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minniepetals · 3 years

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Rose & Thorns: 10

— summary: a lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other. and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

— pairing: dragon!bts x reader

— genre: angst / slight fluff / poly!au / fantasy!au / dragon!au

— word count: 8.0k

— warnings: none

╰ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

You stood in the hall of the castle on the left of Namjoon while Hoseok stood on his right, faces grim and serious as you could feel all eyes on you with the intriguing fact that a Keeper was in their clan, a Keeper the clans haven’t had since hundreds of years ago. None of them were alive to live through the years when the first Keeper had been chosen so to know that another Keeper was made was quite fascinating to them, you were sure.

But you could also tell that some dragons still doubted your loyalty, knowing fully well how many of them did not have good histories with your kind. But you weren’t going to let them faze you. Namjoon often reminded you to look confident no matter how much they may scare you. After all, looking small and vulnerable in front of the dragons would only give them more doubt and you knew you had to gain their trust and show them that you were capable of being a Keeper more than anything.

As the steps of the leader of the Southern Clan began to echo into the room and the whispering voices died down, Namjoon took his respective bow with you and Hoseok automatically following along, heads lowered in respect as you stared at the floor below you.

It was nerve wracking being in a room full of dragons you had never seen before but you knew you had to remain strong.

“Prince Namjoon.” Surprisingly the voice was light and friendly as the prince spoke your leader’s name. He rose upon the call of his name with you and Hoseok following and could see the kind smile prince Daesung was giving him. “Welcome to our Clan.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon gave him a short nod before his gaze fell to Hoseok.

“Prince Hoseok.”

“Your highness.”

“And,” he turned his head your way and the moment his eyes met yours, you could see the way his eyes widened a little, falling silent at the sight of you with a delicate hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Oh my,” he whispered in a small gasp, blinking one moment before breaking into a bright smile that practically lit up the entire room and the next thing you knew he had rushed in front of you with his hands grabbing ahold of yours, squeezing it tight. “You didn’t tell me she was so adorable!” The prince squealed with delight, surprising you with a sudden embrace that caught you off guard and your eyes were quick to dart to your dragons with a flustered expression plastered onto your face.

The way their eyes darkened slightly almost brought shivers down your spine.

“Human girls are the cutest thing ever! I can’t believe I’m finally meeting one in real life!! Tell me!” He backed away just enough to face you again as you could feel yourself blushing at how close he was. “Keeper of the Dragons, what is your name, dear one?”

“U-uh,” you stuttered, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the close proximity but knowing not to be rude in his presence, “Y..Y/N.”

You thought his eyes had lit up even more. “What a pretty name! You’re so—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hoseok quickly stepped in to grab you by the shoulder and pulled you back to his arms with a displeased look on his face. “Prince Daesung. Whether she is a human or not, you must remember that our Keeper is still a lady.”

“Oh my.” Totally ignoring Hoseok’s warnings, prince Daesung could only wiggle more with excitement as his eyes returned to you again. “I know jealousy when I see it and I must say, to woo the seven princes of the East Clan is quite a bold move of yours, precious Y/N.”

“Huh?” You began to panic as your hands came up to wave with denial. “No, I-I didn’t—”

“Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing. I would do the same if I had the pretty looks you do. How’d they find such an adorable face such as yourself? Or did you find them first? I’m sure these possessive dragons stole you away to make you fall in love with them, didn’t they?”

“W-wait! They didn’t—”

“Prince Daesung, stop teasing the little one already.” Namjoon let out a tired sigh.

“I can’t help it!” The prince chortled with a sly grin. “She’s even more pretty when she blushes so easily like that.”

You could see his followers looking away or hanging their heads in shame at their prince’s words and you realized that you were totally baited by the South Clan’s leader, making you even more embarrassed than before.

As if reading your thoughts, Hoseok gave you a squeeze. “Don’t worry. Prince Daesung likes to spew nonsense so don’t take him too seriously.”

Offended, prince Daesung gave out a dramatic gasp. “Rude!”

“Forgive me for the impolite behavior of my dear brother.” You turned at the sound of the voice that was laced with poised to find a young lady a few feet taller than you. She had her head bowed with a hand rested against her heart, showing both grace and a dignified manner and you could tell almost immediately who she was after learning a few things about the South Clan. “Are you alright, milady?” Princess Soyeon asked with a slight concern as she addressed you.

“Yes, your highness,” you told her with a small smile, a bit taken back by how different the two siblings were.

She returned the smile with her own before turning to her brother with a displeased glare. “Not only is Y/N a lady but she is also the sole Keeper of the Dragons. You cannot disrespect the lady like that.”

Her scolding made prince Daesung look away with a pout. “You cannot expect me to ignore the cute.”

“Would you like to feel the wrath of our neighboring princes as well?”

Though the prince did not respond to that as he refused to meet his sister’s glare, you cocked your head slightly to the side with confusion upon her words. “Wrath?”

Princess Soyeon looked back at you with softer eyes and a faint smile as she eyed your two princes. “Us dragons are very possessive creatures. If anyone tries to touch our treasures, it may turn into conflicts. They may not look like it but I am sure prince Namjoon and prince Hoseok weren’t exactly fond of my brother touching you.”

You looked over your shoulder at the two of them who stood tall behind you and found Namjoon meeting your eyes with a slight raise to his brow almost as if confirming the assumption of the princess, making your cheeks warm up again.

“Again, please forgive my brother. I will make sure he does not do anything to offend you again.”

“Ah, it…” you shook your head with a smile, “it’s alright.”

“Now then,” with a sudden clap echoing into the large room, prince Daesung began to dismiss the members of his clan. “You’ve gotten a good look at our dear Keeper and see that she is a beautiful lady and anyone beautiful is worth trusting so—”

“Our relationship with the Eastern Clan is clear enough to show that we have no reason to mistrust them,” princess Soyeon stated in a loud, clear voice as she totally ignored the voice of her brother who responded with a glare of his own. But even though she had interrupted him, he let her go on to address the crowd. “We all know that the only way a human can become a Keeper is through the will of our own ancestors and we know never to question their decisions. If they have chosen Y/N as the new Keeper of the Dragons then that is the decision that we must accept. If anyone has any problem with that, know that you will be going against our own ancestors.”

Her voice, so poised and filled with charisma, was enough to let her warriors know that she wasn’t going to tolerate anyone that would go against having you as their Keeper and for that, you felt so thankful to the princess.

Once the room finally cleared away and all that was left were the five of you along with a few trusted warriors of the Southern Clan, you knew it was all business now.

“Your highnesses,” Namjoon began and it was enough to let the princess understand what he wanted to discuss.

She turned to follow her brother as she spoke and the rest of you followed along to their steps. “I am sure you must be wanting to discuss the agreement between the three clans upon accepting the Keeper.”

“That’s correct,” he gave a firm nod.

You walked beside Hoseok, silently listening in as your nerves began to reappear once again. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy even if the South Clan seemed friendly but you hoped things would work out well in the end.

“The other clans may not be as lenient but we do not plan on using Y/N for all of the wars that will be fought in the future,” she was quick to assure. “Whether she is a Keeper or not, we will not lay so low as to use someone outside of our clan as a tool in order to fight our wars.”

“Besides,” chiming in, you met the eyes of the prince as he looked over his shoulder for a brief moment and sent you a smirk, “who would want to send a beautiful lady into the battlegrounds?” He turned back again, sounding a little more exasperated this time. “However, we all know prince Hyungwoo and prince Seojoon aren’t going to be as kind as us.”

As the door to a room opened up, you all walked into their meeting hall and immediately took your seats in order to continue discussing.

“The princes of the North and West know not to reject a Keeper but you must be prepared for what challenges they will have you facing.”

You tilted your head slightly to the side at princess Soyeon. “Challenges?”

“To see how powerful you can be.”

“They won’t do anything unethical now will they?” Hoseok frowned.

“If they realize the little one has joined your little circle of lovers then perhaps they will take not offending you more into account,” prince Daesung opined with a light shrug. “But the two of them are quite unpredictable, especially prince Hyungwoo of the North, so it’s best to keep your guard up. Prince Seojoon is rational but it’s hard to please that man.” He propped his elbow upon the grand table, resting his chin onto his hand as he looked at you with sympathetic eyes. “Be careful, dear Y/N, dragons can be quite prideful and if someone comes in to threaten their position in this little game of ours, it can get a little nasty.”

You could feel a shiver running down your spine but it fell away too soon as you felt Hoseok’s hand suddenly holding yours. When you turned your head towards him, he graced you with a kind smile. “There’s no need to be afraid, we’ll be right there with you,” he whispered softly, allowing your heart to relax again.

“Major wars do not occur very often,” princess Soyeon added truthfully, “and if they do, we often deal with it on our own with our own dragons. But if there is ever an emergency that forces us to seek help, I hope that you will allow us to call for you.”

“Of course,” you gave her a firm nod with a determined gaze. “I will be prepared for the day I am asked to help fight the wars.”

She returned the nod just as firmly before letting herself relax just for a moment to spare you a small smile. “Thank you, Keeper, and thank you princes of the East for finding her.”

It was their unquestioned trust in you that made you believe in yourself more.

“What are you thinking about?”

The prince had allowed your stay in the South as the sun was already beginning to set by the time the meeting was over and as you sat on the grand bed prepared for you and your princes, Namjoon took a seat beside you after changing into proper sleepwear, wondering why you looked so distant all on your own.

You didn’t want to bother them with your concerns so you shook your head lightly with a faint smile thrown his way to try and ease the tension that hadn’t faded from the moment the three of you left the Eastern mountains.

“Right now it feels just right to take up prince Daesung’s offer to stay here a while longer and postpone our travel plans for the West and North, doesn’t it? I know you’re anxious,” Hoseok said with a wry smile as he went on to sit beside you on your other side.

“But,” Namjoon took ahold of your hand and placed it on top of his palm where it rested upon his lap, and began to rub small circles on the back of your hand as a way of comfort, “I know you miss the others and cannot wait to go home.”

How was it that they knew you so well? You could still recall those moments when they couldn’t trust a word you said and had treated you poorly but looking at them at this moment, you could find nothing but love in their eyes and that alone warmed your cold, anxious heart.

“It hasn’t even been a day,” you lamented as your eyes cast down to the gentle hands that were still caressing yours. “I miss them so much.”

“You’re right,” Hoseok said in a soft manner as he thought back to that morning the three of you took your leave and placed an arm over your shoulders with a small squeeze. “It isn’t often we go our separate ways outside of our lands.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Namjoon said, nodding. “There are some of us who haven't even seen the world outside our own lands despite being princes.”

Your eyes widened a bit at the revelation. “No way. Who?”

“Jimin and Taehyung.”

“Why is that?”

“Jimin looks after our prisoners, as you know, so it really doesn’t matter much to him because he’s sadly almost always in the dungeons. As for Taehyung, the younger one has to look after the little ones so he doesn’t get out much either,” explained Hoseok. It made sense, you should have known of those facts before they even told you but it still made it sad to be able to hear of the two of them being stuck in the clan everyday.

“So what are the occasions when traveling outside our lands?” You asked them.

Namjoon gave you a small grin. “Well for one, meetings like these. But I have meetings with the clan leaders every full moon. Usually Yoongi will accompany me on those nights. That’s why some days we go missing and are nowhere to be found inside the clan. Seokjin travels if he needs to find special herbs or wishes to learn more about plants and remedies that don't exist on our lands.”

“Those are what he calls his errands,” Hoseok said almost in a whisper as he sent you a wink, causing your mouth to form into a little circle at the epiphany.

“That’s why he takes so long and sometimes comes back so late? I would have loved to accompany him on those journeys.”

They both shared a chuckle.

“You’ve had some bad encounters when leaving the clan, I’m sure hyung only left you out for your sake,” Hoseok explained gently as he stroked your hair before proceeding on. “Jungkook and I sometimes have to do secret patrols that take place outside our lands. Only a very few of us know of that though. They’re sort of like secret investigations to get information on whether a smaller clan will be wanting to rise against us or not in order to prepare for or avoid any future wars.”

“But as you can see, we’ve managed to avoid war for a long time now.”

“Though it doesn’t guarantee the fact that we won’t be going to war again at all.”

As you stared down at your lap, the distressed look on your face made the mood drop as your two princes shared a look of understanding, knowing exactly what you are worried about.

Namjoon lightly squeezed the hand that he held onto as he began to speak again. “I know I cannot promise you that there will be no wars in the future and that even if there is a war that does not concern our clan, you may be called in to be involved as Keeper, but I can promise you that you will never be alone.”

You looked up at him with sad eyes just thinking about the wars that you all would have to face in order to protect your own people.

But Namjoon did not back away from your fear and held onto a gentle smile. “Perhaps it may not be enough to just tell you that you will not be alone but I speak for all of the dragons in our clan when I say this, Y/N. Whether it is a war fought for our own lands or a war you will be called into as Keeper for the other clans, our dragons will be right behind you guarding you at all sides. As a follower, as a friend, as a lover, and as dragons of the Eastern Clan. We are here for you.”

Upon those words that were given unto you, you knew that you could trust them with your life just as you trusted the two of them. It had been a long journey from the moment you and Jungkook escaped your old village and flew into their clan. Many things happened but as time changed, so did their hearts. You were a trusted keeper now, a human your clan believed in without a doubt so it was your turn to put your faith in them.

The journey beyond was still long but you knew you’d be alright as long as they were by your side.

“I love you,” you confessed and their eyes softened.

You were held in between the two of them, huddled so close, making you feel safe and sound and that alone allowed you to believe that everything would be alright.

“Greetings to the prince of the Western Clan.”

The air felt thicker, more tense than it was during that moment where you stood tall in front of the Southern Clan. The Western Clan was not as friendly looking as the Southern Clan but you knew that they valued law and order so although a part of you was filled with anxiety standing before the prince, you also understood that prince Seojoon wasn’t going to be someone who would judge someone that easily just because of their descendants.

“Greetings to the princes of the Eastern Clan,” he returned the formal bow, face as expressionless and as stoic as you’d been warned about. When he turned to look your way, you couldn’t tell what was on his mind. All you knew was that what he saw before him was a simple human girl claiming to be the Keeper of the Dragons.

What did he think of you? Perhaps in his eyes you looked like a frail, weak, human girl who should have never associated herself with the dragons.

It was hard being tested back in the Eastern Clan itself when you first arrived. Many of the dragons hated you at the time but you never let it get to you and tried your best to do what your heart had told you to do. Whether the dragons would accept you or not, you just had to continue doing the job you were meant to do with a golden heart.

If you show weakness, if you let their words and judgement hurt you, you would only look like someone who was not worthy of the Keeper title and that was something you knew you absolutely could not do. You couldn’t taint the reputation of the Eastern Clan, you couldn’t let the other clans shame them. If Namjoon gave you that title because he believed in you and the dragon ancestors accepted you then you had to live up to all of their expectations no matter how unclear the journey before you may lie.

When you greeted the eyes of prince Seojoon whose face revealed no sign of anything, a part of you was still afraid. But you kept your head held up high and perhaps because of that strong facade, his expression did not harden when he met your eyes.

“Keeper.” His voice was rather normal. No tone of disgust, no amount of hatred bleeding through the tip of his tongue. He greeted you as if you were an equal with a short bow and a small nod of acknowledgement.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as something special but you knew and many of the dragons knew that that itself meant that prince Seojoon wasn’t going to reject you as the Keeper.

“Seojoon.” At the call of his name falling out of Namjoon’s lips, the Western prince returned his focus back on the leader of the Eastern Clan.

For a moment all was quiet and tense as the two of them stared at one another as if sending telepathic messages to each other with looks alone. You stood there beside Hoseok, waiting for one of them to break the long silence but it seemed as if none of the two were willing to do so.

You didn’t know much about the history between the two princes nor understood much of what their relationship was but what you did know was that between the two leaders of the Eastern and Western Clan, though they may have once fought from time to time long before Jungkook was captured by your former village, the two of them had this silent mutual respect for one another.

And perhaps that was one of the reasons why prince Seojoon was willing to be the one to break first.

“I was surprised when I received your letter, Namjoon,” he began without so much of a blink in his eyes. “Out of all the crown princes who have taken their positions on the thrones, I never thought you out of the four of us would choose to trust a human and grant them the title of a Keeper. In fact, I always believed you to be the last one to ever be willing.”

Standing tall and proud with no sign of remorse, Namjoon spoke with the same resolve. “It is true that my actions were indeed unexpected but my decisions were not made solely on feelings alone.”

“You are not one to easily trust a human,” the Western prince acknowledged, “so I will trust in the decision you have made. The ancestors have, as it seems, deemed her worthy of the position. However, that does not mean I will blindly put my faith in someone I do not know. Until the Keeper can prove her worth, I will be on the neutral side on neither accepting nor refusing the new Eastern Clan member.”

Prove your worth.

He wanted you to prove your worth as a Keeper in order to accept you as someone needed in the dragan clans. You weren’t sure how to do that, you weren’t even sure how you were going to be someone of good help to the four major clans. Namjoon believed in you and so did the other six, but at the moment their support did not mean much until you could find the strength within yourself to accept the role.

Prince Seojoon was right, you had to prove your worth. But not just for the clans but for your own self as well.

The past years have always treated you horribly, a human woman who had no place anywhere with no purpose in life. Now that you were given such a high honor and set at the center of the dragons, the new profound responsibilities could only make you feel as if you were just another outcast again.

No.

Your princes believed in you and they’d go through any lengths to make sure you were safe and protected. They gave you a place in their clan, cared for you, and made sure everything was alright. It was time to stop hiding in their shadows and prove that you were indeed worthy of such an honorable title and be the one to protect instead.

You were a Keeper now. There was no time to dwindle and convince yourself otherwise.

Seeing the resolve in your eyes rather than shrinking in fear and hiding behind the princes of the Eastern Clan, prince Seojoon was a bit taken back by your strong gaze.

But...it wasn’t a look that he did not exactly hate.

Not bad, he thought, and hid the small look of approval behind his cold exterior.

“Your highness.”

Prince Seojoon stopped walking and turned slowly to find the Keeper who had not spoken even once during his audience with the Eastern Clan’s arrival. You bowed before him in a formal and elegant way, a voice too gentle and soft for a supposed warrior who would eventually have to be used in upcoming battles with the dragons, but he allowed himself not to judge someone based on the exteriors alone.

“What is it, Keeper?”

At least he was calling you by your title, you thought, and let out a hidden sigh before facing the prince with a dignified stance.

“I understand that the relationship between humans and dragons is not a strong one, but I also do not conceive of you as one who would wrongfully judge others based on the fact that I am human alone.”

“You do not, huh?” He replied with the same seriousness as you have written on your face.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries but prince Namjoon himself has told me that you are one who sees the person before him as what they are as you see before your eyes. Neither past, race, gender, nor what they were born as will sway your mind into thinking otherwise.”

“And what are you to do with that information?”

You held your head high and met his eyes without falter, keeping in mind the words Namjoon had warned you about with how prince Seojoon did not like it when one spoke about proving oneself while cowering before his eyes. “If me proving my worth to the dragons is all that you want from me, then I will do all that I can to become a warrior that is worthy to everyone. I hope that someday you can faithfully put your trust in me as Keeper of the Dragons.”

Prince Seojoon took a moment to reply, the silence between the two of you lingering while you refused to back down upon his hard gaze otherwise he would never take your words seriously.

After a short while, he finally gave you a firm nod. “I trust that you will keep your words.”

“Yes, your highness.”

With that, the prince watched you walk away while he stood there, beginning to understand just a little bit of why the princes of the East have decided to keep you by their sides.

A brave soul, kind and gentle, but unaware of the power you held as a Keeper. One day you’d find your strength and courage walking into future wars that would call for you.

Like a rose who had yet to make use of her thorns.

“What are you worried about, hm? I’m pretty sure you just passed his test.”

“Test?” Your head was quick to perk up upon Namjoon’s words though those eyes of yours were still filled with an unspoken anxiety that kept weighing down your shoulders. “What are you talking about, Namjoon?”

“Seojoon isn’t as cruel as he portrays, he’s just a bit strict and serious when it comes to the future of the dragons.”

“You would know, you’re just like him,” Hoseok commented as a side remark, causing the leader to roll his eyes while you let out a small chuckle.

Hearing that, Namjoon’s brows furrowed as he sent you a pout. “You agree?”

There he was, a prince who was always seen as a strict leader to all, showing you a cute pout. “Well you were quite hard on me when I first walked into the clan,” you reminded the prince, causing him to let out a dry laugh.

“Right,” he cringed, not entirely liking the images of those memories walking into his head. Those days weren’t the greatest and they regretted it more than you could ever imagine but telling you those thoughts would only bring more weight on your shoulders and that was something they absolutely couldn’t do. So rather than dwelling on the negative thoughts, he approached the subject with a light tone. “If someone like me can be swayed into trusting a human once again, then Seojoon would have no problem following my footsteps.”

“Mhm,” agreed Hoseok, “Prince Seojoon is rational when it comes to judging people.”

“All you have to do is be yourself. He likes authenticity more than anything so you have no problem there.”

“I’m just,” you let out a soft sigh as you went on to hug yourself, head falling to the floor, eyes dropping with worry, “how do I prove my worth when I can’t even master my abilities as a Keeper yet?”

You felt arms wrapping themselves around you in a gentle manner, holding you close to his chest, and a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head. “Wielding ones’ power takes time and patience but I know this, and Hoseok and the other five back at home know this.” He looked down into your eyes with a strong gaze of confidence and encouragement, meeting those anxious ones headstrong. “You can do it, Y/N. If you can turn your back on the village that was supposed to be your past, present, and future but failed you, if you can turn a blind eye on myths and legends about hideous monsters like us, if you can lend your strength towards the one that was meant to be your prisoner, rescue him, and still stay in a clan full of dragons that openly showed their distaste in you. If you can be framed for someone else’s wrongdoing, get locked up in the dungeons for months, then survive a fall off a high cliff with someone who didn’t even appreciate you and injuries all over your body...My love, you can do absolutely anything.”

“I mean look at yourself, pretty girl.” Taking your hand to pull you away from Namjoon, Hoseok held your hand in the air to twirl you around right there in the middle of the guest room. “Beautiful hands,” he pressed a kiss to back of your hand, “beautiful hair,” taking a few strands of your hair, he pressed a kiss to them, “beautiful forehead,” kisses to your forehead, “beautiful brows,” to your brows, “beautiful eyes,” two upon each eye, “beautiful nose,” to the tip of your nose, “beautiful lips,” he grinned at the sight of your cheeks blushing red and delivered a chaste kiss to them. “And a beautiful heart.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in close and pressed a kiss to the right of your chest before simply resting his chin atop your shoulder.

“On top of that you’re so strong,” Namjoon stated and held you from behind, his chin resting on your opposite shoulder with you wrapped in between their arms. “If there is anyone I can trust with the title of a Keeper, it’s you. Because that is your worth. You’re beautiful and kind and so, so strong.”

“We believe in you more than anything, little one. If you can do all those things and still keep your head up and face everything with a strong mind, you are worth more than anyone as the Keeper of the Dragons.”

“You’re going to be alright. You’re going to fail from time to time but you’ll keep at it without giving up hope because that’s what you’re best at doing. When everyone else has given up hope, you’re right there to smile through the rocky road and continue on without complaint.”

“And through it all, you won’t be alone.” With a kiss on your right cheek and a kiss to your left cheek, they whispered a promise that they’d never break. “We’ll be right here next to you.”

“So rely on us too, okay?” Namjoon said as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “We’re right here for you.”

“Welcome, princes of the Eastern Clan, and,” you could feel the Northern Prince’s eyes on you though you didn’t dare to look up unless he had given you permission to do so. With a light tone that hid a certain secret you couldn’t quite put a finger on, the prince greeted you. “Keeper of the Dragons, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine, your highness,” you returned the formal words with a head still lowered before him.

“Now, now, we don’t have to act too formal with one another,” prince Hyungwoo spoke in an easygoing tone as he gave a small clap. “We are comrades who are inevitably meant to fight alongside each other, aren’t we?” He held a hand before you and when you looked up to meet the gaze of the Northern Prince, you could see the lopsided grin he had greeted you with, a feeling not going too well with you but how could you show rudeness to a prince of the four?

From your peripheral vision, you could see Namjoon and Hoseok who watched with the same caution and wariness but even they couldn’t do much being as you were in the territory of the Northern Clan. A cold, hard place in the snowy mountains.

Possessive or not, it was common courtesy.

So you let your hand fall into the prince’s palm. “Yes, your highness,” you said and with a satisfied twinkle in his eyes, he gave you a kiss atop the back of your hand.

“Your beauty is one that can defeat the enemies itself, Keeper. Tell me, what is your name?”

“My name is Y/N, your highness.”

“Y/N,” he repeated the name slowly along his tongue, waiting for a moment before letting your hand go and looking up to you with a small smirk curled along the corner of his lips, “can you wield a blade?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“The dragons of the Eastern Clan are one of the best warriors who control both the skies and the land, notorious for being an undefeated clan who refuses to lose to even the smallest wars. Now that they’ve gained a Keeper in their possession, they only grow stronger.” The prince gave one small look towards Namjoon and Hoseok before resting his gaze on you again. “But the Keeper does not only belong to the Eastern Clan, now does she? So tell me, dear Y/N, in a world where dragons are fighting for power just as any human kingdom would, what skills do you have to offer us protection and victory in a battlefield that may cost the lives of many?”

You knew what he was trying to say, that the position you were given and the wars that were to come was not a child’s play. It was all serious business where each one of you would walk into the battlegrounds not knowing who would live and who would survive. Being a Keeper did not guarantee safety nor victory of the wars. It meant protecting the dragons and bringing them back home alive.

“Prince Hyungwoo, the Keeper was only made recently,” Hoseok tried to save you but the Northern prince wasn’t having it.

“All the more reasons to get her ready for such dangerous events. You can’t tell me you aren’t worried just because you have a Keeper by your side now, can you?” He asked, raising a brow at the two Eastern princes. “No. It is because she is the Keeper that makes you worried more than anything. Am I wrong?” Upon the silent response that he received, the prince went on. “I won’t go against the words of our ancestors, they have accepted our dear Y/N after all, but she wouldn’t be useful if we don’t put her to good use.”

A tool.

You could tell that was all the prince of the Northern Clan thought of you as. And not just him but many other dragons who did not know of you as Y/N but as the Keeper of the dragons. You were going to be made a pawn in their wars.

“Since it seems as if the Keeper does not have any particular skills just yet, why don’t we test a theory out?” He snapped his finger, looking right back at you and bringing shivers down your spine as you knew something good wasn’t going to come out of his mouth. “They say the Keeper is at their strongest when placed in a very emotional state of mind.”

“What are you trying to say?” The anger rising in Namjoon flashed in his eyes as he watched prince Hyungwoo but the prince chose to simply ignore his concerns, eyes holding yours with a sly grin.

“What causes your ire, dear Y/N?” He asked you so casually as if speaking about the weather. “What makes you so livid and upset that you can’t seem to control your own emotions? Think of something very unpleasant.” He inched forward your way, dangerous eyes staring straight into your soul. “Is it when a man you barely know of touches you and makes you uncomfortable?” He grabbed ahold of your wrist, a touch different from when he held your hand for a greeting.

You winced slightly, biting back your tongue in order to hide how uncomfortable you were as the images of Jinyoung flashed before you.

“Prince Hyungwoo,” Hoseok growled a low warning as both of your princes stepped up behind you.

But he didn’t let go. “Hmm, you don’t look like someone who would get angry for the sake of yourself. You look like you would explode if something were to happen to the ones you cared most about.”

You couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying with the tight grip on your wrist. The only thing you could see was Jinyoung, the man who only looked at you when you were finally made useful because you managed to tame a dragon. The love he claimed he had for you wasn’t love. He just wanted to use you, having no other reason behind his infatuation for you.

Just like your former village.

You were just a tool for them as you would become one for the dragons.

“Let her go,” Namjoon demanded in a low snarl as he placed a tight grip on Prince Hyunwoo’s shoulder. Only then did the prince realize the state you were in and released his hold on you.

You couldn’t meet his gaze any longer but you held your head up, lips pressed into a thin line as the expression on your face refused to give into the fear your mind wanted you to walk into.

Hoseok wrapped a hand around your shoulder and took a step back so that he could create more distance between you and the prince.

Even then you didn’t feel good.

In a Clan where strangers stared at you as if you didn’t belong, in a Clan that only hoped to use you as a tool, you were reminded once again of your place in the world.

Jinyoung, your former village, and the dragons.

The whole world was really against you, weren’t they? Because when you think you’ve finally found happiness, it tries to take that away from you.

Hoseok stood there beside the open door that led into the guest room where the three of you would reside while Namjoon held a meeting with prince Hyungwoo, and watched with a silent gaze as you sat on a chair, eyes staring at your hands with thoughts running all over your mind.

Despite how brave you were in front of prince Hyungwoo, behind that font he knew how anxious and afraid you were. He could see it from where he stood now, watching you sit there all alone, finally letting your guard down but with a mind filled with anxious thoughts.

You were a brave soul, the sweetest kind he had ever met, and seeing such an expression on your face made him want to make it all alright again.

So he stepped into the room, closing the door slowly behind him to not make any abrupt noises which would startle you and walked towards your way.

Sliding a hand upon your shoulder, he felt you jumping slightly at the sudden touch.

“Sorry, I scared you, didn’t I?” Hoseok first apologized with a rueful smile. The last thing he wanted was to make you even more anxious.

But the way your expression softened at just the sight of him and how you breathed out the slightest relief of “Hoseok” made him at ease again. He made his way around to kneel before you and took your hands to caress them both with a gentle smile to help ease your own worries that kept circling your thoughts. Your eyes followed him silently, comforted at just his presence alone.

“Roses are really beautiful, you know that?”

The hairs of your brows creased in between as you met his gaze. “Hoseok?”

Yet he continued. “They bloom in the most magnificent ways, fluttering their petals open, blushing in the most prettiest shades of red. However, although they are known to be one of the most beautiful flowers, a rose doesn’t just offer itself as a pretty flower. It has its thorns to protect it from harm. Some thorns may be harmless, while some are really sharp and more dangerous than others. It’s like a pretty little thing such as yourself building bushes out of bushes made of thorns to keep yourself from harming others and others harming you. The rose likes to stand there, far from others, and smiling prettily as if everything is alright, while inside it’s slowly wilting away and just wants a hand that would willingly give it sunlight and water without fearing her thorns.”

Now I’m not saying that the thorns are always a bad thing. They can be good when facing harmful creatures that wish to simply pluck it and steal it for themselves, eventually hurting the little rose because they wouldn’t know how to care for it. But there are times when the wall of thorns can fall out of control. There are times when those thorns can harm the little rose. But do you know what’s so fascinating about these thorns? They only exist because the rose allows them to. Some thorns can get out of control, but once it’s tamed and nurtured and the rose can face it each day until it no longer fears those thorns, they can become one of the most powerful allies the rose can use.”

What I’m saying is,” Hoseok held your hands tighter against his own, giving it a gentle squeeze while never taking his eyes off you, “these little thoughts of yours can become your greatest ally or your worst enemy. It is all up to how you wish to face them. The world can be really scary, and I know that because I was one of those scary things that you had to face to get to where you are now. But just as your world can shift with just one sincere heart, you can do that all over again. Sincerity was what got us to see your blooming petals and soon all dragons that exist will see that too. Though,” he narrowed his eyes, “you have to be careful otherwise they’ll try to steal you away.”

“As if that would ever happen,” you told him with a shake of your head and a bitter smile.

“What do you mean?” He asked as he gave you a light squeeze. “You’re beautiful, Y/N, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“I know what you mean, Hoseok, but I…” You looked away, eyes shaking as you could feel the tears coming. “I don’t want to be seen as just...that. I don’t want to be seen as just Y/N, Keeper of the Dragons, as a human, as a human girl who managed to become an important figure to the dragons and is now...and is now someone who can be used to win battles.” You took your hand from Hoseok to hold your face, hiding the tears that fell from your eyes the more your voice shook. “I know it’s selfish of me but I don’t want to be used as a tool. I don’t want to be seen as someone who’s far greater or far lesser than everyone else. I want to be seen as an equal, as an ally. I don’t want to be a weapon. I’m so scared, Hoseok.”

The sight of your tears, the soft cries and soft whimpers that left your lips made Hoseok’s heart ache when you finally decided to break down and tell him the things that had been going on inside your head.

Back then when you were in front of prince Hyungwoo, the way he held your wrist probably reminded you of how cruel and forceful Jinyoung had been towards you. Though he himself hadn’t ever witnessed the cruelty from both Jinyoung and the village you grew up in, he was sure the memories only served you as a horrible reminder of what you were to those people.

Hoseok wrapped his arms around you and in just a split second, your cries grew louder as you leaned against him, eventually getting too weak to hold yourself up on your own so you fell into his arms and the two of you sat there on the carpet floor.

“It isn’t selfish to want something for yourself, Y/N,” he said in such a soft tone as he held you close and tight. “Just because you are the Keeper does not mean you have to belong to everyone. You belong to your own self. Not me, not the Eastern Clan, not the dragons. You belong to you and no one should feel as if they can use you for their own benefits.”

“But…”

“You have a duty to hold as a Keeper, yes,” Hoseok nods, cutting you off gently, “but just because the Keeper’s job is to protect everyone, it does not mean that you are to be used as a tool. My love, I know the world hasn’t been fair to you but you have us now. You're not alone. Whatever you wish to do, we’re with you. Me, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. If it seems as if the world is not on your side, know that we are. I believe in you, Y/N. It’s okay to be afraid and it’s okay to lean on others when things aren’t going the way you hope for it to go. No matter what, you are you, and no one can take that away from you.”

“Hoseok..” You called his name.

“What is it?” Hoseok gently asked.

“I want to go home.”

The raw broken tone in your voice made his heart ache and although there were still a few days to go and the sun had yet to set, how could Hoseok ever say no when you’ve finally voiced out a selfish wish for the first time?

“Okay.” So he said, giving you a nod and a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “We’ll go home.”

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au.

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you.

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms.

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it.

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here.

Yoongi takes another step toward you.

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought.

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie.

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life.

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie.

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman.

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym!

#bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff

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s8ncake · 3 years

Text

Originally I wasn’t planning on posting this here, but a friend of mine convinced me. You can also check it out on ao3!

🔞The following fic is nsfw. Minors dni.🔞

Sacrilege

Summary: Simeon has fallen, but he doesn’t view himself as such. No, given the feelings he has towards you, this could only be an ascension; one beyond anything he had in the Celestial Realm, and anything the Devildom could offer. Now he serves no one, only you. His one and only god.

word count: ~5700

⚠️c/w: gore and blood (but Simeon and the reader are fine), yandere!Simeon, sacrilegious themes, blasphemy

Additional note: the reader is gender neutral, and the reader’s genitalia isn’t specified

In ao3, I tagged this with Dead Dove: Do not eat. That still applies here. Make sure you’ve read over the content warnings before proceeding / interacting.

🔞And once again, minors dni.🔞

Falling’s a strange thing, a concept that Simeon never quite understood. It happened to angels who were wicked, those who sought to undo his father’s plan. So they were cut off. From the heavenly host. From their powers. Their wings turned black, and their light faded. Until the only thing left was a darkness, one that sought to consume everything that they once were. They either died or transformed, becoming monsters. Beasts. Demons.

Simeon is none of those things. He didn’t fall to oppose his father, nor did he seek to undo any sort of plan. He’s an author after all, and authors create.

And what could his muse be, other than you?

Your soul is brilliant, a beacon of light amongst everything else in this miserable realm. It took him far too long to see that. But thankfully, his eyes have been opened. And never again shall they shut. In the long span of his existence, he’s seen everything that the universe could offer. Stars. Galaxies. The rise and fall of human civilization itself. Existence itself is always in a state of flux, constantly shifting and warping as things are created and then destroyed.

But you… You exist beyond that.

Your soul never tarnishes, nor does it fade when things get rough. Instead, it fights. Nails. Fists. Some would say that it’s barbaric, but Simeon had always found it to be beautiful. It’s a philosophy that he’s tried to emulate. Words are meaningless, unless they are used to praise you. So now he resorts to action. And well, the saying is true. So perhaps it’s only natural that he uses it to replace his books, that the tales he creates are no longer works of fiction. No, fantasy has lost all meaning now.

There’s only you.

You have always inspired him. Even now, Simeon can’t help but write poetry about you as he moves. The world that he’s in is dark. Depressing. Very little of it is worthy of being compared to someone as brilliant as you. But that doesn’t prevent him from trying.

Today, he starts with a crumbling city. It’s silence echoes throughout the land, and you are the slight breeze that rushes past his ear. The moon, although unlike its cratered surface, you have no imperfections. No, the dips and grooves along your skin are beautiful. Like the glinting of a knife, the way the metal slices through the air. You have pierced his heart just as easily. But that’s okay, it’s yours after all.

It’s a shame that he can’t carve out his own and give it to you. That despite everything, he is still limited by this corporeal form. But if he were to be anything else, then you wouldn’t be able to look at him. And that would get in the way of his worship. A god must be able to view their subjects after all.

Besides, this new form is perfect for him. It’s yet another form of his art, a piece that was made specifically for you. His horns. His tail. His cock… He considered it all. Like a good follower should.

No one else would be able to do that. They are limited by their pathetic mortal frame. Rats. Parasites. They’re unfit to even look upon you. But with another flicker of his knife, they are handled. And he will morph them until something better. Something more suited for you.

The process of creation is a never ending one, especially given the thousands of pieces that he’s working on. Some of them are grand, and others are small. But all of them are for you. How else would he pay tribute?

There’s a gust of wind. Your arrival is soon. He can sense it. It comes with everything that is right. The sun peaking over the clouds. Starlight reflecting off of a lake. The rippling of water as it reveals the creatures that lurk within its depths. The sound of laughter, followed by the blessed silence that he’s come to adore. That is who you are. An omen of things to come. The others say you are bad, but Simeon knows better. It is impossible for you to be anything other than good.

For you are greater than the heavens, and the earth itself. His father was nothing, but you—

There’s a scream as Simeon feels blunt nails dig into his arm. It’s followed by a shove, and footsteps frantically scrambling away from him. ...How annoying.

His latest sacrifice had just ruined his internal monologue. And it was going to be such a good one too. What a shame. If only he had a pen and paper nearby…

They don’t travel far. There’s another sound, although this one is a plea. Simeon silences it with a crunch, and tsks when he looks at his hands. That was messier than he had intended, but it looks like no longer needs any ink. An amused chuckle falls from his lips. Would you like that? Poetry written in the blood of your enemies, the very nonbelievers who seek to destroy the world that the two of you are trying to create?

...Perhaps that’s something to try next time. Right now, he has something more important to focus on. He’s still in the process of creation after all, and he’s not finished decorating. Thankfully this… creature (it can’t be a human, for nothing could compare to you) should provide him with the rest of the materials that he needs. So Simeon gets to work.

This too is a form of art, and one he would never have considered before. But he has expanded beyond quills and parchment. Now he builds sculptures out of the very people who would defy you. Those who are unworthy of being graced with your presence. They are broken down, and fashioned into a suitable idol.

Another splash of crimson. The breaking of bones. Wire. Nails. And then it’s done. Your new altar is complete. Simeon takes a step back, appraises his work, and grins. It’s perfect.

Fresh blood drips off of it, reminding him of rain, the way it softly drizzles and brings life to those around it. This is a form of life as well, one that does nothing but speak of your greatness. The various limbs that have been tacked and strung above it make a rainbow, an icon of the color you have given this dull and drab world. Maybe one day you’ll be able to color it all. But the best part about it is when you stand away, when you view his masterpiece from a distance. It takes the shape of a heart, one that resembles his own. And it exists entirely for you.

The wind picks up, howling in his ears, and he knows that you are here. Once you enter the room, Simeon falls to his knees. He doesn’t have to stay there for long; it’s simply a gesture of formality, one that reminds you of how important you truly are.

“You may rise.”

He follows the command without hesitation. Your voice is a melody. A soothing tone that seeps into his bones and leaves him feeling lighter. It truly is an act of kindness that you’ve allowed him to stand as your equal, if only for a brief moment. But he will be on his knees again soon enough.

He can’t wait.

A sigh falls from your lips once you notice the various remains that litter the floor. “Those were supposed to be the new recruits. I guess none of them were willing?”

Simeon nods. “They were all unworthy of you.”

“A shame.” Your eyes then roam over his altar. He awaits your response with trepidation. ...Do you like it?

But as always, there’s no need for him to voice his question. Like the god you are, you already answer it with a grin. Your power, your majesty, truly knows no bounds. “You’ve found a better use for them though. I’m pleased.”

A shiver runs down Simeon’s spine. Your approval means everything. It is the air that fills up his lungs and allows him to breath. He feels incredibly lucky, to be blessed with such a thing.

It only inspires him to work even harder for what comes next. There is no church here, nor is there a temple. But those measly little things are unneeded. Your body outshines it all. And that is what he shall worship.

A strike of a bell, and then Simeon kneels before you once as you sit upon your handmade throne. It begins now. Sacrament. He licks his lips in anticipation.

You are an image, perched atop yet another one of his creations. Although this one is his favorite. There’s no flesh or bone, only gold. Treasure that he had stolen from the Celestial Realm and the Devildom alike. Melting it was difficult, but the result was definitely worth it. For now you have a throne, one that suits your majesty.

It makes him feel small, as it should. Your presence is grand, a shining iridescent star amongst the blank canvas that he’s created. And it’s reflected in his eyes once you beckon him forward.

He delicately peels each and every garment off of you, savoring the sight of your body as it’s slowly revealed to him. He’s seen it before, yet you never fail to take his breath away. Every hair, every scar, all of the dips and grooves that make up who you are; Simeon loves it all. How could he not?

Beauty takes the form of your legs, the way they spread open before him. Magnificent is the sight that greets him, your most intimate parts bare now before his gaze. Adoration is what he feels when you whisper his name and guide his head forward. And divinity, well... that is what you taste like.

He dives in with enthusiasm. You immediately grab onto his horns, and pull him in closer. Simeon groans. They’re handles after all, ones that he made specifically for you. To tug. To control. He is but a follower, and you are a god. One that will never fail to help him find the right path.

And everything about this, the taste of your essence on his tongue, is right.

Every noise that you make spurs him on. This is what you deserve. The pleasure that courses through your veins. The moans that fall from your lips. It’s a shame that he can’t give you more, not yet at least. One day the world will be yours, but until then… an orgasm will have to do.

You cum with a cry, one that could shake the very heavens itself. A part of him hopes that they've heard you, but the other knows that they are unworthy of such a thing. He laps up each and every drop. It would be a sin to allow any of it to spill. Nothing you create should ever go to waste. Especially when it’s this good.

Once your orgasm ends, he pulls away, giving you a moment to collect yourself. It’s a shame that he cannot taste you forever; that like all good things, it must come to an end. But his worship of you is far from over. No, the two of you have only just begun.

Your eyes meet, and Simeon’s tongue lolls out, wiping away the spare traces of your cum. A chuckle, then you gently pat his head. “Such a good boy Simeon. You’ve improved.”

Pleasure shoots down his spine the moment you praise him. This is what he’s after. This is the reason he exists. To serve you. To please you. Your fingers begin to run through his hair, and a moan falls from his lips as he leans into your touch.

“You remember what comes next, don’t you?”

Of course. His worship of you is a form of art, one that he has practiced over and over again. Simeon nods, and then finally removes the last of his clothing.

His cock springs free. It’s hard. Leaking. He wants you, as always. But how could he not? Your visage is the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. Your voice rolls through his mind like honey. He loves you.

It’s normal of course, for a follower to love their god. Yet even the word itself feels unsatisfactory. One day he’ll have to create a new one. But until then, love will have to suffice. Besides, he has better ways to show his devotion. Actions speak louder than words after all. So despite the desire that courses through him, he doesn’t even make an attempt to touch himself. His own pleasure is unimportant. The only thing that matters is you.

So instead he stays on his knees. Where he belongs. He starts with your ankle, placing feather light kisses along each one as his mouth slowly works his way up to your calf. You gasp once he reaches your thighs, and then the next part of sacrament begins: creation.

In the past he created galaxies. Stars. Nebulas. Simeon had the luxury of forming several of them before that task was given to someone else. But thanks to you, he can perform it once more. Only this time the materials are different. Instead of creating constellations in the sky, he makes them on your body.

Today he starts with the Big Dipper. He lightly suckles on your thighs, mapping out each and every star, and once that constellation is done, he moves onto another. Caenis Major. Orion. Cygnus. Your body looks even more breathtaking like this, so he adds a few more. These ones are new, ones that he just made up. They have yet to have a name, but for now… Consecratio will have to do. Perhaps he’ll be able to come up with a more official title for them later.

Your name falls from his lips, along with a moan, and something inside of him slips. He falls even further into your depths. Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. His name never sounded so pretty; but everytime you say it, he can feel his cock begin to swell. He is the one you want. The only being that makes you feel like this, and the only one that ever will.

You are his god.

Blood rushes through him, staining his cheeks, hardening his cock even further. In the haze of his own mind, his mouth parts from your skin, and his fingers enter you instead.

You mewl at the intrusion. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. This step comes later on, yet Simeon can’t wait. He wants to see you cum once more. To hear your praise as he pleasures you beyond your own comprehension.

Perfect. Stunning. Simeon adds another finger, his gaze fixed on your expression and nothing else. Finding that spot within you is easy. He had memorized its location long ago as proof of his devotion. Each and every part of your body has been mapped out, a never ending piece of parchment that he keeps in his head. In truth, Simeon has never been much of a navigator. But your body is the only thing that he needs to know.

You moan once again. You’re close, Simeon can feel it. Although he’s neglected to take his own pleasure into account. He’s close as well.

Simeon hasn’t even laid a hand on himself, yet his own noises grow louder. Every gasp. Every groan. Knowing that he’s able to do this to you spurs him on, his cock aching from how much it desires you. Yet your image drowns all of that out.

His peak arrives, but he never gets to fully reach it. Instead, your hand clenches around the base of his cock, preventing him from cumming.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Recite your scripture as punishment.”

His labored breathing echoes across the room, and Simeon’s eyes widen once he realizes his mistake. He was being selfish, allowing his own pleasure to get in the way of yours. Lust is a vise that he should have had better control of. He was a fool to let it get in the way of his love, so he accepts your punishment with grace.

Magic soon replaces your hand, creating a cockring that now leaves your fingers free to move up and down along his shaft. His breathing stutters, but he’s thankful for the intervention. More of your magic curls around his body, brushing up against his skin. It’s a sign of what’s to come, yet he shoves that excitement aside, or tries to at least.

Simeon frowns. The cockring was sorely needed. It makes sure that he doesn’t forget about what’s truly important. No matter what, he isn’t allowed to cum before you. The only sin that exists is putting his pleasure before your own. Yes, he deserves to be punished for this. His devotion towards you never should have wavered.

So he opens his mouth, and speaks; his voice not faltering despite the way your hand moves across his shaft. “The steadfast love of you, my god, never ceases. Your mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning.”

You press one of your fingers against his slit, smearing some of his precum along the head of his cock. A shudder runs down Simeon’s spine. Your touch is a blessing, one that he can never get enough of. But he cannot focus on it. No. The pleasure is unimportant. You must be worshipped.

“There’s no greater love other than this: to lay down my life for you.”

He focuses on the words instead, and on everything that they entail. He would gladly die for you. In both this timeline, and any of the other ones that follow. The universe is full of constants: gravity, matter, humanity itself, and the devotion that he feels towards you. Those are all things that shall exist in every universe.

No matter what, Simeon loves you. And he will die and fall as many times as he needs in order to prove it. Although he’s never met any of his alternate selves, he already knows that it’s true. His love cannot be contained in any vessel. It flows throughout time and space, and every spec of it is dedicated towards you and you alone.

Your hand leaves his cock. Simeon feels it twitch under the absence of your touch. A part of him wants to whine, but he holds that in. He refuses to sin once more, to tarnish his reputation as your most devout follower. So he simply continues reciting the words that he’s come to know by heart.

Indeed, you’re no longer stroking him. But that’s only because your hands have wondered elsewhere. A finger traces the rim of his ass, and it doesn’t take Simeon long to put two and two together. Ah. He had never—

You enter him. Slowly but surely, although there’s no resistance. Another one quickly joins it. Your fingers are slick from his precum and some of your own spit, not to mention your magic… It widens him, making lube unnecessary. Not that he would ask for any. No, he’s being punished right now. This is simply another example of your benevolence.

The feeling is strange, but he continues. “I give thanks to you, for everything about you is good. Our love endures forever.”

Your fingers haven’t stopped moving. They’re searching around for something, although Simeon doesn’t know what you're looking for. There’s nothing left of him to find. You have seen it all.

“And I know that in all things, you do good for those who love you, who have been called according to your purpose.”

And then you brush up against a spot inside of him, one that has him seeing stars. He’s unable to stop the surprised “Oh!” that falls from his mouth, or the way he tries to fuck himself on your hand. Thankfully that was the last verse, so there’s no harm in letting another mewl spill from his throat.

You laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, one that Simeon is blessed to hear. “What a good little follower. If you beg for me, I’ll let you cum.”

He wants to. To immediately get on his knees and beg for you to fuck him, as you take away the last shred of innocence that he has. Ah, but take isn’t the right word. Give. He would give it all to you. That purity is nothing more than a cocoon, one he’s been working on shedding himself of. It only gets in the way of loving you. Besides, how could he perform his tasks if he was worried about heaven’s definition of sin? No, there’s too much work to be done. And what he’s doing is okay. You’ve told him so.

Submitting to the desire that's coursing through him would be easy, but this is a test. One that he refuses to fail. Worshiping you takes precedence. It always does. “No. I wish to pick up where we left off. My only desire is to pleasure you.”

You flash him a smile, one more brilliant than the sun. “Your devotion truly is admirable. We’ll begin our worship again shortly. But first, I’m going to fuck you like this, okay? Remember the feeling of my fingers Simeon. Because next time, you’re going to cum around them and nothing else. Do you understand?”

Next time. He’ll be ready then. And you will finally own all of him. He can’t wait. “Yes, my beloved. I’ll do as you ask.”

You hum in approval, and then your fingers start moving once more. Pleasure courses through him, and he bites his lip as he smothers his gasp. You are everything. This is everything.

“I don’t want you to hold back Simeon. Let me hear you.”

Of course. This is a form of devotion too. How could he have forgotten that? A high pitched moan immediately falls from his lips. Words are hard, but Simeon still manages to speak. You wanted to hear his voice after all.

“G—Good. So good.”

Another finger gets added. Somehow the pleasure increases. His cock aches. It’s hard and weeping, yet he doesn’t care. The pleasure that you have shown him outshines it all. And he never wants this moment to end.

His mind is slowly becoming blank, the fog of lust threatening to consume his every thought. But Simeon shoves it all aside. Vocal. He has to focus on being vocal.

You briefly pull out. A fourth finger teases at his entrance, and your voice coos into his ear, “Can you handle more?”

More. The possibility excites him. He had no idea that it was an option. But he will do it. Of course he will. As your follower, it’s his duty to handle every inch of you. That’s why he created this vessel in the first place. And Simeon leaps at each and every opportunity to put it to the test.

He has to think, to piece the fragile bits of his mind together in order to form a response. But as soon as he comes close to making one, the magical ring around his cock vibrates. It’s slow, a low thrum that’s incredibly unsatisfying, yet it leaves him shivering all the same.

It’s a warning. He still can’t cum after all, and unless he performs well… he may never be able to. A response. You need one now. “Fuck. Y-Yes I can handle more.”

And like the benevolent god you are, you give him exactly that. Yes, you’re so wide inside of him. He didn’t even know that it was possible to feel this full. That his body could accommodate this much. And the fact that one of your limbs is inside of him... Simeon keens.

Truly, he’s unworthy of such a thing. Your fingers, your hand, should be elsewhere. That you would even consider touching him there is already enough to make him cum. Thankfully the cockring is still in place, so the pleasure never has to end.

He focuses on the shape of your hand, the dip and groove of each finger; the way it scrapes against his walls as you slam into him. Your pace is rough. Brutal. Heavenly. His mind goes hazy underneath it all. No. He can’t let this consume him. This is only a preview of what’s to come, and you are gracious enough to give it to him.

It’s another test. But this one… Oh, this one is his favorite.

Another wave of pleasure. He’s a shivering mess, one that can do nothing more than scream for you. Time itself has no meaning. There’s only this; the fullness that you provide, and the love behind each and every gesture that you make. He mewls out your name once more, and then it’s over.

He’s repented for his mistakes.

Your fingers… no it was your fist, pulls out of him. Simeon briefly whines at the loss. He falls to the floor, and then you place that very same hand in front of his lips. He lavishes it with kisses, and groans. More. He needs more.

And he knows that there will be more to come. It’s all a part of his worship after all. The taste of your inevitable union will be even stronger, richer. This is but a treat, a kind dessert that you have gifted him. The real meal comes later on. But Simeon is willing to wait. Once he’s finished lapping at your hands, he moves to your altar and lays himself upon it.

This is his final offering. His body is yours to use as you see fit.

You get up. Although Simeon cannot see it, he hears your bare feet walking across the abandoned chapel’s floor. There is no choir, but the ex-angel wants to sing when you impale yourself upon him.

A purr leaves your throat. “You feel perfect.”

He’s glad. Like his horns, his cock is made for you. Every ridge, every bump, was created to maximize your pleasure. No toy will ever compare. Simeon made sure of that.

You begin to move. He allows you to set the pace as his nails dig into your thigh. Perfect. You fit perfectly around him. He feels an incredible amount of pride as you gasp and moan with the rise and fall of your hips. Out of all of the offerings that he’s made, his mortal form is definitely the best. The flush of your cheeks proves it.

The magic around his cock finally loosens, and you clench around him. Simeon’s climax quickly follows your own. The tangling of tongues. The squirting of cum. He finished inside of you, but you don’t remain on his softening cock for long. No, you pull yourself off of him, and Simeon watches as his cum flows out of you.

He licks his lips. This is it. The moment that he’s been waiting for. His favorite part of worship.

Your voice is a command, one that never fails to send a shiver down his spine. “Clean up.”

He immediately begins lapping at your dripping hole. The taste of your cum has melded into his own. Your union has created this, the most delicious thing that Simeon has ever consumed. The essence of a god flows into his mouth, along with the proof that he was the one who had pleasured you. And now it is inside of him. A bond that cannot be broken. He hungers for more.

Simeon lewdly moans as his tongue reaches deeper and deeper into you, searching for every bit of his cum that he can find. Noises fall from your mouth, but like always, he drowns them out with his own. This is a feast, one that the Celestial Realm could never recreate. Their food pales in comparison. Simeon doesn’t understand how he was able to stomach it before.

Another orgasm ripples through you, and he keens as he consumes each and every drop. Were he in a more poetic mood, he would compare it to ambrosia, but he can write verses about you another time. Instead, he focuses on completing this final act. It doesn’t take long. Once he’s thoroughly licked every trace of cum off your body, he pulls away with a grin. You pat his head, and Simeon hums as he leans into your touch.

“I love you.”

The words sound beautiful coming from your mouth. It’s something that you’ve said before. A sentence that led to this exact moment, and many others like it. Yet he’ll never tire of hearing it, of knowing that he has earned those very words time and time again.

“I love you as well. My god. My beloved. And one day, the world will love you too.”

The two of you embrace. And in your arms, Simeon comes up with ideas for his next altar. It’s sure to take everyone’s breath away. It’ll be bigger than the last one. More limbs. More blood. Wires. Nails— Ah, he’s already getting excited.

It’s amazing; how quickly you inspire him, and all it takes is a hug. You truly are an excellent muse, one that he hopes to be completely worthy of someday. But until then, he is simply an author. An artist. One that exists to worship you.

Eventually you take your leave. There’s work to be done after all, especially for a god such as yourself. And although Simeon longs for your embrace… that just makes it more precious when it actually occurs. Besides, he wants his creations to be a surprise, and it’s impossible for that to happen if you’re looking over his shoulder. So the two of you part. And like the quiet whisper of the wind, you’re gone.

The silence doesn’t last long. It’s interrupted by the ringing of his phone. A number shows up on his screen, one that he hadn’t seen in an incredibly long time. He had tried to block it ages ago, but eventually gave up. Technology still confuses him. ...Some things never quite change.

He accepts the call, and Lucifer’s voice greets him. “Simeon.”

He hadn’t heard it in awhile. The man’s tone sounds deeper than he remembered, and it’s entirely different from your own. The contrast throws him for a loop, if only briefly. Simeon clears his throat. For some reason he doesn’t hang up.

“Yes?”

“This has to stop. The two of you are upsetting the balance. If this continues, then Lord Diavolo will intervene.”

A threat. Of course that would be why he called. But Simeon doesn’t care. No one can stop either of you, including the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Your love transcends beyond that. ...It’s a shame that Lucifer still is unable to comprehend what the two of you are trying to achieve.

A part of Simeon can’t help but feel disappointed at the reminder. “Perhaps he’ll join us. You’re welcome to as well, of course.”

“No. What your doing is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m simply serving my god.”

“They are just a human, Simeon. And can easily be replaced. There are billions—“

Anger rushes through him; the intensity of it causing him to crack his phone’s screen. His grip loosens, but the rage still festers within him. How dare he.

“Watch your tongue, lest I rip it out of you next time we meet.”

A pause. The silence seems awkward, sad almost. Lucifer eventually breaks it. “...I see I am too late. The others are right. You have fallen. And unlike me, you’ve had no family to help put you back together again.”

“I don’t need one. I have my god, and they have been by my side through thick and thin. What have you done for me, Lucifer?”

Silence. No other answer is needed.

After a minute or two Lucifer sighs. “I must report my failure to Lord Diavolo. You have exactly 48 hours before he arrives. Use them wisely.”

There’s a click, and then the number vanishes from his screen. Lucifer must have hung up. Yet his words echo around in Simeon’s head.

You have fallen. It makes him want to laugh. There is nothing wrong about this. The love that he feels towards you cannot be tainted, nor will it ever waver. For you have given him something that he’s never had before: Freedom. From the Celestial Realm, from his boring day to day life. Simeon had not truly lived until he abandoned it all in favor of following you. No, this was an ascension. One that everyone is too foolish to understand. And Diavolo seeks to destroy everything that you’ve built. But that’s okay, Simeon has a plan.

A few magic circles… some stolen holy relics… and even the future Demon King can be captured. So when he comes, Simeon will be ready, and the foolish prince will walk right into a trap.

A manic giggle bursts from his mouth. This is perfect.

Diavolo will be made to see, like so many others before him. It’s impossible not to after all, given how grand you are. Ah, but Simeon will deny him the privilege of serving you. No matter what, you will only ever have one follower. Diavolo can beg and plead as much as he likes, but he will never get to feel your touch. He hasn’t earned the right, and he never will. Once he has served his purpose, he will be disposed of, just like the rest.

Simeon grins. In truth, The world doesn’t even need to have people in it. A god does not require subjects in order to be considered such. So why bother expanding your little cult, when no one else will ever be able to serve you like him?

You are his. His human. His god. His everything. And no one is going to get in the way of that. This realm will be made into something that is worthy of you, even if he has empty it himself. But once every single creature is gone, and he is the only being left... Then the world truly will love you, won’t it?

#obey me #omnsfw #minors dni #obey me simeon #fallen!Simeon #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #the reader is gender neutral #my writing!#sacrilege

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Note

Hiiii! I saw you asked for fluffy requests!! I love your writing so i got excited hehe

I just went through a ROUGH breakup, could you write where Levi comforts one of his scouts (or members of his squad) who he likes after she gets dumped?

Thank you!!! Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

Hey I hope you're feeling better I'm sorry you have to go through this but I'm here if you need anything sweet anon, this really made me write hurt/comfort once again, so I hope you like it.

Pairing: Levi/reader

Tags: eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, takes an unexpected turn that I hope you like

November Sunsets

Levi, ever since he could remember himself, was lonely, neglected by life and stripped of anyone he ever cared about. The cruel unfairness of life was something he was forced to accept from the moment he came out of the womb; whilst other children had a last name to claim themselves with he was just Levi, Kuchel's bastard son.

Thinking back, life was the most unfair for his mother as well. The way he would hear men would treat her, hidden underneath her bed, or sticking his head to her door while supposedly playing with other little bastard children. Children of his fate that he couldn't remember the face of. Did anyone remember his own face? Deemed ugly, unbelievably short, dirty and incapable of being bright, that's what life had set for him from his very first breath.

Everytime he had refused to accept his fate another tragedy would curve it's way on his body and soul, staining him with little reminders of how he should sit back and crawl his way through what was simple meant to be. Indescribable gory deaths had happened before his eyes, taking any blue hue he had noticed and liked away from them. Insufferable agonies in the form of nightmares haunted him during the night, his mind didn't want to let him rest.

His heart had to become cold and hard as stone, but the humane of his nature only managed to plaster this longing of his on his face. Perhaps being human was a punishment everyone endured, whether they were born noble, loved by everyone or in a brothel, with almost no one to want them in this world.

Only two years after he had set foot and is remaining days in the Survey Corps were never certain. He was aware that it was a given profanity at his agreement to join, and egoistically he would have chose this any other day over counting down days in the underground. In that rat hole, he was expected to fall ill and possibly dead at any given time in his late twenties.

He still looked like a phantom in the mirror. Whatever concluded his being was set and done unfairly, from the way his skin was as pale as snow and so sheer that made his purple veins show practically everywhere to his lacking height caused by malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Was it the veins around his lips or the ones under his eyes that perfectly blended with his sacked under eyebags? Was it that his nose was small if looked individually but looked elongated in the context of his face? Maybe it was that he was filled with scars.

Oh, and that he looked atrocious with those dark locks in combination with light eyes.

Despite never doubting his abilities, or letting insecurities get the better of him it was in moments like this that he felt broken.

By setting his clippers down on the sink, after making sure there was no single coarse hair on them, he slipped in his usual light gray button down shirt. He didn't bother to secure any strap of his gear on him yet; it was this early in the morning that no one was probably awake yet, only him and his throbbing head, so strapping himself with the gear could easily be avoided for the time being.

The flames flickered inside his cobblestone fireplace demanding to be fed with fresh logs in exchange for his warmth. His hands worked mechanically, throwing logs I the crevice delicately careful not to fill the room in ashes. With a maneuver stir the flames roared with rage, engulfing the wood almost too pleasantly to eye. He didn't hesitate to plouch down on the wooden floor, legs crossed and hands stretched towards the newfound warmth in an attempt to ease the lingering cold of his fingers.

Usually this was the time for the first tea of the day. Under any other occasion his brain would munch on him for the lack of the hot copper liquid in his stomach, but today was different. He contemplated on weather this mere fire could ever warm up anything other than tea but he refused to seek the therapeutic feeling of hot water entering his body. If he couldn't warm up on the outside why would he put any effort to do so in the inside.

The throbbing in his head ravaged the insides of his skull with striking rushes of pain at random places. When he went to rub on his forehead his ear would screech in ache, testing to see if his patience could handle such tag game.

Refusing to soothe any part of his aching body meant that he'd have to physically suffer throughout the upcoming day. Had he been any more grumpier he would be thinking about assigning everyone with another cleaning task, nontheless it didn't fit the nature of his mood. He felt like locking himself in his office to avoid as much human interaction as possible, he wasn't social to begin with so why shouldn't he be granted some days to recharge his ability to utter anything else than a grunt.

He sighed, head falling to face the floor as his eyes were framed by his ebony locks. He seemed to despise them, today more than ever. Was it because of you? It was a question that puzzled his mind for a couple of days, eating away any spare piece of logic he was ever left with. The only thing he knew, or supposed was that this feelings were probably meant to feel like that, at least for him.

Him, who shall never enjoy a simple pleasure of life such as experiencing the feeling of falling in love and having a lover to tend to his soul's wound. Of course he had to be dense enough to let such opportunity go as only a question arose days after day he'd spent with you. Did he deserve to be loved?

Yet those days with you, those days that he cut absurdly were fidgeting with his mind in the worst way possible, trying to torment him over the memory of your face.

It had started off as a simple admiration of your combat skills. The intimidating brushes oh your skin on his everytime he chose to spare with you out of all member in his squad, the sweat that dripped off of your forehead as your eyes gleamed with the enthusiastic power gathered in your fists.

Then, it was the way your hair flipped off of your shoulder when you would wrap your camel colored jacket on your form under the lingering tingerine lights of the sun setting behind the walls. The way it bounced on your back as you gripped the reins of your horse, leaving small encouraging sounds of victory as it seceeded its training tasks. He had taken notice of how well kept your hair was, always fresh and squeaky clean as it framed your face loosely.

Levi was smitten, wrap around your little finger in the blink of an eye, his nights agonising, his days filled with you mellowy blendind in any scenery and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your affections towards him were meticulously counted at first but he had sat back down and watched as you let yourself go around him, sparring smiles and watery glances to him during meals.

Before he knew it he had found himself longing to be in your arms every single moment of the day, much like a lovestruck teenager. As much as it seemed embarrassing for a man his age to swoon and melt like a candle at the sight of such youthful and sweet woman, he couldn't help it. His loner's manners had started to abandon him in your presence, the persuasion of your soft eyes had him giving in. The sweet touches of your hand on his cheek, allowing his head to rest on your palm as he talked about the enormous work Erwin had assigned him with, curved in his head forever, replaying every time he seeked some form of comfort.

Had it not been for Mike and Hange entering his office unexpectedly that one day he had forgotten to lock, he wouldn't have been forced to leave it all behind to avoid spoiling both his and yours reputation. It haunted him; they way he longed for you as his heart clung into his chest like a prisoner, but his words to you as you cried your eyes out that sunset kept reminding him he was not deserving of anything.

When news spread like a plague in the higher ranks everyone had turned on him and seldomly to you, whispering heart rotting comments. Among them that you were no good for eachother be it due to appearances or the context of your backgrounds. Levi knew the oxymoron of those dynamics, yet why did anyone have to point them out, to make him feel smaller than he was whether it was for teasing or not, he couldn't phantom.

Not only life was unfair to him, he had to strip his own self of the only thing he had a positive effect in his life just to go back to being a what the Scouting Region wanted him to be. Humanity's Strongest. The man with no weaknesses who slaughtered the gigantic beasts with skill and determination. His heart was supposed to belong to humanity, not you, not anyone else.

It hurt. To watch you give out your beautiful giggles to someone else through his office window ached him restlessly. The imagery of your sweet affectionate movements was right before his eyes, directed to someone else this time, during those beautiful November sunsets felt like gunshots aimed anywhere in his vital organs.

You had fallen for someone else, those were the news going around the squad lately. Petra bubbled enthusiastically about Gunther's encounters with you in the small alleyways of Trost on your day offs. Eld would scold you for dressing up appropriately for your dates and Oluo would miserably immitate him, giving you playful comments about reeking shit while biting his tongue. As Petra had informed him, his affiliations with you unbeknownst to her or any other cadet in the picture, Gunther was treating you perfectly, almost too good to be true. Something that made his heart fall into pits of darkness, all masked safely by his humane flesh and skeleton combines.

Would anyone ever treat you like he did? With such serenity? He knew, despite how short lived your fling had ever been, there would never be anyone like him in your life. And for that he had to be the one to punish himself. His fate would be pleased if he turned on himself wouldn't it?

Upon hearing the knock on his door, his mouth automatically spat the familiar inquiry on the knocker's intentions. It felt deaf to his ears; his mind was working on its own while he forced it to torment him with more what ifs. As his fingers brushed brushed underneath his nostril to scratch away any awkwardness that had gathered in the spot with a buzzing feeling.

"It's cadet (L/n) sir" he heard you yelp as you paused, unsure of what to say next. "Personal business if you don't mind!"

When you entered at his command, his eyes didn't dare to spend a second fixated on your bouncing locks. Instead they blinked into your (e/c) ones, staring at the melancholic expression that was plastered on them. Lower on your face, your lip trembled, teeth biting hard not to allow it to show but your efforts had already fell into vain as he quickly noticed it.

He hadn't realised you weren't sitting on the chair before his desk until he got up from his position on the ground, eyes immediately noticing you in his usual spot. You were curled up in a ball with your knees fitted to your eye sockets, silently suppressing what seemed to be the start of a brawling session as he sat there and watched, not daring to touch your back with his hand.

What had happened so early in the morning that had sent you in his office? The two of you weren't much on talking terms nowadays, a restriction he had forced on you from the day that he ended your shared endearments. As potential scenarios chewed on his thoughts your whimpers only grew louder and harsher.

"Don't you dare ask why I'm crying!" You spoke, small hiccups leaving the back of your throat as each time it roared with another wave of sorrow.

"It could be helpful to know."

His steel eyes never met yours as he spoke with his typical steady voice, although this time he had tried to take any nasal sound away from it.

"You're the reason I can't have anything work for me. Gunther said so himself." Another crashing wave of sobs overcame you and he watched frozen, unable to do anything just yet. Confirmation on your status had to be spoken, he wouldn't love to be touchy with another man's woman even if ever cell in his body ached for her.

"You're achingly beautiful, my heart will forever be yours and you knew it. Gunther' isn't fit to be a replacement for you. You get to be the one who comforts me for this breakup, for our breakup up, I can't talk about that shit with anyone else. You're all I ever had and you left me to pretend to be that weapom they want you to be." He had expected you to winch, to flinch or have any negative reaction to his touch on the back of your head, he had prepared himself for it, he had planned the words he'd say but such a reaction never came. You only have in to his lingering touch, hand reaching out for his in an attempt to pull him close.

He didn't feel the pain of his knees hitting the wooden floor as he coarsed you to his neck in full might, he ignored the heart that beat fast at the sound of you admitting you weren't over him, he chewed back at the thoughts that mocked you for calling him achingly beautiful.

The fidgeting of your fingers on the button of his shirt served as an action of your nervousness but all he could care about was that he could feel your heart beating at the right side of his chest almost in synch with his.

"I'm here." He soothed, one hand running through your soft locks as the other one pressed you to his chest. "I'm sorry" he admitted. Whether it was too late was up to your heart's desire to decide.

"You better be." You sniffled the goo that threatened to fall on his shirt.

"You should know by now. I can't bear to watch you thrive with anyone. Tch, I'm a smug runt myself for that."

He fell in silence as you tried to give into his caring comfort. It all felt too familiar, too rushed and too bitterweet to be real. He blinked at the thought and slightly bit his tongue to confirm he wasn't sleeping.

"I thought we belonged together, I thought... I thought I found something in you that was mine."

As your eyes brawled with hit tears once again your fists came to clench onto his shirt. There were distinguishable pauses in your crying; rashes of unspoken pain inside your chest that burned you to think about. It was all too familiar of a feeling to him and it only ever made him press you impossibly closer to his form.

"If it helps, I did so too."

It's only when your face lifts up for your wide eyes to look into his that he realises how much you've cried. Despite the practical darkness of the room your eyes are obviously bloodshot, painted with agony as they burn holes onto his skin, making him shut his in defense of his soul.

"I miss you so much and I can't sleep at night. I can't look at anyone and pretend they are you, they all see through this. I still love you and it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, Levi." Your confessions striked that particular nerve in him that made him numb, frozen on the spot, dumfounded over your words. Had he knew he'd be the reason that love pains you he would have never lead you on, he would have never looked at you with small looks of adoration as you ride your horse's together and most importantly he would have never let his filthy lips touch your angelic ones.

But he didn't find it in him to regret any of his actions.

Not now, not when his lips were begging him to be interlocked with the only pair then had declaired a match.

"I know I came here all of a sudden but it's been nights I haven't slept and I can't do this anymore. J-just hold me and once the sun is out I won't bother you anymore." Even if you tried to speak that nonsense with him you should have known better that it wouldn't work. He could already see the faint purples in the horizon, glazing over the glass of his windows as they lightened by every passing moment.

He knew why you were in his arms, he knew that pushing you away was never an option either. Thus, his hands came to rest under your face your face to tenderly direct it to his. His mouth opened but the words that he spoke took hours, years, eons to come out.

"What if I told you that I still love you, what would you say? Would you press your lips on mine and want to start over?" He inquired as he swallowed the hard lamp that had gathered in his Adams apple. "Would you speak your words in actions?"

The first light of the sky protruded behind the mountains, spreading a yellow light evenly around the sky. As you nodded and tugged your head close enough that your nose touched, your lips faintly brushed against each other's and his heart sped in unimaginable paces.

In the moment he wasn't a doomed underground ugly thug, his nose wasn't misplaced on the context of his head. He wasn't just Kuchel's bastard son that everyone wanted dead. He was that part that you had claimed as yours.

Small victories against his fate didn't always leave him hollow with unbearable loss after all.

My requests are always open, if you want to drop anything I'd be more than happy to write what you want ❤️

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #Captain Levi #x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader imagine

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

Tough Love

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

Another lovely anonymous commission, acting as a prequel to this story! Thank you for commissioning me again ♥

Characters: Yandere!Dragon!Shinguji Korekiyo x Boyfriend!Gokuhara Gonta x Reader Words: 3282 Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Threatening, Body distortion

Gently and mindfully closing the door behind him, Korekiyo took a deep breath. Having brought both of his new humans into their respective rooms, it was now time to wait and see what would happen. He didn’t think of himself as too harsh when he grabbed them off the ground, carrying them off to his castle. But even so, the shock and stress might have caused them to blackout. However, even if there were minor injuries, Korekiyo was confident he could treat them by now. Kiyo’s steps echoed through the silent corridors of the castle, his right hand brushing over the doors lined up on the wall. Everything was prepared and ready for them; there was nothing they’d lack while staying in this castle.

It had taken years for him to become so comfortable with what he was doing, his first few tries having ended in disaster. Never again did he want to repeat what happened, even if that meant he had to be more careful, more prepared, and more distant from his subjects. Part of him wished to be closer to them more than ever. Still, year-long experience had shown that humans and dragons could never coexist peacefully. He would never be able to go into a city without fearing getting speared upon sight, even in his humanoid form. To some degree, he could understand their fear. All of their experiences with dragons had been negative. But at the same time, he had never wanted anything more than to learn from the humans and understand them like no one of his kind had before. Compared to him, humans were so fragile and easily withered, like flowers in the winter. And Kiyo was the frost, yearning for sunny days.

Perhaps this time, it would be different, seeing that there were two of them. His previous studies had shown that connections between humans were vital for their well-being. At the same time, his presence as a dragon didn’t seem to have the same influence on them. They wouldn’t accept his companionship or love, no matter how well or bad he treated them. But now that he had the chance to observe what it was like, perhaps he’d be able to use it in the future as well. It would be interesting to see and compare those two to the knowledge he had acquired so far about singular humans, even if it would take time and patience - two things he had plenty of. Nonetheless, he knew he couldn’t be too lenient with them. Too many had opposed him before; he couldn’t risk losing these two because he was growing soft. Tough love, that’s what the humans called it, right?

It would be exactly what he’d use on them.

Your head was still throbbing when you opened your eyes. It didn’t come as a surprise, but it was awful nonetheless. No one liked waking up feeling like shit. Warm sunlight shone upon you as you turned over in your soft bed, clutching your sides when you felt the sharp pain left on you after being grabbed by a dragon. Had you been rescued? Were you even alive? The images were still vivid in your mind; the chaos, the screams, and Gonta’s hand holding yours as you two were running away.

Gonta!

Sitting up straight, you instantly regretted being hasty. Of course, your body couldn’t keep up with the sudden movements after all that happened, but your mind grew frantic as you thought about your boyfriend. Straining your eyes, you made out the layout of the unfamiliar room you were in, furrowing your brows as the questions in your head multiplied. It was a nice room, probably the nicest one you had ever seen in your life. Finely crafted amenities, vivid colors, and pristine conditions - just like what you’d imagine a fairytale would look like. Where were you? What happened after you blacked out? Was Gonta taken too? Had someone rescued you and put you in this room so you could recover? Looking down at you, you still had your usual clothes on you, even if they were sullied with dirt. Why would someone put you in such a fancy bed this way?

It almost made you feel bad to sit in the clean white sheets with your dirty clothes, but it wasn’t the time to worry about how hard it would be to wash the stains out of the sheets. You lifted your legs off the mattress, trying to stand up, feeling the backlash of being knocked out. Even though it felt weird and a bit painful, you could determine with relief that nothing was broken. Taking weak steps, you made your way towards the exit of your room to call out to someone, ask what was going on. And maybe, find the one person you wanted to be held by most.

The door swung open quickly as you pushed the handle, no pulling or tearing like you were used to from the sometimes stuck doors all around your village. Everything seemed so immaculate. It was almost intimidating. Stepping out, you found yourself in a long hallway filled with doors. Paintings hung from the walls of places you had never seen. Even if you guessed before that this was no small house, you were still amazed by how endless it seemed to be. However, even if there were traces of living - books and plants decorating the hall - you couldn’t see anyone. “H-Hello?” you asked, your voice hoarse from screaming so much when the dragon captured you.

No response.

Overcome with a weird feeling when no one answered you, you tried again without success. A mansion as big as this should have servants running around, right? Meeting anyone would calm the anxious rumbling in your stomach, but this way, you didn’t know where to go or what to do first. Suddenly, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approach you from the front, and you noticed the intricately decorated door. Before you could step up to it, it swung open, revealing a very familiar face. The shudder of your name fell of Gonta’s lips before he hugged you tightly, and you sunk into his arms while a heavy stone fell off your shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he sighed, relieved, sniffling a little.

It took a while before you two could let go of each other, but you were so thankful for feeling his warmth, knowing he really was there with you. No matter how strange and scary the situation had seemed at first, knowing you weren’t alone made everything better. “Do you… still remember anything that happened after… you know?” you asked as you separated from him, and Gonta’s expression turned apologetic as he shook his head. “It’s okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. Gonta gave a heavy sigh as he leaned into your affection, and you could feel how relieved he was too. “I thought… I really thought…” he mumbled, his face twitching in pain.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You didn’t want him to think about these things. About the ‘what if’s and the ‘could have been’. Hell, you didn’t even want to think about these things yourself, and you knew that they’d only cause you both suffering. All that mattered was that you were reunited and a little less lonely in your confusion.

It came as a surprise when a sudden clap interrupted your moment of togetherness, and you looked to where it was coming from alerted. It was strange, and you hadn’t noticed anyone before, but a little down the hallway, the figure of a man was sitting on a delicate white bench, a closed book in hand. He slowly looked up, your eyes crossing. Never before had you seen such a pristine-looking human, very different energy coming from him. Having spent all your life in your village, you found it hard to discern if this was simply the aura of a noble or something else entirely.

“I am glad to see you woke up,” he spoke as he stood up from the little bench located between two doors. “I was worried about you two.”

“Where- Where are we?” was the first question on your mind, your hand gripping a bit tighter into Gonta’s shirt as the man approached.

“My castle. Your home,” was the curt answer you received, however, the man didn’t stop walking, eventually passing the both of you who stepped out of the way respectfully. “What do you mean?” you replied, but the man kept walking down the long corridor as if he had heard nothing.

“You may explore as much as you want. I hope it will be to your liking,” the man stated, finally coming to a halt in front of one of the many doors, opening it before giving a short glance back towards you and Gonta and ultimately disappearing inside what laid behind. You heard the click of a lock as the door closed and looked at Gonta helplessly. “What did he mean?”

However, Gonta didn’t have an answer for that either. “I’m not sure, but Gonta doesn’t like it…”

You had to agree with your boyfriend, who seemed to grow more anxious by the second. Taking his hand in yours, you squeezed it reassuringly before suggesting, “Let’s look around, maybe we’ll find a way out,” and he nodded, giving you a squeeze back.

Many doors wouldn’t budge as you tried to open them, but the few rooms you were able to enter didn’t help you two much on your pursuit for a way out. One led to a long banquet hall, only containing a seemingly endless table surrounded by more chairs than you could count. Another one hosted more books than anyone would ever be able to read in a lifetime. As wondrous as it was, all of these rooms didn’t help soothe your own anxiety, much less Gonta’s. It became more evident with every passing chance that something was wrong, even if neither of you wanted to admit it. You just held hands tighter, hoping that the next door would be the key to go outside.

“Look!” Gonta called out as you searched through the office you two had stumbled upon. Perhaps it was just your own desperation, but you wanted there to be something in here to help, even if it was just a key for one of the locked doors or a map of the layout of the ‘castle’ you were in. But even after skipping through the books, some too hard to read and in questionable languages, there were no clues left behind that would point to your whereabouts. As if this place was isolated from everything. Stepping up to Gonta, he pushed away the curtain for you, big windows being revealed behind them.

“Oh…” you gasped as you looked outside, seeing how high up you two were. It might not have been an exaggeration after all when the man told you it was his castle, considering there was a tall defense wall surrounding the building and endless fields of gold-shimmering wheat surrounding it. Inside the walls, you could only see the flourishing gardens lying beneath, decorated by colorful flowers and a small river bed winding through it. Just like everything inside the castle, it was astonishingly beautiful with flowers you had never seen before, but it didn’t deter you two from the main point of interest.

“That’s… a big wall,” Gonta mumbled thoughtfully, and you agreed with a shake of your head. Not only was it tall, it also consisted of firm, solid blocks of stone, without even a hint of aging on them. Of course, you couldn’t tell how good the condition of the outside of the wall was, but just from looking at the inside, you figured it would be hard to find a nick in it. “Do you see an exit somewhere?” you asked, stretching your neck to look as far as possible in hopes of seeing a tower or the huge gats you imagined castle walls to have.

“There is none,” a voice rang out from behind, and you turned around, startled to see the same mysterious man from before approach. Neither of you had heard the door open, and yet here he was as if he appeared from nothing. “When my humans kept trying to get out of the castle, I put a boulder in front of the exit. Now, only I can come and leave as I please.”

“Who are you?” you yelled at him, standing protectively in front of Gonta, who flinched when you raised your voice. However, the man’s words rang alarm bells in your head, and the bad feeling you had before intensified. Something about him wasn’t right. Even if it was just a slight difference, he didn’t appear as human as you would have liked him to be. Especially now that you got a better look at him, your gaze clearer than when you had just woken up, he simply felt off to you.

“I am…” His voice trailed off as he hesitated to finish the sentence, bringing a finger to his lips in contemplation before shaking his head almost as if he was disappointed. “Have you not thought about it yet? Very well, I shall tell you then. I am who brought you here. You may call me Korekiyo.”

“Brought us… here?” you muttered, the sudden grip on your shoulder startling you, and you looked back at Gonta, who was shaking as if he had seen a ghost. Oh, you realized, your eyes widening in shock and surprise as you gasped, “The dragon!” before quickly covering your mouth with your hand.

“What-” you croaked, as you were left speechless momentarily. You felt your pulse quickening, but having Gonta behind you gave you back some strength and composure to not panic. In the very worst case, you two would make a run for it. Even Gonta knew how to act quickly, and his strength would not be useless when trying to get out. The only important thing was that you two stuck together no matter what. You could make it if you were together.

“What do you want from us?!” you yelled accusatory, brushing your hand over Gonta’s on your shoulder in comfort for both of you. “Why did you bring us here?! I- I demand to be let go, right now!”

“Why would I?” was the man’s - dragon’s? - simply answer, and he stepped forward, effectively cornering you two between the window and the office table. “You’re here to keep me company, and I can’t wait-” Holding out his hand, you saw it coming too close to comfort to your face, making you flinch away from it and bringing you and Gonta into a backwards stumble. “-to see how you’ll do,” he finished his speech, leaving you none the wiser. His hand remained in the air for a moment longer before the dragon curled it into a fist, taking another step forward.

“We’ll get out!” you announced. You had no plan and no idea how you’d manage such a deed, but neither would you accept whatever your captor planned for you two so ominously.

A strange gleam appeared in the dragon’s eyes as you spoke rashly about your plans, and with another step, he was in front of you. Perhaps it was just a trick of your eyes, but you thought to see him change as you looked at him, a wave of shimmering scales erupting from his skin before disappearing again and his face deforming briefly into a much more grotesque form. It left you speechless until you felt both of Gonta’s hands clawing into your shoulders before he pulled you away while another hand wrapped around your chin.

“Don’t forget at whose mercy you are.”

He was so close now that you could feel his hot breath against your skin, your body instinctively starting to shiver. Even if you pretended to be strong and courageous, your subconscious knew better as to not fear the predator in front of you. Even if his fingers were soft, claws were protruding from his nails, and his grip was merciless. It resembled when he grabbed you and dragged you off as a full-fledged dragon before you lost consciousness, a memory you’d rather not remember.

Gonta was the one to break you two apart, his arm wrapping around you as he pulled you back and close against him in an effort to protect you. You couldn’t see his face, but with how desperately he was holding on to you, you realized that he was beyond worried after witnessing this exchange. There was only a small gap between you and the dragon now, but his touch did not linger as he looked up at Gonta, who quickly began to stammer an apology. “We- We won’t! So please…”

It was unclear if this satisfied the dragon, but he let off, crossing his arms behind his back again. “As long as you know how you should behave, it’s fine.”

Way too quickly, the dragon composed himself, not even heaving a heavy sigh despite the displeasure of being confronted by you. The deformities you thought to witness stopped, as well as the shimmering gleam of scales. He was almost back to looking like a ‘normal’ human, despite being the farthest lifeform from it. “You may explore the open rooms and sleep in the ones you woke up. Or share them, I don’t mind. I’m sure you’ll find the amenities quite comfortable and interesting, but do let me know if you need anything.”

Turning on his heel, he seemed unbothered to turn his back to you, even though you were seething with the desire to ram something into his vulnerable body at that moment. Part of you was scared, but the other was angry and confused, wondering what would happen and why you were here in the first place. If only… you hadn’t survived. Maybe it would have been better that way.

But you couldn’t think like this. Not when there was another person who needed you.

Supported by Gonta’s arms, you tried to stand on your wobbly feet alone when the dragon suddenly turned around to you again to add something to his words, making you flinch as his piercing gaze fell on you especially again. “Make sure you come when I call,” he spoke demandingly, with no room to argue. This was an absolute order, one you wished you could ignore, but it only amplified the fear inside you.

When the door finally closed behind Korekiyo, you collapsed, unable to keep your composure as tears of shock filled your eyes. Gonta sunk to the ground with you. The only comfort he could offer was holding you tightly in his embrace, his head dropping on top of yours. At least for a little bit, you could hide inside his arms, but a million questions kept coming while you tried to calm down. You wished you could just go to bed and sleep, the nightmare finally being over when you opened your eyes again. But Gonta’s warmth reminded you this was no dream, only making you more agitated.

“What do we do now,” Gonta muttered into your hair, and you were so desperate to give him a positive answer, for a moment, you managed to lie to yourself.

“We’ll find a way. Maybe… maybe he’ll just let us go after a bit.”

It was the best you could do, but a lie nonetheless. You didn’t know what would happen, but the only thing you have in this situation was hope.

Hope that it wouldn’t be as bad as the scenarios playing in your head.

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

In the Dead of Night

Title taken from the same Judas Priest song as before, “Love Bites.”

tw: horny (duh), blood mention, consensual blood drinking, consensual mind reading, consensual mind control, dom/sub undertones but only vaguely

the mind control does not occur during the smutty bits, by the way. that shit is foreplay only and it is discussed at length by both parties (I just wanted to play with Dracula’s fun powers and also as someone said in my AO3 comments: “THRALL SEX! THRALL SEX!”).

THIS IS A SMUT, 18+ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

top!Jaskier, bottom!Geralt

please comment I am fucking begging you

---

“Geralt,” the silky voice called out to him. It echoed off the castle walls, pulling the lawyer deeper into a state languid, misty stupor. “Come to me, my love. Come to me, Geralt.”

The solicitor, whose mind was still half-convinced this was a dream, found his body moving of its own accord. He rose mechanically from the bed and crossed the enormous guest room, not even stopping to pull on his slippers or dressing gown as he should have. Nor did he brush his hair back into place; it hung in a loose white curtain, framing his eyes and jaw rather romantically.

Geralt stumbled through the keep like a drunken marionette, tied and tangled in the strings of some clever puppet-master. The drawling voice told him to turn left towards the Count’s set of private rooms, so he did. His bare feet didn’t even register the usually freezing temperature of Castle Dracula’s cold stone floors. His skin was aflame with goosebumps but not a single one had resulted from the chilly temperature.

“Geralt,” the voice purred. The sleepwalker’s pace sped up as he neared the heavy oak door that led to his employer’s bedchamber, “I am waiting for you, my pet, and I am growing impatient.”

---

“Are you completely and totally sure, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, worrying his lip between his sharp, sharp teeth. Geralt nodded and tried his best to look away from his lover’s gorgeous mouth. It wasn’t working. “Oh...Oh yes. I suppose you’re quite sure.”

“How can you tell?” the solicitor asked, quirking a curious eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction. The vampire gestured as he spoke, trying to work out some of his fizzling energy as he explained his powers.

“Uhm, right. I should probably explain. I can read minds, you see. Telepathy was gifted to me along with the immortality, the odd sleeping hours, and the lust for drinking human blood. I am also an incredibly fast healer, I can turn into a bat, and I can walk up and down walls as easily as if they were floors.”

“Impressive,” Geralt smirked. “Care to demonstrate, Your Grace?”

“Perhaps at a later date; I’m not in the mood for party tricks just now. Not after what you just told me and what I just saw going through your pretty white lawyer-jargon-filled head.”

“So you can read my thoughts as clear as day, then?”

“Yes, but I don’t make a habit of doing it regularly. I only peeked in just now because your line of questioning had me in a bundle of nerves.”

“Going to bed with me makes you nervous?”

“I very much enjoy our tender nights of lovemaking together, Geralt,” the vampire admonished teasingly. He was trying to lighten the mood, to fully process his recently acquired lover’s peculiar request. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to suddenly change your mind or feel unsure going into things and only continue for my sake. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you woke up one morning and feared me for being the monster I truly am.”

“You are no monster,” Geralt asserted, catching Jaskier’s flighty hands in both of his and holding them tightly. He squeezed his fingers and smiled encouragingly when Jaskier squeezed back. “And aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one, coming to you with something of this nature and speaking of it in plain terms? I’m mortified.”

“I just don’t want you to be afraid of me, Geralt.”

The human cocked his head to the side and smiled, the deep blush that had accompanied his earlier request still darkened the apples of his cheeks. His open expression was so trusting and endearing that Jaskier’s heart would have broken if it were still beating. “I could never be afraid of you, Your Grace.”

“Do I have your permission to read through your expectations of this, should we attempt it?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever pleases you best, Your Grace.”

“That’s cheating, darling. You know how it boils my blood when you call me that,” the vampire growled.

They’d fallen back into the pillows after that but the deal had been struck: some night when Geralt wasn’t expecting it, when he was fast asleep, Jaskier would bring his lover under his thrall. He would command Geralt’s every movement, keeping careful tabs on his mind so that no wrong moves were made and no damage was done. He cared too much for the mortal’s safety to risk anything.

But the mortal had learned that it was very hard for Jaskier to deny him anything, especially when it came to adventurous and lusty bedroom games.

---

Geralt pushed the door open and approached the bed, where Jaskier was reclined comfortably against a mound of pillows. His ankles were delicately crossed and he was draped in a long, flowing white silk night shirt. His fangs were already fully extended and his irises were glowing crimson in the dim light of a few lit candles.

“Kneel,” Jaskier ordered. Geralt dropped to his knees, unconsciously grateful for the pillow that his employer and lover had set out in preparation. The Count slid from the bed and approached his prey, breathing the heady scent of a lustful, eager human. It was a warm, earthy scent and it tickled him greatly to know that Geralt felt it all for him. Only for him.

For Count Dracula, the terror of Redania.

One of the immortal’s cold, calloused fingertips slid down the side of Geralt’s jaw and the solicitor shuddered instinctively, thrusting his chest forward and turning his face to the left to better reveal the pale, unmarked column of his throat. The Count released a feral growl and fisted his hands into Geralt’s hair. He tugged his head back, forcing the younger man to arch even further forward and breathe even more shallowly than before. All Jaskier could hear in the mortal’s mind, even beneath the fog of his vampiric thrall, was: Yes! Yes! More. Yes!

It was very encouraging. He kissed a torturously slow line of tooth-heavy kisses up and down the soft skin and refused to let the mortal give in to his urge to write. He forced Geralt to stay perfectly still as he laved his throat and Adam’s apple with his teeth and tongue.

He whined, low and long, and the Count released him to step back.

“Greedy thing,” the vampire chuckled. The sound was low and ominous; it reverberated dangerously through Geralt’s chest and forced a whine from his throat, his eyes still trained on the Count. The solicitor could not force himself to move an inch as he awaited further instructions from his Master. Finally, after a nearly painful length of silence, Jaskier murmured, “Disrobe for me, pet.”

Geralt’s fingers flew to the collar of his nightshirt, tugging the buttons apart haphazardly in his rush to bare himself before his Count. His Jaskier. His Master. The vampire placed his hands over the mortal’s and tutted in disappointment. The sound had Geralt reeling, groaning in utter confusion as he went limp beneath his lover’s ministrations.

“Slower, my darling. Put on a show for me. You’re so pretty, Geralt, and I’d like it if you remembered that. Unwrap yourself like a present, wouldn’t you?”

The white-haired human flushed a charming shade of pink and ducked his head. Jaskier removed his hands and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He watched with obvious arousal as Geralt slowly unhooked each shiny black button, drawing the material aside to reveal the planes of his broad, lightly-furred chest. He slowly slipped the offending article over his head and discarded it to the side. Then he paused, waiting once again for the vampire to give him a command.

“Pants off, too. I’d like you bare, my pet.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What does it feel like to be enthralled by your love, Geralt? Do you regret letting me be your Master?”

“I regret nothing, Your Grace. Being yours like this...it feels as if my mind is far away and yet everything I touch is very close. If your skin brushes against mine unintentionally I fear that I shall fly apart; yet I’ve never wanted to be touched more desperately in my life.”

“Hmm. That is an interesting way to put it. Now, my love, come lay with me and let me touch you as you so desire.”

“As it pleases you, Your Grace.”

“Even bent to obey my every whim without question you are no less accommodating, my dear.”

Jaskier straddled Geralt as soon as the mortal had laid himself down. He shucked off his own silk nightshirt in the process, tossing it off into the darkness as if it wasn’t worth more than Geralt’s weight in gold. The Count ran his frigid hands down Geralt’s firm arms, clasping his hands and pulling them slowly, teasingly over his head.

“How strange it must be to know that I will not tie you down and yet you will not be able to move from this position without my order to do so,” the vampire whispered against the shell of his lover’s ear. Geralt moaned and tossed his head back, baring his throat once again. The human was practically screaming his thoughts at Jaskier: Bite me! Feed from me! Take from me and make me yours, Your Grace. My handsome Count. My love!

The Count wrapped himself around his lovely, willing victim and eagerly acquiesced.

---

“Fuck!” Geralt cried. He was sure that every nerve ending in his body was screaming in wave after wave of unstoppable ecstasy.

Jaskier was everywhere. The Count had released the hold of his thrall as soon as he’d bitten into the side of Geralt’s throat. Now there was nothing standing between Geralt and all of the wonderful sensations his lover was inflicting upon him. The rhythmic movements of Jaskier’s hips as the vampire fucked him firmly down into the mattress, the heaving of his breath in his slow human lungs, the little white flyaways that were stuck to his forehead with sweat; even the way his hands were buried fiercely in the vampire’s soft chestnut hair seemed to only further drive Geralt mad with lust.

There were warring sparks of arousal and heat shooting between the spot in his neck where Jaskier’s teeth were buried and the spot in his ass where Jaskier’s glorious cock was buried. The Count was an expert at mind reading and at lovemaking. He played Geralt like Geralt had seen him once play the lute and the harp. His fingers were expert, flicking at his nipples and pulling at his hair at just the right moments.

The young solicitor was nothing more than a moaning, writhing symphony and Jaskier was his wicked, brilliant composer. He sang at his Master’s order, grunting and sighing whenever one of the Count’s expert thrusts hit his prostate. It was even better knowing that every slam of Jaskier’s hips was matched by a strong pull of blood as the vampire drank from him. To know that he was pleasuring His Grace in so many ways at once brought the human to the height of joy. He mumbled a long series of wordless, gibberish thanks and let the Count drain him of his life force.

“I can keep going all night,” the vampire warned, removing his teeth from his quarry only long enough to speak. “I could drive you mad like this, Geralt. Would you like that? Would you enjoy spending your life under my spell, warming my bed and slaking my immortal lusts? Would you like it if I laid you out on a pretty velvet dais during the day and gave you endless books to read? Would you be content if I had you dressed and bathed for me by your own set of servants every night and delivered to my bed when the sun finally disappears?”

“Your Grace! Please!”

Geralt didn’t know if he was begging for it or trying to plead against it; perhaps both or perhaps neither. Perhaps he was merely begging for Jaskier to put his fangs back in his straining, yearning neck. But the Count wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“Please, you say? Does that idea appeal to you, my pet? Would you like being looked after and taken care of and tenderly worshiped from now until your dying day?”

“Jaskier!” the mortal solicitor cried, clenching tightly around the vampire and forcing the immortal’s breath from his lungs. “Keep me forever, do not let me leave your side, Your Grace! Please!”

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m-” he cut himself off by sinking his canines back into his lover’s pale arteries and sucking in one last deep gulp of sparkling ruby nectar.

“Yes! Your Grace!”

They fell over the precipice together, tumbling through empty, breathless air as they came. The feeling of Jaskier’s fangs in his neck had finally given Geralt the perfect amount of stimulation to climax, messing both his own chest and part of Jaskier’s with sticky spend. Since the Count had been monitoring Geralt’s thoughts the entire time they were coupling, hell bent on making sure he was enjoying himself, Geralt’s climax sent Jaskier headfirst into his own shuddering finish. “Fuck! My love!”

“Jaskier!” ---

“You’re a marvel, my darling,” the Count insisted, forcing Geralt to take another sip of sweet red wine. He slipped a piece of sweet bread with jam into the mortal’s mouth shortly thereafter. “I am so lucky to have had you delivered right to my doorstep, ready and willing to fall under my evil spell.”

“You’re still not frightening me,” the solicitor replied. “I went to law school; you’re almost tame.”

“For that remark you shall be severely punished.”

Geralt rolled over in Jaskier’s lap and wiggled his ass playfully. “Oh no, Your Grace. Anything but that.”

“Get back here and finish your wine, pet.”

Geralt returned to his previous position and Jaskier ran a hand through his snow-white locks. “May I get dressed yet, Your Grace?”

“Not if you keep calling me that. If you insist on flaunting my title then I may never let you see a stitch of clothing again.”

Geralt blushed and Jaskier’s eyes widened as the mortal’s thought passed through the veil into his own mind. The Count laughed and fed Geralt a bite of bread.

“You’re an absolutely filthy little minx, pet. I’m going to keep you forever.”

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Text

Vampr Erik Origin: Part Two

okay so I wanted to quickly get this out to basically wrap up the origin half of my new vampire Erik series Faerie and Vampr that I am starting.

Origin Part One

Let’s start with a little background on vampires:

In order to create a vampire, a human must be drained of their blood by a vampire and the blood lost needs to be replaced by some of the vampire's blood. The vampire and human must then sleep in the ground (this is presumably the point where they technically die) until the newborn rises as a vampire the following night. The newborn and the maker will subsequently have a maker-progeny bond, unless the maker deserts or releases their progeny.

If the head, or the heart are missing at the time of death, the person in question will not wake in transition; but simply stay dead. Currently, it is unknown what will happen to a person who lost other organs, such as a liver, or kidneys, and woke up in transition. Most fatal injuries, such as snapped necks, slit throats, stab wounds, and shattered bones from falls will be healed before the fledgling vampire awakens in transition. Furthermore, the person must be mortally wounded or ill to the point that conventional means cannot save their lives. I

A newborn's existence depends upon their abilities, which are taught to them by their maker. These abilities take time to learn and develop. As vampires age, they become more adept at controlling their abilities. According to the history of the creation of vampires, two-thirds of newborns die during their first year without the guidance of their makers.

Newborn vampires will be thirsty and will need to feed to survive. Although newborns have some control of their abilities, they are mostly controlled by their impulses and can cause serious harm and accidental deaths to humans around them. In addition, newborns cannot resist blood at all, as resistance develops with age. The biggest difference is the fact that a vampire gains extreme strength, and has much agility and reflexes. This is more than a match for almost every human alive, and serves the vampire well for hunting and feeding. Of course, like humans, some vampires are just naturally stronger than others.

Also, if a human who is strong is turned into a vampire, then that human strength is added to the vampire strength, creating a very powerful vampire. This is why many vampire leaders will sire huge men; they make incredible bodyguards even against a Slayer. As a vampire grows older, it’s demon side becomes more and more powerful. Vampires do not age, their bodies are, for the most part, just reanimated preserved corpses, and do they, through supernatural means, stay the same forever. There are some exceptions, for example, vampires still appear to grow hair...though perhaps at a much-reduced rate.

A vampire can suffer terrible injuries and heal from them easily. Since they can only be killed by a few select things, they can suffer injuries a human could not heal from, like a broken spine. Gunshots, swords, and any injuries caused by weapons that aren’t wood can’t kill a vampire, only cause pain. Certain vampire poisons and magic do exist though, which will permanently hurt, or kill a vampire. In 1610, a powerful witch named Antonia Gavilán de Logroño cast a spell that summoned all vampires within a 20 mile radius to expose themselves to sunlight. This caused a number of vampires to die and caused vampires to be very fearful of necromancy.

Another example of the supernatural preservation is that vampires don’t need to take oxygen to live. They can, however, force air in and out of their lungs, which allows them to do things like smoke, or perhaps cool air into their chest if they get too warm. They do not have a beating heart like humans do. Although this is true, through some supernatural means they still seem to have blood flow. Without a blood flow, a vampire can’t bleed, or react to drugs, which they clearly do. They can’t however become pregnant or produce waste.

Vampires are recognizable from their fangs, which are located behind the maxillary lateral incisors (as opposed to the canines, as per vampire mythology). Fangs can be extended and retracted by choice, and are controlled by the movements of certain facial muscles. However, fangs protrude automatically when vampires are feeding, angry, excited, sexually aroused (colloquially referred to as a "fang boner"), need to fight, or see blood. Fangs can also be removed, but grow back after three months. Without fangs, vampires cannot feed on live victims unless the victim is already wounded….

——————————-

Erik’s eyes shot wide open in a flash. Darkness surrounded him and his large, muscular body was resting on a hard surface. He could hear the springtails, beetles, centipedes, and ants that make their home in the soil, crawling around. The katydids and crickets were chirping much louder in his ears now. He could smell the odor of dry blood and decay in the earth from the deceased. His body no longer aches and he felt like he had the strength of an entire army.

The last thing he remembered was waking up on a makeshift bed surrounded by burning ritual candles enchanted with herbs, oils, and crystals chosen for their metaphysical and magical properties. He could recall a voice, a captivating voice speaking Jamaican patois in his ear. Now that he forced himself to remember while lying beneath the cold, damp earth, she said she was Mama Dalma; Tia Dalma. The powerful voodoo priestess Erik heard many stories about in his youth.

Like flashes, Erik could vividly see her coming down on him speedily and sinking her teeth into his neck, draining him of his blood. What was she? She said that she would give him the power of immortality, superhuman strength, and healing capabilities. Did that include drinking blood too? From what Erik could tell from his razor-sharp senses is that it’s nightfall. His hands reach above him, feeling around since he could only see pitch black. He noticed wood beneath his fingertips. Erik pushed with ease, although the top flew off and landed somewhere far within the distance. He sits up, finally breathing in the night air.

Erik stares at his hands in bewilderment before looking around him. Erik could see the full moon peeking through the branches of the oak trees. As his eyes moved he could make out a sprawling wooden shack surrounded by a damp, gloomy world. It’s a steamy bayou and the forest within this area looked like a spooky cypress where fireflies flickered in the heavy air. The swamp water surrounding the shack was eerily still. The sprawling shack clings to the branches of a tree within the swamp. This had to be Tia Dalma’s home.

...Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality….

Her words rang true in his ears. Tia Dalma saved his life. Erik was about to die by the hands of white men who seeked revenge for burning down their homes and killing their families. He now remembers tasting the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, also known as brackish water in his mouth after being tossed inside the swamp by the white men. The gators would have devoured him in minutes if it wasn’t for him being pulled from the swamp. He figured Tia must have killed those men and rescued him.

Standing slowly, Erik tested his ability to move by stepping out of what appears to be a wooden coffin and into the shoveled-out ditch. He clearly recovered from the multiple stab wounds to his abdomen. His cream colored linen blend shirt with a collar was still covering his torso even though it was ripped. Erik delicately touches the skin of his much smoother chest, his head lowering to follow his movements with fascination. His blood still stained the shirt that is also covered in dirt and grass stains. Lifting his shirt up, he examined his abdomen, the muscles crunching the more he bends his back to get a good look.

There are no wounds. The jagged knife used on him to create deep gashes was apparently gone. All that’s left is smooth skin and an eight pack so rock hard that if a mortal punched him their phalanges down to their carpals would be fractured beyond repair. Erik breathes irregularly and his eyes are wide with astonishment. He quickly touched his face and head, his hands moving rapidly with shock. His face is back to normal before the white men kicked, punched, and pistol-whipped him.

“Wut kind of magic is dis’?” He spoke with a staggering voice. While staring at his hands, a drop of blood landed on his skin. Startled, Erik touches his nose, bringing it down to examine. He’s bleeding. After that realization an insatiable need to eat overpowered him. It hit him so fast and strong that it made his body weaken and stumble. He grabbed at his throat as more blood dripped from his nostrils. Erik lets out agonized gasps that turned into deep growls. His fingers damn near clawed at his throat. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t eat something, anything.

“Wah yuh still doin’ down dere?”

Erik turned with great speed towards the direction of the vivid voice. Standing above him, was Tia Dalma herself. She’s wearing the same sheer, black gown Erik remembers, her long, slender dreadlocks framing her face and a sneaky smile was plastered on her black painted lips.

“Wut happened to me? Did I die?” Erik says while looking up at Tia Dalma with his inky black irises outlined crimson twinkling in the evening night.

“If yuh climb out of deh, Mama will tell yuh everything,” Tia Dalma steps back, “Come mi child.”

Erik grabs hold of a few vines sprouting from the soil-covered wall before climbing up with superhuman agility, his body standing before Tia Dalma in a matter of seconds. The speed still amazed him. It felt like everything around him was moving at a slow pace. Tia locked eyes with Erik before circling him. She was especially proud of herself. She finally has a progeny after 175 years of immortality. Tia smelled Erik’s dreadlocks and squeezed his muscles while circling his beautiful frame.

“I give yuh more life, Erik Stevens. Yuh will walk deh earth unstoppable, like mi,” Tia caresses Erik’s cheek with her sharp, long black nail. He looked her up and down before his eyes moved to the finger on his cheek. He gently brings his hand up, grabbing her finger and bringing it away from his face.

“Wut am I?” He spoke carefully with squinted eyes.

“Yuh a Vampr, Erik, a creature of deh night, deh undead.”

“Ondèd? Mwen? Ondèd?” He walks away, his head moving up, down, and side to side with curiosity and confusion. Mama Dalma watched like a proud mother with her arms crossed, allowing Erik to get a feel of things before she started teaching him. The sooner the better since he’s a newborn. Erik could see with perfect clarity in the darkness of the night, to the point of being able to detect bodily heat emanations. The keenness was comparable on many levels to a bat or owl but ten times more.

Erik starts moving extremely quick, testing out his new abilities. He would run to the left and stop, then turn and do the same thing, creating diagonal patterns with his movements. This speed made it impossible for him to be detected. The more he moved, the more excited he became. He was like a curious child, wanting to explore what else he was capable of doing. Erik ran towards an oak tree, wrapped his arms around it, and without even trying, he uprooted the entire tree before dropping it. The oak tree landed on the ground heavily, causing it to shake like an earthquake. This startled the animals, leading to a few deer and owls fleeing.

“Just rampin around huh?” Tia Dalma laughs before walking up to Erik. His eyes are wide and his nostrils flared. All he wanted to do was move. Staying still only agitated him. Mama Dalma grabs his arm, yanking him towards her with her strength superior to Erik’s since she is much older.

“Ah, yuh have deh bleeds,” Tia wipes Erik’s nose with her fingers, “Deh is what happens when yuh need to eat.” She checked his ears, and sure enough, he’s bleeding from there as well. Erik raises a single brow in question, clearly not understanding a word she was saying.

“Out and bad, yuh will have deh chance to play, but for now, mi have to teach yuh about what it is to be a vampr. Listen to mi, Erik,” She spoke sternly while grabbing his chin harshly, “Yuh have to feed. Deh is mi first lesson. Feedin’. Come.”

Tia Dalma grabs Erik’s hand and the both of them zoom off into the night.

___________________

A white young lady named Isabella Guidry was playing her violin on the open porch of her family's plantation home. The Guidry plantation had about thirty field slaves before they were all freed because of the abolition of slavery. The only negros left we’re the house negros who prepared meals, cleaned, and baby sat. Isabella had just turned 21 years old and she was in preparation to be wed to a veteran named Alex Bellefleur who served as First Lieutenant in the 28th Louisiana Infantry. She suddenly stopped playing her violin when she heard her mother calling for her.

“Isabella! Come in darling! Yvette has to do ya hair! Ya have to teach the new debutants in da morning!”

“Coming, mama!” Isabella places her violin back in its case before securing it. She fluffed out her full forest green skirt that reached the ground, the bustle providing fullness in the back. The cream-colored corset top with cotton bell sleeves cinched her waist giving her an hourglass appearance. She stepped inside of the grand plantation home, the eldest house negro named Mabel approaching her cautiously. Mabel was wearing an apron over her withering cotton dress, her silver hair sprouting from underneath her sun bonnet.

“Miss Isabella, ya needin’ any help?” Mabel asks.

“Just take my violin, please,” Isabella spoke dismissively, “Da last time one of ya broke my precious violin...DONT break this one,” Isabella spoke harshly.

“Yes ma’am,” Mabel grabs the violin case from Isabella carefully before turning to leave with a limp in her leg.

“Why are ya walking like that, Mabel?” Isabella studied Mabel’s legs.

“Nothin’ just tired is all,” Mabel smiles despite her pain before turning the corner to leave.

“Isabella!”

Her green eyes looked up to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs dressed in a black gown with a full skirt, her jet black hair pulled to the back of her head in a neat bun, and pearls dangling from her slender neck. She was clutching a handkerchief and before Isabella could ask why her mother began coughing into it.

“Get up here, Bella. Yvette will put barley curls in ya hair and roll dem up. She’s waiting in ya room.”

Her mother turns away abruptly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor before disappearing into her bedroom. Isabella climbs the stairs to her room, worry filling her belly for her mother. When she finally made it to her room, Yvette was waiting for her patiently by her Astoria Grand Vanity. Yvette is a mulatto slave who Isabella’s father treated differently from the others because she’s his secret daughter. Her father slept with a house slave named Edna and impregnated her. Isabella’s mother found out and sold Edna to another plantation; the Compton plantation in St. Tammany Parish.

“Evenin’ Miss Isabella,” Yvette spoke with her beguiling voice. She has smooth tawny skin, loose curly, sandy brown ringlets framing her face while the rest was hidden beneath a red and khaki tigon, which was simply the French New Orleans version of an African head wrap. She wore a brown southern belle dress with lace drop shoulder sleeves, a low neckline, and a voluminous skirt. Isabella hates that this is her half sister and the fact that she gets to dress so nicely.

“Who gave ya dat dress?” Isabella asks with an attitude and jealous eyes.

“I made it, Miss Isabella,” Yvette blinks her chocolate brown eyes away, “I have to do ya hair.”

“I know, barely curls,” Isabella takes a seat at her vanity, her eyes sharp on Yvette. Yvette could feel her burning holes through her head with her furious eyes while she took down Isabella’s black hair. Yvette grabs a brush to smooth it down, “Well? Wut are ya waitin’ on?! Do my hair!”

“Yes, Miss Isabella,” Yvette moved at a faster pace before grabbing a clip to pin up some of Isabella’s dark strands.

“I hate ya,” Isabella didn’t hesitate to say, “Ya brought down my family, ya negro tramp.”

Yvette bites her tongue. She had a lot that she wanted to say to Isabella but she would only end up killed. It wasn’t her fault that her father slept with her mother, Edna, around the same time Isabella’s mother was pregnant. Yvette didn’t ask to be here. She couldn’t control the fact that she was half white, even though she despised that side of her because of how they treated blacks. Yvette will always feel disgusted about that part of her. While Yvette began working on Isabella’s hair, wetting a few strands, a scream rang out from her mother’s room. It went on a few more times, the sound so scary it made Isabella’s fingers tremble. Yvette was in the middle of wrapping Isabella’s damp hair around a piece of soft rag to form the curls when she stopped, a startled expression on her face.

“What da hell?” Isabella stands, “mama?” She called. Her father wasn’t home yet from an outing with her fiancé, Alex, and the rest of the men for drinks, preferably hard apple cider and rum. It was unnaturally quiet. A pin dropping would probably echo throughout the room from how silent it was. Isabella lets out a panting breath before standing from her vanity. Yvette began to quickly clean Isabella’s vanity, her hands shaky. She heard tales about Ricardo Dupoux and his revolt burning down plantations throughout Louisiana. She didn’t want to be around for it to happen.

“Go see what dat noise is!” Isabella ordered. Yvette pauses, giving Isabella a dirty look.

“Did I stutter, nigger?! Go see what dat is! NOW!” Isabella yells with a trembling finger pointed to the door.

Yvette drops the items in her hand onto the vanity before gathering the bottom of her dress to walk away. Before she could even make it to the door it was torn from its hinges. Yvette runs to the other side of the room, tripping over the bottom of her dress, and falling to the floor while Isabella screams, falling back against her bed. Standing at the door, both bodies covered in blood, is a black man and a black woman. Their eyes are round with pitch black irises, mouths wide open and sharp fangs protruding automatically to threaten. Their faces from the nose down are covered in blood and some of it stained their clothes. The woman, however, barely wore any fabric, her small breasts with hardened nipples and her hairy mound clearly visible.

“WHO ARE YA?!!! WHAT DID YA DO TO MY MAMA?!!!” Isabella yells with fear. Yvette was hugging herself in a corner, tears filling her eyes as she prayed in Haitian creole.

“Chè Bondye, tanpri, mwen pa vle mouri,” She sobbed while praying.

“No use in cryin’ child, hush yuh mouth,” Mama Dalma spoke with an evil tongue, “hole yuh cahna, gurl,” She insulted Isabella, putting her in her place when she kept yelling about how they are a bunch of niggers and how her father will find them and kill them.

Erik tasted his first victim and it was glorious. It was like an unimaginable, indescribable sweet heavenly nectar. It’s like being able to perpetually exist off nothing but sweet desserts without any negative health repercussions. The taste of Isabella’s mother's blood reminded him of fresh gala apples. It satisfied his hunger but it didn’t give him that feeling he yearned for, a feeling close to an orgasm. A feeling close to his dick chubbing up in his brown knickers. As he stared at Isabella with predatory eyes, he could hear her heart racing, and smell her fear, a scent that Erik relished. While he was draining Isabella’s mother dry he could hear Isabella’s heartbeat through the thick walls. His new powers as the undead allowed him to see Isabella’s blood and brain activity as well.

“Mwen pa ka tann pou tiye sa a,” Erik spoke with a deep, gravelly voice before licking blood from his chin with his thick pink tongue. Mama Dalma gave him a seductive look, her clit jumping below her tightly coiled pubic hair. Yvette shudders from his words. He said he couldn’t wait to kill Isabella. Yvette wondered if he would say the same about her.

“Eat mi child,” Mama Dalma says with a wave of her hand, granting Erik permission to drain Isabella dry. Mama Dalama couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s blood-covered lips and fangs. Isabella tried to run with a high-pitched scream filling the room but Erik already detected her escape, running up on her at a whizzing speed that ripped through the air, grabbing her by the back of her frail neck and slamming her face first on the hardwood floor. Erik twisted her neck painfully before sinking his fangs deep into her pulsating jugular vein. Since he’s new, he drank from Isabella with so much excitement to taste her blood that Tia had to stand by him to instruct him.

“Patience, Erik, slow down,” Mama Dalma moves some of his dreads from his face, “Feel her heartbeat...yuh feel that? Yuh hear it slowing up? Deh is what yuh want to look for. When yuh feedin’ yuh must never take deh last breath or it will draw yuh in and yuh will drop out. If yuh plan on feeding yuh have to learn how to do it without killing dem, yuh know?”

Isabella’s cries grew fainter and fainter. Yvette was staring her in the eyes, watching the life drain from her body. Tears of fear fell from Yvette’s eyes and a hand came up to cover her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She didn’t understand what she was witnessing before her eyes.

“Good job, Big up yourself,” Mama Dalma congratulates Erik on properly feeding from his victim, “Now, yuh may finish her off.”

Erik didn’t need to be told twice. He sank his fangs deeper, ripping the flesh from her neck, and in a matter of seconds, Isabella was lifeless. Erik retracted his fangs before dropping her body to the floor with a loud thud. Her blood was much better than her mother’s, it tasted like cinnamon apples. He could easily tell Isabella and her mother apart from their bodily odor, down to their blood types.

“Now, appreciate yuh prey,” Mama Dalma smashes Isabella’s head like a watermelon with her bare foot, “Deh are food, and only food.” She reminds a newborn Erik.

“More,” Erik says while the blood of his victims electrified his body.

“There’s one more,” Mama Dalma points her sharp black claw nail at Yvette, “She’s a pretty one too...I bet she tastes better,” Mama Dalma says with a honeyed voice.

The echo-sensitivity of Erik’s hearing is what made him notice Yvette. When his eyes landed on hers and his nose sniffed the air she openly cried, her hands flailing and pretty face stained with tears. His sheer speed made it impossible for Yvette to escape. Erik picks Yvette up by her neck and slams her against the wall, grabbing her chin to aggressively turn her head so that he could have access to her neck, or, another area…

“Mwen...Mwen...bèl, Mwen,” His eyes are glued to the copious amount of cleavage she has spilling over the top of her dress. Her skin was translucent to him and he could see her veins and arteries contracting and pushing blood throughout her. Then, Erik could hear her heart like ritual drums pounding his ears. She smelled so...good. Her scent was like Heliotropes with their vivid purple beauty that reminded Erik of cherry pie.

“Tanpri, pa touye m’. Mwen ansent!!!” She pleaded and shook with fear, “Mwen gen yon ti bebe k ap grandi andedan mwen!!” She couldn’t look Erik in his killer eyes.

Erik retracted his fangs, his eyes tearing away from Yvette’s cleavage with great restraint. He lets go of Yvette walking away to control himself. Yvette slides down the wall to the floor clutching her belly. She trembled as she cried. Erik clenched his fists, trying his best to control his breathing and his temptations to drain her dry.

“Erik? Wuh are yuh doing?!!!” Mama Dalma spoke with rage, speeding over to Erik and standing in front of him, “Yuh stopped...why did Yuh do deh?!” Mama Dalma was hysterical.

“Not dis one,” Erik spoke with a low trembling voice, “She’s pregnant.”

Mama Dalma tilted her head up at Erik before grabbing his chin roughly, causing her sharp nails to sink into the flesh of his cheeks, drawing blood,“Yuh came here to feed, right? Wat a gwaan? Yuh killed the other two just fine. Yuh can’t have remorse, it’s not in our nature.”

“I can’t do it,” Erik moves his head away from Mama Dalma’s grip, “There has to be another way, I can’t-I can’t kill her.”

Mama Dalma’s eyes were scornful on Erik. He didn’t cower under her gaze because he knew she wouldn’t kill him, she needed him, that much Erik could tell.

Mama Dalma closes her eyes with a shake of her head, “Yuh queff dem whites...Yuh need to glamour this one then, wipe her memory.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed with confusion.

“It's a form of hypnosis. Come, I’ll show Yuh.”

Both Mama Dalma and Erik dash to Yvette causing her to scream. Erik places a hand over her mouth to calm her but it wasn’t working. Mama Dalma rolls her eyes with frustration, preferring to kill her but Erik did need to learn how to glamour his victims.

“Alright, now, stare into her eyes.”

Erik locks eyes with Yvette.

“Keep eye contact...yes...now, yuh will feel yourself invading her mind...when yuh feel that connection, hold it with all Yuh might. Now...use your voice to compel her to do wuh yuh want her to do...now try.”

Erik felt tethered to Yvette’s mind. It was hard to hold on but Erik pushed himself to keep Yvette under his control. He liked the challenge and if this was going to be his life he needed to do it right the first time. That was the perfectionist in him, even as Ricardo Dupoux.

“...I’m going to release ya mouth now….” Erik spoke calmly and carefully. Yvette didn’t make a sound as Erik’s hand left her mouth. She stared at him with a dazed expression like she was in a dream-like state.

“Tell me, what’s ya name, girl?” Erik asks.

“Yvette,” She spoke with reverie.

“Yvette...ya very lucky tonight. Ya get to leave dis plantation and never look back. Ya can find ya family, and be free with ya babies,” Erik smiles with his blood stained lips and deep charming dimples causing Yvette to smile.

“I can finally see my mama?” even in a stupor, Yvette couldn’t fight the tears of joy falling from her eyes.

“Yeah, ya can go to ya mama. Ya won’t remember wut happened here tonight, ya never even saw me, or her,” Erik reaches out to stroke Yvette’s face. She leaned into his touch while staring at him like she was stuck in a daydream.

“Now, I’m gonna let ya go now, girl. Forget this plantation, just keep going and don’t look back, ya hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl, now, go on, love, leave and never, ever look back.” Erik stressed while holding the eye contact he had with her. Yvette blinked her pretty chocolate brown eyes at him like she was under a love spell, “Say, yes sir so I know you understand what I’m telling ya to do.”

“Yes sir,” Yvette says with a nod of her head. Erik left her in suspended animation while Yvette lifted from the floor, gathering the front of her dress, and walking out of the room. She was gone.

“Yuh gonna tell mi wuh happened back dere?”

Erik turned to Mama Dalma and she was on him in a flash, slamming him to the floor hard and breaking the floorboards beneath him. His fangs extended and he hissed at her with his dark eyes unblinking on her. Mama Dalma’s hands are a blur as she holds Erik down with his arms above his head. She hissed in his face harder, her fangs inches away from biting a hole through his pouty bottom lip.

“Yuh enjoy misbehaving I see. Let me tell yuh something,” She spoke with venom, “I am Yuh maker, I created yuh, and I can take Yuh life away,” She snaps her fingers before dragging her hand down his body to his crotch, squeezing his erection hard, “Just...like...deh, do yuh understand? I command yuh, I have a link to Yuh body and when I call on yuh...yuh come to mama,” She whispered before pushing off of him with great speed, standing above him.

“Retract yuh fangs,” She says. Erik glared at her on that floor, disobeying her yet again.

“As yuh maker, I COMMAND YUH TO RETRACT YUH FANGS...NOW!” Her voice boomed.

Erik retracted them without any more trouble.

“Good boy,” She says, “Now get up. I’m not finished feedin’.”

_______________

There are rows of Cajun homes within New Orleans that belonged to many white people. Some were plantations, others were of regular architecture. Mama Dalma and Erik have been feeding all night and it would be dawn soon in a couple of hours. Since Tia has already killed the men that attempted to kill Erik, Erik seeked revenge on their families. They couldn’t walk into the homes unless they were invited which is what got them inside of the Guidry plantation. An elder house negro named Mabel invited them inside when Mama Dalma persuaded her. As soon as Mama Dalma and Erik stepped into the home, Mama Dalma killed Mabel by draining her blood through her throat.

Mama Dalma made Erik glamor each white person that owned the homes so they could invite them inside to kill them. Bloody footprints made a trail up the road to each and every home. Children, mothers, and fathers all lay in a bloody pile for the flies to swarm them. It was sensual and addictive to feed from his victims. He didn’t feel sexual attraction towards them, especially the racists whites all over New Orleans, but the tastier the blood, the harder his dick became. His mortal life was becoming an afterthought, especially with what happened at the Guidry plantation. He couldn’t bring himself to kill Yvette, even as a newborn, because she was pregnant. Her fear and her words made him think about Justine Dupoux; his wife, and his two little girls, Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux.

With Dawn approaching, Mama Dalma and Erik are simply walking through the bayou, dried blood on their skin from head to toe. Mama Dalma tells Erik the story of how she was created. A mob of pirates came looking for her to kill her because of a curse she placed on them. They hunted her down and each of them took turns raping and stabbing her to death. She was coughing up her own blood in her shack in Cuba similar to the one she has in New Orleans. Just minutes later, a handsome vampr with smooth bronze skin, a broad and hooked nose, thick curly hair, and a tall, slender frame cane upon her. He said he had traveled from the Eastern Desert that extends from the Nile Valley all the way to the Red Sea Coast. He was stunned by Mama Dalma’s bravery and beauty, so he granted her the gift of immortality.

Erik impressed Mama Dalma for his thirst for things. She, however, knew that Erik was going to be trouble since he’s not used to taking orders from anyone. Within their walk in the remaining hours of darkness, Mama Dalma taught Erik all about the world of a vampire and its history from what her maker shared with her. As for Erik’s new powers, he was beside himself with the pleasure of it all. He will live forever, he is strong and unstoppable, and he can hypnotize people at will. One downside to it all was that he was going to miss the feeling of the sun on his skin, releasing endorphins such as serotonin; proven to improve mood, and energy, and increase feelings of calm and focus. Another downside stood before his eyes right now. Erik didn’t mean to come here.

Hiding in the trees, Erik stares at his old home. It was a beautiful forest retreat surrounded by green. He remembers building this home from the ground up. Focusing his eyes, Erik can see an oil lamp ignited in the small window of the living room. Just beyond the glass, Justine could be seen praying with Erik’s mother, Fabiola. He could hear them calling on the spirits for help to bring Erik back to them. Rose and Felicie are sound asleep in their beds. Erik can hear their soft breaths. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he would enter that home, kicking off his riding boots and sneaking up on his wife while she sewed their daughters clothing, placing a delicate kiss to her neck before trailing those kisses down to his wife’s copious cleavage. He could almost feel her curves against his solid frame. Then, the smell of his daughter's hair; a lavender scent. They were always so happy to see him.

“Come on, we’ve stayed long enough,” Mama Dalma says with a hand to Erik’s shoulder, “A vampire's life is a life of discretion.”

“Discretion?” Erik looks down at Mama Dalma as his eyes become glossy before they leaked bloody tears, “Why must we hide, Mama Dalma? We are da powerful, we are da immortal, we should walk fearless in da open,” Erik spoke with a raucous voice. He didn’t like that he had to leave his family behind. Stopping here to see his home one final time was a grave mistake.

“Deh cannot be, mi child,” Mama Dalma wipes away Erik’s bloody tears with her fingers, slipping them into her mouth to clean off, “Mortals must never know bout’ us for deh sake of our kind-

“So I can never know my family?!!!” Erik’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Not unless yuh plan on killing all of dem. Yuh have to cut out, Erik,” She steps closer to him, her eyes more serious, “Yuh must be dead to deh world.”

“I can’t accept dat,” He steps away.

“As yuh maker, I command yuh to leave yuh family behind.”

Erik’s body felt like it was being controlled just from those words alone. Mama Dalma starts walking away, and Erik has no other choice but to follow her while bloody tears stained his cheeks.

“Yuh will do nothing but feed and feed until yuh are satisfied. We are savages, it is time for yuh to understand deh...I am sick of repeating myself wit yuh,” Mama Dalma scolds, “Now, let us go to ground until tomorrow night, I’m craving infant blood,” Mama Dalma wickedly laughs while twirling around in a state of euphoria, her hands playing in her dreadlocks, “I know where deh newborn nursery is at Charity Hospital!! Nice, plump babies!!!”

Tia Dalma is the epitome of vampiric evil and malice, all because of her abusive, cold-hearted, and manipulative maker named Abasi. Abasi and Tia traveled all over from South America, Africa, Europe, and North America.Together, Abasi using Tia’s abilities to seduce and entice men and women, he lured them into his clutches, thereby raping and murdering countless men and women then mutilating their bodies. Abasi created a sadistic vampire. Erik has yet to see what Mama Dalma is capable of and she couldn’t wait to transform him into a male version of herself, just as cruel, limitless, sadistic, and torturous.

____________________

It is the year 1891, three years after Erik Stevens was made vampr. Mama Dalma and Erik often traveled to the French Quarter, also known as Vieux Carré and Barrio Francés. Anglophone Americans and Francophone Creoles would meet and do business in both French and English. It was a big tourist destination. There are multi-story Creole townhouses with businesses occupying ground floors and living quarters above. There were railroad tracks, warehouses, and industries built near the riverfront. Some wealthy Quarter residents relocated to Esplanade Avenue and North Rampart Street when things became overcrowded. Here, Mama Dalma and Erik felt most alive at night. It’s been a while since Erik came to the French Quarter.

The old Lalaurie mansion that was burned down by a mob in 1834 and remodeled in 1838 is used as a public school for girls. Evening parades with drunken civilians who engaged in sex and violence thrilled Mama Dalma and Erik. There is a luxury hotel that Mama Dalma and Erik often decide to bombard and take the riches from the wealthy whites after draining them. Erik especially loved to steal three piece lounge suits and polished shoes for himself from local shops. He looked dapper with the slim fit, always wearing his jackets partially undone to reveal the high buttoning waistcoats and watch-chain. He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt since he preferred it to be open to show off his defined pectorals and sculpted eight pack. He still dawned the Vodou jewelry he adored so much.

Mama Dalma is a confident woman who screams sex. She often wore long, sheer gowns that gave you a view of her nudity. She wore heavy jewelry like Erik and dark makeup that made her inky black eyes pop. She was determined to fuck Erik, waiting patiently for him to finally accept his new life. It took him over a year to freely accept being a vampire. He never talked about his family again which made Mama Dalma very happy, especially if he was going to be her lover. It was his compelling eyes, his remarkable body, his voice, the way he fed on his victims, how his dick would thicken and leave an enormous bulge that she wanted nothing more but to ride, suck, and nibble on with her fangs. She noticed the way women; white and black, looked at him. She noticed a lot of traits in his new vampire body. Erik is calculating, disobedient because he didn’t like to be told what to do and when to do it, seductive, calm and methodical unless pushed towards a lethal violence with surprising strength for a newborn.

One evening, Mama Dalma and Erik visit a brothel, posing as a wealthy black couple. The prostitutes of the brothel were a mixture of races; French Creoles, Spanish, Haitian Creoles, African Americans, White Americans, and the list goes on. It’s been three years since Erik had sex with a woman. He would often lure and seduce them to kill them or feed but not to have sex. Seeing all of the half naked women offering themselves to him stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt since his wife. He could never see them again so there was no use in denying himself of what he craved besides drinking blood. Mama Dalma sensed his struggle and decided to let Erik have some fun while she watched, that is, until she intervenes.

Erik chose a beautiful African American girl named Althea who physically reminded him of his wife; short, curves in all the right places, and lips so round and full he wondered how good they tasted. She wore tight, barely curls in her hair and Victorian lingerie with a corset in a peach color. She looked timid, constantly staring at her bare feet to avoid Erik’s piercing black eyes. Just simply extending his hand for her to grasp made her gasp. When Erik took her to a room draped in red velvet with fancy suede red furniture lit by an electric lantern, he informed her that Mama Dalma simply wanted to watch them have sex. This poor girl Althea didn’t know what was coming to her. Mama Dalma took a seat in a corner, removing her long coat and revealing her sheer gown underneath.

“I’ve never done dis before...having a woman watch me,” Althea whispered nervously.

“Just act like she’s not even there, girl,” Erik kisses down Althea’s neck, “Ya like da way I kiss?”

“Yes,” Althea gasps when Erik’s tongue snakes down her neck to her cleavage, “Ya sure love to lick my skin, Sir,” Althea laughs nervously. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of Mama Dalma.

“Ya smell just like honey,” Erik drags his nose along Althea’s skin, “I bet ya taste like honey too, girl...right here,” Erik says while rubbing her pussy lips through her lingerie.

“Please,” Althea lays back in the bed, “ya so handsome, I need ya to fuck me.”

Mama Dalma brings her hand down between her legs, resting her fingers over her curly pubic hair. Wet wasn’t even the word to describe how slick her folds are. Watching Erik undress Althea made her fangs extend on its own. Luckily, she’s in the shadows and Althea can’t see. Erik used one had to rip Althea’s corset and lingerie from her body, causing her to moan from his aggressiveness. Althea has nice big, round breasts with dark chocolate areolas and nipples. Mama Dalma could only imagine how it must feel to sink her teeth into all that flesh.

“Goddamn, girl,” Erik practically rips his shirt from his body followed by his waistcoat, trousers, and shoes. Althea couldn’t believe the body before her was real. She touched Erik with intriguing eyes filled with so much desire they began to water.

“What a beautiful man,” Althea expresses, “What are ya?”

“Ya Master,” Erik gives Althea a wicked smile, “And da one dat plans on making ya cum,” He licks his lips before leaning forward to suck on Althea’s nipples.

Her heart rate banged in his ears and the constant pulse coming from her veins and arteries was driving him insane. He was extremely hungry and after three years of being a vampire his control became better. His fangs didn’t extend prematurely anymore, now, Erik could control it. Althea’s sweet moans made his fat dick cast iron hard. He quickly drags his lips down Althea’s body while she grabs a fist full of his long, slender dreadlocks. Erik wasted no time while bringing Althea’s legs up and out, causing her to whimper. The smell of her inner folds was what caused his fangs to extend. Althea heard it and lifted to try and see but Erik held her down with a single hand around her throat while he vigorously lapped at her pussy. Pussy. He forgot how amazing it tasted but with his heightened senses he had to be licking grains of sugar.

“Oh, yes, oh God, yes,” Althea was gripping the sheets while struggling to breath from Erik’s strong hand around her neck, “Yes, Master, eat my pussy like dat.”

Mama Dalma was rubbing her clit in a circular motion with her razor sharp eyes focused on the way Erik’s tongue would lick Althea’s pussy. That thick, pink tongue would flick Althea’s clit up and down and then he would occasionally move that muscle side to side up and down Althea’s inner folds. She was nice and engorged down there, her hips constantly jerking like she wanted to shower Erik with her liquid. The minute Erik’s full lips wrapped around Althea’s clit and labia, Mama Dalma slips three fingers into her pussy to stroke herself. Althea couldn’t handle it. Mama Dalma however would have taken that sweet torture like a champion.

“Unh! Unh! I’m cumming! Master, I’m cumming!”

Althea’s hips levitated off of the bed and Erik followed her movements with his lips still sucking on her clit.

“Jesus,” Mama Dalma whispers, “Yuh tore deh girl up, Erik...her pussy is nice and wet now.”

Erik’s lips slowly pulled off of Althea’s clit to place kisses along her inner thighs. He licked with a circular motion to make her shiver before sinking her teeth into her thigh. Althea screams, yanking Erik’s dreadlocks. Her entire body spasms beneath him, soft whimpers escaping her mouth. She didn’t understand what was going on. Erik retracted his fangs before licking her blood up that constantly leaked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before kneeling between Althea’s legs with his dick in hand. Althea watched him clutch that long pipe before bringing her knees back further.

“It’s so big,” She says with a stunned voice, her hands holding her pussy lips open now with desperation, “ya fucking me wit dat?” She was nervous and aroused at the same time.

“All of dat,” he leans over Althea’s body, his dick in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her curly strands. Erik rubbed the wide tip of his dick against her clit before slowly entering Althea. She let out ragged breaths with her mouth unhinged. Erik licked and kissed all over Althea’s neck all while his hips were pistoning in and out of Althea’s pussy. The entire bed would moved, the brass headboard banging against the wall covered in elegant ornate French Victorian wallpaper that is a black and red color.

“Fuck, dis pussy is so tight,” He whispers.

“It’s so much dick, Master, so much dick!!!!” Althea pushes at Erik’s chest but he wasn’t going anywhere, “Jesus! it is filling me up!! unh, FUCK!”

“Ya better take all dis dick I’m giving ya girl,” He whispered to her, “Don’t run from me, I’ll hold ya down and fuck ya some more.”

Mama Dalma moaned from his words before bringing her fingers to her mouth to taste herself. With her spit covered fingers she rubs her clit, bringing one leg up so she could have a better reach. She could only imagine the pleasure Althea was experiencing. The more Erik fucked her the more possessive Mama Dalma became. Althea was taking all that dick, dick that belonged to Mama Dalma. Erik’s stroke was dangerous. The muscles in his back rippled and flexed each time he entered Althea.

“Ya making me cum again!” Althea twisted her head to the side, tears falling from her eyes, and moaning into the pillow beneath her, “UNH GOD!”

Erik’s inky black irises dilated when he saw Althea’s jugular vein protrude from her neck. While stroking her, Erik takes a single finger to trace her vein before extending his fangs from simply flexing his jaw, startling her by coming down on her with speed, his teeth sinking right into her vein. Like a pipe bursting, Althea’s blood spilled into Erik’s mouth. His eyes rolled and the grip he had on her hair became painful and uncomfortable. Her screams turned into scared cries as her hands attempted to push him off of her.

“Yes, feed, mi child!!! take her blood!!!” Mama Dalma felt overwhelming joy and lust instead of a building orgasm since she is the undead. Mama Dalma sucked the lubrication from her fingers before speeding over to the bed. She moves Erik’s dreadlocks out of the way so she could sink her teeth into Althea’s right breast. The fleshy area was like a cushion for Mama Dalma’s lips while she fed off of her. Althea could do nothing but cry. Erik continues to fuck her until his body tingled and the same overwhelming lust that Mama Dalma felt blasted through him. It was strange and intriguing to not ejaculate but still very powerful like an orgasm. It hit him so hard that the hand in Althea’s hair yanked some of her strands out. Blood began to soak the sheets and Althea’s body soon became lifeless.

“FUCK,” Erik stares at Althea’s dead body. Her blood was so rich and sweet Erik couldn’t help but to lick and suck on his fingers. His dick was standing straight up and pointed out with deep veins and a tight sack.

“I’m gonna suck and fuck deh sweet dick so good, Erik,” Mama Dalma grabs Erik’s dick, her fingers barely touching, “Oooh, it’s so damn thick.”

“I bet ya been wanting to suck dis dick for a long time...wut took ya so long? Huh?” He says with a sly smirk.

“Eva since I first laid eyes on yuh.”

Mama Dalma forces Erik to the bed with her superior strength. Erik’s fangs retracted instantly when Mama Dalma started stroking his dick. Erik hisses while taking his strong hand to rip Mama Dalma’s dress to shreds, revealing her toned body with small breasts. Mama Dalma lowered her head between Erik’s legs and with her superhuman strength and stamina, Mama Dalma tightened her jaws and bobbed her head expertly to fill her entire throat with his dick. She would suck him all the way down to the base and back up.

“Fuck, kenbe souse m’tankou sa,” Erik closes his eyes, “sa kaka santi li tèlman bon,” He spoke gruffly between moans. He was telling Mama Dalma how good it felt and that she needed to keep sucking on him. Erik felt a pinprick on the side of his shaft that made him bite down on his pouty bottom lip, drawing blood. Mama Dalma was tasting the blood from the throbbing and protruding veins of his meaty length. Erik instantly healed from her bite.

“Yuh are one sexy man, Erik, and yuh are mine. I always get wuh I want. I will take it by force if I have to. Deh dick is mine, yuh hear me? Alllllllllll Mine.”

Mama Dalma couldn’t be stopped the more she gave Erik fellatio. Suck long, suck hard, and suck often. That’s exactly what she will do every chance she gets. With Erik’s newfound strength, his dick was practically impenetrable; unyielding; tremendously solidified. That pleasure stick will have Mama Dalma feeling intimacy stronger than she ever did in her early vampire life. It was different at first for Mama Dalma to be sexual but not in a reproductive way. Since discovering Erik, she felt the strongest sexual lust in her 175 years of being a vampire. Mama Dalma mounted Erik speedily, grabbing his dick at the base before lowering herself on him.

None of the sex is quite as good as vampire sex, though, which can happen at the astonishing rhythm of 120 bpm while simultaneously devouring one’s neck and making your eyes roll back into your head. If they go from a base level, vampires create a hole in the neck where there wasn’t one before. It’s a devirginization—breaking the hymen, creating blood and then drinking the virginal blood. And there’s something sharp, the fang, which is probing and penetrating and moving into it which is pretty sexy.

As she bounced on his dick Erik fed from her neck, tasting the very blood that heightened the feeling like ecstasy. His strong, powerful hips met hers in sort of a race to see who was in charge. Mama Dalma clawed at Erik’s chest with her sharp nails, creating deep claw marks that healed instantly. Her nimble body moved at a swift speed above Erik causing him to grip her hips to try and keep her in place. They were fucking so hard and fast that the bed banged against the floor loudly. The mind-blowing passion was most exhilarating while feeding. It’s not simply “feeding” but it’s sex, breathing, having the best dinner you’ve ever had, feeling the life force of another filling you and making your flagging essence re-surge with vitality. It bolstered your sense of well-being as well as gave life to your body, mind, and demon spirit.

The sensation of feeding is akin to an orgasm, but even more powerfully so in some instances, particularly when properly hungry, which is why stopping can be an issue for vampires. That’s what Erik was experiencing. He lets out a guttural rasp, gasping for air until Mama Dalma finally stops. Erik sucked on her nipples and trailed kisses all over her flesh before forcing her head down so he could nibble on her lips with his fangs. Her moans were stuck in her throat the more Erik fed from her lips. She couldn’t get enough of it, and neither could he.

_____________________

After three months of torture, kill, and sex, Erik became concerned for his family’s welfare when a pox epidemic broke out. Just when he was finally accepting his vampire life, Erik was soon reminded of his mortal family and how they must be struggling to survive. Maybe the faith of the Vodou Religion kept them stable but this epidemic was killing hundreds of people. After Mama Dalma and Erik had sex at their home in the shack, Mama Dalma went to ground earlier and that gave Erik an opportunity to check in on his family. He speeds over to his forest home, peeking through the trees to see how things were. It was dark inside, almost lifeless. Erik became afraid and made the risky choice to approach the home. Out in the clearing now, Erik walked towards the home, nervous and afraid for his family to see him like this.

“Ricardo?! Ricardo se ke ou?!”

It was Justine, standing on the porch wearing a poor Victorian style dress made from cotton with her hair wrapped in a tigon. She looked exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. She was 30-years-old now, and his daughters would be 8-years-old. Fabiola’s birthday had just passed in August, she turned 56-years-old. All of the time had slipped away. Living as a vampire, time wasn’t important with the exception of when dawn was approaching. Justine had lost weight, her fullness that Erik loved no longer there.

“Kote ou te ye?!!” She yells while running down the front steps to their home. She wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, pulling him down into a tight, suffocating hug. Erik’s nose landed in her hair and it smelled earthy, floral, sweet, and relaxing. This was the scent he remembered. It took all of his will power not to sink his teeth into her neck. They stayed like that for some time while she weeped into his cotton shirt.

“Ti fi Yo? Manman m?” Erik asks, pulling Justine away by her upper arms so that he could look at her. He asked where the girls and his mother were. Justine broke down crying again, her knees buckling. Erik held her tightly while a crease formed in his brow.

“Ricardo, ou ta dwe retounen!!!! Poukisa ou kite nou!!!!” Justine attempted to push Erik over and over but he wasn’t moving.

Hearing Justine refer to him as Ricardo felt strange. He almost forgot that was his birth name.

“I had to leave...for ya safety...dem white men would have killed all of ya.” Erik squeezed her tightly to calm her down.

“Fabiola...li mouri.” Justine’s voice was barely audible when she told him the news. Erik felt like he was dying all over again. Fabiola was dead.

“How?” He asks, holding back his tears.

“Fever... a year ago... couldn’t save her...she died in her sleep,” Justine’s words halted as she began to cry again, “Her last dyin’ wish was to see ya again but ya never came back!” Justine looked at him like she was looking at a stranger, “Ya look so different, Ricardo.”

“Da girls, Justine, I want to see dem,” Erik says.

“Ya too late,” Justine fought for oxygen in his arms.

Erik’s eyes grew wide and he stormed past Justine and into the house. There, lying in a coffin, was Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. They are dressed in cotton gowns, one purple and one pink with floral crowns and white dress shoes. Their coily hair is long and luscious, even in death. The last time he saw them they were five years old, running through the little garden in their yard, playing hide-n-seek. They were covered in pox that left nasty scars on their beautiful melanin skin. Erik couldn’t stop the bloody tears that began to flow. He walked up to their wooden coffins, his hands reaching out to touch them. Erik dropped to his knees, loud, uncontrollable sobs filling the room as his body shook.

“I tried, Ricardo...dere was nothin’ I could do,” Justine kneeled by his side, resting her head against his shoulder, “Dese precious girls…I prayed to Papa Ghede for help but nothing worked. I’ve exhausted all of my tears…I accept dat dem girls have to go...Marie is dead, ya mother is dead...I had no one to turn to.”

Erik stands, walking up to each of his daughters to place a final kiss to their heads. He felt disgusting. If he wouldn’t have chosen this life, he would have been here for his daughters, he would have been here for mother, and he would have been here to comfort his grieving wife. He couldn’t begin to understand what Justine was going through. She assumed that Erik had perished when he left their home to go with Augusto. Justine clings to Erik so tightly she was afraid he would slip through her fingers. Erik tried to hide his face from her but Justine’s delicate fingers smoothed his dreads from his face so that she could give him a kiss. It’s been three years.

“Ricardo, ya so cold,” She says before her eyes fell upon the bloody tears spilling from his eyes. Frightened, Justine practically leaps away from him before grabbing a shotgun that used to be Erik’s. She pointed it at Erik’s back with her shaky hands before cocking the gun.

“Who are ya?! Wut did ya do with my husband? Ya not Ricardo, ya are a demon!!!! A zombie!!!” Ricardo turns, his hands up in surrender. The blood tears made him look like a monster.

“Justine, it’s me...it’s Ricardo,” Erik walks towards her, “I won’t hurt ya. I just wanted to check on ya to make sure everything was fine. I can’t stay, not like dis-

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!” Justine yells, “I WILL SHOOT YA!!!”

“Justine-

Pop!

Justine shoots Erik in the chest. He stumbles back with disbelief that she just shot him before his eyes went down to stare at his wound. The bullet wound healed immediately causing the bullet fragments to fall on the floor. Justine drops the gun, screaming at the top of her lungs while running towards the door.

“Justine! Wait!” Erik was right on her tail but his maker, Mama Dalma unexpectedly appeared at the door. She grabs Justine, pulling her towards her and holding her hostage with her hands, yanking the tigon from her head and grabbing her by her hair, pushing her down to her knees. Erik’s fangs extended, ready to attack Mama Dalma. Justine gawked at the sight of his fangs. She was ready to scream but Mama Dalma brought her to her feet speedily, wrapping a single hand around her neck.

“If yuh so much as scream, I will rip yuh throat out,” She spoke between clenched teeth before showing Justine her fangs, “I don’t care if yuh are Ricardo’s wife or not, I will FUCKIN’ kill yuh.” Mama Dalma snarled in Justine’s face, scaring her half to death. Justine was paralyzed with fear.

“Tia, let her go...now,” Erik says as anger stirred within him.

“Yuh planned on leaving mi? Erik?”

Panic surged through Justine, “Erik?! Who is Erik?!”

“Yuh hear deh? She wants to know who Erik is…tell her, Erik, tell her who deh is,” The corners of her mouth quirked up into an evil smile, “TELL HER!!!!”

“I’m Erik, Justine,” Erik spoke to Justine but his eyes were focused on Mama Dalma.

“So, if yuh Erik, why would Yuh come back after I told Yuh not to? Dis isn’t yuh life anymore. When yuh left yuh home that night, yuh left Ricardo behind.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Justine’s stomach clenched.

“Of course yuh wouldn’t understand, child, it’s alright, yuh won’t see Erik anymore after dis...Erik, yuh know wuh yuh have to do, right?”

“Tia-

“DO IT. It’s either deh, or I kill her.”

“I can’t do dat to her-

“So killin’ her is better? Fine,” Tia was on Justine fast, Feeding on her viciously from her neck. Justine’s throat tightened and she could no longer scream.

“STOP!” Erik speeds over to Mama Dalma only for her to push him off of the porch. Erik fell painfully against the ground.

“AS YUH MAKER-

“ENOUGH!!!” Erik yelled so loud his voice could probably be heard a mile away, “Awrite, I’ll do it...I’ll glamor her.”

Tia drops Justine carelessly, “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Justine’s body felt numb and the blood froze in her veins. Erik approached her, his eyes locking with hers, holding her gaze before finally connecting with her brain. Justine was transfixed under Erik’s spell. He tried to hold back his tears but they disobeyed him.

“Justine,” Erik strokes her face with his fingertips, “Ya never saw me, ya never saw her, I am dead, have been for da past three years. Ya will move on with ya life, start a new one hopefully because ya deserve it.”

“Yes,” Justine’s pensive eyed saddened Erik.

“Now, I want ya to go on upstairs and get some rest. Rose and Felicie will be buried in da St. Louis Cemetery. Ya can go visit dem anytime ya want.”

“I’d like that,” Justine says.

“I know, baby,” Erik kisses her forehead. He brings his fingertip to one of his fangs, pricking it before bringing it down to the bite mark on her neck, rubbing his blood into the wound to heal it, “Everything will be just fine.”

Erik stared at Justine one final time before she stood up, walking into the house and up the stairs. Erik’s temper sparked again when he noticed Mama Dalma smiling like the entire thing was a joke.

“If you would have killed her, I would have ripped ya fucking head off,” Erik says.

“With what strength more than mine? Yuh can be angry all yuh please but dis needed to be done. Now, yuh have no reason to come back here.”

“Ya evil, ya have no remorse, I’m exactly like ya. Didn’t care to check on my family, I let my manman die, my babies die, Nothin’ will change dat.” Erik was defeated.

“Like I told Yuh, yuh are a vampire now. Deh won’t EVER understand deh. Keep this up, and yuh will end up dead. If anotha vampire catches yuh acting weak deh will make an example out of yuh. It’s okay...I have a lot more to teach yuh. Now, let’s bury deh babies and leave for good. Deh is deh last time I’m telling yuh.”

“Erik Stevens,” A single bloody tear fell from Erik’s eye.

“When yuh bury deh babies, yuh burying Ricardo Dupoux. As yuh maker, I command yuh to never come back here, and never go back to deh cemetery. Do yuh hear mi, child?”

Erik simply nods his head before walking into his old home to grab the coffins that held his deceased daughters. What this vampire life has in store for him Erik could only hope it would get better.

#killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #vampire #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Part 1

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Tonight will be a night you will never forget. And not just because this is a party that only happens once every one thousand years, or because of the stunning decor of the castle, or even because of how radiant you know you look in this dress, hand-picked by Diavolo.

No.

It is a night you will never forget because tonight will be the night Diavolo proposes to you.

You smile softly, remembering how you'd slipped out of the prince's arms this morning to surprise him by dressing in his shirt—something you'd learned early on that Diavolo absolutely adores—only to find a gorgeous ring in his pocket. As soon as you opened the velvety box and caught a glimpse of the diamond jewel, you'd shut it, not wanting to ruin any more of your surprise.

But you haven't been able to keep a smile off your face all day.

"Are you enjoying the party, darling?" Diavolo asks when he comes up from behind you, running his fingers up and down the length of your arm, another habit you'd learned that he enjoys. "Why are you hidden away on the balcony like this?"

"The sky is too beautiful to miss," You remark. You lean into Diavolo's arms and look up. Back home, you'd thought that the most beautiful sky belonged to the night: when stars rise to decorate the carpet of black draped above like gemstones woven into silk. But after coming to the Devildom, you'd found that the true sight to behold was a Devildom sunset: a sky redder than blood but brighter all the same, orange and yellow stars flying across in a perpetual state of movement and change. And tonight, there's a spot of carmine in the center: a vermillion scar that peels back at the sky itself as a comet drags on by.

"Truly beautiful," Diavolo murmurs in agreement, though his eyes are latched onto you as he says the words.

You let out a light giggle, knowing the real meaning to his words.

"Is this what you do every morning when you escape my arms? Watch the sunrise like this?"

"What else?" You murmur. Though this morning, you'd done a little more than just that. You turn and face Diavolo, cupping his cheek as you give him a chaste kiss. The fabric of your dress is thin, and you try to drag your body close to his to see if you can feel the outline of a ring anywhere on his pockets...to no avail.

"My love, how would you like to see sunrises and sunsets like this forever?" Diavolo murmurs, lacing his fingers in yours. He pulls your gaze up to meet his own with a single finger under your chin. "For tonight and all nights to come?"

A smile blooms on your lips.

You already know what is happening.

Diavolo pulls away to kneel on one knee, never letting go of your hand. He gives it a sultry kiss and looks up at you, eyes locked onto yours.

"MC of the human world, mortal of our immortal love, would you honor me by being at my side?" Diavolo smiles. "From now, until the end of time?"

"Yes," You whisper, breathless. Unable to pull the demon lord up (goodness, with those muscles he's easily double your weight), you lean forward and thrust yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs around him tightly, basking in his laugh as he returns the embrace.

Is this heaven?

You're grounded in hell, but the happiness flooding your body seems to be lifting you into an entirely new state of being. Your stomach literally feels like it's on fire, burning bright with excitement for the future. It's as if your life has changed with these words, and as if you're no longer just MC, but MC of MC and Diavolo. As if, with that proposal, the demon has made himself a part of you.

And the sheer joy of getting to share your life with another is all you need to be happy forever and ever.

This feeling is so much better than you'd thought it would be.

You knew he would ask, but hearing the words leave Diavolo's lips gave them a different weight than simply seeing a ring in a box. Where is the ring, anyway? Oh, Diavolo probably wants to give it to me later. You push the thoughts from your mind and hold him tighter, and the prince smiles.

Still wrapped around his body, Diavolo rises and places you on the golden balustrade, admiring the sight before him.

"Thank you, my love. You truly are...perfect." Diavolo murmurs, giving you a kiss. From there, he trails to your neck, going lower and lower. Occasionally, he stops to give a spot of skin a tender suck, but as soon as a moan leaves your lips, he's reminded of his goal and continues downward until his head is directly between your thighs.

"D-Diavolo," You murmur as he presses kisses to the skin. "People will see."

"Let them," He mutter, leaning forward and ravishing you as if you're his last meal. It only then strikes you that Diavolo had planned this. All of this.

You smile as you lean your head back, letting your moans add to the noise of the chattering from within the castle. Such a perfect man, you realize. He'd known you would say yes, of course. It was probably at his instruction that Mammon had chased you to this balcony in the first place. Diavolo had probably even selected this dress because of how it gave him access to the warmth between your legs that he loved so.

"P-people," You stutter out, voice broken by pleasure. "G-going...to stare..." You thread your hand in Diavolo's locks, weakly trying to pull his head away, but in truth you don't want him to stop. A demon who's lived for literal thousands of years, Diavolo knows his way around your body better than you do, and he's always been able to bring you to paradise. Especially with that tongue of his.

"Let them stare," Diavolo mumbles as climax washes over you. "You're mine. All mine. My paramour."

At the back of your mind, something twists at the word. Paramour? Perhaps it means something different in the Devildom. But before you can think more about how humans consider a paramour to be more a mistress than a lover, Diavolo's lips are on your own and all your thoughts drift back to him.

"Shall we return to the party, darling?" He asks. Diavolo smiles his usual teasing smile, instantly back to normal. He winks, acting as if he hadn't just done something horribly indecent where any passing demon could have seen.

"Yes," You mumble, taking his arm. As he guides you back to the ballroom and invites you to dance, you can't help but feel like things are different now. My lover. You recall his words. From now, until the end of time.

Another wave of glee washes through you.

"I love you," You murmur as the waltz slows. Diavolo gives you his usual Prince Charming grin, spinning you in time with the music.

"And I love you," He steals a kiss from your lips. "You're so perfect, MC. I never should have been worried. Everything about you is just so...perfect."

"Aw, were you worried that I wouldn't say yes?" You ask, swaying with him. You bring the hand resting on his shoulder to his cheek.

"Only a little," Diavolo confesses. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel about this whole situation...I know it's different from what humans are used to."

"Different?" You laugh. "Even dating you was different from what humans are used to, given that you're—you know—a demon and all."

"But you love me anyway~" Diavolo cooes.

"But I love you anyway," You agree.

You two must dance for hours, merely waltzing back and forth. All around you, the couples change, stepping on and off the dance floor, but you and Diavolo remain. Arms around his neck, head resting against the firmness of his chest, you two are swaying more than you are dancing. Holding each other, more than you are moving. Loving, more than expressing.

The moment is so delicate. Truly precious. Untouched even by time, as the grandfather clock indicates that another hour has passed.

But like all good things, it too comes to an end.

"Now that you're my paramour," Diavolo murmurs softly, causing your ears to perk up. There's that word again. "I only have one other thing to do. Excuse me, my love."

You give the man a kiss on the cheek as he guides you off the dance floor, leaving you with Lucifer. The two of you busy yourselves with a glass of wine—Diavolo had brought champagne to the party specifically for you.

"It's not bad," Lucifer remarks. "But I must say that I prefer our Devildom alcohols more."

You laugh, taking another sip of your wine, continuing to make small talk with Lucifer. It's been a while since you left the House of Lamentation to come live with Diavolo, but there are more than enough times when you miss the chaotic demon brothers.

Unbeknownst to you, those two minutes while you chat with Lucifer are perhaps the last minutes to true happiness you feel for a very long time. You'll later wish you'd savored the moment more as you spoke with the demon, a small smile on your face with your mind half-lost in thoughts about the future you and Diavolo would be embarking upon. It's a moment of contentment, a moment of peace.

But blissful as it is, it's also a prelude to what must be true misery.

Because all good things must come to an end.

And this day has been far too good.

Or—later, you might realize—perhaps the entire day had been bad, with yourself only being too foolish to understand it? Perhaps this whole thing was, in truth, nothing but the calm before the storm?

Whatever the truth may be, the fact is that the moment you lay your eyes upon Diavolo, you're shattered. And with each word that leaves his mouth, you find your heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.

"Honored guests and friends alike, I have an announcement to make." Your eyes widen. At the top of the staircase from where Diavolo had begun the party, he now stands in his demon form, arm-in-arm with another demon. A woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, at that.

"The time for my coronation as king of the Devildom nears, and a king is nothing without a queen beside him. So it is with utmost esteem that I ask this question to my lady."

You watch in a queer mix of pain, confusion, and anger, as Diavolo drops to one knee in front of the woman. You want to close your eyes, want to look away. You can feel Lucifer's gaze on you, watching to see your response, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your mind is a mess. What is going on? You wonder as tears threaten to leave your eyes. Why is he proposing to another woman?

And then you see a shine in his hands as he opens a black velvet box, the very same box you'd opened this morning; and in this light, with this decor, the ring seems to glisten even more beautifully than the stars in the sky that you love so. "Would you, my fair lady, honor me by being my wife? From now, until the end of time?"

And at this moment, when you're positively certain that your heart cannot break any more, you feel the final blow come: with the soft but clear "yes" that echoes through the hall.

Then, chaos.

That's the only word for what happens next.

Chaos everywhere.

All around you, demons cheer and begin whooping in celebration for what they just witnessed. But at the same time, their haphazard chanting can't begin to compare to the distressed frenzy that your mind is in as you tear your way out of the hall, ignoring Lucifer's desperate cries of your name.

Only once you've found shelter behind closed doors do you allow yourself to give in to your emotions. You drop to the ground, clutching it for support when it feels as if the very foundation of your spirit has been ripped out. All you can think about is the image of what just happened: Diavolo, on one knee in front of another woman, holding the ring that you had thought was meant for you.

The only thing that drowns out your broken sobs is the sound of demons as they cheer and laugh, congratulating their lord for his new engagement.

***

Diavolo should have known better.

That's what Lucifer says, at least.

"Did you not account for the fact that she has no understanding of our customs, Diavolo?" The demon practically shouts, causing the prince to flinch. Diavolo is beyond used to Lucifer's wrath, but he's accustomed to seeing it directed at others. Never himself. And on any other occasion, Diavolo would have sharply reminded Lucifer of his place. But as the younger demon continues to rant angrily, even Barbatos stands silently, knowing full-well that Diavolo deserves every bit of it.

"And you! You're the prince! You've been a demon for thousands of years, you know what human customs are like! Their obsession with commitment and having a single spouse is one of the very reasons why they've always believed our polygamic traditions to be evil! No self-respecting human would ever agree to be a paramour—does MC even know what a paramour is?"

Diavolo looks away, shame flooding him. He's never felt this way. He's the future king, for crying out loud. "I had assumed that it was a part of RAD's curriculum. I thought it was all covered in Demon Studies."

"Diavolo," Lucifer begins, pinching the spot between his eyebrows. "The curriculum is designed for demons, not humans. Demon Studies isn't about demon culture, it's about demon history. Important wars. Famous battles. Reputed commanders. Major e-"

"Yes. I get it, Lucifer." Diavolo puts a hand up, silencing the man in front of him. "What's done is done. I know you are upset with me, but we have to figure out what to do about MC."

"My lord?" Barbatos interrupts. "She still hasn't left her room. She isn't responding to my knocks, either."

"Has she escaped?" Lucifer asks, startled.

"No," Barbatos pauses for a moment. "But unless my lord does something, she plans to."

"Thanks," Diavolo mumbles sarcastically, resting his forehead on his palm. Twelve hours ago, things had been going so well. MC had actually agreed to be his paramour—or well, now he knows that she thought he was asking her to be his wife, goodness—and he was finally free to propose to the powerful she-demon that he'd always intended on marrying. And of course, the demon had said yes, and Diavolo's life couldn't be more perfect: he had his wife, his future kingdom to inherit, and his paramour.

And now he's lost the single most important thing from that list.

You.

"I'm going to speak to her," Diavolo blurts, rising. "I need her to understand what I was proposing...and what her new role is. The moment she said yes, she was bound to me by contract. She has to at least try to understand-"

"Diavolo, you can't possibly expect that the contract properly formed under those circumstances."

Diavolo quiets Lucifer in an instant, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the tattoos that covered his lower body. To anyone else, little change would be noticeable. A prince, Diavolo had been blessed hundreds of times over, and thus had a plethora of protective spells materialized on his skin. But to his right-hand man, who knows Diavolo better than the prince perhaps knows himself, the new tattoo stands out: a small design, just above the V that dips beneath Diavolo's pants.

"The contract...actually formed?" Lucifer mutters in disbelief. "Diavolo, these aren't the standard characters of paramour contract. The markings read 'true lover.' Surely you understand that it is a warning of—"

"It means that MC is my true lover," Diavolo interrupts before Lucifer can dirty the meaning with any other notion. "And that I am hers. If I have the mark, she has it as well. The gods of hell have recognized our union."

"My lord, what if she does not wish to be yours?" Barbatos ventures. "She is a human, after all. They are known to be fickle. And paramour is not a word they consider positive, by any means."

Diavolo doesn't respond. Like his events, his plans are reckless and more driven by emotion than logic and reason.

MC will understand, won't she? Diavolo tries to console himself with the thought. Your understanding and compassionate nature was part of the reason why Diavolo fell in love with you in the first place. You'll understand. You have to.

Diavolo doesn't know what he'll do if you don't.

***

Since coming to the Devildom, you've felt a lot of things. Excitement, at the prospect of new classmates. Frustration, at the antics of your roommates in the House of Lamentation. Worry, when you grew intimate with Diavolo and had to keep it a secret. Happiness, when the two of you decided to finally announce your relationship. And sadness—lots of it—after the events that transpired yesterday.

But this is the first time you've felt such fury.

"You're telling me," You mutter, too livid to even look at the man you'd once been proud to call your lover. "That when you proposed to me yesterday you were asking me to be your paramour? And that by accepting, I gave you permission to take another wife?!"

"Not another wife..." DIavolo trails off, not meeting your gaze. But when he sees you clench your fists and grow even angrier, he's quick to continue. "She's the only one! I won't take any other wives!"

"Does it make a difference? It doesn't matter if there's one other woman or one million in your life. How do you expect me to be okay with this? Why would any woman be okay with this? Who in their right mind would consent to being a paramour?! A paramour is just a glorified concubine—you keep her in your castle because you love her, but she's not good enough to be by your side and be called your 'wife.'"

"No, no, no." Diavolo stands up and forces you to meet his eyes, forces you to see how sincere he is. But somehow, the fact that he genuinely believes that the concept of a paramour is even okay only further enrages you. "Wives and paramours are different, you can't compare them. I know it's different from the human world, but in the Devildom, all the little girls grow up wanting to be paramours. A paramour is special. A person takes a paramour only out of love, not for her last name or her rank or her title. It's the better one. A wife is just someone who bears children. Nothing more. As soon as I have an heir, I won't even need to think about my wife! It'll just be you, my sweet, sweet paramour, and—"

"How can you truly love me if you have children with another woman? Don't act like a wife is nothing special. There's a reason why we in the human world say that the most sacred bond a man and woman can have is that of a husband and wife. You've chosen this woman. You want her. For her looks, for her nobility, her title, her—"

"Her fertility," Diavolo interrupts. "That is all. She bears our relationship no harm."

"You're asking me to be a glorified concubine." You repeat, scowling. "A mistress. The other woman."

"These are human concepts you're bringing in, dear," Diavolo murmurs. "You are my only love. And...MC, you physically cannot be my wife. You..."

You narrow your eyes, daring Diavolo to finish that sentence.

And foolishly, he does.

"You can bear me no children."

You raise your hand, poising it to slap Diavolo across the cheek, when you hesitate. Why? Why should you waste a single second more on this man who would never be fully committed to you? He's already made it clear that he won't be canceling the engagement he has with his future wife.

And you refuse to be any man's side piece.

"Get out." You scowl.

"MC, please, you know that I—"

"If you won't get out, I will."

Before you can leave the room, though, Diavolo has pulled you into his lap. "Let go," You hiss, thrashing in his arms. But the man is a demon, future lord of the Devildom, and is truly the strongest man in the entire kingdom. And you're just a human. Faced with his strength, you're nothing.

"Darling, please. Please. Just let me speak. Give me one minute. That's all I need. One minute." Slowly, you cease your movement. It's a silent indication that, yes, you'll give Diavolo a minute to speak. But no more.

"Darling, I love you. You are everything. I love you so much, and when I asked you to be mine...I truly thought you knew that I was asking you to be my paramour. I am sorry for the distress I have caused you these past hours." Diavolo places a soft kiss to your neck, letting his lips lay on what is normally your weak spot. But when you don't respond, he opts to continue.

"But there's something you need to see. A...a proposal to a paramour in the Devildom is sacred. I know you don't see it that way, but it is even more sacred than a proposal to a wife. And...it's viewed as a contract." Diavolo slowly lifts the edge of your shirt up. Your hands instantly go down to cover yourself, not wanting to give the demon a chance to give you any pleasure that might distract you from your current anger, but then you see what the man must have been trying to show you.

"How...?" You ask, and for the first time today, your words aren't coated with rage as you speak.

You pull yourself out of Diavolo's lap and go to the full-length mirror, raising your shirt higher on your stomach. You remember last night, when you'd felt a burning sensation over your stomach after accepting Diavolo's proposal. You'd thought the feeling to be a part of your happiness at being (you thought) Diavolo's wife, but now it becomes painfully obvious that it had been something else entirely.

There, on your lower abdomen, just above your underwear line but below your belly button, lies a delicate symbol. You squint at it, running your fingers over the mark—but the ebony black characters feel like they're a part of your skin, as if they've always been there.

"I have one to match," Diavolo says with a smile. He unbuttons his shirt and approaches the mirror, standing next to you. "Mine says 'true lover,'" He murmurs into your ear. The proximity makes you shudder, and you have to remind yourself that you're angry with the man. But as he lifts your shirt above your shoulders, shedding his own top in turn, you find that whatever emotions you were feeling before have been replaced with a new sense of longing.

"I'm still angry." The words are more for you than they are for him. It's as if saying them excuses how responsive you're being to Diavolo's touch as he strokes your sides.

"I know you are," He mumbles, kissing you.

"I'm not okay with being your paramour," You continue, only to be met with another 'I know' as Diavolo's lips ghost over your neck.

And as he gives the sensitive skin a tender suck, you can't help but lean into his arms for support, even as he continues to trail lower down to your stomach.

"I love you," he mumbles into your skin, licking the spot where your body is branded with the mark of the paramour. He leans back to admire the character.

And that's when things go downhill.

"Diavolo?" You ask, cupping his cheek. "What's wrong?"

You flinch as the man's grip around your waist tightens, watching in confusion as he stares daggers into the spot on your stomach that he had been gazing at so tenderly before. You see his eye twitch before he abruptly stands up and begins dressing himself.

You watch in disbelief. Diavolo's expression has changed completely, unwilling to meet your eyes and practically ignoring you.

"Diavolo, why—"

"MC, please be quiet. You wanted to be left alone? Very well, you will be left alone." Diavolo is now scowling as he buttons up his shirt, not even bothering to wear his cape as he makes for the door.

"Wh-what happened?" You ask, pulling on his sleeve. It's a futile attempt. The man is double your weight and over ten times as strong, but he humors you and stops before the door. "Diavolo, please. What did I do? Are you angry?"

"MC," Diavolo speaks, not facing you. His tone is dark. "It's best for the both of us if you are not with me right now."

He yanks his sleeve from your grasp, slamming the door shut in your face as he storms out, leaving you an even bigger mess of emotions than when he walked in.

You slowly make your way to the mirror, staring at the character on your stomach. You can't read what it says, but something about it seemed to anger Diavolo. After nearly half an hour of being more furious than you've ever been in your entire life, you know that the dark emotion Diavolo was trying to hide was rage itself.

But what could have made him so angry?

You stare at the spot on your stomach, before frustration begins to amalgamate once more. What right does Diavolo have to be angry with you, right now? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Right, you remember. When he kissed you, it was so easy to forget that he was asking you to be his paramour, his trophy-wife-that's-not-even-good-enough-to-be-a-wife lover. But now?

You scowl into the mirror, crossing your arms.

Diavolo can be angry all he wants.

His fury won't change yours. And I'm justified in my anger, you think, before a knock breaks you from your thoughts.

Not even bothering to wear your shirt, you march over to the door. This had better be Diavolo, ready to apologize, you think, before swinging it open.

But the face that greets you is smaller. Shorter. Olive eyes and mismatched hair, it's Barbatos who greets you.

"My lady," He murmurs stiffly. For a millisecond, his eyes dart down to your body, and his eyes widen in surprise. You're not sure why the demon butler looks so startled to see your exposed stomach. Demons in the Devildom have little sense of shame when it comes to nudity, as you'd learned from Lucifer's and Barbatos's utter indifference to constantly walking in on your nude form during nights with Diavolo. If anything, you're more covered than usual.

"No need to call me that, Barbatos. I'm Diavolo's secret lover. The only 'lady' you'll be needing to bow to is that wife of his," You sigh and leave the door open, a subtle invitation inside.

Speaking with Diavolo did quell most of your anger. Talking to Barbatos can't hurt, right?"

"If my lady wishes for me to call her MC, I shall," Barbatos says, shutting the door behind him. "But don't delude yourself into thinking that you're Diavolo's secret lover. A paramour is respected more than a wife, here. The whole realm will know you: face, name, history. It will be an honor."

"It will be a humiliation," You interrupt. You throw your shirt on, beginning to rant. "The whole realm will mock me: the prince's concubine. His whore. The idea that I'm not good enough to be his only lover is an insult. A paramour is disgusting and—"

"Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"

You stop, pondering the words.

Barbatos looks at you with one eyebrow raised, gaze unwavering as he sees into your soul. You want to look away, want to ignore him, want to act as if that one question isn't the very conflict you've been torn over.

But you can't.

Diavolo has made it clear that the only way he'll have you be his lover is as his paramour. And every fiber of your being refuses to be paramour to a man who has a separate wife. So that truly only leaves one option, doesn't it?

"I don't have any other choices, do I?" You say dryly, realizing the nature of the situation you're in.

"If you cannot be his paramour," Barbatos agrees. "You cannot be his lover."

You sigh, leaning back against the bed.

It's been dwelling at the back of your mind for hours, but now as the truth begins to unshroud itself, you find the decision at the forefront of your mind.

Perhaps someone else is suited for the role, you think. Against your will, a memory of Diavolo's soft reddish locks flashes through your mind. You've always loved to play with them, and the demon lord always let you. He'd let out a gentle hum as you'd massage his scalp, a smile tugging at his lips as your fingers would lose themselves in his hair.

Perhaps someone else is meant to be Diavolo's paramour.

Another memory jumps into your thoughts, an image of the two of you dancing in the ballroom. Despite the situation, you smile at the thought. Diavolo adores dancing with you. It's his favorite thing to do: a respite from the daily struggles of the Devildom. There hasn't been a single week where he hasn't invited you down to the ballroom at least once. Even if there's no party, he would lead you into the hall, casting a cassette to play for you as the two of you danced the night away.

Perhaps I can never be the woman he needs me to be. The paramour he seeks.

A new image comes to mind, more recent. Diavolo's sleeping face. Normally, you would take to admiring his body in the morning, running your hands over his muscles and abs and sometimes the sensitive organ between his legs - but that morning, you'd been drawn to his face. The face of the man you loved. The face of a prince.

And slowly, you realize the truth.

The face of the man I cannot have.

"You're right," You say to Barbatos. Your voice is barely a whisper, but the butler seems to have heard you all the same.

You cannot carry the weight of being Diavolo's paramour. You're too human. It conflicts with your nature too much. And just as the relation Diavolo sought from you is too horrid for you to bear, the relationship you seek from Diavolo is one that's too far from the demon lord's customs.

He'd told you this when you first kissed him: that a human and a demon have no place together. Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom.

At the time, you'd only smiled into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for more.

But now those words have hauntingly returned, more true than ever before.

A human and a demon have no place together.

And you and Diavolo are no exception.

"I'll help you move your things into Purgatory Hall. For the remainder of the exchange program, you'll want to be there." Barbatos turns, walking to the door. "I'll leave you to inform lord Diavolo of your decision."

"Wait!" You blurt before you can stop yourself, grabbing the demon's wrist.

He turns to you, expression nonchalant. His gaze is normally intimidating, but as you stand before him all you can think about is the pure apathy in his eyes: now that you've decided to no longer be his lord's lover, he truly does not care about you.

But you won't let that stop you from asking.

"I...Diavolo said that the symbols on my stomach are characters. For words. What..." You trail off, trying to find your courage. "What does it say?"

Barbatos steps toward you, lifting your shirt with his left hand. A gloved finger traces the dark markings, and he begins speaking.

"This is the mark of the paramour. On most, it'll just be the character for 'lover,' but sometimes...in truly special instances, there'll be a description character as well. Diavolo's mark reads: true lover."

"What does mine say?" You whisper.

Barbatos brushes the mark with his thumb, his touch oddly gentle as he strokes the branded skin. His eyes never leave yours, and you think that it's a gesture of kindness until you catch the glint of morbid cruelty as he watches your reaction to his next words.

His gaze bores into you, staring past your eyes and into your heart as he shatters it with the truth.

"False lover."

MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

Word count: 5.5k

Notes: Ive had this idea for diavolo since the day i opened this game, and i finally got around to writing it x3 its a lil angsty right now, but it gets better~ happy endings here, promise <3 im expecting this to be either 2 parts MAYBE 3, so stay tuned :D

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/28/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

in another life (i would be your man)

muses. hero!yoongi / assassin!yoongi / father!yoongi / lawyer!yoongi

word. 2.5k

genre. reincarnation au

time and time again, you find yourselves in the other’s absolute mercy.

mercy, which both of you know, the other will not grant.

“have you any last words, hero?” the grass shrivels up around yoongi all because hot air wilts the greenest of life.

a single bead of sweat trickles down the side of yoongi’s face as he looks at you without a shred of fear in the face of death.

“all the gold you’re hoarding... does it bring you happiness?” he says, as though already finding serendipity before you can even drive your talon into his chest.

“happiness!” you roar, mockery dripping off your word, “such humanly sentiments. you forgot who you’re speaking to, hero.”

“yoongi... yoongi’s my name” he sighs softly, eyelids fluttering shut, “say it.”

it is you who fall silent this time.

to say the name of the soul who’s bound to you not for love but for destruction... have you the right?

in your last life, a good few hundred years ago, he’s the one that drove the cross into your chest.

in the one before that, you burn him at the stakes for the wretched powers he held.

in this lifetime, even the armor made of the silver cannot withstand the weight of your paw, talon digging into his chest as he lays underneath you, ready to accept the heroic death.

“very well, if not in this lifetime, then perhaps the next...”

you live for three human lifetimes as the great dragon who brought the continent together. the humans, without their hero, are mere mortals. they learned better than to put their faith in one man.

in the next lifetime, you find yourself kneeling in front of a silver haired man - what a striking hair color for someone who’s supposed to be on the low.

“my hand’s gonna slip,” that gravelly voice still sends shivers down your spine.

“what-” you breathe out, eyebrows knitting together.

he takes his aim.

but there’s something wrong.

the angle he’s pointing at will graze your cheek and ear at most.

then he shoots.

when the bullet bounces against the cement somewhere a few inches away behind you, your body moves on its own. your leg sweep out to send him tumbling down onto the ground. your thighs pin his hips down so he can’t get up and you push the gun farther beyond his reach.

“why are you doing this?” you hiss, knife against his throat.

“don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to be happy?” yoongi says simply, too complacent for a man who’s about to lose yet another life to his enemy.

“that’s not how it works,” teeth gritted together, you press the dulled side of the knife harder against his snow-kissed flesh.

“then, how does it work?” he asks.

for a moment, you’re frozen in place. then you’re taken back to where it all begins.

you were a queen who poisoned her king before proceeding to ruin the kingdom until it remains but a memory to those who’ve lived through your tyrannical era. yoongi was the crown prince from a small country who enticed you into his chambers and kept you locked in a tower like a caged bird while he went to war with the neighboring kingdom with your kingdom’s army.

“i- i hated you for seducing me and locking me up in that tower,” you murmur, breath shaky, “a- and you hated me because i-i couldn’t be killed... because i was...”

“a blood sucker.” he finishes for you.

a flash of anger crosses your eyes and paint your vision red. you press the knife harder - no doubt there would be a bruise, “no matter how immortal i was... i died because of a broken heart. you killed me!”

“i was breaking my own heart for having to keep you locked in that tower but if i let you go...” he trails off, his hand coming to settle on yours.

it’s the first time you hear him choke up.

“so many died because of our love,” yoongi’s voice comes out barely above whisper.

“your sin is mistaking hate for love,” you flick your wrist, switching the side of the blade pressed against his neck to one that could cut through clean and swift.

but before you can seal yet another lifetime of your surviving, a sharp pain cuts into your arm, forcing you to release the blade, your free hand cupping the familiar circular wound that’s gushing with blood.

you push yourself off him, going over the ledge and jumping off to your safety. and yoongi’s left in the cold, night air, the coms in his ear buzzing back to life.

it’s six months later that he finds you, dressed in deep red, smiling seductively as you cling on a man twice your age. all of a sudden, he finds himself ignoring whatever his partner’s saying in the coms and approaching you and the man.

yoongi can barely remember what he said but he remembers the overwhelming feeling of relief when the man pushes you off and march out of the room, shouting russian vulgarities.

“planting a bullet hole in my arm isn’t enough, you just had to sabotage my mission, don’t you?” you’re on top of him once again but the ground isn’t cold and hard as he’s always remembered in the series of you pinning him down in differing lifetimes.

“have you thought about what i said?” he doesn’t look like he minds it anymore.

being pinned down by you, that is.

rather, yoongi quite likes the view of your cleavage when you lean down close enough to whisper into his hears, “i reflected on my past mistakes... and truly, i wish nothing more than to have you gone from my sight once and for all.”

then his index finger ghosts over the softest protrusion of the healed up scar on your arm. and you feel goosebumps on your skin.]

you leave in the morning, slipping out of the hotel room in that skin tight maroon dress, noticing the woman in the lobby, looking like what you would’ve looked like if you were waiting for your partner who went against orders and checked into a room in the very same hotel he was supposed to eliminate his target at.

sloppy. fucking sloppy.

yoongi never sees you after that. he got reprimanded and almost got eliminated by his own agency if it hadn’t been his father, the head of the extermination department who pulled some strings and buried the matter.

it’s a surprise he’s still alive at the age of of thirty-one, owning a lawfirm of his own and living the life he’s never thought he’d have.

a normal one.

then, he spots you, walking down the sidewalk holding a toddler’s hand and smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever hold dear to.

“stop the car,” yoongi orders.

“s-sir?” the driver, surprised by the sudden request, hesitates.

“pull over!” it’s the first time the young man has ever hear his boss raise his voice.

so he does just that, but a block away from where yoongi last saw you.

he runs as fast as his legs could carry him. but the sidewalk is empty of a woman holding a child’s hand.

it takes another year of him searching records of faces and names. for you have many and unlike yoongi, he’s sure you have no one to pull the strings and make one blunder disappear.

then he finds you, under a pseudonym, of a certain kim hana whose child is named kim youngsoo.

“it’s me,” he announces, stepping into the light that pours past the window and over not even half of the room.

“mommy, can we order pizza?” youngsoo’s lively voice rings from outside of the room.

“yeah, why don’t you decide what toppings you want and i’ll be out there in a sec, sweetie,” your voice sounds heavenly - none of the guarded strain that he usually hears. but your eyes, they look like the eyes of a woman who would give everything to protect her most precious possession.

“so it was you... one year ago,” you say, ambling to the dresser where yoongi easily finds out your motive.

“the gun’s not there anymore, you really think i’d break into the house of an ex-assassin and not think to look for weapons tacked up somewhere out of sight?” he hears the frustrated sigh you make before you stand with your feet apart.

looks like you believe his words.

looks like you’ve got no problems taking him on with bare hands.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?”

a scoff.

“you’re pretty dumb if you think one night’s all it takes to get pregnant with your bastard child.”

“who’s the father, then? why isn’t he around?” he presses on.

and his questions have always been intrusive but you notice the weight of his every inquiry. as if he’d drop dead right this instant if you don’t answer them.

“he walked away, couldn’t accept that we had to always be on the move just because he had a baby with a wanted woman.”

and it’s not the police that wants you.

“his social security number?” yoongi shoots you another question.

“i don’t know. i don’t remember,” you say simply, a shrug accompanying your answer.

“number one rule of being an assassin: never forget anything,” yoongi recites easily, even after five years, he still recalls the drilling his mentor forced him through, “so that leaves us with one possibility: he doesn’t exist, this ex of yours.”

“mooooom.” youngsoo calls out, sounding too close for comfort.

“just a minute, sweetie. why don’t you take my phone out of my bag and get ready to dial up the number to the pizza place?” there’s a lightness in your tone.

envy wraps around yoongi’s heart before he even realizes it. how he wished you’d speak to him in that delicate, loving tone as well.

“look, i’m tired, i’m done playing games, i’ve been done since that night. i know i fucked up and i know some day i’ll pay for it but not tonight... tonight... at least let me have one last night with my kid.”

it’s the way the word ‘my’ and ‘kid’ fall naturally off your mouth that makes yoongi realize that he’s the one stuck in the beginning all along. that he’s the one who couldn’t move on from the past even though he sought to change the present and threw your world upside down when he decided not to take the shot.

before he can say anything, you’re already out of the door but he senses no rush in your footsteps.

“do you have the pizza place’s number down?” there it is again, the soft, tender tilt in your voice.

it’s a little faint but he hears it clearly.

and it may very well just be a trick to make him sympathize but what is he to sympathize with when he’s only here to ask for confirmation?

why do you treat him like death who’s finally come to take back your borrowed time?

well, the answer was simple.

“i paid off the bounty,” yoongi meets you at a cafe where he knows you’ll feel safer.

no assassin will make a move in broad daylight, in public, with his face out for the cameras to record.

“how much?” you sound like you just got another loan tying you down.

“enough that they can’t resist,” he states.

and before you can even say anything, he goes on, “i want to see him.”

“no.” you say curtly.

“he’s my child too.” he slides the white envelope he pulls out of his pocket to you.

it contains the dna results from the hair on the comb youngsoo complained he lost and yoongi’s own hair.

“he’s doesn’t need a father,” you don’t even give the envelope a second glance, “if that’s all-”

“that’s not for you to decide on your own,” he cuts you off.

it’s the firmness in his tone that makes your eyebrows rise. min yoongi has always been a gentle soul. even when he was driving a cross into your heart, he’d done it with the heaviest heart.

and for him to place his foot down like this - how very unlike him.

which is why, when he pulls, you pull harder.

“if you so much as appear in front of youngsoo, we will disappear and i’ll make sure you’ll never us again.”

and with that, you take out the blank check from your purse and slip it over to him. the check and the envelop laying side by side.

money isn’t the issue, you’ve managed to wire every single penny you have to different bank accounts before the agency could even freeze the one in seoul. it took several trips to japan, hong kong and china but you eventually got enough to start a new life with your new life.

and that new life of yours is being shaken by the presence of an entity of the past.

you begin noticing the men and women dressed in plain clothing standing a few feet away from where you and youngsoo go. they’re there, acting absolutely normal which makes it unnormal. always watching, always being on guard as if their lives depend on you and youngsoo’s security.

it goes on for another three months before you finally get tired of it and approach one of them, “call your boss over.”

youngsoo’s blowing bubbles at the park when a sleek black car pulls up at the curb and a familiar face steps out.

“you can see him every week on saturdays, one no-show and you’re out. also- i decide when he finds out,” you set the rules and yoongi looks like he a little kid who’s about to perform at his school’s talent show, “do we have a deal?”

“absolutely,” he nods readily.

yoongi’s hand moves on its own and he almost hooks his index finger around your pinky finger as if asking for some kind of emotional support. but he stops himself.

he walks beside you, watching as you walk out from under the shades of the tree, your expression instantaneously brightening when the sunlight hits, “youngsoo-ah,” you wave the toddler over.

his little legs comes running towards you, curious, bright eyes staring at yoongi and right through his soul. he’s never felt so bare and defenseless.

the only thing that keeps him from running away is the fondness in your voice. and the smile on your face that he’s never seen before, “youngsoo-ah, this is uncle yoongi, he’s mommy’s friend...”

yoongi musters the best smile he can - he never needed to try. it’s the people around him that force smiles to please him. never the other way around. never him having to smile so he wouldn’t scare off his son.

he crouches in front of the child that’s partially hiding behind you, “youngsoo-ah, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts au #yoongi au

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doctordonovan-a · 3 years

Text

@baugenius || continued.

his entire world had kind of just fallen apart in his hands, no matter how he’d grappled for purchase, and now he’s stuck trying to put together the broken pieces again, because being released from a prison where he’d been caged undeservedly ( he’d kind of changed that, though, hadn’t he, with the drip of bleach and ammonia into heroin? ) apparently had more of a lasting impact on his psyche than he’d expected— ptsd, or ptss, or something worse, maybe, without a name, that’s latched onto his insides. part of what’s latched onto his insides, too, is that maeve had been there to see him for the first time in— so long, too long, only he hadn’t been encompassed in soft cardigans and lightly colored button - ups, he hadn’t been the spencer she’d known, he’d been this unrecognizable thing colored in prison grey.

he definitely doesn’t think he can be loved, maybe he can love, he still has that inside of him, but he doesn’t deserve love. she’s right on one thing though and that is that the world feels eternally brutal, the world feels like this cruel, hardened place. and he’s hardened too. he’s afraid she doesn’t know him anymore, and he’s afraid she won’t want to once she really sees— he’d lived among the worst of humanity for three months and he thinks some of it has rubbed off on him, too. he has this monster inside of him that roars to life sometimes in these spectacular displays, in slamming cat adams against a wall, hands around her delicate neck, in throwing with all of his weight behind it a book into a window, hoping it would break.

there is something very, very wrong with him, and he wants her to see that but he also desperately doesn’t. he fumbles around inside of himself and tries to pull the old spencer reid to the surface for her. there is something familiar, at least, in that thoughtful gaze that pulls at his features, that furrows itself into his brows. it is an expression so typically spencer— he just can’t see it.

" thank you, " he says, still searching, searching, searching for the right words, but he’s not sure what the right words are, he’s not even sure who he is anymore, he’s not sure how to be who he wants to be anymore. " i think i’d— like to believe that’s true, “ does he continue? he doesn’t know. he just lets the words roll off his tongue and tries to taste whether they feel right. ” i’m just— … i’m not really sure that i do anymore. i— think i … used to, though. before. " he doesn’t look at her. just picks at a thread of his cardigan. it seems very interesting right about now.

who is she to offer reassurances? her skin a patchwork quilt of traumas, grief and somehow still tender bits of flesh. she has lost herself once, twice, a thousand times: lost herself in hiding from diane just as much as for a year she’d been lost to the dark and cold nothingness of comatose brain. perhaps she was lost from birth - a child of the system before she was even one, the list of families that came before the donovans like a curse never to be voiced. if she says them out loud, acknowledges the grief, perhaps her last semblance of control will be lost. pain is here to stay for them both && honestly, ( a sardonic voice that will forever sound like diane ) asks her, would they know who they are without the weights that they carry? they have their drugs of choice - unhealthy coping mechanisms they have fought tooth and claw to try and control. they have lived within destruction for so long that helping the universe tear them to shreds from the inside out.

he looks so sad. tender fingers could probably easily count on them how many times she’s seen him in person. ( before the trigger was pulled, after the coma during her recovery, in the background of the occasional news broadcast, in jail.. ) peridot eyes remain vibrant && painfully sharp, seeing through flesh and bone to a core all too similar to her own. two sides of the same coin, both charred, damaged by the things dark parts of the world will never contain. ❝ I visit diane’s grave whenever I’m in town. ❞ revelation comes softly, almost monotone despite how peach lips offer small smile. if life has taught her one thing it has been that sometimes to allow people to open up it is necessary to share something first. pace when moving closer is slow, finding spot to sit opposite him, ❝ it’s ridiculous. I just sort of sit there - like I don’t know if I’m mourning or checking if she’s really gone. ❞

a morose hobby that maeve cannot quite explain for herself, hatred, pity, fear, understanding all mixing into a grey sludge that threatens to swallow her whole if she ever stops her running. university after university the woman has only just scraped back together her ability to have a presence in a room, clothes a mix of dark toned vintage softness && out of place colour of spotted navy jumper. pain lingers in the very air around him, yet just because she cannot truly help doesn’t mean instinct doesn’t wish for her to linger with him.

❝ so if there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s judge. I just want to listen. ❞ she comes and goes as easily as sunsets yet even in maeve’s impermanence there is a firmness to shy character that won’t allow her to surrender. ❝ you’re not atlas, spencer. you don’t need to hold it all alone. ❞

#baugenius #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // I had to continue I'm so sorry #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // thread 001 and we're already the worst huh #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // try saying no to the big green eyes it's impossible #𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // threads #𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘: // in that moment of revalation #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // I'm so excited to write later seasons things you have no idea #𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // queue #drugs mention tw #death mention tw

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The God of New Things

The universe of Killan’s story belongs to @wildfaewhump. If you haven’t read their Iesin and Talvos or Pathverse stories, go! Go read! Read them or face my wrath.

CW: GORE (wing whump, breaking bones, stitches, tons of blood and bone descriptors), murder/character death, mutilation of a dead person described, nonconsensual surgery (oof), noncon touching and kissing (nonsexual), creepy whumper, god complex

“Time for beginning, Killan.”

The fae’s voice was low and loving, murmured as he gripped the long, wickedly sharp knife.

The boy’s breath hitched, trembled and caught, was released in a whimper, and Calon Nie’s pearly blood thrilled in his veins that finally he could begin again.

It was going to work this time. He had learned from his past mistakes. For instance - for this, his talons would not do. This would take precision, and perfection. The knife had been dipped in boiling water five times, and heated on the fire five times, and then dipped in boiling water again. It had been held up to the stars, through the large hole in the cave’s roof, until starsong and starshine had bathed it as surely as the water that had bubbled along the edges of the pot hanging low over the fire.

Was the cave used for something else, once upon a time? The rough-wrought opening that lets the stars shine down directly onto the center of this cave seemed too perfectly formed to be accidental. The cave was set low in the mountains, still hours of flying from the colder, sharper places where the fae’s family still lived, where his court made their home. But a series of caves along the edges of this mountain made him think that perhaps a court had been near here, once chased up past the trees by the humans.

He would fix that, one day.

He would make the humans so terrified they would give the fae all the space they wanted, and then more than that besides. He would give to the fae weapons of fear and pain and blood, and then… then they would understand him.

It could have been an accidental, the plain gray rock slab so perfectly placed under the hole in the cave’s ceiling. But still… perhaps another has had ideas like this, before him.

Perhaps another fae had once made offerings to the night sky, given a human scream in exchange for making something no one had ever seen before.

Perhaps he was left this altar, led here. Perhaps that is what it is, this space, designed for the creation of new things. Calon Nie will be a father the way that the humans call certain of their strange little deities fathers. He will be the creator.

His name will be whispered at human campfires, one day, in terror. He will make his new thing, his offering to the stars, to his court, to his family to see if one day it will be enough.

I will make you something new. You must call me powerful, then. I have always been stronger than all of you, I feel things you don’t feel, I know secrets you don’t know.

But I can show you, through my chosen, my pretty human boy.

You will understand what we can do to them, to keep them from overrunning us. You’ll see. I can show you.

I will show you.

The first cut dug deep beneath the thin layers of human skin, blood welling a beautifully dark red that was nearly burgundy in the dim cave light. The magic breathed out along with the empty human life, a life that was pointless suffering and strife before Calon Nie raised it up, gave its suffering a higher calling, a purpose, a place that all this pain might be leading to.

You will bleed and break on my shore, mo ragnaithe, but then you will be all the stronger. I can show you what strength is. I can give to you the starsong.

I can show you.

I will show you.

Calon Nie’s head cocked to the side, birdlike, as blood beaded up on pale skin, a little more and a little more and a little more, before finally some tension broke and the droplet turned from a perfect half-sphere to a running river trailing over the beautifully wrought ribcage.

Too many ribs and too many organs, but that could be fixed, too. He trailed a talon, ever so gently, along to break the line of red, and then soothed the whimpering human boy restrained against the long, low stone slab he was laid on with low soft trills.

“Pl-please, please stop, please… please stop.” The boy’s pleading was pleasing to the ear, or at least to Calon Nie’s. His voice was not yet cracked from screaming but soon it would be. A simple human voice, hardly worth hearing. Calon lifted a talon to trail the back of the boy’s neck, leading to a new shudder wracking across him as he saw the raw, red skin around his wrists where the rough ropes had rubbed skin clear away.

“Still, Killan,” Calon Nie said, pointing with his talon at the blood soaking into the woven braid that kept his wrist firmly pressed down against the stone. Red was already smeared there. Just a little, but there would be so much blood on this rock by morning…

The boy sobbed at the sound of his own name, as always now. “No, please, I don’t-... I don’t know why y-y-you’re, you’re doing this but please stop-”

“Sssshhhh. Cannot stop, me. Will understand later, you. Will explain.”

“At, at least… at least put me to sleep,” The boy whimpered, and Calon Nie paused with the knife just above the other shoulder blade, looking back at the boy’s tear-stained face with a calm curiosity.

“Why?”

“B-because I wouldn’t… have to f-f-feel… this…”

Calon Nie laughed, then, patting him lightly along the already-cut space on his back, pulling another strangled cry of pain. “Cannot. Need to hear.”

It was the boy’s turn to ask, in a broken voice, “Why?”

“To make gift of buachaill del. Give screams to stars. Now no more talking.”

The starsong wrapped around the boy’s mouth, slipped over his tongue and down his throat, and the words fled him as quickly as Calon Nie could speak the compulsion into being. The boy could not be convinced, he had seen that during other times he’d caused him pain. Silence was preferable to arguments while trying to do something as delicate as this.

No, the boy’s screams were essential, not his words. His pain was important, as was the other thing, the reason that he had been chosen at all. In the boy, he had seen resilience twisted to another’s purpose, and a boy who did not fight being simply an instrument of someone else’s will.

Calon Nie had known it, that this was the one, the chosen human boy who would be better than the last three. This one would live.

When the boy had made a wish not for himself but to serve the purpose of the rabbit, Calon Nie had known, then, that this boy’s particular weakness had been tailored for him as well as if he had been born only for this. Had known this is my chosen human.

This one will break for me.

And so he would. The cracks were already there. Calon Nie had only to shatter him, and rebuild him into something better, something more, than he had been.

He slid the knife from the boy’s rounded shoulder blade, pointless now, and cut a slow curve along its line, his head nearly perpendicular to his body with the intensity of his focus. For his pretty human boy, the darkness must have been nearly total in here, the pain seemingly pointless, but Calon Nie’s eyes cut through the dark as easily as they did the day. He could see the beauty of the world in ways that the boy’s bleary night-blind eyes could not.

That would be fixed, too. Today, though, was not for the eyes or ribs or hands or ears or any of the other plans that Calon Nie had. Even Calon Nie, after countless failures had taught him the importance of moving quickly, could not fix so many things at once.

Today was for his wings.

The human’s hands pulled helplessly against the ropes - it had been the simplest turn of starsong to have the boy lay himself down on the slab and hold his own wrists out to be tied, but Calon Nie couldn’t have simply forced him to hold himself still the whole time. He needed to save the mysteries for the hardest part, the part that had not worked on prior chosen humans. He needed it to work, this time.

The boy began to weep, again, sobs that shook him bodily, and Calon Nie smiled at the sound as his blade began to dig a little deeper. His talons pressed into the space where the wound had opened. Weeping turned to screaming as talons dug deep, but the mysteries did not feel pity for a human’s scream.

What the mysteries heard was Calon Nie’s call, and the starsong answered him in force.

Humans were dead iron-things, with blood that pumped dead stars instead of life and bones that did not know the magic of air, of flight. But the mysteries still poured in through the bleeding wound in the boy’s skin, and all his thrashing could not free him of Calon Nie’s grip.

“Almost, almost, almost,” Calon Nie sang, swaying slowly back and forth, feeling the mysteries in the trees outside and woven into the very rock of the cave, even in the boy himself. He could feel nothing with his dead senses but with the first step taken he would feel a little more.

Against the wall, soft breathing, deep and even. The occasional scrape of sleeping movement. Calon Nie chanced only the barest glance away before he had to look back to his human, whose screams were rising again as talons and blade worked together to ensure that his skin was peeled back and shoulder blades exposed.

This was a dark kind of magic, Calon Nie knew that. Something he was not supposed to do. But the boy’s scream became a screeching, keening shriek as his very bones began to shift and change in the pool of blood and skin and spine.

The final shriek of his consciousness echoed off the cave, up through the opening, being given as a great gift to the stars themselves.

Then the boy’s eyes rolled up, and all his fighting and pulling on ropes meant nothing, as it was never going to mean anything, and he was sleeping, too, in a way.

“Good boy,” Calon Nie murmured.

The movement along the wall increased, and Calon Nie’s sharp fanged teeth snapped harshly at the air in a sudden irritation. He needed more time to ready the boy’s bones for flight, for the attachment. He had no time to fight, now.

Besides, what he asked for was not so much. To give the boy fae wings, he had needed fae wings to give. It was a tragedy, to take another fae life, but what were a few lives in the service of Calon Nie showing his court and the world itself that humans could be perfected?

The other fae would never have to know anything had happened, if only they would stay sleeping - there and then gone, returned to the stars where she belonged. It was an honor to give your life in service of greater things, wasn’t it? And Calon Nie would honor her by giving her death a higher purpose, just like he honored the dull, pointless human boy’s suffering by sharpening it to a point to be a weapon that could be wielded.

“You’ll see,” He murmured, petting his free hand through the boy’s hair, feeling his shuddering, shaking attempts to breathe around the agony he must be feeling even in his unconscious state. “You’ll understand why, later, won’t you, buachaill del?”

They would all understand, later.

It took precious minutes ticking by, listening to the cracking and shifting sound of a boy’s bones hollowing and changing, feeling the press of shoulder blades as they pushed back and up, moved along his back to be more properly placed to carry the weight of feathers.

The first one had died before he’d ever even made it this far. The second had died three days after the wings. The third had survived two weeks.

This one, though.

This one wouldn’t die.

He was sure of it.

The fae he had drugged and restrained against the wall died under his blade, a single harsh movement had slit her throat and bled pearly blood onto the cave floor. A piece of the great mystery of the stars died, with her death, and Calon Nie felt tears prick his eyes. How terrible, that his purpose must mean the deaths of his own people.

But all the wars ever fought have had a body count, and you make no progress without damage.

Her death was quick, but taking her wings was harder. While the boy laid still and silent on the slab, blood pouring from him in sheets across his back from the open wounds and discolored uneven knobs of bone sticking out, Calon Nie had to cut into her as well, the already-reddened blade now smeared with pearlescent fae blood. The two mixed poorly, but the look of it caught Calon Nie’s eye and made him go still, thoughtful.

Could the boy’s blood be replaced, too? He’d never thought of that before.

Once he had cut deeply, he had to break the bones beneath the skin and then wrench the wing off, a horrible cracking sound like a tree trunk breaking beneath a punishing wind. Finally, he pulled her left wing free, reddish-brown feathers bursting into the air around him and settling on the ground. The right followed soon after, and the massive things were heavy in his arms. He moved them over to the stone slab, settling them next to the boy, who still had not awoken.

The starsong kept the boy in thrall, lost in a wash of it, mysteries wrapped tightly around him. Calon Nie knew that the mysteries did not have a mind, but he liked to think if they did, they would have looked at what h was doing with the same curiosity and certainty that h did.

Humans were dead things walking th earth, but they did not have to be.

He returned to the dead fae lying on the ground, crouching beside her, brushing a bit of hair from her closed eyes. Never to open again, because of him. He let the gravity of that fact settle in. He had killed seven fae in his life, now. Three, for each of his failed subjects. This one, today. And the three… before.

Before he left his court and came to the human lands to build his new things in peace. He had never once taken a fae life for granted. It was only… it was only that his own purpose was so much more important than theirs.

He smiled down at her. Forever sleeping, he would fly her into the high places tomorrow and place her where she could face the dawn and stay frozen, to watch the sunrise again and again, forever. “Mo bhuí-ocha, chwaeri, as do rodd,” He whispered, and pressed a kiss to the top of her white hair. “Eitilt i measc réaltaí anois.”

Then he returned to the boy bathed in the mysteries, to the pair of wings that lay in pearly-red mixed blood of fae and human alike. He let the knife fall to the ground, he had no need of it for this.

The boy groaned, muffled with his face pressed flat to the stone now, and Calon Nie ignored him. There was no room for error, the starsong was fading by the second from the fae wings he had stolen. If he waited too long, the loss would poison them and the boy would die with the wings, just like the first two.

“Is feidir liome,” Calon Nie whispered, when he felt his talons shake for the first time. The first two humans had died thrashing and screaming, their bodies rejecting the wings that he had worked so hard to give them. The first two had haunted his dreams, as he planned and thought and worked towards what he must do to solve it for the next one.

They had died in pain, but it was glorious pain, in service to a higher calling.

To Calon Nie’s calling.

He had been their killer, their thief, their murdering monster in the dark.

He would be this boy’s god.

“Is feidir liome,” He whispered again. I can. He could.

“Beidh mé.” His voice was stronger this time. I will. He took up the fae’s left wing, maneuvering it so its feathers were splayed, the joins raised and curved, as though the boy on the slab might take flight at any moment.

His talons clicked against the exposed hollow bone. Fear beat his pulse rapidly in the hollow of his throat. He slowly, carefully lowered the wing until the fae bones just touched the mutilated, reformed left shoulder blade of the boy.

Then he called to the mysteries that swirled above the two of them and raised his eyes to the stars he could see through the open space in the cave’s ceiling.

“Beidh sé ag eitilt!” His voice rang through the cave, more melody than shout, and the rush of power through him was the same heady ecstasy it had been the first time, and the second, the third.

This one would not die screaming as feathers molted in droves. This one would not lay with glazed-over eyes. This one would not fail.

This one would fly.

A breath, and then a rush of wind through the cave blew the boy’s hair in every direction, ruffled the light brown with hints of honey-blond than had so caught Calon Nie’s eye the first time he’d seen him. Another low groan, and the blunt human fingers, so useless, curled back into fists. Calon Nie held still, breathing faster, hardly daring to hope.

He always dared hope.

Then, he looked down, as the boy’s eyes blinked back open, insensible, before he threw his head back, every muscle tense, and screamed again.

Calon Nie felt his smile crack so wide it nearly broke his face as the place where the boy’s reformed bones met the fae’s wing began to blend. The bone rebuilt itself in a flash of time that would have taken weeks or months without the mysteries, the hollowed spaces finding each other and melding. Pearly blood ran into red and consumed it rather than falling to its death-knell iron.

Calon Nie trilled in delight as the feathers of the wing shuddered, and the wing suddenly expanded to its full height, the boy’s scream trapped in an everlasting moment of Calon Nie’s perfect triumph. The connection was made, and the boy’s mind and muscle would control the wings now, just as he’d hoped.

He moved to the other wing - the right wing would always be a little weaker, for the extra seconds elapsed before it could be attached, too. It shouldn’t be enough to affect much, or even notice, if this worked.

It was going to work.

It was already working.

“Wh-what-... wha’s happ-... h-hurts, please, please-please-please, it hurts, what’s happening-” The boy’s desperate pleading cries were a babble, noise, they were nothing against the rush of Calon Nie’s blood as he carefully placed the second wing, and then the screams began again.

The boy screamed through the connection. He wept through the stitches that sewed his thick human skin back into place, although it would always be heavily scarred. That was fine. That was fine, if it worked.

It was going to work.

Once the stitches were done, with the thread clipped off by talon and teeth and coated with still-bubbling blood that his fae eyes could see was paler than it had once been, he knew. He could feel the sense of the mysteries beginning, for the first time, to run in the veins of the shaking human tied down before him.

He would fly, soon. He would sing to the stars, one day. He would be… he would be perfect. Calon Nie would make him perfect.

And then his court - and all the fae - would understand that he was stronger than them. That he could make new things.

They would understand that Calon Nie was a new thing, too.

“Will fly, you,” Calon Nie whispered, his eyes so wide the whites showed around his slit-pupil irises, his lips drawn back from his fangs in a rictus of delight he could not seem to control. “My pretty boy. Will fly!”

The boy couldn’t hear him over his own screams. It didn’t matter, because the shudder ran through the right wing, too, and then Calon Nie moved, dropping down from the slab back onto the cave floor, to watch as the boy’s fear controlled their movements. The wings closed and then opened again, bristled, feathers puffing in fear unconsciously.

They were both breathing harshly, Calon Nie with his delighted ecstasy, his pride - the boy with terrified confusion. It didn’t matter.

The boy raised his head and turned it, meeting Calon Nie’s eyes with his own human ones weeping tears to darken the rock beneath him. “Wh-what happened to me? Wha… what did you d-d-do?”

Calon Nie dropped into a crouch next to the boy’s head, petted bloody talons into his hair, and leaned over to lick the tears from his face, delighting in the saltwater taste, the boy’s shuddering disgust, the way his wings reacted already.

None of the others had controlled them so soon. This was working better than he had thought, had imagined, it could. He had given the boy’s pain a purpose and the boy’s body had soaked it up with gratitude his mind might not feel… but it would, one day.

“What did you d-do to me?” The boy whispered.

Calon Nie leaned in so closely that their eyes were mere inches apart. He kissed the boy’s forehead, soft as a mother with a feverish fledgling.

“Make better, you. My buachaill del, better than all others. Mo ragnaithe, you I choose. I give wings. I give flying. I give starsong.”

“I didn’t want it,” The boy whimpered. “It h-hurts…”

Calon Nie kissed his forehead again, and then stood. In the corner, a dead fae, a sacrifice to a higher cause. On the slab, a human boy with working wings.

Standing between them, Calon Nie, who would do things that no one else had ever done, things no one else could do. He could make something new.

“Wanting not matter,” Calon Nie whispered, raising his eyes to the stars, his teeth flashing, raising his hands slowly to bathe in the mysteries that settled heavy in the cave around him. “More than pretty boy, now. More than that, you.”

It felt like standing in the space between the stars itself.

Starlight like a kiss fell across his cheekbones.

His hands were bathed in iron blood and would itch for days, but it was worth it. Everything worth doing, after all, came with discomfort. You could not bring new life into the world without pain.

“Not Calon Nie, aos sidhe, now,” He murmured. “Calon Nie, god. Dia ruda’ai nuah.”

As the boy wept and his new feathers rustled in the darkness, Calon Nie smiled up at the stars. This one would live. This one would fly. This one would be perfect.

I will make you an offering, a thing no one has ever seen.

I will make you.

You are mine.

----------

Tagging Killan’s crew: @astrobly @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions, @broken-horn, @moose-teeth, @whumpfigure, @spiffythespook, @oceanthesarcasamfox, @whump-only (if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

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smalltowndetective · 3 years

Note

Hiya! I have a request! From the "Question Ideas #12" the prompt "What color is it?" for Pearl, please!

Hey Buddy! Thank you for the request!

This is easily the most self-indulgent thing that I have ever written ever (And I already write pretty self-indulgently) But I hope you like it! :)

Ao3 Link

Title: Snowy Afternoons

Pairing: Nate and Pearl

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Winter baking (and that’s pretty much it haha) Also a bunch of references to snow, because I miss it

Whenever it started snowing in Wayhaven, it rarely stopped. The thick blanket of snow would continue to cover the entirety of the sleepy little town until the first hints of spring. The air barely seemed to go above freezing, it always making her nose and face red, almost like a permanent blush.

But as frigid as it may be outside, Pearl could not think of a time of the year that she loved more. With it being in the middle of the holidays, and the overall beauty of the season strangely made her nostalgic, despite the unsure feelings she had toward the holidays in general due to repeated absences and half-baked apologies from her mother.

Maybe it was the time of the year where the town got together to celebrate, no one being left out. Downtown always looked beautiful with all of the decorations, the same decorations year after year, and even with the familiar sights, it was nostalgic almost. Even with all of the recent changes, Wayhaven, was well, still the same. Not even the supernatural could change that.

And she supposed there was something comforting in that. Whether she liked it or not, this was her home, and nothing would ever change that. Pearl had tried to leave once, and it made her feel more lost, despite the fact that she believed that was following her dreams at the time, and was frustrated with herself to why it just left her feeling unfulfilled.

But just maybe, with the arrival of Unit Bravo in the town, she felt like that perhaps her calling was to be a small-town detective dealing with the supernatural at every turn. And that was not such a bad thing.

Especially with the arrival of one particular member.

Pearl’s eyes went straight to Nate at the other end of her kitchen, her fingers delicately tracing over the pages of one of her cookbooks, and even though they may have not been dating for long, he looked like he had belonged there, and had been there for his entire life.

She had invited him over that morning to help her out with baking with the holiday party at the station. It was something that she did every year, and while it could get a bit overwhelming at times, it was never something that she really needed extra help with. The routine of it all was familiar to her at this point.

Perhaps she just wanted an excuse to invite him over.

Not like she thought he would need one to come over anyway.

He always managed to make himself at home at her place anyway, even with it being a bit of a disaster at the moment. She had always managed to keep it so neat before she met the team, and now it had turned into what she optimistically put as “organized chaos” (Though she was sure Adam would disagree) Paperwork and other Agency materials piled up on about every flat surface, with several assorted technology bits that she had taken from the warehouse’s tech room to look further at.

And Nate had found his own way to add to the clutter, often bringing books and other various items that he owned, and his comfort in her space never failed to bring a smile to lips. It was a sign of their continued closer relationship, and it was something that she hoped would never fade.

“Do you think the cake is cool enough yet?”

Pearl blinked in surprise at the moment broken, to find Nate looking straight at her, his brown eyes as gentle as ever, bringing one of her old collegiate mugs to his lips, full of the tea that he had made the both of them when he had first arrived. She was not sure just how long she had gazing at him, but from the hint of a smirk on his face, it had to have been a while.

Got me feeling like I’m in the clouds, don’t you Agent?

But the cutting flirtation that she wanted to respond that smirk with seemed to die with the rising blush on her face, and all she could do was give him a smile.

“Uh, yeah, I think so”, she stammered out, trying to tear her eyes away from his and failing miserably.

Nate was kind enough not to tease her about it, and he moved closer to her until their shoulders were brushing together, “Want to show me how this is done, [redacted pet name]?”

The simple question surprised her, since it was a rare feeling for her to feel like she had anything that she could teach him. He knew so much, knowledge gained over human lifetimes, and while she may know the parts of a computer like the back of her hand, it was pale in comparison to all that he knew.

And baking was not something she was particularly good at either, just something that she enjoyed as more of a guilty pleasure, but maybe that was what she was willing to do now. Not feel like she had to the best at everything around him, even with the competitive part of her not as pleased with that.

Pearl gave him a wink, “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

She took one of the bowls that was full of the icing that she had made earlier, it bright white, and she brought it over to her kitchen table, which like the rest of her apartment, was also in a sort of mess, with flour covering one half of the table with various bits of decorations that she had made earlier. She looked over at the currently plain white cake that she and Nate had spent the morning making, and it had turned out as just perfect as she would ever want it to.

“So”, she began, dipping the spatula in the frosting and starting to lather it on the top of the cake, “We’ll start with a crumb coating at first, and then we’ll do a second coating later, since that kind of helps hide the imperfections”

Pearl paused, and she looked back at the focused look on his face, and she could not help but smile, “I feel like I’m in some sort of cooking show or something”

Nate laughed, “And I’d say you do quite well in one”

“Wouldn’t go that far”, she replied, trying to ignore the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, “But thanks”

She then handed him one of the over spatulas, “You get the top, and I’ll get the sides?”

“A sound plan”, he agreed, and the two of them both started to work.

As she normally did when she was baking, Pearl started to hum quietly, something that she did while she baking, hardly noticing that she doing so. It was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room, and he gave her smile, smiling in a way that no one had ever smiled at her before.

“Wow”, she whispered as she looked at the now completely iced cake, “We did good” She then looked up to Nate, and she gave him a lopsided grin, “But with us working together, I hardly expected anything different”

“Neither did I”, he responded, getting even closer, and she moved to stand on her tiptoes in order to kiss his temple, and even though she may have not been a vampire, she could feel his heart race at the touch.

“I’m going to put the cake in the fridge to cool for a bit”, she whispered, her lips just barely brushing the outside of his ear, Nate bending down slightly in order to let her do so, “Then we’ll work on the fondant, mio amor”

While Pearl may have not been very far outside of Wayhaven in a long time, she always had a knack for languages, part of the reason for that was all of the international friends that she made while she had still done coding events. And one that had stuck with her was a certain Italian phrase and though she doubted she would ever be able to top the one that he had given her, it was something that, well, summed up everything that she felt about him.

My love

And possibly the only true one I’ve ever known.

She reluctantly moved away, and it looked like Nate did as well, but she got everything put up that needed to be before going to stand next to him, and she picked up some of the green fondant that was going to go on the side of the cake.

“So”, she began, “What color do you think this is? Because I’m not sure if I made it more of a seasonal green or more of a spring green”

“I think it’s quite seasonal”, he smiled, and while she was not sure what he would have answered if it was not, she let it go.

“Good”, she replied, the hint of a smirk on her lips, “Would hate to look like I’m pining for another season”

He chucked, the kind of chuckle that almost seemed to brighten the room, and without really thinking about it, she tugged down the top of his jacket to meet his lips with hers, which he gratefully accepted, kissing her in return in just as much feeling as she was, and it took everything in her not to outwardly moan at the contact.

And while they have still had plenty of work to do still, the two of them, for a few glorious minutes, forgot all about it, letting the two of them get lost in the sensation instead, the two of them needing nothing else besides each other.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #twc #detective pearl reid #nathaniel sewell #nate sewell #thank you again for the request!#You are the best!#vienocalledmebuddy #request

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aetherarf · 3 years

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About Aobai, God of Promises [OC]

A half beast, half man abomination, he wasn't always considered such a vile creature. Bigger than most men and more cunning than most beasts, he's terrifying, but more honest than most you'd ever meet.

About

Gender: Cis Male Age: ~30 Years Element: Geo Weapon: Catalyst Nation: Liyue Constellation: Bestia Perdita Affiliation: Criminal Underworld

Visual Description

A large man who is taller than most humans, he has tan skin and white hair, with white ears atop his head that appear quite fluffy. His height and width make standing in a doorway awkward, he has large fangs that make closing his mouth entirely difficult. He has a fluffy white tail, but sometimes it appears invisible and a small, dangling charm will hang off of his belt around where his tail would reside. When visible, his tail is fluffy but it appears mangled and bent.

He has strong facial features and he has many scars on his body, his fingertips are covered in small cuts and his nails are more akin to claws due to his inhuman nature. He shares no direct visual relations with any known humanoid species of Teyvat, but has traces of the Kätzlein of Mondstadt, even if he does not appear strictly feline.

Character Details

Teyvat is not a place free of crime, free of those who ignore the law of commonfolk. Most commonly, these people are from a different land, such as how the Fatui are known for breaking even the laws of Snezhnaya, or Treasure Hunters who oftentimes don't even care for basic decency and respect for the past...

But, even those who do not obey common laws must be kept in line, lest they be hunted like wolves. Aobai is the so called God of those who work outside the lines of normality. Having been given the title "God of Promises", he is known as the head of all criminal activity, anything that happens always goes back to him...

Story 1

"The God of Promises goes by no name... And those who do know his name, either have a death wish, or his own blessing."

Few know Aobai by his name, many will see him directly, intimidated by his towering physique, and never learn his name. This is intentional, even if he truly does not have a personal life to shield the world from, even if they seemed determined that he does.

Only a few know his name, and they are counted as his two closest confidants, who advise him in all matters should he seek their advice, or to deal with threats personally...

And the only family he has left. Estranged, they seldom interact with him, but he has the grace to let them remember his name, and should they come calling, he will see to their needs, even if they have not always been kind.

Story 2

The God of Promises is truly not a god, but he is not human, either.

Born as a beast, he was always considered different, but he is unmistakably mortal. Instead, this title was granted to him by the way of Teyvet's Criminal Network.

He is of Liyue, where contracts are commonplace, but when a contract can get you in trouble that could lead to your termination, they're never written... But that does not mean the Criminal world is flippant, non committal to its word.

Instead, each deal must be bound with a promise, a vocal oath to commit. Upon breaking this oath, you forfeit all, your life, your money, your loved ones... A broken promise does not go forgotten.

And, he who had never once broken a promise had found his way to becoming its leader. Its god. He stands by the promises he makes, and always places them carefully... A promise from the God of Promises himself is a damning burden, but a powerful blessing, all in one.

Story 3

Despite looking like a monster, Aobai still has those he considers family.

A single younger sister. The two cannot be more different, she has fluffy ears, and she is quite shy, hiding from the world when he would easily take it on in a show of pride. Even still, she is terrified of him, and he adores her still.

At any chance he can, he tries to prove himself to his fearful sister, who doesn't know if she should trust him, or if their shared father is right, that he is a beast that cannot be tamed... Perhaps he cannot be tamed, but he is not a simple beast who cannot think, who cannot act of his own volition.

Aobai does not care for what he father thinks about him, because his father never wanted him to meet his sister. He would not tolerate Aobai's mother, and when Aobai was all alone, his father only continued to treat him like an outsider.

But he is used to this treatment, and he is determined enough to not let the man control him.

"A father is not the man who shares your blood," Aobai believed, "A father is the man that shows you love in the only way that cannot be broken by time."

Aobai has no father, and by now, no mother... But he adores his sister, even if she is a daddy's girl.

Story 4

Few expect it, but much of the money that flows through Teyvat has always crossed Aobai's watching gaze.

He himself controls much of the money flowing in the Undercity, in the Criminal Side of Teyvat. A sailor on a ship that sails from Inazuma to Snezhnaya to Liyue writes down every little detail, out of sight, out of mind, when his only duty is to move the stock to and fro.

Of course, this sailor does not understand why he does this, but he only gets a nice payment for this information, if he delivers, he is paid, but he never gives the information to the same person twice.

No one knows why Aobai keeps such strict watch over all of the goods carried across Teyvat, but more than once has an anonymous tip told the leads of the nations about a storm that trapped a caravan in a half-sunken cave, when there was no way anyone could have come in or out, and no one could have seen.

It seems Aobai's intense watch over such things has given him an uncanny ability to predict what has, what will, and what is happening.

If he dislikes you, you better hope that he is merciful, but if you are on his good side, expect a few, odd presents to appear in unique ways... perhaps a second dish served with one you ordered, simply from an overstock and needing to be rid of ingredients before they spoil, or an accidental double shipment that cannot be turned back to its original owner...

Or maybe just a pleasant bag of mora left forgotten, without a name in sight, waiting to be picked up.

Story 5

Aobai is called a cruel man, but truly, he is far from it.

He would protect a terrified child from a brutal father, throw himself in the face of danger to save others from a horrible fate, and endure the worst pain the world has to offer to keep order--be it amongst his lackeys, or in the fragile system of the law.

It is not that he wishes to die, far from it, but he is keenly aware of how the world is, and how delicately it hangs in the balance of the rusted, broken hands of Celestia.

A man such as himself could force the balance to sway to and fro, as could Jean or Diluc of Mondstadt, or Ningguang of Liyue. But, when it sways, the world trembles, and the foundations shatter.

It is terrifying, to see such an event come...

And so, he fights to find balance, within himself, and with the world around him.

He cannot undo everything he has done, but even as his duty as the King of the Undercity, he strives to hunt down the worst of crimes, and to keep the innocent souls of the world protected.

He believes, if it was not him in charge, then it would be another without a heart, for to exist in such a role, you must have lost your heart, never had one, or endure agony eternally.

He is always in pain, alone in the world, so it seems fitting.

A fitting punishment for his cursed existence.

Unique Appearance

Aobai is most known for his looks, making his presence known wherever he is, even if it is not exactly by choice. This has given him countless struggles through his life.

Parents, however, don't lend to his odd appearance. His father had come from Springvale, a Kätzlein, many years back, and after a fateful night, met his mother, only to disappear and never return. His mother, by all means, was human, quite petite in size, little more than a waitress at the Liliu Pavilion. But, when he was born, he proved to be far from human.

He was mistreated because of his appearance, and that he grew much slower than most other children, they would oftentimes grab at his tail, ripping at it and more than once there were cruel attempts to cut it off. This lead to the tail becoming mangled, aching in pain every moment, instead of simply being broken and without feeling.

Even as he grew older, more accustomed to the seedy underbelly of Teyvat, any research into his bloodline had gone forgotten. His mother was adopted, and meeting his father proved nothing beyond insisting his Kätzlein blood...

He long since abandoned the search for what he truly is, and where he may belong. All that matters now is his duty to keep Teyvat safe, and in line... After all, there must be a Kingpin, the God of all who only care for themselves, he figures he's as good as anyone else.

Vision

Aobai was determined to make something of himself, despite the way he was despised, and oftentimes feared, by those he dare consider peers. He was terrifying, but that also lead to isolation.

All he had was himself and his mother. He would admit the truth to her, the only person he would dare trust, for she would love him, and understand... After all, she had been there while he had been suffering his entire life, due to his oddities.

Still little more than a young man, he went home, only to find that everything inside had been destroyed, and his own mother was on the ground, motionless--and when he touched her, cold. It took only moments for him to hear the encompassing footsteps, those who had hunted the beast, those who he had called his allies. His comrades.

His friends.

"You knew this was coming, little cub," A voice said, "Just give up. You cant win."

Oh, of course he couldn't. His sensitive ears picked up every little footstep, this had been long coming. He was more powerful than the finest bull, more cunning than the swiftest thief... and more genuine than the youngest child.

And here he was, holding his mother's corpse.

Perhaps he knew he could not win, but despite it, he stood, and bared his fangs, and tensed his claws. And, despite the odds, despite everything, he leapt at the nearest hunter, with all the fury of a beast.

With each surge, and each crush of bones beneath his hands, he felt a power thrumming through his body, how his own body seemed as though it did not understand what it was, a horrifying pain that made his vision flash in and out of a white dreamscape, but when it was not white, it was red with rage.

Eventually, everything, once again, had gone silent, his own body was not his own, and in his hand was... Vision was a generous term.

It appeared to be an eye the color of geo, a jagged pupil and iris, motionless, encased in time.

Holding it close to his body was agonizing, as though it was not where it was meant to be, as though he was holding his heart in his hand, and it was meant to be within. But there was nothing he could do but endure the agony...

And walk outside before the Milleteth had come. They were honest men, and he had no desire to harm them, but too many had been harmed in his inhuman rage.

With a horrific level of self control, he regulated whatever this gift he had been given, and the agony it offered.

Whatever he was, was deeply tied with this gift...

And he didn't care what he was, only for what he could do with it, for Liyue, for Teyvat, and for all those promises he failed to keep.

#genshin impact oc #genshin oc #aobai #barks ocs

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

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Woops, I wrote again

"What a shame it is, ta recognize the fingers that pulled back the hammer. What a shame it is, when the man in the mirror's the one who shot the gun." - Darnell Bronko

"They tell ya heaven's in hiding and lead you to the edge of your sanity, whispering, "Jump, heaven sits at the bottom." And as you fucking fall, you begin to realize that angels never fell, they jumped and thought it paradise." - Jess Mercikal

"I'm a grave dug too early, digging up my own bones, always wondering why the different are damned whilst the powerful are celebrated for their indifference. But I guess that's just how it goes, huh? The boy who cries wolf is loved by the predator, for he falls easily into his maw. But as he begs for a savior, everyone passes the different boy by because "He asked for it." - Havio Bonecross

"There is no beauty more pure than the release of life, the gasp of the heretic soul whispering like smoke on the edge of the saint's holy knife." - Vareeth Gospel

"She was a delusion of the worst kind. Of the breathing, haunting kind that digs it's fingers into the recesses of your skull and crushes every thought, every memory with dream slathered hands. And she was the worst kind of evil that consumes, and consumes, and consumes until there's nothing left but the girl that was, but is no more." - Zacharia Von Shelrick

"My mind drifts back ta the days'a pain, and every time I see brokenness reflected in the eyes'a that old orphanage. And I can't help but think'a that little girl, chokin' on darkness and delusions before she ever had a chance ta live. And that's what pain does ta ya. It kills innocence and replaces it with himself." - Clayborne Pettygore

"In the eyes'a innocence decayed I met young evil, killin' a young girl from the inside out as if that old eightball had whispered she'd fall inta the darkness without a damn doubt. And every now and then, my darkness reminds me that in some ways, I'm just like that little girl. Dead too soon. Corrupted too young. A grave before I ever crawled." - Sampson O'Connel

"Some men get choice. Men like me get ta follow fate's river as it fuckin' sweeps em away." - Wyval Killsrift

"Son, I'd go inta the dark gently if I were you. Her teeth are sharp and she likes the kinda prey that fights back and dances on 'er tongue." - Wyval Killsrift

"I've got a knife in the back of my throat, and it coats my words in blood." - Wyval Killsrift

"Peel back my skin and tear me apart in search for redemption. In search for beauty. But all you'll find in the remains of my ribcage is a heart faded to black where all the red used to be. I'm a power lusting, sin starving, wretched beast, preying on his own flesh just to survive who he's become. But I like it that way. I always have. There are many forms of death that don't end in a funeral. A kind of death you can only see in the flickers of emotion in a cruel man's eye." - Totalis Sinsbad

"Evil wears many faces. But the evil I met, she wore only one." - Bob Smyke

"I don't think you ever really leave that first high. I was just young and dumb when I went on my first trip. I soared through the air on acid wings and smoke. My eyes spilling with tears that tasted like blood on my whiskey scarred tongue. And I'll never escape that memory. That addiction to the liminal. To the blurred edges of reality. I've grown so achingly tired of this body. I just want to fucking escape myself. And that's what my addiction gave me. But I the snake tongued devil, shaped like pills and needles never told me he'd carve small pieces of me off as I slept and dreamt of greater things." - Mieda Brushvaker

"Escaping reality's a deadly, thing. First, you tell yourself it's just this once. You'll never fucking do it again. And you keep telling yourself that. Before ya know it, people start leaving you because you're just a cocaine husk, bleeding from the tip of a heroin needle. I told myself I'd quit again, and again, but that shit changed me. And in some sinister fucking way, I'm always going to be a junkie, caught between this rift in reality. Cause I just ain't been me ever since white powdered fingers came for me in the dark and choked the reality from me." - Armano Sketer

"I wouldn't get in the habit of denying reality. It's a knife, my friend. And with every denial of it's existence, it sharpens. And it prepares to cut, slow." - Darwin Flowrick

"I'm a lustful, starving, crooked shadow. Feasting off of innocence. off of scars. Off of pieces of fragility and wicked divinity. Many call me a monster, but I'm human. Dreadfully human. And isn't that what makes their hearts run black? I am as human as they who damn me. I used to be just as innocent. But I came for myself, with teeth reddened by the slaughter, claws sharp and hungry for a young boy's innocence. And with pale, crooked eyes I desecrated my sense of self, and tore it apart piece, by delicious, starving piece." - Darwin Flowrick

"Redemption passed 'er by, and delusions came for 'er with feral, rotting teeth. If she ever knew innocence, it curled up in her chest and opened in her heart like a dyin' flower. Blackining. Decayin'. Dyin' before she ever had a chance ta fuckin' live. I once asked 'er "Why?" And all she ever did was smile and ask, "Why not?" And that's such a wicked kinda' evil. Such a relentless, fucked up kinda misery. And I always wondered, as she faded inta the night if she went home ta the darkness she'd always lived in." - Roan Scorpio

"Darkness beats in my chest, like a soft, quiet melody told by very few. They say it's forbidden. They say it's cursed. Dreadful. Deadly. But I like the way it resurrects me. The way it pulls my cracked bones back together. The way it stitches the flesh and sits, like blood on the tongue. I sway under the dying light of innocence, closing my eyes as I know, I've truly felt what it was, to die. And it came for me with pale fingers and crooked, bones. And I like the way it nips at my scars with reddened teeth and tells me this horror is beautiful." - Elzibith Varcoat

"There's a ghost in my head, and it whispers reasons for it to haunt me. You'll fall back, it says, you'll grasp at that sweet release just to escape from the mind numbing reality of who you are. And I always fight back in whimpers, and cries, and tears in the corners of my eyes. It's not so easy fighting a war when the enemy is yourself, and it's who you are on the frontlines. Armed with rifles full of addiction and needles, ready to prod. And tear. And chew away at me until I'm me no more. Just another drug bound, addiction fueled ghost." - Torva Allidaine

"Truthfully, I am not a human being. Humanity was ripped from me first from bullet hole fangs and gunpowder dripping tongues. And as I tried to scrap together what pieces of me I had, humanity was once more torn away from my bones. For pale fingers came in the dark and ripped, away. As if I was just another layer of skin hiding the bitter, rotten goods. So I do what I can with what little I have. I kill a bad man. I fire off another fucking bullet. Because that's all I am. A thing that goes bump in the bad thing's quiet darkness." - Amarillo Crocker

"Sometimes, I must confess, I begin to wish I could rip away at this skin. Like a sunburn beginning to peel. I have stood in this flesh for too long. This aching, heavy, crushing flesh. This is not me. It can't be. I want to fall, like Icarus from the sky. To let my wings and skin burn away with the heat of the sun. If only to reveal the woman hiding behind all this skin. This ugly, defiant, constricting skin. I am a cage. But I've always been a cage. too." - Valdosta Coffenbury

"Hungry, reminding fingers wrapped around my chest. Stealing the air from me. The comfort. The safety. It was always there. Always hungry. Always reminding me I'm not who I should be. Who I want, to be. It lives in the mirror, and the steam from the shower. It lives in my chest. In the edge of a shaving razor as I cut away at facial hair that never should've been there. It's suffocating, sometimes. But usually, it's quiet. In the back of my head. In the back of my chest. The back of the shower. Always there. Always hungry. Always reminding me of the face that isn't mine in the mirror. And that's what it feels like. Being somebody that isn't you. Never was. Never will be. Never again." - Valdosta Coffenbury

"I fell asleep, but it weren't so kind. I tossed, and I turned. I fell inta my first nightmare'a the night. I can remember the pitch black sky. His quiet anger that was so, loud. I couldn't speak. As if the terror, or the sorrow, or whatever the fuck it was sat in my throat, forcing my words back down like tears drippin' from my cheeks. I don't remember much'a the second nightmare. Just red. Everywhere. In my throat, in my words, bleedin' from my God damn eyes. But then I was awake in the twilight, wrapped in itchy blankets and cold sweat, wonderin' if I'd woken back inta my life, or stepped inta another fucked up piece'a me." - Ace Swinton

"My heart's a threadbare emotion, starving on the memories of my mother." - Rafaela Caesar

"I want to see the vulnerable side of you as I slink under the shadows of your bed, to listen to the way your breath breaks and mourns under the weight of a nightmare and dream divided. I want to see you broken as I hide in the shadows of your closet, to hear the secrets you whisper to torn sweaters and dresses you outgrew long ago. Eaten away by moths and woven into a spider's web. But most of all, perhaps, I want to taste the blood of your malice in my mouth as your anger nips at my tongue and tries to kill this man I am. You can never be rid of me, for I am the monster under your bed, who has killed all your shadows, and butchered all your light, wondering what you'd become on the edge of existence." - Darwin Flowrick

"Running my fingers against an old, worn out photograph, I come to realize my sister was a delicate hero to herself. There was a storm in her, a deadly, violent storm of anger and sadness. But when I look into those paper eyes, splashed with her sister's tears, I can't help but think I failed her in some way, as if I'd just tried a little harder, she wouldn't be this cold case in my heart." - Sun Morvosina

"Some sins are perhaps worse than murder, worse than lust, death, desire. And perhaps my mind lusts for the things that will damn it, shoving sins into it's maw and sucking at the heart until it's bone white. But the greatest sin of all, perhaps, is that I am me, and in some way, I always have been." - Melias Skinwalker

"My heart's a gentle, moss covered bomb, and every now and then, a fragile little emotion comes on by and pulls back the pin. Can you imagine that kind of deadly vulnerability to your darkness?" - Ben Stilts

"I dipped my pen in the blood of my identity, and word by word, I wrote my death." - Shilo Andrakall

"I'm gunpowder and pistol smoke rising after the murder of another man's conscience, and as the smell of death begins to brew in the puddles of red rain, I come to realize a soldier dies the moment he steps on the battlefield, and out from his heart claws a monster made of gunmetal sacrifice and howling intentions." - Halzio Vickmon

"Blood on the hands mares the vision of the revolution, dwindlin' it down ta nuthin' but murder. But rest assured, good will come'a this." - Cedric Popovici

"It's starting to feel like this world doesn't run off of what's right, but rather thrives off of what's profitable. We spill blood and we call it noble. We fire our rifles and call it a good cause with violent tendencies. Good, does not come for men like you and me. We died the moment we stepped into a revolution built on the backs of those who fought." - Havar Swanson

“I spent so long thinking something was wrong with me. Thinking that being who I am was wrong, and hateful. But as I learned to accept myself, and met a man in the shadows of the night, I came to realize hate convinces you love is just another afterthought of the foolish.” - Paige Newdelle

“Armello's a kind, soft, beautiful soul, loving me in all the colors we can see. And even some we can't, too. As he kisses me deep, and I run my fingers through his tangled hair, I know the lost can be found, even if it's in their own Neverland. Even if they have to find beauty in a Wonderland of our own.” - Paige Newdelle

“If I have to be somebody, I want to be somebody worth being.” - Camille Trueblood

“If I could, I'd wear all their scars for them. I'd let the darkness swallow me whole. For all my life, I've promised to be their mother, their hero, their best friend. When they're hurting, mama's always here to wrap em up in a big old hug and tell them everything'll be okay. And when they have secrets that dig into their hearts, they can always come to me and unburden themselves. I'll give them everything I never had. Because I lived in a loveless home, and I just want them to know though life can hurt, it can also be so, damn beautiful.” - Camille Trueblood

“In some way, my children are heroes to me, too. I was living a lonely life until I held my two baby girls in my arms. And slowly, more of my heroes came into my life and grew like seeds of love that just couldn't wait to blossom. I must be the luckiest woman alive, to have found such joy after the hurting. To find such love after my heart stopped beating.” - Camille Trueblood

“Truthfully, I'm not a masterpiece. But aren't I beautiful with these torn edges and faded colors?" - Camille Trueblood

“Scars can only exist so long as they're hidden.” - Camila Dillingo

“There's no greater misery, really. Then being surrounded in a field of hateful hands that poke and prod at your identity until you no longer feel like yourself past all those stains of mean spirited words and actions.” - Camila Dillingo

“I think family never ended with blood. It always started with the promise of loyalty, the promise of love that grows and changes with who we become.” - Camila Trueblood

“I know I'm just one voice in a crowd of shouts, but I always had this funny little idea that even just one person can change the world." - Camila Dillingo

“I often wonder who I would be if I was not me. And I often feel as if being a man I'm not would be kinder than being this man I am.” - Calliger Cougar

“I shook hands with a faceless devil, for he's worn a thousand different faces and a million different smiles, only to realize that truthfully, he can never be himself. Again and again he tells me he wants to wipe his slate clean, but his eyes are ever filled with immortal emotion. As are mine, as are mine.” - Calliger Cougar

“We're puppets dancing on nooses.” - Calliger Cougar

“My hands are stained in red emotion, my heart scarred the dirty color of emptiness, my eyes dripping with the tears other men couldn't bring themselves to shed.” - Calliger Cougar

“The world's grown tired now, and as it's eyes begin to close, and humanity reaches it's final hour, we should come to realize with the world's aching last breath, peace shall finally rise golden over the horizon. Humanity's become such a festering plague to themselves, and we're just waiting to rot away in bodies that aren't our own." - Calliger Cougar

“Life's become little more than an instinct, really. My heart beats because it always has, I breathe because that's what I've been doing all my life. I don't live because I want to. Because truthfully... I don't cherish my life.” - Burasbley Highersman

“I feel like a flower that's decayed, and people just take little pieces of my body away because they find beauty in the broken. But no light gets through my cracks.” - Burasbley Highersman

“I can still remember my mother's eyes, filled with ugly horror. And I can still remember all those nights spent in the dark, weeping because I wished this body wasn't mine. This scarred, bruised, fucked up body.” - Burasbley Highersman

“I've tried to escape myself in every way possible. I've touched the tips of death's fingers only to recoil at the feeling of her cold skin against mine. I've killed for substances that left me dreary and high, lost in a fucked up fantasy that I didn't earn. I can still remember the way cocaine tastes on my lip, the way the needle feels pressing against my bruised skin.” - Burasbley Highersman

“I'm like salt in coffee. Everyone always mistakes me for sugar, but recoil and hiss upon the tasting of me on their lip.” - Burasbley Highersman

“I'm just a heavy and cumbersome body carrying around bones that aren't even his.” - Burasbley Highersman

“People say we rise from our pain, but I was never a Phoenix, just a bird with broken wings that never learned how to fly.” - Burasbley Highersman

“Past dis hard shell, tiny cracks begin ta appear, cause dat's da life of a fighter. She swings 'er fists no matter da trouble dat comes 'er way. Dat's what life's about. My fathah taught me 'ow ta throw a fist at eight, I could throw my brothah outta the ring at ten. I've spent my whole life preparin' for the fight so that when it came 'round, I wouldn't be da one bloodied in the dirt.” - Ronda Blousey

“I've got black eyes and bloodied knuckles from all these wars I've waged.” - Ronda Blousey

“I'm a lioness, and my roar lives on the edge'a me bleedin' fist.” - Ronda Blousey

“The cruel, the damned and the monsters own this town in my heart. The inside of my ribcage is etched with old claws and gnashed, broken teeth. Because where all my memories used to hide, only scars now reside.” - Ellise Kivenstein

“Mark and my scars are all I've still got, because my heart beat's slow and only quickens in terror. Mark and I are feeble souls trying to make it to another day in each other's arms, but we feel so cold on each other's skin. We're lost, trying to find ourselves in each other, but I think that hope left us as our children became cold cases and became lost to an ever growing statistic that leaves wounds in the hearts of a parent.” - Ellise Kivenstein

“We're all just trying to gain some ground in the town of bastards and cheats, knowing even if we play the right cards, even if we roll double six or snake eyes, winning was never an option in a town of outlaws and sinners.” - Ellise Kivenstein

“I'm a cigarette tangled mess, skin etched with a mother's scars.” - Ellise Kivenstein

“I wish I remember what it was like. To be truly happy. But I suppose when you lose that big a piece of yourself, you'll never really feel complete. Because no matter how many part time substitutes you shove into that emptiness, it remains a blackhole, consuming everything else you thought you'd always have." - Ellise Kivenstein

“I've got pain in my heart where my mother used to be, and every now and then, I can still hear her ghost telling me no matter how far I fall, no matter how much pain I'm in, I'll always be her baby girl.” - Crescella Shroovet

“Truthfully, I'm playing Russian Roulette with my sorrow, wondering which of us will drop first. It's a dangerous game, fighting against your misery. Because the bastard cheats. I've learned to let go of the things that bring me pain. I can't climb a ladder of knives and blame myself for the way my palms bleed. I can't trudge up stairs of sticks and stones and blame myself for the way the soles of my feet begin to bloody.” - Crescella Shroovet

“My heart's a tapestry of my mother's words and loss, beating slow. Beating feeble. Beating truthful. I close my eyes and remember my mother's arms around me, and I tell myself, in a voice that sounds like hers', that everything'll be okay.” - Crescella Shroovet

“I woke up in a foreign land of ash and smoke, the remnants of my bridges burning in my nostrils and pulling tears from my eyes as I realize life gives no choice to the broken man.” - Asher Shroovet

“My mother used to tell me people are equal in the fact that they all have the choice to be good, but unequal in the choices they choose. But ever since my mother became a cold case in this heart of mine, I've begun to learn nothing ever changes. All but the weather and the nature of man.” - Asher Shroovet

“I used to be part of a silent crowd, anger sitting in my chest but never roaring. But I've learned silence is the kinda thing that kills, so with these scars in my voice, I let my roar be heard. Even if it's a little weathered. Even if it's a little broken.” - Asher Shroovet

“My sister and I are warriors of loss, mourning our angel's wings but knowing no warrior ever got to keep their halo. A hero is a man who fights with honor, sparing the bad man and the good man alike. A warrior is a man who does what needs to be done, giving no mercy to the cruel man because later down the line, another will die for the trigger you couldn't pull.” - Asher Shroovet

“I've learned pain's an immortal thing. Once you feel it, it never leaves you be. But it becomes easier and easier to live with as you grow, love and learn. We're all in pain. We're all hurting. It's what we do with that hurt that counts. It's who we become after the worst of it that makes us or breaks us." - Asher Shroovet

“My pain sits, like barbed wire under my shirt, bleeding me every time I move. Every time I sit. Every time I try to flee. My pain's in the gasps of my breath and the smoke that leaves my lungs. I'm a war of change and indifference, locked away in a barbed wire, human ribcage, wondering why my heart feels so locked up in the past.” - Bryan Jensen

“My memory's a thief in the night, stealing my joy. My safety. My sense of self. It rips into me, like a knife dragging thin white scars across my hurting mind and heart. Always reminding me that I'm not worth much past the words other people say. My scars whisper to me, begging me to add more to my collection. My traumas repeat, as if I'm under a roaring river, tumbling and breaking my bones on the stones of my fucked up memory.” - Bryan Jensen

“I stay alive, if only to protect her from my death.” - Bryan Jensen

“We were just two broken children in a fucked up home, hiding beneath dirty sheets and blankets. Wondering why love never found they who needed it the most.” - Bryan Jensen

“I can still hear the shouts of my father, the open palm of my mother. Their pain became my pain. Their words became my words. It was as if they were a fucked up religion, burying my sense of self underneath holy words and verses, bound in the righteous spine of a young boy's pain.” - Bryan Jensen

“I'm a grave bound shovel diggin' the holy their beds'a eternal slumber, made'a dirt and names forgotten by all but the fuckin' stone.” - Peter Scolifade

“Truth is, monstahs hide in da kindest'a men, and all it takes for that wicked bastard ta break outta his cage is one good reason. And friend, my monster found plenty'a reasons.” - Peter Scolifade

“Cold, deathly fingers wrapped around me chest, stained teeth bit down on my skin, opening red mouths in my scarred flesh. And as the monster within' tore through me, coverin' me in reasons ta die, I knew this was it. This is how saints fuckin' die.” - Peter Scolifade

“I grew up on an old dirt road with nuthin' ta call me own, lookin' for reasons ta live in the ink spilled sky. But brothah, all I found 'tween the stars were bullet shadows and gunpowder constellations whisperin' of the end'a old Saint Peter. And it was there, under the ol' night sky that Peter Scolifade died, and out from his corpse rose a man that looked like him. All but in those wicked eyes, cold and righteous with the promise'a grim ends ta come.” - Peter Scolifade

“I ripped through me sense'a self with a dead man's knife, partin' the red sea in my ribcage, barin' me black heart ta the shadows and monsters'a dis world. And as I fell back, a mess'a things that glisten red in da night and crimson that pools beneath dead men's feet, I knew I was no more than a murder, livin' on past 'is years as a ghost." - Peter Scolifade

“In my mind, it feels like two old friends have collided fist to fist and neither knows what they're fighting for.” - Brandall Mulligan

“Under lonely and begging colored bar lights, I met a devil, wrapped in desire and lust, and all the things that go bump in the night. She's cigarette smoke curling around a dead man's finger, whirring him back to life with empty promises and whispers of a grand becoming.” - Brandall Mulligan

“You know, a ghost of the gambling den once told me that the darkness is welcoming to those who don't fight it. And I'm starting to think he was right. Because the shadows look more forgiving then the light that burns like fire on my back.” - Brandall Mulligan

“I wouldn't take a bullet for me, so why should I expect anyone else to fight for me?” - Brandall Mulligan

“Bullets fall, like red rain down my ribcage, stainin' me heart the dirty color'a murder and whiskey bound misery.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“I was always broken knuckles and shattered windows, walkin' down an old dirt road, trustin' my revolver sooner than me old heart.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“I'm an outlaw of the old night sky, angel's fallin' through my scotch glass, devils clamberin' in the smoke'a my damn cigarette.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“My ma always told me the weak man's easy prey for the bullet, the lost sheep's an easy meal for the starvin' wolf. And oh son, you're beginnin' ta look a little lost, and I got some hunger on the edge'a my bleedin' tongue.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“We're all a silver coin away from a casket, we're all a cigarette away from a wildfire. Life don't care for the dead, but damn, it don't give much a damn bout the starvin' livin' neither.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“Dare ye whisper bout me sin, I'll make sure yer damned by Sunday mornin', beggin' the preacher ta forgive yer wicked misery.” - Ramsey Von Agamasteine

“The thing about people is, they can't heal in the place where they were first hurt. Before they find peace, they've gotta leave the origin'a the pain behind.” - Wilford Straw

“The way I see it, we're all warriors in our own regard, hearts bared on whatever kinda sleeve we got. Be it leather, denim, bare or tattooed. Our hearts are out in the open, and the truth becomes the water in which we feed and grow.” - Wilford Straw

“I once asked a powerful man with pain in the cracks'a his smile and blood on the edge'a his razor where his fall from grace began. And he told me with flickers'a sorrow in his eyes that it started with death. It always starts with death. And sadly, that's what some men think. They tell emselves their already dead, so they never git ta thinkin' they can live again.” - Wilford Straw

“After the rain comes the bloomin.” - Wilford Straw

“The day I was born life gave me a blade and threw me into a war before I ever had a chance to learn how to swing my sword. And so I earned bruises I never should've suffered through, and my back's etched with scars I didn't have the right to earn.” - Liv Creek

“I see pieces of our father lost in his eyes, the lies of our mother dancing on his tongue. He tells me this is how it has to be. This is who he has to be to survive. But survival isn't worth it if it kills who you are.” - Liv Creek

“I'm a scarred warrior wielding a rusted blade against her demons, knowing their deaths come too slow.” - Liv Creek

“I've learned the path to strength is paved in the pain of the weak. Through this path of my own broken bones I stumble, pain hanging like a sword on my lip, heart hardly beating as I choose to survive rather than live. Don't cheer for the warrior as she passes you by, don't thank her for her sins. Mourn for her as you would a grave, weep for her as you would a lost one. Because the warrior is the weak girl who had no choice but to be strong and defy who she was in the face of her pain.” - Liv Creek

“I grew up believin' in all the little things. Like magic, and fairytales, and love that would last. But my Wonderland was stolen from me by a mad man's bullet, and as I look inta the eyes of a man I used ta call brother. Used ta call family. All I see is a tickin' clock, whisperin' that my old heart's runnin' out of time with each strike'a midnight. Boomin' like thunder in my mind.” - Buster Beckem

“Ya know, I've found that I find no comfort in the idea'a the future. The past's warm and welcome, wrapped in the blankets'a my love and the red lipstick'a my lover smeared on my paint stained cheek. But the future stands cold, flecks'a snow promisin' I won't make it out the other side a man that's me. And as I leave this Wonderland'a my memories behind, I know I leave with a heavy and burdened heart.” - Buster Beckem

“This old heart'a mine used to bare it's wings with pride, soarin' over the clouds and touchin' the sun with the tips of it's fingers. But it fell like an angel, graspin' at everythin' that made it feel loved as it faded away inta the future's distant twilight.” - Buster Beckem

“I've been countin' days ever since my love was lost on me. I've been savin' every smile in parts'a myself I hide. But I can't measure the loss in me. I can't begin ta describe this bruise on my tongue where her love used ta reside. I close my eyes and I can still see her sippin' from a chipped coffee mug, hair frizzy and orange, hands stained in blue and pink paint. I always told 'er she was a masterpiece, even if she weren't perfect. Even if she made mistakes. And now, as I lie down in an empty bed, I begin ta wish it was her arms around me rather than these tear stained cheeks. I begin ta wish it was her hand on my shoulder rather than a crow perched like loss on my jacket. And I begin ta wish, as I curl this finger around a trigger, that it was her fingers curled inta mine." - Buster Beckem

“I'm the color that stains your lips as you take your own off mine. I'm the color of your heart as she dances her clawed fingers against your scarred skin. And I'm the color that trails your body as she stains you with her venom love. But I'm the color of your rage, too. The color that bleeds from between your knuckles as you grip the broken pieces of your love. The color that stains your tongue as she bites down on your lip. How beautiful, how deadly, how strange, that I can be anything you want to be, and everything you never knew you needed. While also being the very thing that rips your heart from your chest, my hands thick with the color of love, and anger and pure blood that tastes innocent on the siren's lip.” - Kaia Harzelburg

“Don't you know monsters look like people? Don't you know sinners look like saints and taste like beauty on a heathen's bleeding tongue? I was always a serpent, fingers trailing against the holy as I mark them with my lust filled brand. It's foolish, to fall in love with the serpent, but I've pressed my lips against the skin of Eve and the forbidden fruit tastes of me as she bites down on the feeble flesh of sin. Of forbidden desire. Of deadly lust.” - Kaia Harzelburg

“They say we're all sinners, damned before we were ever born, but I don't think of it that way. Sin is earned, just as sainthood is fought for. Just as good is taught, just as evil is learned.” - Bobby Sticcs

“On the edge'a death I met a boy with misery and shadows in 'is eyes, carved inta like he was just another sheep fed ta the wolves. Never did I see war break a man so young, never before 'ad I seen a man bite down on bullets and call em his fangs. But in the eyes'a that boy, it wasn't war I saw. But hell, flickerin' in the eyes of a mad man.” - Bobby Sticcs

“Some men march off ta war for honor, others find the monster inside as the bullets begin ta fly. But in some way, we're all ghosts and monsters'a the trenches, as if those dirt dug battlefields were our Eden, our rifles our flaming blades. The pools'a red in the rain our forbidden fruit. And I 'spose that made they who sent us off ta die our serpents, lies and forbidden truths flickerin' from behind their damn teeth.” - Bobby Sticcs

“We can't live behind the lines'a our enemies, expectin' them ta care when we throw our lives on the wire thin line.” - Bobbi Crazendale

“Family don't end with blood, it starts with love.” - Bobbi Crazendale

“I've got an old heart that hums and whirs ta life upon the tappin'a Vernon's fingers 'gainst my cheeks. He's my gentle lullaby, and every time he presses his lips 'gainst mine, my heart bursts with colors I'd hardly 'ave recognized if it weren't for this love we share. We love each other in colors that didn't exist, but whirred ta life as our hearts collided.” - Bobbi Crazendale

“I've been on a long, treacherous road, throwin' my fists at da 'eart'a darkness, wonderin' why it looked like me own.” - Billy Jenkins

“In da past I see eyes I used ta love, caught in da rift between gunpowdah and survival, drownin' undah da tide'a sin and love. Swept away by the hungry, starvin' need ta stay alive. I can still remembah runnin' undah da willow wif' her, swearin' I'd love 'er for da rest'a me days. But where 'er 'eart used ta reside in moine, now sits a hungry bullet, carved with a name I recognize and used ta press against me lips. But this bullet feels cold between me teeth.” - Billy Jenkins

“I'll face me future wif' a baseball bat and a grin built off all da things it took ta survive. And as me sister tells me I'm 'er hero, I know dat even if me bones are etched wif' love lost ta the edge of a bullet and da loss'a me heroes, I can do me best ta do good by her.” - Billy Jenkins

“Da broken man wif love all around 'im is blind to da beauty before 'im." - Billy Jenkins

“There's not much man can control, all but the words that tumble like devilry from his tongue.” - Beutler De Niro

“I'm a business man, and everywhere I go I see business in black hearts and lies that shake the soul.” - Beutler De Niro

“Many have described me as a monster, but I'm human, and that's what makes me so dreadfully horrific to all who witness my blood stained revelry.” - Beutler De Niro

“Do you know what lies do to man? They sit, like a guillotine's shadow over the good man's neck, slowly wilting away their sense of self like a rose decaying to black. And eventually, through the lies of cruelty, the good man dies, and from his corpse, the husk of a wolf begins to rise.” - Beutler De Niro

“Any man will pull the trigger if told it's for his own good. Anyone will sin under the light of anonymity. We're monsters beating in black hearts, convincing ourselves that in our deadly sin, that we're human. But we never were. We never will be. We haven't been human ever since Cane rose a stone against Abel, ever since Eve took a bite from the dead man's fruit.” - Beutler De Niro

“Don't mistake my kindness for the truth, my friend.” - Beutler De Niro

“I've seen misery in the form'a rusted hatchets and dusty black coats bitin' at the wind, but I ain't gonna let this murder'a crows be the damn death'a me.” - Dolly Rainbolt

“I'm a spurred boot outlaw, kickin' her way ta freedom as the bastard sons'a darkness open fire at the girl they just can't catch.” - Dolly Rainbolt

“Some folks think power's found in the edge of a revolver with a hammer pulled back. But ya could never fire power from a dead man's gun. Power always came in the form'a good people helpin' other good folks make it ta sunrise. Power's found in the good hearted, in the justice bound, in the heroes and do gooders'a this world.” - Dolly Rainbolt

“I refuse ta stand by as bad men get their kicks at the edge of a hatchet's malice.” - Dolly Rainbolt

“The sunrise waits for all who sit in the dark, and the stars shine for all those who are lost. No matter where you go, light always shimmers, preparin' to let ya back inta her gentle embrace once more. Don't dare lose yerself ta the delusion that redemption don't come for those who've hurt." - Dolly Rainbolt

“I've been a dead man walkin' ever since I first dug a grave, and under that shallow dirt, two men lie. Ol' Thomas Quisly and Margrave Ed'Collinmellow. And together, they rot, like shadows under the light's festerin' grave.” - Margrave Ed’Collinmellow

“Welcome ta the wastelands, where the weak become blood on the strong's teeth, and the strong stand above like a shadow'a survival and misery.” - Margrave Ed’Collinmellow

“Good luck tryin' ta kill this vessel'a rotted flesh and hollow heart. My humanity was ripped into by stained, yellow teeth. It pulled away at the flesh. At the mercy. At the goodness in me. Until nuthin' but a festerin' heart'a sins sat where Margrave Ed'Collinmellow used ta be. Shadow, and cruelty bit inta my heart and tasted the redness in me, stainin' their teeth with innocence and purity. Until all that ran through my veins was dark.” - Margrave Ed’Collinmellow

“The world's gone quiet these days, all but the moans'a hunger that come from the wax white graves'a man. And here I stand, just like the biters and creepers that shamble and bite.” - Margrave Ed’Collinmellow

“Ever since my mother was taken from me for the things she did to survive, I've been left out alone like a criminal amongst the dead and weary. I've spent my whole life fighting a war, just trying to survive. Just trying to get back to my mother. But fate tore us apart before it brought us together, and all I can do is clutch these memories and whisper, "I wish you were here." - Hazel Winchester

“On the dark and grimed streets I met insanity, reflected in yellow teeth and cold blue eyes. They called themselves the unforgivables, and as my death flashed in the silver of their knives, I knew why they could never be forgiven. They made a warrior out of me, but I won't thank them for these wolves' claws.” - Hazel Wincester

“I wish my mother was here to tell me how to survive. To wrap me up in her tattooed arms and tell me everything's going to be okay. But she's a broken piece in my memory, always bleeding me. Always reminding me that she's not here.” - Hazel Winchester

“Always reminding me that she's not here. I speak in the tongue of violence. My words have become steel clashing on steel. My song has become blood on innocent hands. And this language I speak has become teeth gnashing and biting at the good in me until all that remains is the survival, in me.” - Hazel Winchester

“I'm a lion lookin' ta the grey and empty sky, wonderin' why the only color I see is red.” - Bortley Dekruiful

“Dare not walk inta the shadow of the circus, where bad things are done in the dark and plastic teeth rip inta the hearts'a the frail and weary.” - Bortley Dekruiful

“Wherever I go, there's a siren callin' me name in strobe lights'a red and blue, tellin' me I'll be the last one standin' in a murder full'a crows. But here I sit, as the one beast I can't tame, my heart nocturnal, my ribs broken by the beast that rattles in my damn chest.” - Bortley Dekruiful

“Look deep inta the eyes'a those who preform and you'll begin ta find it's pain that drips from their tears. Our laughs are made'a glass and we're just the beasts taught how ta dance. There lies no beauty in this paradise, for Eden's been consumed by a serpent's maw, and the angel who swore ta protect lies silent in the belly'a the snake.” - Bortley Dekruiful

“Long ago I asked life what I'd become, and as I stared at a pool'a my own blood, all I could see was a red lion reflected in me pale and hungry eyes.” - Bortley Dekruiful

“Life is lived at it's best when it's simple. When it's beautiful in it's odd and whimsical mundane fantasies.” - Beckett Cruvell

“My thoughts and who I am just don't align, cause as things begin to change, my regret stays stagnant. And it claws at me, ripping through my throat as it says, "I wish you the best with me by your side." - Bartholomew Stiller

“I've spent my whole life wanting to bring justice to the cruel, to bring peace to the good. But as red and blue sirens blare in my head, coloring the smoke and fog the color of justice and division, I begin to realize I'm just a gunshot echoing between my own dead eyes.” - Bartholomew Stiller

“Who am I past this anger? Past these sins? Past the gunshot fired off in rage and bitter consequence?” - Bartholomew Stiller

“Some secrets are better left undug, but there I stood, shovel in hand, unaware it was a grave I dug for myself. And as I fell, clutching at roots and dirt, I came to realize looking for secrets in the dark is like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded chamber. And damn, man. I just pull that trigger.” - Bartholomew Stiller

“What a wonderful world it is, ink, rippling like blood in the water, stars blinking out as humanity whither and dies like a daffodil God forgot.” - Azralos Crossvine

“Do you wish to kill me? Good luck. Killing a man with such power is no easy task. For his words live on in the empty hearts of the men and women who stood so gleefully under his boot's shadow. My words live on like a growing weed in the garden of Eden, choking the life from the roses and leaving a bush of thorns behind. It's not so hard, killing a man with simple phrases such as, "You are saved," And, "In the eyes of God, you are forgiven." - Azralos Crossvine

“I've watched men put a gun against their temple and pull the trigger for the grace of God. I've watched people leap from cliffsides to appease the clouds and stars. I've got blood on my hands, and they are drenched in the kind of words that kill.” - Azralos Crossvine

“I was just a young and dumb shot in the dark, hurtling toward a target he didn't know shared his damn name.” - Avian Browdy

“I stare heavy into the empty eyes of fate, and with a broken claw, he carves bits and pieces of me away from myself, until I can hardly call myself human with these puzzle piece scars etched into my damn skin.” - Avian Browdy

“You know, an old friend once told me monsters look just like us. They share our eyes and pretend to be human, but when they smile, and the sun glints pale on their fangs, you best know to run head over heels to escape a fate of claws and reddened maw.” - Avian Browdy

“Peace don't live in the man mercy forgot but hate remembered.” - Avian Browdy

“Shadows exist as extant forms of us, and as regret claws at my throat, I know it left it's scarf behind in my life, only to come back for it years later and fashion it into a noose around my fucking throat." - Avian Browdy

“People break you down and cast their stones against you, just to say, "That's life, better get used to it before it kills you." But cruelty was never life, just death coming for the hurting souls early.” - Gabianna Santinos

“The cruel and hateful look for justification for what they've done, condemning they who they've hurt just to feel as if they're righteous in their cruelty, in their hate. But there was never any justification in hate, just the way our emotions bleed onto others. Like a red rain coming from the dark clouds of our misery.” - Gabianna Santinos

“You can't spend your life wasting away into emotions better left spoken. You've got to let the truth speak for you when your words can't.” - Gabianna Santinos

“Mistakes are what we learn from, they build who we are, but they also leave scars. Truthfully, I'm haunted by the things I've done and the people I've hurt. They sit in my mind like ghosts who just don't wanna leave me be, reminding me that worst parts of me are the ones running the show.” - Sam Wormwood

“She saw past the worst parts of me, and told me that she was here for all of me, not just shards and pieces of me. But these days, it feels as if I'm a wayward archer with an arrow that never flew. My arrows sit in my heart, like holes of loyalty and intention. I'm always bleeding. Because I've got blood on my hands and memories I wish I could forget.” - Sam Wormwood

“As I looked into the eyes of someone I called brother, and saw nothing but cruelty in his eyes, I realized who we're around influences who we are. And I'd become cruel in the search for brotherhood. But as he swung his fist, and I laid him in the dirt, it still felt as if karma would come for me with eyes I recognized.” - Sam Wormwood

“I have to wonder if that's an angel or regret lying on my shoulder.” - Sam Wormwood

“I was just a rough and bruised country girl lookin' for a fight 'til I met her. And all of a sudden, as she pressed her lips 'gainst mine and told me I was loved, it felt as if my bruises and scars were healin', fadin' away like stars as the sun gently wraps it's arms 'round the pale orange sky.” - Morice Bronzinheit

“We're all burdened souls, buildin' up our strength ta lift the weight'a the world. But we never realize that we don't oughta do it alone. Ya see, we git this idea that our burdens are ours ta carry, and ta have another help us lift that weight would be selfish. But those who love ya are always willin' ta stand by your side and relieve ya of the burdens that leave ya crippled, gaspin' for air in an empty heart.” - Morice Bronzinheit

“I'll never come ta understand why folk choose ta succumb ta rage and cruelty, but he who pulls the trigger ta end a life's no soldier. Just a killer dressed in noble intentions.” - Morice Bronzinheit

“Home ain't some place you can go. It's found in the eyes'a love, in the hearts'a family. It ain't where you're born, it's where you felt like you could truly live." - Morice Bronzinheit

“It seems his flickering smile follows me wherever I go, and when I look into my eyes, it's his I see.” - Pamvera Wendellburn

“Every now and then, my sorrow comes for me. There is no end, nor a beginning, just circles and circles of sorrow as I dance my way around the edge of misery.” - Pamvera Wendellburn

“I sit like a softly spoken sorrow at the bottom of my ribcage, weeds and black rot growing out from my promises, out from my lies, until I can hardly call myself a garden with all this decay in me.” - Pamvera Wendellburn

“Being who I am's such a lonely, quiet thing. It feels as if I'm cursed to this circle of sorrow and remembrance. And whiskey was always easier to swallow then the idea that I'd never return to myself. Easier to swallow then the tears, the grief, the anger.” - Pamvera Wendellburn

“All my life, I've been a bruised knuckled, broken glass kind of woman, anger running like blood through her veins, fist always curled back, jaw always clenched. Because life was a fight and I'd spent my days losing.” - Avarell Boneson

“I'm an angry serenade, followed by the slight echoes of peace. But as my daughter wraps a blanket around my scarred shoulders, and tells me I'm her hero, it feels as if I've always had a place in this world. And it's to protect that girl, full of spunk and curiosity for a world that don't leave girls like her be.” - Avarell Boneson

“I've always been a fighter, but what becomes of the warrior when she's no more battles left to fight? When she's no more reasons to throw her fists?” - Avarell Boneson

“I've lived my life in a violent blackout, and I've hardly been who I am. But as I hum my daughter another lullaby, and my sister tells me I'm her hero, it feels as if I'm falling together into a person that's me. I've been cold steel and wildfire smoke for too long. I just want to be the peaceful melody that lulls my anger to sleep. But my rage sits in my curled up fist, and as I clench my jaw and prepare for another battle, I know life's not through with this wounded warrior yet. So I put rage into the chamber of my revolver and let it fly." - Avarell Boneson

“You know, my brother used to tell me that he's met death a thousand times, and as the world began to fall, I began to wonder if it was all the ghosts he'd met, falling like angels from the wounded and burning sky.” - Ash Plucker

“I used to fight who I am, my knuckles bloodied from wars I never should've fought. Because hiding from yourself is such a strange, accepted kind of misery. But as I cut my hair and traded my dresses for a leather jacket and old, torn jeans, I felt like I was slowly beginning to become me. I'd always known I wasn't a girl, but I'd never wanted to be a man either. So I'll just exist, I'll be me, and that's all I ever really needed to be, huh?” - Ash Plucker

“Cruelty never had a place in this world. It echoes on the tips of bad men's tongues, justifying it's existence by claiming it's name is survival. But if you cast it's shawl aside, you'll soon realize blood for blood was always just cruelty in disguise.” - Ash Plucker

“I've spent my whole life trying to avoid this person I am, tripping over identities that weren't me, covering my face with paint to kill the scars that whisper the story of how the joyful girl died. I've got a heart made of cracked and fragile glass, and whenever someone dares whisper who I am, it crumbles into my stomach and I bleed on these pieces of my heart.” - Amorith Vesbly

“I've never known peace, all but when Heather touches a rough hand against my cheek and tells me I'm hers'. She loves me as I am, and just as the sun loves the moon, she's here for me in all my phases, loving whichever emotion chooses to rear it's head and bare it's teeth. If it weren't for her, I'd be long gone, drifting away into the empty just to avoid this person I am. But she makes this heart of mine a bit less lonely of a place to hide.” - Amorith Vesbly

“I wish I was a war cry, but I'm just a fragile whisper, and the only ones that can hear me are the ones that care enough to listen. To everyone else, I'm just a ghost sitting on the edge of her identity, as if she wanted to leap, but didn't have the courage to fall.” - Amorith Vesbly

“I swear, those I loved follow me like ghosts in the smoke, and just as I close my eyes and think I'm okay, I find myself fading away into memories too close to forget, but too far away to crawl back to.” - Amalda Greene

“I'm haunted by the heat on my skin, by the smoke and cinders in my lungs. My mind's becoming a grave, haunted by my memories ever drifting, and no matter where I go, I can't escape this ghost of who I've become. My mom would tell me to put it all behind me, put on a brave face and think of better days. But honestly? I don't think better days are coming.” - Amalda Greene

“Life ain't just some sorrow bloody repeated, it's every mistake ya made on the way ta success.” - Vinceta Dallifritz

“We're all questions ta ourselves until we earn da courage ta find da bloody answer.” - Vinceta Dallifritz

“Power, I've learned, makes inhuman monstahs outta 'umanity, moldin' the good like clay, wettin' it's hands in the blood'a da merciful until da peace is no more.” - Vinceta Dallifritz

“I once looked to da skies and asked for somebody ta shatter me so I could become somebody new. And out of these broken pieces, I built somebody worth bloody bein'.” - Vinceta Dallifritz

“Some people want to stick to lies, just as lies have stuck to them, but we can't really find peace if we're at constant war with the truth.” - Rust Ashena

“In truth, I'm not made of stone. My bones are fragile and easy to break, my emotions whir like glass in my head, and my hands are scarred with blood and broken nails. But I'm a soldier.” - Rust Ashena

“In all this war, in all this pain, I must at least remember, I've got people who fight for me. In my garden of black petaled roses and problems, a single rose stands, like a bloom of red I'll never come to understand. When Camallo pulls me into his embrace and tells me he'll never let go, I know that at least in his love, I'm safe. He holds me while I fall apart, threading my stitches back together as I begin to unravel. Often, I feel six foot under all this doubt, all this pain, all these scars, but Camallo's always there, shovel in hand, ready to dig away at the mourning man's grave.” - Rust Ashena

“On the edge of the horizon, I see a silver lining, and I start to believe it looks like his smile, like the way his fingers curl into mine, like the way he looks at my scars as if they were a beautiful tattoo telling the story of the way I died and was born again.” - Rust Ashena

“I was just an x value I couldn't understand, trying to catch my answers in the wind as lies drifted on by. But it feels like, when Melania took my hand in hers' and told me she loved me for the very first time, I'd finally found the answer to who I wanted to be. When she pressed her lips against mine, everything began to fall into place, every question became an answer, all the unknown became known, as if my heart had always known what it needed.” - Glorice Shaywalker

“It's not the bruises that matter, or the scars, but how we let them heal.” - Glorice Shaywalker

“I'll always remember the way the gunfire echoes and ripples, as if it was a stone skipping across a lake of all the lives it would touch.” - Nyla Riverbrook

“I heard once, that she who fights for the world is very rarely fought for, and as I struggle to get to my feet, I've come to learn no one's fighting for me, and it's my own feeble fists I must raise.” - Nyla Riverbrook

“My ribs are etched with what it took to survive, my tongue wet with the blood that fills my mouth when I bite down on my tongue to keep these emotions in my skull.” - Nyla Riverbrook

“My body's a battlefield, and my heart beat sounds like a bullet casing hitting against the crimson river.” - Nyla Riverbrook

“A man I look up to once told me that we're not strong, just broken, trying to carry the weight of the world with two human hands. And as my sister looks at me, swearing up and down I'm her hero, I begin to realize heroes exist only in the eyes of those who haven't tasted war on the edge of their tongue.” - Nyla Riverbrook

“I used to be a question to the world, lost in doubt and visions of who I could be. But as I embraced myself, and found my answer hidden deep in my little beating heart, I knew this is who I was meant to be. People ask us to change while they stay the same, lost in ignorance and hate until it becomes the air in their lungs and the tears in their eyes.” - Amanda Blaze

“I was lost, stumbling in the dark, until the light of my identity flashed like a torch in the horizon. It was only for a moment, like a whisper, but it was enough for me to follow the memory of the warmth and light I felt when I was accepted as I am.” - Amanda Blaze

“Love lives in all of us like a seed, and we're just waiting for someone to come along, not afraid to get their hands dirty as they dig through our identity and scars with loving, gentle human fingers.” - Amanda Blaze

"I watched all my friends become strangers, and I'm just sitting here in their shadow wondering why I couldn't save them from the darker side of life. But I guess monsters always look at us with eyes we sadly recognize." - Jess Mercikal

“We're all looking for someone who makes us feel safe and comfortable in who we are, and when I look into my daughter's eyes, and I feel my wife's hands on my cheeks, I know I've found my safety. And I'll never find myself falling without knowing I'll survive the landing.” - Alicia Winnefred

“Life can seem so complicated, but all it takes to live is a few simple things that make you, you.” - Alicia Winnefred

“Some people say we die much before we ever live, but if you've done it right, than as you lay down for your final rest, you'll have lived, and lived, and lived, and in some odd, beautiful little essence, you'll never die. Because flowers will bloom on your grave, and that's where you'll sit, like a smile that never forgot the sorrow that made it shine so bright." - Alicia Winnefred

“I am a lie so often told, and in the pen of sheep I sit, draped in white wool with dapples of red, waiting for the opportunity to rip my teeth through the feeble skin of truth.” - Akolzo Cometsphire

“My heart never beat, my mind never felt. The rare times I did, feel, was in the emotion that rippled in a dying man's eyes.” - Akolzo Cometsphire

“The sheep is easily fooled into thinking he's safe, because so often wolves wear wool on their backs and kindness in their smiles, hiding the blood behind their fangs and murder behind a handshake.” - Akolzo Cometsphire

“I'm just a little spider, spinning his web and watching in glee as the fly finds himself caught, struggling and festering like murder flashed on the newspaper headline's. With hungry fangs and blood filled eyes, I descend on the weary fools caught in my web of lies, sinking my teeth into their skin and ripping scars into their minds as I taste them, like a tragedy on my lips.” - Akolzo Cometsphire

“My friend, gaze to the midnight sky and tell me what you see. Stars, twinkling with wishes, or specters of something that was once beautiful, shining in the dark like a grave marked with a corpse instead of stone? And then, I want you to look into my eyes, and tell me what the night sky means to a man who spills blood as if it were ink on a page, spilling into poetry and prose. I'm a vessel through which murder and lies see. Nothing more." - Akolzo Cometsphire

"Mercy is a fool's game for a cruel man." - Bovine Thukkit

"The most fearful foe of all is the one that haunts you with a long dead friend's smile." - Maxmillius Sharonbew

"Boy, you think that was death? You ain't met death 'til ya've felt her fragile, cold fingers on the edges'a your back and spine. You ain't met death until she stares back atcha with cracked glass eyes as ya look inta the old mirra. Death, Martin fucking Hatcherfly, tasted like barbed wire, bitin' down on a thirsty tongue." - Apollo Dreadful

"My anger claws at me feral, like a woman raised by wolves. Biting, clawing, scratching at the corners of my heart and skull, as if her teeth were made to kill and her claws were made of steel. And there's somethin' so temptin' about the beauty of the anger that lost it's peace in the gentle maw of wolves." - Kurizo Chandlewick

"The dark came in quiet whispers and deadly screams, as if the sky had ripped into itself, thrashin' and howlin' with the light of a thousand dyin' dreams. And that's what his shadow looks like. Them wolves are lightnin' strikes in our sky, and he's just the heavy clouds full with rain and thunder." - Miallo Strawburry

#writing #characters #author #dialouge

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