#sequel to my story blood and tears
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CRAWL - Feyd Rautha x Reader
[A sequel to Creature]
Word Count: 1.5k
Rating: Mature
Summary: A journey marred with horrors is reaching its divine conclusion. Now, you must reemerge and claim what’s yours.
Warnings: Major character deaths, blood, violence, torture, religious themes, domestic violence, implied Stockholm syndrome, heavy canon divergence, pregnancy, psychopaths in love. Feyd and reader very much a match made in hell. (This is a dark fic. Please heed the tags!)
Authors Note: I'm making it known that I never write more for my oneshots, but this story has literally had me in a chokehold for two months. Because of that (along with the fact that Creature is my most popular fic to date) it only felt fair to give it an official ending. This fic was also heavily inspired by Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token.
Read on AO3
The time since your ceremony has been counted using your instincts alone.
Days on Geidi Prime are many hours longer than on your home planet of Kaitain. The blackened sun distorts shadows in a way you have yet to get accustomed to, seeing as you’d only seen the world outside the Harkonnen palace twice since your arrival.
With his sexual vulnerability made obvious to you on your first night together, Feyd-Rautha had taken it upon himself to re-correct the dynamics of your union. He has conducted this in the only way he knows how—frigid isolation punctuated by crippling violence.
It didn’t take long for the cracks to appear in your mental state, and it was an even shorter time until he broke you completely. Laying alone in a featureless room, you wished you were somehow stronger. Able to fight back physically, or at least shield your mind from his attacks. Nothing in your life was left up to chance, and you couldn’t help but begin to wonder if the skills you pleaded for were purposefully left out of your lengthy Bene Gesserit training. Even if this wasn’t the work of careful planning by The Sisterhood, the visions soon made clear to you how this agony was the only way forward. The sole path towards destiny.
It was only as the nature of his punishments shifted that you realized your apparent weaknesses were truly a gift in disguise. Each bloodied mark laid on your skin was now a wordless promise. Feyd-Rautha had brought diligent ruin to who you once were, working in blessed tandem with your visions to quiet even your smallest urge to resist.
Time moved faster after this, if only because it now went uncounted.
Your days were spent lurching in and out of consciousness. The pain inflicted by your demented husband brought forth more forbidden knowledge, and together they took complete hold of your body and mind. It was only a matter of time until reality became wholly indecipherable.
-
You come back suddenly. A shiver jolts down your spine as definitive reality forces the horrors out of your mind. No longer inside that desolate room, you languish in the silks of Feyd-Rautha’s bed.
Your senses have heightened greatly in however long you’ve been away, and your palms have grown ravenous for a blade. It was all clear to you now. Endless possibilities take the form of paths, the fate of the Imperium lies in which artery you choose to follow.
You reach outward with a newfound steadiness, waking your fated groom from his rest. His skin—porcelain in both pigment and temperature—scorches your own as he pulls you atop him.
He’s molded you in his image. A perfect creature with teeth that will tear flesh from bone with a mind as sharp as his blades.
Now, only pleasure remains.
-
The busy air is still like an ocean suddenly devoid of its moon. No longer waking up with ringing ears, you’d nearly forgotten what mournful screams filling silence sounded like. Behind you, Feyd-Rautha’s blade is buried deep in Paul’s beatless chest. The remaining members of the reemerged House Atriedes were subdued while you granted his most fanatical followers the gift of joining Paul in death.
Your sharp eyes barely grace your sister Irulan before she steps behind her father with a loud gasp. You wished for nothing more in that moment than to see yourself through their eyes—the ones widened in total horror.
It was after your reawakening that you learned how your visions of clandestine conversations and plans within plans were not just mere visions at all, but memories of before and prophecies set ahead. You weren’t sure how much your kith and kin knew about what you’d become, but you couldn’t wait to deliver your sermon.
“I’m sorry to hear about your Baron.” The emperor voices carefully. Testing the waters with a question directed towards House Harkonnen’s infamous brothers. You don’t miss his slight—how foolish it is to pretend as if surrendering his own blood to the monsters didn’t turn you into something even worse. When neither Feyd nor Rabban answer, you take the floor.
“Like Paul, it was a quick death brought on by his own shortcomings. Both deaths are unworthy of sorrow, especially from someone in your—position.” you taunt.
For those outside of Geidi Prime, The details regarding the Baron’s last moments are muddy and confusing. You see questions of who and how dance across the Emperor's eyes but you don’t answer. When one wretched being is divided between two bodies, the action of one is the doings of both.
“Well, congratulations on your ascension to the throne, Baron Feyd-Rautha.” The Emperor responds curtly. It's another slight towards you, but this time you yourself don’t bite.
“Don’t placate us.” Feyd-Rautha threatens as he steps in front of you, purposefully mirroring Irulan’s and Shaddam’s stance.
“With his death, my uncle has given me what’s always been mine,” he starts “and now you must do the same,” you finish.
Another gasp escapes Irulan as the Bene Gesserit cry out. The Emperor doesn’t flinch.
"Do you want to commence the honors, or shall I?" Feyd asks as you step past him. Your knife already coated in the blood of your father before his sentence draws to a close.
-
Irulan, in exchange for her life, agreed to a transition of power and self-exile on Kaitain. There’s no ceremony when signet rings stamp decrees, just as there’s no theatrics when you and Feyd-Rautha receive the titles that grant you joint control of the known universe.
When her part is done, Harkonnen soldiers are quick to usher Irulan away. Whatever happens to her now is at their discretion, but you still hope they’re gentle. A thought that confirms the small soft spot for your older sister as the last remaining remnant of who you once were.
You board the Guild ship with one thing on your mind. A competing mix of adrenaline and relief threatens to throw you off balance with each step. Still, you march onward. Smiling as Feyd-Rautha instantly appears at your side. He places a firm hand on the small of your back while his dark eyes scan you over. You welcome his touch, the months of pain and agony brought on by his hands now heavily distorted in your mind. As such, both large and small displays of affection had become common between you both. Though the intensity of his affection had grown greatly since your personal physician informed him you were in the early stages of carrying an heir.
Hesitantly he removes his hand. allowing you to ascend the final steps alone. You sink into your father's throne only seconds before Feyd takes claim of the empty floor space in front of you.
Instantly the same vision from the night of your ceremony comes back to you, only this time it’s stitched together with your own memories.
Staring down at Vladimir Harkonnen as he lay dying on the concrete just beyond that disgusting tub he dared to invite you into. The look of overwhelming horror in the eyes of each member of your former great House as you reunited today. Your current view from atop these gold steps.
Each aspect blurs into one complete image. Feeling you shudder, Feyd-Rautha finds your hand and guides it gently to his chest. You share only the briefest look, but you see in his eyes that he recognizes this moment as well. You place a kiss to his temple, and after a steadying breath, he motions for the last of Paul’s fighters to be brought before you.
Your soldiers stop a few steps down from you, but Feyd beckons them closer so the man is abandoned to the right of Feyd and directly in front of you.
Leaning forward, you tilt the fighter’s head upward with the tip of your blade until his eyes meet yours. Beyond his teary heartbreak, a fire is still smoldering. You smile at this sign of a true fighter. Crimson blood catches the light, glistening against your ink-colored teeth.
"Stilgar..." you breathe, your voice turns each syllable to nothing more than a hiss.
You and Feyd move in tandem, allowing you to stretch further forward, though he ensures your soft hand never leaves his chest. Your blade digs further into the underside of Stilgar’s chin until you're given enough purchase to run your sharpened teeth across his neck. He doesn't flinch as you nip the rough, tanned skin laid across his jugular and carotid artery.
This one is strong. Feyd could make such a beautiful example out of him.
Pulling away from Stilgar, you only briefly consider keeping him as a pet before catching sight of Feyd-Rautha. He stares up at you with adoring eyes, though the rest of his striking features are twisted as he snarls in jealousy. Never one to deny Feyd even a single one of his desires, you offer him your blade’s handle.
"Do you want to commence the honors, or shall I?" you purr into his ear.
Your question is answered only by the heavy weight of the knife easing away as it's taken from your hand.
#feyd rautha#dune#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd x you#dune fanfiction#dune part 2#dune x reader#dune part two#austin butler x reader
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Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 10 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: You missed out on a lot of things when you lived in Chicago, because you didn't want to do them without Bradley. On a very important trip, you and he both visit the city together.
Warnings: Fluff, smut and swears
Length: 1500 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!
Check my profile for my masterlist
Five Months Later...
"I can't believe we're willingly flying to Chicago in January," you complained with a bright smile on your face.
"This was your idea, Sugar," Bradley reminded you, holding up both boarding passes for the airline gate agent to scan. "It's not too late to stay in Vegas or fly to Fiji like I originally wanted."
"No, no. We're going to Chicago together," you told him, taking his hand as you boarded your flight from Las Vegas to O'Hare. Bradley spun your rings around on your finger as you located your seats and settled in.
"Chicago in January. Two days before a blizzard is due to arrive. Are we about to go on the shittiest honeymoon ever?" he asked, kissing your lips.
You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Listen, we just had Elvis marry us yesterday on the Vegas strip. We had a quickie wedding after being engaged for five weeks, and I'm not even pregnant. Now we're about to get snowed in together in Chicago. You'll be stuck in a room with me for a week. I don't think a conventional honeymoon is what we needed, Beer Boy."
Bradley tipped his head back and laughed. "Actually, now that you mention it, being snowed in with you sounds like a dream, Sugar. What am I even complaining about?"
"I don't know," you whispered against his scars. "You get me and Chicago deep dish pizza around the clock if you want it."
"I want it," he confirmed. "You can feed me pizza naked in bed after we have sex. And then I'll get hard again, we can have sex again, and you can feed me more pizza. It sounds like the perfect week. Chicago in January is everything I ever wanted."
You were shaking with silent laughter as the flight attendant went over the safety instructions, and soon you were in the air. And then you fell asleep on your husband's shoulder. Bradley jostled you awake in time to see the city all lit up against a snowy backdrop as the plane descended into Chicago.
"Are you ready for this?" you asked, standing next to him with your bags, about to walk outside to get a taxi. "It's three degrees out there."
"Yeah, I'm ready," Bradley mumbled, but he looked scared. "No problem."
Once you and he were outside, he was practically crying as you took care of hailing a ride to the hotel. "You have thin Californian blood now," you told him as he snuggled up next to you in the back seat. You kissed his icy cold nose and forehead as you headed through the city where you lived for four years during grad school. "It's embarrassing, Bradley. I married a Californian."
He shivered in your arms and said, "We're both Virginians, Sugar. I just hate being cold."
You were playing with his hair and kissing along his ear as he melted into you. Every time you thought about the crazy juxtaposition that your life had become, you felt tears in your eyes. You had missed Bradley terribly when you were living in Chicago and still even after you graduated with your PhD. So it just felt right that he was here with you now.
"That's where I got my second tattoo," you whispered as the taxi drove slowly down a side street.
Bradley looked out the window and smiled. "Should be a historic landmark."
Your laughter filled the small space as he kissed you. Then he paid the cab fare, and you had never seen him move as fast as he did when he hauled all of the luggage inside to the warm hotel lobby.
"Let's go get a good night's sleep," you told him as he carried everything to the elevator and then into the hotel room.
"We're not sleeping," he said, shaking his head. "You're going to snuggle with me until I'm warm again, which could take hours, and then I'm fucking you for the rest of the night."
He wasn't lying. You pulled him into bed with you, and held his body close, softly kissing him and telling him how happy you were.
"I love you, Sugar. I loved you ten years ago, and I love you today, and I'll still be loving you ten years from now."
Slowly and meticulously, he undressed you beneath the blankets, touching and kissing each new bit of skin as it was exposed. He took extra time and gave extra attention to your tattoos, just like he always did.
"I've been in love with you since the first time you wore my bathrobe," he told you before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts as you giggled. "No, before that. Since the first time I watched you put a bottle of beer to your perfect lips." He kissed his way up to your mouth, lingering there until you were sighing against him.
"You've been in love with me since you met me then? Is that what you're trying to say, Beer Boy?"
He groaned as he slid his length inside you. "God, I fucking love it when you call me that. Every single time. And yes, Sugar, ever since I met you."
You made love to your husband all night, your hands and eyes roving over his body as you told him how happy you were that you both ended up at your class reunion in Virginia. That he was at the same bar as you that night last summer.
When you both finally fell asleep, it was a long time before you woke up. Room service had already switched from breakfast to lunch, but Bradley got them to agree to send up a pot of coffee along with your lunch order. You and he ate all bundled up in bed together with the curtains open, the first flurries of snow falling outside as the storm moved in.
"We need to head out soon so we can get back before it gets dark," you told him as he sipped his coffee.
His expression looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let's go, Sugar."
The taxi dropped you both off at the edge of the park as the sidewalks were getting slick from the snow. There were only a few people out and about, and even in the middle of the day, the sunlight was struggling to break through the heavy, gray clouds. Bradley had his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you approached The Bean together. You stood side by side, examining if for a moment in silence.
"It's just a big, metallic bean," you said, leaning into Bradley as the wind picked up.
"I knew it would be dumb as hell, Sugar," he replied, gesturing at it with his hand like there was no good explanation for what they were seeing.
You wrapped your arms around his middle and looked up at him as you started cracking up. "I'm glad I didn't see it without you. It was worth the wait."
"You were worth the wait. The Bean, maybe less so," he replied, kissing you as you took your phone out.
After you took a bunch of selfies and texted some to Nat, you looked at Bradley and hummed. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and the tip of his nose was getting red. He was perfect, and he was all yours.
"Have you given much thought to a little Bradshaw bean?" you asked as snowflakes stuck on his mustache.
"Bradshaw bean?" he asked. His brow was creased before it started to smooth out. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Sugar?"
You nodded and kissed his pink cheek. "Yeah, Beer Boy. A little baby Bradshaw bean. Just something to think about."
Both of you thought about it and talked about it as you stood in front of the giant bean in the middle of a blizzard. But you didn't need to make all of your decisions right now. You weren't planning on being without Bradley ever again.
------------------------
THANK YOU for reading along on this adventure with me! Beer Boy/Man and Sugar belong together, and I'm happy she gets to take him to Chicago, even if it's during a blizzard! I hope you had as much fun as I did! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
Please visit the one-shot The Grateful Dad for some more Beer Boy and Sugar!
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Lessons of life
Tonowari x Metkayina!Reader (Sequel to Missed Lessons)
A/N: Listen I know I said Missed Lessons was my Magnum Opus but I'm starting to think that writing for Tonowari in general might be my Magnum Opus, also if you saw me accidentally post this unfinished then no you didn't. Also not that anyone asked but Obstacles by Syd Matters and Look at you by Screaming Trees are Tonowari and Reader's songs in my head. Also also the smut is very little of this fic so if you're here for smut without plot this is not for you. And in case you haven't noticed my fics are never beta read so just act like any mistakes aren't there.
Synopsis: 35 cycles, almost 36, of being Tonowari's closest friend was enough to ensure a familiarity with everything in his life. The walls of his Marui, weaved by hand by his grandfather's father contained intricate patterns that you could trace in the sand from memory. The permanent markings covering his body, each with a story you knew from start to finish although it was rare the story didn't involve you in some capacity. The way people looked at him since becoming Olo'eyktan. Before your heat came, before Tonowari laid you in the sand and made you his.. you never would have believed that familiarity would ever fade. The walls of his Marui are now the walls of yours as well, the pattern's swirls seemingly different to how they were in your childhood. His newest marking, familiar? Yes, a marking to show your mating with a matching one adorning your own body but still, it looked out of place in its freshness amongst the faded and settled ones you had seen for many cycles. The way people looked at him, at Tonowari, your Tonowari.. they now looked at you the same way. His mate, the woman carrying his child.
Fic includes: NSFW so MDNI, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth (mostly talk of pushing, contractions etc and then mentions of the baby coming into the world but nothing graphic), pregnant sex, fingering, squirting because I can't write smut without it, p in v, reader on top because she is quite far along, themes of insecurity from Tonowari and Reader (Tonowari's insecurity of being leader that I totally made up and Reader's insecurity of her relationship with Tonowari), hints of a strained relationship between Ao'nung and Reader, hints of Jake and Reader being besties because it felt right in my heart, a little surprise at the end 🤭, 3.6k overall
Tagging: @torukmaktoskxawng @itchaboi-itchyboy @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu @shadowmoonlight0604 @name-saken @anxious7sami @oakbuggy
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
Sweat beads on your forehead and covers your body in a thin sheen. The morning sun beats down on you and despite your position in the cool rippling water you are burning from exertion.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
Every noise around you seems muffled, as if you have your hands over your ears to block them out. You don’t hear the Tsahik finishing her blessings from Eywa, you don’t hear the encouraging words of your clan from the water’s edge or the rumbling echoes of clicks and bellows from the Tulkun in the deep water. Even your own cries are dampened in your ears as your blood pounds.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
Hands land on your shoulders and you jolt out of the daze of your own mind. Your eyes lift from where they were focussed on the lapping waves against your round belly. Meeting Tonowari's eyes you can’t hold back the sob that rips from your throat, the pain was unlike any you had ever experienced. It was a consuming pain, running through every nerve of your body. You try to distract yourself with the way the morning sun hits his eyes, their beautiful blue hue sparkling with specks of turquoise and deep cerulean.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
Tonowari moves his hands to your face, cupping your tear-dampened cheeks in the palms of his large hands. You see his lips moving as he asks you about making the bond with him and despite the pain running through you, you shake your head at the suggestion not wanting your mate to be forced to experience the same pain you are. A conscious part of your brain, not consumed by the pain, is overly aware of the eyes on you both and it aches at the thought of making your mate experience pain so openly in front of the clan.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
Keeping a hold of your face, Tonowari reaches for his kuru and presents it to you, accepting your choice but giving you the option to change your mind if you need to. You stare into the eyes of your mate, his action washing away any negative thoughts your nagging insecurity might have washed to the front of your brain and you nod numbly, accepting his offer.
Tonowari presses his forehead to your own as he connects your kuru with his, the little pink swirling tendrils tying together and connecting you both through mind, body and soul. Eyes clenching shut he embraces your pain as if it's his own, sharing the pain of bringing your beautiful baby into the world.
Images pass behind your eyes in a way that you imagine is similar to what Tsyeyk Suli had called a ‘moo-vee’ one day while discussing his life before his consciousness transfer through Eywa. Memories and feelings so deeply embedded that they can only be brought forward through such a profound connection. Tonowari’s eyes water, whether from your pain now being shared with him or from the onslaught of memories detailing your life together through every twist and turn, you can’t be sure.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
🌿
“Tonowari”
He remembers the low baritone of his father’s voice vibrating in his ears which lowered in shame at his tone. He’d been caught daydreaming instead of paying attention to his father's words once again. Words of his future, how his father was aging and Tonowari would soon have to lead the clan.
Pressure, pressure was what it was. A pressure filled promise of a future set in stone that he would never be able to shake, even if it’s all that his adolescent brain wanted.
A deep sigh made him turn to his father, the look on his face making his stomach turn, a look of disappointment that he would one day be just as masterful at dealing out to his own children albeit not without a simmer of shame.
“You may go, your little friend is waiting for you”
Ears shooting up with surprise, his wide eyes looked at his father. He didn’t understand the position he was in back then, not like he does now. If he could go back he always said he would take it easier on his dad, let up on him a bit for being so uptight.
He remembers running from his Marui, running to you where you were waiting for him in the afternoon sun. Your hair was loose that day, unbraided and unstyled with a rogueness that was uniquely yours. You smiled at him, bright and beautiful as you told him about a place you wanted to take him.
An outcrop, one you had to swim to from the other side of the island where Awa’latlu rested. A place that would hold significance in your lives throughout cycles and cycles. The place where you would create new life to add to yours.
🌿
“Skxawng!”
You remember the offended look that Tonowari shoots at you, your hands weaving a delicate shining shell into his songcord with practiced perfection.
The dark ink of his newest permanent marking is shocking against his skin, covered in a layer of healing salve from the Tsahik.
He was banned from the water, not allowed to get the marking wet or soak it for the next few days so he’s stuck making up his excess time by attending duties with you, annoying you through your daily tasks.
You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was happier by your side, watching you work on various duties, than he was in the water with the weight of being the Eykyu (Leader) of the tarpongu (hunting party).
You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was a different person with you.
🌿
“Tonowari”
He remembers the shake in your voice, the quiver of your bottom lip as you stared up at him and the tears gathering on your lash line that threatened to spill over.
You were standing off to the side of him and his group of friends who were sitting around a fire. They were talking about something stupid, laughing and smiling. He was relaxed, as much as he could be while knowing he was about to become the Olo’eyktan.
These friends would soon grow to look at him differently, look at him as their leader and not the boy they grew up with but you.. you never looked at him as anything other than himself.
Laughter roused from the group as Tonowari practically sprinted to your side to check on you. He can’t recall why you were crying, why you needed him but he remembers the panic that spread through him when he saw your tears finally spill over and dampen your cheeks.
He didn’t realise at the time that your tears finally spilled not from what had actually gotten you so worked up but from the guilt of pulling him away from his other friends, from making them laugh at him because of you.
🌿
“Skxawng”
You remember calling Tonowari that as he shifted once more from the feeling of your hands on his body. At the time you were annoyed. Your hands were aching from grinding up iridescent shells to make the unique paint in front of you and no part of your mind would have thought that your best friend of 21 cycles was being so inconsiderately mobile because the feeling of your hands on his body was meaningful to him in any other way than just painting him for his ceremony.
The swirls you painted were purposefully reminiscent of the weaving swirls throughout his Marui, a place you had spent a majority of your childhood together in, and the paint you had made for this momentous occasion was dazzling. Fit for the Olo’eyktan to be that was sitting before you.
Fit for your best friend.
🌿
“Tonowari!”
He remembers the cheers of excitement from the clan around him, a grin spreading across his own face to match the ones he could see in the crowd as the Tsahik announced him the new Olo’eyktan in the presence and blessing of the Great Mother.
The weight of the ceremonial cape on his shoulders was a fitting physical representation of the metaphorical weight he had worn for cycles before becoming clan leader and that he would continue to wear cycles on from now.
He remembers pressing his forehead to the Tsahik’s in a respectful display before doing the same with his father, who for the first time in his lifetime seemed to be just that. Not Olo’eyktan now, not a leader or a role model but his father.
He turned to face the crowd, eyes meeting yours from a distance and he allowed himself to look at you, really looking at you.
He remembers a shock going through him at how beautiful you were, light shining on you as if Eywa herself had parted the clouds to let it highlight you amongst the rest of the clan.
He wondered at the time when you’d become so beautiful, when he’d become immune to noticing it. Wondered when your hair had grown from the choppy little cut you ran around with as a teenager to the carefully braided and styled way you were now wearing it. Wondered when you had grown into your body, when you’d developed into a woman with enticing softness and eye catching curves.
He was whisked away before he could speak to you, taken to the side by his mother and father. Shown off to the parents of the Tsakarem, Ronal, someone who he'd always known as Tonowari but was now having to get to know all over again as Olo’eyktan.
🌿
“Thank the Great Mother he doesn’t look like you, Skxawng..”
You remember the embarrassing shake of your voice as you held Ao’nung in your arms, Tonowari’s first born, so small and sweet. Looking so much like his mother Ronal. You wondered in that moment if he’d grow up to possess the same fierceness as his mother, the same bite in his words and bone chilling scowl that she shot at those who angered her.
You didn’t realise at the time looking down at his small, content face that he'd one day turn his mother's fierceness towards you. Throwing out sharp words just to hurt you, questioning you and accusing you of trying to replace his mother when he found out about the life you and his father had created.
🌿
“Tonowari”
He remembers the whisper of your voice behind him as he looked over the Suli family from the Omatikaya. The way your eyes met his own sent a shiver down his spine. It had been cycles at that point since you had called him by his name, a friendship once as strong as the waves of the ocean beyond the reef now settled like gentle ripples.
Your eyes sent him back to his childhood, to a time where you could speak without saying anything, to a time where he was closest to you.
He didn’t realise at that moment how much he really loved you, how much he had loved you his whole life. How the love he had for you was strong enough to cripple him, make him drop to his knees in front of the clan and scream it until his voice was rendered hoarse.
He remembers your eyes flicking to Tsyeyk and how he looked at you, pleading. Your eyes took in the children surrounding Neytiri and Tsyeyk, full of warmth and kindness you had gained over many cycles before they shot to his own once again. Without words he knew what you were saying to him and he agreed.
Despite facing away from you to address the clan he could hear the grin in your voice as you spoke to the Suli family and it took the strength of a leader that he had become more used to possessing to hide his own grin at the sound.
🌿
“Ma’Yawntu”
He remembers calling you that for the first time not even a full cycle ago. His hands were on your shoulders as he begged you to look at him and calm down.
You had both returned from your outcrop, your mixed scents and day long disappearance a dead giveaway to what had taken place.
The Tsahik had approached you both to confirm that you had mated before Eywa and before you had time to truly grasp what this all meant there was an announcement to the Metkayina of their Olo’eyktan taking a new mate. Your mind had finally cleared from your heat only to be bombarded by the reaction of your clan.
He remembers you nodding through the words of the clan, accepting offers from the finest performers of Tā moko (permanent marking/tattooing) to design your Moko Kauae (tattoo on lips and chin of women) to represent your new status amongst the Metkayina. Remembers the Tsahik announcing that there would be a handfasting ceremony in the village wharenui (village meeting hall).
He remembers your breathing starting to pick up, your eyes shifting amongst the many smiling faces before you as you excused yourself and practically ran to your Marui. Practically ran from him.
He approached you a while later, only delayed by having to speak with the Tsahik, finding your curled up form shaking on your bed roll. He remembers gripping onto you and begging you to listen to him.
He remembers the look of relief that flashed across your face as he called you his love and he vowed in that moment, privately and to himself, that he’d never let you go for another moment without knowing well and true how much he loved you.
🌿
“Ma’Tonowari”
You remember the first time it slipped it, the first time you called him yours in front of someone else.
Your hand was clenched around his own large, rough hand and looking back you’re surprised at the lack of reaction he had to your bone-breaking grip.
You’d received Tā moko before, different permanent markings covering your body in different positions and locations but your Moko Kauae was giving you more trouble than you had hoped. The Tsahik had warned you before-hand that your pregnancy might make your body more sensitive to stimulation, painful or pleasurable.
You had no time to be embarrassed, no time to overthink about what the others in the Tā moko whare (Permanent Marking/Tattoo building) may think of your exclamation because, before any of that could happen, Tonowari pressed a kiss against the back of the hand that was squeezing the life out of his own. Grounding you instantly and keeping your brain with him rather than with anyone else.
His eyes trailed the marking being placed onto your skin, a matching Tā moko throbbing on his chest directly above his heart to show his dedication and love for you that he’d experienced for years, finally immortalised on his body.
🌿
“Ma’Tsmuke!”
He remembers the squeal of excitement in your voice as you did your best to make your way to the water quickly, your heavy stomach making your pace more underwhelming than it was in your head.
You’d joined him on a Tsurak as he guided you both to where the Metkayina’s spirit brother’s and sister's were gathered.
He remembers speaking with his Tulkun, his brother. Telling him the tale of your mating and the baby in your belly that was his for you to bear. Remembers watching you swim with your sister, the water taking your weight and making your movements smoother once more.
You had waved him over, presented him in front of your spirit sister in a way that made him flush. He had attributed your gushing words about his strength and how much you loved him to your pregnancy making you more emotional than usual.
He didn’t know at the time that your spirit sister was the only one you felt truly comfortable expressing your pure emotions to other than him. Didn’t know that through the polite smiles and nods at the members of the Metkayina that congratulated you both was a crippling insecurity that used its ugly voice to drag you down.
🌿
“Ma’Yawntu..”
You remember the tired edge to his voice as he entered your Marui for the night. The puffiness of the bags under his eyes almost brought tears to your own as he sat beside you on your shared bed roll.
The day had been long, the tarpongu (hunting party) returning almost empty-handed due to an unexpected Akula in the hunting area and Tonowari blamed himself for every lost fish from the catch and every injury that dotted the bodies of the hunters.
Your own day had been strenuous but nothing could compare to the strength of Tonowari’s ability to blame himself for clan matters.
You remember offering him your kuru, silently telling him you wanted to share his worries and pain while sharing your love and reassurance.
You didn’t realise at that moment Tonowari was convinced you were the most incredibly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Hand outstretched presenting your kuru to him like a gift, large concerned eyes gazing at him with a sea full of love swimming inside them and belly swollen with his child.
🌿
“M-Ma’Wari..”
He remembers the desperate whimper trembling from your lips as he rolled your overly sensitive clit between his fingers, bullying another orgasm out of you that made your eyes roll back in your head and your legs shake.
It had started when you had complained about your appearance, something stupid about the swell of your pregnant stomach and full breasts that Tonowari had taken personal offense to.
Two of his thick fingers collect the slick drooling from your puffy cunt and teasingly circle your entrance before sinking inside you deep enough to brush against your g-spot on their first thrust.
He remembers your hands desperately searching for something to grip on to, one settling in his hair where it gripped hard enough to sting his scalp and the other clenching your bed roll into a fist. His lips trailed from your sweat slick neck, heavily marked by his nips and sucks to your full breasts, latching you your tender nipple and twirling his tongue around it in a practiced motion that made your voice weak every time.
Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you begged for a break before you released a heavy squirt, your orgasm dragged out by his insistent press against your clit.
He had given you room to breathe while he admired the wet spot you left on the bed roll because of him, your swollen cunt twitching with overstimulation and your body trembling from his actions.
Your pregnancy had subdued you slightly, made you a little more pliable and submissive just like the heat that got you pregnant in the first place had but it didn’t subdue you enough to stop you from sending Tonowari back with a shove until his back met the bed roll.
“Skxawng”
You both remembered the roll of his eyes, the smiles on your faces as you sank down on him, holding yourself up with whatever effort you could muster as you took his cock. The stretch was still a pleasurable burn despite the amount of times he had split you open on him during your pregnancy.
Tonowari stared up at you like you were Eywa herself above him, the evening sun lighting you from behind and creating a beautiful image, one he’d remember forever.
“N-nga yawne lu oer”
You had beaten him to saying it again.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.
A relieved sob rips out of your throat at your final push and you very nearly collapse into the arms of your mate who stands before you, eyes no longer focussing solely on you but also on the beautiful baby that your body had made for you both.
One of his large hands stays supporting you at the waist while the other reaches into the water, helping the sweet little life reach the surface for their first breath. Tears of happiness form in his eyes at the sight of his beautiful baby taking their first big gulp of air.
The Tsahik works quickly to remove the shawl placed around you from your shoulders, a shawl that all of the members of the clan had a form of contribution to, whether through harvesting materials or weaving. Wrapping the baby into the shawl, a metaphorical hug from the clan embracing them as your own arms embrace them in the loving hold of their mother.
Meeting Tonowari's eyes you pass him your precious baby, the life you made together and you can’t hold back your grin at the way his arms make the baby look even smaller than they feel in your own.
Looking to the edge of the water, your clan surrounds you and for the first time since mating with Tonowari you don’t question your position.
Eyes meeting Ao’nung’s you can see the apology and pride for you in his own before he can even consider saying anything out loud. You send him a relaxed smile in understanding, the exchange going unnoticed by everyone except the two of you.
“Have you prepared a name to announce to the clan?”
The Tsahik’s words send your brain on the search once more and when your eyes land upon Tsyeyk Suli standing amongst your clan, your brother's and sister’s, his mate and children by his side but missing a member, you know that your decision is made.
Tonowari raises his arms above his head, cradling your brand new baby in his hands as gently as he’s ever held anything before. The sound of excitement runs through the members of the clan who can see their Olo’eyktan’s new baby.
The low baritone of Tonowari's voice rings out, loud enough for the clan, the Tulkun and even Eywa herself to hear as he announces the name of your son.
“Neteyam!”
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𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒊
‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19)
‣ Warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood, poor coping mechanisms and life choices. minor jake bashing (i still love you boo), spit as lube, smut (p in v), blink and you'll miss it oral (f receiving), dacryphilia (but not really), ANGST ANGST ANGST
‣ Word Count: 5.4k
‣ A/N: So this has been a long time coming and I apologise for the wait. It's ended up being much longer than I expected and I hope that you all enjoy this. It's the final part to the story, with an epilogue and potential sequel to follow this week and I'd like to thank everyone that's been with me throughout this story, it's given me the chance to get to know so many amazing people and it means so much to me. I need to thank @andraga12 because without her listening to my stressing and talking me down several times, this chapter would have never been finished <3 A lot of this chapter was me being in my feelings about Spider and I'm not gonna feel sorry for that, that's my kid right there. There's a few call backs in this to previous chapters and I'm giving out smooches and hugs for each one anyone catches. As always enjoy, and if you see mistakes before I come back tomorrow to fix them, then no you didn't.
This chapter was inspired by Wrong Direction - Hailee Steinfeld and I recommending listening to it while reading the second scene.
English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi.
‣ Na'vi word bank: parultsyìp - term of affection for children, tsaheylu - neural connection (bond) tìyawn - love, 'ite - daughter, 'evi - child (affectionate), itan - son, utumauti - banana fruit, tewng - loincloth
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“Come. We have to leave.”
The taste of tears, rain and blood have long since become indistinguishable on your tongue by the time Neteyam manages to coax your crumpled frame from the ground. You struggle to find your footing, whether from the dampened bark or the fact your legs felt intangible beneath you, you aren’t sure. It doesn’t matter as his hands don’t leave you, haven’t left you since he pulled you away from the edge.
A hand on your hip tries to guide you forward, rain slicked lips skimming your ear as they tell you that you need to move. That you can’t stay here. They might come back. You don’t find this to be incentive enough to leave. And you open your mouth to tell him that, to tell him that leaving meant giving up and accepting that Spider was gone. That he wouldn’t climb back up and give you that lopsided grin of his that he always has when he narrowly avoids death on the planet he wasn’t made to survive. But when your lips part, nothing but a pathetic, small whimper comes out.
Hands wrap around your forearms and you’re spun around, forced to face him. Instinct screams at you to move away but he stops your resistance before it can begin, pinning your arms to your side in an iron grip, his face barely an inch away from yours as he demands your attention.
“You need to listen to me… I’m telling you that we need to leave now. There’s nothing we can do for Spider anymore– We don’t know where they’ve taken him, and if they come back, they will kill us… We have to leave.”
Your dried out eyes meet his own pleading gaze, at odds with the firm hold he has on you. You should fight, you should curse him from preventing you from going after Spider. Neteyam would not give a moments thought before going after his family, his siblings. But he keeps you rooted in place, ripping from you your last shred of denial.
“Neteyam? Neteyam, do you copy? Over.”
“Yes, sir. I’m with y/n. En route now. Over.”
“Good…” Jake’s voice drops, barely a murmur but your proximity to Neteyam allows you to hear it. “Is she okay?” Neteyam’s head tilts, golden eyes only catching your own for a second before he looks away, pressing two fingers to his neck.
“We’re en route now.”
Hands pull you out of Neteyam’s grasp before you can register who they belong to, your head nestled into a shoulder with an exclamation of “Thank God.” as his hand reaches up to cup the back of your head, pressing you further into a father’s embrace.
“Ma’ite.” Neytiri places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with a gentle hand that soothes the shaking of your form, your eyes closed tight to trap any tears that might fall if you allowed yourself to look into any of the eyes that you knew were on you. “Ma’ite, we must leave.” Her voice is pleading, reminiscent of the son that favoured her so much
“We can’t.” You push yourself out of Jake’s embrace, looking up at the man you saw as a second father with pleading eyes. “Please, there’s still time to catch them.” Your eyes find Kiri, eyes red-rimmed from crying and you know she’s made the same case before you.
“Listen.” Jake takes you by the shoulders, bending his knees to meet your eye-line. “Spider is a tough kid, and he’s one of their own. He’ll be fine.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing, that he would say that, nonetheless believe it. Spider was not one of their own. His body may be human, but his heart was Na’vi. He couldn’t be further from the humans that raise your land for profit.
“We don’t have time for this kid, we’ll talk about this back at camp.”
“No.” You shake your head, stepping away from him, avoiding Lo’ak’s hands as they reach for you. His eyes can’t quite meet yours as he calls your name and you know he must be feeling the same guilt that you are for not being able to prevent your friend's capture. The guilt would eat you from the inside out, for being the ones to suggest and encourage the excursion that led to it. “I won’t. It’ll be too late by then, we can’t wait!” Tuk tugs on your arm, pleading with you to come with them, but something changes in Jake’s face and you can’t look away.
“Oh.” Your voice cracks as you put it all together. They have no intention of going after Spider at all. A look around at all of their faces confirms that they already know. Your sorrow is replaced with anger and a desire to scream. You have always looked up to Jake and Neytiri, but at this moment, you feel nothing but contempt towards them. “What, so Sully’s stick together and fuck everyone else?”
Neytiri looks aghast as she reaches out for you, but you move out of her reach. You’d expected it from her, as she had never hidden her dislike for Spider. But Jake, you can't understand how he of all people, who was born human and worked for the RDA, could be so dismissive of Spider's life.
“Parultsyìp, it’s not like that. We’re three ikran short and there’s Tuk.” He actually has the audacity to look hurt at your words. Tuk’s hands tug on you, you spare a glance away from her father and feel a twinge of guilt at seeing the tears filling her eyes. “Please. I can’t lose another one.”
Your neck feels like it could have broken with how quickly your head snaps back towards him.
“Another one?” Your fists clench at your side, and Neytiri pulls Tuk away from you. Jake’s brows raise in alarm as he watches you. You don’t speak to him like this, you never have and you never thought you would, but the respect you held for him as Olo’eyktan and a father was waning. “Your family got back safe and that’s all you care about.” His jaw tightens and his eyes glisten but he lets you continue. If you’ve stepped over the line, he allows it. “If it wasn’t for your son, and that hero complex of his that’s going to get him killed one day, I wouldn’t even be here right now– But that’s fine, Sully’s stick together… and I’m not a Sully.”
"Enough," Neteyam growls, gripping your forearm and pulling you backwards. You stumble into his chest. His voice softens when you turn to face him, the hostility you had toward his father now directed at him. "You've made your point. Let's go.”
As he pulls you away, you don’t turn to face the rest of his family. There’s no energy left in you to fight him as he pushes you up onto the back of his Ikran. Neither of you speaks on the journey back to High Camp and you’re grateful that he allows you the time to give in to your exhaustion, resting your back against his chest and letting your eyes drift shut.
Neteyam rouses you shortly before you arrive home and you hop down from his Ikran before he has a chance to break Tsaheylu. You hear Lo’ak call out for you, but you don’t look back. Leaving the Sully’s behind as you make your way back to your Marui.
“Ma’ite, please.” The desperation is evident in your mothers voice even as you avoid her gaze. “You are not thinking clearly, Spider would not want this.”
She crosses the tent, crouching down next to you, her hand wraps around the shaft of the arrow you’re diligently coating the tip of with the toxins of the anìheyu plant. The plant had once provided you with a name for your Ikran, fitting for the mount of a warrior, your father had declared, smile exuding pride as he urged you to take your first flight and seal the bond.
Now as you stare into the bowl of toxin that would kill you if it penetrated your bloodstream, tightening your hold on your coated arrows to prevent your mother from tearing them from your grasp, you think of Spider. Of how the same plant provided the pigment he painted himself with, in a futile attempt to be seen by the members of the clan that would refused to see past the violence of his heritage, though he was born only a stone's throw from where you yourself were born, though his blood ran as red as yours, they could not accept him. They could not see him. Not like you did, and they left him behind as though his life meant nothing.
“Let go.” Your voice is low, strained from distress. You meet her eyes, rimmed with tears but set with determination as she refuses you. Your mother was soft, a gentle woman who led a life devoted to the clan, to the care of others but that gentleness was now replaced with a fire that met your own as she tugs the weapon from your hand with strength you didn’t know she had.
“Ma’evi, I know what Spider means to you.” She places the arrow behind her, out of your immediate reach and cups your face in her hands. “I care for him too, and that is how I know that he wouldn’t wish for this… You would die before you reach their gates and you know this.” In that moment you see all of her years etched in her face, the grief and the terror she holds at the loss of her mate and the thought that she could lose you too.
She’s right, Spider wouldn’t want you to embark on a suicide mission to save him, nor would he wish for anyone to go after him and risk their lives for his, but you know that deep down, if he heard of Jake’s refusal to even entertain a rescue attempt it would crush him as deeply as it did you.
“I know that, but if I don’t try, then who else is going to fight for him?” You cough away the tightness in your throat and gently pull your face out of her tender hold. Standing, you cross the tent away from her, and reach for the bow you carved from the ruins of hometree. You run the pad of your finger along the limb, tracing the letters that Spider had etched into the wood, five of them that he said represented the names of each of the Sully siblings and your own, the sixth that you insisted that he add was his own. “I won’t leave him behind.”
Her eyes fill with tears and your own well up in a response, but you quickly blink them away. The weight of impending loss is heavy in the air between you, and if you looked into her eyes for a second longer, you’re sure you might catch the moment that she begins to mourn you, knowing that she’s helpless to stop you. After all, she raised you to hold fast to your convictions and what you believe to be right.
The silence that settles between you is broken by the clearing of a throat, and your mother turns, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before she greets the person entering the tent.
“I see you, Neteyam. What brings you here ma’itan?”
Heart pounding, you turn to find his eyes are already on you, lips parted in something that might be surprise as his gaze flickers down to the bow in your hand, before he gathers himself and returns your mothers gesture.
“I see you, Auntie. I’m here to see y/n, would you mind giving us some time to speak?”
Her ears dip, and her forehead furrows as she looks back and forth between the two of you. It isn’t difficult to guess what is going through her mind after finding you asleep in each other's arms the previous night. After years of trying to get you two to play nice, you can only imagine the confusion she must have felt at finding you tangled together. It must be why she relents so easily, despite your pleading look and the shake of your head.
“Of course, I wanted to speak to your mother anyway.” She says before leaving, sparing you a concerned glance as she walks past Neteyam and exits the Marui, abandoning you with the last person you want to be alone with.
“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
He doesn’t speak, he just looks at you, his eyes travelling up your body, stalling at the bow in your hand for a moment before they find your face and his features soften for a split second before his jaw hardens and he crosses the tent, tail lashing behind him as he closes in on you. Your back hits the wall of the tent as you fail to retain the space between and his hand closes around your wrist.
He leans in, breath hot against your face, adrenaline rushing your veins at his touch. Too close, too comfortable laying hands on you and you’re far too willing to allow it. It’s tempting to be drawn in by him, to the side of him that you had never had the pleasure of knowing, but you know in your heart that this won’t endure. This is not your Neteyam, your Neteyam is all teeth and claws, the burning desire to hurt and be hurt in the name of gaining power over one another.
“Let go of me Neteyam.” Your voice betrays you, coming out far too soft to have your desired effect. He doesn’t let go of you, his grip tightens, squeezing at the echo of the bruises he’d left on you before and his other hand comes to wrap around the hand that holds your bow.
“If you think I’m going to let you run off and get yourself killed–” He pauses, gritting his teeth. “This–” He squeezes your hand around the bow. “It’s a suicide mission, you don’t even know where they’ve taken him. You aren’t thinking clearly… What are you going to do, storm their city alone?”
Alone.
“If that’s what it takes.” Your nose brushes against his as you lift your chin to look him in the eyes. His nose scrunches, as though the action tickles him His breath catches in his throat, and the tension thickens in the air, sending shivers down your spine. But he recovers first, using your distraction to gently pull your bow from your hand, a firm hand against your chest knocking you back when you attempt to seize it back.
“Enough. Have you even thought about what could happen if you don’t die? If they capture you?” You hadn’t considered that option, and your face must give that away. “No, you haven’t. It’s bad enough that they have Spider, he knows everything about this place, he could already lead them right here– I know, I know he wouldn’t” He stems your argument with a raised palm. “Not willingly… but we know what the Sky People are capable of.”
He places your bow on its stand and grabs both your hands in his, they’re warm big enough that your own disappear in their hold. “You’ve attended war councils, and were cared for by the Olo’eyktan and Tsakarem. If they captured you–” He swallows, squeezing your hands more tightly in his own. “They could bring our whole operation to the ground.”
You can’t help the laugh that leaves you, bitter and sharp as you pull your hands from his. “Is that all you care about? The war efforts?” He reaches out for you again, but you push his hands away. Pacing back and forth, you press the palms of your hands against your eyes as tears threaten to escape and shatter your resolve.
It always came down to the war. For the past year, since the Sky People had returned it had been all consuming and you understood. You understood when it took your home, even when it took your father from you, he had been a warrior and chosen to fight. However, you couldn’t understand how they could be so callous, uncaring for the man who they had known since birth.
“Sometimes, when you open your mouth all I can hear is your fathers voice. I know you look up to him, but at this point it’s pathological.” You uncover your eyes and he’s watching you, eyes boring into your face with something that doesn’t quite reach anger. “So what is the plan? They have Spider and you’re so sure that he’ll give us away. What do we do now, mighty warrior?”
“We’re leaving.”
“What?” You’re stopped in your tracks, searching his eyes for the truth in his words. You find it and either of you takes a breath as your resolve falters long enough for a tear to fall free from your eye. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“My family, it’s my dad they’re after and they won’t stop until they find him.” His family, your family were leaving. “This will protect the people.” He continues, sweeping a hand through his braids. “If we stay here you will all die protecting us, this is what’s for the best.” He almost sounds like he believes it, the crack in his voice the only thing giving him away.
“So you’re telling me that you want to leave your home?” Your voice is shaking, you’ve given away all pretences that you are fine. How could you be? Faced as you are with another loss. One night and you would lose nearly everyone you held dear, leaving you with only your mother. How was that fair? How could that be what the great mother intended for you?
“Of course I don’t, my entire life is here. Everything I’ve ever known and trained for is here. I’m giving up everything, my birthright.” His eyes sparkle with tears you once would have loved to see fall, now they match your own as you both struggle to come to terms with the loss this night had cost you. “But my father is right. It’s the only way to keep y– everyone safe. It’s the best thing we can do for the people.”
“Why don’t you stay?” His brow raises in surprise, as taken aback as you are that you would even ask that, because you already know the answer. “You could take your father’s place as Olo’ekytan. Stay… Stay and fight for the people.”
“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, his ears drop as he takes a step towards you, the conflict etched in his features as his hand rises and for a second you think he might reach out and touch you once more. Your heartbeat picks up in anticipation only to falter when he lets his hand fall back to his side.
That isn’t a question you can answer because you don’t even know yourself. You’re not even sure you mean it, if you’re really asking him to stay or you’re just grasping at one last hope that not everyone will leave you.
“If I did, would you?”
His answer never comes, it doesn’t need to. Sully’s stick together. You’d heard it so many times, even believed once that you were included in that. The words he’d intended to say before Jake stopped him, that you weren’t his family, now ring in your ears as your head falls into your hands. It feels like your chest might collapse in on itself as the realisation hits you, that you’ll never see Spider again, that Lo’ak and Kiri will leave you too, you’ll never see little Tuk grow up and pass her Iknimaya. You will never feel safety in the comfort and guidance of Jake and Neytiri again.
He gently pries your fingers away and takes your face in his hands. You can feel the warmth of his palm against your cheek, the sweet floral scent filling your senses as he wipes away the remnants of the night's trauma, the blood still dried into your skin, with the cloth your mother had left aside for you, You meet his eyes filled with sincerity and regret as he utters a soft apology.
“I hate you.” You tell him with as much vitriol as you can muster. For the first time since you began this bitter war, you don’t mean it. He had put you through so much hurt, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him anymore. The lines between love and hate had blurred and you’d become addicted to the moments in between, the exhilaration of being touched and desired by Neteyam. “I hate you so much.”
“I know.”
As he runs the cloth along your lower lip, you feel his finger catch on the corner of your mouth. Your breathing is momentarily interrupted. He is staring intently at your lips, his own parted mirroring your own as he cleanses your skin until all the red that was once there now stains the fabric.
You’re swept up in the moment, driven by insanity or desperation when you capture his lips with your own. With a fierce intensity that knocks him back, causes him to drop the bloodied cloth and catch your arms, wrapping his fingers around them and gently pushes you away from him.
“What are you doing?” He looks down at you with piercing golden eyes and his voice barely above a whisper, he asks a question you know the answer to now. You’re chasing the ecstasy of his touch, and you don’t care about the painful aftermath that would follow if, for just a moment, you don’t have to think or feel the enormity of your loss. You’ll take every second of numbness he can provide.
You reach for the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, giving in to the rush of adrenaline when he doesn’t push you away again. You feel his hands find your waist and pull you in closer, your bodies pressing together as you explore each other's mouths. He parts his lips and you accept the invitation, tongue swiping against his, the taste of utumauti and fragrance of flora mixing together and filling your senses.
It’s not enough. You reach in between your bodies and press a palm over his tewng, delighting in finding his arousal already straining against the material and his moan that vibrates against your tongue as you roll your palm against him. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, bruising in the best way possible as he grinds against you his desire for you evident and thrilling. You smirk against his lips and he breaks apart only for a second to speak.
“Shut up,” and his lips are on yours again.
His tewng has to go, both of you seem to decide this at the same time. Without breaking the kiss, each of you reach down to pull at the strings until it’s discarded on the ground and his length hits your stomach and leaves a trail of precum on your skin before you take it in your grasp. You give it a couple of experimental pumps, his breath catching in his throat as his lips finally leave yours.
Your eyes meet as you slowly pump him, chests heaving against each other, the air thick and heavy with lust and neither of you needs to say a thing. It’s bittersweet, knowing that this will be the last time you have each other and you can’t pinpoint why your stomach sinks at the thought. You focus instead on the sensations of his skin against yours, his grip tightening on you, the way he smells of the forest and rain.
You maintain eye contact as you spit into your hand. His eyes widen and his knees buckle as you wrap your hand around his cock and spread it along his length. His head falls into the crook of your neck, muffling a whimper as you quicken your pace. It goes straight to your core when he latches onto your skin, sucking a mark where the previous had not long faded, weeks of elaborate necklaces working hard to hide the evidence of your previous trysts.
He steps back, and you raise a brow in question and he looks pained when he removes your hand. Your expression must have given away your disappointment, your worry that he was about to put an end to this and leave you alone once more.
“Tìyawn.” He says through panted breaths. “Tell me you want this.”
This time you do not have to think before you answer, you don’t have it in you any more to deny that you want him, to him or yourself.
“I want this.”
He has you on the mat so fast that your head is spinning when he looms over you, braids tickling your nose before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. His kisses are gentle, delicate as he moves from your lips and travels down your body. Lifting your chest covering to show appreciation to your breasts, he runs the tip of his tongue in circles around your hardened peak.
His hands run down your sides until they find your hips, playing with the strings of your tewng as his mouth leaves your nipple and follows his fingers. He alternates between kisses and sucking marks into the skin of your stomach. He’s too close, yet not close enough to where you really want him to be.
“Teyam.” You whine, he looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes from where he’s settled between your legs. It’s a beautiful sight that forces you to take a sharp intake of breath. Your thighs are already soaked with your slick when you watch him pry them open. There isn’t enough time, not to have him how you really want him, you don’t know when your mother will return and you’re not willing to risk interruption. “I need you.”
He seems to gather what you mean from the few words that you can mumble. He taps your hip and you raise yourself, allowing him to discard your tewng before spreading you out before himself like a meal he can’t wait to consume. He runs his hands up and down your thighs and you clench around nothing when he leans in and places a kiss at your center.
“Maybe another time.” He sighs, and it seems like he’s speaking to your cunt more than you. He runs a flat tongue along your slit and places a chaste kiss on your clit that sends a jolt of electricity through your body before he crawls up your form. His lips crash against yours, tongue pushing into your mouth to give you a taste of yourself, meeting your urgency with his own.
His tail wraps around your thigh, encouraging you to wrap it around his waist. Your other leg follows, pulling him in tight. With his arms caging you in, there’s barely an inch of skin left untouched. He rolls his hips and coats his length with your slick, and without warning, he pushes his entire length inside of you in one thrust.
Your body accommodates him, moulding to the shape of him as if it were its only purpose. You fight to steady your breathing, clutching at his toned back as you get used to the stretch. Neteyam does the same, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he composes himself.
"Please," you whisper, but he hears and answers. He rolls his hips, building a steady pace and lifting up onto his elbows and looking down at you. When your eyes meet, the intensity of his gaze is too much and you have to shut your eyes. You squeeze your legs tighter around his waist, focusing on the sensations and pleasure he's giving you.
“Open your eyes.”
As he grips your waist tightly, you can feel the heat emanating from his body. You try to gain control of the rhythm by rolling your hips, but he resists your attempt to take over. You feel his hands move up to your face, his fingers gently gripping your jaw. You turn your head towards him and feel his hot breath on your cheek. He repeats his command, his voice low and seductive, sending shivers down your spine.
"Don't." Your voice breaks and he stills above you. You open your eyes, glistening with the emotions you'd been desperate to numb. You feel the tears streaming down your face and the lump forming in your throat.
"Please-" you shake your head, unable to avoid his approaching hand as he reaches to brush away your tears. His calloused fingers are soft against your cheek as they go about their task. You close your eyes and lean into his touch, relishing the warmth of his hand on your skin.
But this is not what you need, not what you want from him at this moment. This gentle Neteyam serves only as a reminder of all that has changed over the past few weeks. He reminds you of the pain and the loss, all the things you’re desperate to forget.
“What do you need from me?”
You blink hard, finding the courage to stare into his concerned gaze. He’s giving the control over to you, making no move to pull out of you until you say so.
“I–I need you.” You find your voice, as you contain the emotions escaping your body through shaken breaths. You hope that he still has it in him one more time to be a little cruel, to heal your wounds and replace them with new ones. “I need you to fuck me Neteyam.”
His ears flatten against his head, the seeds of doubt evident on his face, but he obliges you anyway even if it looks like it pains him to do so. His grip on your jaw tightens and his hips build up to a bruising pace.
He lifts your leg, placing it over his shoulder giving him the right angle to slam into your cervix. You cry out, arching your back as he hits that sweet spot inside of you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the Marui, mingling with your moans and his grunts. You claw at his back, etching streaks of crimson into his skin, as he pounds into you.
"Teyam, I'm--" you struggle to speak against the force of his thrusts. He lifts onto his knees and hooks his hands under your thighs, pressing your legs up until they meet your chest. Your eyes roll back and your walls convulse around his cock as you tumble over the edge.
Neteyam maintains his pace, fucking you through your release. He’s buried impossibly deep inside of you, watching the way he slides in and out of you at a brutal pace that only falters when his own climax hits him and he spills his seed inside of you..
He stills inside of you, catching himself with strong arms before falling on top of you. Both of you struggle to catch your breath as you come down from your highs. You feel cold and empty when he pulls out of you, the mixture of cum dripping out onto the mat as he rolls onto his back beside you.
Neither of you speak for what speaks for what feels like hours, but you know it has been barely minutes when his breathing returns to normal and he breaks the silence.
“Are you okay?”
You laugh and you really can’t help it.
“Tìyawn?” He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow, gazing at you with concern as your laughter evolves into a sob that shakes your whole body. He reaches out for your face, but this time you stop him, catching his hand and pushing it away before he can touch you.
“Leave.” The force behind your voice surprises yourself as much as it does him. His brows furrow as he tries to work out if you’re serious. “Please, just go.”
You watch as he dresses himself, his movements slow and deliberate. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to call out for him, to ask him to stay, but you don’t. You watch as he throws you one last lingering glance over his shoulder before he leaves you.
And you’re truly alone.
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The Lark Ascending: A Chaconne Story (Agatha Harkness x Reader)
Summary: Five years after leaving your heart in New York to chase your dreams in Vienna, you're finally a rising star in the classical music world. After scoring your biggest gig yet- a soloist job for a summer concert series in LA- you discover that the past isn’t as distant as you’d thought.
Word Count: 5.7k
A/N: Hello friends, welcome to the Chaconne sequel, The Lark Ascending! This story is very near and dear to my heart and I’m so excited to be posting it. The inspiration for this fic is from one of my favorite pieces of the same name, The Lark Ascending. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think!
Being a musician was all about sacrifice; you had to be willing to get to the top by any means necessary. You couldn’t just give it your all, it had to be more than that. But what happens when that wasn’t enough? What happens when you have it all just within reach, but no matter how hard you try you can’t quite get there? Those were the questions you had asked yourself when you first moved to Vienna. It seemed like no matter what you tried, how many hours you practiced, it wasn’t right. There was something missing. You did everything you should have, you moved to Vienna (although that wasn’t entirely your idea to begin with), you performed night after night with your blood, sweat, and tears, all while healing a broken heart.
It felt like you had all of the pieces to the puzzle in front of you, but they didn’t fit together. Or rather, you didn’t fit. There was something missing, and no amount of practicing could fix that. There was a small voice in the back of your mind whispering that there was a reason you didn’t make it into the Manhattan Symphony. Agatha would always say how much progress you were making, how much potential you had, that there was promise, but you wondered just how true that was; how much of it she really meant. You had been doing a lot of thinking on your relationship with Agatha lately.
The first few months after you moved to Vienna, you couldn’t even say her name without crying. There were reminders of her everywhere you turned. The coffee shop near your apartment, the rehearsal hall where you spent most of your time, every park you strolled through. You’d stumble upon small things, like a review for a new play, or interesting theories on post-modern music, and subconsciously want to share them with her. A beautiful sunny day, the flowers blooming in the ground, the wind whistling in the distance, the way the dew sparkled on the grass after a thunderstorm, everything was Agatha. You knew they called Vienna “The City of Dreams”, but you never anticipated all of your fantasies to revolve around the same woman. How were you supposed to get closure when she was thousands of miles away?
Your solace came, unsurprisingly, in the form of music. Vienna was the birthplace of some of classical music’s great forefathers, and there was inspiration all around you. Performing with Natasha and her chamber orchestra was like a breath of fresh air, and with every performance you slowly found yourself again. It wasn’t entirely true when they said time heals all wounds, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heal from the scar of leaving Agatha, but with every month that passed you found it hurt less and less. You often thought you would always love her, but this was for the best, you knew it was.
Eventually, it felt like everything was falling into place. Performing with a prestigious group that featured world renowned soloists like Wanda Maximoff meant you were able to make the right connections. You worked harder than you ever thought possible, and channeled your grief into your music to push you forward. It paid off in the end, and with Natasha and Wanda’s help you eventually entered a rising soloist contest.
Getting over your fears of inadequacy was another story. You knew that the one thing that was missing was your ability to believe that you were good enough; that you had always been good enough. No amount of practicing could convince you of that either, it had to come within yourself.
In the days leading up to the competition, you had a breakdown in front of Wanda that changed the way you saw yourself.
You set your violin down on the piano, ignoring Wanda’s concerned glance in your direction. “I think I need to drop out of this competition. I’m nowhere near ready.”
Wanda frowned, looking over the sheet music you had handed her earlier. “What are you talking about? You have everything memorized. You sound really good.”
“I don’t feel ready,” you argued, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the tightening of your chest at the thought of competing that weekend.
“No one ever feels ready for these sorts of things,” Wanda pointed out, and you knew she was trying to help, but you weren’t in the mood to hear it.
“I’ve never had the best luck with these sorts of things,” you reminded her. “I think I need to accept that this kind of dream isn’t feasible for me.”
“Why do you keep getting in your own way?” Wanda questioned, moving the sheet music to the side, her tone curious.
“I’m not getting in my own way,” you politely informed her. “I’m being realistic.”
“Nothing about this, about what we do is realistic,” Wanda corrected you, standing up from her seat. “I never thought I’d make it as a soloist, but I had to believe in myself enough to try. If you can’t even give yourself that, then you’re right; this isn’t feasible for you.”
Her words sat with you for a moment, and as you took it in, you felt the tightening in your chest begin to break until you could breathe again. She was right, you knew it deep down. As silly as it sounded, you had to give yourself a chance.
That ended up being the first competition you ever won, much to your surprise and Wanda’s delight.
Things began to look up after that. You slowly entered more competitions, and eventually you made enough of a name for yourself to begin soloing with various orchestras. It was nothing you could have ever imagined in your wildest dreams, but it was real. You did it. In spite of the heartache and pain, you did it all.
The past year proved to be your busiest yet. You had been booked solid with performances across the U.S. with a wide variety of orchestras, and your schedule wasn’t slowing down just yet. You would be spending your summer in Los Angeles, and you were still in disbelief.
If you had told yourself five years ago that you would be the featured artist in residence of the Los Angeles Symphony’s summer season, you would have thought it was a joke. Being the premiere performing symphony on the entire west coast, they had a stellar reputation and drew in huge crowds. Stephen Strange was a legendary conductor who you had always dreamed of getting to work with. It almost felt too good to be true.
You made it to the symphony center a little earlier than you planned, but with the unpredictability of LA traffic you didn’t want to risk being late. All that was on your agenda for the day was a meeting with the CFO of the board, Tony Stark, and a short rehearsal. But, you were hoping to get a quick peak of the concert hall while it was still empty. There weren't many people around this early in the day, but you had little trouble navigating yourself around until you found the backstage door.
The concert hall was pitch black, and you fumbled with the switches backstage before managing to flip on a single stage light. You wouldn’t need anything more than that, surely. Stepping on the stage you looked out at the vast concert hall, which seemed to hold hundreds of empty seats, and you pictured what it would be like to step out to thunderous applause. None of your previous experiences performing as a soloist had ever been for an audience of this size, and you silently came to the realization that the crowd at the Hollywood Bowl would be even larger. A familiar tingle of nerves coursed through your system as tiny thoughts of doubt twirled around your brain. Were you ready for this?
Absentmindedly tapping your fingers against the music stand at the podium, your eyes swept across the room. A quick glance at the schedule confirmed that no one from the orchestra would be here until later in the evening, so you’d have the place entirely to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you unpacked your violin and began to tune, taking note of how the sound bounced all around the walls, and gradually felt yourself relax. It was funny, you mused as you lowered your violin, how easy it was for you to discredit how much you had accomplished over the past few years. You weren’t just some conductor’s assistant anymore, you were a professional violinist, and a good one at that. It was unclear if your hesitation to accept your success came from the fear of being considered overly cocky, or if it derived from years of low self esteem and an inferiority complex.
Taking another long, calming breath, you swept those thoughts aside. Raising your violin, you rolled your shoulders back, turning so you were facing the front of the hall. It would be foolish to play the entire piece hours before rehearsal, as you would be wasting energy that you would desperately need. Performing was a lot like running a marathon, you couldn’t blow through everything you had in the first few miles and be left with nothing for the end. No, you needed to be intentional with every movement of your bow and shift of your fingers up and down the fingerboard.
The Lark Ascending was a majestic sixteen minute piece that was filled with swooping melodies as the violin sang higher and higher with every measure. Vaughan Williams was a composer during the late Romantic Era, crossing over into the Contemporary, and he had been inspired by a poem of the same name written by English author George Meredith. Vaughan Williams was able to create such stirring imagery with the notes on the page, that it was easy to get lost as you were playing and get transported to this dreamy, astral realm. Filled with a gorgeous blend of vivid colors and clouds, you felt like the lark Vaughan Williams was depicting, soaring through the clear skies.
The piece was filled with vulnerable cadences where you played without the orchestra’s accompaniment acting as a safety net in case you fell. You had to be completely sure of yourself, a hint of hesitation of your fingers or incomplete bow changes would ruin this picturesque painting. Rolling your bow to the frog, you internalized what you wanted your first note to sound like, settling on working on your opening phrase. Placing your fingers on the string, you closed your eyes and began. Your introduction was a stunning cadenza, with the tempo gradually increasing as you began your opening runs, your fingers gliding across the strings.
There was freedom with the tempo, allowing you to take your time and savor each note, your vibrato ringing through the hall. As you climbed higher and higher into the stratosphere it almost felt like you were the lark, ascending into the open air. Performing like this had unlocked a new sense of freedom you always yearned for; the countless hours of practicing turned into an almost effortless sight to any audience. It was as natural as breathing, and each exhale you took matched the strokes of your bow. Nearing the end of the phrase, you tried a new stylistic technique as you shifted your fingers gradually down the fingerboard, making note to try it again later at rehearsal.
As your bow stopped moving you made a few other mental notes of where you could add more vibrato, or improve your dynamics, when all of the lights in the hall turned on, snapping you out of your inner thoughts. The abrupt sound of loud clapping is what startled you the most, as you thought no one else would be using the stage until tonight. You turned around to find the stage door was still ajar, just as you left it, but you noticed a figure lingering in the shadows, and you nearly jumped at the sight. The building was secure enough that you weren’t going to be murdered, right?
“Can I help you?” You asked as politely as possible, setting your violin in its case.
“I have to say, dear, you certainly know how to leave a girl wanting more,” A familiar voice rang out, amusement clear from their tone as they stepped into the light. “You must have had an excellent teacher.”
Agatha Harkness leaned against the door frame, hands folded across her chest. Her dark hair was splayed against her shoulders in their usual messy curls, and you were surprised to find her in more casual attire consisting of a pair of black jeans and a lightweight button-up sheer white shirt. She arched an eyebrow at your shocked expression
You felt your heart stop as you stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Agatha?”
Her lips twisted upwards, smirking, a familiar glint in her eyes. “Surprised to see me?”
Time stood still as you were frozen in place, millions of thoughts dancing around your brain. You were unsure if it had been five seconds or five hours, all you could do was try to remember to breathe. Agatha was here, but how was she here? Were you imagining it? It wouldn’t have been the first time, as you’d lost track of the number of appearances she had made in your dreams over the years. They were all of slightly different variations, but would all end in the same heartbreaking fashion of reconciling with the conductor and feeling a sense of happiness you’d long forgotten…until you inevitably woke up alone.
Blinking, you took a timid step towards her, your hands uncomfortably folding behind your back. “Agatha, what are you doing here?”
Ignoring your question, she walked over to your violin case, and, despite your protests, she picked up your violin, examining it. “I see someone got a new instrument.” Gently turning it, you watched her trace the scroll, her fingers dancing around the pegs. “A shame, really, I was quite fond of your old one. But this is nice too, I suppose. What is it? Italian? German?“
“Swiss, actually,” you lightly corrected her, holding out your hands, signaling for her to hand it over.
As she disregarded your wishes for a second time, you felt a familiar pang of annoyance at how stubborn she could be. Picking up your bow, she raised your violin, setting the bow on the string, before releasing and producing a G-major chord. As the chord echoed throughout the hall you relished in the sound. Agatha had rarely used your violin before. She had always insisted that her talents remained with conducting and the piano, but you recalled a few memories of convincing her to play a scale or two on your violin.
You were normally extremely protective over your instrument, often refusing to allow anyone else to even hold her. However, you recollected, it had never been like that with Agatha. There had been some deep, unspoken level of trust that you had never felt with anyone else.
“Impressive,” Agatha remarked, appearing to admire the sound quality, before finally handing it back to you. Her hands briefly brushed against yours as you wrapped your hands around the neck of your violin, and it was as if you had been zapped by lightning.
But as quickly as the sensation overcame you, it was gone. Agatha retracted her hands, deep blue eyes boring into yours with the same intensity she always seemed to carry.
Clearing your throat, you broke eye contact, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”
The conductor released a thoughtful hum, as you watched her move towards the edge of the stage. “Now is that any way to greet the Los Angeles Symphony’s guest conductor, dear?”
Guest conductor? Your face scrunched up, surprise coloring your features. None of your recent internet searches of the conductor revealed she would be in Los Angeles for any upcoming performances. Now, you weren’t exactly stalking Agatha, that would be creepy. You just liked to occasionally see what she was up to. That was normal, right?
“Tony never mentioned a guest conductor when I spoke with him earlier,” you pointed out, leaving out your internal ramblings as you were sure Agatha would get far too much pleasure from hearing you had looked her up.
“Well, it appears that Stephen contracted a rather nasty stomach bug, and I just happened to be in the area.” Agatha explained, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
Now, you weren’t claiming to be an expert geographer, but something in your gut told you that she was lying. “So you just happened to be in California when you live on the East Coast?”
“Something like that,” Agatha tossed out, teasing you ever so slightly, and you scoffed.
She had always been elusive; that had been part of her charm. You never entirely knew what to expect when you were dealing with Agatha Harkness, and that used to excite you. She often reminded you of a raging hurricane, with her occasional fits of anger and passion all mingling together like the waves crashing against the shore. There had been a gentler side to her, of course, located in the eye of the storm. That had been the Agatha you were most familiar with, underneath all of the sarcastic quips and horrible temper was the woman you had once fallen in love with.
Nothing about her had ever been direct, which nearly drove you mad. But the subtlety of how she offered her affection more than made up for it. Nearly every night she insisted on driving you home, and you had quickly learned she detested the subway. She had been horrified when you had revealed you almost never cooked, so she made a point to teach you her favorite recipes (while only gently mocking your lack of skill in the kitchen in the process). It was clear she hadn’t been used to expressing her emotions, but then again you had never been an expert in that field either. Still, she loved you in her own way, and deep down a small part of you knew she loved you enough to let you go all those years ago.
But standing here now, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was really doing here. Did she know you were set to premiere with the orchestra? There was a fleeting thought where you dared to wonder if she came here for you, but you knew that was too foolish to even imagine. It had been so long without any word from her, why would she come to you now? You had performed with a few other orchestras in the States over the past year, and there had been a few brief moments where you hoped she would show, but she never did.
She was looking pleased, far too pleased for your liking. A rather dark thought crossed your mind, and you shot her an incredulous look. “Oh my god, did you do something to Stephen?”
Agatha let out a loud cackle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m a conductor, dear, not a homicidal witch. What exactly do you think I could have done, beat him up with my baton?”
That painted a rather interesting image in your head, but you frowned at her, unamused. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing here, are you?”
“You always were a fast learner, darling,” Agatha quietly remarked as she took a step towards you, the once familiar pet name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I must say, I was surprised to learn you had selected Vaughan Williams.”
“Why?” You questioned, noting how she slowly inched her way closer to you.
“I suppose I assumed you’d pick something with more flare. Tchaikovsky perhaps, or Sibelius.”
Shrugging, you vaguely called to mind one of the first things Agatha had ever said to you. “I don’t know, I guess I always preferred something more subdued, you know?”
You watched her eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and it was clear she knew what you were doing. “Something more subdued, hm? Not a fan of the dramatics?”
“I think that’s much more your genre of choice than mine,” You retorted, feeling the air in the room begin to thin as she circled you like a shark.
Agatha stepped in even closer, and her fingers reached up, playing with the loose strands of hair that fell around your shoulders. You felt your body react to her touch, a sensation you’d long forgotten. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, so low you could barely hear her.
“You haven’t seen me in over five years,” you pointed out, feeling a wave of nerves hit you over having her so close. “I’m sure my hair’s changed a lot since then.”
“It looked longer in Chicago,” she mused, still twirling the strands around, and you were stunned. Chicago? Your most recent performance was with the Chicago Philharmonic last month, and that would mean that…was she there?
“How would you know that?” You pressed, and her fingers ceased their movements, as you searched her eyes for a glimpse into what she was implying.
You could feel millions of unanswered questions dancing between the two of you, the tension thick in the air. Agatha’s hands abruptly dropped your hair as if she had been burned, and you briefly yearned for her touch again.
“My assistant showed me a recording of the performance on their phone,” Agatha explained, folding her hands against her chest. “Your stage presence certainly has improved, but you were late coming out of your cadenza.”
Ignoring the slight dig, your brain honed in on what she said prior to that. Her assistant. You couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had kept the same assistant since you left. A brief, but intrusive, thought made you wonder if the dynamic between Agatha and this new assistant was similar to the one you once shared. Did she call them the same terms of endearments she had bestowed upon you? Did she introduce them to her favorite old movies that you used to beg her to turn on? Did she go out of her way to fluster them, as she once took pleasure in doing to you?
You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t as if you were together anymore, Agatha was free to do what she liked and to see who she pleased. You had a few short-lived, meaningless flings while living abroad, so it would be hypocritical to judge her. But, there was a voice screaming deep inside you, questioning how special your time together truly was if she could have replaced you so easily?
“Right, your assistant.” You tried your best to keep the bitterness from seeping through, but could practically taste the venom in your mouth.
Agatha raised her eyebrows, but refrained from commenting on your change in tone. Instead, she turned to walk down the stairs of the stage, leading to the aisle. “I only heard the last few bars of your cadenza, and it isn’t terrible, but it could certainly be better. Now, I don’t have my score on me, but it sounds like you’re losing too much momentum as you come down the fingerboard.” She sat a few rows back from the stage, crossing her legs together. “Could you take it again from your last run, and try to make your decrescendo last longer? We want to elongate these phrases to draw the audience in.”
There had been a time when you would have done anything Agatha had asked of you without question. Your daily practice sessions with the conductor had been grueling at times, as she was incredibly nitpicky, and had an impeccably well-trained ear. Any missed entrance or a note that was even just a hair flat she would pick up on. You had worked with a lot of gifted musicians in the past, but none of them could dream of coming close to Agatha Harkness. She wasn’t just a conductor, she possessed the rare ability to take the notes off the page and transform them into these brilliant, colorful works of art.
You used to live for her praise, and would often go out of your way to receive it. It had been your worst fear to disappoint her somehow, even if it meant sacrificing your own dreams to please her. But things were different now, you weren’t her assistant anymore. The burning desire to gain her approval still lingered somewhere within you, but it wasn’t as strong anymore. You knew that you would be okay without it, as you had to learn to live without her.
Giving her a pointed look, you decided to test the waters. “You do realize you’re not my boss anymore, right? I don’t have to just do whatever you say.”
Agatha looked momentarily stunned, and you could practically watch the gears turning in her head. “If I recall correctly, you used to enjoy having me tell you what to do.”
Looking down, you forced yourself to not remember just how much you used to enjoy that. Clearing your throat, you thought of something to fire back with. “Well, they do say memory is the first thing to go.”
“Funny, dear.” Agatha deadpanned, but as you lifted your head you were able to see the corners of her lips were turned upwards. “But I’m not paying you to just stand there and look pretty.”
“You’re actually not paying me at all, the orchestra is.”
“Technicalities,” Agatha said dismissively, waving her hand to signal you to hurry up. “And as you just so kindly pointed out, I’m not getting any younger. Any day now.”
It was clear Agatha wasn’t going to let up, and you weren’t in the mood to keep arguing with her. Grabbing your violin, you gently rested it under your arm. “Should I start at my last entrance?”
Agatha had a thoughtful expression on her face, and you couldn’t help but focus on her fingers tapping out indecipherable rhythms on the top of the seats in front of her. “Hmmm, let’s take it from the top. Do you need your sheet music?”
Shaking your head, you raised your violin. Placing your bow on the string, you tried to rid yourself of the nerves you could feel start to overtake you. Your first few notes rang through the hall as you tried to perfectly time each shift of your fingers and vibrato. Everything had to be fluid; any jerky bow changes or careless finger placements would risk destroying the exquisite illusion you were painting. Some violinists would claim the most challenging pieces to perform were the ones with incredibly fast passages that were often impossible to master. Your brain had to be a few steps ahead of your nimble fingers so you could anticipate what the next notes would be, and one small slip up would send you tumbling down.
While you agreed that exuberant pieces were extremely difficult, you would argue that the hardest pieces to perform as a soloist were the more melodic ones. The pieces filled with stunning melodies, warmed up by gorgeous vibrato. They weren’t packed with thrilling runs up and down the fingerboard, instead they were notated with sweet, heartbreakingly beautiful lines that required you to pour your heart out. Yes, it was scary to have to nail a few hundred notes coming out one after another, but the hardest feat to master on the violin was the ability to play achingly slow, glorious passages. It was to fully captivate an audience with every elegant swish of your bow and dance of your fingers on the strings.
You were so swept up in the notes you had memorized in your brain, you barely heard the soft creaking of the stairs leading up to the stage. There was a particularly bare section halfway through your cadenza, where you were so high up the fingerboard that you needed to extend your elbow to allow your fingers to reach. It wasn’t good enough to merely play the right notes; you had to be confident your left hand was pressing down on the correct spot on the string, while your right hand held the bow but didn’t press too hard down. If you applied too much pressure when you released the bow, it would produce a screeching noise on the string.
Continuing on, you kept your fingers on your bow relaxed, but you could gradually feel your shoulders begin to tighten. This happened on occasions when you were feeling particularly nervous or antsy, and it was usually difficult for you to relax them. As you tried to refocus your breathing and attempt to get your body to calm down, you could feel a familiar presence lurking in the background. Even though you could not see her, you knew she was right behind you. You had found yourself in this exact scenario with the conductor too many times to count. She would always promise to stay in her seat while you were playing for her, but would almost always end up on the stage within mere moments.
As if she could sense you about to stop playing, you heard her voice ring out. “Don’t stop now, dear. I’m just observing something.”
You wanted to turn around and ask if she was observing your ass, but you knew she would merely retort with something to make you blush furiously in response. So you kept going, trying not to picture what she was doing.
As the line slowly started to take you down the fingerboard with every new phrase, you put all of your attention into your intonation. You could hear her take yet another small step towards you, to the point where she was nearly pressed up against you.
“You need to relax.” Agatha uttered, so close to whispering in your ear that you reflexively shivered. She put one hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. “Your posture is giving me horrible flashbacks.”
It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to remember the correct notes when she was closer to you than she had been in so long. Her other hand rested on your hip, the sensation almost causing you to drop your violin. It had been so long since you last felt her touch, and you could just barely hold onto the melody in your memory. A small voice in the back of your brain begged for more, but you ignored it.
“Relax.” Agatha repeated, her voice firmer this time, and you felt your body obey her command. Your shoulders finally went down to their correct position, but her hands stayed on you. “There we go, good girl.”
Your brain buzzed at her words, feeling your cheeks burn and you were thankful she couldn’t see the effect she still had on you. As you reached the end of the cadenza, you slowly lowered your instrument, trying your best not to fall over from the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “So, what did you think?”
Using the hand situated on your hip, Agatha swiftly twisted you around to face her, moving the hand she had on your shoulder down to help secure your violin. You stumbled just ever so slightly, but she steadied you, her grip tightening on your waist.
“Easy there,” Agatha lightly teased, and you thought you saw her eyes hungrily rake up and down your body. “Have you always been this jumpy, or are you just excited to see me?”
There was so much you wanted to say, but there was a lump in your throat that grew bigger with every tug on your waist, drawing you impossibly closer to the woman your brain refused to let go of. She was infuriatingly high-handed, extremely egotistical, and was single-handedly the most stubborn individual you had ever encountered. She was obsessive, and aggressive, and had her eyes always been so blue?
“Agatha…” you managed to breathe out, desperately trying to clear your head and regain some sense of self control, but your brain felt slippery.
The combination of the heat from the bright stage lights and the intensely burning gaze from the conductor had you feeling more unsteady on your feet as the seconds slowly ticked by. You’d spent the past year performing in sold out concert halls, yet you were never more nervous than you currently felt being face to face with Agatha Harkness.
It was unclear how long you stood there, staring at each other. You knew Agatha well enough to know she had something to say, it was written all over her face. But she remained silent, one hand situated on your waist and the other gently holding your violin in place. There was something about the way she was looking at you, as if she thought she’d never see you again.
Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a loud buzzing noise began to ring through the hall. The moment was broken as she released you, sighing as she reached to her back pocket, revealing her cell phone.
Squinting at the screen, and you suddenly remembered the difficulty she had of reading off her phone without her glasses, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my assistant.”
You took a step backwards, feeling burned. “Right. Your assistant. Best not keep them waiting.”
Agatha gave you a brief, perplexed glance before answering her phone. “What do you want now?” Loudly sighing, you watched as she closed her eyes, clearly vexed. “I already told you, for the millionth time, it’s the box in my study.” Pausing, as she listened to her assistant reply, she held up a finger to you, signaling for you to wait for her. “For the last time, no, nothing else. Just the box in my study, the singular box. Make sure Scratchy is ready to go as well.”
It appeared the assistant had more questions, as you watched Agatha pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation. “No, no, no, stop,” she then paused, and looked at you again. “I have to deal with this, I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
She stormed away without another word, squawking orders over the phone, and you were left in the aftershock of the earthquake that was Agatha Harkness.
#agatha harkness#agatha harkness x reader#wandavision au#marvel au#agatha harkness fanfiction#agatha all along
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Insurrection
Chapter 1: Catalyst
⛧ SUMMARY: One choice, made to fan the flames of love, may be the spark to start a war.
⛧PAIRING: vampire!kang yeosang x hunter!reader
⛧GENRE: fantasy, angst (so much angst), smut
⛧AU/TROPE INFO: fantasy au, vampire au, forbidden lovers, hurt no comfort
⛧WORD COUNT: 4.8k
⛧TAGS/WARNINGS: major character death (i'm so sorry), blood, violence, lots of emotion, mental breakdowns, pet names ([my] love, darling, love, Sangie), protective!yunho and protective!yeosang, treating vampires as unseelie fae, not beta'd
⛧RATING: mature
⛧A/N: for @a1sh1teruu; happy christmas from your secret santa! very sorry i'm a few days late; life has been interesting lately and this baby got away from me! i hope i didn't go too hard on the angst you asked for, but i did ask for your hard limits and, uh... i'm an angst writer first and foremost. (if i did go overboard, please please let me know, and i will whip you up something warmer and fluffier.) this did begin as a standalone, but the lovely @kwanisms convinced me to make it a series, so here we are! there will be a few more installments; a prologue and at least one sequel. even if no one else does, zerda, i hope you enjoy this. much love, orion <3
⛧ smut tags under the cut ; banner by momther ki (kwanisms)
⛧masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?
⛧ SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: sex as a distraction/coping mechanism, yeo has vampire speed and strength (don't look too close i didn't logic), sensitive pointy ears, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (boo), multiple orgasms (fem), pet names (Yeosangie, Sangie, baby, darling, love, my pretty girl ), mentions of exhibitionism & sharing if you squint, lack of aftercare bc they're both exhausted
In hindsight, perhaps you should have seen the signs. You had never seen Yeosang eat, no matter how many cafés you frequented together. He had been known throughout the village for his strange attire, the reverse of the seasons; he was covered from chin to fingertip to toe in the summers, while the dark winters found him showing a bit more skin. His pale complexion or the way he could throw you around in the bedroom without breaking a sweat may have given him away to you if you had paid closer attention. You hadn’t, though, and now you paid the price.
Your elders stood in a semicircle in front of you, stony faced, and your blood ran cold. Gideon glowered at you over the top of his steepled fingers, jaw tight.
“Kill or be killed, Y/N,” he spat, “the decision is yours. Kang Yeosang will not be able to protect you from us.”
It took every fiber of your being to hold back the shiver that threatened to tear down your spine. Your mind swirled as you bowed your head respectfully, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Something churned in your gut as you met his eye; whether or not his words would ring true was still to be determined, but you knew he and the rest of the council would try their absolute hardest.
“I understand, Elder Lewis. I will begin my preparations immediately,” you agreed, turning on your heel to see yourself out of the room. Three of the five sat straighter at your promise, one smiling proudly. You sighed in relief; so long as most of them believed you, you would survive the night. You could warn him and, if you were lucky, run.
For most, Yeosang and the rest of his coven were nearly impossible to find; he had told you some story ages ago, but now the secrecy made sense. Few were trusted with a map to their home, and you were thankful tonight to be one of those elites. Strategically placed vines guided you through the trees like flags, their leaves blending into the color of the evergreens’ needles to the untrained eye. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you hurried through the snow, fists clenched at your sides. The path was familiar and though time seemed to drag on in a blur, it felt like you arrived in seconds. The trees parted to a familiar, comforting sight; three cabins and a grand hall circled around a small clearing, and you beelined for Yeosang’s front door.
It was his roommate, Yunho, who opened the door and tried to greet you but you pushed past him, body and mind set on your comfort. You practically collapsed into Yeosang’s arms, a small, pained sound leaving you as he bundled you into his embrace. His quiet questions and murmured comforts were lost on you. Your mind was running at a thousand miles a minute, a million questions running through your mind.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were vampires?” The first inquiry fell from your lips thoughtlessly, and you felt the air disappear from the room. Yunho’s footsteps halted where they were parting to allow you privacy, and you could feel the tension spike. The silence rang louder than any scream. “And don’t try to deny it; I’ve seen the evidence.”
“Who… how did you find this out, sweetheart?”
You scoffed, shoving him away from you and taking a step back. Behind you, you heard Yunho shift to his friend’s defense, but a sharp glare from Yeosang seemed to halt him. “I’m a hunter, Yeosang. You’ve known this; don’t play dumb. My elders showed me your files today,” you paused, turning over your shoulder to glance at Yunho. “All of ATEEZ’s files.”
You watched as the elder coiled like a spring, ready to strike, still pinned in place only by your boyfriend’s scathing stare. Silence once again stretched for what seemed like an eternity, heavy across your shoulders. Finally, Yeosang broke it.
“Leave us, Yunho.”
“Absolutely not.” The reply was immediate, the taller boy standing straighter, his chin high. “I’m not leaving you alone with a hunter.”
You scowled, hearing your boyfriend growl a warning. You knew his expression must match your own. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my girlfriend alone.”
Yunho opened his mouth to speak again but this time, you were the one to silence him. “I understand your worry and I appreciate your drive to protect your coven. I am not here to hurt Yeosang; I am here to… to ask for help,” you admitted, turning back to glance at your lover. “I forgot to even grab my knife before I left, if I’m being honest.” Yeosang let out a strangled noise of protest, worry painting his face, and you held up a hand to keep him quiet. “The elders… Gideon gave me a choice today. Kill or be killed. And I… I don’t want to do either.”
You could see Yeosang’s heart breaking, the corner of his lips curling down and his brow furrowing. “Yunho, please,” he murmured, “let us figure this out.” He gave no response, but a moment later, you heard the front door click shut, and Yeosang was bundling you back up into his arms.
The moment you were alone, you shattered into pieces. You grasped his shirt in fists as tears flowed like waterfalls down your cheeks, his grip around you tightening like a vice. Sobs wracked your body violently, and you thanked the gods for Yeosang’s strength as, despite your knees buckling under you, you remained upright. He muttered quiet reassurances into your hair, hands running soothingly up and down your back.
When you calmed, he gently guided you back, eyes soft and open as he cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears from them. You screwed your eyes shut and gripped onto his wrists like a lifeline, willing a fresh wave of emotion back.
“It will be alright, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. You can stay here for as long as you like, and we’ll protect you like our own.”
You whined in protest, eyes blinking open slowly. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I can’t ask that of you. If I’m tracked down, they’ll kill you all too. Hongjoong wouldn’t be willing to take that risk for a simple little mortal, much less one who has trained her entire life to hunt and kill him. He would be crazy.”
Yeosang giggled quietly, smiling gently. “I think you’ll find he is a little crazy when the situation calls for it. He trusts you like one of us already; he allowed me to show you the path here. You will be welcome.”
Hesitantly, you nodded, resigned to accepting your lover’s offer. There was little else you could do. “I will need a few things from the stronghold. I can go back to gather them tonight, and return tomorrow.”
Peeking over your head and out the window, Yeosang frowned. It had been nearing nightfall when you had arrived, and the thought of you unarmed and stumbling through the dark forest unnerved him. He pulled you against his chest, carding a hand into your hair to scratch at your scalp.
“Stay with me tonight, love. Let this be the first night of our new lives together. Let me protect you.” You felt your shoulders relax with every word he spoke, a soft smile playing at your lips. He had already convinced you but he continued, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Let me distract you.”
You let your tongue flick out over your lips, drawing his attention back to them as you grinned. Hands slipping up his chest, you pressed closer to him. “What better way to spend our first night together?”
Yeosang grinned, tugging you in to crash your lips together. You hummed happily as you melted against him, one arm draping over his shoulder while the other carded into the hair at his nape. He held you to him tightly still, sighing against your mouth as you melted against him.
“Take me to bed, Yeosangie,” you muttered when you parted for breath, and he was more than happy to oblige. Strong arms braced under your thighs and lifted you in one fluid motion. Before you had time to think, you were in his room with your back pressed to the mattress, and you let out a squeak of surprise. Your lover was grinning at you when you pulled away. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I assume you’ll be using all of your fancy vampire powers at every turn, hm?”
“Maybe not all of them,” he teased, pressing kisses up your jaw. “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” he purred into your ear, his silky baritone sending a shudder down your spine.
You whined, tugging him back up by his hair to lock your lips, legs wrapping around his middle to pull him impossibly closer. He groaned, low and broken, as you ground against him, losing himself for a moment before he pinned your hips down to the bed.
“Tonight is all about you, my love,” he hummed, hands running down your thighs as he sat back on his knees. You pouted up at him and he couldn’t help but grin, kneading at the soft flesh under his fingers. “I’m going to take my time with you and savor this. No more quick nights at the tavern, hm?”
You shuddered under his touch, eyes flickering to the door. “What about Yunho?”
The grin on Yeosang’s face was purely wicked and heat ran through your body. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure the whole coven can hear you.”
Despite his promise to take his time, Yeosang stripped you down quickly, tugging your shirt off and trousers down to leave you in only your undergarments. The moment he could, he leaned down, nipping at your inner thigh and grinning triumphantly at the sound it pulled from you. His lips quickly found their way to your throat as he let your legs fall in favor of slotting himself between them, lips attaching themselves to your throat. The drag of his teeth over your pulse had you whining into his ear, breath ghosting over the subtly pointed tip. It was Yeosang’s turn to shudder, all of his blood rushing south at the feeling. He sighed, burying his head against your shoulder as he gathered himself.
Or tried to, because a moment later, you were tucking his hair behind his ear, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin, and he was choking back a moan. “C-Careful,” he muttered, reaching up to grab your wrist and halt you. “They’re sensitive.”
“I don’t see the issue,” you hummed, drawing his gaze back up. You were grinning down at him and it was a pretty sight, but the mischief twinkling in your eyes had Yeosang wanting to wipe it from your face.
Pinning your wrist to the bed, he slipped down your body at lightning speed, face level with your clothed core. In an instant, his tongue was pressed against you, and you let out a choked shout at the wet warmth that joined your own arousal. Yeosang grinned proudly once more, letting his teeth graze lightly over your heat as he sat back. That particular friction was foreign but pleasant, pulling a pretty little whimper from you.
“Do you still not see the issue with playing with sensitive areas, love, or shall I continue?”
Not one to be upstaged, you huffed a sigh, the corner of your mouth ticking up in a grin. “I don’t think I quite get it.”
Yeosang chuckled, leaning back to lap a stripe up your thigh. Nipping at your hip, he slowly began a path up your body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You sighed, the sound like music to his ears as you turned to putty beneath his hands.
Your bra was the next garment to leave your body, tossed carelessly to the side as his mouth descended on your chest, lips quickly closing around your peaked nipple. One hand bracing himself, the other lit a contrastingly cool trail down your torso, coming to rest over your underwear. A quiet squeak left you and you squirmed under him, his icy fingers bringing a delicious new sensation to your warm arousal while his lips worked over your other breast.
“Sangie,” you gasped out, one hand tangling into his hair and tugging encouragingly. “More, please.”
Chuckling lowly against your skin, he obliged, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side to slide his fingers through your wetness. You whined and writhed under him, hips seeking further stimulation—this wasn’t enough. The pad of his finger circled your clit and you jolted, a pitched whine leaving you that had Yeosang’s control snapping in an instant.
He needed more, and he needed it now. More of you, more of your lovely little sounds, more of your warm body pressed against his cold one.
Pulling back from your chest with a wet noise, he sat back on his heels, tugging his shirt off and tossing it away from him. Your remaining undergarment was pulled off and discarded as he stood, quickly ridding himself of his final layers, too. He drank you in with a gaze that made you feel like prey, delicate and helpless underneath the ancient power that coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in his chest as he took in your open-mouthed, hungry stare. He chuckled to himself and ran a hand across his broad chest, letting you drink in the sight of him. His grin only spread as he watched you turn away from him, shy.
“My pretty girl,” he hummed, running his fingers up the insides of your thighs as he settled between them again.
Your pretty little whine had him preening as he lowered himself to your core, grinning up at you. Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he held eye contact and sighed against you as you shuddered, before his tongue flicked out to tease at your slit. He delighted in the way your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you urged him closer. His sharp, calculated gaze remained on you as he flattened his tongue against you, humming happily at the taste of you. His eyes rolled back in his head, finally slipping shut as he began to lose himself in the ecstasy that was your essence.
Your sounds only grew as he began to eat you out in earnest and they went straight to his cock; Yeosang found himself rutting into the mattress within minutes, desperate to find any amount of friction. His pride fell to the wayside as he gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. He barely came up for air as he buried his face in your pussy, pleasured moans leaving him as he chased both of your peaks. Your tugging on his hair was what brought him back into his mind and, though he shot you a glare, his fingers quickly replaced his mouth.
You were gasping for breath as he sat upright, grinning proudly while your legs dropped to rest over his elbows. “What’s the matter, love?”
“C-Can’t, g’nna cum,” you gasped, hands coming to rest over his biceps as you melted back into the mattress.
“Oh, well if that’s all,” he hummed, slowly lowering himself back down. You whimpered, hands tangling back into his hair at the warmth of his tongue and the chill of his fingers, but gave no further sounds of protest as he dove back into you. Within seconds, your legs were clamping down around his ears and he was opening his eyes, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy as he worked you over the edge. With one final suck to your clit, he sat back on his heels and drank in the whine that left you, sighing happily.
“Gods above, you taste good,” he murmured, licking his lips hungrily.
“Yeosang,” you whined, hands clawing up his arms to pull him close, “need you baby, please.”
“Need what?” He grinned, shifting up to cage you in completely, his cockhead teasing at your folds. You whine, shifting lower, and he clicked his tongue as one hand came to rest over your throat, stilling your movements.
You whined, blinking up at him with wide, doe eyes, and he had to bite back a growl. “Your cock, Sangie, please.”
He grinned down at you devilishly as he pressed into you, drinking down every whine and moan that spilled from your mouth as he sealed his lips with your own. When he was finally sheathed within your warmth, he sighed happily and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his and he felt secure, safe, as he began a slow and deliberate pace.
“So long as you’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his speed building. “I will protect you. What is mine is the coven’s and what is the coven’s is mine.” You clenched around him, and he groaned lowly, his eyes squeezing shut. “We keep our own safe.”
You clung to him like a lifeline, the air crackling electric between you as you climbed to your second peak at record speed. The way his speed built in tandem with the passion of his words had you squirming, clawing for him. He shuddered, too, as your walls spasmed around him, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He sat up straight and sheathed himself in you fully as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, his hips rolling in tiny circles to prolong it.
With one last kiss to your forehead, he pulled himself from you and collapsed to your side. He gave himself to the count of ten to bask in the warmth as he felt himself quickly falling into the meditative state he considered “sleep,” emerging from the brink of it to clean you. You sighed, basking in the attention, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat as he crawled back into bed with you—tired, cuddly, smiling, perfect you. He prayed you were asleep as he whispered into your hair.
“I love you, Y/N.”
You hid your grin in his chest and fell asleep in his arms.
When you awoke in a bed that was not your own, the curtains around you pulled shut, you startled. Yeosang was laid next to you reading, and as you stirred, he glanced up from his page. “Good morning, darling.”
You smiled, turning over to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning when he flushed and turned back to his book. “Good morning, Sangie. What time is it?”
“Just after sunrise.”
Huffing, you pushed yourself up from the bed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. I’ll have to hope no one has a route in this direction today,” you muttered as you went about gathering your clothes, strewn about the room. “And that no one decided to hang around near my room.”
Yeosang set his book aside, frowning. “I’ll come with you.”
“You will do no such thing, Kang Yeosang,” you protested, continuing on before he could speak. “The moment you are within firing distance of the castle, the elders will see you taken out. Stay here and speak to Hongjoong; I’ll only be gone a few hours.” He frowned deeply, eyes tracking your movements carefully as you tugged back the curtains an inch. “It’s bright out today, anyway. You wouldn’t be very comfortable past the treeline.”
The fight was over before it had really started, logic winning out over Yeosang’s protective nature. You were right; in the full sun of the day, with the snow reflecting it back up at him, he would be weak. Not only would protecting you be a challenge, his presence might hinder the speed of your mission.
“Alright. I’ll speak with Hongjoong. I’ll give you until noon to be back before I start looking for you.” Grinning, you bounced back across the room, leaning down to press a kiss to Yeosang’s lips. He hummed happily as he carded a hand into your hair, gently tugging you back for more.
With a hand on his shoulder, you kept him at bay, chuckling quietly to yourself. “You had enough of me last night, love. You can have more tonight, but you have to let me go get my belongings.”
The sigh that left him was half-hearted at best, and you huffed another breath of laughter. “Fine. Be safe and hurry back.”
“I will.”
As the door shut behind you, something unsettling stirred in his gut. For inexplicable reasons, he felt as though you were lying.
“Yunho, you met this girl. Can we trust her?” Hongjoong questioned, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed, at ease in the safety of his own chambers, only the twitching of his jaw giving away his current inner turmoil.
The man in question thought for a moment, shrugging and giving a small nod. “I think Yeosang coming back in one piece today is a pretty good sign.”
He nodded slowly, mulling the request over. It was a great risk for the coven to take in a mortal, both to the mortal and the coven. Word had spread on one occasion they did such a thing, and they had been forced to move rather abruptly. Y/N’s upbringing as a monster hunter added another convoluted layer to the whole ordeal; she could be playing them to spy for her order or, if they truly were on the hunt for her, she could end up getting them all killed. But no matter how stoic and strict he may look to outsiders, Hongjoong had an undeniable soft spot for his coven. So, as Yeosang stood there, a determined and pleading look on his face, the elder vampire caved.
“Fine. But let her know that she will be expected to pull her weight. She can stay with you and Yunho until we figure out other living arrangements,” he conceded, huffing an annoyed sigh that held little weight. “Now go tell the others.”
Yeosang beamed, practically bouncing toward the door and flinging it open. Wooyoung, who had just started up the front porch steps, startled and fell back against San.
“Y/N is coming to live with us!” He blurted out, and the pair shared a confused look. “It’s a whole long story. Speaking of, have either of you seen her? I can’t wait to tell her.”
Wooyoung recovered before San did, blinking back into himself and sharing a bright smile with his friend. “That’s great! I can’t wait for her to meet everyone else. Sannie, I think you’ll really like her. I haven’t seen her around today; is she here?”
“She went to gather her things from the hunters’ stronghold. She should be back any minute.” Something unpleasant coiled in Yeosang’s gut, and he frowned. “You didn’t happen to see any hunters on your way back in, did you?”
San and Wooyoung shared a look that had Yeosang’s blood running cold. “We did,” San confirmed. “They were headed away from here, though. We didn’t bother with them.”
Behind him, someone stirred, and Yeosang spun on his heel, eyes pleading with Hongjoong as he approached. “She said she’d be in danger if she ran into other hunters. We have to look for her.”
Resolutely, Hongjoong nodded, turning back over his shoulder. “Yunho, get Jongho. San, Wooyoung, go get Seonghwa and Mingi. We’ll head toward their stronghold and work outward—stay in pairs, stay out of sight, and do not eng—”
Before the leader could finish his sentence, a sharp scream echoed through the forest, and Yeosang’s eyes widened. He went rigid for a moment, keen ears twitching as they scanned the forest, tracking the echoes until he could pinpoint a near exact location of origin. He was moving before he could think, dashing down the path and into the treeline. Dodging trees and leaping over fallen branches as he tore through the brush, the warning shouts of his coven fell on deaf ears. They would follow, he knew. He only slowed for a moment when he caught the scent of your blood in the air, tripping over his own feet before pushing forward with even more purpose.
In hindsight, he should have realized that your familiar yell was not one of fear, as he had been so worried about. He should have taken even a moment to breathe.
You were still upright when he barreled into the clearing, wrestling with another hunter for what looked to be a blade. Your face was twisted in a grimace, desperation and anger marring the features he was so used to seeing alight with joy. He called your name and you turned, the panic-stricken look you sent him sending confusion and hurt lancing through him. He was here to help; shouldn’t you be happy to see him?
In hindsight, he should have realized why your cry was so familiar to his ears. Maybe he would have registered that it had been full of pure, white-hot rage; the same rage you directed at him during your first meeting.
Time slowed, and with the snap of a wire, Yeosang understood.
The bolt burned as it pierced through his ribs, and his vision went white with the pain as he toppled forward, falling to his hands and knees with a shout of his own. This time, there was pain in your exclamation; he couldn’t quite make out the words, but he heard the break in your voice that he knew, all too well, meant tears were brimming. He tasted iron as he coughed, distantly registering the shadow of black that splattered the snow in front of him.
It had been a while since he’d seen his own blood.
More shouts echoed as he fell to his knees, vision going black for a moment. When his sight returned, you were in front of him, and Yeosang’s brow furrowed. Humans like you, as far as he knew, couldn’t move that fast. He glanced over your shoulder, gasping—when had the coven gotten here?
Another blink, and he was on his back, staring up at your distressingly heartbroken expression. Your hands cupped his cheeks for a beat, and he melted into the fleeting feeling, grumbling in disapproval as they streaked down his neck to his sides. About halfway to his hips, they stopped, and the pain that sparked through him had him coming back to his senses, a shout choked behind his teeth.
“Leave it,” he hissed, and you made a pained noise. The iron crossbow bolt had embedded itself firmly and, despite his protests, you gave it another tug. This time, Yeosang shouted, bolting upright and batting your hand away from him. “Barbed,” he croaked, falling back to his hands and knees. “You’ll rip me up if you take it out.”
“And it’ll poison you slowly if I don’t,” you urged, reaching for him. “You can heal the injuries, please.”
Yeosang frowned deeply, eyes squeezing shut as he took stock of his body. “Not… quickly enough.”
“Please let me try,” you begged, hand settling below his wound. “Please give yourself a chance. Let me give you a chance, Yeosang, please.”
Oh, how weak he was for you.
Swallowing thickly, he screwed his eyes shut and nodded, rolling once more onto his back with a wince. “If it pleases you.”
“None of this pleases me,” you shot back, choking on a sob around your words. Your grip solid around the arrow’s shaft, you gave a strong tug, and Yeosang shouted through gritted teeth as it came free. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” you breathed, cupping his face.
“No more… apologies. This is not your fault,” he muttered between coughs. His mouth felt wetter than usual and he turned, dizzy as he watched more black mar the white ground. “Oh.”
“Stay still, Sangie, please, let your magic work. Don’t make things worse. Just… stay here. It’ll be okay.”
You didn’t sound sure. Yeosang huffed a laugh, coughed. “I won’t heal… fast enough,” he muttered, rolling once more onto his back. “H’ngjoong s-said… You can stay with us. Make sure he keeps… ‘s word.”
His eyes fluttered shut. He was so tired all of a sudden. Distantly, he could hear you calling to him, could feel your hands on his cheeks. He smiled, leaning into the warmth of your palms, a stark contrast to the chill surrounding him. The world was turning to white noise; Yeosang sighed.
One voice, familiar and filled with venom, cut through the roar. He was just used to listening for his Captain, after all, and he heard him clear as day now.
“You have just declared a war.”
Everything went quiet.
TAGLISTS: [open, apply here.]
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© December 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. reposting and translating of author’s work is prohibited.
#cromernet#cultofdionysusnet#k-vanity#mfu-net#wonderlandnet#yeosang x reader#yeosang imagines#yeosang scenarios#yeosang smut#yeosang angst#ateez smut#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez angst#neb.atz#neb.insurrection#nebulous writes
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How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 10 (The End)
Here it is, my dear readers, the final chapter! The end to our story and with that, a big announcement! I am now writing a sequel! This book is now a series. How (Not) to Lose Your Soul will continue where we left off here, with the first chapter being released March 10th, 2024. I do hope you've all enjoyed this one and I hope its ending was well worth the wait. I look forward to seeing you all in the next one, my dear readers. <3
Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader
Warnings: mentions of death, mental breakdowns, loss, and use of profanity
It's instant, happening as fast as the bullet that pierced the air.
One second, he's looking at you as you look up at him, his heart thumping against his chest. He feels peace, something he hadn't in a very long time, and then it's gone.
He shouts your name, hearing Veronica scream but his focus is on you as you fall. He quickly grabs you, easing you to the ground gently. He calls your name again. "Stay with me!" You try to reach out for him but your hand falls. He looks down and his eyes widen. Blood. Your blood. So much of it spilling out from the wound in your chest. Your shirt is stained red. His heart stops, eyes watering. His smile hurts and he curses the way it stays on his face. He doesn't want to smile. Not now.
"You can't leave me," Alastor whispers, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. He feels hands start to pull him away, growling and snarling at them. Police are pushing him back as medics begin to touch you.
"Stay away from her!" he shouts at them. He has to protect you. He has to.
"Al, it's ok! They're going to help her!" Veronica says, stepping into view. Alastor glances at her then back to you. The police release him and he falls to the ground on his knees. He watches as they lift you up on a stretcher, carrying your limp body to the ambulance.
It's so sudden when it happens. He can feel it, like a string being cut. You're gone.
Green swirls around him, the light blinding and he fights against it.
"No! I have to stay, I have to be here with her! I can't leave!" he screams against the light, clawing at it to stay where he is. His hands pass through the asphalt, his body becoming transparent. "No!"
The scenery before him melts into one he's so familiar to, and yet unknown. The hard ground of the parking lot turns to plush carpet of the hotel lobby as Alastor is dropped back into Hell. The contract had been terminated, nullified by your death.
You were dead.
"Alastor!" Charlie runs over to where Alastor stays kneeled, his arms hanging limp, eyes wide as he stares numbly at the floor. "Alastor?" He looks up at her, the tears falling through. She gasps, "What happened?"
The smile that plagues him quivers as he speaks.
"I lost her."
Charlie looks confused, placing her hand on Alastor's shoulder. "Lost who, Al?" The others are coming around now yet giving him space, their faces all carrying the same look of disbelief as they watch Alastor come undone.
His shadows start to dance around him, growling and hissing as they rise. His hands claw at his face. Charlie pulls back in fear, Vaggie coming to guide her further away. The shadows continue to swirl around him, giggling and laughing like children. Their hands clasp together, capturing Alastor inside the circle as green symbols appear. Green stitches thread through his lips and his clothes. He slams his fists to the ground, a painful howl releasing from him as his shadows scream. They break the circle and run rampant through the hotel, shaking the walls and rattling the furniture.
He rips at the carpet, anger and hurt burning through his chest as he whimpers. "I lost her."
--
Six days.
You had been in the hospital for six days when news of your ex's arrest made it to you. Veronica, your loyal friend, had made sure the police knew what happened, telling them about your history with John as she showed them the video from your phone. That, plus the fact that he shot you, landed him in prison for life. He was gone for good and yet you couldn't feel happy about it.
When you asked Veronica about Alastor, she had frowned, grabbing your hands gently. She explained how she tried to give him a ride to the hospital where they were taking you, but when she turned to tell him, he was gone. She had looked all around the parking lot, but nothing. Your heart dropped and you cried.
Deep down, you knew what had happened. The contract you formed with him when you did the summoning would only end when you either made your wish or if your life somehow ended before then. The doctors were able to resuscitate you, but you were dead for over a minute. You knew that's when it happened, the thread holding you and Alastor together had broke.
Another five days and the hospital cleared you to go home. The bullet had pierced your lung and you had lost an alarming amount of blood. Luckily, they were able to save you, a miracle they said. You didn't feel like it was a miracle.
Veronica helped you home, the apartment feeling cold and lonely. You glance at Alastor's room, expecting to see him there, smiling up at you and welcoming you home. The room is empty, cold. You feel the urge to cry returning.
"I'm gonna grab you some water, ok?" Veronica says, helping you to sit on the couch. You sit there numbly as she power walks to the kitchen, staring at nothing until she returns. She calls your name but you don't listen. Sighing, she sets the glass down on the coffee table. "Girlie, talk to me, please," she asks, grabbing your hands in hers. The tears begin to flow slowly.
"He's gone," you whisper.
"Well, yeah. Bastard's gonna rot in jail now." You shake your head.
"He's gone," you say again.
"Oh, you mean," she stops, not wanting to say his name in fear of you crying harder. "I'm sure he'll come back." You want to believe her, but you know he's gone. He was in Hell while you were stuck on Earth. The pain in your heart tumbles forth and you shake your head again, closing your eyes tight. You sob harder, wincing when your body shakes, pain throbbing in your chest. The wound was healed enough to no longer be fatal, but the remnants left behind still hurt.
"I didn't even get to say goodbye," you whisper through the tears.
"You make it sound like you won't ever see him again," Veronica jokes, but her smile fades when you don't laugh. "Oh honey. You love him, don't you?"
"Yes," you admit, your hands gripping your chest. You love him. You love him so much and you didn't even get to tell him, the chance ripped away from you. Veronica grabs you and pulls you into a tight hug. She rubs your back in an attempt to calm you.
"It's gonna be ok," she says. "If I know anything, it's that he loves you back so I'm sure he'll come waltzing through that door any day now."
"He won't," you sigh, wiping some of the tears away.
"Well not with that attitude. You gotta have some hope, right? Do you have his number? We could call him!" Veronica pulls out her phone. You stop her.
"It won't work."
"And why not?" she questions. You feel strange for what you're about to say, like you're betraying him in some way, yet you decide she needs to know.
"He's not here."
"Yeah, I got that Sherlock," she states, rolling her eyes. You shake your head.
"I meant he's not here on Earth." She looks at you like you've lost your head.
"Ok, gonna need you to start making sense here, girlie."
"Remember the book?" you ask. She nods. "Remember when I said I tried it out, too, when you went to get pizza?" She nods again and you sigh. "It worked."
"Wait, so," she sits further onto the couch, turning towards you, "are you saying that Alastor isn't here because he's the demon you summoned from the book?"
"Yep," you say with a pop. "Sounds insane when you say it."
"That's cause it is!" She stares at you in disbelief. "I mean, come on! The man might've been a bit weird, but, a demon?"
"A demon," you repeat, ignoring the look she gives you. You decide to give her the whole story. "He appeared in my room that following morning, talking about Hell and how he was contracted to make a wish with me for my soul." You smile fondly as you tell her about the deal you two made, how he'd live with you until you could make a wish. You even told her how you tried to make a wish for her but it was against the rules.
"You know this sounds bat shit crazy, right?" Veronica asks.
"Crazy or not, he was real. He was real and now he's … gone," you choke on the last word, folding in on yourself. Veronica frowns, crossing her arms.
"Well, you summoned him once, right? Do it again."
You look up at her. "What?"
"If you really did summon him, just do it again. We still have the book don't we?" You jerk upright, gasping in pain. "Easy!"
"The book," you say through the pain. "Where is it?"
"It's," Veronica trails off, looking around. You look, too, unable to spot it. You can't remember where you had put it, either, after that night. "Well, shit."
"We have to find it." You stand up, swaying slightly before moving forward. "Check the cushions. Under the table. It's got to be here."
"Alright, alright. Calm down, we'll find it." Veronica helps you look. It's not anywhere in the living room, nor in the kitchen or on the dining table. Did Alastor move it? God, you hope not. You'd never find it then. "Check your bedroom!" Veronica suggests.
"Good idea." You walk to your bedroom, throwing open the door. Your check under your covers, in your nightstand, your closet. You even force yourself to bend over to check under the bed, ignoring Veronica's protests. It's not there.
The book is gone.
"Fuck!" you shout, kicking your bed frame. You hiss at the pain in your toe.
"Don't hurt yourself more," Veronica warns, coming to help you. "Books don't just get up and walk away. We'll find it."
"Veronica, if I -," tears spill once again. "I have to see him again."
"Good lord, leave it to you to fall in love with a demon," Veronica huffs. "But I ain't one to not help my best friend after she's finally found someone. Not after all these years of me desperately trying. We'll get your man-demon-whatever, don't you worry." You manage to smile, hugging her tightly.
"Thank you."
"Anything for you, girlie." Veronica returns the hug, gentle as to not irritate your chest. You pull back, wiping the tears from your cheeks. You felt a surge of determination, of renewed hope. You were going to find that book, you were going to summon Alastor again, and you were going to tell him how you feel. Then, you would make your wish and neither Hell nor Heaven could stop you.
A knock at the front door startles you and Veronica, the two of your sharing a puzzled look. You weren't expecting company and neither was she.
"Stay here," Veronica mumbles, grabbing pepper spray from her pocket as she leaves to go see who it is. You wait patiently, worried, until she reappears.
"Who was it?" you ask.
"It's for you," she responds blankly, her eyes glazed over. You stand, walking to her.
"Veronica?" You wave your hand in front of her face, but she doesn't respond. You look past her and see a tall woman standing in your apartment. You quickly step around Veronica, shielding her. "What have you done?"
"What needs to be done," the woman speaks, her voice cold. It unnerves you.
"Who are you?"
"We both know you know the answer to that, my child," the woman says. You look at her more closely. Her eyes are angled, like an owl, her hair feathered out and down her back, pure white. It reminds you of feathers.
"You're an angel."
"Correct." She steps closer, her hands outstretched. "You have committed the ultimate sin, little one. I'm here to warn you. Turn back now, forget what has happened, and all shall be forgiven."
"What?" Forget what has happened? Forget… "No." You glare at her, fists clenched.
"No?" Her stone blue eyes narrow at you. "You would defy the word of Heaven?"
"I would defy the word of God himself if it meant I could stay with him," you state, teeth bared at her.
"Watch your tongue, little one. I can not save you from the fires if you so willingly go towards them," she warns. You bark out a laugh.
"If the fires are what I must walk through to return to him, I would gladly do so any day. Not you, nor any one else, is going to stop me."
"How sad." She drops her arms, her form shifting from human to something otherworldly. Her lips sharpen into a beak, her lashes growing out past her face. Multiple wings sprout from her back. "I ask once more, my child. Would you deny the gates of heaven, eternal peace, for a demon?" She sneers the word, as if it burns her tongue just to speak it.
"Yes," you answer. There is no hesitation, no doubt in your mind as you confirm your resolve. This is what you want.
"Very well, then." Her wings stretch out wide, flapping once. "Let's see if you can find your filthy demon again." In a flash of light, she's gone, silver glitter falling where she once stood. You hear Veronica groan behind you.
"The fuck just happened?"
You walk over to the front door, picking up a single feather. You twirl it in your hand, looking at Veronica with fire in your eyes. If Heaven was so adamant to stop you, taking away your only connection to him, then you'd go find another way. If you couldn't have his book, then you'd find another. You'd use every book depicting summoning you could get your hands on, calling forth any and every demon that would answer, until you found him. No matter the cost.
"Grab your hiking gear," you say, crushing the feather in your palm.
"What, why?" Veronica looks at you, confused. You smile, letting the crumpled feather fall to the floor.
"We're going hunting."
Until we meet again, my dear readers!
taglist: @i-like-potatoes12533, @girl-nahh-two, @mcntsee, @projectdreamwalker, @sassmasterxx, @alsemain, @yunimimii, @noraunor, @justneo11, @dragonlover123a, @falsemain, @ephemeralxv, @theshello, @wonderlandangelsposts, @weirdflower2024, @yourworstgf, @youroneandonlysimp, @alastorstandard, @florelll
Masterlist ... Ao3
#alastor#the radio demon#alastor hazbin#Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction#Hazbin Hotel Fanfic#Hazbin Fanfiction#Hazbin Fanfic#Alastor Fanfiction#Alastor Fanfic#Hazbin Hotel Alastor#Hazbin Alastor Fanfiction#alastor x you#Hazbin Alastor#Hazbin Alastor Fanfic#Alastor x Reader#Alastor x you#alastor x reader
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Since you don’t mind being asked for recommendations, do you have any horror or thriller book recommendations to give? I just thought that you must have read a lot to nail the terrifying atmosphere in your fics so well.
Aaaa thank you for saying so!!! I'm glad my fics have scary atmosphere. As for horror/thriller recs, here are a few that I have read and enjoyed!
Definitely the Red Eye series. I can't recommend it enough. orz but my personal favorites from the series would be:
✧ Frozen Charlotte by Alex Bell (also the prequel Charlotte Says) - these are amazing. I can't recommend Alex Bell's work enough. I reread Frozen Charlotte every year because it's such a delicious horror story. I may be biased because of the Victorian charm it has, especially in the prequel, but overall it's really enjoyable and I highly recommend it.
✧ Flesh & Blood by Simon Cheshire - THE ENDING. OHHHHH, IT GUTTED ME IN THE BEST WAY. I loved the suspicion in this one. So tangible.
✧ Sleepless by Lou Morgan - this one was great! The concept of wealthy uni students getting their hands on "study aid" drugs and then losing their minds as a result was so fascinating to read about. It's been a while since I've read it, so I can't remember if it was truly horrifying. Moreso unsettling.
✧ Savage Island by Bryony Pearce (also the sequel Cruel Castle) - THIS STORY. OMG IT GUTTED ME IN THE WORST WAY. I had to take a walk after I read the last chapter in Savage Island. Savage Island is such a brutal horror. It made me squirm. It was just so !!!!!!!!!! Cruel Castle was also an enjoyable sequel filled with lots of tension.
✧ Whiteout by Gabriel Dylan - I love novels that confine the characters to a bleak backdrop, especially when it's in the middle of winter. Stuck in a ski resort that's been snowed in... aaaaa what a yummy premise. From beginning to end, I was on the edge of my seat.
As for things outside of the Red Eye:
✧ The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole - a gothic classic!!! I love the haunting imagery. It sticks with me.
✧ The Brothers Grimm fairy tales - I can't recommend just a single fairy tale because I think all of them are wonderful. So creepy. orz
✧ The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe - AAAAAA I LOVE TELL-TALE HEART!!!!!! One of my favorite works by Poe. The unreliable narrator, the tension, the suspense, the breakdown at the end when he tears up the floorboards........ so good.
There is so much more I want to recommend, but I can't remember the titles of everything. T_T my brain is scrambled egg,,,, but one day I will create a reading list/favorite fiction list and share it for more recs!!! >w<
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{18} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader
Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles
Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor
Pairing: Ateez X Reader
Words: 7,826
Warnings: Blood and mentions of wounds. Violence. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.
A/n: So, I know this part is a bit shorter than all the rest, but it’s quite plot heavy in my opinion. It really sets up a lot of what is still yet to come, and essentially what the sequel will be about. I’m super excited to write everything out and tie everything together. Not to mention the repercussions of someone’s anger next chapter hehehe anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~
Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Mini Masterlist
The next ten minutes after you lose consciousness are the worst ten minutes of their entire lives.
“Yunho-“
“Already on it,” the taller male cuts his Captain off, gaze focussed on you body as tears line the corners of his vision. Like hell is he going to let you slip away from them now. Concentrating, Yunho holds on to your mind, cradling it gently as he tethers you to him.
San and Mingi are quick to carefully lift your body back onto the desk. Still, those goddamn arrows stick glaringly into the air, the silver gleaming almost mockingly in the light. Each male can smell your scent becoming stronger with every second that your blood continues to spill out of you.
The sound of tearing fabric finally draws Seonghwa back into reality, his tearful gaze locking onto your unconscious form being surrounded by his brothers on all sides. He takes a step forward.
Immediately, Hongjoong’s eyes are flashing, a warning snarl tugging at their leader’s lips as he glares at the eldest.
“Stand down.”
“I can help-“
“You’ve done enough.” Yeosang’s tone is harsh, the younger’s heated gaze being directed towards the eldest for only a brief moment before turning back to the task at hand.
The first arrow is removed from your back.
“Don’t-“
“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong’s stern gaze locks with the eldest’s. “Now is not the time.”
“Like hell you can keep me away from her,” he snarls back, teeth bared threateningly as his emotions consume him once more. Tears fall freely down his face with each breath he takes, a wild look in his eyes.
With a flick of Hongjoong’s head, both San and Jongho part from holding onto your body to restrain Seonghwa from taking another step closer.
“Let me go,” the eldest begins thrashing in their grip as they begin to drag him down the hallway. “I need to see her. I need to help.”
“Do you think you’re going to be the first person she wants to see when she wakes up?” San hisses, quite harshly, in the eldest’s ear. “You fucked up. Big time, Hwa.”
“She could have died!” His voice nearly shakes the whole house as they reach the stairs. “She could still die!”
“You think we don’t realize that?” Jongho spits, fear reflected in his gaze as his grip tightens around the eldest. It’s certainly a task dragging him up the stairs and into his room. “You think I don’t understand the fear you felt seeing her body hunched over like that, with arrows protruding from every angle? You don’t think I felt that same terror consume me when I smelt her blood?”
The eldest goes quiet, yet he still struggles to get free. To get back to you, and help you in any and every way that he can. To beg for your forgiveness, even in your unconscious state. He needs you to know that the words he spoke were some of the worst lies of his life. Words spat harshly in anger. In fear.
“You’re not the only one affected by this, Hwa.” Jongho’s voice is low, stern as he and San practically throw the eldest inside of his room. “But you sure know how to make it worse.”
“And now we are stuck on guard duty while the love of our lives bleeds out downstairs,” San’s eyes are sharp as he glares at the eldest, his hands shaking as he plops himself down into a side chair.
Jongho crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Seonghwa sit, defeated, on the side of his own bed. The eldest rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he cradles his head in his hands, gripping onto his hair for dear life. More tears fall shamelessly down his cheeks, dripping onto the rug below.
“She’s going to hate me now, isn’t she?” His voice comes out much softer than before, reflecting how broken he feels. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
The two younger demons share a look between each other, blinking at how suddenly Seonghwa’s mood has changed. Neither are expecting the eldest’s voice to go so quiet as they watch his whole body begin to tremble, sobs wracking his entire form.
“I fucked up, and now the last memory she’s going to have is of me making her feel like she’s a burden.” His hands begin to tug at his roots, eyes squeezing shut as tears fall shamelessly from him. “I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t-” he chokes on a sob, “I can’t-“
“Seonghwa,” Jongho sighs, moving over to crouch in front of the eldest, and managing to get him to lift his head and meet the younger’s gaze. “No one understands your fear more than we do right now, but that does not excuse what you just said to her. You let your fear control your anger, and your anger control your words. You made your choice to protect her, just as we all did. She made the choice to protect a child. There was no reason to get mad at her for that. We all know that given the situation, if you were in the right state of mind, you would have done the exact same thing.”
“The child wasn’t even a target until she moved to protect him.” He voices, weakly.
“You think I don’t realize that?” Jongho’s eyes narrow slightly. “She had her reasons. You know as well as I do how certain instincts take over in life or death situations. You don’t think, you just move.”
Which is exactly what happened when they saw that very first arrow pierce your shoulder. All logic flew out of the window. All that was left was the urge to protect you, and destroy all those that opposed you. No one hurts you and gets away with it. No one.
“I failed her,” Seonghwa’s voice is but a whisper as more tears fall.
"If that’s what you truly think than you’re dumber than I thought,” Jongho sighs once more, standing back to his feet as he takes a seat beside San, whom they can tell is listening intently to everything that’s going on downstairs as he sits with his eyes closed, back pin straight and grip deadly on the arms of the chair.
“None of us want to lose her,” San blinks, focussing his gaze back in on the male on the bed in front of him. “Sure, it’s fucking shitty what happened, but you’re not going to change it now. We have bigger shit to deal with than whining about who’s fault it is, or ‘what if’s.”
“How can I not blame myself?” Seonghwa stands, his eyes flashing as that familiar fury lights behind his orbs. “I swore I would never let anything hurt her, and now she’s bleeding out because of my mistake!”
In an instant, Jongho has shoved Seonghwa back down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He holds the eldest down by his shoulder, his fingers digging harshly into the eldest’s skin.
“You’re not the only one that feels this way, Seonghwa,” Jongho’s voice is cold as he purposely stares straight ahead, refusing to look down at his brother for the time being. “We all let her down. If she hadn’t of caught that first arrow-“
“She what?” Instantly, San is on his feet, his heart pounding as a newfound terror rushes through his veins.
“The first arrow was aimed right at her head,” Seonghwa breathes, eyes staring at his hands as his whole body goes still. “One moment she was gazing out into the forest, as if something caught her eye.” His own squeeze shut in realization. “The next she was holding an arrow pointed directly at her forehead.”
San inhales sharply. “She noticed before any of you.”
“Not even Wyno was the wiser,” Jongho exhales, sitting beside Seonghwa on the bed.
“How many-“ San swallows. “How many times was she actually hit?”
The two on the bed lift their gazes to meet San’s, nothing but pure terror shining in their eyes.
“Five,” Jongho breathes, swallowing the dryness in his own throat. “After she caught the first arrow, she immediately got hit in the left shoulder.”
“Pulled it out instantly, though.” Seonghwa recounts, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was furious.”
“Furious?” San’s brow furrows, recalling the way blood stained the front of your shirt as well. “At you?”
“No, I don’t think it was directed at us,” Jongho says, standing back to his feet. “I think it was at whoever shot at her.”
Before any of them can say much more, Hongjoong’s voice is echoing through their heads.
She’s stabilizing. The tremendous sense of relief that floods the room is visible in the way all of their shoulders relax, chests deflating as they release a breath of air. She’ll be okay.
Where are you now? San asks, already back onto his feet for the moment.
They’re all in her room. Mingi replies. Yeosang and Yunho are washing the blood from her as we speak. Wooyoung and I are making her another tonic for when she wakes up.
If it weren’t for that little bit of Yunho’s blood already in her system, things would have been much worse. Wooyoung comments, and all of them stiffen the slightest bit.
Did you feed her your own blood, then? Jongho voices the question on all of their minds as both he and Seonghwa stand from the bed.
It was a little more complicated than that. Wooyoung sighs.
Complicated how? San quirks a brow.
Instantly, the three of them are teleporting themselves to your room to see Hongjoong sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Hands which are still covered in blood. Your blood.
Slowly, they watch their leader lift his head.
Hongjoong’s piercing gaze is immediately on Seonghwa, eyes narrowing at the eldest. “Have you managed to calm down?”
A curt nod is all he receives in response before his gaze is shifting to the other two beside the eldest.
“He’s got a lot to make up for once she wakes up,” San shoots a pointed look at the male beside him, who sends a sharp look back.
“Just let me see her,” Seonghwa turns his gaze back to the man on the couch, sad eyes pleading. “I need to know she’s okay.”
Either Yeosang has impeccable timing, or he’s doing it just to personally torture the eldest, but as soon as the words leave Seonghwa’s lips, the door to your bathroom is opening. Yeosang steps out, immediately followed by Yunho, who is carrying you gently in his arms. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on your stomach as your chest rises with even breaths.
“She’s still unconscious,” Jongho blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“She probably won’t wake up for a while,” Yunho replies, stepping towards your bed where Yeosang has already pulled back the covers. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Carefully, and with the gentlest of ease, Yunho settles you beneath your covers. He angles you so that you’re laying on your stomach, pillow tucked securely beneath your head and arms so as not to aggravate the muscles in your back. They may have been able to heal you, but that doesn’t mean the area won’t still be tender for a little while longer.
It was all for naught, though, for in the next second, Yeosang is laying on the bed with you, pulling you into his arms as he curls you into his chest. His one hand gently strokes along your spine, holding onto you tightly, as if you may slip away at any given moment.
“Did you at least gut the bastard that fired those arrows?” His gaze is sharp as he turns to look at both Seonghwa and Jongho.
“We left none alive,” Seonghwa replies, matter of factly.
“So, you managed to kill the man with the red bow, then?” Yunho turns to them before sitting on the edge of your bed, hand reaching out to rest on your lower leg, just to be able to feel your warmth and know you’re still alive. That you’re safe, and what his brothers and he did worked.
“There was no hunter who carried a red bow that I saw,” Jongho’s brow furrows.
“How many ambushed you?” Hongjoong’s brow furrows, intertwining his fingers together in front of himself.
“Twenty.” Wooyoung answers for them as he enters the room with Mingi in tow. “Yet none of them used those silver arrows.”
Walking over to your bedside table, he places a glass of red liquid onto it.
“Are you sure?” Hongjoong shifts his gaze to Wooyoung who’s own eyes are locked onto your sleeping figure.
“Positive,” Jongho nods, brow furrowing.
“Then, he got away,” Yunho frowns.
“How would you know about the man with the red bow?” Seonghwa’s eyes narrow at the younger male.
“I took the liberty of searching her memories once she stabilized,” Yunho meets the eldest’s gaze with a firm one of his own. “First of all, it was a cloaking spell that covered their approach. One that fooled even the likes of you. If she hadn’t bothered looking past Wyno when she did, and taken note of the stillness of the woods, I-“ his voice catches. “We’re lucky she caught the first one.”
Yeosang visibly stiffens in his spot, along with both Hongjoong and Mingi.
“How many arrows were shot at her?” Yeosang’s voice is low, his fingers pressing a little firmer into your skin.
“Six.” Wooyoung replies, noticing how you seem to stretch in your sleep, your one arm draping over Yeosang’s waist and falling directly into his line of sight. Immediately, he’s on his knees, reaching out and grasping your hand in his, holding onto you for dear life. “Five met their marks.”
“Do we at least know who did this?” San spares a look around the room.
“It’s like we said,” Jongho breathes. “Miyeon’s got allies.”
“Wyno was in the midst of telling us how Miyeon prepositioned her with an alliance, along with a man with silver arrows and a red bow,” Seonghwa moves to sit in one of the side chairs, running his hands through his hair. “Apparently, Miyeon has an army now.”
“Well, we think it belongs to that man,” Wooyoung adds. “No one in their right mind would follow Miyeon on her own.”
“Wyno also mentioned that this man and her seemed to be bonded somehow,” Jongho goes on to say. “She said he seemed devoted to her.”
“And the alliance?” Hongjoong quirks a brow.
“Is null,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Believe me, we got that lecture from Wyno already.”
“Good,” Hongjoong nods. “I didn’t believe Wyno would accept something so rash.”
“Yeah, and apparently Miyeon didn’t appreciate her answer,” Wooyoung sighs.
“Perhaps you all were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Yunho comments, brow furrowed.
“Which raises a whole bunch of other questions, then, too,” San leans against the one pillar in your room.
Briefly, Jongho explains how the rest of the conversation with Wyno went, informing the others about the potential threats to come.
“This man,” Yeosang frowns, lips tugging downwards, “you said Wyno described him as having a scar over his left eye?”
“Yes,” Jongho nods once in confirmation.
Yeosang’s lips purse, brow furrowing even further as his arms tighten subconsciously around your figure.
“Do you know him?” San asks, pushing himself off of the pillar in the process.
Yeosang nods. “His name is Dimitri. He’s one of the most powerful warlocks of the realm. I-“ he lets out a sigh, “I trained him briefly with the bow, and I taught him how to make arrows. I just never thought he’d do something like this.” Then, more to himself, “I thought the style of arrow was familiar.”
“Wait, that Dimitri?” Mingi’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “I thought he was dead.”
“I thought he settled down with his wife, and two kids,” Yunho blinks, lifting his hand only briefly as you shift slightly before settling it back onto your leg.
“Whatever the case, I’m sure Miyeon has something to do with it,” San spits, anger pulling at his features.
“If the army Miyeon is boasting to have is his, we might be in for a little more trouble than we’re anticipating.” Jongho sighs. “Not to mention the remains of that scattered uprising we have to deal with tonight.”
A sharp inhale is heard throughout the room.
“I’m not going-”
“Like hell you aren’t,” San rounds on the eldest, their gazes locking as both males narrow their eyes at each other.
“I’ve already decided that both Yeosang and Wooyoung will be staying back to watch over her,” Hongjoong shoots them both a sharp look. “The rest of us will have to deal with the council as quickly as possible. You said Wyno wanted us to bring this up to them, anyways. You need to be there to explain what happened.”
“But Jongho-“
“That’s an order,” Hongjoong’s voice is firm as he cuts the eldest off. “I’ve already granted you leniency by allowing you to stay this long in her presence. Don’t push your luck, Hwa.”
“You can’t keep me away from her.” The eldest’s eyes narrow as he watches his captain stand from his spot. “You can’t push me away.”
“No,” Hongjoong meets his gaze, and the fury Seonghwa sees shining behind his eyes has him blinking in shock. “You did that yourself.”
“You think I don’t realize that?” Seonghwa retorts, his own anger bubbling beneath the surface of his skin for the nth time that day.
“I don’t know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong turns fully to face him. “Do you?”
“You got mad at her for protecting a child, Hwa,” Mingi spares a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. “Then, you went and said that.”
“Did you actually not care if that child died?” Wooyoung, who had been resting his chin on the edge of your bed as he sat on the ground, turns his attention to the eldest.
“Of course I cared,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing at that question having to even be posed. “I simply cared more about her in the moment.”
“You have some serious explaining to do when she wakes up,” Yeosang states, quite pointedly. “If she’ll even want to see you.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitches.
“Did any of you know?” San’s voice comes out slightly smaller than they expect.
“About her sister?” Yunho meets the younger male’s gaze. “No. I didn’t.”
Each male shakes their head.
“None of us did,” Hongjoong sighs, running a bloody hand through his hair. “Though, that’s only half of it. Isn’t it?”
At this, they all turn to look at Seonghwa, who visibly shrinks beneath their gaze.
“You don’t need to lecture him,” Jongho shoots a pointed look around the room. “I already did. He already feels bad enough about it.”
“As he fucking should,” Wooyoung spits, nothing but venom lacing his voice. “I was there, too, Hwa. We all felt that panic seize us; that terror taking hold and flooding our veins. It’s not a fucking excuse for making her feel worthless.”
“You don’t think I’ve regretted those words most of all as soon as they left my lips?” Seonghwa rounds on him, eyes shining as tears of frustration line his vision. “I swore I would never hurt her, yet that’s what I seem to be constantly doing.”
“If all you’re going to do is argue over her unconscious form, then leave,” Yeosang snaps, voice low and tone harsh. “She doesn’t need this right now.”
“I get it,” Seonghwa laughs once, dryly, his lips twitching as a single tear blazes a new trail down his cheek. “It’s what you’ve all been thinking since we got back, anyways. She doesn’t need me.”
In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa has disappeared from your room, leaving the others standing there in shock. However, before any of them can go after him, Hongjoong raising a hand in the air stops them.
“Leave him be,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “Let him cool off first. He needs to sort out his own head. You all know as well as I do that he says things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset.” Hongjoong turns his head towards your sleeping figure, another small rush of relief flooding his veins as he sees the steady rise and fall of your chest against Yeosang’s. “Case in point.”
A few nods is all he receives in confirmation.
Letting out a long exhale through his nose, Yunho reluctantly removes his hand from your leg. Standing to his feet, he cracks his neck. “We should probably get ready for tonight, anyways.”
“Exactly,” Hongjoong nods once. “We need to take care of our own before worrying about anything else.”
Without another word, the five of them leave your room. Not without shooting some longing glances your way first, of course.
Lingering at the door, Hongjoong shoots once final look in your direction.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung smiles at him faintly. “We’ll take care of her.”
“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Yeosang adds, locking eyes briefly with the elder male who nods once before softly closing the door to your room.
Only, the door doesn’t stay closed for long, for in the next second, a loud mewl is heard from outside, promptly followed by the door opening just a crack. A tiny, black blur darts in, immediately jumping onto the bed and crawling up alongside your body until he reaches your head, sniffing at your newly healed shoulder lightly.
Another mewl escapes him, Kuroo’s wide, golden eyes turning to look at each male with nothing but concern shining within.
“She’ll be okay,” Yeosang chuckles, reaching over and petting Kuroo’s head lightly. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Why don’t you stay,” Wooyoung grins at the cat who already is curling up against your back, purring lightly. “I’m sure she’ll love knowing you’re protecting her while she sleeps.”
Another mewl is heard, more pointed than the last which has both males chuckling once more.
Soft smiles tug at their features, though, there’s a hint of sorrow to each of them, as they continue watching over your sleeping form for the time being. Both vow to never let anything like this happen to you again. They never want to see you in such a state if they can help it.
Wooyoung can still feel the way his hands shook as he figured out just what type of poison coated those arrows. A simple mixture which only affects humans. It’s one of the reasons why your hands burnt when you touched the metal.
He will never forget having to pour his own blood into your open wounds in order for the antidote to take effect. You were unconscious, and it would have taken to long to feed it to you normally. Thank fuck Mingi was there to get the mixture flowing through your veins, while making sure your heart was still pumping.
Still, you’ll need to drink the tonic as soon as you wake up to make sure there’s no lingering effects from the poison. Also, to make sure you’re properly healed. They all did their best, but you’ll still be a bit stiff. Your body isn’t used to such changes, or magic yet. The shock alone of having been impaled by five arrows within the span of ten minutes would have been enough to kill anybody.
Maybe you’re just lucky.
Wooyoung’s hand tightens around you own, resting his head against his one arm.
No. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. Yes, it’s damn lucky that you survived, but Wooyoung knows you’re strong. Yunho’s blood running through your system be damned. You fought to survive today, and you won.
Besides, they wouldn’t have let you die. Not in a million years, least of all now. Not like this.
At least once Yeosang figured out the type of arrows that were used, he was able to remove them quickly. He will never forget the way your whole body spasmed as he removed the final two. They were the worst ones, embedded deeply within your back and causing you to bleed out almost uncontrollably. They’re seriously lucky you didn’t pass out from blood loss sooner.
At least you’re okay now, and they have an idea of who they’re dealing with. Miyeon and her little ‘army’ won’t get away with this so easily. After all, if you hurt one of them, you hurt all of them. No one touches you and gets away with it. Absolutely no one.
Hours pass like this, with the two of them watching over you as you sleep. Wooyoung opts to move to the other side of the bed, propping himself up with his one arm as Kuroo continues to rest against your back, curled in around Wooyoung’s stomach. His hand rests on the small of your back, thumb gently rubbing circles there as Yeosang continues to hold you in his arms.
Neither male says anything, yet they do not need to. The silence is a bit tense with worry, but with each breath you take, the rise and fall of your chest eases that lingering tension. They both know that it’s only a matter of time before you wake up. They’ve done all that they can for now. All that’s left to do is continue watching over your sleeping figure.
If only it weren’t so hard waiting this time around.
Before they left for the evening, each of their brothers popped their heads in one last time to check up on you. Even Seonghwa lingered for as long as he could in hopes he might catch a glimpse of consciousness returning to your form, so that he could immediately apologize, and beg for your forgiveness.
At least the eldest has seemed to have cooled down, finally.
Only, the longer he lingered with you not so much as shifting, he felt his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Letting out a sigh, Seonghwa reluctantly pulled himself away, meeting the others swiftly in the foyer.
“Ready to go?” Yunho sighs, straightening out his jacket stiffly.
“No,” San grumbles, voice rough as his arms cross in front of his chest. “Are any of us?”
“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back here and watch over her,” Hongjoong reminds them all. “She’s safe with Yeosang and Wooyoung all the same.”
“We know,” Mingi replies. “It’s just hard leaving her knowing what’s happened today.”
“I know it is,” Hongjoong exhales a long breath through his nose. “Let’s just hurry up, and be done with this.”
Immediately, all six of them are transporting themselves to their throne room. They each take a few minutes to compose themselves before they begin this council. The last thing they want is to fuck something up now, or be ambushed again.
With their guards up, and senses on high alert, the six Kings enter the grand hall.
Seonghwa remains unusually silent, face stoic as he gets lost inside his own head. There’s too many thoughts flitting through his mind right now to focus on one single thing. All he does know, is that he wants to get back to you, and make things right as soon as he possibly can.
The first ten minutes of the council is a blur. Jax goes over some basic things with all of them that they couldn’t really care less about. Until finally, the five rebels that were caught are brought in front of them, four cursing and thrashing all the while.
Each King takes his time to observe the three males, and two females forced to their knees in front of them. Hatred shines in each of their pure black eyes, snarls on their lips as they spit harsh words towards their supposed leaders. That is, until Yunho silences them once and for all.
There is nothing quite like the look of fear that takes over a demon’s face when they realize they’re finally powerless within their own minds.
A twisted smile pulls at Hongjoong’s features as he slowly steps forward, a hush settling over the gathered council.
“I’m only going to ask you this once,” his eyes flash, stalking down the line of the five captives and exerting complete dominance over the entire room. All are silent, waiting for their King to speak once more. “What cause did you think you had to oppose us?”
Hongjoong stops in front of the male furthest to the right, staring down his nose at him. Normally, the scrutinizing gaze is enough to send any demon trembling in their spot, but apparently not this demon.
“Go to hell,” he spits on the floor at Hongjoong’s feet, snarl of disgust tugging at his lips.
Hongjoong’s brows raise, clearly amused by this male’s audacity.
In the blink of an eye, the man’s entire throat is torn out, blood dripping from Hongjoong’s hands as his claws retract. His eyes close as he shakes his head, tutting all the while as the male chokes on his own blood. A moment later, he goes limp, his blood soaking into the floor of the grand hall.
Stepping in front of the next demon, one of the females who visibly cannot keep herself from shaking in fear now, Hongjoong’s eyes flash open.
Immediately, she freezes, transfixed by his piercing gaze.
“I am not in the mood tonight to play games,” his tone is firm, commanding. “Do not test my already thin patience.”
A brief pause, as the female demon takes a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“We were promised a new world,” she begins.
“Shut your fucking mouth, woman!” The second male beside her hisses.
A resounding crack echoes throughout the hall as Jongho snaps the male’s neck without a second thought. Allowing the now limp body to fall to the ground, the youngest sends the woman a polite smile to continue, though she’s not at all reassured.
“Who promised you a new world?” Hongjoong’s voice manages to draw her attention back onto him for the time being.
“Our leader, and his Queen.” She replies, noticing how the six of them all tense at her words. “He said she’s the one true heir to the proper throne.”
“Which throne, prey tell, would that be?” Mingi quirks a brow, a fire lighting behind his eyes as he stares down at this woman.
“One that doesn’t allow whores to rule freely over us,” the second woman spits, ignorant to the way all of the King’s eyes flash as they turn to glare at her. “One that doesn’t submit to dirt.”
A sickening crunch is heard as San tears her heart from her chest, dropping the organ unceremoniously back down to the floor in the next second. A look of disgust rests on his features as he flicks his hand, blood splattering in droplets across the remaining two demon’s faces.
“And just who is this leader of yours?” Hongjoong inquires, noting how the woman’s trembling gaze is back on his in an instant.
“I don’t-“ her whole body shakes as he leans in, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t have time for lies,” Hongjoong hisses, grabbing her harshly by her hair and tilting her head back as his eyes flash. “I need a name.”
“Don’t tell him,” the final man hisses, and despite being forced onto his knees, he rests quite proudly in his spot, head held high. “He’ll just kill you anyways. It’s what happens when you fall in love with a worthless human.”
All of their eyes flash at this, but it’s the eldest who reacts the quickest.
A dull thunk is heard as the man’s head hits the floor, torn clean from his shoulders. A fury ignites behind Seonghwa’s eyes as he scans the crowd of the council, practically daring anyone else to say something negative about you just so he can relieve some more of his anger.
The entire room goes silent.
Hongjoong leans in once more to the final woman left kneeling before him, tears trailing down her cheeks as her whole body continues to tremble.
“I just need a name,” he coos, crouching in front of her and tilting his head almost innocently. “A single name, and all of this will be over.”
Her eyes briefly dart around the room, looking from one King to the next, and finding no sympathy in any of their eyes. She swallows thickly.
“Malik.”
Silent whispers begin to echo throughout the room from the attending council, a few letting out startled gasps. The shunned general’s name is known far and wide throughout the realm. A name which hasn’t been heard in years, ever since his banishment.
“Silence!” Hongjoong’s voice booms, and immediately, the room goes still. Turning back to the woman, a maniacal smile stretches across his features. “And what of his supposed Queen?”
“I don’t know,” she shakes her head vigorously. At least, as much as she can with her hair still in his grip.
Hongjoong tilts his head threateningly, eyes wide and wild. “Don’t test me.”
“I don’t know, I swear!” She sobs. “We never met her in person, Malik only talked about her in passing, saying her identity was best kept hidden until the time is right.”
Hongjoong hums, “I see.”
The woman lets out a small breath in relief, her shoulders relaxing the slightest bit as she believes she is safe for now. She’s answered all of his questions, so they should be letting her go any second.
“We appreciate the information,” Hongjoong grins unnervingly.
In the blink of an eye, the woman collapses to the ground, body still as she lays dead upon the floor.
Letting out a long sigh, Hongjoong stands back to his full height. Briefly, he allows his piercing gaze to scan over the room, noticing how both Mina and Otis stand off to the side, the daughter half hidden behind the father. His eyes narrow.
“Are you aware of what your other daughter has been up to recently?” His tone is firm as he begins his interrogation of Otis in front of the entire council.
“No, Your Majesty,” Otis is quick to shake his head. “I haven’t had contact with her since the last meeting.”
Hongjoong’s brow quirks. “Is that so?”
“Please, whatever she has done,” he immediately drops to the floor in a formal bow, pressing his forehead to the ground beneath their feet, “accept my deepest and humblest apologies.”
“Oh, it’s far too late for that, now,” Seonghwa spits, eyes blazing as he watches Otis lift his head.
“We all have bigger issues to deal with,” Hongjoong’s voice echoes around the room, drawing every head to him as he paces just in front of the crowd with his hands crossed behind his back. “Miyeon, it seems, has gone forth and promoted a new era amongst us, proclaiming herself the ‘One True Queen’ for this rebel cause.”
“You lie!” Otis gasps, sitting back onto his heals as he observes his Kings with wide eyes.
“You dare accuse us of trickery?” San straightens, shadows being cast over the room as his figure seemingly grows to tower over all those gathered before him.
“No,” Otis is quick to shake his head, shrinking back beneath the scrutinizing gazes of his Kings. “Never, My King.”
“Then, keep your mouth shut.” San’s eyes flash, and immediately Otis goes silent.
“As I was saying,” Hongjoong clears his throat, drawing the room’s full attention back onto himself once more. “Miyeon has aligned herself with the rebel cause, but that’s not all. She has also made it her sole mission to seek alliances with our neighbouring realms in hopes of destroying us.”
“But why?” Mina steps forward, a look of pain shining in her eyes. “Why would she do that?”
“Please, Mina,” Jongho raises a hand to signify her to ‘stand down’. “Let us finish.”
“My apologies, Your Majesties,” she bows her head, taking a step back.
“You were all here last council when she made a scene,” Mingi’s eyes are sharp as he scans the crowd, locking in on Miyeon’s own clan in the next second. “You saw her vain desires first hand.”
“Miyeon has deluded herself into thinking she owns the throne, and she will stop at nothing to claim it.” Hongjoong continues. “Already, she has made an alliance with Dimitri, The High Warlock. One of the most powerful to have lived in centuries.”
A collective gasp travels through the room, more hushed murmurs following.
“Not only that, but she has already propositioned Wyno, The Alpha of the Dragons, to join her cause.” Hongjoong’s steps are slow as he stalks along the edge of the crowd. “She did not take too kindly to Wyno’s rejection, and subsequently attacked the nest in retribution earlier today. That is where your two remaining Kings are right now. Both Wooyoung and Yeosang are dealing with the repercussions as we speak. We are lucky the ambush did not turn one of our own against us.”
“Already, Miyeon boasts of an army she has to destroy our realm in order to create this ‘New World’ of hers,” Yunho goes on to say, his voice commanding and firm. “We surmise it belongs to Dimitri, comprised of his own following of sorcerers and hunters alike, as well as anyone else she can ensnare in her little mind games.”
“We must resolve this quickly, lest we all want a war on our hands,” San speaks once more, gaze narrowed as he scrutinizes the crowd. “Prepare yourselves for the worst, and report any and all sightings of Miyeon, Malik, and Dimitri to us. Immediately.”
“Spread the word, far and wide,” Seonghwa voices, gaze dark and brooding. “A storm is coming, and Your Rulers are prepared for the worst.” His eyes flash. “We will not break easily.”
A moment of silence settles over the entire room as they let the information sink in. That is, until Hongjoong’s sharp gaze is piercing through the crowd once more.
“Someone clean this mess up,” he spits, eyes flashing. “Until then, dismissed.”
None of them wait a moment longer to hear another word from the council, teleporting back to their home in an instant. The front foyer greets them, as empty as it was when they left.
“Were you able to search their minds?” Hongjoong turns towards Yunho, noticing how the other four do the same almost immediately.
“I searched them thoroughly, but it seems as if they knew about as much as that one girl did,” Yunho responds with a sigh. “At least we know she was telling the truth.”
“Years without hearing so much as a peep from that traitor, and this is how Malik decides to return?” San huffs, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, we always knew he was one for grand displays of power,” Mingi exhales a long breath through his nose. “We didn’t appoint him our general for nothing. He was- is strong.”
“Of course Miyeon would align herself with the man who committed treason,” Jongho scoffs, shaking his head. “At least they have something in common.”
“Perhaps that’s how she won him over.” Yunho suggests. “It wouldn’t take much to convince him of violence. Especially against us.”
“How long has it been, anyways?” Seonghwa frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.
“At least twenty years,” Jongho breathes out.
“Let’s just hope, once word spreads, we can find them all quickly and dispose of them without a hassle,” Hongjoong sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The last thing we need is for a repeat of today to happen any time soon.”
“Agreed.” The other five all reply at once.
“We should inform Yeosang and Wooyoung of what occurred at the council,” Jongho adds, receiving a curt nod from their captain.
Turning towards your side of the house, all six men begin to slowly make their way to your room. Hongjoong leads the pack, followed closely by San and Yunho. Jongho and Mingi are not far behind, leaving the eldest to take up the rear, much to his discontent. If he had it his way, he would have transported straight to your room the second he got back.
“Do you think she’s woken up yet?” Mingi does his best not to sound too hopeful, but he cannot hide the small gleam in his eyes.
“We’ll see,” Yunho replies, somewhat gruffly. As much as he wants to hope you’ll be awake when they open your door, he know you probably won’t be. You’ve suffered too much damage today, and lost a lot of blood. Besides, it’s far too quiet in the house for you to be awake.
A soft knock is all the two males receive before your door is opening slowly to reveal their brother’s all standing in the doorway.
Hongjoong cannot help it, a small laugh escapes him at the position he finds you in. Kuroo rests like a loaf of bread on your back, while you seem to have trapped one of both Wooyoung’s and Yeosang’s arms beneath your body as you lay on your stomach.
Slowly, the six men file into the room, Kuroo observing them carefully.
“Comfortable?” Yunho chuckles, a small grin pulling at his lips.
“I haven’t been able to feel my arm for the past hour and a half,” Yeosang deadpans, blinking once.
“Oh, like you’re complaining about it,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes playfully. “You practically swooned when she pulled your arm into her grip.”
“Say’s the one who turned as red as a tomato when it happened,” Yeosang counters, shooting his brother a sharp glare.
“I never said I didn’t,” Wooyoung defends himself, voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “I am more than content to lay here with her like this.”
“Who said I wasn’t?” Yeosang quirks a brow, feeling you shift slightly in your sleep.
Wooyoung cannot keep the smug grin off of his face as you tighten your grip subconsciously around his one arm. He chuckles, sticking out his tongue mockingly at Yeosang who seems to now be wearing a slight pout on his lips. Looks like you loosened your grip on his own arm when you tightened it on Wooyoung’s.
“I take it she hasn’t regained consciousness yet, then?” Hongjoong moves to sit at the end of the bed, placing a hand gently over the back of your calf covered by your blankets. The warmth he can feel radiating from your body comforts him, even if only slightly.
“Not long enough to hold a conversation, if you can call it consciousness at all.” Wooyoung replies. “We’ve managed to feed her some of the tonic, but nothing more.”
Sure enough, when they look at the glass on your bedside table, it appears to now be two-thirds full.
“I don’t think she’ll even remember drinking it,” Yeosang sighs, reaching over to brush his free hand lightly over your head and noticing Kuroo turning his head to watch his every move. “Let alone waking up for thirty seconds. Her eyes didn’t even open once.”
As soon as Kuroo deems Yeosang’s movements not a threat to you, he’s turning his head back to the six males all converged around the end of your bed. He starts purring lightly at feeling Yeosang scratch over his back, eyes falling shut as he continues to rest on your back, offering you comfort in his own way.
A nod in understanding is all Yeosang receives from his captain.
“How did the council go?” Wooyoung asks, eyes scanning over each of his brother’s intently.
“About as well as you’d expect,” Seonghwa sighs, eyes never having left your form since entering the room.
So badly does he want to pull you into his own arms, whispering his deepest and sincerest apologies into your ears. To assure you that he’ll always protect you, and that he’ll always be here for you. That you are not a burden, and you never were, nor will you ever be. Only, he cannot. Every time he tries to take a step closer, Yeosang narrows his eyes at him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that both Jongho and San step slightly in front of him as if to block his path.
To say the eldest is frustrated for the moment would be an understatement.
In no time at all, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Jongho have informed both Yeosang and Wooyoung about the events of the council and what they have learned. At the way they see Yeosang’s eyes close, their brother heaving a great breath, they can just tell he’s tense.
“Damn Miyeon,” Yeosang spits. “Should have fucking killed her when we had the chance.”
“Believe me, you’re not the only one feeling that same sentiment,” San flexes his one hand, knuckles cracking as he does so. He can still feel the dried blood caking his nails from when he tore out that woman’s heart earlier that evening.
“I’m surprised Malik is back,” Wooyoung voices. “I would have thought we would have had to deal with him sooner.”
“Still, him popping up now of all times isn’t good,” Mingi states, sharing a look with the younger male.
“How long do you think Miyeon’s been planing this?” Jongho’s brow furrows.
“Probably much longer than any of us would care to admit,” Yunho sighs, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “The fact that she’s managed to ensnare two deadly men into helping her, and who knows how many others, is not a comforting thought.”
“You’re telling me,” Hongjoong shakes his head, attempting to wrap his head around the situation. “Either way, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s all just get some rest, and regroup tomorrow.”
“But-“
“Tomorrow.” Hongjoong is quick to cut the eldest’s protests off, Seonghwa’s gaze finally breaking from your form to look at his captain.
“Come on, let’s let her rest,” Jongho begins to usher the eldest out of your room, along with San who attempts to linger behind everyone else in hopes he’ll be asked to trade places with one of his brothers on your bed. “We’re no use to her all high-strung and tense.”
Making it to the door, Hongjoong is quick to turn to the two males still laying on your bed with you. “If anything happens-“
“You’ll be the first to know,” Yeosang nods, assuring his brother with a small smile.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Wooyoung grins. “She’s in good hands.”
“I know.” Hongjoong smiles softly, gaze flitting over the scene before him one last time. She always will be.
Content hums of agreement echo in all of their throats as their captain’s words resound through their minds for the evening.
With one final look your way, Hongjoong closes the door.
#yandere ateez#yandere kpop#ateez imagines#ateez scenario#yandere au#kpop scenario#yandere seonghwa#yandere jongho#yandere san#yandere yunho#yandere wooyoung#yandere yeosang#yandere mingi#yandere hongjoong#hongjoong scenario#mingi scenario#yeosang scenarios#jongho scenario#yunho scenario#wooyoung scenario#seonghwa scenario#san scenario#kpop au#demon au
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Your Pursuit of Perfection
Story and Artwork By: @GachaWolfieBloom
Alternate Ending: What have I Done?
Summary: A few months after the events of WOTFI 2023, SMG4 starts having really bad dreams about the "Its gotta be perfect" incident. One night however, his fear allows the nightmares to break through and he gets taken to a horrific dimension. He finally meets the tv adware, who manipulates him into returning to his insane ways, intent on claiming much more than the perfect video. Now it's up to his friends to stop this madness and save SMG4. Can they do it in time or will they lose SMG4 forever? (In case you are unaware this is a sequel to the its gotta be perfect movie)
Tags: angst, its gotta be perfect, love confession, luigi, mario, meggy, melony, nightmares, scary, smg3, smg4, smg34, smg3 x smg4, tari, tv adware
Author's Note: Okay okay I hear you. I have gotten comments on my Tumblr and Wattpad for the bad ending to your pursuit of perfection for quite some time, so here it is! This chapter leaves off right after the rap battle and answers the question lots of fans have been wondering: What would have happened if Smg4 gave in to Mr Puzzles? Warning that there is blood and gruesome descriptions in this.
The TV Adware shields his eyes, but opens them to find that rays of meme powers have hit Smg4. One speaks in a commanding voice to the corrupted man. "Your darkness cannot survive in our energy! Loosen your grip on Smg4's heart and let him speak!" The pink cracks on his face etched in deeper as the man they belonged to struggled to fight it. "NO!" Mr Puzzles had enough of this foolishness as he disappeared into the dark shadows behind him, determined to put a stop to this once and for all.
"This isn't working!" Meggy called out until a familar voice spoke "You...guys came back? You didn't forget about me?" They all tuned to see Four with his soft blue eyes, grieving in pain and speaking in a low croak. Tears formed in his eyes as he asked "You didn't replace or reject me?"
Tari smiled and said "Of course not! Why would you think that?" Four felt a dark cloud surrounding him while he was curled up on his knees. Why wasn't his corrupted form disappearing? "I thought that you would never forgive me for what I did. I wanted to forget it!" Suddenly that voice following him around was echoing through his ears once again. "Smg4...don't let these 'friends' fool you."
"Y-You...It was you that gave me those nightmares." The connection was running out and Four was distraught. "We can't hold it for that much longer!" One called out. When Three heard that, his heroic stupidity took hold as he let go of his fellow meme guardians and rushed towards Four. "THREE NO!" Meggy tried to stop him, but it was too late. Three grabbed his hand and tried to use their connection.
What happened next was quite unfortunate as Three awoke to find himself in Four's mind. He then saw his lover from another life and the tall TV man next to him. Mr Puzzles was whispering conflicting persuasions into his ear that made Three understand why Four was so broken.
"What have they done for you?"
"You could have had the perfect video if you didn't save him."
"You should be ruling this world with me."
"I'm your only friend."
Three's anger started to boil as he yelled "LET HIM GO!" Mr Puzzles chuckled and said "Why should I do that?" Three pulled out a bomb and said "Easy. Because I will KILL YOU!!!" He rushed towards him and threw the bomb, but the entertainer disappeared upon impact. Three looked all around and yelled "SHOW YOURSELF YOU FRICKING TV CRAP!!!"
Mr Puzzles reappeared behind him and said "Over here." Three turned and threw another explosive at him, but once again Mr Puzzles's great vanishing act had happened again. He kept reappearing in several spots for each explosion to happen a few seconds too late.
"Nope."
"Hello."
"Just missed me."
"I could do this for all eternity."
All according to plan.
Mr Puzzles played around with Three's emotions for a few more minutes until he appeared by Four and waved. Three was breathing tirelessly as his body ached with exhaustion. "What's wrong Smg3? Tired already? Aw that's a shame. I was having such a good time." Three could have never foretold what happened next. It would soon become the biggest regret of his life...or even his last moments.
"I HATE YOU! YOU'RE A MONSTER! THAT'S ALL YOU ARE!!!"
Mr Puzzles face didn't change into shock, but instead to a pleasing expression. "Oh my. Did you hear that Smg4?" Three's eyes widened as he noticed that Four was listening and his face was horrified like nothing Three had ever seen before. "You...hate me?" In a mad panic, Three tried to take back what he said. "NO! I WAS TALKING TO MR PUZZLES! I SWEAR I WOULD NEVER SAY THAT ABOUT YOU FOUR!"
Mr Puzzles placed a hand on his shoulder and said "I'm sorry Smg4, but this was what I was warning you about. Your friends never loved you and they never will." It was all made clear. Everything that Three had done was just what Mr Puzzles had wanted. Four's transformation was never permanent...but now it would be.
"You're right. You both were right. I'm a monster. I have no friends. I'm trapped with my wrongful actions. I'll never be anything more." Three covered his mouth with his hands. If anyone was feeling more immense guilt between the two, it was him. Out of everything he did to Four, this had crossed the line. The smirking Adware clapped his hands and said "Thank you Smg3. You finally admitted your true feelings for Smg4...didn't you."
"NO! THAT'S NOT TRUE!" He couldn't take it anymore as he grabbed Four and admitted "I LOVE YOU SMG4!" He hoped that admitting his real feelings would be enough to repair the damage he had caused, but no matter how much he tried Four was convinced that the opposite of Three's honest feelings was what everyone really thought of him.
Four's hands grew cold and his body shook. Three had hit his breaking point as he grabbed Four and pulled him into an embrace. He shut his eyes tightly, reopening them to find that the bond had broken and One and Two looked like they were about to collapse from exhaustion. Four was grimacing with anger back in his corrupted form. Mr Puzzles saw his opportunity and seized it when he yelled out "YOU ALL HAVE INTERFERED FOR THE LAST TIME! NIGHTMARE FOUR DESTROY THEM!" In a flash, the permanent transformation controlled the movement of a mad dash and Four gripped Three's wrist, growing tighter and tighter.
"Four! You're hurting me! Stop!" Four didn't listen as he could clearly sense what this being had said. "SHUT IT! YOU ALL HAVE TREATED ME LIKE A JOKE! I'LL SHOW YOU THAT I'M MORE POWERFUL THAN ALL OF YOU COMBINED!!!"
"THREE! NOOO!" Meggy cried as a sharp pain filled his wrist. His vision blurred as he looked down and saw that Four had broken his wrist so badly that it was bleeding. The others watched in complete shock. They never had known what Four was capable of until right now.
Three tried to pull himself up, but a strong force pulled him up to their face. "Isn't it ironic that you have threatened to kill me so many times and I was actually the one who did it to you..." His past. He could have used his last bit strength to pull away and end the man's life for good just like his old self had promised. Instead he flashed a weak smile and said with tears "I'm sorry Four...for everything." He deserved to be put out of his misery. No matter how much he tried, his selfishness just made the one he loved suffer more. "If this will make you feel better...I'm ready."
That was the last thing he said before an arm pounded through his chest. A metallic taste filled his mouth and his eyes flickered out. It was his final moments. Four dropped the corpse and looked at the others with a flashing pink eye. "Don't worry, you're next!"
...
Silence. Sweet silence. Mr Puzzles sat upon his bitter throne while watching over his new kingdom. His partner watched along with him, eyes narrow. He should be happy. Finally no more nightmares. No more pain and suffering. Nobody to tell him he was worthless. These thoughts swarmed him until something else made him feel...different? Everything was shriveled up and the sky was blood red. Reminded him of someone's eyes.
A bunch of corpses lied down in the distance beneath them. One caught his eyes and he sighed. "Isn't this better Smg4?" He nodded and said "I'm going for a walk..." He left his once tranquil castle of the Showgrounds and looked down at the bleeding man. His chest had a huge hole in it and his face looked tired.
Four looked down at his hands, covered with blood. Those memories. Those feelings. Those good times. It was filled with so much more happiness than what had come now. Maybe even better if Three and him had become...
Tears started to stream down his face as he collapsed onto his knees. He held his lover in his arms, looking down at his sweet face. Corpses of his friends surrounded them as sadness and loneliness was the only thing to keep him company now. Gone. Gone forever. A lump in his throat had formed and a shaky voice said the only thought he had left.
"Oh god. What have I done?"
You've made things perfect...
#angst#it’s gotta be perfect#love confession#luigi#smg4 mario#smg4 meggy#smg4 melony#nightmare#scary#smg3 smg4#smg4#smg34#smg3 x smg4#smg4 tari#tv adware
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Hiiiiiii
So, I just read the majority of your fics and just. Wow. Wow Kit, wow. I only got into this fandom a few months ago and your fics have really gotten me involved in the prequel side of Star Wars.
So, I’ve got three questions. First, have you thought about writing a second fic for the throat fic au??? I really love how you’ve written the reverse ages for Obikin. Second, I just finished reading your road-trip au in one sitting and omfg they stress me the fuck out. How big of a train wreck will it be when Obikin confess to one another? Cause let’s be honest here, they’re terrible at communication and the amount of misunderstanding in every one of their conversations is just ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Like come on guys, communicate for once, for your sanity and ours. Third, I have also read and reread your fic “building a boat with no blueprints” and omfg that one is amazing. I love how you’ve written Obi-Wan having to deal with two different sides of Anakin (in a way, the light and the dark - did you know he spent first 23 years in the light as a Jedi and another 23 years as Vader? I read about this from another user and I was like ?!?!?!!!!!). Is there any future for that fic? How much trouble will Vader be in when Obi-Wan sees him again.
Sorry for the long post, but I truly love your fics and will continue to love everything that you post in the future! Best of luck with college (I think you said you were writing a thesis at some point???) and work!
ahh thank you!! This is so sweet of you to say, I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed my fics so much! ngl i sat on this ask a bit to reread it 🥰 I love to hear when newcomers find my fics. It’s like double serotonin: a) you like my writing and b) newcomer!!! new comer to obikin!!! hello 🥹
as for your questions, let me answer as best I can!
throat fic: I absolutely have! I am actually currently writing a second fic, told from vaderkin’s pov and starting from even before he met obi-wan (in a loose vague sort of way) my personal problem with sequels and also why I have never written one successfully (pbatmb not counted) is because I’m so caught up in copying the style of the first fic that I stall out. I really liked how in the original throat fic, there were flashbacks and present moments and the reader knew the present moments because they all started with the same sentence (“obi-wan had never seen so much blood”) and I keep being like what is anakin’s never seen so much blood!!! and like the truth is anakin’s fic does not have to follow the style of obi-wan’s but in my mind they do and that’s something I have to overcome lol
but no a throat fic sequel would definitely involve Vader being super weird about obi-wan and then go more into their future than obi-wan’s story did. like about how they make their love for each other work when Vader can’t unfall and obi-wan can’t bring himself to completely abandon the Jedi tenets his master taught him 😌
road trip au fic: I promise it gets worse before it gets better lmao and I still want to finish that fic this year. I’ve talked a lot here on tumblr about how it’ll pan out, which I’m about to rehash so skip this part if you want to be completely spoiler free: basically they get to Seattle and obi-wan tells anakin to like. Wait in the hotel room or something cause he doesn’t want anakin to see what set looks like cause that’s a dead giveaway that obi-wan was thinking of anakin when fucking set. Only of course anakin doesn’t listen. Of course he trails after him to see what this set looks like and of course he freaks when he sees set looks just like him. which all leads to a tearful argument (confession) in their hotel room where anakin is like ‘i just can’t understand why you chose him? Is it because his hair is darker?? Is it because his eyes are blue is it because he’s broader in the shoulders? what is it about me that you just can’t love even when I’ve been here, loving you, for years? I’ll change it. I’ll change anything’ and obi-wan is like what. and anakin is like. what. and obi-wan is like. what do you mean you love me??? etc etc
burn every bridge fic: ah I love that fic!! I actually wrote a continuation in my ao3 fic called “although it’s been said many times many ways”. It’s a gratuitously holiday cliched fic, but it’s a continuation of those two if you want to read it! I don’t think there’s an actual sequel there for me, but if you like my reverse age stuff you should also check out the behemoth that foolproof foolhardy became & I pray the same but my gods have changed & if you love me let it remain unnamed (trust me on the last one and also only read for the vibes)
#asks#obikin#thank you sm again!!#this is so self centered of me but I love seeing my fics through fresh eyes#cause I’m like eh it’s been years and also I have turned this ira#idea* over and over in my head so it’s a smooth pebble vs a dynamic stone#and then you’re like I love the roadtrip au#and I’m like#omg the roadtrip au!!!#they don’t communicate properly#it drives me crazy!!!#also I decided like last October that the foolproof foolhardy summary needs work#cause that’s one of my#worst summaries#but will I ever work on it ? probably not#just trust me here and read it it’s a good take on master Skywalker & padawan obi-wan but with a few twists
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Goodbye 2023!
Thank you to everyone who sent in submissions - I have so much reading to catch up on now! 🥩💜🥩
If you have more fics to recommend for the SinBin, keep sending them my way.
I was originally going to break everything by category into the various P-boys, but the majority are one specific character. So we have two categories:
Joel Miller Fics
Other P-boy Fics.
I've included the comments (if there was one) for each fic submitted, but kept the submitter anonymous.
Beefro & the SinBin 🚮🥩💜
Joel Miller Fics (in no specific order)
Left in Lincoln - @toxicanonymity
Left in Lincoln. It's no secret my love for this series, and for my favorite Joelkémon, but this story is one I love not only for the slow burn sexiness but the horror elements in general. The balance of fear and horror with the soft, beautiful descriptions of the characters and setting make it one I return to over and over. The musical references and influence on the story is just the icing on the cake 🖤 Or ice cream on the pie, in this case 🍑🌸 Ty for the beautiful stories Toxy, and community to obsess over our mutual obsessions 🥰🖤
Scarecrow & Fear Thy Neighbor by @xdaddysprincessxx
So my first rec is @xdaddysprincessxx and her Farmer Joel series 🚜 All of her work is amazing but this one is so fun and soooo hot! (Heed the warnings though if you choose to read) I'm biased because I got to hear about her writing process and contribute some of my own thots 🤭 But it's not only sexy af (just like her!) but scary too!!! Be sure to read the sequel too 😉 She's not only a talented writer but a wonderful human in general 🖤
Help I’m Stuck! By @nosesitter
Reader gets “stuck” in the dryer. Luckily her father in law Joel just so happens to find her and helps 😉 her. When I read this I finally got the whole “oh no I’m stuck!” sex scenario lmao I always found it kinda funny bc in porn they’d be stuck in ridiculous spots but this fic? Fucking hot as hell. I get it now 🤷🏻♀️
I can be your pretty girl by @walkintotheriveranddisappear
Okay so I’m almost positive she is tired of me recc’ing & talking about this series lol it’s the hottest fucking fic ever. I genuinely am obsessed. It has everything. She deserves a Nobel peace prize for this idc idc.
A Secret Worth Keeping by @multiversed-daydreamer
Vamp Joel. I repeat Vamp. Joel. 🥵 and his vampirism is a secret and readers blood is his krptonite and she has to keep what they do hush hush. It’s so goddamn delicious 🤤
Fall into Temptation by @joelsgreys
Whew okay where do I start? Reader is the pastors daughter. Joel is Joel. 😏 they end up falling for each other and having a beautiful love affair. That has to be a secret bc her father would forbid it! Duh! It’s spicy, they have to sneak around to meet up with each other (again I am paraphrasing ish I don’t wanna spoil lol) and the religious tones in it? My baby is feeding me. This heals my religious trauma. Feeds my daddy issues and desire to fuck this old man.
Deliver Me From Nowhere by @atinylittlepain
It is beautifully written, touching a delicate topic with such care, it is truly an amazing work.
Just This Once by @talaok
Okay hear me out: this one brings the angst. The emotion. I felt so bad for reader, bby girl just wanted love. It tore me up inside. I had tears.
Self Indulgent Tendencies by @strang3lov3
So this was actually the first fic of Bugs I ever read. And. I. LOVED. IT. I’m trying not to spoil anything but long story short; Joel catches reader and fucks her to teach her a lesson. (I am extremely paraphrasing this lol) it still lives in my damn brain 🥵
Meet Me in the Back by @atticrissfinch
Sleazy gas station Joel. That’s it. That’s all. He is so sleazy and ugh I need his dick. And so does reader after she gets it. And she keeps coming. Back for more that is 😉
All You Wanna Do by @atticrissfinch
Now I am an angst queen. And boy this one is not for the weak. It is dark, please please please heed the warnings on this one. But personally I love this one. She has truly ripped my heart out, made my chest physically hurt. She invokes emotion so well.
No One But Me by @koshkamartell
This is a small blog's series that deserves to be promoted!
The Wrong Way by @romana-after-dark
Raider!Joel Miller and Raider!Tommy Miller x fem!Reader
Other P-boy Fics (in no specific order)
Dirty Uncle Ezra by @bonezone44
😏 yea I said it. Dirty Uncle Ezra. Hottest fucking concept I’ve ever heard. He’s so dirty and sleazy and ngh I’m already moaning. Also this beautiful human is an amazing artist so plz check out their art work 💜 (a note from Beefro: the fact that the age tag on this is 56+ made me laugh out loud)
Pascals Pursuit of Love! by @elvinaa (all the P-Boys!)
The innovation! It has all the P boys Bachelorette style. It’s so much like the show, it’s got twists and turns, there’s funny moments, cute moments. I look forward to each week aka each chapter lol I love it so much.
Apple by @romana-after-dark
Bisexual!Dark!Santiago Garcia, Bisexual!Dark!Frankie Morales, and Bisexual!Dark!William Miller x fem!Reader
#beefro recommended#join me in sin#pedro pascal#beefro approved 👍#pedro pascal characters#friend of beefro#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal smut#frankie morales#ezra x reader#pedrostories#ezra prospect x reader#🥩🥩🥩
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Shut it
Charlie Weasley x reader.
A sequel to this
This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰Also if you want to be tagged in future Charlie's stories let me know❤️
Summary: it's time for Charlie to get his tattoo completed and the reader to ger the first one.
Warnings: a sad story about a dog.
"Is it gonna hurt... a lot?" I ask worried as I hold Charlie's hand in mine, both of us walking to the tattoo shop, so Charlie can get his arm tattoo completed and I can get my very first tattoo.
"Love... should I remind you?" He asks, chuckling.
"Remind me what?"
"At the battle at Hogwarts" he starts theatrically "you calmly walking towards me, covered in blood, huge wound on your shoulder. Me running towards you, worried sick. I ask 'what happened?!' You answer 'it's just a scratch'. And now you're worried about a little tattoo?" He then laughs, squeezing my hand.
"Oh shut it. I just..." I stutter with a chuckle "Yeah... okay, you're right"
"As always, my sweet love" he says proudly.
-----
"You like the placement?" The artist asks me, motioning for me to look in the mirror.
I look first in the mirror at my reflected forearm and how the dog paw drawing, then directly at it and nod.
"Alright, dear, now sit get comfy and if you want me to stop just say so" she tells me sweetly.
I do as she said, Charlie right next to me smiling, his tattoo all done looks even better now.
"Still nervous?" He asks me.
"Nah... maybe a little" I answer with a nervous chuckle.
"It's gonna be fine, love. You can hold my hand if you're so scared" he sweetly mocks me.
"Shut it" I laugh waving his hand away.
"Ready?" The tattoo artist asks me.
"Yeah" I nod.
She starts to ink my skin.
It's a weird feeling, it doesn't hurt, but it's not that good either, so I just take deep breath.
"Why the paw?" Charlie suddenly asks me.
"Uh?" I ask confused.
"Why did you choose a paw?" He repeats.
"Oh... uhm... when I was younger, before getting my letter I had a dog." I start to tell, looking at Charlie "a cute, crazy little collie. He followed me everywhere. Everywhere. Remember I told you about this little pond close to where I lived? I always went there, playing, imagining to be a warrior, a magician, little did I know I actually was one." I chuckle at the memory "Anyway... I was also very clumsy, and there was always a high chance for me to fall into said pond and my dog always managed to prevent that. He was my protector basically."
"Sounds like the best of dogs" Charlie comments, moving his hand to hold mine.
"He was..." I take a shaky breath, tears starting to form in my eyes, but I blink them away "he really was. He died after during my third year... after Christmas, before I had to get back to Hogwarts."
I can't help it, some tears fall down my face and Charli is quickly to wipe them away.
"He wanted to see you. Say goodbye properly, uh?" He tells me.
"Yeah... and yeah... he was my best friend. You know... whenever I get a letter or something from my parents they always sent a piece of paper with his paw print." I sadly laugh.
"That's really sweet, love" he tells me.
"You know how I called him?" I smile.
"How?" He asks curious.
"Dragon"
"No way"
"Yap. The very first day we got him he stole my favourite blankie, the one with dragons on it. So that was it" I explain.
"How perfect" Charlie kisses my hand "how perfect"
"All done" the lady suddenly says.
Charlie and I turn our head to her, I look down at my arm, the fresh ink on my skin looks absolutely perfect.
"Wow" is all I can say.
She wraps my fresh tattoo and tells me how to take care of it.
"Thank you"
"Thank you, have a good day!" She waves at us as we leave the shop.
"You like it?" Charlie asks me as we hold hands and walk.
"It's freaking perfect." I say "what about yours?"
"Oh mine? It's still misses something" he answers with a smile.
"What?"
"Well... I got almost everyone from my family, except one" he shrugs.
"Who's missing?" I ask, confused.
"You, my love." He simply answers.
"Oh shut it" I slightly shove him, he holds my hands tighter pulling me closer to him.
"You shut it" he says before kissing me.
#charlie weasley fluff#charlie weasley x reader#charlie weasley imagine#charlie weasley#wizarding world#harry potter
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Mmm, the Inquisition is making their demands. I daresay some would have issues with that. Tales and stories of Remnant has already spread by now. Orks like this world because of the Grimm but I imagine there's another Chapter of Marines that like the fight of the Grimm.
A chapter that's...angry.
A chapter that won't tolerate the Inquisition.
A chapter that's ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!
Behold! THE ANGRY MARINES!!!
A special thank you to @warmastercain55 for providing me the link to the wiki regarding this famous/infamous homebrew blend of Space Marines. More and more, I learn about the Warhammer community, and more and more I am amused and terrified of what lies within. That said, here is the sequel to my prior post regarding the Ordo Hereticus.
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Jaune shivered with tears in his eyes as he watched his friends being loaded into strange device. He openly sobbed as he watched Pyrrha being hauled in, unconscious and unceremoniously dumped inside like a sack of flour. He never considered himself lucky, not in the slightest when compared to the other students with years of training already under their belts. Sadly, that training proved ineffective against the totalitarian regime that was the "Empire of Mankind," and it was only by his own natural luck that he escaped their claiming of these "psykers" that were his friends with unlocked semblances.
Suddenly, there was a loud scream, louder than anything Remnant had heard before. Suddenly, the grounds of Beacon were bombarded and cratered in by huge metal eggs from the sky. Suddenly, there was shouts of untempered rage echoing across the grounds.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Roared the Inquisitor. "We did not call for assistance from the Astartes!"
"No, but I did." Headmaster Ozpin replied. "We will not permit invaders who think they can bully their way into Remnant."
"You..." The Inquistor shook with rage. "You here-" He choked on his words as the headmaster smashed his cane into the Inquistor's throat.
"You are the heretics here!" Ozpin roared, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"WHO'S A FUCKING HERETIC?!" A booming voice, accompanied by the terrified screams of students awaiting to be taken away. A gilded giant stomped his way into Ozpin's direction. "WHO'S THE FUCKING DEAD MOTHERFUCKER WHO THINKS THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH HERESY?!"
The woman in black armor stepped in between. "It is these insubordinates falsely accusing our inquisition of-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SPEAK PLAINLY, YOU GODDAMN WHITE HAIRED COCKSUCKING WHORE!"
"They're heretics." Ozpin pointed plainly at the Inquisitor, who was still grasping his throat.
"FUCKING HERETIC!" Pulling free his warhammer, the gold and red titan roared his battle cry. "ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME!"
The Sister of Battle tried to silence his rage with gunfire, her anger influenced by the space marine. Her aggression was met with even greater aggression as his hammer swung with great ferocity, reducing her head to red mulch.
Leaving nothing to chance, Jaune ran through the crowd and into the machine that was about to leave. A shrieking woman reached for him, but Jaune pulled loose his sword and struck the woman. Lacking aura, her face was easily sliced open, and her blood spilled from her cheek. This only fueled her anger as she reached for her gun but found her weapon too heavy to life. Behind her, Jaune could make out the all-too-familiar red hair of Pyrrha, his partner.
However, before he could make another attempt at the woman, she was pulled from the aircraft by a golden gauntlet, inscribed with the words, "FUCK YOU". Jaune looked to his friends and called for them all to leave. As he left with Pyrrha, they shared the view of pure chaos roaring across the once peaceful grounds of Beacon Academy. Professor Goodwitch called for students to hurry inside, while Professor Ozpin was busy fending off the Inquisitor. The situation was hell, and there was no way for this to get any worse.
"OI!" Jaune heard a booming shout, then turned to the distance where there was a heap of metal that shook and shuddered as a large green creature called from the inside. "YOU LOT HAVIN' A SCRAP?!"
#rwby#warhammer 40k#ordo hereticus#orks#adeptus sororitas#angry marines#jaune arc#pyrrha nikos#glynda goodwitch#my answer#my answers
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Hello!
I read Angel on the Roof and that was AMAZING. I was feeling like that way and honestly that was exactly what I needed to read. Thank you for writing!
I have a request! Maybe alternate ending + sequel of the fic if you are interested/have time, where Matt did notice it and in this universe it’s going to be more comforting. OR maybe whole new story where reader is having mental illness, angst but comfort in the end?
Again I LOVE your writing can’t wait for another Matt fics!!! Thank youuuu !!!
Okay, nonnie, first of all, I hope you're doing okay! I hope you're feeling better, too. I know how hard it can be to feel this way and I wrote that fic when I was at one of the lowest points in my life. I'm glad you liked it, but I also hope you're taking good care of yourself! I love you. Now to your request, I re-read Angel On The Roof and I remembered why it was so sad, and I'm so glad you requested a comfort version. I decided to do it from Reader's POV since the original was Matt's POV and I've changed the ending, so it's still the same foundation, but you've also got a whole new fic. I hope you like the way I did it!
Angel On The Roof (Your Version)
Masterlist
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her)
Summary: What if Matt saved you from your own demons instead of being too late?
Warnings: TW: SELF-HARM, graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood, scars, ANGST, mental illness, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, happy ending, fix it fic for a fic
Word Count: 3k
A/n: So you can read "Angel On The Roof" here. Like I said before, this is the mentioned fic from your POV but with a twist so that it ends without Reader committing suicide. If the above-mentioned topics trigger you, please don't read! Not tagging because this is a sensitive subject and I go really into detail.
18+ THIS IS HEAVY STUFF!
Mental illness speaks in silence.
Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them one way or another.
Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently. Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place.
The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘Just ask for help’ or ‘Don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already active in it.
Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out.
Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside.
You don’t remember when it started. You only remember that you were merely a child when you first started feeling this way. Helpless, alone, and with a pain deep inside of your chest that had claws and sharp teeth, ready to eat you whole. The monster ate away at you for years, but you ignored it.
People told you it was just hormones, that this was part of growing up. Meanwhile, you only got sicker. Your mind turned against you. You became your own worst bully, and the voices in your head started taking you apart one by one.
You reached a point where you loathed yourself so much, all you wanted was to scratch your eyes out and tear your skin off. You hated looking in the mirror and seeing the same miserable face every day. You hated being the friend that was the least fun and being stuck inside with this hurt consuming you. It made it harder to breathe, it made your heart stop in your chest, and yet you never physically died. Inside, you were long gone, but you ignored it because no one seemed to care.
You tried drugs and alcohol, but that wasn’t enough to kill your pain, and you never fully managed to end it all. Your existence became a nuisance.
You never believed in God. The constant self-pity, shame, guilt, and blame became your best friends. In your mind, you fucked up your own life. Your mind was fucked up, so you were automatically at fault. You ended up being in so much blood-boiling pain, you tried to find a way to inflict pain in other ways to distract you from the numbness that burned your insides like acid would burn the cells of your skin in an instant, and the toxic waste ended up in your bloodstream, then your mind and in the end, it poisoned your heart and your soul.
You truly believed you were rotten inside, and there was nothing that seemed to help.
You turned to cutting, the blood running from your wrists a testament to your pain, and it made breathing so much easier for just a moment. The razor blades were the brush with which you painted the tiles of your bathroom floor red almost every night. You weren’t proud of it, but you had no one to listen, no one to help you and you just felt so fucking numb– You had to find something to relieve you of this pain for a simple moment, and a moment was all it took to get you hooked on the feeling. It was a different kind of pain, and your wrists looked mutilated, even long after you were done, but whenever you brushed over the scars, you felt the need to do it again, and so you did.
One summer night, you found your way to one of the rooftops in Hell’s Kitchen. You didn’t want to jump, but having the choice to do so filled your body with a certain sense of relief. If you had jumped, you would have died. You could have broken your neck and ended it all. You would have died on your way down already, probably, or maybe you would have passed out.
The world seemed so small from up there, but you were still alone.
That night, you felt his presence for the first time. He wore a black mask; you had seen him on the news a while back, but word on the streets had it that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen disappeared. After Wilson Fisk got imprisoned, he must have found his way back.
“I don’t want to jump,” you assured him. “I just want to feel.” It wasn’t a lie. Your heart beat slow and steady in your chest and against your ribcage. The wind in your hair cooled the sheen of sweat from the early summer heat.
He didn’t talk, he simply stood by your side. You were too tired to ask him why. When you sat down, he followed shoulder to shoulder, together. Your tears had dried on your cheeks and you watched the clouds pass by, hide and reveal new stars, and you pointed out the constellations in your head. He wouldn’t let you fall, it seemed, and so you simply stayed there. It was the first time someone seemed to care without trying to fix you.
You were okay.
He walked you home before sunrise and asked you again, “Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yes,” you answered. In the moment, you usually were.
You smiled and thanked him, and he told you, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”
One day, after finding you on the roof again (at this point, you weren’t sure why you were doing it anymore), it started to rain. He offered to walk you home and asked you if you were okay again. You offered him to stay.
“Who hurt you?” he asked you once you bid him inside.
You brewed some tea, offering him a mug. He took it. You shrugged as an answer to his question. The numbness settled back in. You had no tears left to shed. Did he care? You weren’t sure. People often liked to ask for no reason whatsoever, and you knew if you told them, they would have called you crazy.
“I hurt myself,” you said.
He caught your wrist when you tried to walk away. His fingers dug into the fresh scars without trying to, but it hurt and it functioned as a cruel reminder of what your arms looked like. Of what you did. Instead of numbness, what you felt was guilt, and when his mouth contorted, you knew he realized something wasn’t right.
You were so stupid, you thought and pulled away from him. How could anyone ever care or love a broken mess of nothingness like you? You weren’t worthy of anyone’s affection. This – the scars on your wrists and the hole in your chest – was what you deserved.
He didn’t run though. The stranger tilted his head as if to understand you.
“Why?” he asked.
It made you think. Why, exactly, were you doing this?
“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me,” you admitted.
You were so honest with him that night, and it seemed to surprise him, but he also listened to every last word coming out of your mouth.
He let go of your wrist then and said, “Have you ever asked someone for help?”
“Why would I?” you asked.
“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting.”
Fixing you, that was what he meant. There were people who could fix you, but you didn’t want to be fixed. You couldn’t be fixed. Everyone always tried to fix you and you were so sick and tired of being the one everyone deemed broken all the time.
“Perhaps you should go,” you said and opened the door for him. You had to end it there.
One night, you cut too deep, and the world caved in on you. You had no choice but to endure it, but you broke under the weight like a fragile vase. You cut too deep, and the blood mingled on the floor with your tears. It hurt – the cuts weren’t the worst part because they only thudded numbly in sync with your pulse; the worst part was the bomb in your chest exploding and sending all these feelings hurdling around.
God, you hated yourself.
You always kept your windows unlocked. What you didn’t expect was for him to climb through your window. Only when he kicked the door down did you look up, your face stained with tears. He tilted his head, seemingly smelling the air, before he knelt beside you and wrapped towels around your bleeding wrists. The essence of your heart was on the floor now, the vase broken, and he cleaned it up without hesitation.
You didn’t deserve such gentle treatment.
You sobbed into his strong arms until there was nothing left to give. Instead of leaving though, he stayed. He took you to bed and bandaged your wrists, still keeping the black mask right where it was. It was you curious, and you hadn’t felt curious in quite a while.
He stopped the bleeding without problems, and then he lay beside you as you regained some sense of self.
“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”
You shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you,” you said.
Because even to you, it didn’t make sense.
“Try me.”
“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”
“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name.”
It was the first display of trust he showed you, and you were a little taken aback.
Your lips parted and you whispered your name into the darkness. He smiled softly, taking your weak hand into his.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
You stared at him for a while before asking something that almost came naturally. “Can you stay?” your voice was barely above a whisper.
He battled with himself before giving in, agreeing to stay, and you felt something in your heart turn around. A candle was lit. Was that the scent of hope you could smell? You weren’t sure, but the fact he held your hand as you tried to find your way into a restless sleep and never once waivered with his support filled you with a sense of safety, and finally, for once in your life, the voices went quiet. You focused on his heartbeat and breathing, and you finally felt less alone.
The next morning, your window was closed again and he was gone, probably disappearing in the middle of the night. You found a note on the dining table, poorly scribbled, but you could decipher what he wrote.
It’s because I care about you, Angel.
He cared. About you. You broke down crying, not used to this much affection, but it was also then you realized that it was what you desperately needed.
You looked at your bandaged wrist, then your reflection in the metallic shimmer of your fridge, and you made a decision you should have made from the beginning.
You waited on the rooftop again that night, this time the one of your apartment complex. He appeared not long after you whispered his name into the humid night air. Cars passed by and the city grew louder by the minute, but he still came.
He wore his mask again.
“Will I ever see your face?” you wondered aloud.
He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never did home visits.
“Can you see mine?” you asked.
“No,” he said. “I can’t see yours.”
Your breath shuddered.
“What’s wrong?”
“You changed something in me last night.”
Matthew seemed to pipe up at your admission, and he took a step closer. “Oh yeah?” he asked.
“Yes,” you breathed.
“What did I change?”
“You saved my life.”
“I only came because you needed someone.”
You asked, “Is that why you always come to these rooftops?”
He shrugged. “You call, I come,” Matthew said. “That’s all there is to it.”
But it wasn’t all.
With a weak sniffle, you closed the distance between you and fell into his arms. He caught you, holding you close to him. His heart thudded in your ear like the night before, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Years of pain, sadness, and anger fell off your shoulders, leaving you even more broken than before, but for the first time, you felt it all. And you knew you couldn’t live like this any longer.
“I need–” you choked on a sob. It burned in your lungs.
His grip tightened. “What do you need, Angel?”
“I need help,” it was the first time you said it, but the moment the words left your mouth, Matthew vowed to stay by your side.
That night, he took his mask off for the first time after taking you home. You saw his face, and you felt a sense of relief. He was beautiful, inside and out, but he was also incredibly human. His blind eyes were unfocused, but you only touched his cheek with tender fingers. You owed him your life, and you made sure to show him that.
“Matt Murdock,” he introduced himself.
You gave him the courtesy of doing the same.
He smiled, and you saw something in his eyes that would end up changing your entire life.
Love.
That cruel time of finding back to yourself after years of self-harm and depression is in the past, it has been for a while now.
The sun stands high in the sky above New York. A long time ago, summer filled you with dread. As you’re staring out through the windows of your home now, all you can think about is how beautiful the world is. The city stands tall in the distance, and you find yourself smiling into your cup of chamomile tea.
The light reflects off the golden wedding band on your ring finger. Your name stands in Braille letters next to his with a heart of diamonds. It’s unique, special, just like your love story.
When you first met him, you never thought you would end up here, but he woke you up from your coma and you found your way back to the light. He helped you, he supported you and he made sure you would always have someone to turn to.
Years later now, you’re wearing his name and ring on your finger, and you have a home that truly feels like one because he is in it with you. He is your home, your haven, your sanctuary, and you owe him more than he will ever know.
A pair of arms snakes around your waist and pull you back into a sturdy chest. You smile even more. “Hi,” you whisper.
Matt presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Hi,” he says.
“The sun is out.”
“I know, I can feel it.”
“Right. Even after all these years, I still tend to forget I’m married to a superhero,” you say, albeit teasing, but your words also hold a mountain of truth.
He chuckles. “You’re forgiven, Mrs. Murdock.”
“Oh, I’m glad.”
Matt’s hold on you tightens. Now that he has you, he refuses to let you go. “What were you thinking about just then?” he asks.
You lick your lips, closing your eyes as your body melts into his almost naturally. “You and me,” you say, “and how far we’ve come.”
“Mhm.”
“And that I can’t wait to start a family with you one day and give our children the support I’ve never had.”
He tears up a little at that, you can hear it in his voice when he whispers, “I love you,” and he turns you around to capture your lips in a loving kiss.
You realize it then for the millionth time since that night you first ran into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on the roof; Getting help was the best choice of your life, and no scar on his or your body matter now that you’ve got each other.
You belong in each other’s arms, today, tomorrow, and forever and always. Just like you said in your vows – there is nothing you can’t overcome, as long as you’re doing it together.
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock#matt murdock angst#matt murdock x you#daredevil#daredevil x reader#female reader#hurt/comfort#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock imagines#reader insert#x reader#charlie cox#lizzi writes#request#requests are CLOSED
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Preview of In Reina In Waal (My Queen, My Son)
Pairing: Namor x Female Reader
Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance
A Sequel to This Request
Summary: You are a queen of a kingdom known for it’s weapons and unique healing herbs. Namor had been trying to convince you to fight with him against Wakanda. When you refused time and time again, he continued to see you and formed an intimate relationship with you. This relationship resulted in a son you kept from Namor. But when the Talokans attack your kingdom and take you to Namor, truths will have to be revealed.
Summary | Preview | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Please like if you want to be tagged in the chapters!
You stood there in Namor’s cavern with his murals, your wrist chained and you were dressed in white sleeveless dress. Your hair was loose and wavy and resting over your shoulders. A few cuts were on your face but most of them were on your arms from battle. Your fingers gently traced the painting of his face.
“My people tell me many stories...Many rumors...I don’t believe them, of course. Except...One.” Namor approached you from behind. You took a deep breath and turned around to face him. His gaze was calm and affectionate toward you. You averted his gaze and felt your voice die out. “Is it true?” Namor gently cupped your chin and turned your head to face him.
You closed your eyes not wanting to see his face. “Do I disgust you that you can no longer look at me? Is the mere thought that you had my offspring terrify you?” Namor’s blood began to boil.
You opened your eyes, tears falling down your cheeks, “I’m terrified of what he will become...”
“A mutant? Like me?” Namor gritted his teeth.
“A murderer...”
Namor relaxed his grip on you and gently cupped your cheeks. “I protect my people, mi reina, don’t you?”
“Of course...But I don’t go around starting wars! They told me what you did to Queen Ramonda...Was it worth it? Killing a mother who’s already lost her husband and son. Will I have the same fate?” You said firmly. Namor was quiet and looked away from you. “I beg you Namor...Whatever you wish to do to me, don’t let our son see it...” You began to sob softly.
Namor looked at you now, bewildered. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead. “Why would I do anything to you, mi reina?”
“Forgive me for thinking so, I am your prisoner and you are hunting my son.”
“I’m looking for him.” Namor corrected.
“Then why not send me? Why send Attuma? Someone who could terrify him.”
“I don’t want to argue with you.” Namor sighed.
“Just don’t hurt him.”
“He is my son, he is the heir to Talokan. He will see his people’s roots.”
“Our son. And he won’t see anything but blood and death if you continue this war.”
“Mi reina, stop this! Why do you speak as if I have no love for you! Like I would cast you out into the abyss?!” Namor pinned you against the wall and cupped the back of your head.
“I am no fool, Namor...I know that while you couldn’t have my alliance, you could have my child. That’s all you cared for...I allowed it because I loved you. I still do...” You said softly.
Namor felt his heart break hearing your words, it wasn’t true but he made no effort to come see you for several years. He let go of the back of your head. “I...I do not know what to say...But I will show you that you are wrong. When I get our son, we will be a family. You will be my queen of Talokan and he will be a prince.” Namor held your hands and stared at the chains on your wrists. He kissed your rough knuckles and gently let go. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek and you turned away.
“He won’t be your solider and he will be nothing like you.” You glared.
“That will be for him to decide...Sleep here, mi reina...I will have Namora come check on you.” Namor began to walk out of the room.
You fell to your knees, crying softly at the fear of what will become of your son.
Dividers By: @firefly-graphics
Tagging: @strangesgirl, @namorwife, @thealleydog, @wonderwomanxloki, @randomlurker21, @lflores2008, @missdragon-1, @kylorey25, @delsinhunter, @darkfairymoon, @nomoremutants2, @archangeldemigod, @dancingaroundfoldsinhergow, @jennifer092, @none-of-this-makes-any-sense, @gyurtu, @colorfultrashbanana, @yulyacristina, @angelinebaz, @wolfgurlsposts, @zoemaximoffskywalker, @supernaturallover2002, @missdreamofendless, @namorstan
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