#alternate states of consciousness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightndaydreams · 4 days

Text

Little Deaths | a ghostly ot8 story

MDNI 🔞 this is an adult story!!!

La petite mort. ‘the little death' is an expression that refers to a brief loss or weakening of consciousness, and in modern usage refers specifically to a post-orgasm sensation as likened to death.

fem!reader x ghost!Skz

Your driver abandons you at a creepy mansion that turns out to be haunted by 8 cursed, horny ghosts. Their mission is your pleasure.

Word count: 6.8k

Content Warning below

CW: ot8 are ghosts, drugging/intoxication of reader, seduction?coercion?, sexual acts with ghosts, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m & f), vaginal and anal penetration, blow jobs, double pen in 2 holes, double pen one hole, restraints, rough sex, spitting, it's basically a gangbang, sub reader, there is a part where a cock alternates between readers vagina and anus - this is not recommended irl, choking, name calling, pet names. The sexual acts in this story are not meant to reflect how things work irl.

a/n: this story isn't a love story, like I often write here on this blog. It's basically self indulgent ot8 porn. It's my first oneshot that features all 8 members fully, and it was actually so hard to write. I considered posting this story on my side blog @daydreams-after-dark where I write my unhinged shit, but it took so much energy and thought, that I wanted to keep it over here with my other oneshots of similar length.

I hope you enjoy this oneshot. If you do, please let me know your favourite part, and consider a reblog. x. Sorsha.

“Ma’m, I think we need to stop the car, this weather is just making it too hard to see.” your driver called over his shoulder. The rain outside was falling harder than ever, and with it being the dead of night, and on a windy deserted road, you knew he was right. It wasn’t safe.

“But where on earth do we stop?” You replied, trying to see out of the window.

“I think I’ve taken a wrong turn.” He said in a shaky voice. “But… I think I’ve found somewhere we can pull over.”

You leaned around to look between the two front seats of the car, and could just make out the shape of a mansion ahead of you. Your driver pulled the car to a stop in front of the dwelling. “Should we go knock on the door?” You wondered, but your driver was getting out of the car and pulled out your suitcase.

“I think so. I could barely see the road.” He insisted.

You let out a big sigh and climbed out of the car. From what you could tell, the mansion was enormous, and very old.

Stepping up to the front door you saw there was no doorbell. Just a big brass knocker. “You know,” you turn to your driver who plonked down your suitcase beside your feet. “This feels a lot like that Backstreet Boys music video. The one with a haunted mansion.” You gripped the knocker in your hand and knocked three times and waited. “You know, Backstreets Bac-“ You turned to your driver but he was running back to the car, jumping back in and driving away. The fucker!

“Hey!” You yelled after him, but he was gone.

The big front door creaked open, capturing your attention. A young man with fluffy long blonde hair peeked his head around the door.

“Oh my goodness!” You wailed. “I…it was raining…and…well…my driver…he’s just left me here.”

The young man looked at you curiously. “Come in out of the cold.” He smiled warmly. He immediately put you at ease.

“My name’s Felix.” He said picking up your suitcase.

“Y/n.” You replied following him into the mansion. It was quite dark, but you could make out that you were in a large entry hall, with a grand staircase in the centre.

“You will need to stay the night.” he stated. “I’ll take you to your room.”

“Stay the night?” You turned to him. “But I just need to make a phone call, have someone come collect me.”

Felix shook his head. We haven’t any mobile reception, and the landline is down. Due to the storm.”

You frowned.

“Plus,” he began as he started up the stairs. “No one should be driving in this weather.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. He was right. You followed Felix up the winding staircase and along a dimly lit hall. The place was creepy. It felt deserted and cold. Such a contrast from the man leading you to your room. Felix seemed so warm, like sunshine. Why would someone like him live here?

“Here we are.” He opened a door at the end of the hall. “You will be staying here. I’ll bring you up some supper and a cup of hot…chocolate. Yes, hot chocolate.” he rambled. “Please-” he gestured for you to enter the room and placed your suitcase on the floor beside you.

“Feli-?” you turned to the blond man, but he was gone. Weird. “Felix?” you called and popped your head back out into the hallway. But he had completely disappeared. Vanished into thin air.

Despite the cold emptiness of the mansion, your room was stunning. Even if it did look like it came out of a haunted house movie. It had Victorian gothic themed decor, with a huge bed that had four thick posts, and the bedhead itself was a feature piece. It came almost up to the high ceiling. Dim lamps around the walls illuminated the room. The entire space was grand and of another time.

“I suppose I could spend the night here.” you patted the bed. The bedding seemed freshly cleaned, and you noticed there was no dust on anything. It was like whoever lived here was expecting a guest. Was Felix the only one here? You wondered as you opened your suitcase and pulled out your silk nightie.

Your sleepwear seemed far too vulnerable and sexy for such a room and as you climbed into the giant bed, you had thoughts of some beast coming and ruining you in your sleep. Maybe you’d need to stay awake just to be safe?

Knock knock.

You pulled your knees to your chest, and your heart began to pound. Someone’s come to rape you and murder you. Your mind had really spiraled over the past ten minutes.

“Y/n? It’s Felix. I’ve brought you some food and a a-drink.”

You scampered over to the door. “Fel-” you started. But again no one was there. How was he so quick?

On the floor at your feet was a tray with a slice of cake and a big mug of hot chocolate. You took the tray back to your bed. You were hungrier than you thought, practically inhaling the cake within a minute.

You turned your attention to the hot drink, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It was delicious. Rich, creamy, with a hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. You took another sip, allowing the warmth to wash over you. By the time you had drunk the last of it, you were feeling floaty and fuzzy, almost like you were drunk.

All thoughts about your safety left you as you snuggled down and fell asleep.

Your core ached as you felt your body buzz and swirl. Sensations of cool hands all over your body, caressing your legs, and your breasts, making you moan. More. You needed more. Whatever this was, you had to have more or you’d die. Your body felt hot, like it was on fire, and you needed the relief of the coolness that was caressing you.

The sensation moved up your inner thigh, while elsewhere on your body it wrapped around your neck. More across your stomach and breasts. It reached the top of your inner thigh and, ‘oh god yes, touch me there’, slipped inside of you. You felt like you were writhing on the bed, back arching off the mattress. But then it seemed you couldn’t move at all. It was like you were being held down. You tried to cry out, the pleasure becoming unbearable, but your mouth was filled with the same coldness that was inside your pussy. Again, your body cried ‘More’. You needed more. The cool sensation then filled you deeper and deeper and stretched you open, fuller, wider than ever before. Your throat felt full too, and you were certain you were going to choke. Your dreamy vision blurred further until you were seeing white, and the tension in your body reached breaking point. A surge of cold energy filled you and your core burst with a relief like you’d never experienced in your entire life. Your walls squeezed and pulsed around the coldness inside of you.

Your eyes flung open. Your chest was heaving. Your body was hot. Your cunt still fluttering. Fuck. That was some dream. You ran your hands over your body, down between your legs. Your panties! They were gone. You sat up abruptly, your eyes darting around to locate your missing underwear. There they were, at the far corner of the bed. Torn. What the actual fuck?

“You did that to yourself, you know.” a voice said from the corner of the room.

“Huh?” your eyes shot to a man sitting in the shadows in the corner.

“We didn’t touch you.” he added.

You were confused. “We?” you arched an eyebrow, trying to calm your racing heart.

The man disappeared, startling you, then reappeared sitting on the edge of the mattress.

You pulled your knees into your chest. “How the fuck did you do that? Who are you? What are you? How’d you just do that?” you cried shrilly.

The man smiled, his dimpled cheeks and kind eyes making him appear non-threatening. But that didn’t mean he wasn't a psycho killer. A magic psycho killer.

“Here, have another hot chocolate.” he passed you a mug.

The hot chocolate. You scowled at the man. “You drugged me!” you hissed.

The man shrugged. “It’s an ancient remedy. We needed to know if you were compatible with us.”

“Compatible? Compatible for what? What do you mean, ‘us’? You and Felix? What does this drink do?”

“Shh..babygirl. It’s okay.” he hushed you. “The drink merely relaxes you and unlocks what you crave most. I promise it wears off within twelve hours. The drink you had earlier was only one eighth the strength of this one here.” he pointed to the drink in your hands.

You brought the drink to your nose and inhaled. It smelled irresistible, and you resisted the strong compulsion to drink it down. “But why do you want me to drink more? Couldn’t you tell if I was compatible or not from…”

“You are compatible. It was clear the moment you called for us.” He said simply.

Your eyes widened. “Called for you? But I don’t even know you.” you whispered.

“The coldness you felt.” he leaned closer. “On your body. Inside your body. That was us. You could feel us even though we hadn’t touched you.”

You held your breath.

“We could feel you too. We could feel your desire. Your warmth. You aliveness. Your tightness. It wrapped around us.” he whispered.

You whimpered. He, they, could feel you? You bit your lip. “So why drink more?” you arched an eyebrow. “If you know I’m compatible with…whatever this is.”

“Because what I’m about to tell you might be,” he sucked in a breath. “Overwhelming.”

You locked eyes with this stranger and carefully took a big gulp of the hot chocolate. You immediately felt a sense of warmth flow through your body and pooling in your core.

“You see, y/n, we’re ghosts.”

You just stared at him. “What?” you laughed. “Just ‘cos you did some magic disappear-reappear thing before, I don’t believe in-”

The man in front of you turned translucent. Fuck. Your mouth fell open. You could still see him, but his colours were muted, and he wasn’t….solid.

“You’re a fucking ghost?” you choked. This wasn’t happening. Surely the drink has some kind of hallucinogen?

“Y/n, allow me to introduce you to my brothers.” he gestured for you to look around the room. Gradually, seven young, translucent, men emerged from the shadows.

“Holy shit!” you whispered and swallowed hard.

“My name is Chan.” the dimpled mad said. “And here we have Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung.” he pointed to three of the men who waved at you. ‘And over there we have Suengmin, Jeongin, Minho, and you’ve already met Felix.”

“Sorry I drugged you.” Felix blushed and lowered his gaze.

“May we come sit on the bed?” the one named Hyunjin asked. “We won’t touch you unless you ask.” he added.

Why did that something to your insides?

You nodded and the ghost men gathered around and hopped on the bed. That’s when you noticed they were all quite young and very handsome. And they were all wearing the same thing. A gold and black silk bathrobe.

The words of Chan resounded in your head. “You called to us”, “We could feel your desire. Your warmth. You aliveness. Your tightness.”

You pulled the blanket up higher and stared at your drink, considering whether or not to drink more if it was going to help you relax.

“W-what did you do when I called to you?” you asked in a small voice.

“We came straight away.” Another man said. Seungmin, you think.

“We watched you, kitten.” Minho smirked.

“You were so receptive.” Changbin added.

“Your body begged us to fill you, squeeze you. Fuck you.” Hyunjin said silkily.

“But you didn’t… touch me, right?”

“No, babygirl. Like I said, your body showed us what you craved most. We didn’t touch you. I promise. But we could feel you.”

“But why do I crave you?” you were confused as to how this could even be happening.

“We think it’s part of the curse.” The chubby cheeked boy, Jisung, said. “Every so often a woman will stumble upon our mansion. We give them a drink,” he nodded to the cup in your hand, “to see if they’re compatible. Sometimes they just sleep soundly.”

“Those ones aren’t compatible.” Seungmin chimes in.

“And some, like you, are receptive.” Jisung continued.

“Compatible.” Added Minho.

You looked around the room. So you craved these… ghosts? Sexually? Was this a trick? You thought about your dream and how incredible it felt to be consumed by whatever it was that was touching you. Would it feel like that?

“What happens when you find a compatible woman?” You were almost afraid to ask.

“We have to pleasure her.” Chan said flatly.

Your eyes flicked to his.

“And what happens if you don’t?”

“We get tortured.”

Your eyes widen. “Tortured? Why? By who?”

“I think we need to tell her the whole story.” Said Jeongin.

Chan rubbed his chin. “Hmm, you’re right.” He took a moment before he spoke.

“Y/n. When we were alive we were… a harem. Or reverse harem, I suppose. We had our Mistress whom we served… sexually. She wasn’t right, in the head. She went mad. She didn’t want us to age, to get older. So she hired a witch who was meant to concoct a spell that would keep us young for eternity. The spell was not only to keep us youthful either, but also bind us,” he looked around at the other men. “To be sex slaves forever.”

“But it went wrong.” Exclaimed Jisung. “It killed us. Now we’re young, dead, sex slaves forever.” He looked down at the bedspread.

The mood in the room suddenly dropped and you could tell all the men were in a moment of reflection.

“So,” you started slowly. “When a woman comes along who subconsciously requires your… services… then you are bound to fulfill her needs?”

They all nodded.

“Our bodies naturally respond. It’s intoxicating.” Hyunjin said softly. “All of us are aching for you.” His hand reached out and touched your arm. Cold. Cold just like the sensation in your dream.

“What if I say no? What happens?”

“We won’t touch you.” Chan states.

“But we’d be in pain until the next compatible woman comes along.” Said Felix.

“The urge and desire won’t dissipate until we have found another compatible woman.” added Seungmin.

You considered everything they just told you. It was wild. It was far-fetched, and absolutely unbelievable. But here you were. On a bed with a room full of ghosts. Ghosts that were horny for you. You should say no. But you couldn’t. It seemed you were horny for them too.

They were alluring. Tempting. Could they make you feel the way you did in your dream? They weren’t even touching you then, supposedly, and you wondered what it’d feel like to have them really do those things to you, and more.

You took the cup to your mouth. “What happens if I drink this stronger version?” You looked at Felix.

“It will relax you. But more importantly it shows us what your body truly needs to be sated, and who want to do it to you.” Said Changbin.

“There’s no hiding if you drink that. You won’t be able to hold back.” Minho smirked.

“And everything will feel more intense.” Added Jeongin.

“Babygirl.” Chan gripped your arm. “You need to give us your permission. Will you let us pleasure you… fuck you until you can’t take any more?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.” you whispered, and gulped the entire drink down.

“That’s it, baby.” Clapped Jisung.

“I knew from how hard she came earlier that she’d be up for this.” Seungmin added.

“She’s just drank the whole thing. Chan, that was full strength.” Felix was horrified.

“Means she’ll be pliable, we can do anything.” Seungmin said slyly.

“Well, anything she wants.” Corrected Changbin..

“She’ll want us to do absolutely everything. I can tell. This one’s a fucking freak.” Said Minho.

You immediately became lightheaded. And hot. So fucking hot. You threw the blanket off and started clawing at your skimpy nightie. “Hot!” you cried. “So hot.”

Ice cold hands came to your body, ripping the garment from you, leaving you naked, on fire, your skin burning. “Please!” you cried, searching for the cool relief of those hands.

A hand wrapped around your leg, dragging you into the middle of the mattress. More hands started to explore your body. Firm, freezing, so relieving against your scorching skin.

You opened your eyes to find that all eight ghosts were surrounding you on the bed. But they weren’t translucent anymore. They appeared as real as living men. “Touch me.” you sobbed as your eyes darted around to each of them.

“Fuck, she’s perfect.” Whispered Jisung.

You didn’t know whose hands were who’s, but there were so many on your body. So cooling to the skin. A hand cupped a breast, while another pinched your other nipple. Your legs were spread wide and a frozen cold tongue pressed against your pussy.

“Fuck!” you cried out and looked down to find Jisung sucking on your clit. “Fuck! Feels so good.” you panted.

“How does she taste, brother?” someone asked.

“Like pussy.” he groaned. “I fucking missed this taste.”

While your eyes had rolled back into your head from the intensity of what was happening, you felt your arms being pulled above your head, and soft velvet ropes were tied around your wrists. You looked up behind you to see Minho tying the other ends of the ropes to the headposts. “Kitten likes to be tied up.” he winked at you.

Meanwhile, Jisung had peeled himself away from between your legs and Hyunjin was kneeling between them, gazing at your pussy. Just the way he was looking at you and licking his lips made your cunt gush. He noticed and swiped his finger over your dripping arousal, then took his finger to his lips. He proceeded to wink at you, slip off his robe. With the most deranged look you’d ever seen on a man, he lifted your hips to line your entrance up with his cock, and slammed you onto him. His cock felt like a hard block of ice. Thick, hard, rigid. But so relieving inside your searing heat.

He was so strong, he wasn’t even thrusting. He was simply making you fuck him. The binds on your arms were pulled taut every time you were fully impaled on him.

“So pliable.” Jeongin said as he leaned down to suck one of your nipples.

“Like a fucking ragdoll.’ Seungmin mused. “Look how her eyes roll back every time he fucks into her.”

It was so hard to focus on where everyone was and what they were doing. All you knew is that you needed them to touch you. You needed Hyunjin to keep doing whatever he was doing. He felt so long, so deep, and after a while the sharp coldness eased off and his cock started to feel more warm. More alive. You weren’t sure whether your body was warming him up, or if he was cooling you down.

Your core tightened, your orgasm was approaching fast. As if on cue, a finger landed on your clit, and rubbed hard, rough circles on it.

“Please…please…I’m gonna…I…I…so close..” you cried and babbled.

Hyunjin thrust you onto you harder, digging his fingers into your flesh, and the fingers on your clit became more forceful.

“It’s okay, Hyunin’s gonna make you cum.” Chan cooed.

A sudden powerful surge of cold energy exploded inside your cunt, causing your walls to automatically contract around it. “Holy fucking shit!” you panted. “I’m…fuck!!!” your walls clenched tighter than they ever had before, and you were coming so hard you thought your body had split apart. It felt as though your entire pelvic region was pulsing around Hyunjin’s cock. It lasted so long, maybe an entire minute, and by the time you came down, you were sobbing. Hyunjin leaned over and took you in a deep kiss before slipping out.

“No! No!” you cried out. You were too empty now. Your body relaxed into the bed when a few sets of lips soothed you through kisses to your body. “More.” you whispered softly.

“Shh. You’re gonna be plenty filled tonight, baby.” Jisung whispered in your ear, before he hooked his hands under your arms and dragged you so your head hung off the edge of the mattress. He opened his robe to reveal his delicious cock, and you immediately opened your mouth for him. He smirked as he pushed his cock into your warm, wet mouth. He too was was ice cold, but you noticed he began to warm up quickly.

“Baby likes to choke on big cocks, huh?” he snarled. “I never expected such a perfect little lady to turn up on our doorstep tonight.” he pushed himself all the way into the back of your throat. You couldn’t breathe. But you didn’t care. Right now being filled with cock was more important to your survival than air.

“Fuck. You can see it pressing into her throat.” Jeongin hissed. He was setting himself up to fuck you now.

“If you put your hand on her neck, you can feel it.” Jisung said excitedly.

Jeongin reached up and pressed his hand to your neck, squeezing your throat and making Jisung feel so much bigger. He pulled out to let you catch your breath, and then he was stretching your throat out again.

Jeongin twisted your lower half so you were on your side from your waist down. He straddled your bottom leg, pinning it into position, whilst lifting your upper leg to rest on his shoulder. He pressed his hips, pushing his cock into you, and immediately started fucking you fast. He was hitting you so deep that you were certain he was pushing your cervix deeper and deeper into your body, and the way Jisung seemed to be pushing deeper and deeper into your throat, you thought they would eventually meet up in the middle.

Your hands were guided to wrap around two rock hard, ice cold cocks. You had no clue who they belonged to. You didn’t care. All these ghost men were fuckable. You wanted to touch and feel every single one of them.

“Grrr…I’m fucking coming.” cried Jeongin.

“Let’s cum in her at the same time.” Said Jisung.

Then you felt it. The same as with Hyunjin. The cold surge of energy, filling you up from both ends. Your back arched off the bed as you came again. Your hands squeezed around the cocks you were holding. Cries and hisses rang out around the room at the sight before them.

“Good girl. So fucking good.” Purred Jisung as he eased his cock from your mouth.

“Noooo!” You cried. He leaned down and kissed you. Baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good later. I already know what you’re gonna want me to do.” He winked.

Jeongin was gone too. The dicks in your hands also gone, and you whimpered at so much loss. You didn’t have time to cry for too long when you were suddenly dragged by your feet further onto the bed and flung into your stomach. “You’re such a filthy little slut, pup.” Seungmin laid against you, whispering nasty words in your ear. He’d grasped your arms, holding them both behind your back with one hand. Your hair was plastered on your cheek, and he spat on it before pushing your face against the mattress below.

“Please-” you choked.

“Oh, my slutty little pup. I know exactly what you want. But I wanna hear you say it for the whole class to hear.”

How does he know? You wondered to yourself in your delirious state. Seungmin pressed the length of his hardness against your ass.

“Please…fill my ass.” You sobbed. A collective hum spread around the room at your admission.

“That’s right.” Seungmin pressed his tip against your rim. You still weren’t used to how cold their cocks were to begin with. “Such a slut wanting me to put it in without loosening you up first.” He spat on the side of your face again, his saliva sticking in your hair. You needed him to hurry. You needed him to fill you. You were so fucking empty.

Seungmin’s cock breached your rim as he pressed his body further on top of you. The stretch felt overwhelmingly satisfying, while the coolness of his cock soothed the sting. The feeling of being trapped beneath him, arms held tight behind you, the feeling of helplessness intensified your need for him to penetrate you.

Finally, his hips met the curve of your ass cheeks. “Such a tight little hole. He grunted as he started to grind against you. “Not sure how tight it’ll be by morning.” He whispered low in your ear. He started with a slow, steady pace, allowing your body to warm his cock. “Harder…harder.” You mumbled into the mattress.

Seungmin growled and fucked into you, pressing your face further into the mattress. It felt like he was fucking you forever, yet not long enough. You were mumbling and dribbling all over the bed. Then, the familiar feeling of what seemed to be their orgasms, filled you once again, making you come hard. Your cunt clenched around nothing, and you were already desperate to have someone fill it again.

It was as though Minho read your mind, and as soon as Seungmin dislodged himself from your ass, he was dragging you to the otherside of the bed. He stood on the floor and pressed your legs up into a mating press position and drank you in with hungry eyes. “I love watching my cock sink into a pussy.” He said. “Watch with me.”

You looked down just in time to see his cock push inside of you. “Kittie’s hungry.” He smirked as you sucked in his entire cock, and glanced up at you. “Does it feel good?” He asked.

You nodded fervently. “Yes! So good.” You squeaked. He cocked an eyebrow. “What about your ass?” He pulled out of your cunt and pushed fully into into your ass.

“Fuck! So deep. So fucking deep.” You cried. This position allowed Minho to reach the deepest part of you. He fit your cunt so well, but, oh fuck, he felt incredible in your ass too. You wanted him to fuck both hol-

“You really are filthy.” Minho said disbelief. He pulled out of your ass and plunged back into your pussy.

You knew, you really knew, that this wasn’t a good idea, but you wanted him to do it so fucking bad. And he knew! He knew what you wanted. They all seemed to know. You didn’t have to say a word and they knew all the filthy things you craved.

You glanced around you to see some of the others had gathered around to watch Minho fuck your pussy, then your ass, then back to your pussy, while he held you still on the bed.

“Look how her holes stay open waiting for him to put it back in again.” Felix said mesmerised.

Despite your delirium, you had an idea. You wanted someone to finger fuck you when Minho was in your ass. He pulled out of your cunt once more and as he pushed back into your now gaping asshole, Changbin slipped two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s it, Bunny. Binnie’s fingers stretch you good don’t they?” He purred.

Your hands flailed around looking for cocks to jerk off, relieved to find Felix and Jeongin in your hands. “My mouth! Need someone in my mouth.” You whimpered.

“Fuck, she’s perfect.” Cooed Jisung again. “Chan, you should fill her mouth. She’s begging you.”

“Yeah Channie, you haven’t felt her. She’s fucking incredible.” Seungmin encouraged.

Yes. You wanted Chan in your mouth. “Please.” You were crying because you wanted it so bad. Chan straddled your chest and pressed the tip of his cock against your lip. “Open wide, babygirl. Daddy needs to make you choke.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he pushed his cock into your mouth. “That’s it. Suck on it.” He pushed deeper.

Minho picked up his pace, slamming into your ass at an alarming pace, and Changbin was digging into your g-spot aggressively. You were feeling so used, but at the same time so special.

“Changbin’s got four fingers in you, baby. You should see your pretty little holes.” Jisung panted as he fucked into his own hand.

Chan gripped your hair and started to fuck your throat at the same rhythm as Minho was fucking your ass. You didn’t know why taking their cocks down your throat was so incredibly arousing, but it was. You couldn’t get enough. It was almost like you didn’t need to breathe when they were in your mouth, and you wondered if it was some weird ghost magic.

You were pinned down and held still as they forced another orgasm out of you. How much more could your body take? You hadn’t even fucked all of them yet. You started to feel drowsy and your eyes fluttered closed. Chan withdrew his cock from your mouth, and some saliva dribbled down your chin.

“Babygirl.” He stroked your cheek. “Are you okay? You need to wake up for us. You still need more to be sated.”

Minho and Changbin pulled out of you too and came up to check on you.

“We can’t keep doing this if you’re asleep, pretty lady.” Felix stroked your hair and gazed down at you.

You opened your eyes and grinned with a fucked out expression. “Why am I empty?” You whispered.

“Atta girl.” Chan slapped your face, pulling you out of your sleepy moment, and just like that you were ready for more.

“Come ride me, bunny.” Changbin coaxed you over by gripping his cock and pumping it a few times. You licked your lips and crawled towards him, and a few hard slaps landed on your ass as you did so.

Changbin had a thick cock. Maybe the thickest you’d ever seen. You threw a leg over him and reached down to line his cock up with your entrance. You both sighed in relief as you slid effortlessly onto his thickness and immediately began to roll your hips. “Fuck, yeah, bunny. Still so tight, even after we’ve fucked you open.”

You grinned down at him as you found a rhythm with him rolling his hips up into you in the most delicious way. “Kiss me.” he sighed, and pulled you down on top of him and captured you in a deep kiss. You melted against him, as he cupped your ass and pulled your cheeks apart. You panted into Chanbgin’s mouth. “You want Felix at the same time?” he whispered. You nodded.

Like clockwork, you felt the mattress dip behind you. “It’s okay, love. Lixi’s gonna help keep you feeling full.” he positioned himself behind you and lined himself up with your ass.

Although your ass had been stretched by two cocks already, Felix was met with some resistance due to Changbin already filling you up so good. But Felix persevered, pressing and pushing until he was fully seated inside of you.

A few of the other men gasped at the sight of seeing you filled like this.

“Felix,” said Changbin. “You know what she wants us to do. Are you ready to give it to her?” Felix grabbed hold of your hips, pressing his fingers into you hard, and began to fuck you with hard, sharp thrusts. He snapped his hips quickly, forcing you to cry out in choked sobs. At the same time, Changbin gently rolled his hips up into you. The difference in technique and pace was driving you insane. The feeling of both your holes stretched like this was overwhelming. They were going to break you into pieces. You were sure of it. You were crying and sobbing, eventually collapsing onto Changbin and letting them fuck you dumb. Drool was dribbling out of your mouth onto Changbin’s shoulder, and you felt like you were losing your sense of consciousness.

“P-please…please…ruin me…fuck me…feels s’good…so deep… full.” You babbled.

“She’s so dumb from cock. Look at her. Eyes unfocused. Drooling.” Minho observed.

“Her cunt is gushing around Binnie too. You all know what she wants next, don’t you?” Jisung winked at Chan.

“C’mon fellas. Fuck her harder. She’ll fall asleep if you’re too gentle.” Minho snickered.

Both Changbin and Felix doubled down, both finding a matching rhythm, and slamming into your holes. Even though you knew what to expect from theirs orgasms, it still hit you hard, taking you over the edge with them. The three of you were a trembling mess by the time they pulled out of you.

“Pup, show us your pretty used holes.” Seungmin requested. You happily obliged by leaning your head into the bed, ass in the air, and spreading your cheeks with your shaky hands.

Whines, whimpers, sighs, and mumbled “fucks” filled the room as they all gazed hungrily at your sloppy, used holes. “Fuck, I wish I could ejaculate. I’d cum all over that ass.” sighed Hyunjin.

“I’d fucking cum in there and watch it ooze out.” added Minho.

“Babygirl.” Chan had laid himself on his back, leaning against the pillows. “My turn to feel your pussy. I’m out of patience.”

You sauntered over to him, and kissed him. “Turn around, babygirl. Show ‘em how you ride reverse.” You straddled him, reverse cowgirl, and swallowed up his cock whole. Chan’s cock was ice cold like the rest of the men, but he was much, much bigger. He stretched you out like you were made for him. “That’s it. There you go. There you go.” he cooed once you planted your feet into the mattress and used your legs as leverage to bounce yourself up and down his length.

All eyes were on your hole swallowing Chan’s cock, and then sliding up to reveal just how wet and slippery you were. Hyunjin was lying on his stomach watching everything curiously. A few of the others were pumping their still hard cocks. You even noticed a couple of the men were translucent again.

You eyes landed on the one man you hadn’t fucked yet. Jisung. He looked at your pussy desperately, like he was in pain. He needed you. He looked up, locking eyes with you, and in an instant, he crawled over to you. “Hey baby. You ready for me?” he grinned.

“I am.” you whimpered.

“Okay, lean back on me…that’s it.” instructed Chan. “Let’s push your legs up. Good girl. That’s it. Make room for Jisung.”

Jisung kneeled in front of you and rubbed his cock against your clit. “Please.” you plead. You watched as Jisung pushed against your entrance, beside Chan, and when the tip slipped in you cried out. “Fuck.” you squeaked. “It’s so…fuck…the stretch…it’s” your hands gripped onto Jisung’s arms to hold yourself in place as Jisung pushed further into your cunt.

Jisung’s cock was cold, where Chan’s had warmed up and the difference in temperature allowed you to feel the two distinct penises that were inside you.

“I’m gonna push all the way in now, baby.” Jisung pushed his hips hard, and with your pussy so wet, it gave way just enough for the rest to slip in.

“Fuck, it’s so tight.” Jisung’s eyes squeezed closed.

“Full…S’full.” You groaned.

“Stuffed full of cock.” Seungmin admired.

The other men had gathered around and watched in awe as they watched your pussy being fucked by two cocks at once. Chan continued to hold your legs up out of the way while he fucked you from below. Han leaned over you as he snapped his hips as vigorously as your cunt would allow.

‘’Open.” demanded jisung. You opened your mouth for him and he spat into it before crashing his mouth onto yours. Apparently ghosts don’t ejaculate, but oddly enough they have saliva.

“This what you wanted, babygirl?” Chan nibbled your neck. You answered with a whimper.

“You love being stretched like this. Filled so deep with cock?” Jisung said, panting. “You don’t have to say anything. We already know. We know how after this you want us to all take turns double penetrating you.”

You moaned in agreement.

“One in the pussy…one in the ass. Or two in your tight cunt like right now.” Jisung pressed his mouth against your ear. “Maybe even two in the ass?” he whispered. “Maybe we should get everyone to pair up ready?”

You yelped, and clenched tighter around the two men.

“She likes that idea.” Chan chuckled.

“Well it’s her idea, remember? We’re the sex slaves.” Jisung grunted as he pushed in as deep as possible.

“Good thing our erections last so long. Our pretty Babygirl is so needy. Lucky we're here to take care of her.”

Your body felt floppy, like they could bend you and stretch you however they wanted, and your body would accommodate. All of your attention was focused on the sensation in your core. You felt so full. Their cocks reaching deep inside you. What state would it be in when they’re finished? You didn’t care because after this you wanted them to do it all again.

Jisung changed his angle to concentrate on your g-spot, causing your body to start shaking. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. You were a helpless, sobbing mess, needing to come, but not wanting to yet.

Minho and Felix moved closer, one on either side of you, and took hold of your trembling legs, freeing up Chan’s hands.

Subconsciously, your hands found their cocks and you started to jerk them off.

“You gonna come with us, babygirl? I can feel you’re so close.” Chan encouraged as he wrapped a hand around your neck to choke you.

Jisung sat back on his knees and began to rub your clit as he and Chan continued to abuse your pussy with hard, relentless thrusts.

You threw your head back, wanting to cry out, but with Chan’s hand squeezing you, it turned into a gurgling sound. Hands groped at your tits, most likely Minho and Felix while they held your legs. You felt the tip of a cock on your cheek, and Chan turned your head so you could open up for Changbin.

You couldn’t hold on any longer.

“That’s it, babygirl… let go.” Chan whispered.

“Come for us.” Hyunjin said. Words of encouragement resonated around the room.

The tension inside you snapped, setting off your orgasm. Your cunt clamped down, causing Chan and Jisung to come too, moaning and cursing under their breaths. The force of both of their cold energies extended your orgasm, thrusting you into a new realm of pleasure. It had you pulsing, squeezing, shaking, and then squirting all over their cocks.

“Fuck, she squirted so much! Like a fucking faucet.” Someone growled.

Changbin came in your mouth, and with Chan still choking you, it heightened the feeling of your orgasm and you squirted a second time.

“Good fucking girl.” Purred Chan as he continued to roll his hips into you.

“She’s the most compatible we’ve ever seen.” Noted Jeongin.

“We’re gonna pull out now, baby.” Jisung stroked your cheek. You grasped his arm and shook your head.

“No! Need more!” You sobbed.

“I thought she was meant to be satisfied by now.” Said Hyunjin, confused.

“It’s like the more we give her, the more she needs.” Observed Felix.

“We have to keep going until she’s satisfied.” Confirmed Minho.

“What a fucking shame.” Sneered Seungmin as he approached the bed and pulled Jisung out of your cunt and lined himself up.

A/n: I have similarly unhinged oneshots and drabbles that you may enjoy on my side blog @daydreams-after-dark .

General Taglist is open for both blogs.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @chansbabyg @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @sunshinesquokka @enjaken @queenmea604 @lyramundana @queen-in-the-shadows @bethanysnow @newhope8 @jehhskz @vanillacupcakefrosting

#skz smut #skz x reader #skz ot8 #han jisung smut #skz oneshot #bang chan smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut #lee know smut #chan x reader #han jisung x reader #changbin x reader #seungmin x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader

696 notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 10 months

Note

Since adrenaline makes it easier to ignore pain, I’m wondering how severe an injury can be before adrenaline isn’t enough to allow a person to keep fighting

Fatal.

The scary thing about adrenaline is that you can suffer a mortal wound and not realize it until you drop dead. If you've ever seen the, “humans are space orcs,” meme, adrenaline is a big part of that. If you don't finish someone off, they are still a potential threat until they are clinically dead.

While it may seem slightly comical, the image of someone literally checking themselves for holes after being shot at is a real practice with genuine purpose. If they had an adrenaline rush, they might not be able to tell that they've been hit, and will need to physically examine themselves to ensure they're not bleeding to death without realizing it. (And, yes, that can absolutely happen.)

As a general rule, anything that will immediately kill someone, such as decapitation or catastrophic head trauma, will stop someone through an adrenaline rush. Destruction of the skeletal structure, (which is to say, destroying joints), might not completely stop them, but it's an injury they won't be able to power through (even if they aren't immediately aware of it.)

It's a little worse than I'm making it sound, too, because you can suffer non-fatal injuries during an adrenaline rush, and then aggravate the wound to the point that it becomes life threatening (or life-altering.) An adrenaline rush can, potentially, persist for over an hour.

In most cases, the adrenaline rush will drop off within a few minutes of the threat passing, though the state of threat is assessed by your brain, so your psychological state heavily affects that. Meaning, if you feel threatened, even if the actual danger has passed, the rush could continue (though it will usually drop off after, roughly, an hour.)

The “good” news is that an adrenaline rush will not prevent you from bleeding to death. So, if someone has been shot multiple times and is bleeding out, they'll still lose consciousness. You just need to make sure that they're actually incapacitated. Not that it matters, but as a minor up-side, adrenaline is delivered via the circulatory system, meaning if you start seriously bleeding, that's your adrenaline rush going with it, so the rush is likely to drop off prematurely in the event of fatal blood loss.

I'm not completely sure what the subjective experience is there. Catastrophic blood loss during an adrenaline rush is not something I have personal experience with, and my experiences with bleeding while dealing with an adrenaline rush is more just that bleeding is an extremely annoying inconvenience, when you don't need to consider what's happening. (To be clear, that's not just a glib dismissal, being aware of bleed was actually annoying. It might sound hilarious to be pissed off at your own blood leaking down the side of your face, but that was my experience. Also, for the record, I did not feel the gash that I was bleeding from, and angrily rubbed it a few times before realizing I'd been injured.)

The short answer to your question, “how much severely do you need to injure someone through an adrenaline rush?” You need to kill them.

That said, killing them is absolutely not your only option. Less than lethal devices, such as tasers or chemical sprays, can absolutely incapacitate someone under an adrenaline rush, without severely harming them. Similarly, restraints, and other submission techniques can be used to hold them down. In the case of restraints and submission holds, there is a danger of the individual injuring themselves, while they try to work their way out of the hold, but that risk is still vastly preferable to killing them on the spot.

Adrenaline is a very potent survival tool, in your physiology, and if you try to simply overpower that tool through direct force, it will lead to catastrophic consequences. However, alternative methods (in particular, shorting out someone's nervous system with a direct electrical charge, or simply interfering with the mechanical structure of their joints, can be just as effective at stopping them with far less dire consequences.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#how to fight write #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #starke answers #starke is not a real doctor

1K notes · View notes

evermore-grimoire · 1 month

Text

The Evermore Grimoire: Projection Powers

Astral Projection is the power toproject the consciousness of oneself or others from the body. Those that wield this power can project or separate their awareness consciousness, presence or spirit, alternatively known as their astral form, from their material bodies, allowing for perception interaction and travel independent of mental or physical limitation. This state is usually achieved through entering a trance via lucid dreaming or deep meditation. Those with more experience may be able to control both their astral and corporeal presences, allowing them to project their astral selves without losing consciousness in their physical forms, with their projection acting as an extension of their physical self. Eventually wielders will be able to separate others from their physical forms to either travel alongside them or to imprison them in an incorporeal state. Telepaths can also achieve astral projection simply by projecting their minds as well as that of others.

#Super Powers #WitchesEdit #WitchEdit #FantasyEdit #Astral Projection #Projection #My Edit

225 notes · View notes

scrupulosity-comics · 8 months

Note

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

641 notes · View notes

moondirti · 10 months

Text

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts.

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel.

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them.

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between.

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?)

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this.

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing.

Deep space, your stars – your Sol.

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.)

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it.

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing.

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies.

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next.

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour.

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.)

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened.

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place.

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement.

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution.

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror.

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected.

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–”

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,”

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul?

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway.

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.”

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.”

“Whit is it this time?”

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame.

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?”

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?”

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression.

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time.

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come.

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–)

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please.

Just this one thing.

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut.

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns.

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care.

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance.

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you.

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right.

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved.

Huh.

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology.

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh.

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it.

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side.

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like.

The day pass?

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse.

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds.

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him.

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion.

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should.

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple.

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you.

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”)

You really hate him sometimes.

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.”

He squints.

(Rightfully so.)

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass.

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve.

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero.

You hope that one day, you will too.

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues.

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief.

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.”

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?”

“You bet on my survival?”

“Silver linings!”

“Lyra.”

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.”

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving.

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?”

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.”

“Explain something to me, would you?”

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath.

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation.

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place.

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours.

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion.

Get a hold of yourself.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.”

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–”

“You can’t control your powers, can you?”

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options:

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit.

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here.

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again.

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.”

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously.

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?”

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.”

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud.

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference.

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,”

“There was a thing with a super-collider.”

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk.

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.”

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command.

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.”

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile.

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced.

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense.

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.”

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you.

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how.

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice.

chapter eight

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be alerted of future updates!

710 notes · View notes

halfmoth-halfman · 10 months

Text

prologue

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

ii. a collection of strangers (a series of secrets)

You can only describe them the same way you can the rest of the club’s workers—stunning.

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

iv. the night was young (and so were we)

Surveying the competition turns out to be code for going on a club crawl and getting obscenely drunk.

v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

vi. would you give the devil this dance

You can’t let yourself be haunted by your past forever, and, unsure as you are, you know one thing to be true: You’ve never felt safer than you do around him.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

viii. but i can't help failing in love with you

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding. Safe.

ix. the rumor burned straight through the town (and as it grew, so did her vow)

Kyle doesn’t think much of you the day you first walk into the club.

x. everybody thought the truth had been caught (her reputation began to drown)

You haven’t looked at your wedding photo in years.

xi. screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing

Everything you’ve experienced in the past four months pales in comparison to how your heart shatters at this moment.

xii. it won't cost you much (just a single drop of blood)

Who knew rock bottom looked like standing before a wall of mirrors in a bespoke wedding gown?

xiii. little girl gone

You’re shocked into consciousness, startling awake in a pile of plush blankets and cloud-soft pillows.

xiv. nothing makes me weak now (you better run for your life)

The news of Price’s arrest—of your alleged murder—sends you into a state of shock.

xv. won't forgive what you did (i've never hurt anyone, now it's time)

They float somewhere between too compliant and too afraid, like they’re scared you may snap at any given moment. Whether they worry it’ll be in anger or anguish, you don’t know. Price is the worst of them all.

xvi. what you'll see is the worst me (I will ask you for mercy)

The nights are the hardest.

xvii. for if i'm going down i guess i'll take you with me

By the end of the week, the plan is set.

xviii. i'm free darlin' (i revenge, i revenge)

Your world is engulfed in fire and blood.

epilogue. it's a new dawn, a new day, a new life (and i'm feeling good)

The beginning of the rest of your life starts with a single, admittedly awkward, therapy appointment.

Extras

karma is a cat purring on my lap

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

my personal hcs for canary

canary's dresses

canary's wedding dresses

canary and adler headcanons

how the 141 makes their money

how the gangs run their businesses

random designer dress headcanons

alternate ending ideas

songs used for chapter titles

soap hcs + canary and price children hcs

canary + 141 age headcanons

#modern warfare masterlist #fic masterlists #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

713 notes · View notes

the-habitat-sysblog · 1 month

Text

DID ALTER EXPLAINS: TYPES OF CDDs

so, what are CDDs? complex dissociative disorders are dissociative disorders that occur with the presence of "alternate self states" - alters. this includes DID, OSDD1, P-DID & some presentations of UDD. in this post, i will cover quick overviews regarding the key differences between these complex dissociative disorders.

DID - DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER

likely the most well-known complex dissociative disorder, DID is classified by:

the existence of two or more distinct identity states (as said before, i will be referring to these as "alters") accompanied by changes in behaviour, memory & thinking.

dissociative amnesia, which includes both partial & complete episodes of memory loss.

DPDR that affects daily life & functioning.

the symptoms must not be caused by substance use or another medical condition, & must not be part of normal cultural or religious practices.

this is a summary of the diagnostic criteria for DID¹, however there may be many other features present as well. common phenomena include: alters taking control of the patient's body in turns, the existence of an "internal world", as well as comorbid C-PTSD symptoms (flashbacks, hypervigilance, etc).

NOTE: DID with polyfragmentation (sometimes called complex DID) will be discussed in a later post.

OSDD1 - OTHERWISE SPECIFIED DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER (TYPE 1)

OSDD1 as a diagnosis - previously called DDNOS (dissociative disorder not otherwise specified) - is given to patients who nearly fit the diagnostic criteria for DID, however they lack one of the criteria needed to make a DID diagnosis.

OSDD1, therefore, is a spectrum of experiences².

in the online CDD community, you may hear talk of two OSDD1 subtypes: OSDD1-a & OSDD1-b. these are community terms that describe two of the most common OSDD1 presentations. take note, not all OSDD1 cases will fit neatly into either of these subtypes, but many still find these labels important when describing their experiences. here is a short overview:

OSDD1-a: the lacking criterion comes in where i mentioned "distinct identity states". in OSDD1-a patients, their alters are separated by the amnesia barriers present in DID, however the individual alters are often very similar in identity. these alters tend to seem more like "modes" of the same person, rather than distinct individuals. an example would be a patient named sarah, whose alters could perhaps be describes as "angry sarah", "childlike sarah" & "happy sarah".

OSDD1-b: the lacking criterion here is the presence of amnesia. those with OSDD1-b do not experience dissociative amnesia.

P-DID - PARTIAL DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER

P-DID is quite different compared to other complex dissociative disorders in terms of how it presents! the disorder is (typically) classified as such:

there are no episodes of amnesia.

one identity state exists as the "dominant" consciousness.

the dominant identity is intruded upon by 1 or more non-dominant self states, who do not recurrently take full control of the patient's consciousness & body (however episodes thereof may occur occasionally).

P-DID³ is under-researched compared to DID & even OSDD1.

UDD - UNSPECIFIED DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER

the diagnosis of UDD is given to those whose symptoms do not neatly fit into the criteria of another dissociative disorder⁴, including complex dissociative disorders.

as such, those with UDD may or may not note the presence of alters. it will all depend on the individual experience of patients with UDD.

this diagnosis may also be made in emergencies, or when a clinician is not able to gather enough information to diagnose a more specified CDD/DD.

these are all of the recognised types of complex dissociative disorders!

i hope i was able to set out this information in a manner that makes sense to those both within the online CDD community, & those new to it. thank you for taking this time to educate yourself on these dissociative disorders! if you have any questions, my askbox is open.

POST AUTHOR: finn🍄 (he/it) | dazey🐛 (they/she)

SOURCES: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

DISCLAIMER: this post - alongside any other posts from @the-habitat-sysblog - is not a substitute for professional medical help. the DID ALTER EXPLAINS series is written with reference to the medical research of others, CDD community input & the author's personal experience.

159 notes · View notes

ruiniel · 2 months

Text

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

On AO3

Summary: I recently watched/read KNY and have emotions. Likely done before, but wanted to get this out of my system so wrote it down. Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, multichapter, blood, injury, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, alternating POV, Oblivious Rengoku Kyojuro, for a while at least, Death, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

All characters depicted are 18+

Everything fades. His body is going numb, his vision blurs as he stares down at his reflection in the dark pool of his own blood, unable to lift his head. The cries of grief surrounding him become dim and scatter like dying leaves from his consciousness.

I've done my duty, I've given my all.

The last he remembers is a small, clawed hand and a sudden, blooming flame bursting through his shattered torso, scalding him from within in ways his own fire never could.

I see... So this is what it feels like… to burn.

The balmy weather outside has no effect on you, seated at the side of the infirmary bed, your head in your hands.

“Perhaps you should go and rest. There’s been no change, and we’ll be sure to inform you of any developments.”

Aoi’s words are void of their usual sternness. You’ve heard them before, and yet—

“I’m fine, I really am.” You gaze back at the prone figure lying motionless beneath crisp white sheets. His gold and crimson hair is messy, and you’ve never seen him so pale, his features so sunken. The bandage covering his left eye is stained red in places, the usually smiling lips dry and bloodless.

Aoi sighs but says nothing else, and soon her departing steps echo against the walls.

I can’t. I can’t leave his side. You wish your thought could reach him, down to whatever place he’s struggling in now. You ball your hands into fists over your knees, a poor attempt at holding your composure. Please, come back. Please.

Weeks have passed since the mission on the train, since your group has returned with wounded bodies and spirits, though none in such a critical state as your mentor. Rengoku Kyojuro has not awakened since, and in contrast, since the nightmares the demon has placed upon you in that baleful encounter, you’ve not been able to sleep more than two to three hours every night. Every time, waking up in a sweat, the memory of what happened always the last image you remember.

“How is he today?”

You’re drawn from your thought by the gentle voice of the person you feel like you owe a life of debt to, and turn to gaze into the tired, worried eyes of Tanjiro Kamado. He stands by the bed now, glancing down at the Hashira. The slow rise and fall of his chest is the only sign that he is still alive.

You shake your head as Tanjiro takes a seat. “How is rehabilitation training going?”

Tanjiro smiles, still staring at the bed and its unresponsive occupant. “Almost done, I feel my strength returning to what it used to be and more. I admire how well you’ve upheld yourself, though,” he murmurs.

It’s true, for some reason, you’ve been the least scathed of them all, needing much less medical care than the rest. No, you know the reason why. “It’s because of him,” your words escape you. “If… if he hadn’t trained me as he did, if he hadn’t driven me so far beyond my limits, I don’t know if I would have survived for as long as I have in my role.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard. They say Lord Rengoku’s methods are… harsh to say the least.”

A smile tugs at your lips as a known pain pricks your heart. “But… but I’ve been remiss in thanking you, young Kamado—or rather, your sister. If she hadn’t…” Your throat tightens; you don’t want to break down, not here, not before Tanjiro and not before him, no matter he can’t hear it.

“Please, please don’t worry, it was a stroke of luck and quick thinking on her part, I only brought the box closer—”

“... she healed him! I saw the flames engulfing him, I saw the wound close. I don’t know how she did it but… Nezuko is someone... very special.”

Tanjiro lowers his head in humble acknowledgement. “I will tell her.” Then, as though remembering something, he reaches into his pocket and hands you a small bag. “Here, I’ve not seen you join meals very often and… well, please take them.”

You don’t have the strength to refuse, and take the bag from his hand, meeting his kind smile. “Candies…” You thank him before placing them on the bedstand, and after a few more moments of sitting in comfortable silence, Tanjiro takes his leave. You watch him depart, endeared by his manner and honesty. He has a good soul, a strong will—perhaps the strongest you’ve known, apart from…

You stare back at your mentor, memories of the past flooding behind your eyes.

Five months prior

“Good! Again!”

You’re panting, your total concentration breathing nearly failing as you evade another deadly arc of the Third Form: Blazing Universe.

The sun has westered and a bluish twilight sets over the lands, but your mentor still has you parrying his unwavering techniques, before making you attack using combinations of them in turn.

“Lord—lord Rengoku—”

His blazing speed cuts your words short as your blades clash, and you stare into bright, golden-rimmed irises. He’s smiling, as usual, with a devilish spark in his eyes. There is a sudden flutter in your stomach, overriding the fatigue in your burning muscles. “Come now, don’t tell me you’re beat! You’ve come so far after only three years!” he says as you fall back, lunging for another attack the following second.

The sudden weakness you feel when you’re close to him has you confused, because it was not there before. It all began in the past year: whenever he stares at you in a certain way, whenever he touches you during training or meets your eyes, something gnaws achingly at your chest. It’s as though you need something from him, but have no idea what it is.

“I knew it from the moment I took you on as a successor,” he says, merciless in his offensive. “If you—” Parry. Lunge. “—carry on like this—” Attack. Jump. “—you’ll reach a Hashira level of skill in no time at all!”

You don’t have the chance to reply, though his words feel like honey coating your senses. At first, he’d been sparse and strict, keeping to instructions and nothing else. But you struggled, worked harder than you had for anything in all your life, and it seems he acknowledges this fully now.

“Now—Ninth Form: Rengoku!”

That means you must attack, and he must deflect. But—Ninth Form?! “I—I can’t, I’m… I’m too exhausted for the Ninth!”

He bursts forward with Unknowing Fire, forcing you to duck and curl your body, rolling away into the dust, rising on one knee.

The Flame Hashira turns, pointing his weapon at you. “Is that what you plan on telling the demons?”

“Well, no, but—”

“At no point during a battle will you have the luxury of biding your time. If this were an actual encounter, you’d be dead.” He no longer smiles, his face turned cold, eyes glinting like molten steel.

You feel the rush of shame like fangs biting into you, fueling a horrible need to prove him wrong, to rise up to the challenge in his voice. With a hiss and a groan you grip the handle of your katana tightly, breathing and striving to light that spark in your heart.

With a cry you speed forward, clashing with him in a desperate lunge.

“Ha!” The smile returns as you grit your teeth. “Better!”

His face is so close to yours again, so close you feel the rush of his breath on your cheek.

Your knees feel weak again, and you close your eyes, pushing forward in an attempt to skew his balance.

What the hell is happening to you?

“Faster, the fire is still weak! It must rage!” the Hashira says, grinning like a madman now, and where once you enjoyed the path of learning and reaching your full potential, now his attitude brings forth an ache that confuses you and leaves you anxious.

Even so. Your blades sing against each other as you lunge back in a high jump, landing in a lowered stance with one palm braced against the earth. Your uniform is wet on your back, and you’re closer to your breaking point than you've ever been.

But the thought of disappointing him, now that feels unbearable. So you do what you always do: you push yourself more, more, harnessing all your strength into one melting core, bathing your heart in it and firing up your veins.

You attack.

He laughs outright. “Not bad, but—” Your swords clash, fiercer than before. “I know you can do better, and you can be faster.”

“I’m doing all I can!” you yell, at the end of your tether now. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. But he takes no offense, he never does, and that's one of the things you appreciate about him. “But you—you make it impossible! You always want more, even if you know I’m not ready for it!”

It must be the fire rushing through you that has you speaking this way, daring to say such words despite knowing full well what you were in for, when you accepted to become his successor.

“Wait until you’re ready, and you will never improve!” the Flame Hashira throws back.

A growl leaves your throat as you fall back then speed towards him again, trying the Second then the Third form in succession sloppily but you’re past caring.

Your arms feel as though they will tear and your bones might splinter as you crash against his unwavering stance, and you meet his scarlet-gold gaze as he speaks softly, his voice imbued with warmth: “You can surpass the impossible. I believe in you.”

Your eyes widen, that damned ache ringing through your body like a weakening poison and—

For one split second, your stance weakens, and you’re thrown back, losing your balance and falling heavily onto the ground.

Rengoku stares down at you, tilting his head to the side with a strange look on his face as he sheathes his katana.

Your vision sways, your lungs might burst. You barely clutch at the helping hand extended to you, aiding you to your feet. He grasps your shoulders. “What happened there just now? Your focus melted like wax.”

“I…” You can’t look him in the eye. His hands on you diffuse heat, permeating through your clothing. It feels good. It scares you. “I don’t… know.”

“Tomorrow, again,” he says, releasing you. “Please do better. Remember we’re doing this for you, but foremost for the people.”

“Understood,” you murmur, biting back tears as you watch him walk away.

Midnight has arrived when you end your reverie, thinking about that emotion that took root in your body and spirit, growing stronger as time passed. And you never dared tell him, never dared facing it nor can you explain why. You take a deep breath, leaned with your arms folded on the edge of the bed, your forehead resting on them. You never told him, and now…

And now with each day I’m losing hope.

Your shoulders are shaking, and your eyes sting. There is no one else here but you and him, the long chamber of empty beds the only witness to your breakdown.

You’re so absorbed by despair, you don’t perceive the faint movement, or the hand gently placed on your head.

“... Why are you crying?”

You choke on a silent sob, blinking in shock at the low, throaty voice, broken with disuse. Slowly, you raise your head.

He's staring at you, a bleak smile on his lips, and you're utterly, incomprehensibly frozen.

“You… you’re awake?” It feels like the dumbest of questions: your body knows the truth before your mind catches up.

“That… depends. Are you really here?” he asks in turn.

You nod, biting on your lower lip and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. “Yes, yes I am.”

The smile wavers for a moment as he grimaces in pain. “Oh, I see. Then… it seems… you’re not rid of me yet.”

All the gods in all the world couldn’t keep the emotions flooding you at bay, and you shake your head as warm tears flow down your face.

PART II

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kny #rengoku x reader #kny fanfic #x reader #ruiniel:fanfiction

161 notes · View notes

jump-in-the-whump · 5 months

Text

Their breathing came in shallow wheezes, while the relentless fever consumed their body, as the chills, alternating with hot flashes, coursed through him.

With their eyes closed, they could feel even more the sheets uncomfortably clinging to their sweat-soaked body, but they didn’t dare to make a move as every muscle in their body ached.

Their consciousness ebbed and flowed like the tide, but they tried to concentrate on the surrounding sounds: the soft rustling of fabrics, the occasional clink of medical instruments, and the soft hum of a whispered voice.

“Hey… It’s me, Caretaker… You’re in a bad state, hm? Don’t worry, it’s gonna be alright now.”

It was Caretaker, thank god. They felt a subtle reassurance, a calmness spreading through them as unseen hands moved with practiced care, placing a cool cloth on their fevered brow offering brief relief from the oppressive warmth.

But there was one thing that didn’t sit right with them. As the Caretaker kept on talking, they resonated through the fog of their fevered mind. And then it clicked.

That wasn’t Caretaker’s voice.

262 notes · View notes

made-nondescript · 9 months

Text

honestly one of the saddest thing about the state of twitter right now to me is that deviantart isn't using it to claw it's way back into people's consciousness. like, artists are looking for an alternative -- deviantart COULD be great if they redesigned/reverted the site and made a few changes to the way posts work there! they have so many cool features that you don't find around anymore, like groups!! remember groups!! we could have clubs! or seeing the upcoming birthdays of everyone you follow in an easy place. deviantart could have a renaissance. NOT to mention how wonderful it would be to see a historic site get new life. but the site just still sucks. it's so sad to me

#nondescript post

601 notes · View notes

spacemilkies · 10 months

Text

fractured confections, bittersweet absence (1/?)

pairing: Earth—42!Miles Morales x Spider!Reader wc: 3k+ rating: teen a/n: don't look at me. i'm just writing as it comes to me. we'll see there all these different fic ideas take me. for this in particular, i have everything up to the movie start outlined. i took a few liberties with the timeline. i just have to push myself to write it :(

synopsis: Miguel relies on you to discover a potential anomaly and somehow you become it

Or the one where world 42 never had a Spider-Man but then they do

In a world where alternative universes were nothing more than clichés confined to the pages of fantasy novels, your concerns as a teenager barely in your teens extended far beyond such fantastical notions. The recent addition of supernatural abilities, acquired through a fateful encounter with a dubious arachne during a field trip at a lab conglomerate, had consumed your thoughts. However, all of these preoccupations suddenly lost their significance as the very fabric of your existence crumbled before your eyes.

Echoes of terror-laden screams still reverberated in your mind, mingling with the chaotic symphony of pedestrian and automotive traffic desperately attempting to outrun an impending fate. In the midst of the pandemonium, you struggled to harness your newfound abilities, desperately weaving through the fragmented bodies of disrupted individuals, ephemeral apparitions on the brink of annihilation.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, one memory remained etched in your consciousness with unwavering clarity. It was the image of your best friend's father, seizing you mid-swing, his shattered gaze suddenly focused with newfound purpose. Together, you both tumbled headlong into a blinding burst of radiant light, a tumultuous journey to an uncertain destination.

As you gazed down at the device that had never left your wrist since that pivotal day nearly a year ago, your contemplations shifted from the intricacies of alternate realities to a more fundamental question—what would become of your existence without a tangible world to call your own?

Miguel, whom you swiftly discerned to be a distinct entity from the Mr. O'Hara who once chauffeured you and his daughter to softball practice every Thursday evening, had failed to provide a concrete understanding of the complexity surrounding your being. The only undeniable truth was that as long as the watch remained securely fastened to your wrist, you would be spared the agonizing disintegration that awaited Earth-702, the last vestige of a fading existence.

Earth-702.

The only life you had known reduced to a number.

This enigmatic state of being mirrored the ambiguity that plagued your emotions—a blend of forgiveness and gratitude, still unquantified and unresolved. How could you appreciate and resent the man who had saved you, yet inadvertently led to the destruction of everything you once knew?

For now, you exist as an anomaly entrusted with the task of investigating other anomalies, akin to yourself. A spider-being devoid of a world to safeguard was destined to remain just that—a solitary guardian without a realm to protect.

As you attempted to open the door, your progress came to a halt as LYLA materialized before you. In this constant state of existence, where alternate spider beings surrounded you, the presence of an artificial intelligence like LYLA was a welcome divergence from the norm. If you could practically call it that.

"You just missed Miguel," LYLA chimed, breaking the silence.

A tinge of disappointment washed over you. Miguel was supposed to provide you with an assignment today, and you had eagerly anticipated the opportunity.

“How convenient of him.”

The vague shrug from LYLA hinted at the lack of intention behind the promise from the beginning. With a restrained sigh, you pressed forward, traversing the brief hallway that led to Miguel's office—a space that also doubled as your own.

In the spider-verse association, you held the esteemed position of being its first official member. In simpler terms, you possessed the most comprehensive understanding of the intricate web of activities that kept the organization afloat. You were present when the second spider-being entered the headquarters, and you witnessed firsthand as the building teemed with more individuals from myriad Earths than you could have ever imagined.

With the proliferation of these spider-beings, it became increasingly challenging to distribute the workload. Each spider-being had their own set of responsibilities, both in their home realms and in dealing with one another. Amidst this sea of spider-beings, you were supposed to shine—a silent guardian with untapped potential.

Instead, you found yourself assigned to a desk, monitoring the overall progress of the operation. Miguel preferred to dress it up as a trusted role, acknowledging that not everyone possessed the capacity to grapple with the harsh realities at hand. It was amusing how he believed a teenager trapped within their formative years could shoulder the weight of these adult concerns.

Nonetheless, as an anomaly yourself, you held the title of subject expert in identifying and executing operations to resolve other unfortunate anomalies. Recently, you had grown restless and began to pester Miguel for more opportunities to explore other Earths. It wasn't to say that you hadn't ventured into different realms before. In the beginning, Miguel had no choice but to rely on your abilities in every capacity. However, a persistent fear loomed over both of you—the potential consequences if your device were to be disrupted for even a fleeting moment.

Indeed, that fear coursed through your veins, but you refused to allow it to dictate your life. That was precisely why you had all but demanded to be sent on the next assignment—an insistence that Miguel had skillfully evaded, leaving you feeling slightly defeated.

As you slumped into your seat, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. "What Earth is he even on?" you muttered, the weight of annoyance settling upon you. Almost as if in response to your presence, the displays surrounding your desk hummed to life, illuminating the space with a soft glow.

LYLA materialized by your side, her voice offering a prompt update. "Villain captured on Earth-343. They should be wrapping up soon."

The task at hand hardly posed a challenge beyond your capabilities. There were younger spider-beings grappling with far more daunting situations. You ceased dwelling on what your life would have been like as the Spider-Man of your Earth. You had been too young to even envision your future, let alone prepare for the colossal role thrust upon you in the wake of your transformation.

Amidst your operations, you had heard murmurs of other heroes around your age.

Gwen Stacy from Earth-65.

Pavitr Prabhakar from Earth-50101.

And Margo Kess from 22191.

Their presence evoked a feeling in your chest that you wouldn't readily label as jealousy, but rather a simmering ember that burned hotter than mere contentment.

Occasionally, you engaged in conversations with them, often through the watch devices that connected your disparate realities, providing updates and exchanging information. But there were rare instances when you met face to face. Miguel had often categorized you and Gwen as the "troublesome" stage in your teenage years, a time when you grappled with the complexities of your individual realities. And while he wasn't entirely mistaken, the weight of those challenges felt more pressing in your lives.

Gwen, unlike some of her counterparts, preferred the sanctuary of the headquarters over returning to her home Earth. She seemed perpetually ready for missions, always on the edge of her seat. Upon meeting her, she shared the details of her eventful exposure to the multiverse, beginning with the collision event on Earth-1610B. She had crossed paths with that other Spider-Man... what was his name?

Rising from your slouched position, your fingers danced across the keys, retrieving the name from the recesses of your memory. You settled back into your seat, watching as the screen filled with the image of Miles Morales.

He was certainly... something.

Admittedly clumsy at times, yet he possessed a reasonable level of control over his abilities. Enough, at least, to keep him off Miguel's list of reprimands. Out of curiosity, you toggled his biometrics, allowing the spider DNA coursing through his veins to reveal his Earth designation. But it was within the uniqueness of his profile that you discovered a divergence—his DNA did not match the status of his home Earth.

Earth-42.

You have come across reports mentioning it. According to Miguel, without a Spider-Man to inhabit it, there were no canonical events to monitor. From an operational standpoint, he was correct. However, as you pondered the situation now, you couldn't help but wonder what a world without a Spider-Man truly looked like.

With a few keystrokes, you accessed the live feed, ready to uncover the truth of that reality for yourself.

What you saw, ripped away the lingering shred of sense you had in that moment.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

"This is a very bad idea," the voice persisted, echoing through your wrist. However, your dimension device possessed its own isolated network, impervious to interference or removal without Miguel's biometrics. It was a safety measure designed to keep out unwanted disruptions, but it inadvertently granted you a sense of freedom.

Clinging to the shadows, you effortlessly scaled the side of a building, preparing yourself for the leap to the next rooftop. The act of calculating the jump served as a convenient distraction from the persistent voice reverberating from your wrist.

"Like a very bad idea. Miguel is not going to be happy," LYLA warned, its concern palpable.

You let out a snort that held no trace of humor, grunting upon landing and quickly scrambling up the higher section of the architecture. "When is he ever happy?" you muttered. Miguel seemed to perpetually wear a mask of displeasure, never quite content.

Your response sparked yet another stream of concern from LYLA, but at this point, you had effectively tuned her out. The image feed from Earth-42, displayed on your device, paled in comparison to the chaotic reality that enveloped the city. From open flames licking at structures to blaring sirens piercing the air, there was not a single sign of peace to be found.

From your vantage point, you had always recognized the significance of a spider-hero. Yet, in the absence of one, you had simply assumed that matters would resolve themselves. After all, society was an ever-adapting complexity that spanned countless universes. Surely, there were individuals capable of managing the daily operations without the presence of a superbeing.

As you swung through the air, your mind wandered, delving into the intricacies of divergent paths taken by each reality. You contemplated the weight of the missing Spider-Man in Earth-42 and what it meant for the inhabitants of this dimension.

Lost in contemplation, you find yourself perched upon a lofty rooftop, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The bustling metropolis pulsates with life, its energy reverberating through the very fabric of existence. Yet, amidst the towering structures and bustling streets, your attention is drawn to a nearby building adorned with a larger-than-life mural.

The mural, a masterpiece in its own right, pays homage to a fallen police officer—an embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and unwavering dedication. It is a work of art that transcends the limitations of paint and brush, capturing the essence of the hero's spirit. Vibrant hues dance across the surface, blending seamlessly to form intricate details that breathe life into the mural. Each brushstroke tells a story, whispering of the hero's indomitable spirit and the impact he had on those he protected.

As your eyes wander over the mural, a bittersweet mix of emotions washes over you. You are intimately familiar with the displaced canon event depicted within the artwork, having witnessed its replay countless times. However, the absence of the defining factor—the presence of a Spider-Man—leaves a void, an inexplicable emptiness that permeates the scene. It raises profound questions about the nature of fate and the purpose of heroes. Who, or what, would subject people to a twisted reality without the counterbalance of justice and redemption?

But even in the absence of a Spider-Man, you know that humanity possesses an innate resilience. It is a resilience that gives rise to captains of justice, individuals willing to step forward and fill the void, even at the cost of their own lives. The mural becomes a symbol of that resilience, a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

Lost in your thoughts, a faint sound interrupts the silence, drawing your attention downward. The scuffling of feet resonates against the pavement, and your senses come alive, attuned to the presence nearby. Your head swivels, and your gaze lands upon the source of the sound.

Beneath the grand mural, the atmosphere hangs heavy with a mix of sadness and reverence. The vibrant colors seem to cast a somber aura, amplifying the weight of the fallen hero's sacrifice. It is there, in the fading sunlight, that you spot a solitary figure—a teenager whose face bears a defiant expression, despite the trails of tears glistening in the soft, golden rays. There is an air of vulnerability about him, and his presence captivates your attention.

With nimble and cautious steps, you descend the side of the building, blending seamlessly into the shadows. Your spider-like agility allows you to approach unnoticed, maintaining a respectful distance. The teen remains oblivious to your presence, engrossed in his own world of emotions.

In the pool of fading sunlight, his tear-stained face reflects a myriad of conflicting emotions. It speaks of loss and grief, yet his expression hints at determination and resilience. You are drawn to his vulnerability, unable to resist the urge to understand his connection to the fallen hero immortalized on the mural. It is evident that the departed officer held a special place in the hearts of many, leaving behind an irreplaceable void in the lives of those he protected.

As you observe the teenager's reaction, a sudden crash and the shattering of glass reverberate through the air, snapping your focus away from the impending danger nearby. The symphony of chaos begins to unravel, growing louder with each passing second. Instinctively, your senses heighten, urging you to intervene and prevent the imminent turmoil. Yet, you understand the delicate balance of interfering in the affairs of other realities, knowing that it may have unforeseen consequences.

Choosing to prioritize the safety of the vulnerable individual, you turn your attention toward him, hoping to offer guidance and solace. It is a decision that carries its own weight, for the unknown intricacies of interdimensional travel have taught you that nothing is ever certain or predictable. With a calm yet concerned voice, you address him, your words laced with empathy and caution.

"Hey, it's dangerous for you to be out here," you gently express, aware of the unexpectedness of your presence. However, before you can fully comprehend the impact of your presence, the teen’s demeanor shifts into something decidedly defensive—an oddly quick but reasonable response, given his environment. In that moment, you realize the jarring sight you must present—a being that embodies the traits of both human and spider, suspended in an upside-down stance before him.

As the boy's awe and curiosity leak through his initial defiance, you notice the hard lines of determination softening under the weight of change. There is a sense of similarity there, lost teenage years consumed by destruction.

His bewildered voice breaks the silence. Despite the perplexment, its gruffness cannot mask his genuine curiosity. "What are you?"

A playful smirk dances across your face, defying the gravity of the situation. The opportunity slips from your lips before you can fully understand the weight of your words.

"I am your friendly neighborhood spider," you reply, the words dripping with both sincerity and light-heartedness. Those wide, capable eyes, tinted with distrust, rove over the intricate design of your costume, searching for answers in the fabric that binds you.

His response is swift, his youthful candor cutting through the tension. "That's a dumb superhero name," he remarks, not comprehending the magnitude of the reality he has stumbled upon. You merely shrug, understanding that you are not the Spider-Man he knows, nor are you bound by the conventions of his familiar world. Here, in this fractured reality on the brink of collapse, your mission transcends trivial matters such as superhero aliases.

"Well, stupid or not, I can't leave you hear," you declare with resolute determination. Before he can fully grasp the gravity of your words, you swiftly encase him in a web cocoon, launching him skyward along the building's side. He puts up a surprisingly capable fight, thin braids swinging to and fro within his captivity.

"Aye, loco! Lemme me go!" he protests, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Huh, Spanish. Miguel would be proud.

Together, you ascend to the pinnacle, where the world seems both smaller and more expansive all at once.

From this vantage point, a distant commotion clamors through the night, a discordant symphony of chaos that taints the air with unease. You can sense the imminent danger lurking down the dimly lit streets, threatening the fragile remnants of this crumbling reality.

The boy's now angered gaze fixated upon you, “I can take care of myself.”

You resist the strong urge to volley him, if only to jerk the too-adult pinch from his brow with the promise of fear and your strength. Instead, you guide him to to an adjacent block away from the disruption and drop him to his feet carefully, save for a brief stumble.

The pointed glare focused on you is not the impression you would have imagined from a rescued individual, but you were new to this so maybe not all went to script.

You were feeling a little less confident as you approached.

"I'm going to release you now."

The teen only jerked his chin in response.

Hooking a finger under the webbing, you use the trick Miguel taught you to loosen the bindings. The warning came a split second after he worked an arm free, giving you a brief opportunity to pull out of reach as he swung back.

He was definitely a product of his environment, whether for the good or better was not disclosed.

There was a notable fire in his gaze as he challenged you.

“Next time, keep your freaky abilities to yourself. I don’t need no hero.”

Suspending yourself from the light fixture above, you test your impact on the Earth a length more. You think about all the other Earth’s whose spider-beings who press forward despite the backlash, determined to save what they hold dear.

They might say those words, deflect the help offered to say they didn't need a hero because they were one.

But this teen didn’t give you that impression. His presence vaguely tipped the compass in a different direction.

“Maybe not, but you’re only one person.”

Scoffing, the teen ripped away the rest of the webbing. “No hero has a place here. Everyone agrees on that.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns his heel at that as he descends down the street away from you.

Earth 42 was indeed a reality without a spider-being.

But what proliferated in its absence, was something you felt, would test the universe in its own way.

#earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fanfiction #42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #prowler miles

447 notes · View notes

gojoulen03 · 7 months

Text

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

"MY DAUGHTER, THE DIVINE ONE"

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

A/N:

I'm saying this rn but this.. this blog is a literal mess. It's my first time posting this kinda uh.. yup. So I'm a little annoyed by it but I'm bored so I went through.. uh with it anyway..

I had an alternate version of this in Wattpad called 'Rose Thorns' lol. I'm still thinking of who will be the love interest for Y/n because this sht is similar to the usual SAGAU plot idk if I'm right though (correct me if I'm wrong lol).

Again, this is a mess. Idk if I posted this correctly.. but I tried anyway..

Sypnosis :

You are Tsukuyomi Y/n with a lovely daughter named Yuna. You've always dreamed of becoming a mother and decided to have one through artificial method (lol idk if that's real yet but I remembered a manga with that Soo YUp AND THIS IS FICTION so I had the power of making the impossible real here in this story LOL and yes you are rich in Earth cuz i said so ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)). You paid someone handsomely to give you the means to have a child without any sort of y'know lol- and finally had Yuna after so long of waiting.

You are deeply devoted to Yuna's well-being and promised to protect her no matter what.

But tragedy struck when you got involved in a car accident that claimed your life, leaving your daughter Yuna without her only guardian. Your own death left you feeling desolate and remorseful for not being able to watch your 5-year-old daughter grow up.

However, your journey took an unexpected turn when you found yourelf in a mysterious and unfamiliar world. You retained only hazy memories of your past life but resolved to forge ahead. Even in this strange new world, you couldn't let go of your fervent prayers for Yuna's safety.

You went on a journey in this new world called Teyvat. But what if your daughter follows you there - all grown up, so mature and with so many mysteries?

GENSHIN IMPACT X G/N! Reader

Warnings: Grammatical Errors, Lazy Writing, Possibly alot of errors again lol, MANY TYPOS idK, VERY OOC (I'mma not lie here), Y/n being the Cupid LATER lol, Yandere!Harem??? Obsessive Acolytes/Believers to the Divine One, MANY SIMPINGS ˛(ˊʙˋ)੭˒˒

CHAPTER 00

In the supposedly peaceful and beautiful world - Y/n, a beautiful God(dess) in a white robe and veil, had been engaged in a fierce battle to protect your city from marauding Gods. Your barrier stood resolute, deflecting attacks and safeguarding your people, but the more you fought, the more you felt your energy wane.

"Your majesty! Please, it's enough!" A voice was heard from behind. But despite the pleas of your beloved subjects to cease the battle, You remained unyielding, your bowstring singing as you sent arrow after arrow towards your foes. The Archon War had erupted unexpectedly, shattering the harmony among divine beings who were once friends. You couldn't comprehend why you were now locked in a merciless struggle for your nations' survival.

"You must be getting tired. How about resting now?" taunted by your enemy God, reveling in your weakening state. Undeterred, You glared back, refusing to back down. Your resolve was unbreakable; You were determined to defend your land until your very last breath.

"I will not! I will never back down until my last breath!" You yelled.

"Let's see about that, Goddess Y/n!" They said, as they were ready to launched another attack.

But just as you braced yourself for another attack, a familiar voice broke through the haze of battle.

"Ma/Pa.."

"Ma/Pa.. ma/pa.."

"Mama/Papa!!"

Startled, You gasped, your battle-weary eyes fluttering open. You found yourself in a small, warm room, and your attention was drawn to a tiny, innocent face—the face of your adorable daughter, Yuna.

"Mama/Papa! You're awake, right?!" Yuna's tiny hands shook you, urging you back to consciousness.

"Mama/Papa, it's time to wake up!" You blinked, the memories of your celestial battle fading into the background as you're fully awake now.

"Oh, Mama/Papa's awake now, dear Yuna," you whispered, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you lifted your daughter into your arms.

Yuna's innocent eyes widened with concern. "Mama/Papa, you were making scared noises in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?"

You smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Yuna's cheek. "It was just a bad dream, my love. Mama/Papa's fine now." You marveled at the contrast between the dream's fierce goddess persona and the reality of your role as a loving parent. How could such a powerful being in your dream world be the same person who cuddled with your daughter each morning?

"Let's focus on happier things," You suggested, ruffling Yuna's hair playfully.

"Hehe, okay! Let's eat breakfast now, Mama/Papa! I'm hungry!" Yuna's enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of your daughter's radiant joy. You dismissed the surreal images of your divine battle as a dream or perhaps the result of watching too many fantasy movies recently.

"What would you like to eat today, my little sunshine?" You asked.

Yuna's face lit up with excitement. "Pancakes, Mama/Papa! With strawberries!"

You chuckled, the remnants of the dream slipping further away with each giggle. "Pancakes it is, sweetheart. Let's make them together."

With a tender smile, You kissed Yuna's forehead. "And also good morning, my precious. I love you."

Yuna giggled, her laughter echoing through the room like music. "I love you too, Mama/Papa!"

Together, you both ventured into the kitchen, the aroma of pancakes filling the air as you expertly flipped them on the griddle. Yuna stood on a chair, her eyes wide with fascination as she watched her parent cook.

What had seemed like a fierce, otherworldly struggle faded into the background as you dismissed it as a fleeting nightmare. Perhaps it was the result of watching too many fantasy movies, you thought, trying to rationalize the vivid dream.

"Yeah, it must be a dream," You reassured yourself, embracing the reality of your daughter's laughter and the aroma of breakfast wafting from the kitchen.

"Mama/Papa, are you a superhero?" Yuna asked suddenly, her innocent curiosity sparking a twinkle in her eyes.

You paused, caught off guard by the question. You knelt down to Yuna's eye level, your expression tender. "Well, I might not be a superhero, but I'll always protect you, my dear. You mean everything to me."

Yuna beamed, her small hand reaching out to grasp yours. "I love you, Mama/Papa!"

"I love you too, my precious Yuna," You whispered, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

You prepared a hearty meal for yourself and for your precious daughter, Yuna, savoring the simple pleasures of your shared moments. As you both sat down to eat, Yuna's innocent chatter filled the room, momentarily pushing away the lingering thoughts of that dream you had earlier.

"Mama/Papa, what's your favorite story?" Yuna asked between bites of the pancakes.

You smiled, reminiscing about the stories you used to hear as a child. "My favorite story is about a brave god(dess) who protected their people from all the dangers of the world. They were strong, just like me, and they never gave up, no matter how tough things got."

Yuna's eyes widened with admiration. "Wow, Mama/Papa, you're like that god(dess), right?"

You chuckled, ruffling Yuna's hair affectionately. "I try to be, sweetheart. I'll always protect you and keep you safe, no matter what."

You only wished the best for your daughter.

That's all you need..

Those dreams probably meant nothing, right?

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, with You and Yuna sharing your lives in blissful harmony. You had put the strange dreams behind you, attributing them to a mere figment of your imagination, yet the memories of your battles as a god(dess) lingered, casting a subtle shadow over your peaceful existence.

It also arose so many questions..

Why do you have that dream?

What does it mean?

Is it a past life?

Why are you remembering it?

You're already happy with youe daughter. You don't want to be burden with a problem you don't even know about.

That was all just a dream anyways..

But one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found herself lost in thought on the porch of their cozy home. Yuna, now a bit older but just as radiant, skipped over, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"Mama/Papa, why do you sometimes look so sad?" Yuna asked, her voice tinged with concern.

You smiled gently, your fingers tracing the patterns of the wooden porch. "Oh, my sweet Yuna, it's just Mama/Papa's thoughts wandering. Sometimes, grown-ups think about many things at once."

"But you can tell me, Mama. I'm a big girl now!" Yuna insisted, her determination mirroring her parent's.

You sighed, realizing that your daughter was growing up and deserved to know the truth, or at least part of it. "Alright, my love. Mama/Papa had some strange dreams lately, dreams of battles and wars. It felt like I was someone else, someone powerful but burdened by the weight of protecting others."

Yuna's eyes widened in awe. "Like a superhero?"

You nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips. "Yes, something like that. But these dreams were so vivid, as if they were memories from another life. It's all very confusing, Yuna."

Yuna reached out and held her parent's hand, her grip surprisingly strong for a child her age. "Mama/Papa, I think those dreams are trying to tell you something. Maybe you're meant to do something important."

You looked at your daughter, marveling at the wisdom hidden behind those innocent eyes. "You're right, Yuna. Perhaps there's a reason I'm having these dreams. I just wish I knew what it meant."

You couldn't help but hug your daughter. Just how caring and smart is this girl? This daughter of yours is too perfect to be yours. She's far too wise..

Even you can't come out with such an advice. But your 5 years old daughter could.

"You're so mature, aren't you, my love?" You said, as you kisses your daughter's chubby cheek who giggled in return. "Hehe! Because I am a big girl!"

"Yes, you are a big girl, love."

Though you couldn't exactly shake the feeling of being a powerful god(dess) in that otherworldly battle, your memories of an archon war still vivid, despite the comforting reality of your daughter's presence.

"Mama/Papa, can I ask you something?" Yuna's innocent voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Of course, my sweet," You replied, setting your daughter to your side to give your full attention to your daughter.

Yuna looked up at you with those big, curious eyes. "What were you fighting in your dream, mama/papa? Were you super strong?"

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the complexities of your dream world to a 5-year-old. "Well, it was just a dream, dear. In the dream, Mama/Papa had to protect something very important, just like how I always protect you."

Yuna nodded thoughtfully. "Like a superhero, right?"

You smiled, relieved at the simplicity of Yuna's understanding. "Yes, like a superhero."

"Cool! I wanna be a superhero too!"

"Study first-"

"But mama/papa!!"

"Just kidding~!"

But as the day went on, you couldn't shake the feeling that your dream held a deeper significance. The memories of the archon war and the title of "God(dess) Y/n" haunted your thoughts, refusing to be dismissed as mere fantasy.

That night, after tucking Yuna into bed and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, you found herself unable to sleep. You decided to indulge your curiosity and did something you hadn't done in a long time-you opened your laptop and began searching for information about archons and the concept of divine beings.

But you found no information about all the things you remembers in your dream.

Is it just.. a dream?

Lost in thought, you murmured, "God(dess) Y/n... Archon War... it all feels so distant yet so real."

Yuna, ever perceptive, approached her parent out of nowhere, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Mama/Papa, is something bothering you?"

"Ahh!" You almost fell down your chair when you saw your daughter standing next to you. Gosh! She's scary sometimes!

"Gosh, you scared Mama/Papa, love." You said, as you sighed in relieved that it was only your daughter. Yuna shrugged her shoulder before climbing into your lap and sitting comfortably.

"Why aren't you sleeping, baby? Didn't Mama/Papa tucked you in already?"

"Can't sleep yet.." She respond, as she hugged her doll tighter before looking back to you.

"So.. what's bothering you, Mama/Papa?" She asked curiously.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for your sweet daughter's concern. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Just an old dream Mama had like i told you before-"

But as you spoke, a sudden jolt surged through you, a flash of memories and emotions that felt too vivid to be merely a dream. You saw yourself clad in divine armor, battling against other gods. Faces once blurred became clear in your mind's eye.

"The Archon War.." You whispered, the words heavy with realization. "It's like.. a reality.. I'm not sure.. but I felt like I've known about it like a long time ago.."

Yuna's eyes widened with wonder. "Mama/Papa, what's an Archon war??"

You shake your head, your mind racing to comprehend the implications of your rediscovered identity. "I don't know, sweetie.. but there was a war. But why? Why were we fighting? Why was i fighting? What am I protecting..?" You questioned, confusing the little girl even more.

"Ehh.. really, Mama/Papa? Maybe you died and got reincarnated? I saw a movie about that!" Yuna explained.

"Reincarnated? Wait- how did you know that big word?" You asked. Yuna giggled as she snuggled into her doll. "Hehe! I heard it from watching marvel!"

"Right.. Hawkman.."

"Hehe! I like Ironman and Hawkman!" Yuna said excitedly, as she raised her doll up like it was flying.

You sighed. "Maybe I made her watch so many movies.."

Still.. how can this be?

Why are you remembering all this memories now?

You already have a life with your daughter..

Why now?

As you navigated the bustling city streets, your thoughts were consumed by the anticipation of seeing Yuna's face light up with joy upon receiving the special treats you had bought today. The aroma of fresh donuts filled the car, tempting your senses as you carefully maneuvered through the traffic.

Your dedication to your daughter, Yuna, was unwavering. You juggled a demanding career as a high-profile fashion designer for a prestigious modeling company while ensuring that your daughter's upbringing was filled with love, happiness, and positive role models. Your decision to distance yourself from your previously abusive and greedy household was a testament to your commitment to providing Yuna with a safe and nurturing environment.

As you drove home, the box of delectable donuts sat securely on the passenger seat, tempting your senses with their sweet aroma. You couldn't help but smile, thinking about the joy these treats would bring to your little girl.

"I bet my baby would like the donuts I bought today," You mused aloud, your excitement palpable. "It's definitely the best ones I've tasted! I'm sure she'll like them."

With each turn of the wheel, your anticipation grew. The thought of Yuna's radiant smile and the delighted squeals of a child about to receive a cherished surprise filled your heart with warmth. There was nothing you wouldn't do to ensure Yuna's happiness and well-being.

She is your precious girl after all.

Who wouldn't want the best for their child?

"My precious baby... I so missed you, my Yuna. Mama will be spoiling you a lot this weekend for sure. Hmm... maybe I'll take her to the water park this Saturday?" Your thoughts were filled with excitement as you drove home, your anticipation growing with each passing moment.

However, in the midst of your joyful reverie, you failed to notice the fast-approaching truck until it was too late. The deafening impact sent shockwaves through your car, causing it to veer off the road and collide with the oncoming vehicle. The world around you blurred into chaos, and time seemed to slow as the accident unfolded.

Huh?

The world around you spun into chaos as the impact of the collision reverberated through your body. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the sound of screeching brakes filled the air. Darkness enveloped you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

When you finally regained her senses, you found yourself trapped in the wreckage of your car. Pain radiated through your body, and as you tried to move, you realized your injuries were severe. Panic welled up within you as the realization of what had just happened sunk in.

Your thoughts immediately turned to your daughter, Yuna. Fear clutched at your heart as you desperately called out to your little girl, but there was no response. Panic and anguish swirled within you as you fought against the pain and the wreckage that held you captive. I must go back to her! I still haven't given the donuts to my precious baby!

Pain shot through your body as you clung to consciousness, your first thought being of your precious Yuna. Panic continued to surged within you as you struggled to assess the situation.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you managed to unbuckle yourself and crawl out of the mangled car. Your vision was blurred, and your limbs felt heavy, but you had to go home to Yuna.

Your legs wobbled, panic turned to dread as you thought about Yuna waiting at home with the nanny, unaware of the accident. You had to get home, had to make sure your daughter was safe.

In the midst of the chaos, your thoughts were solely with Yuna. "I hope my Yuna is safe," you thought, your heart pounding with fear and concern. The seconds stretched like hours as you struggled to regain your bearings, your mind racing with worry for your daughter.

In the distance, you could hear voices shouting, the wailing of sirens approaching.

Your car's front end was crumpled, and the truck involved in the accident was equally damaged. The scene was chaotic, with concerned onlookers and emergency responders swarming around.

"M-my daughter," Y/n's voice laced with desperation. "Please, you have to help me. I need to get home to her."

The emergency responders arrived swiftly, their skilled hands working efficiently to extract you from the wreckage. All the while, your thoughts remained fixated on Yuna, your love for your daughter propelling you forward.

In the ambulance, amidst the blaring sirens and the medical team's urgent voices, you clung to consciousness. Your mind was a whirlwind of fear and determination. You couldn't let go, not when your little daughter syill needed you.

"It's gonna be okay, ma'am! Don't lose your consciousness! We're almost there!"

"We have to immediately take first aid!"

(Idk about this.. uh things so bear with it lol)

At the hospital, doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to stabilize you. Hours passed in a haze of pain and worry, but through it all, one thought persisted - your precious daughter, Yuna. You needed to be there for her, to protect her, just as you had always vowed to do.

As you lay there, pain coursing through your body, you felt a profound sense of urgency. The world around your became hazy, youe vision blurred. You knew your time was slipping away, like sand through an hourglass. The paramedics rushed to your side, their voices a distant echo in your ears.

In the midst of the chaos, you fought to find your voice, to speak your final words before surrendering to the abyss. With a tremor in your weakened voice, you whispered to yourself, aware that youe daughter, Yuna, remained oblivious to the tragedy that had befallen you.

"Yuna," you choked out, each word infused with a mixture of anguish and love. "My sweet, beloved daughter, I hope you can hear these words, even if only in your heart.."

As you felt the grip of life slipping away, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The pain and confusion consumed you, but amidst it all, you clung to your final thoughts, desperate to convey your love and remorse to your beloved daughter, Yuna.

Barely able to speak, your voice reduced to a mere whisper, your mind screamed with unspoken words. You yearned to tell Yuna how sorry you are, how deeply ashamed you felt for leaving your behind in this world, alone and unaware of the impending tragedy.

Blood pooled in your throat, choking your words and stealing your breath, but your thoughts raced with determination. With every ounce of strength you still possessed, you wished for your daughter's growth, for her to thrive in a world that you had only begun to understand.

In the midst of your pain, your love for Yuna burned brighter than ever. You wanted your daughter to know that your absence was never a choice, but a cruel twist of fate. Tears welled in your eyes, mixing with the blood that stained your lips, as you silently begged for forgiveness.

As the medical team continued to do their work on helping her, their urgent movements a blur around your fading consciousness, You held onto the image of Yuna in your mind. You whispered your final words, a desperate plea, hoping that somehow, in the vastness of the universe, your daughter would feel your love and hear your apologies.

In those fleeting moments, Your thoughts transcended the physical realm. You poured your heart and soul into a silent scream, a profound expression of love and regret that resonated in the depths of your being.

Through the pain and struggle, You fought to string together more coherent thoughts, desperate to convey your feelings, hopes, and apologies to your beloved daughter.

"My sweet Yuna, forgive me... I never wanted to leave you, my baby," you whispered in your mind, your voice quivering with a mix of love and anguish.

"I won't witness your first heartbreak... but remember, my darling, you are stronger than you know. You will rise above the pain and find love again."

"Yuna, my precious baby, don't let my absence hold you back. Embrace life's opportunities, explore the world, and chase your dreams with unwavering determination."

Her thoughts grow strained and weak, you continued, your words a fragile thread connecting you to your daughter's future. "I wanted to guide you, to be there for you... but circumstances have robbed us of that chance. You must find your own way, my love."

The tears flowed freely as your thoughts turned to the milestones you would miss. "I won't see you find your lifelong friends, those who will stand by your side through laughter and tears. But know that true friendships will enrich your life in ways I could never imagine."

"Yuna, my heart aches at the thought of not witnessing your wedding day. But when that time comes, know that I am with you in spirit, overflowing with love and pride as you embark on a new chapter of your life."

Your voice grew fainter, but your determination pushed you to utter one last plea in your head. "Promise me, my sweet Yuna, that you will live a life filled with joy, passion, and purpose. Seek happiness, embrace love, and never forget the strength within you."

As the darkness closed in, your final thoughts were consumed by your daughter's welfare. "Please, someone... protect and cherish my Yuna. Be the support and guiding light that I can no longer be. Love her as fiercely as I do."

With your strength waning, you held onto the hope that your whispered words would find their way to Yuna's heart. You longed for your daughter to know the depth of your love, the remorse you felt for leaving too soon, and the unwavering belief in Yuna's ability to navigate life's challenges.

And as your consciousness slowly faded, your final thoughts were a fervent wish for your daughter's growth, happiness, and the fulfillment of all her dreams.

"I love you, my Yuna.."

In your final moments, your thoughts were consumed by your undying love for Yuna, a love that transcended the boundaries of life and death. As your eyes fluttered closed, your last thoughts were of your daughter's smiling face, a beacon of light that guided you into the unknown.

You couldn't fight your dead..

Not again..

You failed again..

You failed protecting someone again..

And in that fleeting moment, as the world faded to darkness, you found solace in the knowledge that your love for Yuna would endure, an eternal flame that would continue to burn brightly, even in your absence.

'I'm so sorry, Yuna..'

Yuna played contentedly with her dolls, her imagination leading her on adventures only a child's mind could conjure. Her nanny and also Y/n's best friend, Kate, sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the little girl as she indulged in her imaginative play. Yuna was a charming but particular child, especially when it came to her food preferences. Yet, her undeniable cuteness made her nannies' hearts melt, rendering any minor inconveniences inconsequential.

Kate focused on the news broadcast playing on the television, its volume low so as not to disturb Yuna's playtime. But then, an unexpected news report abruptly seized her attention.

"A twenty-six-year-old woman/man was caught in a car accident," the news anchor announced solemnly. "The authorities have confirmed their identity. Tsukuyomi Y/n. She/He is a famous fashion designer for the Famous El Vera Company, who lives with their daughter, Tsukuyomi Yuna, in the..."

Kate's breath caught in her throat as she listened to the news report. Time seemed to stand still as the weight of the information sank in. Her eyes darted to Yuna, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, her innocent laughter filling the room.

She quickly turned off the television, not wanting Yuna to overhear the devastating news. Panic welled up within Kate as she contemplated how to handle the situation delicately. She knew she had to inform Yuna about her parent's accident, but how could she break such heart-wrenching news to a young child?

Taking a deep breath, Kate approached Yuna gently, crouching down to her eye level. She mustered a warm smile, masking the anguish she felt inside.

"Hey, sweetie," Kate began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "I have something important to tell you about your mom/dad."

Yuna looked up, her big, innocent eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it, Nanny?"

"Well, darling, your mommy/daddy was in a car accident," Kate said softly, her heart breaking at the thought of shattering Yuna's world. "They're hurt, and they're in the hospital right now, getting the help they needs."

Tears welled up in Yuna's eyes as she clutched her doll tightly, her heart aching with a profound sense of loss. In that moment, the world seemed to crumble around her, and the reality of her mother/father's absence began to sink in.

"But... but Mama/Papa promised they'd come back, right?" Yuna choked out, her voice breaking as she struggled to hold back tears. "They said they'd bring me donuts today... they can't be... they can't..."

Kate fought back tears, mustering all the strength she had. "Yuna! I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can to help them! But it's important for you to know that they loves you very much, and they want you to be strong and brave while they recover."

A flicker of fear crossed Yuna's face, and she clutched her doll tightly. "Can I see mommy/daddy?"

Kate's heart sank. She knew the truth had to be told, no matter how painful it was. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but right now, your mommy/daddy needs to rest and get better. The doctors won't let visitors in. But you can send them your love and thoughts, and they'll feel them, I promise."

Tears welled up in Yuna's eyes, and she buried her face in the safety of Kate's arms. "I want my mommy/daddy, Kate. I miss her/him."

Kate enveloped Yuna in a warm embrace, her own eyes filling with tears. "I know, sweetheart. I know it's incredibly hard. Your Mama/Papa loved you very much, and they'll always be in your heart."

As Yuna clung to her, seeking comfort, Kate whispered a silent prayer for strength and guidance. She knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges, but she was determined to be there for Yuna, to support her, and to help her navigate the difficult journey of healing and acceptance. She was only a little girl and she had lost her only parent. Isn't Y/n's family full of abusive people? Yuna will be in danger for sure..

Kate hold Yuna tightly in her arms, as she embrace the little girl and whispering comforting words to her.

'I promise to protect your daughter for you, Y/n..'

Taglist: ----

♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫⁺₊⋆ ♡ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ᙏ̤̫ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡

@gojoulen03

#yandere genshin au #sagau #yandere genshin #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact #genshin harem #fanfiction #parent reader #reverse harem #OC! Creator #genshin cult au #reincarnation #incarnation #genshin fanfic #yandere sagau #genshin sagau

213 notes · View notes