shone with the power that emanated from within him, power that he knew he had over you.

"I'm not jealous." Your denial made him laugh, even more than he was already having fun with your anger. "Honey, if you wanted my attention so much, you should have told me." He closed the distance, raising one knee to separate your legs and have you closer. .

His goal must have been to devour you, because of the way his tongue tasted the inside of your mouth, a kiss that lit the candle of passion for him.

"Wait," you moved your face, breaking the kiss, searching for air more than anything. He waited a couple of seconds for you to say something else, that you didn't want him, that you hated him, with no response.

Your lack of words guided his hand to cup your neck, gently at first, then pulled roughly until he devoured your mouth again, biting, without regard, the soft flesh of your lips.

"Darling, I've realized how careless I am to leave your needs unattended, let me fix that" he lowered his head to your collarbone and from there to the base of your ear he licked like a wolf getting a taste of his prey. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine.

You wanted to resist, but his kisses, ever so skillful, his hands traveling from your ass to your hips, just enough to hug them and lift you up, automatically you hooked your legs behind his back, then your hands flew to hang on his shoulders, for support. It was all too much.

This is what he does to get you in motion, you knew it. He pulls you up and then you're so lost in him, there's not enough sense that can overthrow your hunger for his clever touch, the bites he likes to leave as he goes down on you, his smart silver tongue against your clit.

In one swift motion, he laid you down on his bed, still having at least one hand on your hips to keep you grounded.

He wanted to have you again, fast. You, were doomed and lost in his caresses, your hands were all over his back and hair, his own matching your movements, while his pelvis teased yours, thrust after thrust, both undergarments were soaking wet.

As time went by, your doubts dissipated, all that remained was the lust you felt for the evil-born god, who with his hands got rid of all excess clothing. He didn't pay any attention to your lingerie, much less to your wounds. His cock was no mystery to you, he was huge and veiny, perfect for touching all those internal areas that needed his attention, and boy was he good at using it.

His hips collided with yours with each thrust, the sound of skin touching and the wet sound filled the room, as did your moans and his.

Ecstasy was a word you wouldn't use for that moment, there was a knock at the door, and it turned out to be none other than the bitch who accompanied him to the party, which made Loki hit you much harder to divert your attention.

He pulled out of you for a few seconds, then pulled your body towards him, rotating your hips until you were on all fours. He grabbed your hair and he continued fucking you, the thrusts getting stronger and more accurate, hitting every single spot he knows make you week.

"You're mine, to touch, to have, only mine" he breathed against your ear, to which you couldn't respond, the heat clouded your senses, a warm feeling crawled up your core to your chest, a feeling you knew the meaning.

"I love the way you squeeze me when you cum" he said in between panted laughs, "Now, stay, please" you shook your head, "Please love" he then pulled out, grabbed his boxers and came inside them. Disgusted, he threw them on the sink in the bathroom and left the water running on it, until they were soaked, then turned it off and returned to your defeated, tired and ashamed being.

He reached for you as soon as he positioned by your side, but you rolled away from him, "Darling, my sweet love" his hand caressed yours, it was so warm, but of course your pride was stronger than your love for him, so you moved it away from his touch.

"You're still mad at me?" he sounded so surprised, so you laughed, sarcastically obviously. "All this time, you made me believe that you liked me enough".

"What do you mean? I like you," you didn't want to believe anything he said at that moment, "But you still go out with other women, you kiss me, you fuck me and I'm still not enough," again he was left without explanations, " Honey, that's not-" he tried, but he stopped himself, biting his tongue before saying something he'd regret.

"I don't care, you made me think you wanted more than just a quick fuck, but then it was slut after slut" you stood up, first putting on your bra, then your stockings, then your dress, your shoes were actually too much for the state of your legs, so you had them hanging

“Y/n” he called out to you, but you still hadn’t gotten everything out of your chest.

"I'm sick of this, Loki, I don’t wanna do this anymore" holding a tear behind while saying it, burned, but you had to either draw the line or break the cycle.

"But I do like you" that wasn't enough, he thought, still being at loss of proper thinking.

"That’s not the point, horns" he saw in your eyes, and on the way you were hugging your shoes close to your figure, a way to feel your words, deep inside him they resonated.

But before he could feel bad, "It's been a while since you called me that" he purred that sentence like a way to ease the tension.

But you huffed and rolled your eyes, making him lose some of the sanity he had left, "Norns woman, will you tell me what I did wrong?".

"Geez Loki, do I have to think for you too? You used to be so witty, maybe the whores sucked off your brain too"

“Right, stay mad at me for absolutely no reason then, that’s fine by me”

"No reason? I wasted a year of my life to a god, that resulted no different from a regular human asshole"

“Mind your words, mortal”

“Funny, I thought you liked my dirty mouth, horns”

“Just tell me what I can do”

“Figure it out”

As soon as he saw you leave the room, he jumped out of bed, dressed with a spell, and ran after you. The sounds of the party were getting louder, obviously the party continued, a simple fight was always part of Stark's meetings, so people saw it as something common.

“Y/n, you were right” he caught your arm, just before you stepped out to the living room. “I started feeling things for you, but, I couldn’t bring myself to fill in the role of partner you need, not because I didn’t wanted to, the reason is unknown to me” his doubt was the only reason you needed to know that he was still the same prince that blew up his own planet a year ago.

“Sounds void to me” your coldness gave his frozen heart frostbite, so full of truth nonetheless, “I know, but I can’t afford to lose you” it had to stop, you thought, “But you can’t bring yourself to love me properly” you slipped your hand from his touch, “I…We need to stop, I can’t with this”.

It's hard to let go of something you thought you loved but that was destroying you with every kiss and empty promise, but the feeling of freedom that invaded you after a month of detox was unmatched.

Finally, after a month, you stopped caring who he was dating or not, and also the gifts he left at your door, with letters begging for your forgiveness. "You're forgiven, Loki, I'm just not interested in having anything with someone who doesn't know how to take things with responsibility and commitment," much less with a prince who has always had everything on a silver platter and women who lined up to have sex with him.

Maybe he was much more than that, but you didn't know, he never let you see beyond his superficial way of being. You saw some vulnerability when he hugged you after sex and stayed with you until the next morning, and then he said goodbye with a kiss, but after so much pain, you started to doubt if he was really opening up to you, or it was only the reflection his exterior facade.

Either way, life goes on, and so did you.

[seths-rogens]

for the writing prompts i GOTTA ask for #34 "why are you so cold" eeeeeeeee i'm twirling my hair already. pairing of your choice <3 and if 34 isn't inspiring, please go for which ever one you hoped someone would request!

okay this is longer than the last two prompts and Wayyyy spicier than anything I've ever posted (even if it is still fairly tame i think) but here u go bestie! hope u liiiike <3

word count: 2.9k | rating: E

cw: blood drinking

——————

34. Why are you so cold?

“What’re you cooking?”

Steve startles in his place by the stove, whipping round and slamming back up against the oven. Boiling water sloshes over the rim of the pan, soaking into the back of his t-shirt. 

He barely feels it, too focused on the figure standing in the doorway to the hall. They’re drenched in shadow, features unrecognisable. He’d had the lights low to offset the migraine that was ever so slowly wearing off, but also because it felt wrong to turn the lights on at two in the morning. 

He regrets that now.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Steve chokes out, wishing more than anything that he had his nail bat within reach. He glances off to the side, judging the distance between himself and the knife block. If only he could—

“Now, now, Stevie. That’s no way to treat an old friend.” 

Steve inhales sharply, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

Long hair, lank and tangled. A once white shirt shredded and stained with blood so dark it seemed black. Torn jeans and muddied white Reeboks. Steve can't see past the tears in the clothes, but he knows it probably isn't pretty. 

A dead man takes a step forward out of the shadows.

“Eddie.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Eddie grins, baring his teeth. Even in the dark they gleam bright white.

“You’re dead.”

"I am?!" Eddie exclaims, starting to frantically pat himself down. Steve winces  - that's gotta hurt. He pats at his chest, rests a hand over his heart and breathes deep. "God, you had me worried for a sec there, Stevie boy."

"This isn't real." 

"Then what, pray tell, do you think it is?" 

"A-a dream. Or a nightmare. Or... or Vecna's back and I'm his next goddamn victim. Fucking figures right?" Steve rambles on, borderline hysterical. 

Eddie takes another couple steps closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and ducks his head as if he's blushing. "Aw, Stevie, you dream about me?"

"No. They're nightmares." He takes a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's just you dying over and over. Bleeding out in my arms, fucking screaming at me to help you." He scoffs before mumbling under his breath. "God, what am I doing? Talking to a freaking mirage."

Steve turns around and leans against the counter. He stares into the boiling water. The pasta's probably overcooked by now. 

"You're not real." Steve mutters to himself in reassurance,

A hard line of pressure  bares down against  the expanse of his back. Steve's breath catches in his throat. "Are you sure, Sweetheart?"

Too solid, all too real, hands gently grasp his hips, before sliding round his waist. A gentle tug and he's pulled into a one-sided embrace. "Don't I feel real?"

Steve doesn't know whether to melt into the feeling or fight it off. 

It's been strange, the last few months. Since they fought Vecna and closed the Upside Down off. Everyone's been different.

Steve included. 

He tries hard to be the rock the group needs, but it weighs on him. He can take everyone else's pain, but who will take his? 

But now, wrapped in strong arms, Steve feels his resolve waning. It would be so easy to fall apart.

He pushes the thoughts back. Eddie is dead. This thing behind him is a trick. 

Steve spins, pressing his palms flat against Not-Eddie's chest and pushing. Quickly, he shifts to the side, leaning over to the switch on the wall and turning on the under cabinet lights. 

He jumps when he turns back round, Not-Eddie much too close for comfort. "Afraid of the dark, are we, pretty boy?"

In the light, Steve takes a closer look. The skin beneath the tears in Eddie's clothes is smooth and unmarred where it should be mangled. The tips of his fingers are near black, like he'd dipped them in ink, the nails sharp. Steve glances at Eddie's grin, notices the extra length of each of his canines, the way they're sharp like fngs. 

Finally, he meets Eddie's eyes. Sees the way they're tinged red. Gasps.

"Like what you see?" Not-Eddie smiles, those fangs of his pressing divots into his bottom lip.

Steve stares, only a little terrified. "You're not Eddie."

Eddie frowns.  "It's a little bit different, I know, but that's what happens when you're the last meal of a few hundred alternate dimension demon bats." 

"No... no, I--" Steve shakes his head. "You can't be him. You can't be." 

"And why's that?"

Steve feels a sting in his eyes. His heart starts to pound. "You were dead. Your heart stopped." He tries to back away further, the counter at his back halting his futile efforts. "We left you there... Oh god... Eddie, we--"

He slides down to the floor, tucking his knees tight to his chest as his breath comes in short pants. "I'm so fucking sorry. I left you there. I... I'm sorry."

With a grace unseen of the Eddie of before,he slinks down to a crouch and speaks with a harsh clarity unlike his previous joviality. "My heart stopped, Harrington. I bled out. That isn't on you."

"But I--"

"No. It's on Vecna. You killed him, yeah?"

Steve nods. "Yeah."

"Then you did all you could. Like, avenged me or whatever." 

Steve runs a hand down his face, surprised to find it coming away wet. "I'm still sorry."

"Steve... I--" Eddie reaches out, cupping Steve's cheek in the palm of his hand. Steve flinches at the sensation of skin touching skin. "What? What's wrong?"

"Why are you so cold?" 

Eddie's skin is cold. Icy like the time Tommy pressed his hand to the back of Steve's neck after taking an ice bath. Cold like the snow Robin shoved down the back of his coat last winter. Cold like the waters of Lovers Lake, and the frigid air of the Upside Down.

It's inhuman. 

Eddie sighs. "So uh, I don't think I'm human anymore." He grimaces awkwardly. "Surprise?"

"What do you mean you're not human?" Steve grits out through clenched teeth. 

Eddie falls backwards onto his butt, sitting criss-cross applesauce across the room. The pot is bubbling over on the stove. Steve ignores it. 

"Well. I should be dead, right? We've established that." He fiddles with a dirty strand of hair. "But all my bites are healed. And I can feel my teeth in my head. They ache and they're sharper than they were before. And..." He pauses, trailing off.

"Spit it out, Munson."

"And I can hear your heart beating. I can smell your blood."

Steve presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying you're what exactly?"

"I think I'm a vampire."

"A vampire. Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Look, I know we weren't that close, but I figured Henderson would freak out if I showed up at his house and the others' parents would ask too many questions."

"So I'm the last resort?"

"No, Steve. I came here because I trust you." He shrugs. "I thought we might've been friends if I'd made it out, y'know? I thought you might be willing to help."

Steve's shoulders slump as the weight of those words sets in. He nods. "What do you need?"

He smiles, canines glinting. "I'm fucking starving."

Steve laughs softly. "Well I've got enough overcooked macaroni if that works?"

Eddie smiles back. "Sounds good."

Steve pushes himself to his feet and offers Eddie a hand up, which he takes gratefully if the extravagant bow he offers means anything. He grabs two bowls and a couple forks, and dishes out the overdone monstrosity. 

With a sheepish grin, Steve passes Eddie a bowl and sits next to him at the breakfast bar. 

Steve digs in as Eddie takes his first mouthful. 

There's quiet for a moment, then, "Hmm?"

"What?" Steve asks through a mouthful. 

"I didn't consider this part."

"What part?" 

"I'm a vampire, Steve."

"So?" He pokes at the pasta with his fork.

"Vampires don't tend to eat human food. Humans are the food." 

Steve splutters, choking on a bite of pasta. He drops his fork, appetite gone. 

"You don't have any raw meat by any chance?"

Steve grimaces. "Haven't really been able to stomach it since," He gestures to his bat bites, still healing. "Y'know." Eddie nods sympathetically. "I'd offer to drive to the butchers but since it's," He checks his watch. "Three-twenty-seven AM, I think they'll be closed. Sorry man." 

Eddie slumps in his seat, running a hand through his mud streaked hair. "It's fine. I'm sure I'll last until tomorrow. Do you mind if I take a shower though?"

"Sure."

He leads Eddie up to his parent's bathroom. "Take as long as you like. I'll grab you a spare change of clothes."

Eddie nods with a smile and ducks into the bathroom. Steve waits until he hears the water running before rushing into his bedroom to pull out the comfiest clothes he owns. A soft pair of heather grey sweatpants and an old, worn in Hawkins Swim team t-shirt. 

He folds them up and leaves them on the bathroom counter, keeping his eyes downcast. 

He heads back downstairs, scrapes what's left of their food into the trash and starts to pace.

Eddie is alive and in his bathroom. *Eddie is alive and in his bathroom.* 

He should be freaking out, and sure, some part of him is, but another part of him is overcome with a sort of overjoyed awe. Maybe he came back a little different, but at least he isn't dead.

It's at that moment that a thought crosses Steve's mind. Eddie is alive again, and he needs to do anything he can to keep him that way.

Steve settles on his parents long untouched bed and waits, raring himself to make an offer he never thought he would.

When the water shuts off Steve swears he feels his heart stop for a moment. 

Eddie smiles when he opens the bathroom door, steam billowing out in a cloud after him. He's trying the ends of his hair with one of Steve's mom's 'hotel quality towels', wearing the borrowed pair of sweats and Steve’s old shirt. "That water pressure is insane, man. I don't think the trailer park has ever had anything like that."

"Ha. Yeah. So I was thinking--" Steve starts, holding himself tense.

Eddie laughs softly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Funny." Steve rolls his eyes.  "What I was gonna say was, you could always, uh, feed on me. If you want. If it's not like weird or whatever."

Eddie watches him with a stunned expression. Eyes wide and jaw slack.

Steve keeps going. "Just because you said you were hungry, and if you haven't eaten since you got out of the Upside Down - which we will be talking about by the way - then you probably really need to eat, right?" 

"Right." Eddie nods, walking over to the opposite side of the bed to where Steve sits. "And you're just offering yourself up like a jock on a platter?" He shakes his head, sitting next to Steve, up against the headboard. "The kings are supposed to feast on the peasants, Stevie. Not the other way around."

"C'mon, man. You said you were starving."

"I could really hurt you, Steve. It's not worth that." 

Eddie ducks his head and Steve grabs his wrist, squeezing a little."You trust me, right? So I can trust you back. I trust that you'll know when to stop. I trust that you won't hurt me."

"It's not that simple."

"You don't know that. You won't know if you don't try." 

"You're reckless, you know that?" Steve just grins. Eddie hesitates. "Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Steve tilts his neck to the side. Edde starts to lean in, shuffling awkwardly to try and find a better angle. Steve takes pity.  "Here, maybe this is easier." He swings a leg over Eddie's thighs and drops into his lap. 

Eddie gasps as his weight settles. Their eyes meet and everything narrows. Nothing else matters, only  two men in an empty mansion in Loch Nora. 

Tentatively, Steve loops his wrists together behind Eddie's neck, the wet strands of his hair brushing his skin. "Is this better?"

Eddie nods, awestruck. “Yeah. That’s good.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Cool.”

A pause. They watch one another.

“You can bite me now.”

“Right.”

Eddie leans in, dragging his nose along the column of Steve’s neck, inhaling that sweet, tart smell. 

Steve tries to repress a shiver.

Eddie bares his fangs, prepares to bite. 

“Wait!” Steve stops him, ducking away from Eddie’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Is it gonna hurt?” “I don’t know.” 

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Continue.”

He closes his eyes, bares his neck once more.

It’s like a prick, at first, when Eddie’s fangs pierce his skin. A little uncomfortable but not unbearable.

But then, all encompassing heat. Spreading down, down from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

Steve gasps, eyes flying open as he twitches in Eddie’s lap, clenching his hands into fists. The heat pools in Steve’s gut as he feels his sweatpants grow just that bit tighter. He rolls his hips without thinking, lets out a guttural moan as his eyes roll back into his head. Feels his toes curl in his socks.

Eddie pulls away. “Steve?”

“Don’t stop. Why did you stop?” His breath comes in short pants.

Eddie grimaced. “You seem a little, uh… compromised? I don’t wanna continue if you’re gonna hate me after. Don’t think I could live with myself.” 

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, sees the dark, wide circles of his pupils. His own probably just as large. “I don’t want you to stop. I didn’t know it would feel like this.” 

“Does it feel… does it feel good?”

“So fucking good. I want you to keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Eddie’s head and dragging him into a kiss, wet and messy with blood and spit. Eddie gasps against Steve’s lips.

When they pull back, his eyes grow ever darker as they take in the blood smeared around Steve’s mouth. 

Steve leans into Eddie’s ear. Whispers. “Bite me again.”

With a moan, Eddie grips Steve at the roots of his hair, tugs his head to the side. Steve lets out an involuntary whimper. 

“Fuck…” Steve sighs, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s teeth pierce his skin for the second time. 

He feels his cock straining against its confines. He starts to roll his hips again, short, frantic jerks as he clenches and unclenches his hand in Eddie’s hair. “Eddie… fuck, Eddie, please.”

Eddie pulls off, licks over the punctures, presses his bloody lips to Steve’s adams apple. “What do you need, baby?”

Steve just whimpers, continues to grind in Eddie’s lap.

Eddie grasps Steve’s hips, stilling him. “Answer me, Sweetheart.”

Steve whines. “Fuck. Need you. Need more.”

“Good, that’s good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” Eddie’s hands slide down to Steve’s ass, where he grabs both cheeks in a firm unrelenting grip. He squeezes, pulls, forces Steve to start a slow grind. “God, I wish I could rip you outta these, Stevie.” 

Steve freezes, shudders, sits back in Eddie’s hands to meet his eye. Swimming black meets swimming black. 

“Do it.”

“You’re serious?” 

Steve nods. “I have other sweatpants.” 

Eddie smirks. He digs his shoe nails into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, pulls until a loud ripping noise cuts through the quiet of the room. Eddie tears until he can pull the scraps away from Steve’s legs and drops them to the floor.

“Holy fuck.” Steve dives in for another kiss, grinding his barely covered cock against Eddie’s in his borrowed sweatpants as he shoves his tongue in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie gropes his ass again, little fingers dipping down until they brush the now bare skin of Steve’s thighs below the hem of his briefs. He controls the rhythm and Steve can do nothing but let him.

“Can you come like this?” Eddie asks breathily. Steve just whines an affirmation. “Good. I want you to.” Eddie smirks, but the stuttering of his hips betrays how much he’s affected. 

They become desperate, pace frantic and uncoordinated. They’re not kissing anymore, just breathing into one another’s mouths. Steve clutches tight to the back of Eddie’s shirt as Eddie shifts one hand from Steve’s ass and presses it hard to the bulge in his pants. “Come for me, baby.”

The coil in Steve’s stomach unwinds and he tenses as he falls over the edge, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring. He moans unintelligibly, eyes clenching shut as the roll of his hips turns to involuntary little jerks. 

Everything fades to black.

When he comes to, he’s wrapped up in strong arms.

“Back with me?” Eddie asks kindly, a warm smile upon his - now clean - lips.

“How long was I out?” Steve sits up stiffly, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

“Just a little while. I got you some water.” 

Steve grabs the water bottle on the bedside table, chugging down half before recapping it. “So we should do that again sometime.”

Eddie laughs.  “You read my mind.” Steve turns to him, they share a smile.

Steve smirks. “Thought that was your job, Mr Vampire.”

[legacygirlingreen]

Part 4 - Chapter 2: Revelations // Sebastian Sallow x reader

 Warnings : Mentions of blood/torture, slight mentions of assault and unwanted touching. This is one is dark folks!

A/N: I'm back with the second chapter of this part, and things are heating up. Thankful to everyone who keeps reading... hope you all enjoy....

word count: 7,500 words

Masterlist for series: https://www.tumblr.com/legacygirlingreen/713709759369560064/part-1-becoming-a-proper-gentlemen?source=share

When she came back to consciousness she could feel her arms tied above her head, feet dangling off the floor as she was strung up from a structure in the camp they discovered not far from Feldcroft. Looking down she saw her shirt had been torn to shreds and she shivered feeling the cool air around her. It was then she realized she was soaking wet, and that water had been thrown at her. 

“She’s awake boss” a voice called behind her and she heard a tent flap raise before footsteps made their way closer to her. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she could tell it wouldn’t be good. 

She closed her eyes, waiting for another blow to be landed upon her body. All she could remember after Poppy left was being surrounded, hit with a variety of hexes and curses before she blacked out. She had never felt the torture curse used on her before, however Sebastian had taught it to her one evening in the undercroft, in the unlikely even she may need it some day. They shared a similar mindset that despite being dark magic, hiding from it in the educational sphere was dangerous. One should always know what they are up against. 

Feeling it used against her however, despite Sebastian’s best efforts to help educate her, were worse than she could ever have imagined. In fact, even now she could feel its lingering effects on her body. The way it coursed through her bloodstream like lightning, burning every single part of her body from within. 

Not feeling another curse she opened her eyes, seeing the cold steel eyes of Victor Rookwood staring directly into her own as she screamed, the sound muffled by a cloth gag,  frightened at how close he was. She struggled against the restraints holding her as he chuckled, seeing her distressed. 

“Come now, there’s no need for that. You aren’t breaking free. Save your energy girl… you will need it.” He explained as he cupped her cheek in mocking comfort and she tried to move her face away from his hand. 

“Have you no curiosity about why this camp exists? It appears you have learned about the curse affecting the Sallow girl, but you have no idea as to why… I thought you would like to know seeing as you have become close to that boy… What is his name again? The tall one with the dark hair and all the freckles… charming young man. I would hate for him to get caught in the crossfire of this wouldn’t you…” he threatened with a smug look in his eye as he brought a gloved hand up to the cloth tied around her mouth, releasing it as she sucked in a fresh breath of air. Her eyes had already welled up with tears at the thought of Rookwood hurting Sebastian and she made no attempts to stop them from spilling out as he stared directly into her eyes with a grin. 

Walking away to a table to the right of where she was strung up, he grabbed a small tankard, bringing it close to her lips, allowing her to drink water. At first she was apprehensive, not sure what it may contain, but the more she thought about it, if they wanted her dead they would’ve already killed her. 

“Why her?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper with her failing strength as Victor removed the tankard and his aggressiveness returned, as he pulled her hair back so his lips were level with her ear. 

“I will ask the questions.” Taking a step back he circled her, and she couldn’t help but feel exposed, having only a camisole covering most of her modesty as her main shirt had been torn on her frame. Victor stopped directly in front of her again, looking her over as a curious gaze took to his face. 

“It appears I have the information you want, and you have the power I deserve,” he explained, removing the gloves from his right hand before proceeding to the left. 

“You are working with Ranrok-” she started but he stopped her.

“Not anymore.” he hissed. She recalled the last time she had seen him. The same day that Lodgok had died. Victor and Ranrok had been fighting, and vaguely she remembered seeing Rookwood blast a curse at the goblin before she brought the cavern in on itself to destroy the drill Ranrok had been building. 

“What do you want from me?” she asked, confused why he would want her help. Only she could see and wield the magic, so it would be useless to him. 

“How much have they told you? The keepers,” he asked her, as she saw him lift something off the table from the corner of her eye, while she slowly spun around from the place her hands were joined above her head. 

“Not much I am afraid… they have been making me complete trials… but they are hiding something… I have been told very little… The last of the keepers does not trust me. He has refrained from allowing me to even start the last trial or inform me of where the ancient magic repositories are stored. The only one I know of was the one under Rookwood castle. The rest are a mystery to even me. I know that Isadora was the one who created that form of ancient magic corrupted by pain, and that the keepers disagreed with her usage of it…” she explained and the honesty for which she spoke confounded her. She hadn’t intended to speak so openly to him… 

“You know nothing else of the repositories? Not even the one under the school?” he asked her, suddenly surprised at her lack of knowledge on the subject.

“There is one under the school?” she asked, half delirious and half surprised. 

“You are much less valuable to me than I previously thought… however it is true that you can wield it can you not? Like Rackham and Morganach?” he asked her, stepping closer as his hand stilled her movements. Victor had taken off his staple top hat and he suddenly looked less menacing standing in front of her with his short cropped sandy brown hair and confused gray eyes. 

“I can see it. I have slowly been learning how to wield it… however I will never be able to understand how to properly use it without the help of the keepers… well that and the books we stole from the ruins of Isadora’s home and workshops.” she explained feeling the words spill past her lips without a thought. Her eyebrows furrowed as she realized something was wrong for her to be spilling all she knew on the keepers and ancient magic with a criminal such as Rookwood. 

“What workshops?” He asked for a moment unsure of what the girl had meant, as he only knew of the keepers, and a connection to Isadora’s home in Feldcroft. 

“You were digging in her estate… but within the basement there was a passage to a secret place within Hogwarts… only someone who could see ancient magic could find them. Sebastian and I have been tracking down these locations Isadora was using to test various forms of ancient magic and we stole much of her research” she said now realizing he must’ve slipped her something, as she hadn’t even told professor Fig what her and Sebastian had been doing in secret. Rookwood noticed her eyes go wide and he smiled. 

“Veritaserum, only a few drops and it will have even the most hardened people speaking the truth… What do you know about Ranrok’s plans?” he asked her curiously. She knew they were working together but for him to be asking the goblin’s plans meant he was not as intricately included in the rebellion as she had initially thought. 

“He is building drills. I imagine if you know of a repository under the school… my guess is he will start trying to access it. That puts every student and professor there, not to mention wizard kind at large, at risk if that magic is not protected from him.” she explained, the effects of the truth serum starting to wear off as she caught herself from speaking too much. 

“What do you know about Solomon Sallow?” he asked her, coming close enough that she could see the wrinkles around his eyes. 

“I… he is Anne and Sebastian’s uncle… he took them in after their parents died… and he is a former auror… he can be quite cruel sometimes from what I’ve seen and been told by Sebastian…” she told him.  

“Do you know why he was released from the ministry?” Victor asked, raising something to trail along the skin of her exposed back. The feeling made her shudder. 

“No, I do not…” she said, worried about what was currently touching her and where it would continue to go. 

“He used the killing curse, you are familiar with it are you not?” he asked, trailing whatever he had in his hand so it started its descent to her lower back and buttocks. She only nodded, too focused on what he was intended to do with her physically. 

“He used the killing curse on a constituent of mine.  Someone like a brother to me.  He killed an unarmed man. And all the ministry did was sweep it under the rug.” he explained, placing his mouth once again by her ear as she listened to what he said. Surely he was not speaking the truth. 

“Is that why you cursed Anne? Revenge?” she asked him and the sudden slap to her lower exposed back with what felt like a piece of leather caused her to scream out in pain. 

“I told you, that I ask the questions…” he trailed off, once again coming around to view her from the front. 

“I have always felt that using magic to harm someone is lazy.  Sometimes one needs to get their hands dirty, to ensure that the pain lasts longer… but creating a curse that inflicts excruciating pain until the person dies is a decent enough consolation prize I suppose… however I still prefer using my own hands…” he explained, stepping closer to her, grabbing her chin in his sweaty palm, forcing her to look into his eyes. 

“I can assure you that I will keep you alive, as your ability to see that magic is valuable to me, but let me be clear… I am under no obligation to keep you in a pleasant state.” he hissed, suddenly looking down at her ripped shirt and soaked camisole with a vile grin. 

“I must hand it to the Sallow boy… you said his name was Sebastian? No matter, he has  wonderful taste… after all, you are quite a pretty little thing aren’t you?” With that he reached forward, tearing her camisole down the middle leaving her bare from the waist up as she hung from the ceiling exposed to him. A cry died in her throat as she felt the cool air.  He came closer as she whimpered not wanting to meet his eyes again.

In her mind she tried to draw forth an image of Sebastian to distract herself. She could see his bright and wide smile in the sunlight of her vivarium. See the way the breeze played with his dark brown hair and the way the golden light made his eyes look more auburn. If she could just keep focusing on his face… 

Whack! A sudden slap across the face caused her to open her eyes again as she stared back at Rookwood.

“Please no…” she begged looking at him, hoping he would stop.  

“Quiet.” he spoke calmly as he brought what she now saw was a leather belt down across the skin of her chest, much harsher than the last time. 

The scream that tore out of her throat made him laugh as he continued to observe her.  He walked closer to her again, and she tried to move back the best she could with the restraints out of instinct but there was no use. He stood directly in front of her, pushing a lock of her hair out of her face almost gently. 

“I promise not to send you back to young Sallow, too unrecognizable…” With that he brought his other hand up, the tip of a sharp knife directly eye level as he let her see it, before he brought it down against the skin over her right eyebrow, pressing down as her screams filled the night.

“Where exactly are we going, Miss Sweeting?” Professor Sharp asked as they arrived south of Feldcroft in an abandoned hut along the coast.  He reached an arm out to stop the girl, who was insistent on rushing around without help to get back to her friend as quickly as possible. 

“There is a camp just north of here, it is not too far but we must walk there on foot to not attract too much attention” she explained as she attempted to slip from his grasp.

“We will not be barging in there without a plan! I refuse to go in without warning as to what we are getting ourselves into. That would be reckless.” he told her, realizing that the lack of caution was what ended them up in the position to be begin with. 

Poppy looked back at the potions master, realizing he had a point, but still looking undeterred to wait much longer for her friend’s sake. 

“Can you at the very least recall the layout of the camp? And roughly how many men were there when you left?” he asked her, walking the two of them out to the shore as he passed her his cane so she could draw it in the sand. 

Poppy quickly drew a crude map of the poacher’s camp, explaining to him how she had overheard Rookwood’s men discussing the curse affecting Anne, and how she had attempted to go in for more information when she was apprehended. Poppy also explained how she attempted to get her friend out, and what direction more men came from as she left her. 

Aesop Sharp watched with a frustrated sigh at both how reckless, but also brave these girls had been, to brave poachers and possibly even Victor Rookwood for a chance at saving the young girl who’s ailment prevented her from being at school any longer. Reaching a hand up through his long dark hair, he pulled it back from his face while looking back at her sketch of the camp. 

“I still do not believe you and I alone are going to be able to take on so many men without help Miss Sweeting… we may need to consider other options-” he started to explain and she abruptly cut him off. 

“No! You don’t understand! Victor Rookwood has wanted to capture her for a while now… if she is even still where I left her, she could already be dead! We don’t have much time!” Poppy explained to him, as worry filled her when she thought of the fact that y/n could already have been killed. Sebastian was truly going to murder someone when he found out what happened… 

“I understand perfectly clear Miss Sweeting but we cannot just barge in there, the two of us and expect good results. You are nothing more than a student and I cannot move the way I used to!” he yelled at her and she suddenly went quiet as he aggressively clutched his hair again, annoyed by its presence in his face. 

“I am sorry… but we can not do this alone. Especially if there is a chance Rookwood himself is there…” he sighed, trying to figure out a possible solution when she looked up and saw a bird flying from the west. 

Poppy’s eyes lit up as she waved to the hawk, attempting to get it to come closer and when it started flying towards her she lifted out an arm for it to land. Professor Sharp looked confused towards the girl, curious why she was suddenly so excited, and by a mere bird no less.

“We won’t be alone.” she explained with a smile as the ground below them started to slightly shake. Pushing the student behind him, the professor grabbed his wand ready to face whatever appeared when she pushed his arm back down. 

Suddenly, Dorran along with several members of his tribe came rushing from the hill above, stopping just shy of Poppy and Professor Sharp. 

“Dorran, I am so glad you came… we need your help.” she explained looking up at the Centar, who Sharp was shocked to learn she was on a first name basis with. 

“What has happened, child? Where is your friend? The clever one?” he asked, looking around, finding only the potions master instead of the student who helped him save the golden snidgets. 

“They captured her while we were looking for the members of your herd. We don’t know if she is still alive, but they were torturing her when I escaped.” she explained looking to them for assistance saving her friend. 

“And who is this?” Dorran asked, gesturing to Aesop standing next to her.

“He is a professor from Hogwarts… he is a former Auror. He was just saying that we needed help trying to rescue y/n from the poachers and now we have it." She told him as Sharp looked absolutely awestruck that the young student was ready to lead a centaur army into a poacher camp to rescue her friend. 

Dorran nodded at her before turning to the rest of his men, “Let me go speak with the others while you discuss how you wish to proceed. Did you discover any information on my kind?”, he asked and Poppy shook her head. Dorran grimly nodded before walking away. 

“Miss Sweeting, however did you become in league with a herd of centaur? What on earth were the two of you doing all the way out here?!! Sharp asked her as he looked at the young girl who was simply holding the hawk out on her arm, stroking its head gently. 

“It’s a long story, professor… and to be frank I am not sure where to begin… we were trying to help Dorran since he helped rescue the snidgets -” she started when he once again cut her off.

“Snidgets are long extinct! What are you talking about?” he asked her as she shook her head.

“My Gran had been tracking the whereabouts of the last of them for decades. The poachers went after my Gran, and… the centaurs had been helping to hide them for generations. They helped us locate them to keep them safe from the poachers… Y/n has been keeping them safe inside the Room of Requirement actually…” she explained softly as she reached inside her robe, producing a singular golden feather as the potions master snatched it from her hand inspecting it. 

How had all this been happening underneath the Faculty’s nose the whole time?! 

“I will need to have a lengthy conversation with Matilda about this.” he gruffly said under his breath as he looked at the young girl. He so often mistook her quiet and shy demeanor in class to mean that she was timid. That could not be further from the truth. 

“The members of my herd have agreed to help your friend.” Dorran’s calming voice called out from behind them as Professor Sharp turned around. 

“Thank you Dorran” Poppy said happily as she looked up at the large centaur who brought his bow from over his shoulder, notching an arrow. 

“What do you recommend…” Dorran trailed off, remembering that wizard kind preferred to address each other with formalities and not wanting to anger the teacher who was responsible for the young girl. 

“Aesop.” Professor Sharp said, allowing the use of his first name. 

“How would you best like to rescue the girl, seeing as you are both responsible for their safety, as well as have experience with poachers Mr. Aesop? ” Dorran asked him as the others came to stand nearby.  

“I suppose Miss Sweeting and I can head to the camp where we can attempt to locate the missing girl quietly and then signal you all as a distraction so we can rescue her during the chaos. They will not be looking for people during a centaur raid.” he spoke calmly, limping over to the map of the camp, showing them most likely the best route to take given what Poppy could recall of the poachers' hideaway. 

“That sounds like a plan, let me make sure my men are ready to move and we shall follow.” he said once again explaining the plan to the members of the herd while Aesop turned to the young Hufflepuff student. She looked as if she was attempting to mask her anxiety with a brave face, but it was a look Sharp knew all too well.

He came closer to her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder to offer comfort. 

“We will get your friend back. I am not sure how you have managed to get an army of centaur behind you, but I dare say you are quite brave and resourceful Poppy. 50 points for hufflepuff.” he told her with a small smile. 

“Thank you professor Sharp… I am sorry this is cutting into your weekend at home… I know that Garreth said that you like to visit your um… wife?” she asked cautiously, unsure what level of his personal life he was willing to share with her. 

“Ah yes well… having a home to go back to is always nice but I can assure you that my wife would be quite upset knowing I left a young girl to the devices of poachers knowingly. She herself has quite a love for magical creatures. She works for the ministry as a zoologist.” he said with a chuckle watching as Poppy pushed her dark hair behind her ears, and rolled up her sleeves in preparation for a fight. 

“She sounds brilliant” Poppy said with a smile, looking at the proud look he wore speaking of a wife she had no knowledge of until now. 

“She is. Perhaps I could see if she would like some assistance this summer… if that is of interest to you… If I know my Becca, I am sure she would love to research those snidgets if you all do not mind.” he explained looking to the girl, sensing a great deal of excitement at the prospect of working alongside a professional.

“That would be wonderful sir, thank you!” she said happily looking at Dorran, who nodded his head. 

Aesop realized it was now or never. With haste he reached inside his pocket, grabbing a small cloth tie he usually kept for potions bottles, before grabbing as much of his long dark hair as he could, crudely tying it back out of his face before looking at Poppy. “Don’t mention Miss Sweeting. Now lead the way.” 

With that they set off to find the camp, centaurs in tow, hoping to get there before it was too late… 

Sebastian wasn’t sure how long he sat there, at the bottom of the hill below his home, screaming into the night. He only stopped when his voice was giving out from the strain of his cries.  Deep down he knew that there were only three likely explanations if her and Poppy had been separated: she reported back to Hogwarts for something urgent, she had been captured, or she was… 

Sebastian couldn’t allow himself to think that way. Surely if she was gone he would’ve heard something by now.  However, a lingering thought continued to gnaw at him: why did Solomon leave Feldcroft in the midst of an attack?

Hoping for the best, Sebastian decided that returning to Hogwarts now would be the best course of action, all things considered. So as he rushed back up the hill, he decided to double check nothing had been stolen from his home by Rookwood’s men.  

Sebastian was horrified, stepping back inside the small home. Luckily some of his neighbors had drug the dead poachers out of his home - the ones he had killed - so all that was left was the mess. It appeared to him that they had been looking for something, but what that was he did not know. He checked under Anne’s bed, making sure the box of trinkets from his parents was still there, and intact. After a brief glance over the house, he couldn’t pinpoint what they’d have been looking for, and nothing seemed out of sorts. 

As he turned to leave he found a book, lying on the floor in the rubble. A copy of “The Tales of Beedle the Bard” that he had never seen before, lay in the chaos. Sebastian recalled his own family’s copy of the book, with its sage green cover and gold lettering. This one was dark purple, with a rabbit on the front. Odd. 

When he lifted it from the ground, Sebastian was horrified to see that the cover gave way to a cavern, instead of the children’s stories. Inside was stuffed full of letters, tied together with string, along with money. Sebastian decided for time’s sake, he could investigate it later, but whatever this was being hidden by Solomon, must’ve been what they were after. Placing it inside his enchanted pockets, he headed back to the school, hoping perhaps to find answers on what had happened. 

Knowing that she so often was with Professor Fig when things went awry, he decided to start with the older man’s classroom as the best place to start. Tossing in the floo powder, he quickly found himself inside the castle, staring at the door to the magical theory classroom.    

Just as he was about to barge in, the door swung open and a very disheveled Elezar Fig stood before him, coat on and a determined look upon his face.  Upon seeing the young Slytherin his eyes grew wide, startled to see someone so close to his door this time of night. 

“Mr. Sallow? What are you doing out so late this evening? Should you not be back in your common room by now? Why are you covered in soot?” he asked, seeing the boy’s freckles temporarily being hidden beneath ash from all the fire spells he had cast defending his home. 

“Something has happened - I am not sure what exactly… I am trying to find her.” he tried to explain as the old man’s face twisted in confusion. 

“What do you mean something has happened? Where is Miss y/l/n? I was just looking for her. We don’t have much time as the Goblins-” Fig started to speak but was interrupted as Professor Ronen charged at the pair, full speed and very much out of breath. 

“Elazar there you are! I tried looking in your quarters but you weren’t there - Mr. Sallow? What are you doing out of your common room?” Professor Ronen asked.

“I, I was off school grounds running an errand. I planned to meet my family, along with y/n at my home in Feldcroft. When I apparated there, the entire hamlet was under attack and there was no signs of anyone. My neighbor said that Poppy Sweeting had warned my family to leave, and that Solomon abandoned them amidst a firefight, and I assume she had been separated from y/n. I came here searching for what happened and where she is.” he explained to them both, worried starting to sink in. 

“Poppy Sweeting came back for help. She says that the new student was taken… by Victor Rookwood’s men. She left with Professor Sharp hoping to retrieve her. But your sister is here Mr. Sallow, as is your uncle…” Abraham explained, hoping the good news he bore would outweigh the bad. 

“She was taken by Rookwood?! No, that’s not… oh Merlin” Sebastian said, fingers pulling along his brown hair at the thought of her being alone with Rookwood in a camp. He then realized the remainder of what the charm’s professor said: “Wait, Anne is here? At hogwarts?” he asked, confused. 

“Yes, in the hospital ward.” he explained as Sebastian suddenly felt extremely torn between his beloved and his sister, both who seemed to be in need of him.  

“Is she okay? Was she hurt?” he asked, instincts to protect Anne taking over as the charms professor prevented him from rushing off with a gentle hand. 

“She is… from what I overheard of Miss Sweeting and Professor Sharp’s conversation, I believe that Miss y/l/n discovered information concerning the curse affecting Anne, collecting a journal from the camp that she sent with Sweeting before getting captured. Nurse Blainey is currently looking through it now, but things sounded… promising before I came to find you Elazar.” Ronen said, explaining as Sebastian’s eyes welled up with tears. 

Of course she would sacrifice herself to help Anne.  She risked her life to save Anne, as well as Poppy.  All this time they had thought goblins wielding ancient magic to have been the one to curse Anne, but now it made marginally more sense to him. 

Reaching inside his pocket he turned to professor Fig, to ask him why he was looking for her. 

“I assume the last trial is ready, that’s why you went to find her” he spoke and Fig nodded, affirming Sebastian but confusing his colleague. 

“Trial, what trial?” Abraham asked.

“Like I said we don’t have much time but… the new student is able to wield a form of ancient magic… the same kind that Miriam had been researching when she…” he started and the ever understanding man that Ronen was, simply nodded as if that was enough explanation. 

“I suppose I need to return to the map chamber to inform the other keepers of this development… unless…” Fig trailed off noticing Sebastian standing there. 

“Sir?” he asked.

“Sebastian, has she told you where the map chamber lies?” Fig asked him, pulling his cloak around his shoulders as Sebastian nodded. “Good, I need you to go down there, explain what has happened. They had already sent me to scout ahead for the last trial. Explain the direness of the circumstances and that she’s been captured, perhaps they will allow us to continue without her for the time being…” he explained. 

“You want me to complete the trial in her place? But how do we know the keepers will even allow that? I cannot see the magic that she does… she explained the difficulty of the tasks in the past… this sounds like a death sentence if you ask me. After all, should we not be going after her to get her back from Rookwood?” he rambled. 

“Professor Rakham is understanding given the situation, and while they have not met you personally, trust me they are quite aware of who you are Mr. Sallow… Tell them that she’s been taken and we need to know where the final repository is and how to access it in order to defend it. I will go ahead and meet you when you arrive… as for rescuing her, Professor Sharp is handling it.” Fig said, without allowing him to respond and quickly left the boy, leaving him with professor Ronen. 

“This is quite a predicament Mr. Sallow… but I trust Elazar… would you like me to send word to your sister?” he asked, knowing that Sebastian was more than capable of holding his own, especially with Fig.  

“Just tell her I am alright. Can you… could you please hold onto something for me? The poachers raiding my home in feldcroft were looking for something, something I believe belonged to my uncle. I found it, and haven’t had the chance to examine it, but it appears… troubling… can you please make sure that he does not get a hold of it…” Sebastian said, handing the fake tome to the professor who nodded before climbing back towards the hospital ward. 

Sebastian then took off to the dungeons, remembering that she said the entrance to the map chamber was just down from the sleeping dragon statue, in a gated room, and then down several stairs. Before long he found himself inside the blue and bronze chamber, ruin symbols he’d come to recognize quite well adorning the wall as he sucked in a breath. He knew that while he desperately wanted to go track down Poppy and the professor, that she would be angry with him to learn he had neglected something this important. Pushing open the doors, he was greeted with a sight familiar through the descriptions she gave. 

Four large portraits stood against the far wall and a beautiful map upon the floor of Hogwarts and the surrounding regions. A section along the far southern region he had been in this very afternoon was lit up. He inquired where he was to meet Fig after leaving here.  Standing in this glorious chamber, he was both awestruck, and worried, not to mention angry. These keepers, so often put his love in harm's way with little to no regard. They kept secrets from her, kept Isadora’s story from being told. Yet, he would need their help locating the last of the important artifacts on this journey she had taken to understand her ancient form of magic. 

“You are not the professor, nor the student, so who are you?” asked a female portrait off to the far left. 

“Sebastian Sallow Ma’am. Professor Fig sent me, he told me that you all needed to be informed as to what has happened” Sebastian said standing in the middle of the room, looking upwards. 

“It can’t possibly be the trial already, Bakar you said the student hadn’t entered yours yet?” an older gentleman in the front spoke. 

“No, that's what I am here to explain…” Sebastian sucked in a deep breath. “Y/n has been captured by Victor Rookwood… we don’t even know if she’s… if she is alive right now.” he said looking down, hating himself for saying the words out loud. 

“Sallow, you said your name was dear?” the Irish woman spoke again and he nodded.

“We have heard a great deal about you Mr. Sallow… She speaks very highly to your wisdom and knowledge… how you have helped her thus far.” the final man, a short and plump one at that, spoke. 

“I care for her. I do not wish to see her harmed in the pursuit of this knowledge. But it appears, that has happened regardless. Professor Fig spoke of the urgency and has asked me to see if there is any way in which you would allow him or I to enter the last trial in her place, as we need to stop Ranrok from accessing the repository and are running out of time.” Sebastian could care less about these portraits and their stipulation upon rules. Of course they could not lend worry to the safety of others, as they were long gone and the magic they claim to protect has been used for evil this whole time. Whether Sebastian agreed with what Isadora was doing, the fact she felt the need to hide exploration from them caused him concern over their loyalty. 

“You cannot be serious. I hardly allowed Miss y/l/n to be able to complete my trial, and now you expect me to allow some boy, with whom she has allowed herself to become distracted enough as is, to do it in her place.” The man on the far right spoke. 

“Bakar, if it is true that my descendant Victor has taken the girl, that magic needs to be protected regardless of whether or not she is alive. Does your trial require ancient magic usage directly or not.” The short man spoke and Sebastian was able to at least piece together that as Charles Rookwood, the one keeper who always seemed to respect his witch’s opinions from what he’d been told. 

“Well no but-” he started to argue but was stopped by the oldest man. 

“Then we need to allow someone to retrieve the last artifact so that the professors within the school may prevent goblins from obtaining it. I will not have this question Bakar. Wizard kind will be in danger if that goblin is able to enter the chamber.” he said before turning to Sebastian “How good are you with magical creatures Mr. Sallow?” 

“Good enough I suppose. Why?” he asked, curious as to why it would be relevant for entering a keeper trial. 

“You shall soon see. Highlighted on the map is where we have sent Professor Fig. Please go, retrieve the artifact and collect the memory for later viewing. Do you know how to apparate?” the man asked.

“Yes sir I do, but the school has charms against-'' he started but was interrupted by the woman once more. “Those charms do not extend this far. You shall be able to apparate in and out of this chamber. Once you have completed the trial you will need to use it to exit the chamber as the only way out is accessible by use of ancient magic.” Sebastian nodded at her words, taking one last look at the map, before apparating away to meet the professor.

She wasn’t sure when exactly she had passed out, but she came back to her senses with a loud groan. Unsure what remained of her eye, as it had been practically sealed shut due to the dried blood, she looked around the tent with her limited view. For the time being Victor had left her, and when she completed a full slow turn, she realized she was completely alone. 

Had she not been so tired she might’ve attempted to find some way out of this mess, but knowing that she likely wouldn’t get far, and doing so might make things worse, she resided in her fate. Poppy knew where she was, and likely by now others had come looking for her. 

Despite this she couldn’t help but weep. By now Sebastian had most likely been informed about what happened, and if she knew anything about the young man, he would likely bring fire and brimstone upon every inch of the highlands if it meant rescuing her. Recalling the threat Rookwood had made earlier, she hoped that he was staying far away for his own sake. 

It wasn’t long before the heard movement behind her and an arm moved around her waist, pulling her bare back into a warm frame. 

“Ah… it appears you are back to the land of the living” Rookwood spoke in her ear as his hands danced around her exposed body. She tried not to shudder at his touch, but she couldn’t help it. His hands felt entirely sickening against her. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable. And while this was not her choice, a small part of her felt as if she was betraying Sebastian. 

She could only find it within her to groan and Rookwood chuckled as she let go, circling her once more. 

“You will need to get your strength back. I am not finished with you… You did steal my research, and I suspect by now the sallow girl is healed. No matter. I will just find someone else to try it out on. Maybe your lover will get caught in the crossfire sometime… After all… It was originally supposed to be him that got the curse that night…” Victor chuckled and her blood ran cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she asked, lip quivering as she tried to rationalize what he meant.

“Oh I see you didn’t take much time to read my records. I had been in communication for a long time with Sallow… told him if he thought of going to the authorities my connections at the ministry might conveniently reveal what truly got him fired and he’d find himself with a one way ticket to azkaban. Being the coward he is, he agreed to allow me to test this curse on one of the children in his care, as long as I promised to use it on the boy. In the midst of the chaos I couldn’t locate him, so it went to poor sweet Annabel… but It was always meant to be the boy. He’d have been stronger, much more fun to watch wither away. I did think it odd that Solomon seemed so insistent on the fact that it would be alright for me to curse his nephew, and not bravely offer himself up instead. He must truly think little of the boy…” Rookwood explained and without much warning she gagged, hard enough that stomach bile rose from her throat and she threw up all over herself. 

“Merlin!” Rookwood said moving away quickly, disgusted with her reaction. She continued to sob once she stopped lurching and the man looked to her with a sly smile as she did so. 

“Can’t you imagine it?  He has grown so much since a year ago… what would it be like for him to slowly lose all that strength he’s grown to have. You’ve seen how thin sweet, innocent Anne has become, can you picture him just as sickly? The color, gone from his face. His body would writhe in pain every day. His screams echoing into the night…” Victor continued to taunt her as she cried, no longer wanting to imagine Sebastian in the state being described to her. 

“No…” she continued begging for him to stop but he wouldn’t. 

“You cost me my hard work on the Sallow girl. You’ve cost me a fortune with what happened at horntail hall. Give me one reason why I should stop!” he demanded. She truly didn’t have a reason to give him. 

“Perhaps that is what I will do then. He was spotted in Feldcroft not long ago.  Maybe I should have some of my men retrieve Sallow, bring him here. Make him watch as my men play with you. Make you watch as I inflict that curse onto him this time.” he threatened and she kept weeping, wishing for it to stop. Wishing for this all to stop.

“Nothing to say? I must say I find it quite rude that you think you can’t respond when I am talking to you.” he said, once again lifting the knife from his coat pocket, dragging it across her chest this time, dragging it down her sternum as she screamed. 

“Where would he have gone? Where was he before he arrived in Feldcroft?” Rookwood asked her, seeming insistent on knowing how to locate Sebastian. She shook her head, partly because she refused to betray him, and also because she had no idea truly. 

Rookwood didn’t like her rejection, pulling her hair back roughly spinning her around again before he shoved her hair over her shoulder, leaving her back exposed. Taking the knife he started carving into her back, in a pattern she didn’t recognize as she continued screaming.

“You are going to cooperate with me whether you like it or not.” he said, slapping her now sliced open back with the leather from before as she kept crying out. All she found it within her to do was whimper. 

Initially she thought it might’ve been just the ringing in her skull, or a sound brought on by the blood loss, so she doubted the authenticity of the loud bang she heard outside the tent. 

It wasn’t until that bang was followed by shouting that she realized it wasn’t in her head, but in fact very real. The only thought she had at the shouting was worry over the thought that she was being rescued and Sebastian would be in tow, as this was the last place he needed to be right now. Dread filled her as she waited to see what had caused the disturbance. 

“Perhaps that is loverboy now,” suddenly the line holding her arms above her head was cut and she fell to the ground, arms still tied. Before she had a moment to process, Victor lifted her from the ground, pushing her towards the exit as he replaced the gag she had when she woke up. 

“Let’s go see if lover boy is here to rescue you after all. I for one would really like to make his acquaintance wouldn’t you…” with that he drug her out into the night air, exposed, bloody and hoping by some miracle Poppy had not told Sebastian what had happened before coming to rescue her. She didn’t know what was about to happen on the other side of that tent, but deep down she knew it wouldn’t end well. She only hoped Sebastian was far away from the danger in the meantime… 

To be continued...

[furlhj]

The Hut

The Hut lies beyond the auld groin. The rotting sea timbers: barnacled planks, shrivelled posts, cut a shadowy black swathe through the estuarial slime. It is dusk. The man-sucking, gooey, grey fermenting morass of ragworm-infested mud flats stretches as far as the eye can see. They are lying beyond the groin: as seen at low tide. I see them, squatting on its carbon strip of rock.

The moon rises over rivulets of silver which streak like opaque fissures through the muck and murk until they reach the flat, calm, pale vellum sea. The Hut lies past the groin. I move closer to the Hut. Just a boy. Standing on a concrete quay. Staring at a Hut which lies beyond an auld groin. At twilight. I wonder who lives inside the Hut? And, why? I will not rest until I find out.

Just a boy. A mother’s boy. A sensitive child. Her suckle baby. My mother is a Sea Witch. At eventide, the distant shore is but a dark horizon, an occasional twinkling fairy light, vanishing. As weary folk draw their curtains on yet another bleary day spent in the soporific company of the sea.

Folk say my mother is the She-Witch. I draw the milk from her full breast, my teal eyes staring in loving admiration of my mother’s blushing face. As I gurgle, lick, and slurp on one of her 3 burnt caramel nipples, melding myself to her breast, suckling on her teat, drinking her creamy milk.

I am her sensitive boy-child. Her suckling pig-baby. And I am 12 years-old!

I feel her index finger gently unlatching my lips, holding my head still, fondly stroking my wavy brown hair as she lemon-wipes her nipples, my mouth, then folds her heavy breasts into her bra. I perk up, sit on her lap, her soft cheese curd-fattened elfin sprite, gorged to repletion.

‘Mother?’ I say to her, eyeing her curiously, like her nine-times-dead, black witch’s cat.

‘Yes, Child.’

She’s busy, buttoning up her rose petal blouse, tucking fatty folds of flab inside her woollen skirt, concealing her middle-aged spread within the conspicuous, gaudy pleats of patterned silk.

I suck my thumb. Suck my thumb! When I’m put to sleep in my cot! When I say,

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘Your Father’s busy pleasuring young women,’ she replies, shortly, ‘Now I think it’s time for bed, don’t you, Child?’

‘No!’ I cry, ‘I am not going to bed! It’s twilight! I want to see the Hut! I must see the Hut!’

‘What did you say? Why, I’ll clip your ear, wash your gob with soap and water, Insolent Child!’

I claw at her face, feeling her soft, puffy cheeks tearing under my fingernails. I claw her eyes, and draw blood. Strips of raw flesh hang, like shredded minced beef, from my bloodied fingers. I push my sea witch’s ugly head hard against the stone wall. Her raven head cracks like a raw egg, spraying blood yolk at the white-stone. I sit up, perked, climb out of my mother’s blood-soaked lap, stand, and sprint to the wrought-iron handled, oaken door.

A chill sea breeze slaps my pallid face. I smart as the driving rain stings my eyes. Look back at the lamplight. The afterglow of burning flames! Where I smashed the oil lamp on the floor. The driving rain fills my lungs. I cough, sputter, and choke. But I won’t stop running until I reach the Hut. The rain stops falling.

I marvel at the nightscape, the grey band of rainclouds suspended over the darkening navy sky. The faint, holly-green shadows of the far-off shore. Flat, calm, brackish water. An auld groin. A coal-black strip.

The Hut, glowing, in the moonlight!

I climb down off the damp sea wall, cross the quay, and jump, flexing both knees to break my fall as my red tennis pumps hit the canker surface. A chill wind ravages my face red raw, bluing my running nose. I crunch my way towards the Hut.

The Hut stands on four stumpy struts. It has two parts! A dingy, oily, part with slime-smeared windows. And a brilliant white cube, a box with a brightly-lit lookout portal, and blue felt roof. A gangway, no steps, just a glistening ramp, like a slide in a children’s playground, leads my widening eyes up one side of the struts to the dingy part. The ramp has its own rusty handrail.

I haul myself up the slope, using every ounce of strength in my feeble arms, dragging my legs behind me: floppy guy’s legs. I slip and slide, stumbling on the seaweed-slick surface, falling to my knees. Halfway up the slide, I lose my grip, and slither down its length, grazing my bare knees on the razor-sharp grit. The thick green woolly socks, mother knitted for me, slink down my calves to my ankles. My sandals scuff. My grey shorts saturate with grime. My stripy tee- shirt is soaking wet. I am shivery-cold. Wretched!

I want to go and dry myself by her fire. I sit up, perked, and stare the length of the shady quay: its inert cranes, the malting tower, a barley store, some full sacks. In the distance, I see my Sea Witch, burning brightly. Her arms outstretched. A human fireball trapped in a white-box tomb.

I feel no guilt. She controlled me. Never let me out. Taught me at home. Said I wouldn’t need to go to school. I think of the faceless man who deserted us when I was only four. She taught me how he left her, at twilight. For the Hut.

It is dark. Silent. I stare at the ghostly bundles nestled on the flats. White mute swans. A black swan. Mallards, nestling on the flats. The silence is broken by the searing cry of the Sea Witch, as she perishes in the flames.

I stand, my child’s face set like granite, in renewed determination. Slowly, I haul myself up the slide until I reach the dingy part. There’s a narrow walkway! It circles the grime-daubed metal wall. The blacked-out windows. I press my body, flat, against its slippery surface, and edge my way around, careful not to look over my shoulder at the drop. The dingy part is empty, lifeless.

I feel the raised surface, a cold steel rail, a rung, my second rung. I climb the ladder, the wind beating my back, flaying my cheeks, chilling me to the bone. A shining light beams out above my head. Evaporating in the darkness! Lighting one whitened wall of their box! I clamber up, onto the curtain surrounding the brilliantly-lit cube.

I edge towards the light. Its warmth. The steaming vapour, the gleaming bottle-green broth! The mystical briny elixir!

I enter the Hut!

I wonder who lives inside the Hut tonight?

And why?

They squirm and wriggle in their life-giving briny mulch! Their wet hair is aflame with red, auburn, ginger, teak, blonde, cascading over their shoulders, caressing their breasts! Some of them lie in the throes of love’s tender embrace! Others stay still in each other’s slender arms! Kissing! Occasionally, flipping, a scaly tail! Some of their tails stand erect!

I smell their musk! Primordial scent! They slide over each other’s bodies! A mess of massaging fish!  I hear them, keening for one another! The sirens sing their shrill, joyous, song of love!

The tide will rise. The Hut will drown. Their mating ritual over, they will swim off in magical shoals, far out to sea… where we can never hurt them.

I entered the Hut…     

… and found where Mermaids go to make love!

*****

Check out my unique audiovisual website for the LIVE version of the Hut and many more live stories:

[werdlewrites]

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC)

Chapter Twelve: Hawkin's Monster

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UPDATED 7/21/24

Summary: “You said ‘no’.” I made you feel like you had to go out there - to look for Will. What happened t' you,” he pauses, unable to look over at her again, pained by the simple memory of watching her eyes flutter behind closed lids while blood began to collect just under her nose. Her chest heaving with frantic breaths, hyperventilating and so obviously frightened by whatever cowered in the deepest corners. “It’s my fault. All of it.” Warnings: Blood&injury, big sad, bad parenting Word count: 2,666 Do not repost without credit or permission.

The drive home had been silent. Two friends sat side by side, and for the first time since their meeting in the record store years ago, not a single word was exchanged once Autumn’s nose had stopped bleeding. The car roared with the sounds of the engine and small squeaks from various old and rusted materials, but it all seemed so far off in the distance. Shrouded by the monster that cried out inside Autumn’s mind, echoing in the never-ending expanse. She could almost see it in the darkness just feet from her, reaching outward from the trees or in small reflections in the glass.

Shadows would move across her skin, and with panic rising, a hand touching just at her neck with anticipation to find the veined monster gripping at her, ripping the girl back towards hell. The haunting sights grow exhausting, forcing her tired eyes away from the window to instead stare down at her dirtied lap, filled with tissues and a single rag coated with blood. At one point, it became more about stopping the flow than cleaning it up, as it continued to spread across her skin, though the two did the best they could with what was available to them.

The street lights, though few and scattered, shined through to give brilliance to the crimson stains, along with eagerly growing bruises just at her wrist. Autumn’s gaze shifts to her arm, hidden beneath a thick layer of clothes to protect her from the cold wind sweeping over Hawkin’s. Careful fingers pry back the heavy fabric once she was certain Jonathan’s focus was elsewhere, chest forcibly filling with calming breaths to keep the fear at bay. Under the shadows, she drinks in the sight of long, deep cuts dragging along her skin. The blood had spilled out, soaking into her coat and clotting over the wounds, leaving behind reminders of what chased her out and a lingering question of why and how.

In all of her years of traveling into the unknown, not once has she taken a piece back with her aside from information to pass along to others. A nightmare was working its way into her conscious state, following her into the day without an explanation for the cause. She hides it from her friend. Unprepared to take on her panic, let alone that of Jonathan, who would undoubtedly assault her with questions.

“M’sorry,” he states, his words cutting like a sharp knife through their silence. It’s startling to hear his voice since leaving the woods, eyes wide with wonder and perhaps some worry, as if he may have seen her torn flesh.

“What?”

“I should never have asked you t’go out there,” he finishes in a firm tone. White knuckles are seen gripping at the steering wheel as light passes over them with haste, the speed of the car quickening the more worked up he became. “It was so stupid.”

His friend seems to sink lower into the seat, eyes cast away with wishful thoughts, to simply wake up. Make this all just a bad dream she could push aside. “I chose t’be here,” the weakened passenger mumbles, fingers tearing at pieces of tissue paper until shreds fall to her feet.

“No, you didn't." The bite in his words is alarming, though the heavy sigh paired with it is enough to ease the brewing storm within him. His frustrations fall away with each breath. “You said ‘no’. I made you feel like you had t’go out there and look for Will. What happened t’you-” he pauses, unable to look over at her again. The boy is pained by the simple memory of watching her eyes flutter behind closed lids while blood begins to collect just under her nose. Her chest heaving with frantic breaths, hyperventilating, and frightened by whatever cowered in the deepest corners. “It’s my fault. All of it.”

Nothing else is shared between the two as the distance shortens from Castle Byers to the Reid residence. A heavy stare lingered on the lights that glowed behind closed curtains, a sign that life remained, waiting with great patience for her return to deliver the final blow. There’s a painful, uncomfortable air around the two of them as she steps out, garbage in hand. Jonathan follows her out and up the path, just to make sure she made it to the threshold safely, before turning on his heel with a mumbled "Goodnight."

For a moment, she watches him go, head hung low in disappointment in himself and the failure of her sacrifice. Autumn can’t stomach it. "Jonathan?" Her voice calls out, frail and shaken with a lack of trust in her own words. "I chose. No one made me do anything.”

Despite the look in her eyes, Jonathan is unable to find relief; there is no warmth in her attempts at reassurance. He simply nods in acknowledgment before quietly making his way back down to the car with the intent of continuing his search for Will.

Inside the home, the teen is careful to discard the pieces of bloodied cloth and tissue in the nearest trash can. Her bag, though only filled with a few items from their journey, suddenly felt overwhelmingly heavy, slipping from her shoulder and to the floor with a small thud just as a pair of footsteps came shuffling along the carpet from the second level.

She waits with bated breath, her body weighed down by the day's events, from the moment her feet hit the tile at the high school to just stepping over the platform into their main entryway. It had all been building up to this moment, and the girl was uncertain if she could take another blow. She was already standing at the edge, every gust of wind pushing her closer until she collapsed into an unrecognizable mess beneath a mountain of blankets. She wants to forget that the world existed for only a few hours.

“Your behavior today was out of line,” her father states with a stern, clear tone. He stands just at her back, his posture tall and strong, while she slumps forward in need of support from the countertop. Though his words are enough to create a small spark in an otherwise dark, empty void. Reaching out to ignite and build a bigger fire as he continues. “I understand what happened with the Byers boy has been difficult, but you can’t just - you can’t just leave school. Especially to get high!”

She doesn’t respond - not yet. They had never shared a moment like this, and everything inside of her was screaming to lash out. Tell him exactly how she was feeling—the bad and the ugly. But she’s been trained to have manners, to bite her tongue, and to keep the bullshit reserved for an unused diary. So she chews at her cheek with the edge of the counter locked in an iron grip, waiting for it to snap in half with unimaginable strength.

“Seriously, Autumn,” he states, almost exhausted as a scoff slipped by, filled with pure disbelief as he relives the phone call he received while at work from none other than the Chief of Police. The man had caught the two making their way back towards the grounds at a snail's pace, cowering under his disapproving stare. “Is this going to become a thing with you? Am I going to have to watch you?"

Finally, she turns to face him, and the two lock eyes. The onslaught of frustration ceases, and the tsunami, once filled with force, falls into gentle waves. Though everything he wanted and needed to say remained, just resting on his tongue and fading into nothing as he looked his daughter up and down. “What happened to you?”

Dried blood, though no longer flowing, had been smeared across her cheeks and stuck to chapped lips. The drenched tissues could only do so much. “Thanks for noticing,” she bites back through a forced smile. “I did what I always do. I gave,” she offers with a simple shrug, heavy footsteps carrying her towards the nearest cabinet to reach for a glass, slamming it shut in the process without care for the fragile contents inside.

“‘Expand the mind,’ right? Isn’t that what you love t’preach? Learn t’grow with this rather than push it out and ignore it. All of that bullshit.” She’s uncontrollable now that she’s started on this path. The lock on a heavily guarded door is now wide open, letting the demons spill out onto the kitchen floor and taking prisoners without mercy. She’d regret this later; she knew that. But as she continued, it almost seemed as if she was a mere spectator on her rampage. There was no leash to pull her back to confinement.

“I try. I try every day t’just be with this - this thing. Some things are good, and some things are bad. Sometimes it’s worse. I do things I shouldn’t have to."

Her father remains silent, zeroing in as her lip begins to quiver. A curious mixture of anger and sadness consumed her, forcing teeth to clench together and bite back any weakness that may slip through the cracks of a crumbling foundation. “People hate me. I’m just a Hawkin’s monster," the girl fills the cup at the sink, dishes left over from breakfast resting just at the bottom, waiting for her to take care of them—or rather, he was waiting. A certain form of punishment tacked onto the growing list he had created in his mind.

"Your arm," His few words manage to push through the violent winds building within, a tornado brewing and crashing straight through the vortex. Shaking the girl enough out of a momentary haze to notice the sleeve had ridden up. Revealing secrets only meant for that unused diary in an attempt to understand it all—the continuous mess that poisoned her mind in the light of day and the darkest of nights.

"I fell," is her simple reply. But the air around them is heavy—that whirling storm drenched in lies and doubt. It only grows more unbearable to weather the longer their silence stretches on. "D’you even want to ask why I ditched? Or d’you even care?” Autumn’s words are like venom, striking out. Though he doesn’t flinch away from them, there’s a noticeable shift as his chest fills with a steady breath, waiting for the next blow to come and making a silent prayer that he could withstand a teenager's rebellion and cruelty.

“Maybe I just needed a break. Every day I walk through that school, and I get treated like shit. ‘Spawn of Satan,’” she uses for reference, a term like this only sticking once she was old enough to be offended by it and for others to understand. “‘Freakshow’, ‘Baby killer'—or better yet, getting accused of hurting Will,” the last few words scorch her tongue, pained and desperate for relief as the water is thrown back with a familiar pill flowing through the stream. A dirtied sleeve wiped at her lips, surely leaving a mess in its wake.

“The days are shitty, but I still go out into the woods, y’know? I still ‘expand the mind',” she spits with dramatic air quotations. “And all I get for it are nightmares. Hearing things, seeing things—Hell's Gate or whatever,” the words are mumbled. Adrenaline was slowing to a halt as she recalled the day, realizing just how achingly tired she truly was from the abuse she had gone through from the moment she opened her eyes.

“You saw what?” her father blurts out, hands now falling from hips to instead hold himself up on the counter, leaning forward as if he couldn’t quite process what she was saying. Autumn eyes the man standing near the doorway through the veil of fallen strands of hair, a pure mess as stressful hands roamed through, digging out the clotted chunks of blood just nested into the tips.

“Not that any of it matters, right? Because I skipped class,” she states, ignoring his questioning tone entirely, reaching down for the tattered bag to sling over her shoulder, moving through the kitchen until she slips by him, heading for the stairs.

“Skipped class and smoked weed. Big fuckin’ deal.”

Her steps are thunderous as she climbs, moving with purpose across the hall and towards her room, where the world surrounding her is blocked out by the slam of a door. Her father could yell at her tomorrow and give her these few hours of solitude to sulk and stew over the pain swelling in her chest. It crushes her heart until her body becomes weak enough to collapse into the bed. Thick blankets were pulled into a bundle at her chest, pressing at the invisible wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

She ignores the very real and physical ache in her arm as dried blood falls away, dusting over the sheets like pollen in the wind and staining all it touches in the summer air. She can’t push back the events of the evening with Jonathan, unable to leave them behind in the woods, where they should have stayed. Instead, the voices play on repeat. Every cry and plea for help echoes in the forefront of her mind.

The eye of the storm crashed through a barricade that kept her safe or allowed her to believe that she was before water pooled in around her feet, sweeping the girl away into the madness. She prayed the medication would kick in sooner, easing her into a painless sleep as the voices soon developed faces of strangers. They all swarm around that mysterious boy, slowly taking the shape of Will and leading her into wonder.

Was he there? What sort of comfort could that give, if any?

There is a creak in the floorboards, and her eyes are forced open, waiting in silence until soft steps are heard moving across the floor. It’s enough to coax the girl up into a more seated position, looking towards the door with expectations that he may knock, seeking her attention. Nothing comes, and curiosity creeps in like a pest.

Her body slides away from its cocoon, standing tall yet fighting against the waves of drowsiness slowly sinking in. A steady hand gently pulls open the door, fearful she may find him standing just on the other side, listening in on her sorrows and searching for the right words to say to mend the torn pieces between them. The dark hallway is empty, a glow of light spilling out from beneath the door of his office, blackened out by the occasional movement of his shadow. He speaks low, meant to be unheard behind the sealed door. Something personal. Something private. Autumn finds it painfully humorous. The dagger in her chest twisted, wishing to rip free and let the anger spill out. She almost wished he had been standing outside her room, basking in the uncomfortable silence—anything. Rather than in his workspace, on the phone with another colleague.

Was he complaining about her? Pitying her? The woes of a single father and a teenage girl searching for the meaning of life inside this big, empty house. The walls held her nightmares hostage, staring back at her and forever taunting. There was never any comfort, only “You were meant for this; keep going.” His words soon drowning out the choir in her mind, and his kind smile warmed her heart enough to make her forget the torment of her night.

Dirtied nails press deep into the wood as a shaken breath passes, holding onto what little composure she has left. Red-hot anger floods her vision as the shadow seems to stand still, his tone becoming more aggressive yet inaudible. She wants to knock at his door to ask what could be so important at this hour. Instead, she remains frozen, allowing the door to fall shut with a gentle click, leaving her alone in a bone-chilling silence.

[childoftheyellowsun]

Receiving the universe's love. By:Soraya Rady

This time, therapy was an ordeal. I was being shredded to pieces in front of her, being told that I am wounded to a great degree and that everything I do right now comes from a lack of love within me. it felt like she was screaming at me: “decide to love yourself, Soraya” and I just wanted to throw the screen away in fury. how am I supposed to love myself when I never knew how?

my father hated me and abused me. my mother left me twice. and if the saying that children learn everything before the age of seven, then it makes sense that I never learned what love is. I just wanted to scream at my therapist that, to stop giving me a responsibility that I never learned how to carry. don’t they know how hard it is already to carry myself in the world without any love towards myself? why make it harder?

I’ve had two days of constant tears. the only way that alleviates it is to dissociate and go beyond my body for a while and zone out in some other space. everytime I return, I remember how empty I am, how my soul has just disappeared. when you’ve known the soul, life without it becomes intolerable. this world is just too materialistic and too dense without it.

I had a long conversation with my husband last night and he listed all the ways I show how I resist his love. he cried asking me to receive the love he has for me, and that made me shudder. I could not believe it, for all I wanted was to just be less of a burden for him by denying his kind gestures, asking him to save it for later when I am more at ease and more in myself. I guess he is right, I am just denying the love. resisting it. fighting it.

last night, I wrote a letter to God and my soul. I was so angry. I hated my soul for leaving me when I most need it. I felt so alone, spineless and helpless without that transcendental eye that sees the wisdom of the suffering. now is when I need it, and you’re just gone, leaving me lifeless and scared. I was angry at God for not filling my heart with a perception of miracles. why wasn’t He there for me? am I that undeserving of His love? am I that bad? do I really deserve hell instead of His mercy?

I feel inexorably guilty about this, but I just had to let it out. I had to be real and face how I really felt. but then, as soon as I dropped my pen in exhaustion, I surrendered. I knew there was nothing left to do.

and that was it somehow. to surrender. to receive the world’s love for a while instead of trying to be it. there is a deep knowing within me that has always perceived love in the world, and I know deep inside that the universe is made of love. and if I cannot love anything or anyone or myself right now, I just need to drop myself in the river of love and drown in surrender.

what if I ceased my fighting and allowed myself to receive the world’s love instead of try to create it within myself? why not receive my husband’s boundless loving energy, trust his guidance and follow his leadership? why not watch the world’s waves of love crash over the shore of each present moment? why not set an intention to fill my heart and receive instead for a while? watch the grace and embrace it. feel deserving of it. take ownership of the faith that all this love is mine, too.

I miss being loved. I look inside myself and all I see is a striking, barren gray. a cold, petrifying winter. but even the coldest winter drinks in the sun’s beams in spring and alchemises its past for it.

surrender, Soraya. do not try too hard to love if you don’t know how to. allow life to teach you. allow life to be there for you. cease your doing and live in patience. learn the lesson by listening to the infinite guides out there. you do not need to do anything right now. you’ve done too much. let life be kind to you. you’ll be amazed by the celestial grace you’ll see.

dear universe, I need your love. I intend to receive it. I open my arms to be embraced by you.

I need you.

[omikazu]

— when he wants more | tr ♡

FEATURING koko and izana

category: fluff, jealousy, mentions of fwb dynamics in koko's part and light mentions of drugs in izana's (nothing too much) <3

• kokonoi hajime

when you and koko first started sleeping with each other, nothing about your relationship with him really changed. you met him at the bar that you managed, and soon enough, he became a regular customer, and you hit it off with him quite well. both in and out of bed. you were both still friends, got along great and he didn't make it awkward in any way. he came over whenever you were both free, made you feel good and left citing work obligations, and that's just the way you wanted it to be.

you knew that koko was an executive member of japan's most feared criminal organisation, and you honestly didn't want to know the gruesome details of his worklife. especially since you found yourself catching feelings for him. you kept reminding yourself that it would be dangerous to be with somebody like that, and besides, koko never implied that he was interested in you romantically. so it's not like you even stood a chance.

but you couldn't help but dream, it's hard not to when he's so close, so within your reach, at least physically.

"earth to, y/n," koko calls out, waving his hands over your face. "what are you lookin' so serious for? bad day?" you shake your head, giving him a half hearted smile. koko furrows his brows, obviously not buying it, but he doesn't press further, much to your relief.

you turn over in bed, both mind and heart racing from your thoughts. almost everyday koko enters through your door, sometimes serious and sometimes in a good mood, fucks you into oblivion, gets back up and leaves. it's just a part of both of your routines, and it's the kind of cycle that would surely break someday.

"y/n, what's wrong?" koko repeats, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you around so you face him. his strikingly beautiful eyes were wide with concern, making him look less intimidating than usual. you wish you could drink in the sight of him caring about you everyday. you gulp, lowering your gaze. no, you won't tell him. you can't. that'd destroy everything you have with him right now.

"it's time for you to leave, isn't it?" you say, pushing his hand away. "you usually leave around this time, so why are you still here?" koko frowns, wondering what got you so mad all of a sudden. you seemed fine until a few minutes ago. "uh, i don't really know," he says, propping himself up onto his elbow.

even as he said it, kokonoi knew he was lying. he definitely knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. he just doesn't know how to voice it out aloud, not to mention that he's scared that he'd fail to protect you, and he'd never forgive himself if you were put in danger just because you were with him.

"then leave," your voice cuts sharply through his thoughts. "if you don't know why you're even here, maybe i'm not worth staying for." koko blinks, staring at you. your eyes fight back tears as you try and hold on to your last shred of dignity. you're already naked and heartbroken, crying would be the final straw.

"y/n, i know," koko says, cupping your face and gently coaxing you to look at him. "i know why i'm here, it's just that i'm too scared to say it." his voice was shaky, his thumb nervously tracing circles onto your jaw.

"the only reason i leave as soon as we're done is because i'm scared," he admits, and you notice how his pupils dilate at the sight of you, and it makes your heart race just a little bit more. "i'm so fucking scared that i'll lose you if i ever cross a line, and fuck, i want to. i badly want to, more than you know, but i just don't want to put you in danger, because if something happens to you and i'm the reason, i don't know what i'd fucking do, i don't even want to imagine it." for the first time since you've known him, koko looks so vulnerable, every word coming from his heart.

"then don't," you mumble, leaning into his touch. "don't think about all that, let's start off slow. right now, in this exact moment, what's on your mind?" koko parts his lips, thinking of the first thing that comes to mind. "i wanna kiss you, that's what i'm thinking," he admits, his nose nuzzling against yours. "can i do that?" you nod, giving him the green signal. "permission granted, go for it."

and so he does, kissing you so slow and so deep you feel the euphoria course into every single vein of your body, making you giddy. his hands busy themselves, one cupping your cheek hard like you'll leave if he ever lets go, and the other lost somewhere between the soft strands of your hair, caressing your scalp gently.

and when he finally pulls apart from you, you swear you could see stars. "i've got one more thing on my mind, y/n" he admits, and you can't help but look at him in awe, loving how he looks just as giddy as you feel. "and what is it?" you ask, your fingers moving to play with his loose locks of blond hair, making him sigh in relief.

"can i stay over? please?" he says, looking at you hopefully, like a lost little kitten. you can't help yourself from smiling at him as you press a small kiss onto his forehead.

"sure you can, because i want more too."

• izana kurokawa

you are the only person in the world that has been by izana's side through everything. the good and the bad and the crazy. you first met him at the orphanage when you were both kids, never leaving his side since, and to this day, he sometimes wonders why. he's a terrible person who rides with gangs, sells drugs, beats up people and has even been to jail before. so why haven't you abandoned him? why haven't you given up on him like everyone else has?

"you okay, 'zana?" you chirp, shoving a bag of chips into his arms. "here, have some." izana shakes his head, gazing at you in wonder. you look so beautiful with the wind ruffling your hair as your legs dangle loosely from the branch of the huge weeping willow that the pair of you were currently seated on.

"why did you pick this tree again?" he asks you, moving a few stray leaves out the way so he can see you more clearly. "because it's so pretty," you answer, smiling at him. "and we're both practically hidden from view, so we don't have to worry about anybody else bothering us. it just feels safe, i guess."

safe? why would you feel safe with somebody like him around? he feels a pang of guilt hit him as his heart races at your words. he knows that he shouldn't be harbouring feelings for you, just the fact that you're in his life as a friend is more than enough and yet he couldn't help himself from secretly and shamefully wishing for more.

"you're so distracted today, 'zana," you grumble, throwing a stray chip onto his head. "come on, tell me what's on your mind already."

"why did you stick with me?" izana asks you out of the blue, surprising himself. "you know all the terrible things i've done, you know how many people got hurt because of me, so why? just why do you never give up on me? i just.. need to know. it's been plaguing my mind."

"i honestly don't know," you admit casually, shrugging. "i see you do all these unacceptable things, and i just find myself making up stupid little reasons and excuses as to what made you act that way, i look for anything and everything but you to blame, because i can't ever imagine a life without you by my side."

izana feels his heart inflate more and more with each word you speak, the perpetual feeling of loneliness that's forever been haunting him fading little by little the longer he stares at you.

"you were the first person that began to matter to me after my parents die, you're like, the most important person in my life," you say, so very naturally, the words just flowing with ease, like you've rehearsed it all before. you never felt like there's something to be embarrassed about when you're with izana, so you always speak your mind, and this time, you speak your heart.

"why do you ask—"

"i want more."

your brows furrow in confusion, not quite catching onto what he means. "what do you mean you want more, izana? do you want me to give a long speech on why i always stick by–"

"i'm in love with you, y/n."

your eyes widen at izana's sudden confession, the packet of chips dropping onto the ground with a dull crinkle. you look for any signs of teasing behind his eyes and to your surprise, you find absolutely none.

"you actually mean that?" you ask carefully, "because i love you too and i swear to god, if you're playing with me only to say you're just kidding later, i will literally cry." izana shakes his head, drawing in a shaky breath. "shit, i'm serious, i've always loved you, y/n," he says sincerely, pulling you closer and covering your hands in his.

"i'm all in, i've always wanted more, it's just that.. i've always had this feeling that you're too good for me," he admits, kissing your knuckles lightly. "and god knows i still do, that there's still this big part of me that's screaming that you deserve someone so much better, but fuck, you still chose me. out of all the people you could've given your love to, you still chose me, and i can't tell you how ecstatic that makes me feel."

by now, the two of you were blinking back tears, and you try to find the right words to say. "see, picking this tree was a smart choice, now no one else can see us be a couple of crybabies," you say, making izana laugh.

"i can't believe i cried on the first date," izana tuts. "so uncool." you nod, fake frowning at him. "true, but i've seen worse so i'm immune," you say as he playfully tackles you.

"stop, izana! we'll fucking fall otherwise," you say, panicking. "don't worry, princess, i'll catch you before you do," he promptly responds, making heat rush into your cheeks. but you still relax, because you trust izana.

you trust him with your life. you always have.

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[theladyofbloodshed]

Fic anon! :D This is kind of really rough with book details so it’s kind of au-ish and grammar and the like, kind of long, and part 1! But hopefully well received 🥺:

I shut the door behind me, but it didn’t matter how quietly I did it. He knew I was there. I saw it in the way his back stiffened, but he didn’t turn away from where he leaned on the balcony, looking over the city. I wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever been in Velaris. I hope he relishes in it while he can. He’s not welcome to return.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Getting some air,” he quips, still keeping his back to me.

“No, I mean why did you come?”

Finally, he turns. Not to me, but to the small table on the balcony and pulls out a chair. He plops down onto it, like he’s preparing for a long night and sets down the cup I’d only just noticed in his hand on the table. An old part of me knows that he’s not drinking wine. Remembers that unless he was within the confines of his border, and opened and poured the drink himself or by Lucien, he would never touch the wine. It’s only then that he deigns to face me.

Tamlin raises a brow. “I was invited.”

“But you knew it would be here.”

“Lucien could have chosen to have his wedding and celebration in a swamp, and I would attend it still.”

He kicked out the chair opposite him and nodded at it, inviting me to sit down. But I did no such thing. He couldn’t tell me what to do anymore. His eyes dropped to my belly and he shrugged, looking over the view of the city. Dismissing me. In my own home.

I pressed, “Did you force him to invite you? What are you planning, Tamlin?”

Something that sounded like a laugh rumbled from him. His unnaturally green gaze landed on me. “Lucien and Elain invited me. I’m here for them. What are you here for?”

I don’t know why I came out here. Why I was so vigilant of this male whom I believed I loved once. But when Tamlin had arrived and stood beside Lucien at the altar, all joy I had for Elain seeped from my bones, and my attention never left him. I watched him closely, closer than even Rhys had. We were waiting for him to loose his temper. Waiting for him to spew insults at us. I was waiting for him to unleash something on me. But he all but ignored us. As if he weren’t in enemy territory. As if Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel weren’t prepared to tear him to shreds if he so much as breathed in my direction. He laughed and joked with Lucien. He laughed and joked with my sister, who’d made it her personal mission to make him comfortable.

I didn’t know what was worse: that his presence rankled me so thoroughly I shielded myself and him from my mate and friends to sneak away to speak to him, or that I’d done so, only to discover it seemed I’d never even once crossed his mind today.

An irrational molten wave of anger pools through my blood. Tamlin takes a sip of his drink, non-the-wiser, waiting for an answer he would never get.

“You hurt him,” I say instead. Like you hurt me. “You shouldn’t be here, you must have forced him.”

“I did no such thing, but I did hurt him,” he admits. No hesitance. Remorse coats the words. “But unlike some people,”—his gaze darkens some, but he blinks it away easily—“Lucien understands communication. He understands forgiveness. And I’ve paid my dues to him.”

No. Something about this isn’t right. He’s not saying the things he should be saying. He’s not doing the things he should be doing—he’s not doing anything but sitting, calmly looking over Velaris. Not a hint of his temper. Not a hint of his claws. He shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t be…

At peace. Content.

Like he was happy with himself. His life.

“I don’t owe you forgiveness,” I spit.

“I don’t want it,” he throws back. “Do you think I’m still pining over you? That I’m here for you, after all these years?” He catches the curl of my lip, the twitch of my eye before I can hide it. His mouth falls. “Gods, you did.”

My lips don’t move in defense of myself. Because I had believed he was writhing with agony somewhere, still distraught over things of the past. I liked to believe it, to imagine that while I was comfortable in my bed with Rhys’s head nuzzled in my neck peacefully, Tamlin was alone in a broken home. A permanent beast in a desolate land. I slept the most sound on those nights.

Tamlin shakes his head. “If I could go back, I would let Amarantha do whatever she wished to me. At least I knew what to expect from her. But you? To put it simply, Feyre, you were by far the worst thing that ever happened to me, but I’ve forgiven myself over you. Maybe you haven’t forgiven yourself over me.”

I will never admit to him, to Rhys, even to myself, how his words gut me. They reopen old wounds and stir up new ones I can’t allow myself to think or feel.

“I did that a long time ago,” I lie smoothly.

“Then why are you standing here today?”

My breath leaves me. Something clicks within me. One piece of old pieces of myself that didn’t align with the new, and yet… There were spaces in me I hadn’t noticed before. Spaces those old pieces seemed to fit perfectly. Spaces I didn’t remember.

I didn’t want to touch them. I couldn’t touch them. I suddenly understood that the longer I stayed on this balcony, the more shifts of things would take place. I’d thought once that I hadn’t shattered when I looked in that mirror, but maybe I had. Maybe what splintered were the things I couldn’t reach, that lived just on the hazy border of my mind and my soul.

My feet don’t move through the door like they should.

“You let me die. You sat by and let me die. You hurt me. You didn’t care.”

He sits back in his seat, eyeing me like I’m a foreign creature, not the female he once loved. “So it’s an apology you’re seeking?” I didn’t realize it’s what I wanted until he said it. “It’s already been given. I will apologize for what I said at the meeting. I never had a chance to before, but I’m not going to grovel for anything I’ve already made up for if that’s what you want.”

“No, you never apologized to me.”

“For what, Feyre? For sending you home after your mate left you in a puddle of your own piss and I warned you that if Amarantha and your mate took me, there would be nothing I could do to save you? For having a poisonous arrow, lodged into heart by you, leeching my life as she killed you? For being chained to her day and night, forced to watch you wither away while he toyed with you, forced to watch her with other males—including your precious mate—forced to have her hands on me while she spoke of all the things she’d do to you if I so much as looked you? Tell me what I should apologize for because I don’t know.”

I shake my head as something else shifts within me.

“You,” I start, hoarsely. I clear my throat. “You always got angry when I tried to speak of it.”

“I needed time.”

“You never would have let me become High Lady,” I volley.

“I asked if you wanted the title. You rejected it.” Shift.

“You always sided with Ianthe. I never had any control over my life.”

“I always told you that you were free to deny her wishes. You didn’t.” Click.

I sit, my throbbing ankles quake in relief, but the pain pulses behind my eyes now. I have to calm myself. I have to be careful or I’ll lose control of my shield, and Rhys will be out here before I can finish speaking with Tamlin. Already, I can feel him press against the shields of my mind, looking for me.

“You didn’t give me a choice. You locked me in when I told you not to.”

“I gave you two choices you didn’t wish to take. You wanted the inexistent third choice, which was to go with me. I shouldn’t have done it, I’ve told you this before, but if I hadn’t, you would’ve followed me. I watched you die once. I wasn’t going to do it again.”

Shift. Shift. Shift.

“I could’ve helped you.”

Tamlin shakes his head. “How? How would you have helped me? You believe I didn’t notice your suffering, but I noticed. You couldn’t look at your bow, let alone hold a knife in your hand without shaking. Everything I did was to protect you, Feyre, so that you wouldn’t have to go through anything like that again. Was I wrong often? Yes. But it was never my intention to hurt you.”

This wasn’t right. Tamlin was a monster, a beast who’d charmed me once before his true nature shone through. But what he said and what I remembered weren’t the same. None of what he’s saying makes sense. Even as several parts of me lock into place, it doesn’t make sense.

Finally, I say, “It’s your fault Rhysand’s mother and sister are dead.”

The balcony goes eerily quiet. The noise of the city fading to nothing. The noise from inside as dead as a tomb. And Tamlin’s face smooths with understanding as he skims my face, taking in the ridges of my skin around my downturned mouth and brows. His jaw works, and I half rise out of my chair, ready for his magic to fling at me.

But the corners of his mouth lift. A small, almost delicate, smile that would hardly be noticeable if it weren’t because I know him almost as much as I know Rhys, graces his face. It’s not one of the ones he used to give me, but it wasn’t a bitter one either. He scrubbed a hand down his face then through his hair with a shake of his head as he overlooked the city.

Disbelief—that was what the smile was riddled with. Disbelief and yet surety.

“I see,” he laughs, more to himself than to me. Another sound that mirrored a laugh leaves him. “Of course, of course.”

He doesn’t seem to want to enlighten me. The smile is gone when he turns to me again. In its place is a look so knowing and pitying, so like one the Bone Carver had given me so long ago, and the Suriel who was my friend, that my blood chills. My bones quiver. The shards within me rattle. My head nearly splits in two. I almost don’t want to hear what he’ll say, if he’ll say it at all.

“Tell me,” I demand. His gaze hardens, but he says nothing. My head pulses, urging me to leave. Urging me to shut him out, to not listen to him. I bite back the nausea that sweeps through me. “Tell. Me.”

Tamlin’s grin returns, this time in jest. “You are so like him, I hate myself for not seeing it sooner.” He laughs now, again at himself rather than me. “You sound like him. And that face you’re making! It’s his.”

“I am my own person,” I growl.

“Are you, though?” He tilts his head. “Do you always judge or make decisions based off him?”

My head spasms. “I make my own decisions. I left you, that was my decision.”

“You did, but it doesn’t negate my question. Do you blindly listen to whatever he tells you, Feyre? Have you never questioned whether there was more to anything he tells you?”

Once, the answer came unbidden to my mind. Once, I did. When I’d thought Rhys was the villain in in my story until I learned the truth of him. Until…

Another shard clicks into place. There were only two left. Two that tremble almost as hard as I do. My belly rolls, the baby responding to my turmoil. Or bile rising to my throat, I couldn’t tell anymore. My head hurts, the throb of it knocks against my eyes and clouds my vision.

I’m finished. I don’t want to talk to Tamlin anymore. I don’t want to hear all that he’s throwing at me. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. Not me and certainly not Rhys. He never did, I suppose.

“You don’t—“

“Oh.”

I didn’t notice the balcony door open. A black haired beauty stands in it, her hazel eyes flicker between me and Tamlin questioningly, but she doesn’t speak those questions. Her gaze lands squarely on Tamlin. She smiles. Softly. Prettily. The birthmark by her eye crinkles. Her dimples poke through her round cheeks. Her soft body curved like an hourglass.

Nothing about her was like me, and it wasn’t until I had the thought that I realized I had been looking for myself in her.

“Lucien is looking for you.”

Tamlin nodded, rising from his seat. The female gives me one last curious look before she skips back inside. He follows.

The question slips out before I have a chance to swallow it. “Who is she? Your new lover?”

He pauses in the doorway. Slowly, he turns to me, giving me an equally slow blink. Under his breath he marvels, “How far did he get to you?”

“Wha-“

“She’s my cousin.”

My face scrunches. “Since have you had a cousin?”

If Tamlin had been shocked before, his whole body slackens in utter astonishment now. And more pity. Pity. Pity. Pity. I want to claw it off his face. “You’ve met her before. Don’t you remember? After the mountain? I introduced you to my friends. We’re not cousins by blood, no, but our mothers were close.”

I vaguely remember meeting them… and not caring to learn their names or faces. I vaguely remember the sliver of jealousy I’d felt about a dark haired female that I easily put out of my mind because at the end of the day, Tamlin had been in my bed. But the memories, any memories of the Spring Court are glazed over. As unclear as my thoughts.

“You know you were never very good at heeding my warnings. Now I understand you never listened to me at all.” Tamlin drops his gaze down to my rounded belly that I clutch in protection and to soothe the twists from both my baby and myself. “It would do you well to remember all that I’ve told you. Maybe you’ll understand.” He nods in parting. “I hope you’re happy, Feyre.”

He leaves me on the balcony with only one shard left to find it’s place.

Mystery fic anon hello again!!

Ooooooo this was so good! Feyre thinking that Tamlin is of course still obsessed with her when he's not 🤭🤭 Please come back with part two!

[bingle-exe]

its ur fav asker, back at it again with some fluffy michael myers

Can I request mikey with an autistic reader? like the reader is really picky with certain sensations OMG WAIT WHAT AB MICHAEL GOING OUT OF HIS WAY TO MAKE SURE READER DOESNT GET SENSORY OVERLOAD LIKE OMG OMG

y/n doesn't like the carpet becuz it feels weird on their feet? expect it to be ripped out and replaced within the week

y/n doesn't like the texture of a certain food? thats perfect bc mikey loves it and eats it all

pls im autistic and this would MELT me omg omg omg vbhnb cxbfhnc

Michael Myers x Autistic!Reader

I don't have autism, but the idea of him adjusting his entire life to make his s/o happy just UGHDUHGDS so cute.

Hope this was mildly accurate to what those who have autism may experience! (Also please let me know if this offended anyone; I know not everyone experiences the same things, so if this is inaccurate or just completely incorrect, just let me know!)

Michael didn’t know much about autism, but he was trying his absolute best to learn.

When you’d go to bed at night, he’d pull out your computer and look up how to cater to a person with autism needs. You saw it on the recent search history, but don’t bring it up, he’ll feel so embarrassed, and will do everything in his power to avoid you for a few days.

Michael learned of hyper fixations, and when he’d come back from his hunts, he’d bring a little trinket that he thought applied to what you were interested in. The favorite part of giving the item to you was seeing your face light up in excitement and do little stims out of pure joy. It made his heart flutter.

Michael learned of where you would keep certain items because it would bother you if it was in a different spot. He would check before you came home from being out to see if everything was in it’s usual spot to avoid any upset from you. He can’t take it.

He took notice of the reactions you would make if you were upset with a feeling or sound, and he would always make sure to never have that particular thing around ever again.

One time, you bought a new cup and drank out of it, but the texture of the rim made you uncomfortable. It was visibly noticeable, but you didn’t bring it up to him. You just took note to never drink out of it again.

You went to throw out something about an hour later, and saw the same cup you drank out of cracked and charred laying in the can.

He brought a blanket home one time from a victim’s house, and when you laid under it, it made a strange sound, but you tried your very best not to care because Michael went out and got it for you. You were not successful in your attempts to hide how you felt.

He immediately ripped it away, folded it haphazardly, and put it on the shelf of the closet at the very top where you couldn’t reach it.

"Michael, it's fine! It's a nice blanket, bring it back out."

He ignored you, and brought out the old one to replace it instead for the night. The next day, the blanket was out of the closet, and an array of blankets similar to the one you shared were filling it to the brim.

He forced you to check each one out to see which ones you liked and disliked, and if you didn't like it he would tear it apart. You yelled at him telling him that it could've gone to someone else in need. He didn't seem to care.

"Mike, what the hell?! We can just donate them to people who actually need it!" Why? If you didn't like it, it deserved to die.

After about four blankets being completely shredded, you kicked him out of the room to go through the rest on your own. He wasn't happy about it and kept huffing if you tried to talk to him for the rest of the day. He got over soon enough not being able to resist ignoring you.

He would sometimes go out and buy the food you loved the most with your favorite textures and tastes to have a little date night with you. Yes, he would BUY (not steal) food with other people around (he wouldn’t be wearing a mask); that’s how much he cared about you.

When the two of you would drive around and a song playing on the radio would make you stim happily, he would take note of it, and add it to a playlist later on of songs you liked.

He always played it if you ever seemed upset. One day, you saw the list and it had well over 100 songs at that point, and the name of the playlist was “Songs to make Y/N happy” (his vocabulary is very limited).

Michael doesn’t know much when it comes to cognitive disorders (hell, he doesn’t even understand his own), but the amount of effort he puts in to create a safe and happy environment for you is enough to send you into overdrive.

He loves you very much, and he’ll do anything to make you feel comfortable. Let’s hope no one ever upsets you, or the cup won’t be the only thing burned to a crisp.

[angelamajiki]

[ peace treaty - part two ]

AN: my first banner that I made for a fic!! Please enjoy and mind the tags as always!! :)

CW: yandere, noncon, loss of virginity, double penetration, coercion, gang bang, A/B/O dynamics, size difference, slight tummy bulge, cum stuffing, breeding

PART ONE

SYNOPSIS: The wedding to ensure peace for your kingdom was underway. Your alphas had been insistent that you met your new pack and give your virginity to them the night of your wedding. You could only wonder why.

The village of the Barbarian tribe was full of the hustle and bustle of wedding preparations being made for their leading Alphas and their newfound Omega mate. You could hear the rushing of bodies outside the tented den the pair kept you confined to. They were insistent on keeping you within their firm grasp, their watchful eyes at all times. It was exhausting, so say the least. The time spent in the village was theirs, not your own. Their tenderness almost made you forget the circumstances on which you fell into their laps. Almost.

Hardly anyone else in the village had seen you thanks to your red-headed mate. Dragons rarely let anyone but their pack near their hoard, and Eijirou was more than happy to declare you his most precious treasure of all, the centerpiece of his store. The hybrid was tempted to keep you with the rest of his treasures, but his other mate decided against it, demanding that you stay warm in the nest during the blistering winter that ravaged the mountain range.

They kept in the nest for as long as you would tolerate it, adoring the way you looked wrapped snuggly in the furs they had slain and prepared for you. The den was soon furnished with a small library for your curious mind, one of many wedding presents that your mates intended to spoil you with. Your mates were desperate for your approval, to preen and puff their chests in pride from your praise. In fact, one of the only times you were let out before the wedding was to watch wrestling matches between the Alphas of the clan and their leaders on the warmer days. It was a prominent display of strength, the pair hoping to impress their lovely mate with their fists and muscles. The other times, they had taken you to Eijirou’s cave to flaunt his hoard, which they welcomed you to take anything you liked from it as it was now yours too.

Winter flew by quickly. In those few months, preparations for your spring wedding were well underway as your mates took their agonizing time to stake their claim on you. The pair of them were insistent on waiting until the wedding night to be fully bonded but did not spare you any pleasure they wished to bestow you. The ecstasy they brought you night after night was earth-shattering, something you never even dreamed you could have achieved.

A spring wedding was to be had, and the wait was finally over. Your dress was designed of the most delicate silk hand-made in the tribe, dipped in beautiful red and gold dyes to match your mate's garments. Precious jewels and other gold jewelry was selected from the dragon's hoard by none other than Eijirou himself. Traditional paint was brushed onto your face and arms with expert craftsmanship, adorning your glowing skin with the clan's insignia and other symbols held dear to the Barbarians.

Meeting your mates down the aisle and finally being wed to them felt like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. For months, you had worried that their threat to destroy your home would see to its fruition, but now that you're finally their wife and mate, the treaty had been completed. Perhaps your mates would be kind enough to let you see your family after the celebration.

Festivities were planned for days to celebrate the new queen and pack mate of the tribe’s leaders. Being out of the den and meeting the clansmen felt like a breath of fresh air after being secluded for those few months up until the wedding. You could only hope that your husbands would allow this new freedom to continue.

Food, drink, and dancing went well into the early morning hours before you decided it was time to retire to your den. Buzzing with anticipation, you let Katsuki lead you home with a scarred hand on the small of your back, reminding you just how small you were in comparison to your Alphas. Tonight was the night that you submitted utterly and entirely to your mates. It was overwhelming, almost enough to give you cold feet.

Upon returning to the tented den, you were met with your new pack, the Alphas that Eijirou and Katsuki introduced you to earlier that day during the ceremony. TestsuTetsu, leader of the clan’s warriors. Sero and Denki, leading blacksmiths and protectors of the armory. Izuku, also known as Deku, leading military strategist. And Hitoshi, the tribe’s mage.

The tent’s magic flaps had sealed themselves once you and your mates made it inside with the rest of the pack, who were already waiting for you. Unease had swelled in your gut as you saw the hungry gleams in all the Alpha's eyes. Did they have the intention to watch while you bonded with your mates?

“Be easy, my love.”

Eijirou’s hands came to your shoulders in an attempt to soothe you as he guided you to your nest.

“Although you will be our mate, you will still be the pack’s omega.”

You nodded slowly, having already understood that much, but it still didn't explain why the rest of the pack was suffocating the space of your den.

“That means you will have to form a bond with all of us. We intend to share you with the pack tonight.”

Panic filled your being as you stood up from the nest, only to be pinned down into the redhead’s lap with his powerful arms. His hands rubbed soothing circles in your arms as he felt you squirm in his hold.

“There’s no reason to be afraid, my queen!” Izuku piped up as he flashed a reassuring smile. “This is the best way to ensure that you will give healthy pups to the pack and the clan.”

Tears and pleas dribbled out as you thrashed in your Alpha’s arms, desperate to claw your way out of his grip and away from the new pack.

“Stop yer fussin’,” Katsuki grunted as he took his place next to the both of you. “We’ll be right here the whole time. Besides, it’ll be a good way for the pack to bond. We wouldn't want anything to happen to your territory, now would we?”

Chuckles filled the room as you sobbed in absolute terror.

“Please! I don't want this! Don't make me do this; I'm begging you!”

A fatal mistake on your part is that you forgot who these men were. Barbarians who snatched, steal, and take whatever they please, whenever they please. Your mates were capable of tenderness, but only when it seemed to benefit them. And it didn't at this moment.

Eijirou was quick to quell your cries as he stroked your hair gently while Katsuki tied your hands together. The redhead whispered sweet nothings in your ear in an attempt to soothe his lovely omega. You were practically hog-tied into your nest as the blonde ripped your dress to shreds with his magic, your struggling between the pair of them frustrating him deeply.

“Enough fucking around. Omega, submit.”

Unable to deny such a command, you went still under your overbearing husband. How quickly he changed once you truly denied him for the first time...it frightened you. The men around you tried to croon and calm, wanting to put your wailing cries at ease. You had barely been touched and you already felt violated by being naked and bound before your new pack. Oh, things you had to endure to protect your kingdom.

Katsuki was overzealous, eager to be the first to pop your cherry and finally feel the velvet of his omega’s hole. A searing mouth sealed itself over your clit as thick fingers worked you open. Your mate was relentless, fucking your hole with vigor as his tongue sucked and lapped against your clit. The wanton groaning of the other Alphas met your squeals and cries as you clenched around your mate’s fingers, wishing desperately to sink into your nest of furs and never return.

Eijirou kissed you deeply, stroking away your tears and holding your chin in his scarred palm. The other Alphas hands groped, massaged, and grabbed at your supple skin, leaving no inch untouched. All of them ignored your sobbing, electing to see past your suffering for the good of the pack.

“So beautiful.”

“What a great pick you two made.”

“Hurry up and mount her Kats! I want to get in there too!”

Your Alpha continued his brutal pace of finger fucking and suckling on your clit, groaning and grunting as he slurped at you greedily. A tight coil of pleasure built in your core as you helplessly moaned and cried into Eijirou’s mouth. Katsuki felt your impending orgasm and pulled his mouth away in favor of rubbing your clit hard and fast with his unoccupied hand. He chuckled, watching you squirm and squeal loudly before coming undone, squirting all over his chest in the process.

The Alphas jeered and praised you for a good show as Katsuki chuckled.

“Now that’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about. Good girl, little omega. Ready for knot?”

A wolfish grin cast on his features as he hiked your ankles up to his shoulders. Cock lines up with your still twitching whole; he sunk into your tight heat in one stroke of his hips. A breathy gasp left you as you were filled to the brink.

The pace he set with his thrusts was unforgiving; a bruising grip laid on your love handles as you were pounded into the nest, making a mess of the furs strewn across it. Snarls and grunts left your captor’s lips all the while. The other Alphas around you stroked their cocks heartily, eagerly waiting for their turns to have a go and breed their new pack omega. Squeals and cries of unwanted pleasure quickly filled your gut as you came again, forcing you to arch your back into the blonde’s chest. Overstimulation hit you like a freight train as your mate continued to chase his own pleasure.

Eijirou brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead and swiped gently at your tears, watching his two mates finally tie the knot and love each other in the most primal, intimate ways they knew. What a fine choice for a mate you turned out to be—loyal, lovely, loud. Your sobs and cries of pleasure were music to the dragon’s ears, adoring the way you shook and convulsed underneath the other Alpha. Toying with your nipples gently, he shushed your protests with a kiss and held his free hand to your throat, stroking the sides tenderly.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was practically feral, animalistic in his movements as he popped his knot into your tight cunt with a roar of your name. Ropes of hot seed painted your womb as he held you tightly in his arms, riding his orgasm out to completion.

Nothing but groans and pants could be heard for a few moments as your Alpha bent down to lay a claiming mark on the glands of your neck. He tore into the flesh with passion, leaving a trail of blood that dripped down your sweaty chest. Laving at the mark with his tongue, he sealed the bond and slurped up the blood. Extending his neck, he pushed your head into his crook.

“Bite, complete the bond.”

Like an obedient breeding bitch, you listened mindlessly, mind foggy with the haze of your orgasms.

After his knot had deflated, Eijirou moved to mount your sloppy hole.

“Guess the rest of you are getting my sloppy seconds,” Katsuki smirked, admiring the way his seed dripped from your now loose hole.

Eijirou was more tender than his counterpart, taking his time with his sweet, sweet lovemaking. Possessive and sweet nothings were moaned and groaned from him—bite marks littered your chest and mouth. His thrusts with slow and deep, wanting a slow build to both of your orgasms as he lavished you in his undivided attention. Kisses and bites were pressed sweetly to your lips, and his tongue tasted the salt of your skin.

Your whimpers and moans mingled with his deep, rolling groans while the others were content to watch such a passionate display of Eijirou’s adoration for his Omega. Laying his claim as he came, the knot popped the moment as he bit into your wrist, suckling at the wound he left behind. Even after he deflated, he cockwarmed you for a while so you could rest and have a much-needed drink of water.

After Eijirou’s cock slipped out of your cunt, the rest was a murky blur in your memory. Izuku followed your redheaded mate, losing himself quickly to the vice of your wet and sloppy pussy. He came rather quickly, apologizing for only finishing himself off. He had to, for the sake of pups, of course. Not that any of their words mattered to you, you were too drunk off the mating bonds your mates laid into your virgin skin.

TetsuTetsu succeeded Izuku, and much like Katsuki, he was an animal. Loud slaps of skin filled the den as he praised you for being such a good omega for your Alphas. Bear them your healthy pups like a good girl, won't you? His stamina was high, too high for your liking. Slipping in and out of consciousness, you barely made recognition to his knot swelling in your hole. He was by far the biggest of the pack. Another load pumped into the pack’s personal cumdumpster, but he made sure to make you squeal and squirt on his cock.

Any defiance in you had died by the time Sero and Denki speared you on their cocks. What they lacked in girth, they made up for in length. They both greedily stuffed themselves into your pussy at the same time, one rubbing your clit while the other tugged at your nipples. Only one knot caught inside you while Denki’s popped just below your clit, making an even bigger mess to your already sloppy pussy.

Finally, Hitoshi cast a fertility ward on your womb, marked by the pack’s emblem to ensure pregnancy and a healthy one at that. An average knot, he finished himself within your already full womb, a small bulge appearing in your gut because of it. A plug was stuffed inside you to keep the pack’s seed deep within your cunt, to ensure pregnancy of the pack’s pups.

Once the sun broke over the dawn of the mountains, the pack exited the tent to leave you to your Alphas. They spent the morning bathing and feeding you, wanting to pamper you after such an exciting yet stressful evening. The pair hoped you would come around to be shared by the pack; how else will they get you through your heats and their ruts? That's a problem for another day, they supposed.

After a long, well-deserved rest in a now cleaned nest, Eijirou was ecstatic to share the news of their newest surprise. A honeymoon! Oh, the places they planned to fly you to.

As you listened to their plans, you couldn't help but gaze off into the next morning’s sun, wondering if this life was worth it for the sake of peace.

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

[jiminrings]

what happened to mc after that?? JUNGKOOK I WILL WHOOP YO FUCKING ASS

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

the aftermath of stem koo breaking senior!y/n's heart

"do you need anything from us?"

yoongi asks you for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you've been home, heart breaking from the inside out when you haven't moved a single inch

he is begging that the thing you need from him and jin is to go beat j*ngkook up

HE CAN'T EVEN SAY HIS NAME WITHOUT BEING ANGRY AT HIM!!!!!!!

anything. anything to atleast make you sleep in peace tonight.

or them honestly,, either way

your body's facing the backrest of the couch and maybe that's for the better, because that way, seokjin won't feel the need to cry looking at the coldest person he's known to be openly vulnerable

you're still wearing your jersey!!! your stained dirty jersey that you've been in for the past three hours and the reason that it's still wet was that you've been using it to wipe your tears all the way to the dorm

"no. i'll be alright."

you mumble for the fifth time out of the five times you've been asked, and yoongi just has to grapple at his fist because he knows that being frustrated wouldn't help

you are the fURTHEST thing from okay

to be honest, it was only a miracle that you told the two of them what happened in the first place

it was in between sobs that you asked them why they were friends with you and they couldn't be anymore dumbfounded

it was in between violent tears that you mentioned hyeji that seokjin looked for a box of tissues because you've been intentionally rubbing your eyes raw

it was in between heaving that you said that no one wants to go the extra mile for me that yoongi started holding your cheeks and trying to get you to breathe with him in his panic too

it was in between hiccups that you uttered that no one wants to walk me home and that's when both of yoongi's and seokjin's throats started tightening, the dots hazy yet aligning nonetheless

it was in silence when you told that jungkook said that no one likes me, and that's when out of the three of you in the room – you're the one who's the calmest.

"okay. i'll bring you a blanket."

yoongi leaves it at that, standing from his spot on the floor to walk over to the kitchen where the blankets cLEARLY aren't there

no one really prepared yoongs for this

no one really is

there isn't a manual on how to act when the dearest friend that you have is crying their guts out for the first time

he can't explain his close bond with you and he's always seen you as his platonic girlfriend!!! his platonic girlfriend who has a bond with him that's closer than a sister's, more understanding than a mother's, and the utter admiration more than a friend's

you r literally yoongi's (platonic) soulmate and he would die on that hill

he would rather subject himself to torture via having to stay in a freshman's dorm equipped with the de facto led strip lights everyday!!! every single day, than to see you like this :(((

"what do you have on the bitch?" yoongi doesn't spare his words when he sits on the kitchen stool next to jin's figure

the dude is sTANDING and that means business

jin doesn't feel a single ounce of regret fetching his work laptop and scrolling through the files and tabs he has on every single student on campus, eyes only looking for one lee hyeji that's contributed to your anguish rn

jungkook is atleast 3/4 in this equation and seokjin will get to him of course

no one makes his emotional support best friend cry and nOT pay the consequences for it!!!!

in another life, vincenzo cassano's character is based on seokjin and the events in his life that definitely happened >:(

"she's daddy's money. can't fucking believe that sHE'S representing the school," he sighs in genuine annoyance, but not loud enough to pique your attention as he turns the screen so yoongi could clearly see her headshots, "must be a diversity hire. every university needs a fucking bimbo, apparently."

you see,,, yoongi would've SNORTED at that but now is not the time!!! he is still planning discreet retribution to avenge you!!!!

jin lets yoongi look at hyeji's entire file, wanting to get even the smallest bits even if the information he's taking in is against his will

he'll immediately delete whatever he learns about her right after it's served its purpose

"just messaged the faculty groupchat," seokjin himself didn't imagine the words coming out from his lips determinedly, but he knows that he's willing to do anything for the sake of this, "been crushing on jeon ever since the start of last semester. philosophy professor thinks it's because he once saw jungkook lending her a pen when they were in the topic of soulmates."

jesus christ

now THAT'S just annoying ://

this

whatever this is

seokjin and yoongi don't know what they're digging all this information for

they don't know what this unspoken plan is for, or if they even have a plan in the first place

if jin were to tell the faculty gc about this???

absolute mayhem

but he knows for a fact that they'd hate star student jungkook easily within a tap of a finger

the philosophy prof would lose all sense of rationality and reasoning and INSTANTLY point to jungkook as an asshole!!! no questions asked!!!! no elaborations!!!!

"i could get jeon eliminated from all the academic listings he's in."

jin pipes in at the silence that he and yoongi share, both listless in this situation that they never expected to encounter with you

"i could always spread a rumor and make him unlikeable."

yoongi toys with the rings that he wears, a heavy exhale tearing away from him

they could think of a thousand other ways to get back at jungkook!!! they literally can

seokjin knows a contract guy who leaves shredded paper with his contract's initials written on red ink (for a base fee of three dollars, he can switch up the ink for you!!!) right next to their side on the bed

yoongi knows a guy whose modus operandi is to discreetly follow people, have subliminals playing in the background (for an extra fee of ten dollars, he'll use wireless bass-boosted speakers), and continue doing so until the desired message is achieved!!!!

none of the people they have connections to could employ the same amount of pain he's caused on you

there's literally nothing that could hit home with jungkook besides you.

but there's no way to do that and even in your state of anger and sadness tHEN utter vulnerability, you can't even really think of hurting jungkook in the way he did

because you know and yoongi knows and seokjin knows and everyone knows that you aren't the type to wish ill

you admit that sometimes you're unavailable but you don't want that to be an asshole-reason to make everyone else around you suffer in the same way you do

the people around you aren't your shock absorbers!!!! that's why you hang out a teddy bear on your doorknob when you're mad so that neither yoongi or jin would have the possibility to be caught in your rage

that's why you call for a break when your soccer team is out of their game and make everyone drink their electrolytes before they speak to you!!!!

that's why you have the old heart of your even older build-a-bear stuffie in your pocket, one of the only reminders that your childhood even happened, one that you'd squeeze between your fingers in any remotely anxious instances that you find yourself in

jungkook's words hit home and it put you into a spiral if you even had one in the first place

your parents divorced when you were young and it's just that,,, no one from the two of them wanted you because you were the reminder of the other parent

you're a place marker for when a commitment started and ended and god did it make you grow up quickly

your aunt raised you!!!! she's an angel and she's the maternal figure in your life that you'd always be grateful for

you love her all the same and as much as you didn't wanna relate yourself to your parents in the same way that they don't, the feelings of being unliked hit you ever so often

lol it's quite a dashing mindset you have but you can't see any other interpretation you should employ

you leave before they could leave you.

it's not really as dramatic as it sounds

BUT IT COULD BE

there's always obligatory groupchats for projects and you're the first one to leave it instead of awkwardly waiting out for the conversation to dwindle and then leave one by one

when you and yoongi argue, you leave before he attempts to get the last word in

when jin is about to ask if you want to split the bill, you're already putting more than half of your share on the table

it's a nagging feeling of not wanting be unwanted in every situation you're in, but you aren't all that sure of wHAT you'd do to be liked

the only thing you could think of are lunchboxes, and even that gets taken away from you.

does no one really like you??

you're shifting in your position before you know it and the lone sound makes jin and yoongs come to your side immediately, looking at you in concern

you're looking up and you could just fEEL your eyes are puffy and even the light's hurting them

"i need to sleep."

"o-oh! m'kay, sure. i'll carry you to bed, let's go," seokjin wastes no time in responding, about to hook his arms underneath you when you repeat yourself again

you only chuckle but it's the driest and most painful they've ever heard, wincing when they can hear how breathless it was

"no. i mean i need to sleep."

jin blinks once

yoongi blinks twice

OH

right

they get it now

you don't want to sleep, and you really can't, but you need it

"i'll get it!!" jin volunteers to grab what you need, leaving yoongi with you

oh god you could fEEL that he's going to cry

what a big baby ://

seokjin comes bearing the joint :D

he's about to light it for you because he knows that three specific short hits would lull you to slumber then knock you out cold for like a day lmao

he minored in chemistry actually but he cAN'T explain shit on why that's your body's reaction

you're all-good for literally anything besides three short hits lmao

yoongi was about to scold jin because he lights it and tHEN he's the one who takes the first drag, but there's an assuring wave of his hand

how romantic

jin just blew you a heart

<3

they can't get anything from you besides the slight crinkling from your eyes but they don't mind at all — your eyes are atleast one degree less sad

you take your turn and even pass it to yoongi but he rEFUSES,,,,, not the least bit dejected that he decided not to because he wants to watch over you instead and not see every inanimate object with cartoon eyes on them while watching over you

"bake her a cookie if in case she suddenly gets hungry in the middle of her sleep. sneak a carrot in it or something," jin reminds yoongi and he's sERIOUS about the recipe, holding you in tow as he makes the way to your room

yoongi's about to break out the bowls, freezing in his steps when he hears the doorbell frantically ring

oh god

the ONE time that they didn't plug the door with a wet towel and now it's probably the hall manager outside about to do an inspection

that is not..... the hall monitor

that is a fucking asshole

jungkook's been pacing on his heels, his knocking loud enough to wake up the entire hallway at this point

he's SWEATING and he's not even wearing his hoodie

the door finally opens and the words start tumbling out of his mouth

"good evening. i-i wanna explain myself and-..."

that is not,,,,, you

it's his senior that he's disrespected probably too many times

yoongi leans to the door, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face that the junior's never seen before

"you ever had a sandwich before, jungkook?"

"w-what?"

the younger boy stammers, his eyes following yoongi's actions of looking behind him out of worry and then going outside to join him by closing the door softly without noise

yoongi only snorts, not even sure if he's up for conversation

"hyeji's never packed you a sandwich before?"

jungkook pales at the mention, mouth drying when he sees yoongi bring up the soft smile that doesn't comfort him at all

"the one that's all knuckle?"

[archived-kin]

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet.  They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

[let-them-read-fics]

Empress of the Heart (Pt. 1)

Requested By Anon: "Reader is an actress, and she meets Jennie at an event. They have a one night stand afterward, and months later they meet again." (It was a long request so I had to sum it up lol)

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Actress!Reader

Word Count: ~ 9,351 😳 (Both parts combined)

Warnings / Misc. -- Smut / Suggestive Themes, Angst, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hello again! Guys, I'm actually really proud of this one. It gets better as it goes on. I hope you enjoy it (you'd better, because I stayed up until 8am writing again 🥴😂). I had to split this story into two parts to appease the Tumblr overlords, just so we’re clear.

♡ Happy reading ♡

Part 2

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Who's that?" Rosé asks, leaning in closer to the maknae as she points to a slightly recognizable face in the crowd. 

"I dunno," Lisa shrugs, throwing a thumb over her shoulder, "ask Jisoo." The Australian does as she says, padding over to seek out an answer from their unnie. 

"Y/N L/N, I believe. Her company is supposed to make a big announcement later." Jisoo informs, adding a nod to the end of her statement for certainty. Jennie stands beside them all, taking in the crowd of staff and business people hailing from all of the most powerful entertainment companies in Korea. The big dogs have all gathered here tonight to drop some major announcements for their upcoming projects and set up arrangements for future endeavors. 

"What do you think it'll be?" Jennie asks, eyes still trained on you as you converse with a famous actress. Her breath catches in her throat when you throw your head back, eyes filling with tears of laughter at something the high class woman said. You're absolutely stunning. 

"It could be anything, honestly. Her company's full of talent in every category." 

"Yeah, their newest girl group broke a record for Youtube streams in the first hour after release. Still didn't beat ours, though," Lisa adds with a smug look, holding her head a little higher. She's only playing, of course -- she's one of the most humble people Jennie knows. 

"She's really pretty," Jennie breathes out, speaking the words that have been rolling around in her mind since she laid eyes on you. The other girls adamantly agree, nodding their heads with purpose. 

"Do you wanna go talk to her? YG would probably like that; maybe we can let Jisoo do a little schmoozing." Rosé smirks, playfully nudging the unnie. Jisoo rolls her eyes with an amused scoff, quickly swatting the blonde's hand away. 

"I don't know, she seems pretty busy." Her words are unsure, weary -- her normal confidence is wavering a bit, now replaced with some type of nervousness that she can't quite explain. This isn't like her; why is she so anxious?

"Come on, it'll be fun." Lisa decides for them, leading the way with Jennie's hand clutched in her own; the brunette would surely slip away otherwise. 

They approach you from an angle, caught right in your blind spot as you continue your small talk with a new business exec. The man sees the girls behind you, waiting for their turn, and after a few more moments he leaves you with an office number to reach him by.

"Good evening… Y/N, right?" Jisoo leads politely, smiling as you turn to face them. You look even more dazzling up close, and Jennie's posture stiffens. She's definitely seen you somewhere before.

"That's me," you say sweetly, greeting all of them and committing their names to memory. 

"Jennie," she introduces, stretching a hand out to you. Your eyes flutter down to it before you grasp it within your own, the simple action appearing unbelievably cute to her.

"How're you doing tonight? I hear you've got some big news for us." Lisa wiggles her eyebrows, voice bouncy with anticipation.

You giggle, and Jennie thinks it may just be the sweetest thing she's ever heard. "It's a little hectic, if I'm honest, but I'm enjoying myself. What about you guys? And you'll just have to wait and see what we have in store for you." You end the sentence with a wink that just happened to be directed at Jennie, despite Lisa being the one to ask the question. She tries to fight the blush that soon rises to her cheeks. 

"We're doing well, I'd say. It's actually kind of nice to get out of the dorm and meet some new people." Rosé says almost wistfully, her eyes sending a fleeting glance around the room at her statement. 

"I know how that can feel. When I was first starting out I didn't get many opportunities for roles. But then I met my manager at the café I picked up a second job at, and the rest is history." You smile softly at the memory, recalling the events of that fateful day. You can't imagine where you'd be right now if things had played out differently. 

"You're an actress?" Jisoo asks, sounding like she just put two-and-two together. You nod at her, noticing the way that Jennie looks at you in deep thought. You can practically see the wheels turning. 

"So that's where I recognize you from. You guest starred in that JTBC miniseries earlier this year, didn't you?" 

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner." You smile, bowing your head in praise. It warms your heart to see her face light up, knowing that she finally felt that rush of putting her finger on the elusive thoughts in her head. Pulling knowledge you previously believed forgotten from the foggy depths of your brain is a rewarding experience in itself, and you're pleased that she remembered you. 

"I'm glad I made an impression during my short time on screen," you quirk, leaning in closer to her. 

"With skills like yours? You're unmatched, Y/N." She flirts, finally finding her bearings again. Her confidence is returning now, slowly but surely, and she pats herself on the back for not hiding behind her hands when you send her a tempting smile. 

"Ah, you're too kind--" you begin, only to be cut off by a tap on your shoulder. It's one of your co-stars.

"Good evening, ladies," he bows, "I'm sorry to break this up, but Y/N is needed by management." 

Your shoulders sag at this, his words sinking in. You'd much rather spend the night tucked away with the girls, getting to know them better -- especially Jennie, who makes your heart speed up anytime she looks at you. 

"I hate to go," they nod in agreement, sad to have to part ways. They really enjoyed speaking with you, and they'd be lying if they said they wanted to stop anytime soon. 

"But maybe I'll catch you later?" The question sounds hopeful, albeit a bit unsure as you scrunch your face up. They affirm that they'd "like that very much," and your shoulders relax a bit. Maybe there's still some hope for you all. 

◇◇◇◇◇  2 Hours Later  ◇◇◇◇◇

"Exactly! She shouldn't have forgiven him after that," you rant to Jisoo, talking about some characters from your favorite kdrama. 

"Babo, I tell you." She says dramatically, rolling her eyes. The action garners a chuckle from you, and Jennie finds herself smiling as she follows along with the conversation. She must've made her staring too obvious, because a minute later your eyes meet hers from across the table. She blinks, surprise etched gracefully into her features, and she clears her throat. Both of you have been stealing glances at one another all night, and things have only ramped up since you snuck away from management to see them again. You assured them you wouldn't get in trouble, but that was honestly the last thing on your mind. 

From her seat across from you, Jennie can see the curve of your body, your silhouette highlighted by the lights that shine on the wall behind you. They're dimmed somewhat to give a comfortable, soft glow to the room, and they contrast with the perfect curve of your face. She lets her eyes trail lower, admiring the expanse of your chest and how your fingers rest against the table, mindlessly playing with the expensive tablecloth. 

What you do next makes her choke on the water she had so bravely dared to take a drink of. 

You lean forward slightly, just enough for her to see your cleavage, while still appearing inconspicuous and innocent. The smirk you try to suppress tells her you know exactly what you're doing, and her cheeks grow hot. 

"Excuse me," she mutters to the table, quickly standing and all but running outside for some fresh air. She wants -- needs -- to put some distance between the two of you if she plans to have any self control. 

Cool air immediately greets her as she steps outside, hearing the sleek automatic door slide shut behind her. She can breathe now, and begin to soothe her racing mind. Despite only knowing you for the better part of 4 hours, she's already attracted to you. Way more than she cares to admit, as she presses her thighs together to put out the fire you started within her. 

No more than 5 minutes later, the doors slide open once more. 

"Everything alright?" You ask, tone dripping with amusement as you take in her flustered state. It's obvious that she's okay, just simply turned on. 

"Never better," she mumbles, glancing up at you with a lopsided smile. 

"You know, you ran out pretty fast back there. You sure know how to worry a girl." You fake a pout at her. 

"Oh, you don't say?" She plays along, approaching you with what few shreds of confidence she has left. She tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, whispering into it, "Well, I'm all good." 

"Wanna see for yourself?" She continues, drawing back slightly to take your hands within her own and wrap them around her waist. She smiles as they roam over her body, making sure to be thorough as you "check her out." 

She groans when your hand grazes over a sweet spot on her thigh, causing you to pause and tut at her, "Tsk tsk, Jennie. It looks like I'll have to inspect this a little further." She gulps at your words, mind clouded once again by filthy thoughts of you. 

"Let's get out of here," she suggests, taking your hand to lead you away. You chuckle at her eagerness, only capable of nodding as she basically drags you to her car. 

◇◇◇◇◇

Despite feeling like two horny teenagers, you and Jennie actually opted to slow things down and get to know each other more. She's one of the most interesting people you've ever met, and you could listen to her talk for hours on end. The feeling is beyond mutual, and she doesn't mind that she has to wait a little longer to have you. The promise of what the night will hold for the two of you thrills her, and the anticipation only heightens her feelings.

Takeout containers lay abandoned in her car, long forgotten about as you sit next to each other on the hood. The chilly surface of the windshield presses against your back, making you all the more thankful for having had the foresight to wear a coat tonight. You make a mental note to thank your stylist for the suggestion. 

Stars are beginning to twinkle in the distance, slowly coming out of their peaceful slumber to greet the evening sky. They bring to mind all the nights you spent in your backyard as a child, laid out on a warm blanket as you gazed up into space. Back when only trivial issues existed in your world, leaving you with an unscarred heart and unadulterated outlook on life. Those times were simple, only complicated by whatever drama was going on at school or what new person your friends liked. Back then you had no idea of what the future held for you -- what you'd end up doing with your life. If you had a chance to talk to your younger self, you'd tell her to enjoy those days as much as possible; to not take them for granted for even a second. 

Everyday you're reminded that fame is truly a blessing and a curse -- you miss the days that you could roam the streets freely with whomever you wanted to, not having to worry about paparazzi or the media, but you're thankful for where you are now. You get to do what you love, everyday, and make money from it -- it's what everyone wishes for in life; and although you've worked your ass off to get here, you owe a lot of credit to the fans. 

"It's so beautiful up here," Jennie says, voice stuck between a whisper and sigh as she lays her head on your shoulder. 

"You see that building over there, with the orange lights and trees around it?" You ask, pointing in the direction of the building. Her eyes follow the invisible path your finger makes, and she spots it, nodding for you to continue. 

"My mom used to work there; it's a daycare. I always loved helping out. The kids were so adorable." A bittersweet smile plays on your lips as you look down at your lap, clearly reminiscing. Jennie notices, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as she says, "I bet you miss it." 

"I do," you sigh, clenching your jaw briefly, "those were the days. Seoul's home, but sometimes it feels so distant."

"I know how that feels." You don't miss the way her eyes cast down, a hint of sadness behind them, her fingers toying with yours on her thigh. Life in the spotlight isn't all it's cracked up to be, and neither of you are strangers to that all too familiar pang of longing. 

"I'm happy to be here with you tonight, though," you try to turn the conversation cheery again, and Jennie's thankful for that. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time." 

Your plan works, and soon she's pepping up. "Me neither. Being with you feels...different. In a good way." Your smile widens exponentially when she adds, "A very good way." 

"Don't get too cheesy on me, now," you roll your eyes teasingly, wrapping both of your arms around her and pulling her flush up against your body. She lays her head on your chest, reveling in the scent of your perfume and the warmth radiating from you. Her hand comes to rest against your ribs, lightly rubbing patterns against them as the two of you continue star gazing. She can feel your heartbeat pick up when she slides her hand downwards, playing with the hem of your shirt innocently. 

Does she have any idea what she's doing to you?

Yes, yes she does. After all, your body is basically selling you out at this point. 

"Y/N?" 

"Mmm?" You hum, eyes closed and head leaned back against the windshield. Her skin is soft against yours, and your shared warmth has put you at ease.

"Do you wanna go somewhere? I really don't want the night to be over yet." Your heart flutters at her words; the fact that a woman such as Jennie is so reluctant to leave you is baffling in itself. 

"I'd love that, Jennie. What did you have in mind?" 

For a moment, Jennie's mind takes it there. She allows herself to imagine what it would be like to feel your skin against hers, connection unrestricted by clothing; how your kisses would feel against her lips, her body; what beautiful sounds you would make as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. She can't deny how attracted she is to you, nor does she want to; but she also doesn't want to ruin the innocent moments you're sharing. She doesn't want to taint them with the lustful ideas that flood her mind anytime you give her that look, or caress her thigh absentmindedly. 

"How does the park sound?" 

"With you? There's nowhere I'd rather be." 

Despite her efforts, Jennie blushes at your statement, feeling that embarrassing warmth creep up the back of her neck. You've made her blush more in the span of one night than she previously had in her entire life, and that boosts your confidence tenfold.

"Who's being cheesy now, huh?" She asks, pinching your side playfully as she sits up. Her legs swing around until she's fully facing you, sitting criss-cross as the two of you smile at one another. 

Neither of you move for a while, both content with just admiring each other's beauty. Her fingers lace with yours, and after a moment she brings your hand up to her lips to lay a kiss to it. The action -- more so, how soft her lips are against your skin -- catches you off guard, and your breathing hitches. All at once, you're acutely aware of how badly you want to kiss her. 

As if things couldn't get anymore tempting, her tongue darts out of her mouth to soothe her lips, making them glisten in the dying light of the evening. 

She sees your eyes dart down to them, and her body leans closer to you ever so slightly, seemingly having a mind of its own. You meet her gaze again, silently asking for permission as you glance back down at her lips. She responds by giving one single nod before leaning in close enough that your noses almost brush against each other. 

"You're stunning." The compliment sounds breathy as it slips out of your mouth, but you're beyond caring at this point. Your pride was thrown out the window the second Jennie showed interest in you. 

"Don't look at me like that," she says, gently biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from closing the distance. She wants you to be the one to do it.

"Like what?" 

"Like you're undressing me with your eyes." Her gaze casts down to your lips again, seemingly glued there as she watches them move when you speak your reply.

"You act like you weren't doing the same thing at the event." Her confidence falters momentarily, but she fights to hold her ground. "My colleagues even noticed it, babe -- you've gotta get better at hiding your attraction." You say with a chuckle, watching as Jennie's eyes grow wider. Had she really made it so obvious?

"We wouldn't be here right now if I was good at hiding it, so I think you owe me one." 

"Touché," you say, quirking an eyebrow in thought. She's right, as usual. "How can I ever make it up to you?" Your voice wiggles dramatically, face contorting in a mock apology. 

"I know a way," she says lowly, smiling as your hand finds its way to her knee a moment later. You hook your fingers in the crook of it, drawing a surprised gasp from her as she falls forward and into your arms. 

Here goes nothing. 

You raise your left hand to her cheek, brushing the back of your fingers against it gently as you build up the nerve to kiss her. Your other arm is wrapped securely around her waist in order to hold her steady above you. 

Her palms are pressed to the glass behind you, and her hair falls gracefully around you, creating a little curtain to shield you from the outside world. Finally gaining enough courage, you press your lips to hers in a soft kiss. It's slow and mild as you set a sensual rhythm, growing accustomed to the taste of each other. She sighs into your mouth as you reposition her so that she's straddling your lap. 

"Y/N, we're never gonna make it to the park if you keep kissing me like that." She warns, though her words hold no real threat at all. She wants this just as much as you do. 

You lay a trail of light kisses up her neck, all of them far too gentle for her liking right now. "Is this better, your highness?" You ask smugly, smiling against her throat as a frustrated sigh leaves her lips.

She places a hand on your chest to push you up against the glass, letting her fingers skim over your collarbone. Just as she's about to pounce, the sound of your phone ringing interrupts the moment. It vibrates in your pocket, right between Jennie's thighs, and you stifle a giggle at the reaction it would've drawn from her had you not quickly retrieved it. 

"Hello?" You ask, realizing you hadn't even bothered to check the caller ID. Jennie sits back on your legs, allowing her hands to rest on your hips and draw soothing circles.

"Y/N, I hate to tell you this on such short notice, but you have a new interview scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10AM. I'll send you all the details later." 

You sigh at your manager's words, running a hand over your face to relax yourself. The announcement party was supposed to signal the end of your busy week, but of course life just couldn't work in your favor for once. Now you'd be stuck in some random line of questioning, unable to give them any real answers for the sake of keeping spoilers from getting out. You can think of about a million things you'd rather be doing tomorrow morning, and one of them is sitting on your lap right now. 

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you later." You wait for him to say his goodbye before ending the call and turning back to Jennie with an apologetic look. 

"Sorry for ruining the moment." 

"You didn't ruin anything. But luckily for you…" she leans forward again, pressing a kiss to your lips that makes your heart stop for a second, "I can be very merciful." You nearly melt at her words, paired with how she whispers them in your ear. Her warm breath fans over your neck, rendering you speechless as you pull her back to your lips. 

This kiss is different -- full of passion and desire as you grow more used to each other. She raises up on her knees, towering over you as she stares down at you. You look so beautiful right now, your eyes appearing big as you look up into hers, waiting for her next move. She runs her hands through your hair before settling them on your cheeks, cupping the smooth skin and rubbing the pad of her thumb across it. You drag your nails up and down her exposed thighs, and you pat yourself on the back when you notice the trail of goosebumps they leave behind. 

"I actually do wanna go to the park with you, if that's alright. There's something I want to show you. I definitely want to continue this later, though." You say.

She nods at that, a smile making its way to her face that can't possibly be wiped away. As much as she wants to have you writhing underneath her, screaming her name, she can wait. She's content with making as many memories as possible with you tonight, and she's intrigued by the surprise you're hinting at.

A few gentle kisses later, you slide off the hood and help her down before going to open her car door for her. 

"Such a gentlewoman," she praises, pursing her lips at you. 

"Only for you," you wink, making her giggle. 

You quickly make your way to the driver's seat, set on getting to the park ASAP in order to spend as much time as you can with Jennie. After all, you can only stay up so late tonight if you want to be functioning for that interview tomorrow… and let's just say that you plan on being busy later. 

---------

"Voila!" You declare, motioning to some playground equipment in the kid's section of the sizable park. Of all the things she was guessing at, Jennie did not see this coming. 

"What, you came to show me monkey bars, Y/N? I've seen plenty of them--" She asks incredulously, looking around the area filled with miniature tables and chairs to go along with the equipment. 

"What? No, no. I used to play here when I was growing up, and my friend's and I had a secret hiding spot. We always stashed our favorite little knick knacks in it, and we promised we'd only show it to people we deemed worthy."

Jennie watches as your eyes light up at the recounting of such a dear memory, and she grins widely. You truly are a five year old at heart. 

"This is the first time I've been back here, since…" you trail off, realizing just how many years it's been. Being at such a different point in your life while standing in a place you frequented as a child is a weird juxtaposition that you weren't prepared for, but you push it from your mind.

"Anyway, I think you're pretty worthy." You joke, sizing her up. She laughs at that, and you revel in the pleasant sound. You know you probably won't see her again after tonight, so you're determined to ingrain the little things -- like her smile, her laugh -- into your brain. 

"Now, let's see… where did Ashley put it?" You whisper to yourself, scanning the length of the playground. Your eyes travel across the slides, over the swings, and around the monkey bars before you spot that little dip in the siding that you'd recognize anywhere. Jennie soon finds her hand slipping into yours as you lead her over to it, a childlike sense of giddiness on your face. She likes seeing you like this. 

"I hope it's still here," you say to no one, bending down to press your fingers against the old wood. It's far more worn down now, and you're worried that someone has already come by and cleaned out the hiding spot. Putting your doubts aside, you continue. 

"Okay, so don't laugh, but there's a special way you have to open it. Ashley showed it to me one day and it's the only way we could get it to budge after that."

She smiles her gummy smile at you, and you can't help but return the gesture and even steal a quick kiss. She's a bit taken aback when you ball your hand up, using the side of it to deliver a couple blows to the wood in two different spots. Next, you stand and line up your foot, remember exactly how your friend taught you, before executing a calculated kick to the other side. 

At first, Jennie wants to laugh at you; but upon closer inspection, she sees that in fact, a small opening is visible in the wood now. You smirk cockily, knowing full well that she hadn't expected that to work. 

"Told you so," you tease, now bending down again to work the panel free. You wiggle it back and forth repeatedly, being careful not to go too quickly and damage anything else, and eventually it pops out. She watches as you reach in and pull out a mini jewelry box -- the kind that can fit in your hand, mainly meant for rings or other small items. 

"We stole the box from our other friend, Janelle. Had to pay her our allowances for 2 months afterward. Can you believe that?" You ask, shaking your head with another smirk on your lips. Jennie laughs at you in full, loving how carefree you are right now. In a way, she's happy that your manager called earlier; otherwise the two of you most surely would be locked away in your bedroom right now. This experience is definitely one she'll cherish. 

"Unbelievable," she sighs, shaking her head and going along with it. 

You click the latch on the small box, it's material now weathered and rusty as it creaks when you open it. Jennie steps closer to you to examine its contents, and you fight to contain how hard your heart starts beating at the feeling of her hand on your lower back. 

"No way…" you utter, voice full of disbelief as your eyes land on one of your most prized possessions from childhood. 

"What?" Jennie asks, genuinely on the edge of her metaphorical seat. 

"This butterfly hair clip," you inform, slipping the small contraption between your fingers as you hold it up for her to see, "I won it at a fair with my mom and I always wondered where it went…" 

"It's beautiful, Y/N," she says, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the details etched into it. For something so small and seemingly unassuming, it's actually very unique. 

"I want you to have it." You say, taking a step away so you can look at her. She instantly goes to refuse, saying, "I can't! You just found it after all this time--"

"And I went all that time without it. If you take it, I'll know it's safe with you. And you can use it to remember me by." You say, your gaze softening as you watch her debate with herself. 

"Okay. But if you ever want it back, call me." 

"Roger that." You say dorkily, earning yourself a roll of those dark eyes you find yourself getting lost in. 

"And for the record, Y/N, I could never forget you. Pretty hair clip or not." Her confession makes you feel happy on a whole new level; knowing that you've left an impact on her is truly a wonderful thing. 

"So, what now?" She asks, breaking the happy lull your conversation found itself in. 

"We can walk around the park for a little while, or…" you start, waiting for Jennie to prod you further. Both of you know exactly what game you're playing, but it's still fun nonetheless. 

"Or?" She inquires, stepping closer as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. She nonchalantly gives you a once over, knowing what power her darkening gaze holds over you. 

"We can go back to my place. Maybe play a little footsie, who knows?" You say, shrugging your shoulders with a stupid grin. Even while seducing someone, you can't resist being a geek. 

"Footsie?" Jennie gasps, raising her eyebrows, "What kind of girl do you take me for? That only happens after at least 2 dates in." 

"Such a prude, Ms. Kim. How can I change your mind?" 

She presses a finger to her cheek, pretending to think, before getting an idea. Her lips flirt with the shell of your ear as she whispers obscenities into it, turning you to mush with every new scenario she puts in your head. 

You stiffen as she kisses your jaw, the action catching you off guard as you continue reeling from her words. 

"I can do that, I think," you cough out, stumbling over the words a little bit. She laughs at the effect she has on you; seeing your confidence waver is a nice role reversal, and it's something she could definitely get used to. 

"Let's go." She commands, now taking your hand to pull you after her, just like you had done before.

◇◇◇◇◇

It's painful, how hard Jennie has to restrain herself from touching you as you fumble with your keys. She told herself she'd keep her hands to herself until you got inside, just in case any stray paparazzi managed to catch you two together. The last thing either of you need is some new scandal, especially with your careers in a vulnerable spot as they're really beginning to take off.

"If you don't get that door open within the next 10 seconds, then I'll just take you out here in the hallway." 

You audibly gulp at the image she just conjured up in your mind, and you speed up your movements. The prompting worked, evidently, because soon she's practically shoving you through the doorway.

"Finally," she breathes against your lips, pressing you up against the door once you've locked it back. 

"I've been waiting to do this since we met earlier." She indulges you in that little secret, smiling at the way you whimper when she pulls your leg up to wrap around her hips. 

"I'm all yours," you say, making Jennie's heart flutter at the sentiment. For the night, you're hers and she's yours. "...now kiss me," you command, growing more impatient with each feather-light kiss she presses to your jaw. 

"So bossy," she toys, making you roll your eyes. 

"You have no idea, babe." 

She bites her lip as your husky voice makes its way to her ears, thick with the desire she's been steadily building within you all night. You tug her forward, your fingers bunching up the material of her shirt with little care as her lips meet yours. 

Her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, asking for a permission that you granted the second she touched you. You pull her chin down slightly, allowing the kiss to deepen as you tangle your other hand in her hair. 

After an especially bruising bite to her lip -- one that thrills her to her core -- she pulls away, breathlessly asking, "How're you so good at this?" 

You cackle against her, taken aback by how genuine the question sounded. "Practice for the kdramas, of course." 

"I haven't had to do this," you slide a hand between your bodies, smirking at the gasp that sounds off deep in her throat as you make contact with her, "yet though. That might be a little extreme for the screen." 

"You think?" She scoffs softly, bringing her hands up to gather your hair to one side. She presses gentle kisses to your neck, prepping the surface for the dark marks she'll most certainly be leaving there later. 

"Ready?" You ask, making sure she wants to go through with this.

"You have no idea, babe." She copies your statement from earlier, garnering another smile from you. She swears she can never get enough of that sweet look on your face.

"Follow me," you say, giving her another peck to last until you reach the bedroom.

◇◇◇◇◇  The Morning After ◇◇◇◇◇

Warm, glittering rays of sunlight sneak past the curtains of your apartment window, shining gently through the light material. A dream-like haze befalls the room, serving as a wonderful greeting once you peek your eyes open. The only thing capable of rivaling such a wonderful sight is the woman beside you, her soft breaths keeping your shoulder warm. 

As you turn your head to look at her, careful not to wake her, your heart flips. Having her here next to you is the only reason you even believe last night happened; it was magical -- the stuff of fantasy. The two of you did everything: acted on every desire, every impulse -- you truly made the most of the night, determined to make it unforgettable. 

A few blissful minutes later, she stirs beside you. "Good morning, Y/N." Her eyes remain closed, still safe from the bright light of the morning as she smirks at the memories replaying in her mind. 

You lay a small kiss to her lips, simply missing how they feel against your own. "Morning, beautiful." 

A content sigh slips past her lips as she presses them against your neck, cuddling further into you. "Last night was fun." 

You decide to tease her. "Eh, I've had better." 

If there's one thing that Jennie knows, it's that she's good in bed -- great, even -- and you definitely seemed to be enjoying yourself last night, just as much as she was. Still though, a bit of insecurity runs through her as she raises up on her elbow to look at you through her lashes. 

"Really?" She stills her fingers on your arm, stopping them from continuing the trail that they had been blazing just seconds ago. Her eyebrows furrow subtly, the action almost unnoticed by you. 

Deciding the joke isn't worth it, you cup her cheek and raise her head so she can meet your eyes. 

"No, I'm kidding. Last night was… something else." You chuckle, smiling as your eyes move around the room in an attempt to find the right word for it. When none come to mind -- no words capable of conveying how great it was -- you look back to her.

She has a knowing grin on her face, "I couldn't agree more." 

Sneaking a glance at the clock propped up on your bedside table, you get an idea. "You know, Jennie…" you start, purring her name out as you had last night, garnering that achingly familiar groan from her, "...we still have a few hours before either of our schedules start." Your suggestion hangs in the air as you roll her over onto her back, hovering over her and brushing your noses together. 

"Hmm, you don't say? Well you're in luck; I still have some things I wanna try out." She plays back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of your lips as her hands wander over your body.

Your eyes widen in shock, "What the hell could you POSSIBLY be thinking of?? We tried just about everything." She laughs at your reaction and pulls you down closer to her body to whisper in your ear. Jennie can feel you tremble with every new image she puts in your head, just like she had in the park, her lips dragging you further under as she sneaks little kisses to your skin here and there. 

"Let me get this gay straight: you want me to do that on the balcony? What if my neighbors see?" 

"They won't, we're on one of the top floors. And even if they do… would that really be so bad?" She lets the question hang in the air; she'd be lying if she said the idea of getting caught doesn't thrill her. Thinking of your lips on her neck as she rocks against you, pinned to the railing while out in the open for the world to see, sends a rush of warmth through her. 

"I wish you weren't so good at convincing me to do things. You're dangerous, Jennie Kim." You warn, pointing a disapproving finger at her. Your eyes nearly pop out when she kisses it, taking the digit in between her lips while looking up at you innocently. This woman will be the death of you. 

◇◇ Back At The Blackpink Dorm ◇◇

"Yah, I know! The new update looks so weird--" 

"There she is," Lisa says, motioning to the doorway, interrupting Jisoo and Rosé’s conversation about whatever new video game the unnie had downloaded.

Jennie leans on the heavy door as she locks it behind her, lazily spinning around on her heel with her lips drawn back in a huge gummy smile. 

"Somebody's happy…" Jisoo teases, shooting her a smirk. She's still riding the high you put her on, and it's no wonder her members are noticing. It's not like she's exactly trying to hide it, either. 

"How was your night? Have fun with Y/N?" The maknae wiggles her eyebrows while propping herself up on her elbows to see Jennie's reaction.

"LISA! She wasn't supposed to know!" Rosé shouts, letting out a disappointed huff. The younger girl only shrugs, a stupid smirk on her lips. Some people just wanna watch the world burn. 

The brunette's daze is momentarily broken at this, and she asks what they're talking about. 

Jisoo lets out a hesitant breath before explaining, "We saw you two leave together, but we agreed to not bring it up until you did." She shoots some daggers at Lisa before continuing, "Somebody can't seem to keep her mouth shut, though." 

Jennie only chuckles now, not really caring if they knew or not. Her night was too wonderful to keep to herself; she would've ended up telling them anyway. 

"Gather round, girls; I'll fill you in." 

◇◇◇◇◇ Months Later  ◇◇◇◇◇

"Why exactly do we have to go to this premiere again?" Jennie grumbles, looking out the window of their limousine. She'd much rather be back at the dorm, snuggled into her cozy heap of pillows and blankets with Netflix playing on her tv. 

"Some of our colleagues are starring as background characters, so YG wants us to attend and show our support." Jisoo informs, always seeming to have more knowledge than all of the other girls combined. Jennie nods; the reasoning is sound, but she'd still prefer to be home. Mingling with business people for god knows how long doesn't seem all that enticing to her. 

"What's the movie?" Lisa asks, throwing the question behind her to the other girls as she searches the cubby for some complimentary snacks. 

"Empress of the Heart," Rosé answers, finally knowing something that Jisoo doesn't. 

"Let's watch the trailer for it. If we have to sit through it then we might as well see what we're getting ourselves into." Lisa suggests, her fingers busy opening the bag of chips she chose from the assortment. 

"Yeah, okay." Jennie says, her statement followed by words of agreement from the other girls. Rosé takes her phone out to search the title, pepping up when she spots it. She whispers something to Jisoo and Lisa, Jennie paying no mind as she watches the buildings pass by. Her favorite thing to fidget with is secure in her grip, occupying her mind. It's familiar design feels good in her hands -- like it's right where it belongs. (Yes, this is what you think it is).

The other girls put their acting skills to use as they hit play, keeping straight faces when your voice comes through the phone speakers. Jennie's head snaps over to them, recognizing the sound in an instant. "Y-Y/N's starring in it?" She asks, voice coming out as a stutter. The thought of seeing you again thrills her, but she doesn't know if she can do that without falling even deeper. Your night together left her with lasting feelings, none of which she was prepared for in the slightest, and she knows they'll be reignited the moment she lays eyes on you. 

"Mhm." They nod sympathetically, all knowing how much she's thought about you the last few months. 

Their driver knocks on the partition, requesting to open it. They give him the all clear, and soon he's rolling it down to inform them, "We're here, ladies." 

"I'll be okay," Jennie tells them, attempting to stop their worries from growing anymore than they already have. She plays the statement back in her head, whispering it to herself as she exits the limo; tonight could only go one of two ways, and it depends entirely on you.

☆☆ Part 2 Linked Up Top ☆☆