#me when I'm not over their fantasy get up
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Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)
Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader
Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf, fantasy
Rating: 18+/nsfw
Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)
Summary:
At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.
Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling
Author's Note:
It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all.
I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages.
I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones.
Enjoy!
To read more, click here for the masterlist.
“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”
The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”
The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.
“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.
It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked.
“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”
His words have affection swirling in your chest.
This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.
And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.
“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.
He likes that answer.
You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.
So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head. So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.
He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.
It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.
“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.
His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.
Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”
Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.
Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?
You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”
He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”
Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”
Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.
But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.
His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.
Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.
Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.
Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.
Or so you had thought.
He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.
You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.
Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.
He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.
There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.
It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.
Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the canopy of trees.
The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.
You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.
Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.
You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.
He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.
He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions. Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.
Or so he had said.
That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.
You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.
You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.
Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.
You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.
Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.
Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.
“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”
The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.
“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”
Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:
“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”
The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.
A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.
You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.
When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.
The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.
White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.
“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”
That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.
You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.
The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”
“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“
Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.
“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”
His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”
The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”
With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.
His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”
The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.
Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.
There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.
Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.
It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?
Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?
Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.
The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.
You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.
But to do that, you had to leave him.
So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.
You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.
It read:
The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,
The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,
The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,
Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,
Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,
Warmth that no rain could fall with,
The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,
The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,
The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,
Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,
Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,
Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.
Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.
Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,
Wait for me, and I will be yours.
You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.
You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.
You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.
You will always have me.
You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.
All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.
I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.
The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.
You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.
Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.
Always.
-Your Alpha
The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering, you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.
Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.
That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.
It still wasn’t enough.
You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.
Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.
Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.
Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.
You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.
Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.
Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.
You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.
Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.
When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.
Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”
You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.
Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.
He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.
You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.
You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.
“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.
“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.
It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.
And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.
“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.
You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.
His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.
Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.
Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.
Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.
With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”
“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…
You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t.
You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.
It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.
“You are blaming yourself for this.”
It is not a question. It’s a statement.
You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.
Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.
Your mate will not have any of that.
He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”
Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.
Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.
This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.
There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:
“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”
The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.
And yet, he does.
For you.
Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.
“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”
You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.
Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left, the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.
Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?
“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”
The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.
“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.
You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.
His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.
It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.
“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.
The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.
The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.
You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.
Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”
He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.
Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.
“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”
You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.
You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.
Not that he would let you, though.
His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega. An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.
Or so the tradition had held.
“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”
With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do. You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.
Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.
“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”
You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.
It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…
“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.
His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”
You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.
“What are you doing, my love?”
It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.
The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.
I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.
You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.
You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.
You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.
When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.
The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.
“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.
I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.
You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.
With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.
Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.
The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.
Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?
Yes, alpha. You have.
You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.
He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.
You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.
His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.
When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.
Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.
The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.
The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.
Keep going, my love. Tell me more.
He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.
The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.
Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.
The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.
His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.
You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.
I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?
You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.
With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.
W-what else ails you, alpha?
More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.
I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.
˙
That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.
You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.
You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.
What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?
There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.
You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.
You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.
I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.
The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.
Forgive me, alpha.
It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.
He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.
Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.
I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.
The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.
You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.
Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”
Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.
I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.
There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.
Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?
The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”
As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.
You had to stay strong. And you could not panic. Doing so would only stress him further.
But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.
You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.
The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.
All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.
You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”
Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.
“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.
He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.
You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.
You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.
“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”
He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.
His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.
So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.
You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.
Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.
It was the perfect length for his arm.
Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.
“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”
You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.
You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.
Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.
You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.
This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.
Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.
When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.
He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.
However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.
Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.
It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.
It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.
Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.
You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.
Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.
The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.
The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.
You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!
Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.
I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.
Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.
The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.
You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.
I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.
You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.
With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.
Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.
As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.
The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.
Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.
The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.
With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.
It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.
He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.
When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.
With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.
The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.
His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.
The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.
He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.
You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.
“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“
You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.
“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.
You’re already answering before he’s even finished. “I’m all yours, alpha.”
The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.
From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.
When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.
You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does.
Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.
He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.
More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.
“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.
You taste sweeter than sweet.
His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.
You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.
When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.
He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him.
Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines, remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture.
The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature.
You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh.
How he had fucking ruined you.
His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him.
“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down, “I…I-“
The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you.
“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.”
He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck.
With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.
“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.
Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”
The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”
“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.
One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You, the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”
His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.
“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“
He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.
There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.
And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.
But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.
When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”
You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.
Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”
You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.
He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.
“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”
He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”
You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.
You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.
As if it were nothing but an old war scar.
At first, you think you might be seeing things.
You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.
It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.
Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.
There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.
Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”
“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”
Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”
Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.
When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”
#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts writing#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#bts scenarios#bts#jungkook bts#bts smut#jungkook smut#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#alpha!jungkook#alpha!jungkook x reader#dom!jungkook#sub!reader
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The Healer Pt 4
The story continues. I'm still enjoying this one, so we'll keep going!
Part 1 / 2 / 3 linked here. (If I get to 5+ parts I'll make a master post)
Enjoy!
___________________________
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“Natalie! You’re here!”
Jack shouted with excitement when he saw me. Garrett and Rita trailed behind him, their expressions happy, if a bit mild and unenthused. I was still sitting on the ground, catching my breath after my first battle in this strange world. The corpses of the monster flowers had faded into the grass, leaving little evidence of my fight behind. I waved to them, feeling a strong sense of relief in seeing familiar faces.
The three of them had been my teammates in Fantasy Realm, even if they weren’t the kindest people I had ever known. While playing together they were often inpatient with me, unforgiving of mistakes, and constantly pushing me to spend more time and money improving my character when they knew I had very little of both. I had always given in, and disliked myself for doing so, hoping it would improve their opinion of me, knowing deep down it wouldn’t. I might call them friends… and I would be shocked if they called me the same. But after waking up in this weird real world of the game, I was just happy to know anyone at all.
I was afraid to be alone.
The group reached me, and with a grin, Jack reached out and helped me to my feet. I brushed the dust off of myself and looked them over. They all looked like they had in our old world, the only difference was their clothing. Jack was dressed in leather armor, reinforced my metal along the chest and back. Garrett had a large sword strapped across his back, with scant coverings over the rest of his enormous frame. Rita had a simple cloth robe and a large wooden bow.
“We all chose our familiar classes.” Jack saw my studying look and informed me. “Seemed the safest thing to do given that we don’t know what happens if you die in here.”
Rita rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you guys are taking this seriously! This can’t be real. We're still in the game! It’s just some hoax, someone hacked the game. Eventually my dad will tear the VR company apart, sue them into oblivion and then we’ll be let out!”
I paused at that. “We weren’t playing the game when this happened though.”
“We just forgot.” She answered forcefully, her gaze annoyed as usual as she met my own.
Rita had always disliked me. Our parents knew each other, her father was a well-known lawyer who had pushed her to follow in his footsteps. As someone who had struggled with the weight of parents’ expectations, I sympathized. But she had quit law school after a week, turning to full time gaming instead. She didn’t do well enough to make any money, but fortunately her mother paid her bills.
Her father was disapproving to say the least. He apparently used me as an example to her of someone successfully “taking over the family business,” never mind that I hated the pressure, resented my parents’ strict expectations and escaped whenever possible. It didn’t matter. Rita despised me, and no attempts from myself or from Jack could smooth the rift between us.
Garrett looked me over from head to toe, confused. “You don’t have a weapon.”
I froze at his words. Garrett had a large sword, obviously a barbarian type class. Jack had a one-handed sword, a fighter or swordsman. Rita was an archer with her bow. But me…
There was only was class in the game that couldn’t use weapons.
“No…” Rita started laughing, so hard that tears were forming in her eyes. “No… you DIDN’T do something so STUPID….!”
Garrett was shaking his head, frowning disapprovingly. I ignored them, my entire attention was on Jack. We had been friends since freshman year of college. He had helped me find my first class, I tutored him in chemistry. We had supported each other through ups and downs, told each other about our fears and dreams…
And he was looking at me with hatred in his eyes.
“You are a Healer.” His voice was quiet, but the lack of emotion in his tone made my hackles raise. I started to back away.
“Jack… I…”
His hand gripped my throat, and I was lifted off the ground. I gasped, unable to get air, and struggled against him, but with a strength stat of -10 I knew there wasn’t much hope. I wouldn’t be able to cast my healing spells either, without being able to speak the activation word.
I need to be able to cast without speaking. My brain focused on that, almost desperately avoiding dealing with the situation I was currently in: My friend was killing me.
**The Healer enters an early hypoxic state - 10 damage for each second that airway compression remains in place. **
**The Healer takes 10 damage. **
I had only seconds to live.
** The Healer takes 10 damage**
I grabbed his hand, focusing all my desperation into the need to cast my only spell: Small Incision.
** Through sheer force of will, The Healer has discovered Wordless Incantation**
**The Healer casts Small Incision. Jack the Hero takes 1 damage.**
As the messages floated across my vision, Jack yelped in pain, clutching his bleeding hand, dropping me to the ground. I laid still for a few moments, focusing on breathing, the pain of my neck and in my lungs a reminder of what had just occurred. I stared up at Jack, hoping to see remorse on his face.
There was nothing but rage.
“How DARE you pick a useless class like healer?” He snarled, holding pressure on his hand to stop the bleeding while staring down at me. “Our lives could depend on doing well in this game, and you seriously chose a class with minimal fighting potential, whose healing abilities are worse than any potion that can be purchased in a shop?”
He stepped closer, and I flinched back, my heart beating wildly. “You are so obsessed with your parents’ disapproval, that even in a life-or-death situation you had to pick being a doctor? Are you really so messed up?”
I opened my mouth to explain. I knew this class well, the strengths and weaknesses. I could use it to the team’s benefit. I had been a good teammate, one of the reasons we had placed so highly in the last tournament. I wanted to say all this and more.
But as I stared into the disappointment in his eyes, I felt myself slipping into old habits. Of staying quiet and nodding. Of keeping the peace and letting myself take the blame. I hated it, despised myself for it… but kept silent all the same.
“Should we just leave her behind?” Rita asked, giving no concern to me as I struggled to catch my breath after Jack’s strangling attempt. “She’s useless after all.”
“She used to provide good support.” Garrett spoke up. “We can keep her on the team until we find someone more useful…”
“I am not giving a spot on our team to a healer.” Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment, as if trying to calm himself down. Finally, he looked down at me coldly. “You can tag along with our team, without an official spot. You will do your best to be useful. Otherwise, we will leave you to die.”
Leave them! My heart screamed at me. Being alone is better than this! You didn’t commit some great sin by becoming a Healer! You just chose the best you could! Tell them!
Slowly, I nodded. “Fine.” My voice was still hoarse from the pressure he had placed on my throat. I adjusted my tone with the ease and familiarity of practice. “I’ll follow along.” I pushed the screaming voice in my head back, along with my pride. I knew I was worthless, a failure. I had been told that every day by the two people on the planet who were supposed to love me the most. Jack was only the latest person to say it out loud.
This was what I deserved.
The first month passed quickly. We went on multiple quests together, and settled into a comfortable rhythm. Jack would take the lead, with Garrett beside him to tank. Rita picked off far away opponents, and supported from the back. And I…
I did everything I could.
Outside of fights, I was cooking, keeping inventory, asking for quest information, and keeping the gear repaired and functional. Many nights I stayed up late, sharpening swords or repairing gear, only to have my hard work receive a nod and no other recognition.
In fights, I demanded even more of myself. Slipping in between enemies, causing damage. I delved down most of the “surgical” pathway of the healer ability, which allowed me to cause a diverse array of damage. I built up my MP until I could activate Wordless Incantation, as I found the group's irritation was a lot less if they couldn’t hear me. I immobilized enemies and allowed the others to finish them off. Because I had a hand in almost every single enemy’s death, I received a good amount of XP and fame from each fight, which angered Jack to no end.
“Stop stealing our experience!” He snapped after a fight, reading the notification that stated the rewards and experience given out.
“You asked me to immobilize them.” I answered quietly, feeling tired. “Do you want me to stop?”
“…” He glared at me silently for a few moments before answering. “Figure out a way to do it without taking my XP.”
“…sure.”
“I mean it, Healer.” From the moment he heard my class, he had never called me by my name. Our friendship, the time we had spent together… none of it meant anything next to the weight of the one undeniable fact:
I was a Healer. And therefore, in his eyes, I was a burden.
I kept my head down, trying to help out as much as possible. I learned not to ask for recognition. To not expect thanks. And I thought things would never change.
And then came the day we met Winter.
________________
PRESENT DAY
“Ouch!” Stephanie yelped as I carefully placed the needle through her skin, placing a simple suture across the wound on her calf. I didn’t hesitate with her cry of pain, tying the knot and moving on to the next stitch.
“The area has been numbed with magic, don’t pretend it hurts.”
“Yeah, I was just messing with you.” Stephanie laughed stuck her tongue out. “How did you know?”
“Because I know how it feels to sew my wounds shut without the local anesthesia spell.” I kept working without looking up. “You wouldn’t just be saying ‘ouch.’”
“Uh…Well, thank you.”
I felt surprised at her words. After a year with the Hero’s party, I was so used to doing things without any gratitude or recognition. You’re not with them anymore. I let out a mental sigh of relief at the thought, and smiled at Stephanie. “You’re welcome.”
“YOU SMILED!” Stephanie tried to get up to hug me, but Alton reached over from where he was sewing cloth nearby and pushed her back down, shaking his head with a grin.
“Don’t interrupt her work.” Winter’s response was much colder, causing Stephanie to freeze in place.
“I’m on the last one anyways.” I squared off the last knot on the suture, cutting the tails and placing a clean bandage over my work. “Keep it dry for 48 hours, and then you can remove the outer covering and bathe.”
“Not to cheapen all the work you just put into repairing this cut for me…” Stephanie hesitated. “But wouldn’t a healing potion be easier?”
Alton shook his head, but before he could say anything Winter spoke up. “Stupid human.”
“HEY! I’m not stupid!” She glanced at me. “Right?”
“No, you’re not.” Raising an eyebrow at Winter, who settled down with a grunt, I continued. “Have you noticed that over time you’ve had to use more powerful healing potions?”
She thought that over. “Well, yeah, but… I’m higher level, and have more HP… Isn’t that normal?”
“Have you tried to use a basic potion recently?” I pulled one out, and tossed it to her. “Here.”
Stephanie caught it, clearly confused. “I’m only missing 5 HP… I don’t need something that heals 10…”
“Try it.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “If you insist…” She drank the potion quickly, and then flinched at the notification. “…It didn’t work? … Not even the cut healed.”
Alton continued to sew, but spoke up. “The more you use healing potions, the less they work. Fortunately, this seems limited to healing potions… mana recovery and other types of potions such as detoxification seem to not develop the same resistance. It’s also a slow process, but it’s becoming a universal issue. If you check the world chat this is a heated topic of discussion. Most people believe the that it’s related to level… but that’s not the case.”
“How do you know that?”
“They still work on me.” I answered quietly. “That’s why I carry the basic ones around.”
“Foolish humans… these potions were meant for true lifesaving emergencies… a basic healing potion should be enough to recover up to 50% of your health… but you drink them like water until they are worthless to you.” Winter sighed, looking over at me with a small smile. “That is why the Healers are such a vital class. In a world of constant danger and battle, of destruction and pain, only they have the power to heal and preserve. They are a noble, selfless light that protects those around them… someone to be protected at all costs. There should be a Healer in every party… but instead Nat is the only one left.”
“You did save me before!” Stephanie did get up unobstructed and hugged me. “Thank you!”
“And me.�� Winter added, staring at the ground. “She saved me as well.”
“Hey, I distinctly remember passing out in front of her and being saved too, guys!” Alton spoke up, tying up his thread and checking the repair on his cape before looking at me. “I guess we are all indebted to you.”
I stared at all of them, feeling disturbed in my heart. “You guys… I’m…”
I’m worthless. Weak. And my weakness was used to destroy countless lives.
“… Thank you.” I silenced the words in my heart, and spoke a simple thanks instead.
“…” Winter was staring. I always felt he could see more than I wanted him too, as if my hidden thoughts and feelings were on display in front of him. But instead of commenting, he simply bent down, plucking a blue flower from the ground, and handed it to me.
“That’s so cute!” Stephanie clapped her hands, before freezing. “Wait! Are you two…?”
Alton paused in packing up his things and stared in our direction.
I shook my head silently at her before turning back to Winter. “Thank you. The mountain wild flower’s petals have strong anti-inflammatory properties. I’ll dry it out and process it for medication at our next stop." I pressed the flower carefully in one of my books and packed it away.
Winter nodded at my words. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s for medicine?” Stephanie frowned, disappointed. “Well, that’s boring. Where’s my drama?!”
Alton smiled widely. “Oh, don’t worry, I got your drama! Look in the world chat!”
Pausing, all of us pulled up the chat, excluding Winter, who leaned on a tree nearby and watched the display over my shoulder. The top topic in the chat was skyrocketing with engagement… and seeing the title it wasn’t hard to understand why:
___________________________
“TROUBLE IN PARADISE? HERO’S PARTY SEEN ARGUING WITH NEW MEMBER REBECCA THE SORCERESS! IS THE USELESS HEALER MISSED?”
There was great discussion today among players as a loud disagreement broke out among the Hero’s Party after their last quest line. Although it is unknown the exact nature of it, it seems to be surrounding the recent addition to the party. Rebecca the Sorceress is the newest member of the Hero’s Party after the departure of the much-despised Healer. Many had cheered her arrival, as well as supporting the apparent budding relationship between the Hero and his new magical lady.
___________________________
“And you guys ask why I think humans are stupid.” Winter muttered as he read along with me. I shushed him and continued on with the post.
___________________________
But is there a fracture in the once iron-strong team? Words such as “Useless,” “Hiding” and “Potion sponge” were heard shouted by Rita the Holy Archer, with the Hero defending and Garrett the Giant siding beside Rita. Rebecca appeared to be in tears. Is this bullying the newcomer? Is Rebecca actually dragging the team down? What does this mean for the plans to attack the forty second gate in a few days?
Discuss your thoughts below!
___________________________
I sighed and closed the chat, seeing that comments were mostly just going back and forth over the juicy gossip. “What a mess.”
“You don’t sound surprised.” Alton commented with a grin.
“No. I’m not. Rebecca… she’s…”
“Useless?” Stephanie interjected.
“Full of tears and excuses?” Was Alton’s contribution.
“A snake who poisons those foolish enough to trust it.” Winter quietly added.
I laughed. “… I was going to say she’s a lot of drama… but I like your answers better. They are used to a certain standard of having everything done for them, even if I backed off quite a bit towards the end, when things had gotten really bad. I don’t think Rebecca will see my role within the group as appealing, though.”
“Oh well, their loss is our gain!” Stephanie cheered, hugging me again. “Let’s go hunting! I want meat for dinner!” She pulled out her sword excitedly.
“Yes, Natalie should have some meat to help her recover from all the battles we’ve been through.” Winter nodded, checking his bow and following.
Alton stood up and looked over at me. “Meat for dinner doesn’t sound bad… what do you think, Ms. Healer? Do you want to go hunting?”
“I don’t want to ruin their fun…” I started to say, looking at the backs of the two already moving ahead.
Alton’s voice was serious. “No. I’m not asking about them. I’m asking what YOU want to do.”
I paused, and my gaze met his own. After a few moments, I smiled. “Meat sounds great for dinner.” And I meant it.
“Then let’s go hunting with them.” Was his answer.
And hunting we went.
With only two days left before we would face the forty-second gate.
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Hi, happy to see you back❤. I remember in one of your previous works, you mentioned Mammon possibly would babytrap reader. May you please write something on this topic?
♡ Toxic!Mammon: Babytrapping Hcs ♡
Note: Ty! Also anon is reffering to this post. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REQUESTS!!! KEEP THEM COMING POOKIES! ALSO IK I HAVENT MADE AN ACTUAL POST IN A WHILE SO HERE YALL GO
Female!reader, AFAB
Warnings: NSFW, toxic themes, creampie, future child, exploiting
He will babytrap you, 100%
As I have said before, Mammon likes the idea of having complete control over you, your life, and everything you do. And what better of a way to do that than making you bear his child?
He gets this magical, invasive idea when talking to one of his work buddies. He was talking about how annoying you were, even though he cannot live without you, when his co-worker mentions how much responsibility and care a woman has for her children. And the idea hits him. If you are just going to sit around lazily all day like a spoiled brat, why not add a child into the mix?
So he will have you prowled up against his chest, his cock basically stuffing you full, as he pistons in and out of your already sore pussy. Seemingly out of nowhere, telling you
"You'd be such a good mother, wouldn't you babe."
"'Wanna see you swoll with my kids, wouldn't that be somethin'-"
Which makes you feel physically ill. Raising a child with Mamm would be basically impossible. You would never raise a child with this man. Would he support you? Would he genuinley care for your baby? Oh Satan, would he even care-
Your thoughts are abrupted as Mammon stuffs you with his seed, finishing inside yours walls and painting them with a loud groan. He gives your ass a harsh slap, as he watches his cum spilling out of you. He looks you in the eyes, and gives you a daunty chuckle. He forces you to look up at him with your tired, exhausted eyes, as he tells you ohoho babe, we aren't finished until i'm done, alright?.
And he keeps that promise, with the goal of getting you pregnant. He knows the public would go feral. The King of Greed? With a child? It gives him a publicity boost, which in turn, is good for his business, and his image.
Once you find out you are pregnant, you have to eventually tell Mammon, to your dismay. Every day, he makes you take an on brand pregnancy test as he watches. He will hold the test while you pee. Yes you heard me right. So when the test says positive one day, he is over the moon. Not at the fact that he is going to be a father, but at the fact that he is now in complete control over you, and that he can use another part of you as a pawn in his twisted fantasy.
The paparazzi have a field day over this news, because he ends up almost immediately making an announcement. There are headlines, candid photos of you going forcefully outside by mammon, etc. Its like a never ending nightmare. And dont be mistaken, he would never let you out of his sights, or get an abortion. He thinks this is too good of an opportunity.
Behind closed doors, he will actually treat you very well. Feeding you, paying attention to your every need, and not letting you lift a finger. He may even go out of his way to find some stuff by himself at the store. He'll will make you go outside with him. But at times he has to do a meeting, or host an event, he will have his goons escort you places, making sure you go public routes, to get a really good look at your swollen belly.
Brings you to meetings during this time, and picking your outfits carefully. He cant have his darling wearing any disgusting maternity clothes. So he will have you perches on his lap while he sits in his seat, embarrassment eating you whole as you see the sins/overlords snickering and bickering presumably at you. He has one hand rubbing your round belly, and one hand rubbing your shoulders as Mammon discusses his newest buisness plan.
He would create a Mammon Baby Care line. He knows he will profit off your pregnancy
"Alright fellas, so i was thinking for the ladys, a Mammon breast pump, hm? Its great right? Oh! And Mammon themed bibs, ha! Sure to make me a bunch, right babes?"
People think, how could you let Mammon knock you up? Of course, millions of girls idolize Mammon, and would want to be with him. But sometimes it feels like you are the only one who is infatuated with him. So you will try to look past the fact that he got you pregnant. You'll just try to be hopeful. But it is literally impossible with the way he keeps sweet talking you, as you snap back into the sad reality that you will be having Mammons child, and raising it. No questions to be asked.
He will lead you to subconsciously feel insecure about you and your body. He will squeeze your newly chubby cheeks, glaze his fingers over your stretch marks newly littering your body, etc. And he definitely does that on purpose.
As you reach up to the half full Nutella jar in the high cabinet in the kitchen, you hear a pair of loud footsteps coming behind you. Its Mammon. You try your best to ignore him, but you cant help but feel uneasy when you feel a pair of familiar eyes on you. It is currently 1:30 AM, and he is in a really tired mood.
"You need help sweets?"
He said with a suckle voice, knowing its affects on you are vast. He looks you up and down, admiring your perfect body in his mind. Your curves, belly, and the look your giving him. It makes him want to just bend you over and fuck your brains out likes theres no tomorrow. But he cant, he just has to be extra agile with you.
"Mamm..."
"Yeah?"
"Do I look fat?"
Ohhh boy. The question you always ask when you feel like he's eyeing you up. he hates when you ask that, because then he has to make up some half assed excuse to why he's looking at you a certain way. When your pregnant, he basically has to walk on eggshells around you.
"You... look like your carrying my child, and I like the sight of that."
"Okay, do you love me?"
He pauses. One wrong answer, and you'll refuse to talk to him for weeks. You two, as of your relationship, are in a really good spot right now. You will basically do anything for him. But you are really sensitive emotionally and physically, due to your hormones.
As he walks up behind you, he lifts you up by your waist, and hold you up to the cabinet, letting you reach.
"Y/N."
He says in a low, gruff voice.
"Yeah Mamm?"
"What the hell kind of question is that. Of course I love you."
He says as you look at him, face to face. You watch his eyes never leave yours, which makes you break off eye contact in a flustered state. You then realize that he is holding you, which makes you feel insecure.
"Okay, I love you too Mamm"
"Alright, now get your sweet treat, and get the fuck to bed, and hurry up. We've got a busy day tomorrow sweets."
He sets you down, and leaves the kitchen, leaving you with yourself, your Nutella and a spoon in hand. You look down at yourself, and your huge stomach. You wonder how you got yourself into this twisted predicament. You mostly worry about your baby's future as Mammons child. Because you are aware that Mammon will only use them for his own monetary gain. You cannot escape this man, even if you try. But you can always pretend you have your own free will, and you could always just eat your silly thoughts away, as Mammon always told you.
#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#mammon x reader#mammon x reader hb#hb mammon x reader#mammon x y/n#mammon#adam x reader#mammon hb#alastor x reader#mammon x you#helluva#hb#hb x reader#helluva boss x reader#helluva boss hcs#mammon x you hb#mammon headcannons#mammon sin#mammon smut#mammon fluff helluva
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A Reward (Part Two)
Content Warning: a MC-centered orgy featuring blow jobs
MC
One moment, I'm watching a movie with everyone. The next, I'm back on the bed I was on during Belphie's portion of my chastity test.
"Welcome back," Belphie greets me. He's sitting cross-legged across from me.
"What's going on?" I ask. "This isn't a surprise final, is it?"
"No, no, nothing like that."
"Then what am I doing here?" Belphie sighs.
"We've noticed how tense you've been the last few days and figured it was due to the emotional aftermath of the test."
"I mean, you're not wrong. I know it was designed to push my limits, but damn. It didn't need to be that fucking hard." Belphie chuckles.
"That's why we decided to reward you." That's the second time he's said "we", but the word just now registered in my brain.
"We?" I repeat. Belphie nods his head, smiling. There's no way this is happening right now.
"You mean all of you agreed--"
"Yep," he answers, interrupting my train of thought. "It was surprisingly easy."
"Belphie, I...I don't know what to say."
"Just tell me when you want to begin." I'm completely speechless. The fact that these guys are willing to play out this particular fantasy of mine is something I never thought would actually happen. It's part of why I resisted Asmo's charm for so long; I didn't want him--or anyone else--to think less of me for it.
"Don't overthink it, MC."
"It's not that," I tell him. "It's just...well...why is it happening here?"
"Diavolo was worried that your body couldn't handle the stress of this in the real world, so this is the next best thing."
"But this is only a dream." Belphie rolls his eyes.
"You're forgetting, MC: I can make this feel like reality. That includes leaving evidence that will still be there when you wake up. We're simply taking advantage of the nebulous nature of the dream realm to make this happen for you." I close my eyes, still feeling overwhelmed. Part of me considers having Belphie send me to another part of the dream realm that has rainbows or something less intense than this.
"It's okay," Belphie comforts. "You don't have to worry about a thing. We'll take care of you. I promise." I take a deep breath. The person that I was before the exchange program would have never agreed to do something this slutty. Not because I didn't want to, but because I was afraid of making a fool out of myself.
But I've grown a lot since then, and these guys seem to accept me, flaws and all.
"Okay," I whisper. I feel the bed shift. Moments later, I find myself up against someone's chest as Belphie's lips are on mine. The mystery person's hands reach inside my shirt and lightly slide up my sides, making me shiver.
"Relax," Lucifer whispers, planting a kiss on my temple. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself."
"We don't have to do this if you feel uncomfortable," Belphie adds. Opening my eyes reveals his face inches away from my own. "Just say the word, and we'll stop."
"Please keep going." I sound pathetic. Rather than tease me for it, however, the two men resume their actions. Their hands travel up and down my body as their lips focus on my face and neck. At some point, my shirt disappears. Whether one of them actually took it off or it simply vanished into thin air is anyone's guess.
Lucifer gets off the bed, and Belphie gently pushes me so that I'm lying on my back. Multiple hands and lips immediately begin roaming all over my body, reducing me to pants and soft whines.
"Aaaw," Asmo coos. "You're so adorable, MC."
"We've barely gotten started, and already you're a trembling mess," Satan observes.
"I..." Their constant touching is making me forget what I was even going to say. Something about me not being able to help it?
"Ssh," Simeon whispers. "You don't have to talk, MC. Just focus on us, okay?" I feel like I'm melting.
"Give them a moment," Diavolo instructs, his breath hot on my belly. "They're not used to having this much attention on them. They're probably overwhelmed." Everyone's movements stop as they look at me, waiting for a reaction.
"It's..." I have to really focus to get the words to come out of my mouth. "It's like my brain's turned to jelly."
"Is that a good thing?" Solomon asks.
"I think so. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm just not used to it, that's all."
"If I'd known you'd react like this, I would have made this happen a lot sooner," Belphie chimes in. "It's nice seeing you truly relax, MC."
"So, are you good to continue?" Beel asks. "Or do you need more time to recenter yourself?" I take another deep breath. I have a feeling I'll be doing that quite a bit this evening.
"I'm ready." With that, the men resume their touching, keeping a closer eye on my reactions to make sure I don't become overstimulated again.
"You're doing so well, MC," Barbatos praises. "Such a good little lamb." Hearing the compliment makes me whine.
"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this to you guys," Belphie states. "Well, Asmo may have known already, but it seems as though our MC has a bit of a praise kink."
"Is that true, MC?" Mammon asks, rubbing his hand up and down my thigh. "Do you like being told how good you are?" I hum affirmatively.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Levi responds. "I have one, too. It helps boost my self-confidence."
"For me, they help me feel valued," I explain quietly. "They assure me that I'm doing the right thing."
"So, does degradation have the opposite effect on you?" Belphie asks.
"I mean, if that's all you're doing, then yes. I'd probably start crying. But if there are praises mixed into it, then it's not so bad."
"So, if I told you to take my dick in your mouth like the good little whore that you are, you wouldn't have a problem with that?"
"Oh, that got their attention," Asmo quips before I have a chance to answer. It makes sense that he picked up on that; he is the Avatar of Lust, after all.
"Then let's put it to the test." The other men move off me, and Belphie repositions the two of us so that my face is level with his crotch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Satan, Barbatos, Asmo, and Diavolo all exchange knowing glances. They've all witnessed first hand how I react to having a demon dick in my face, and it's not by acting all shy about it.
Belphie makes the clothes on his bottom half disappear with a snap of his fingers, and without hesitation I wrap my mouth around him, gripping both sides of his waist as I begin moving up and down.
"Fuck!" Belphie hisses. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"That was my reaction when they did that to me," Asmo responds. "Really threw me off guard at first. I didn't think they even knew how to give a blowjob, let alone be able to excel at it."
"It appears to become the only thing on their mind," Diavolo adds. "They won't stop until you've cummed completely in your mouth, and even then they might continue sucking."
"Hang on," Mammon chimes in. "You mean to tell me that you two received a blowjob from MC before the rest of us?"
"Make that four," Barbatos answers.
"Four?! Now, that hardly seems fair." I briefly stop what I'm doing to tell Mammon that I'd be more than happy to help even the score, so to speak, making him shut up and allowing me to continue pleasuring Belphie.
The next little bit goes by in a blur as I make good on my promise. Mammon's quite loud, Levi babbles incoherently the whole time, Beel mostly growls, and Lucifer and Solomon groan like the old men that they are.
But the one that stands out to me the most is Simeon. After making 100% sure that he's okay with me doing this to him, I go for it. The noises that consequently come out of his mouth are some of the prettiest I've ever heard. It almost sounds like he's singing.
My jaw aches when I'm finally finished.
"Our turn," Belphie states. The bed creaks as he gets on it, pushing me up against the headrest. He then grabs my legs and spreads them apart before positioning himself between them. The gaspy moan I produce when he begins pleasuring me with his mouth appears to be a kind of siren call, for everyone else resumes touching the rest of my body with their hands and lips.
I don't know how much time passes or how many orgasms I have. And yet I can't find it in me to care that much. There's only one word on my mind as they have their way with me: more.
Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan
#obey me shall we date#obey me mc#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me levi#obey me asmodeus#obey me leviathan#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub#obey me boys#obey me brothers#obey me belphegor#obey me belphie#obey me solomon#obey me simeon#obey me barbatos#obey me diavolo#obey me lord diavolo#it is officially two in the morning where i live#thankfully i don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow#you could say that this might have gotten away from me a little bit
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I just binged Dead Boy Detectives yesterday and I need to get my thoughts out of my head or else I'm gonna explode so here they are (yes I watched all of the show yesterday and even though it was the dead of night when I finished and I still scrolled on tumblr for over an hour afterwards)
the amount of queer media with supernatural / ghost stuff nowadays is really great I love it, and it's now what I will call the "Unbury your gays" trope (my favourites from this genre include "Cemetery Boys", "Under The Whispering Door", this frick show and Lockwood & Co. as a honourable mention because it feels queer)
the sets are gorgeous, especially Mick's magic shop
these title cards or whatever they're called are an underrated element of comedy
Charles outfit with that coat and the buttons would make such a good cosplay
another tumblr user said they always mixed up Charles and Edwin's names in the beginning and honestly same (like Charles also looks like an Edwin and Edwin also looks like a Charles or maybe it's just me)
Niko. just Niko. love her. (also her and Edwin's friendship is the best and I headcanon both of them as autistic)
the worldbuilding is so unhinged like wow they're in Crystal's mind and here's this creepy demon and there are eyeballs hanging from the ceiling and here's this creepy man who's also a cat and he's also the king of the cats and then they're in literal hell like w h a t
like many others before me I too was disappointed to find out Crystal was not in love with Niko, Niko just had parasites, and yes that's just a thing that happens
on that note, Crystal and Charles do not work together romantically, even if we leave aside other ships. Their dynamic as friends? great. everything beyond that? no. It just has these "he was a boy she was a girl can I make it any more obvious" vibes that I detest and am really fed up with
I'll say it now and I'll say it again: a female lead character shouldn't have to have any super special unique fantasy powers or be a male character's love interest to justify her being a main character. It's just something that I am observing again and again in books and shows alike
Crystal has a lot of unexplored potential. And it's always difficult to have a character with memory loss because you automatically lose a big chunk of backstory and potential character motivations until later in the story. But I have hopes for season 2 (if we get one pleeeease)
they really played Apocalypse in the Jenny and Maxine date scene and expected me not to notice
the Cat King is creepy and icky and I will die on that hill. he does not respect personal space and what was up with that "I'll remove the bracelet if you make me happy" like are you for real what the fuck (derogatory)
I've taken an unexpected liking to Monty. idk why but I relate on a personal level
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Being kidnapped then tied to a bed force fed hourly til you're body is larger than the bed and you're unable to walk. Yay or nay?
😍YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY😍
Imma share a bit more about my ultimate kidnapping fantasy....
(you're all making me wet at work omg....)
I wanna wake up in a basement. A ball gag in my mouth, spread out and tied up in a bed completely naked.
I try to look around, all I can see is a giant TV with speakers, a bunch of camera's pointed at me, and a mirror on the ceiling just so I can see how fat and helpless I am
Then my kidnapper comes in. They have a kind face and I can't help noticing how attractive they are as they walk over to me and switch the ball gag out for a funnel.
"Drink." Is all they say. And me being the dumb horny and good piggy that I am, I follow directions.
As I drink, a vibrator I didn't even notice starts humming and I moan softly as I suck the weight gain shake out of the funnel. I try to reach my drippy cunt before remembering my arms are tied and I look at my captor with desperate eyes.
"Not yet piggy. You have to earn it..." They say.
I spend the next few months trying to earn it. I drink every shake they gave me, I watch every porn and hypno clips they put on the TV, my pussy always leaking always wanting more.
One day when my captor comes in, I can tell something is different. Instead of a shake, there was food. Actual food. And a lot of it.
I watch as they motion me to not make a sound as they take out the ball gag. I move my mouth around and touch my fatter face and chins.
I looked up at the mirror and gasped. I hadn't looked at how much I gained. Everything was bigger and harder to move as I jiggle and drop my belly on my fupa. I moan and look at my captor, forming my first sentence in months.
"Me...earn it....now?"
My captor smiles at me as I blush. I know I said it wrong but I haven't had to talk or think in months. My wet cunt craved satisfaction.
"First piggy....I'm going to feed you all of this....you've gained about 80lbs from just sitting and stuffing your face, so I know you can finish it. Then we're gonna get you up so I can show you off... would you like that?"
I don't even hesitate to nod, my chins jiggling as I start to drool over the food and open my mouth...
So yeah...imma BIG FAN of your idea anon 🥰🐷
#fat slob#slob kink#slob#fat humiliation#fat piggy#obese piggy#extremely obese#death feederism#feedee girl#feedee piggy#fatty piggy#ssbbw feedee#queer feedee
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youtube
This morning I went over to the church to see my favorite guy, who is so often surprising and challenging. He seemed a little out of sorts today, stammering and losing his place; I sometimes worry about this old guy, and I was paying attention. Then at the end of the mass he said that they're having air quality problems in the rectory and the EPA is involved. I hope he's not getting brain damage!
It was sort of funny, though, because the homily was about having trouble focusing--not being able to concentrate, and having anxiety about the future. That was pretty relevant to me, medically and otherwise. I'm writing this on the morning of the new moon, just to be extra flaky, about how much trouble I have forming goals.
Pursuing goals is also hard, but step one should be having a vision, and that's the really impossible part. When I was a little kid I had two ambitions: to be a writer, and to be dead. The latter thing represents one of the main motivating forces in my life, which is pain avoidance. I think this is the chief motivator of many people without them even realizing it; comfort-seeking itself can be a form of pain avoidance. Pain avoidance is not a legitimate goal, it's more of a reflex, and it can become a preoccupying distraction from any kind of actual ambition (especially as fulfilling ambitions often involves some amount of discomfort). Focusing on what you do not want is not equivalent to focusing on what you do want.
I never had a very good idea of what I want. I found this out when I went into therapy as an adult; I couldn't formulate any notion of what I wanted out of life. I couldn't even come up with any masturbatory, pie in the sky fantasies. I might vaguely be able to say something like "a bigger, nicer apartment", but I can't come up with any compelling ideas about what that would even look like. I try, but I know I'm faking it. Certainly part of my interest in religion and occultism is the idea that I could train myself to really clearly conceptualize any kind of goals or desires. In the case of occultism specifically (and, let's be honest, many forms of self-help), visualization is always a key element. In recent years I learned that I am abnormally incapable of forming mental images, and I have come to believe that this is intimately connected to my inability to figure out what I want or how to get it.
Nearly all of my thinking is verbal. I found out what aphantasia was while talking to my dad, who is extremely visual with an excellent grasp of spacial relations (something I have almost no concept of). He was shocked when I said I can't really picture anything, asking me "Then how do you do anything?" He said when he decides to make a sandwich, for instance, he automatically sees himself performing the actions of sandwich-making, and sees the aspirational sandwich in his mind's eye. Visualizing is essential to his entire executive process. It so happens that I am aphantasic and I have a lot of executive dysfunction. I no longer think this is coincidental.
(I'm also very faceblind, and I think this is connected; something to do with the ability to reconstitute a visual memory and relate it to something that is presently in front of me. But anyway...)
Perhaps oddly, I am an artist, or at least I have been. But I've never been able to draw from my imagination, like at all. The best work I've ever done is all swipes; I am a great believer in swipes, it can reveal a lot about your personal style and obsessions and when you re-draw someone else's art. But I can't just sit and think up something fun to draw, even when I try to just doodle I'm usually responding more to the lines I see emerging on the paper than anything I'm thinking or feeling. I think this is related to the fact that I'm an obsessive scopophile; I take in a lot of detail from my environment, and I watch movies with the same attitude and frequency with which most people listen to music. Recently I started to joke that I have an image deficiency and that's why I have to consume huge amounts of visual media, I need the external infusion. But like, it's not that much of a joke, maybe.
In my 30s I randomly developed this condition where scar tissue grows over your corneas, and I had to have a series of freaky eye surgeries. My doctors always asked if I grew up somewhere warm and sunny and windy, if I do a lot of outdoor sports (sometimes this condition is called "surfer's eye"); I thought this was pretty funny since I couldn't be more of an indoor kid, although maybe cycling is somewhat at fault. Still, my preferred diagnosis is that I watch so much trashy and violent crap that it literally scars my eyes. It's as good an explanation as any! And it does have this weird synergy with my other visual problems.
Anyway, it's not as if I've done absolutely nothing with my life. Quite a few personal achievements piled up in just the last couple of years; certainly I've benefited a lot from luck and the good will of others, but nothing would have happened without my own creativity and commitment. I just wish I had more, you know. Vision. I spend too much of my life "taking one day at a time" and waiting for things to happen to me, assuming I don't have much control over my experiences. I'd rather be able to imagine something that I want to happen and act on it; regardless of whether the thing is going to happen, I'd like to be able to formulate a goal other than paying the rent, or like, not waking up and going to sleep in a state of stark terror. I'm not sure how to get myself to that place, but maybe saying that that's what I want can count for something.
Anyway here are some photos of the thoughtfully planted shrubbery from the church. I missed the full bloom of the weeping cherries, but as soon as they die off the shrubs below turn bright red, pink, yellow, and white. It's pretty inviting I must say.
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Top 5 fictional properties you really like despite them not having any of the tropes/character setups you usually go for.
oooh this is a tough one. because usually for me to like something it has to have some kind of thematic resonance that works for me, though I guess maybe that's the distinction for me between things I get into fandom for and things where there's some kind of...yeah, underlying theme that gets me. but let's see what I can come up with here.
I ended up going with things where I feel like my draw to them is more thematic than about specific characters or character tropes, because that does feel like a distinct category of fiction for me.
Malazan: Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson. it's interesting, because I used to think of myself as much more of an epic fantasy doorstopper person than I think I actually am, Wheel of Time excepted - and this series excepted, which...I have weird and complicated feelings about it that aren't quite as pure as "I enjoyed this," I guess, but it compelled me, and this far out from reading it the first time I can solidly say that I would read it again, even though that's a heck of a commitment. (maybe I should make that a summer project. although I already have so much else to read, orz.) and okay, there is Anomander Rake, but on the whole I wasn't reading this series because of the characters and that's not what stuck with me most from it.
Black Sails. The characters in this show are certainly compelling but none of them is really a Me Type in an obvious way, exactly, (some characters get close, or look like they might be on the face of it, but that's not what I loved about this series). I think what gets me about Black Sails is the theme of narrative and storytelling and crafting narrative, but that's not all it is - it's also just a good story itself and the characters are compelling, complex figures (even though, again, they're not a perfect match for my Type).
The Culture series by Iain M. Banks. Another book series I read for the themes over the characters - I have consistently been less interested in the main characters of these books than I am in what they're saying about society and people at large. I think the books themselves are also less interested in the main characters as characters than they are about what's being said about society and people at large, too, so that works nicely.
Perdido Street Station by China Mieville. I could not tell you why this book rewrote my brain, and I really need to read it, but it hooked into me at a fairly young and formative age and is thoroughly distinct from anything else I've read and loved as much as it. Also launched me into the world of weird fiction and Jeff Vandermeer in particular, who I was [tosses hair] into before it was cool.
Children of Time series by Adrian Tchaikovsky. Another one where there's not really a clear match for how it relates to my Very Particular Interests in the way some things I read do, but quickly became one of my favorite series/books (especially the first one). But they're so good, man. So good.
I guess maybe a pattern I'm seeing here is that I tend to be more wide-ranging in what I read than I am in what I watch - for the most part, I do watch TV shows for the characters more than anything else, while I'm a lot more willing to be less character-oriented when I read.
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! ❤️
This ask was sent to me by the lovely @practicecourts too, so thanks guys ❤️ I'm not very good at self-promotion so in no particular order:
Call Me By Name (Lily's POV) / Incoming (James' POV), Rated E
After a not-so-great breakup with a not-so-great boyfriend, Lily comes to the conclusion that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself. Whether mechanically, hydraulically, or auditorily? She WILL find the key to that currently unreachable pleasure. / Everyone has hobbies, James' just happened to be a little unorthodox. What he never expected to do running a phone-sex hotline was to fall for one of his clients - someone he'd never even seen let alone met. Now all he can think about is June's next incoming call.
Love Birds
James Potter thinks his life is perfectly fine the way it is until his girlfriend dumps him. But when an injured duck enters the picture, so does feisty veterinarian Lily Evans. Between the unlikely pair James discovers love and his true place in the world.
Evans Guide To Quidditch (and seducing James Potter)
It had all started out innocently enough, a small wager between housemates on the outcome of the Arrows Vs Catapults game over the weekend. Lily hadn't intended to let slip she knew more about quidditch than she was letting on. Or to set up a fantasy quidditch league with James, but well... what's the harm?
Ties That Bind
Lily Evans grew up with old wives tales about soul mates, but she'd never put much stock in the idea. Not until after she learned about the world of magic and the fact that soul bonds were a thing that actually existed. Which makes these strange new feelings and experiences that much more difficult to manage. Jilychallenge Prompt: They both know they’re one another’s soulmate- but hate each other too much to go through with it and actively try to sabotage the relationship.
Spitting Image (Active WIP)
James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.
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They can't stay in character
#veearts#kyle broflovski#stan marsh#the stick of truth#south park#sp fanart#fan art#me when I'm not over their fantasy get up#also yes this is a su reference okay u caught me I'm gay#style#tags this suspiciously quiet
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tired of early 20-somethings acting like harry potter was never good or had no value in its day like shut the fuck up half of you weren't even there when it peaked
#sit with the cognitive dissonance like the rest of us or shut up honestly#was it a product of its time yes#was it's author a very basic neoliberal white lady from a country with a long and unchecked imperialist history yes#was the story influenced by said neoliberal worldviews and unexamined biases obviously#does any of that make it a bad story or an unimaginative world no#you can pick apart any fantasy world if you try hard enough#harry potter was a good telling of the hero's journey written in the format of seven mystery novels set against a fantasy backdrop#we can certainly talk about its flaws or how the author's biases leaked onto the page#but stop acting like it was never good and there was never a reason those books resonated with people#it's condescending for one thing and again- if you're younger than like...24-25 you didn't actually experience the heyday of the books#if you're 25 now you'd have been like 8 or 9 when the last book came out and probably weren't reading them yet#you might remember the latter half of the movie era but you have no idea how much it was the BOOKS that drove its popularity#never before and never since has any book series had the fanfare that harry potter did and that didn't happen for no reason#so find a way to make peace with that instead of acting intellectually superior because you grew up with percy jackson instead#this 'well MY generation's preferred childhood book series is morally superior to YOURS so I'm better than you' shit drives me up a wall#like get over yourself honestly#...sorry had to get that off my chest there was this youtube video and it was irritating me
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By my guiding hand, perfected it stands.
#Everyone give it up for worst mom#Her P12 design is cool thiugh#Also I had exams over the last few weeks and I had the tireless one in my head the whole time#When bro goes PAN DAE MON I UM yk?#Also I haven't started savage yet it's so over for me#I'm just being lazy about getting 640 armour#My motivation to farm the golbez weapon about 4 clears in after I realised he doesn't hand out the bunny moon staff#so yeah tags#ffxiv#ff14#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#final fantasy#athena#pandaemonium#6.4 patch spoilers
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Level Five
Content Warning: nipple play, groping
The fifth level is in the attic. Sweet dreams.
Honestly, I'm not surprised when my vision momentarily goes black upon opening the attic door. After all, the note pretty much confirmed that this is Belphie's level, and he can do a lot more stuff in the dream realm than in the real world.
"Welcome back," he greets, suddenly appearing in front of me. "It's been a while since we last met here."
"You nearly killed me," I respond. Belphie shrugs.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures. I have no intention of hurting you this go-around." He walks behind me and wraps his hands around my waist, forcing my back to be up against his chest His breath hits my ear as he whispers,
"That is, unless you want me to." My breath hitches as he lifts my shirt up, resting his hands on my stomach.
"This realm is a giant playground for me," he continues. "I can conjure up anything I want to here. And since I've been in the deepest parts of your mind, I can make you convinced that this is reality." He plants a kiss right below my ear as moans begin echoing off the attic walls.
"I didn't realize you did that," I softly tell him, making him chuckle.
"Believe me, it wasn't part of my original plan. But I grew bored as I was waiting, and I started exploring in order to give me something to do."
"When did you enter this part?"
"Shortly after that stupid game of Levi's. I wanted to know what made you so fucking smitten with Lucifer that you were willing to risk your life for him."
"And?" His hands begin traveling up towards my chest.
"You liked being praised. It turns you on." As soon as he says that, disembodied voices begin talking, mixing too well with the moans.
You're doing so good, MC.
That's it. Just like that. Doing so well for me.
So pretty.
Belphie's thumbs begin circling my nipples, making me that much more aware of my arousal. I suppose this is why he's the second to last level.
"So, you knew long before we--" I start to say.
"Yes," he interrupts softly. "I just didn't want to scare you off at the time." He continues his circling in silence, forcing me to continue listening to the various noises bouncing throughout the room.
"Belphie." I internally wince at the whiny sound of my voice. He, on the other hand, hums in approval.
"I like the way you say my name." He presses his hips against mine as he begins tweaking my nipples. I gasp at the sudden stimuli.
I'm really close to breaking.
"You're really good at this." Belphie laughs.
"That's the point, sweetheart. Can't make this easy for you." Suddenly, I find myself lying on my back on top of a bed, Belphie towering over me. I feel multiple pairs of eyes on me, but I don't see anyone else in the room with us.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Simply changing the scene," he responds.
"Why?"
"So that I can do this." He snaps his fingers, and phantom hands begin rubbing all over my body. Not just one pair, but several. And they all feel familiar.
"This is perhaps your deepest fantasy," he explains. "You want to be taken by all of us at the same time."
Shit. I thought I'd done a good job of keeping that particular desire a secret, but clearly I failed. Question is, did he find out on his own, or did Asmo tell him?
"I can make everyone appear right now if you want me to." The hands begin feeling more solid, and I start looking around the room for something I can use to wake me up. Unfortunately, the only object in this room appears to be the bed.
"Just give in already. I know you want to."
"I..." I trail off, becoming more uncertain by the second.
"You've made it a lot further in this test than any of us expected. I'm sure your efforts will be rewarded. But you must be getting tired of resisting your urges. You may be strong, but you're still human. You have a breaking point that you're quickly approaching."
"Belphie..." I don't even know what I'm trying to say. He's right, of course; I'm dangerously close to giving in.
"Just say the word, MC. You don't have to worry about a thing. We'll take care of you."
Something inside me makes me scream. My eyes fly open, my heart racing as I take in my current surroundings.
"Are you alright, MC?" Belphie crouches down in front of me, concern evident in his face. "I didn't create something harmful, did I?" I shake my head.
"You're back in reality," he continues. "If you're skeptical, I can always pinch you." I find myself giggling at his statement, beginning to calm down.
"To be honest, I'm surprised I even woke up," I tell him. "The temptation to give in almost became too great for me to ignore."
"I know. But the important thing is that you didn't, and now you're only one stage away from completing your test and earning your star." Belphie pauses. "That is, if you want to continue. If you nearly lost control during my stage, there's no telling what's going to happen to you in the final round."
"I want to at least try. I've made it this far, after all; I'd be foolish to not see this through." He shrugs.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan
#obey me shall we date#obey me mc#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor#so this is a bit self-indulgent#and by everyone i mean all the dateable obey me adults in game
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YouTube Horror channels be normal about indigenous American cultures challenge
#musings#'hmm there's this entity that you're never supposed to speak the name of. i'm going to write a creepypasta about it'#it's always that thing or skin walkers or probably something i don't even know about yet#and it rubs me the wrong way because it's always the white american youtubers doing this shit#they're not usually the ones writing the stories but c'mon#there are so many different monsters from fantasy and folklore you could use#or better yet make something up yourself#even if you think that using other peoples' cultures as the basis for a creepypasta isn't cultural appropriation#at this point it's just boring and generic to see the same monsters used the same way over and over#i can't speak for native americans on this but it rubs me the wrong way to see entities that have been part of their culture for centuries#treated as something trendy like the backrooms or some shit#to be used and overused and then discarded when the internet gets bored of them
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family outings are always extremely tiring for me so this isn't really a surprise but also the seating was so damn bad it genuinely fucked up my back (i have chronic back pain, i'm used to pain, but it was genuinely so bad i couldn't move without weeping in pain and having dizzy spells), and i came home to a slight headache on top of that.
So i did the sensible thing and went to "take a nap" since it was 6pm, but i woke up only this morning at 9am.
My back is doing better (as in now it's "regular pain" instead of "unbearable pain") but i'm somehow completely drained and tired out of my mind, despite sleeping for 16 hours straight.
so i may struggle with more brainy asks for a bit until i get out of that haze, sorry about that o7
and now i have to catch up on GW's meatgrinding that i missed yesterday so o7
#if i get a bit better in the afternoon i will consider switching fantasy games#but for now i'm in such a haze it's not even on the table#god i'm so tired#why am i so tired after sleeping 16 hours this should be illegal#i should have even more energy#like when you level up in a video game and it refills your AP and it goes over the limit#but noo instead i'm just like 'what are words'#fucked up.#and also it's the season where temperatures do a yoyo and i keep getting sick#my throat and nose are fucking me up so bad i'm so tired#ichatalks
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Same energy
#ffxv#final fantasy xv#spoilers#episode ignis spoilers#okay spoiler tags out of the way#Cruddy rambles#God I love ending 2#Why did ardyn just dump his unconscious body on the floor#Listen I'm not expecting much but that's SO funny to me#He's just laying there passed tf out#For how long???? Ardyn had to wait until he woke up. And then didn't even say anything when he did. Just decided to jumpscare him instead.#King shit- I get it- but still#[throws your limp body onto a metal catwalk and stands over you motionless until you wake up from ur exhaustion-induced coma]#'Hai :3c'#Did ardyn carry Ignis's body? Did he make the MTs do it? Was it a long trip from Altissia? What were the other chocobros thinking watching-#This go down while they tailed them to get there in time to save Iggy???#There is so much untapped comedic potential for this#After you sneak attack the angst ofc#The fact that Noct is up and walking implies like... At least a BIT of time has passed. Can you *imagine* the conversations going on-#Between the others while they tailed them to zagnatus keep#'so.....' 'so!' 'ardyn huh' 'yep' 'yeah'#'guys where's ignis' [Gladio and Prompto stare at each other] [Ravus- half dead in the other medical bed: oh ardyn took him after#He got kicked in the face again]#Noct: wh-#Noct: AND YOU DIDN'T STOP HIM???#Ravus: he kind of blasted me into a wall#Noct: OH BOO HOO#Demon Ignis au when#Anyway I'm gonna go back to sleep I definitely have a bit of a fever gnight
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