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depravitycentral · 9 months

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Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck General Profile

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, non-con, breaking and entering, slight somnophilia, misogynistic undertones, traditional gender roles, mentions of forced breeding/forced motherhood, murder, violence, lots of descriptions of killing methodologies, slight mentions of self induced wounds, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Gentle

It takes Illumi a long time to develop feelings for his darling for a multitude of reasons.

Emotional unavailability, high expectations, and disinterest, just to name a few, and while he isn’t actively searching for a partner, there are a few base requirements he knows his future partner must meet.

Strong, intelligent, hard working, everything desirable that he knows both he and his family would approve of.

But once he meets his darling, his interest slightly peaked in them, that list begins changing slightly.

Because while the feelings are slow to solidify, Illumi notices quickly that his darling is so, so painfully averse to being harsh.

They’re not confrontational, treat others with a level of attentiveness and care that initially makes him scoff, and he doesn’t think he’s once seem them ever lose control of themselves and explode.

It’s uncanny, unnatural, as far as Illumi is concerned, and yet it’s fascinating. He slowly grows to admire this trait in his darling, how they can be so unconditionally soft with everything and everyone around them, eventually finding himself more and more attracted to them with every kind deed they do. It makes them weak, easy to manipulate, easy to kill, but Illumi finds it oddly endearing.

He’s always firmly believed that mothers should be nurturing to their children, to help them grow and shape them into the best versions of themselves possible, and while they’re opposite to his mother in many ways, maybe that gentility they possess is a the perfect thing needed.

Once he’s decided that his darling is his future wife, he’s immediately moving to experience this kindness for himself.

He comes back from missions with a little more blood and bruising than was necessary, but the way his darling gasps and quickly grabs the medical kit makes Illumi blink in wide fascination, unsure what drives them to eagerly spring into action but more than ready to feel their soft touch.

(They don’t need to know that Illumi allowed the target to get a few more hits in than necessary, just to keep them fawning over him as long as possible, or that he had to refuse ten different medical personnel in the mansion before making it to their shared ‘bedroom’.)

He likes the juxtaposition between his darling and him, and while it occasionally irritates him that they’re so soft and weak, it’s more endearing than anything else – just don’t be soft with anyone else but him, yes?

Smart

Illumi may be morally misguided, but the man is intelligent. He knows more about the human body than many doctors, and is skilled beyond belief in the art of combat and stealth.

He understands the best ways to go about gathering intel on a target without being traced or caught, and is able to apply that knowledge to set up traps correlating to his employers’ requests.

And this is a trait he’s simply unwilling to compromise when it comes to a partner – they must be able to keep up with him mentally.

They don’t need to have the same kind of intelligence as him, but the ability to critically think and quickly understand is a necessity. Illumi has very little patience for stupidity, and the thought of spending time with someone who doesn’t understand most of what he says is irritating.

And so, once his feelings for his darling begin appearing, Illumi is putting them through a small series of tests to make sure they live up to his expectations. It’s nothing too intense, nothing he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

He’s leaving extra clues that he’s been in his darling’s apartment – clumsy signs that he’d never normally leave, in the hopes that they’ll realize they’ve had an unwanted guest.

Cabinets are left ajar, their bed slightly unmade, though the thing that really clues them in is the presence of long, dark locks of hair around their apartment that they know aren’t theirs.

They’d never leave hair on the kitchen table; they’d see it and remove it, mildly disgusted. And yet, here three locks lay, making them a bit paranoid as they call the police.

Illumi intercepts the call, making sure it never rings through, but he’s still proud of his darling, satisfaction pooling in his chest because he just knew they’d pick up on it.

He likes knowing his darling is competent, and that their future children will be so too – the next Zoldyck heirs can’t be clueless, after all.

Generous

In general, Illumi isn’t particularly selfish with those he holds dear.

With the exception of Killua, Illumi has always willingly done as he’s been told.

He’s never demanded much from his parents, never insisting on material goods. He’s never felt cheated out of anything, either – his parents have molded him into the perfect assassin, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the rigor and training he received as a child.

And yet, once his darling enters his life, Illumi finds himself feeling strangely overwhelmed. They always seem to be giving things away – their time, bits of food they’ve cooked, their love, other things material and not alike.

It confuses Illumi; it makes him wonder why they’re wasting their resources on people they don’t know well, on those who likely wouldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a mystery, and frankly he finds his darling to be foolish for it – until one day it’s focused at him.

Illumi can’t comprehend why his darling is willingly giving away a bit of their time when they encounters him – in another body – disguised as a homeless man begging for change.

There’s a pitied look in their eye as they hand him the bills – two dollars, just what they had in change and could afford to give away – and tells him there’s a gas station nearby with cheap snacks he can eat.

Illumi just stares at them, not understanding why they’re helping, and soon he’s asking just that.

They startle and awkwardly laugh, telling him it’s because they don’t like seeing others in need, and they were only planning on spending that money to buy junk foods for themselves, anyways.

Illumi blinks, but his darling is soon speed walking away, the interaction feeling strange and uncomfortable.

Illumi still doesn’t understand, but it becomes another one of the facets of his darling that he simply learns to enjoy.

He yearns to understand what compels them to put others before themselves (something that yet again irritates him a bit), but he finds that the more he interacts with them, the more he enjoys being the recipient of it.

He’s finally receiving a bit of love and support that isn’t forced from his parents, and he quickly grows addicted.

Enjoys children

The reality of the situation is that as Illumi’s darling, they will be forced to interact with children whether they want to or not.

Namely, their own.

Having a family with him is not optional, and Illumi will never present it as such – once he decides his darling is to be his partner, they automatically become his future wife, the future mother of his children.

He cannot be swayed, regardless of what his darling wants.

However, while it’s still possible for him to grow obsessed with a darling who isn’t especially fond of kids, it’s much more likely that he grows attracted to the ease with which they’re able to communicate with them.

He likes the way they get so happy when a child walks up to them, how they’re immediately squatting down and smiling, playing hide and seek with their own face as the child giggles and beams.

He never knew that sort of innocent and sweet interaction when he himself was a child, but he doesn’t view it as a bad thing if his darling is able to make a child happy.

It’ll only benefit them as parents – it’ll help strengthen the bond, and make their children more malleable and receptive to their guidance.

Besides, there’s something about seeing his darling next to a baby that makes his skin feel hot, eyes blowing wide and his trousers tightening.

The image just looks so right, so natural and perfect that Illumi has to hold himself back from bending them over and fucking them right then and there.

Talent with children is an incredibly attractive trait for Illumi, and likely it's the final nail in the coffin that seals his obsession with his darling – one giggling toddler is all that’s needed to seal their fate.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

More than anything, stalking you is the only method of ‘interaction’ with you that Illumi feels truly comfortable with.

He knows how to stay invisible; tracking others is easy, as is staying in the shadows and keeping that wide, unnaturally glassy stare on them. He’s used to watching but not being seen, and it’s only natural to extend this towards you. It feels right to be watching you, like he’s where he’s meant to be, and for the beginning of his obsession he spends every free moment stalking you, hiding in corners or shadows and just staring.

(And really, this behavior lasts all throughout his infatuation, even when he’s got you trapped in the Zoldyck manor, even when you’re nursing his baby, even when you’ve both grown old and death approaches – it’s just that in the beginning, you’re not aware of the black eyes that follow your every move. And that’s a luxury that gets taken all too soon, as you find yourself longing for ignorance of Illumi in every possible way.)

Not to mention, there is no part of him that feels any guilt for it – he’s a cold-blooded assassin, of course, but at no point does it occur to him that it may be strange to be following you, or that you wouldn’t appreciate him watching over you (and watching you, generally).

He doesn’t understand that he shouldn’t approach you like he approaches a target – of course, you won’t be on the receiving end of his needles (at least, not with death his ultimate goal – perhaps something less lethal, like love or submission or lust), but otherwise his intentions are the same.

(Well, mostly – not really, actually, because Illumi doesn’t feel this strange, pleasant warmth in his chest when he’s watching his targets, nor does he feel particularly intrigued when he’s staring at them as they sleep, watching their chest rise and fall and the relaxed, utterly content expression on their face.)

The process of stalking you is remarkably similar to his jobs – first, he’ll choose a place within your home that gives him a good, solid vantage point with minimal risk that he’ll be noticed.

(Though, it’s not exactly hard to hide when you’re so damn oblivious – Illumi swears you have little to no awareness of your surroundings, if the way you sometimes knock into tables or trip over shoes in your doorway is anything to go by.)

His stand-by places are usually in a rarely used storage closet with the door cracked open, just wide enough for his dark eyes to peer through, or perhaps behind a chair you rarely use, crouched and peeking behind the cloth, and when you sit down in said chair, it gives Illumi the opportunity to stand up slightly, towering over you and getting a perfect view of your pretty body and smelling your hair.

But if it’s nighttime and you’re already snuggled up in your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll and scroll and neglect your sleep, he'll stand silently and deathly still in the corner.

He’s able to stay perfectly still and maintain the same position for hours at a time, hardly blinking, hardly moving, hardly even breathing, it seems.

And he’s utilizing this skill set to its full potential when it comes to you – Illumi is greedy, and while this doesn’t initially get channeled into being overly possessive of you (though that certainly comes later), it instead translates into this insatiable need to constantly have his eyes on you and to be in your presence every moment he isn’t needed on a job.

There are no boundaries with him, because Illumi genuinely doesn’t see the need to have them. You’re already destined to spend your lives together, so why shouldn’t he start the process of learning more about you?

Autonomy doesn’t really exist with him – he could be considered clingy if his view of your lives being so irreversibly intertwined wasn’t as clinical and matter of fact.

And so Illumi doesn’t operate barred by any sort of moral guidelines – so when he’s using his needles to morph into another face so that he can practice the lines and compliments he’s been told by his mother that will make you swoon, it doesn’t register to him that it might be creepy that he’s practicing wooing you in another body.

(The man is disturbing, and you’re uncomfortable with the way this stranger doesn’t seem to be getting the hint that you want him to leave you alone; why is he standing so close to you? Why is he staring at you like that? Why is he following you?)

It doesn’t register to him that it’s a breach of trust to be pretending to be someone you love and trust, just to extract more information about you.

(Your cousin is acting strangely when they speak to you – their words are clipped and sound just slightly off, and you’re sure they already know what your dreams for the future are. You’ve talked about this with them before, so why are they questioning you on what your ideal house looks like, your ideal partner, your favorite baby names?)

He spends a lot of time observing you, collecting information on you in every way he can, and this doesn’t stop once you’re trapped by his side and with the rest of his crazy, horrible family – it’s a habit, more than anything, but it’s so much worse when you’re aware, when you can see and feel his dark eyes boring into you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Of course, talking to him about it won’t do a single thing – only earning you a slight head tilt and a question of does it bother you when I watch you? I apologize, I only meant to keep an eye on you, my dear.

He genuinely doesn’t understand that stalking you and keeping a tab on you at all times is something that you very much don’t appreciate, but you’ll quickly come to learn that with Illumi, there’s only so much you can change – so much being quite literally nothing.

Controlling

This particular manifestation of his obsession with you is a culmination of many different things.

Firstly, it’s simply his personality – when he loves, he possesses, this ugly, carnal feeling stirring in his gut that pushes him to be in control, to guide and oversee every little thing the target of his love does. He’s always felt this way with Killua – he loves his brother immensely, but that love translates as being controlling and always keeping a finger on what Killua does, says, and feels.

Secondly, it’s the intense pressure coming from his family. Kikyo expects your total obedience both to her and her son, and while Illumi can sometimes stand up to his mother on matters where your safety and wellbeing are concerned, he can’t deny her expectations of you being absolutely subservient to him, bending to his every whim and allowing him to dictate every aspect of your life.

And finally, it’s his own paranoia that pushes him to micromanage you in every way possible. He’s never had someone to call his before – he’s unselfish in nature, dedicating himself to his family in every possible way, and now that he’s been given a woman to call his own, to spoil and love and keep by his side, he’s not entirely sure how to react.

Your presence soothes him in a way he’s never experienced before; you’re so soft and caring and warm, all things he’s never had. His life has been hardships and tough love, training and never being good enough, and now that you’re in the picture, Illumi isn’t entirely sure how to handle himself.

He doesn’t doubt himself, per se, but he’s unsure how to successfully navigate a marriage. Would you like it if he was more physical with you? Perhaps you’d like more hugs or for him to hold your hand or kiss you more often – that’s what all the popular media resources he’s looked into have told him.

Or maybe you’d prefer a more quiet, subtle kind of love, where you both support one another with meaningful looks and the occasional touch, whispered words that carry more weight than they seem.

He’s not sure, despite all the stalking and information retrieving he’s preformed in your name, and that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like that he can’t anticipate what you’ll want or how to make you happy – it makes him feel less-than, as if he’s not quite the perfect match that his mother and father have always said his wife will be.

He doesn’t like not being sure of himself, and so this worry manifests itself as becoming firmer in his treatment of you, locking down on the few things he’s absolutely sure of.

It comes off as controlling, sure, but Illumi doesn’t mean to be when he’s telling you what to wear, rifling through the closet he procured for you and pulling out a dress he thinks suits your complexion – you may hate it, but he likes it, so you’ll wear it.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s clicking his tongue lightly and telling you to keep your posture straight, dear every time you sit down, even if your shoulders are only barely, slightly slumped.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s standing over the bathtub and watching you wash yourself, telling you to use more soap, darling, don’t you want to be clean?

(Nevermind his dark eyes blinking slowly and getting stuck on the soapy outline of your breasts under the warm water – surely you’re just imagining that, along with the tent forming in his trousers.)

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s roughly grabbing your hand and forcing you behind him when you’re walking through the hallways of the manor, his gaze narrowing at the butler standing at attention, paranoia eating away at him because he could have sworn the man was staring at you as you entered the room, and he can’t have that. Even as an employee of the family, no one but Illumi can look at you with any degree of desire – you are his, and if it means cleaning up a body and finding a new butler to replace him, Illumi will do what is needed to keep you his.

IIlumi is quite frankly totally unaware of his controlling behavior – he doesn’t realize anything is wrong because in his eyes nothing is wrong. This is love – it’s how his father always treated his mother when he was young, his eyes cold and his heart even colder, his words cutting her down and remolding her into a woman more fitting of being the matriarch of the Zoldycks.

And while he doesn’t want to break you down or remake you, he’s following his father’s example in making sure that you’re entirely accounted for. You’re his responsibility, and while he doesn’t view you as merely a pet, you’ll often feel like a glorified dog with the way he controls your life down to every second, always telling you that it’s time to go eat, or time to sleep, or time to shower, or time to kiss him and let him undress you.

He's pushy without even meaning to be, but if you bring this behavior up to him, he’ll be surprised. Genuinely – his brows will quirk up ever so slightly, his already wide eyes getting a hair wider because really? I had no idea, my dear. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I will reduce the frequency on my instructions towards you.

But he doesn’t, even if he promises he will.

And it’s not entirely his fault – he thinks he is, even going so far as to be expectant of your praise when he holds himself back from telling you to use the other fork when he’s dining with you privately. Surely you must be proud of him – he’s doing as you asked, being a good husband and fulfilling your desires and wishes.

So why aren’t you praising him?

Why aren’t you mentioning anything about how generous he’s being, how considerate he is?

You’ve blatantly disregarded his attempts at trying to be less ‘controlling’, as you claim, and Illumi takes this as a sign to only double down and become more omnipresent, because obviously you haven’t quite learned how to be a kind, grateful, adoring wife.

You haven’t quite yet learned the lessons he’s been trying to teach you – so you need more guidance. You need more advice, a firmer hand to push you towards becoming the best, most noble version of yourself, and lucky, lucky you has a loving, oh so eager husband right there willing to step into that role.

He’s domineering and in control of every aspect of your life, but there’s almost a small sense of relief that you’ll eventually feel. Because really, while it makes you feel weak and pathetic and pitiful to have him controlling how long you brush your teeth every morning and night, isn’t there something kind of nice about relinquishing your responsibilities? Isn’t there something oddly nice about not having to make your own decisions, to let Illumi take care of everything, to not have to worry about anything ever again?

It's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and you may even know it – but it doesn’t matter, because the longer you spend under Illumi’s thumb, the less you’ll find yourself caring about things like choice and autonomy and preference. All that matter is what he wants, what he thinks is best – because really, doesn’t he know best?

Isn’t he superior to you in every possible way?

Protective

Illumi has a very, very good understanding of the human body.

He has to – his job depends on it, after all, and Illumi is nothing if not dedicated to his work. He knows every muscle, vein, and bone, their purpose and exactly what it would mean if it was removed.

He knows what organs must stay in tact for survival, how much blood a person can lose and stay conscious, how cold temperature can drop before hypothermia begins, even how long a person can survive without sleeping.

And it’s this wide breadth of knowledge that leads Illumi to know just how pathetically weak you are.

There are so many possible ways to hurt you – everything from a gunshot to a paper cut could potentially end your tragically fragile life, and the longer Illumi watches you, the more uncomfortable this knowledge becomes.

It’s not that you’re objectively incapable of defending yourself – perhaps you know some basic self-defense, or perhaps your survival instincts are sharp enough to keep you away from dangerous situations. No – it’s more that Illumi knows what other people are capable of, what nen is capable of, and he knows that you’d simply be no match if someone were to attack you.

And so, this puts him into a rather uncomfortable spot; at the beginning of his obsession with you, when his feels were still freshly formed and underdeveloped, he felt no sense of protectiveness over you. You’re an adult, you can care for yourself – you’ve survived this long, haven’t you?

But then he starts noticing how wide your smile can get, or how soft your hand is when you’re sleeping, or how pretty your voice sounds when you’re singing in your kitchen and making yourself dinner.

He starts noticing that you’ve been biting your lip, the skin a little puffy and swollen and stinging a bit. Did you know that your lip could get infected, and if you don’t get to a doctor fast enough, that infection could cost you your life?

He starts noticing that the skin of your hands is a little dry, and you keep getting hangnails. Did you know that dry skin can be a sign of serious nutrition deficiencies, and if you don’t enough potassium you could end up in the hospital and slowly waste away until you eventually can no longer hold on?

He starts noticing that sometimes your voice gets a little hoarse after you try to sing a particularly high note, your voice cracking and a series of coughs racking your body. Did you know that if you cough too hard, you can actually strain your lungs and affect their ability to take in oxygen, potentially suffocating you?

Time passing brings him to the realization that the idea of you dying makes him frown, something unpleasant brewing in his chest that he guesses is sadness. He doesn’t like the idea of you passing away – he wants you alive, and if you were to die, he wouldn’t be able to watch you anymore, to feel that warm, addicting feeling in his heart you give him. If you were to suddenly keel over and die, he’d be left all alone – like normal, yes, but now that he knows what it's like to have someone, to want someone, Illumi doesn’t think he could return to his old existence.

And so, the solution is simple: keep you alive.

Except, it’s much harder to keep someone living and breathing than it is to simply kill them, and quickly Illumi is realizing just how tall an order this is. Because really, there’s just so much that could potentially injure you, that could potentially lead to your life being in danger.

You’re just so damn clumsy – he’s watched you trip over air, and if you’re that naturally unaware of your surroundings, who’s to say you wouldn’t be susceptible to even the most minor injuries? How can he be sure that you’ll manage to evade even the most innocent of accidents?

You won’t. He’s sure of it.

And so, he’s growing slightly paranoid because every new object you encounter is immediately a threat to him, five different ways that object could endanger you immediately flashing through his mind.

A pair of car keys? They’re dull and blunt, sure, but if they were thrust into your chest just right they could rupture something, cause you to bleed out, give you tetanus or metal poisoning.

A book you’re obsessing over? You could get a papercut, a slice across your pretty skin, and Kalluto has proven that paper can be incredibly deadly.

Your damn cell phone? Well, the screen is horrible for your eyes, your information could be sold and land in the hands of someone nefarious, and he knows you look at it while you’re walking on busy streets.

There’s just so many avenues for you to get hurt, and Illumi works himself to the bone to prevent any of them from successfully causing you harm. And he’s effective, too – you’ll find your knives have suddenly disappeared, your razors too, even any sort of pill you have that’s stronger than Ibuprofen.

All your outlets have suddenly stopped working, your ovens too, even your dishwasher.

Your shower doesn’t seem to be able to get as hot as it used to, and you don’t remember your pillows being as fluffy or numerous as they currently are.

You’ll know something is wrong, your anxiety shooting through the roof because someone must be robbing you, setting foot into your home and stealing all your things.

The reality is much more sinister, much more terrifying, and as soon as you wake up in Illumi’s hold, you’ll realize that your situation is much, much worse than you’d imagined.

He’s going to every length to keep you safe and sound from potential harm, even if it leaves you feeling pitiful and beyond ashamed, the babyproofed bathroom he lets you use making you ill when you see the way there’s locks on the cabinets to prevent you from rooting around for anything that could cause irreparable damage.

It’ll make you feel incompetent, embarrassed even when Illumi tries to comfort you by saying that he doesn’t think you’re incapable, just not entirely trustworthy, my dear. There’s a difference.

(His voice is always just slightly condescending when he talks to you, and this is surely no exception – it’ll make you feel worse, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.)

Because really, all that matters to Illumi is making sure that you stay alive – he’s selfish, wanting to keep you solely to himself, and even if that means making sure you go nowhere unaccompanied, to nothing without his help, make no decisions by yourself, he doesn’t mind.

He’s doing it for you, for your shared love, for the good of your relationship.

And if you don’t seem to understand that for now, he’s sure someday you will. Someday you’ll realize the extent to which Illumi cares for you – why else would he do so very much for you, his devotion to you spanning long before he finally got to sink his claws (and cock) into you?

So really, shouldn’t you be grateful?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is very much not something Illumi has ever really had to deal with.

His whole life has been training, killing, devotion to his family and the Zoldyck name, and as an assassin he’s never really been envious of anyone, or really had strong enough feelings about anything to want something.

It’s a concept he understands in theory but begins questioning it when it comes to the way it makes people crazy, the way people act so strangely in circumstances where envy and jealousy are concerned. It seems entirely stupid, something that only serves to derail situations.

And yet, once a strange nagging feeling begins at the edges of his mind, Illumi finds himself wondering if this is the famous jealousy he’s always heard of.

It doesn’t feel good – it’s like there’s something pulling at his heart, a hand wrapped around it and squeezing every so often, the feeling almost painful and certainly irritating.

But the more he’s around you, the more it persists – almost seeming to grow by the day, even if you’re fully alone, in your apartment reading a book or scrolling through your phone. Illumi very suddenly understands why jealousy is known as something so horrible, something that eats you up inside and won’t leave you alone – that is, Illumi quickly begins noticing that he isn’t the only man vying for your attention and love.

Because he’s constantly watching you, following you and making sure that he knows everything there is to know about your life and relationships with others, he doesn’t miss the situations where you interact with another man, where you smile and laugh and even compliment other men, all right in front of him.

(Illumi tends to conveniently disregard the fact that you aren’t able to sense him, that you aren’t aware that you have a dangerous, murderous stalker trailing your every move.)

It’s irritating, frustrating, distracting enough to be seriously affecting his work – he’ll have a fleeting thought of the way you’d smiled at that other man a week ago as he goes for the final stab into the target’s chest, but the slight snarl he lets out has him missing just slightly, instead nicking the target in the shoulder and giving them an opportunity to scramble away.

Illumi’s irritation only increases at that, and soon there’s blood splattered along the floor as he breaths deeply, the red staining his clothing standing out bright.

He really tried to ignore it at first, but once it began affecting him even when he’s not in your presence, Illumi knew he had to solve the problem. And after a quick, rather detached conversation with his father about it, Illumi was quickly enlightened that he was in fact jealous, his father having laughed lightly and patting him on the arm, telling him that it’s natural to feel that way about your wife, Illumi. Your duty is as an assassin, but as a member of this family. If the woman you’ve chosen to bear your heir is giving you such feelings, I see no harm in acting upon them. It will serve you well to focus more on your work, as well.

And so Illumi embraces this newfound permission to foster this emotion - it’s odd, the way what he’s fairly confident is anger coils around his heart, making his fists clench slightly, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you talk and laugh with that man. That man, who probably doesn’t even know how to use nen, who probably doesn’t even understand how perfect of a wife you could be, how good of a mother and perfect addition to his family you’d be.

It’s strange, and while Illumi doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can’t deny the odd sense of finality that comes with killing without being paid to, the strange sensation of enjoying ending a life. He finds himself smiling after plunging his nails into a man’s jugular, but Illumi isn’t too horribly bothered.

It’s new and strange, but so is everything else you make Illumi experience, after all. Why should this be any different?

As he trails behind you in the shadows, his dark eyes train in on your figure as you bite your lip and look over the selection of fruit displayed out on the cart of the farmer’s market.

Illumi stays perfectly still, completely focused on watching you. You’re wearing a pair of jeans today, pants that hug your figure a little too tightly for his tastes, along with a sweatshirt that does quite the opposite – hiding your upper body, which Illumi only finds slightly more agreeable.

(In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note to have a talk with you about proper dress for a woman such as yourself – a woman who’s to become part of a powerful, wealthy family, and as such must represent them - and her husband - with her head held high and confidence oozing from her. He’s sure a nice skirt and blouse will do the trick – silky or satin, shimmery and soft like you. Or, perhaps, a dress – maybe a floral pattern or a deep magenta. Of course, you’ll eventually be wearing purple, the Zoldyck family color, but he knows women enjoy fashion, and he's interested to see what you’d pick.)

As he thinks through what he’ll say to you, already planning out how the conversation will go, he notices a man with shaggy brown hair and honey brown eyes take a deep breath and walk beside you, standing next to you and looking over the selection of apples, pears, oranges and various other fruits.

Illumi’s expression makes no change as the brunette says something about how there’s always too many options at markets like these, types of fruit that he’s never heard of making it difficult to choose, to which you laugh and full heartedly agree.

The assassin makes no move, but as he watches and listens with distaste lodged in the back of his throat, you continue on the conversation, asking the man’s advice on which type of apple you should get.

It’s a short interaction, in all honesty - maybe a minute maximum, but Illumi is still watching with a heavy, piercing gaze, feeling the same odd, sickly feeling rise up from his chest.

He’s already decided that if the man moves to lay even a finger on you he’ll emerge from the shadows, swiftly and triumphantly piercing his chest with his entire hand.

Maybe that’ll get him to stop talking.

But the man doesn’t, and so Illumi begrudgingly lets the conversation run its course. You eventually say goodbye to the man and ask him if he’d like to meet up at the same booth in a week to compare the types of fruit.

Immediately Illumi’s fist clenches, his nails sharpening and digging into his palms, drops of blood littering the pavement below him as his eyes never stray, keeping trained on you as you walk in the opposite direction of the man, who is now blushing and smiling like a fool.

Disgusting, Illumi thinks as he follows the man.

The world won’t miss him, is all he’s thinking as he pulls a pin and flicks his wrist, the needle sinking into his neck. He watches with a dull gaze as the fast acting poison renders the man immobile, falling to his knees as his chest slows its breaths, eventually no longer moving.

You most certainly won’t, he thinks as he picks up the body, unsheathing the needle after life has left the body, finding a nearby trash bin to stuff the man into.

It isn’t the most efficient method of dealing with a body, but Illumi can’t be bothered – after all, in the some thirty seconds it’s taken him to deal with the man who thought he had a chance with what Illumi has already claimed as his, you’ve managed to make it a bit further from him, wandering through the maze of stalls with the bag full of produce in your hands.

He’s immediately falling into step behind you, the flexing of his fingers doing nothing to distract him as he brings back his stare, internally sighing as he sees another man – this time blond – look over at you and not so subtly rake his eyes up and down your body.

Illumi’s brow twitches – he only brought twenty needles this morning, and you’ve only been at the market for some fifteen minutes. Already he only has three left, and with a small sigh he reminds himself to bring more tomorrow, as he’ll surely use them.

And really, while Illumi doesn’t enjoy that other men are looking at you, being deluded enough to believe that they have a chance with you, he needs to make sure that there are no complications with your union, that there will be no problems to take care of when he eventually whirls you away to his home, where you’ll be his lovely wife that provides him with children and a warmth he can’t explain.

There’s a certain thrill that comes with letting himself feel, with not pushing down the emotion as his father said – a certain thrill that he can only feel where you’re concerned.

After all, you’re just that special.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

From the moment Illumi decides that you’re a good match for him, it becomes a known fact (at least, among his family) that you would eventually be living alongside him in the Zoldyck manor.

You don’t have a choice, really – all of his family lives together on the mountain, and you will be no exception, despite your temporary status as an honorary member.

(This status is temporary if only because now you aren’t an official Zoldyck, but the moment you become pregnant with his child, this status changes – you’re a real Zoldyck then, because inside you grows the family’s next assassin, a product of Illumi’s devotion to you and proof of your resolve to commit yourself to the Zoldycks. It’s all terribly romantic to Illumi, even if it makes you want to hurl, and he’ll have no qualms telling you this information – he’ll even frame it as if it’s some sort of incentive to get you eagerly spreading your legs for him. He treats it like you want to be accepted into the family – like it’s your deepest desire, and no amount of arguing or pleading with him will convince him otherwise.)

You will be sharing a bed with him, living under the same roof and spending all your time beside him when he’s not away for a job, whether you like it or not, and Illumi has known this from the very beginning. You’ll be curled up in his arms, his skin cold and slightly clammy as he holds you, his grip much too tight and stiff even as he sleeps – you can hardly move, every breath you take feeling constricted and controlled, as if Illumi is doing you a favor by allowing you just a bit of space to breathe.

It takes him a while to fully develop and understand what his feelings mean, but once he does he isn’t holding back in any form - his family was, for lack of a better word, floored the night that their eldest son casually mentioned having selected his future wife. Kikyo was immediately pressing him for details, wanting to know every fact and scrap of information about her future daughter in law, which Illumi was happy to provide.

He immediately spouted off your name, age, basic personality, physical features, hobbies, interests, important life events, past and current jobs, relationships with your parents, friends, partners, anything and everything he can think of, Kikyo listening all the while with a scowl on her face. She’s confused on why her precious son has chosen you, considering you weren’t a skilled nen user, a fighter or even someone of great importance.

She’s not completely convinced of her son’s choice, but there’s a strange determination to Illumi’s normally lifeless eyes that she can see that makes her back off a bit, leaving her with an odd sense of finality in his words, confidence in his decision that makes it hard to argue.

(Besides, everyone knows Killua is the true heir of the family – as long as Illumi produces members to join the Zoldyck ranks, it’s not so important who chooses to wed. As long as they’re suitable for conception, she’ll begrudgingly accept – perhaps not with enthusiasm, but she’ll relent nonetheless.)

Silva is listening as well, though not as intensely as his wife, and after Illumi finishes his some twenty minute recall of your information, he merely takes a sip of his drink and nods, telling his son to treat her with care, she sounds weak in comparison to you.

Milluki is rolling his eyes, wondering why his brother decided on someone so normal, though he doesn’t dare say anything. Internally, though, he’s already imagining what you look like, his mental picture of you built upon Illumi’s descriptions, but with just a bit more detail – things his brother hadn’t mentioned, like the size of your chest or if you’re clumsy or if your voice is high and feminine and whiny.

Kalluto only nods, wondering what you’ll be like in person if you’ve managed to catch his older brother’s eye.

His mother is still disappointed in his choice, but wastes no time helping Illumi prepare for your eventual arrival, helping him create a regiment for how to integrate you into the family, how to work with your needs, considering your status as a mere commoner.

And while Illumi lets his mother plan and schedule and bustle about, he’s merely thinking of how he should take you away, tuning out his mother’s shrill words as she yells and commands butlers, telling them to prepare and clean and do everything so that Illumi’s new wife will be received well.

In all reality, Illumi – while very much concerned with his family’s acceptance of you, considering the tightness and loyalty instilled into him – isn’t especially concerned about the plans his mother is running wild preparing. He knows that with enough time and training, you’ll eventually fit right into the mold his mother wants you to, or at least as far into it as Illumi is allowing.

Because really, while he agrees that you need to be toughened up at least a little bit in order to survive in the mansion and be strong enough to bear his children, he doesn’t want your core personality to change – he fell in love with you for a reason, and while you must be trained a bit to survive as a Zoldyck, he doesn’t want you to become a stranger.

And so instead of listening to his mother’s plans, he’s slipping out under the cover of nightfall and climbing through the familiar window of your bedroom, your sleeping form laying so still and peaceful, like you’re just waiting for him to come steal you away.

A pin (as much as he hates piercing your skin with the needle, it must be done) is applied to your shoulder and your sleep is suddenly much heavier, your body visibly going limp, your breaths getting longer and deeper, and for a moment he worries that he’s infused too much nen into the needle, that your breathing will just keep slowing until it eventually stops.

His grip against his spare needles tightens at the thought, the force so strong that it snaps the metal in half, the sound knocking him from his thoughts as he blinks down at you, a small sense of relief filling him because your chest is still steadily rising and falling.

Illumi carries you in his arms back to the manor, not minding the weight of your body holding him down.

And just as he passes through the gates, he feels what he thinks might be excitement brewing in his chest.

Life with Illumi will be, in all honesty, hell.

It’s not so much that he enjoys making you miserable or seeing you uncomfortable, but rather that he’s grown up with such intense expectations, such strict regimes and schedules that he upholds you to similar standards.

Of course, you won’t be going through training to become an assassin while you’re with him – no practice with combat or anything so violent, if only because Illumi’s worry over your safety prohibits him from allowing you anywhere near a knife or a fist cocked and ready to be swung.

(Not to mention the fact that he plans on you going absolutely nowhere without him, and as such there’s no reason for you to learn how to defend yourself. You don’t need to build up immunity to poison, how to most effectively snap a neck, or to learn any number of the cruel things that he thinks are much too unwomanly for someone like you.)

No, the schedule and timetables he puts you on are much more general, humiliating, dehumanizing – being told when you can and can’t use the restroom is something you’ll quickly come to realize takes away even the barest scrap of dignity and independence you have left under Illumi’s control.

He dictates what time you wake up, what you eat for each meal of the day, and your activities between meals - comprised mostly of more feminine things, as his mother advised you learn, like sewing and mending, floral arrangement, proper dining etiquette, and of course, lessons on how to properly raise children, taught by Kikyo herself.

(From the get go, it will be extremely apparent to you that the entirety of the Zoldyck family – Illumi included – expect offspring, assuming with little thought that you’ll be bearing the eldest son’s children in what Silva has expressed as sooner than you think with a small nod and poignant stare. Shivers had run down your spine at the way Illumi’s gaze on you seemed to only grow in intensity at his father’s comment, his cold fingers pressing against the small of your back in a way that made your skin crawl. Besides, the built in conception time, as Illumi so lovingly puts it, makes it more than obvious that he’s fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant.)

It’s demeaning, the way you’re treated like some toddler, some incompetent idiot with the way Kikyo flutters around you, her shrill voice echoing through the corridors as you cower and obey.

It isn’t that you want to be obedient to a family you’ve come to realize is beyond fucked up, but you’ve also seen Illumi at work. He’s come home to you covered in blood, giving you a small smile as he awkwardly leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, his dark eyes staying open the whole time.

You don’t particularly want to be the submissive, obedient future mother of Illumi’s children like everyone in the manor is expecting you to be (with the exception of Killua, whom Illumi desperately wants you to get along with, and he may honestly be the only ray of light within this dark, musty home – at least he somewhat understands how fucked up the situation is, though he’s told you many times that there’s nothing he can do to help you).

But the constant threat of the fact that anyone in the house could kill you with a simple flick of the wrist is not lost on you, and while Illumi genuinely terrifies you for much of the first few months of your captivity, you quickly learn to obey his every word, to live to please him.

He’s really the only ally you have – he’s more forgiving, easier to try and wiggle your way out of a less severe punishment with, especially as you learn to predict his wishes.

He wants you to wear a certain kimono that he thinks looks beautiful on you? You hate the pattern on it and the way the style makes your figure look, but you scramble to slide into the fabric, trying to ignore his ever present stare boring into your naked body.

He wants you to come play with his hair, because he’s been told by his father that it feels nice and he’s seen couples do it? immediately you’re clambering to sit on the chair behind his seated position on the floor, running your fingers through his dark locks while he sits stick straight, silence enveloping the two of you.

He wants you to lay beside him while he rests, recovering his energy from a recent mission? You’re already slipping underneath the sheets, clearing a space for him and letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

(He’s so stiff even when he ‘cuddles’ you – his skin is so cold, his back straight, his grip on you tight enough to make you squirm, and the hot breath against your neck when he tells you that he’s missed you, my dear, my day is less bright without your presence will make you wince.)

Some of his wishes are, admittedly, much more difficult to obey than others, however – when he tells you to lay back and spread your legs while he’s shimmying off his pants, it’s difficult to not fight, to not cry and scream as he pushes into you, his eyebrows twitching together and his pale fists clenching by your head as he slowly begins humping into you.

He isn’t necessarily bad to you per se, though quickly his family picks up on his cluelessness on how to truly treat a spouse, and so after a few comments from Silva about how to properly woo you (maybe she will be less unruly, and you may have more luck producing children this way as well) he actually does take his advice and try to make at least some attempt at romancing you.

He’s telling you robotically delivered compliments, buying you bouquets of roses, even rewarding your good behavior with small knick knacks from your old apartment and life – but it’s not enough; the fear of him is still far greater than the almost charming awkwardness he exudes in moments of intimacy and tenderness will ever be.

You’ll essentially become a submissive, sweet little housewife under Illumi’s care, and even if you hate it, even if you try with everything you have to not be subjected to the future of bearing his children, holding the famous last name of Zoldyck, and being completely subservient to the man who kidnapped you and forcefully began a ‘relationship’ with you, Illumi and the rest of his family have ways of making sure you stay in line.

And before long, you’ll grow to accept your place, to realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do.

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, Illumi rarely gets actually mad at you – he’s much more frequently disappointed when you don’t behave correctly, when you fight him or make some weak attempt at escaping.

He doesn’t get mad, but there is this small sense of pity that he feels when he watches you cry and beg him to not come any closer, to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened! Please, I don’t want to be with you or your sick family!

It hurts, if he’s being honest, but he knows that in order to train you, to mold you into the perfect spouse and future mother of his children, he needs to be patient.

Dogs can’t be expected to follow commands from the very beginning, right?

And so, when he kneels down to where you’re curled up in the corner of your shared room, his dark hair hanging around you like a curtain while his wide eyes never blink and stay situated on you, he’s merely tilting his head and asking in a voice much too serious to be natural, oh but darling, can’t you see you’re already part of this family? Now, dinner is to be ready in thirty minutes. I need to properly prepare you.

He actually has a surprising amount of patience with you – you make him soft (or at least as soft as he can be, though anyone that knows him well can spot the differences in his treatment and air around you), and he doesn’t really want to harm you or scare you.

It’s a necessary evil in his eyes, though if he had his way, he’d train you to the point where you’re willingly looking at him with love.

He’d train you until you’re welcoming him home with a sweet kiss to his cheek after a long job with a toddler clutching at your legs, a baby suckling at your breast and a swollen belly telling him and the rest of the world exactly who you belong to, your lovesick cry of his name when you see him making the smile plastered onto his lips that much more genuine.

You make him feel, something so foreign and strange, and to Illumi this new, small amount of emotion feels downright overwhelming, something so strong and powerful and wonderful. It’s addicting, truly, something that he finds himself actively wanting, a concept he’s never felt before towards anything except bringing back Killua.

And so while he doesn’t particularly enjoy punishing you, it’s worth it to keep those feelings alive, to build up to the point where his fantasies of your domestic future with one another come to fruition.

So really, while he doesn’t get mad at you very often, he won’t hesitate to dole out punishments where he sees fit – it’s all for a greater purpose, he tells you, though you have your doubts.

Besides, there’s something even more disturbing about him punishing you when he isn’t even angry – it’s worse because it all just seems so pointless; maybe if he was yelling you would understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’d seem human, maybe, capable of emotion – instead, you get those familiar, dead eyes staring at you, his expression carefully neutral as he tells you that this is for your own sake, my dear, and one day you’ll see that.

When it comes to actually punishing you, Illumi’s aversion to causing you any sort of physical harm prevents him from inflicting a whole varietyof punishments onto you – he doesn’t want to taint your delicate skin, to break a bone, to do any number of things that he’s been told over and over by his family would help.

(Milluki insists that breaking both of your legs would be a good way to prevent any kind of behavior targeted around trying to escape, and while Illumi understands the logic and even agrees with it, the look of your teary eyes staring up at him and your desperate pleads to not hurt you are simply too much.)

(Milluki also suggests, with a crude grin and a gulp, that perhaps letting him try a hand at getting you to cooperate would be helpful – besides, he’ll add with a smarmy smile and his tongue flicking out over his lips, a Zoldyck heir is a Zoldyck heir, doesn’t matter who knocked her up, right? That night, Milluki ended up with the broken bone rather than you.)

He isn’t sure why he’s so incapable of hurting you considering his profession, but he just can’t – and so, he finds other methods.

Namely, your mental state is completely fair game; he’s training you after all, and when the basement of the Zoldyck mansion is just so expansive, so cold and wet and so very dark, how can he not use that to his advantage?

Your eyes are casted downwards, your voice soft and unsure as you ask if you can see my family again? Kikyo mentioned that it’s December, and there’s an important birthday in the family this month that I’d like to celebrate with them…

Illumi had been cuddling you (or, at least holding you in his arms while he lay on his side, completely frozen and inhaling the scent of your hair again and again while you uncomfortably squirmed around), but the moment those words tumble from your lips, he’s blinking pensively, pondering your statement.

I don’t know of any birthdays in the family this month.

When you try again, telling him that it’s your family you’re talking about, the one you were raised in and that you love, immediately he’s cutting you off.

My dear, you must be mistaken. The nearest birthday is Grandfather’s, and that isn’t for another month.

His voice is firmer this time, as if he’s trying to tell you something, but some part of you refuses to silently accept his blatant dismissal of your request.

Illumi you don’t understand, it’s –

his grip is tightening even more, practically suffocating you as his nails dig into your exposed arms, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a scold.

No, my love, you don’t understand. Don’t speak of them. They are no longer your family – you are a Zoldyck now, and you’ll forget all of those past imposters. You will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to see them again. Now, come with me.

And it’s not like you have much of a choice – as he picks you up and brings you down the stairs, endless winding hallways that steadily grow colder and colder the deeper you head, you’re flailing, apologizing profusely, anything to not have to spend another few nights in the basement.

And while Illumi doesn’t enjoy the tears that stream down your cheeks, he stays strong and ties you to the chains connected to the walls – loose enough that you can be seated on the ground, but tight enough to restrict any movement.

Once you’re stationary, he stands before you and stares, the light from the door behind him illuminating his figure.

I expect you to tell me who your real family is when I return.

And with that, he’s walking out the room and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you shrouded in darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat to entertain you.

He generally leaves you down there for three days, give or take – enough to have you dehydrated, your stomach growling and rumbling painfully at the lack of food, cold seeping into your bones and leaving you shivering and shaking, all the while fear envelopes you because there’s something here with you, you just know it.

The sounds coming from the corner of the room are too difficult to ignore, though you have no idea what it could be. You presume it’s some sort of creature, designed to kill you if Illumi so desires, the scuttling noise making fear creep up your spine every time you hear it. The sounds are ryhtmic, predictable, always going off in roughly thirty minute intervals, leading you to believe the creature is smart, or at least trained to be so.

It’s terrifying and your mind will conjure up images of terrifying, grotesque beasts in its bored and fearful state, but in reality the monster in question is Illumi himself – he grows so dependent on you that he can’t be away from you for more than about a day, so he treats himself to hiding in the shadows and simply watching you.

You’re very pretty, even when you’re crying and covered in dirt and covered in your own piss, and it’s in those moments that Illumi truly realizes how deeply his feelings for you run, how badly he wants you to be his everything. He just can’t stop looking at you, those dark eyes raking over your figure over and over and over, moving his position roughly every thirty minutes to get a new angle of you.

(Though, it’s not like he needs to see you to remember what you look like from this angle, he’s stalked you so thoroughly and so heavily that he could draw your face in his sleep with pinpoint accuracy, your features metaphorically carved behind his eyelids so that he’ll always see you you you when he blinks.)

And when he eventually opens the door once more, light cracking into the room and making you violently blink, he’s asking if you’ve learned your lesson yet, if you’re finally understanding who your real family is, and immediately you’re practically yelling that yes, I understand! I’m a Zoldyck, the Zoldycks are my real family! I love them and I love you, Illumi, because I’m your wife and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be!

(If you were in a better state of mind you’d have the energy to be ashamed of yourself, but you’re so desperate to get out of this cellar and into the warmth, to drink something and eat something and be away from the thing trapped in there with you that you just don’t care.)

He nods, satisfied, and opens the locks, only to blink in surprise when you wobbly embrace him, sobbing into his chest and clutching onto his clothes because even though he’s unnaturally cold, he’s still warmer than the hell you’ve been in for the last three days.

And while he’s not the best at physical affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you and pull you tighter, crushing you against his hard chest whispering in your ear that he’s so glad you’ve finally accepted your place.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The danger that lies with being Illumi’s darling is honestly just the fact that once he chooses you, there is absolutely no chance of escaping him.

He’s a trained assassin with connections everywhere; outside of death itself, there’s no way for you to get away from him, no matter how hard you try or who you manage to recruit into aiding you.

(And even if you were to somehow manage to kill yourself, Illumi will keep your dead body by his side – holding it at night while he sleeps, propping you in a chair across from him while he eats and carries on a one sided conversation about work that day, even going so far as to fuck your cold, lifeless body just to feel you.)

He’s lived his whole life feeling nothing at all, and the second that you inspire any bit of emotion within him, his whole perspective seems to alter just slightly, something warm and strange and good blooming in his chest. It’s something completely foreign, but the longer it goes on the more he decides the likes it, growing used to the feeling and craving more of it, finding himself yearning – yes, yearning – to feel it once more when he’s been away from you for long periods of time.

Once he realizes that the common cause of this feeling is you, Illumi is deciding that you’re the one he’ll be adding to the Zoldyck family as his partner, his spouse, his lover.

You’ll be the one to bear his children and continue on the name, all while he gets to enjoy the strange warmth in his chest, the odd protectiveness that forces him to keep you locked up, safe from the outside world, the strange urge he feels to reach out and touch you, to see you smile, to feel your lips against his own.

And so while he won’t ever directly physically harm you, your mental state will be destroyed, and you’ll be in constant fear that someday he’ll decide you aren’t worth the trouble, that once he impregnates you and you give him a few heirs, he’ll kill you off effortlessly.

These fears will never, ever see fruition of course, but the trouble with Illumi is that you just never know.

He’s skilled in the art of killing, but his skills in lying are quite formidable as well – you can never truly tell when he’s being honest with you, and while he’s never fully lied to you (only misrepresented facts and led you to believe something that may not be entirely true), you’ll live in a constant state of unease because you’re so, so very aware that he could kill you with a mere flick of his wrist if he so desired, and what’s stopping him? He claims to be in love, but in what world is this love?

And you, lucky lucky you, get the lovely package deal of not only him, but his fucked up family as well – so good luck, and really, just let him mold you into the perfect, obedient little wife he wants you to be.

You’ll be much, much happier in the end.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere illumi #yandere illumi zoldyck #_hxh #_illumi zoldyck #_lee's profiles

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daechwitatamic · 3 months

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 8 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: injury and blood, angst wc: 4.8k

When you’d studied casting - in the framework of counter-curses, never much else - you’d learned like a human. You’d learned the methodology of pulling magic from the air around you, like one might pull water from a cloud. You never knew there was magic inside you, rising up to meet the rest. You never knew that you might possess something of your own, stronger and more readily available than what the world around you could offer.

Now, as you stand in your tiny bedroom in the palace practicing the same deflective spell over and over again, you wonder how you could possibly have been so oblivious. The magic that races through your system nearly makes you high.

You know that you should stop and sleep; you know that you need to rest, to recover. But every time you consider putting the book away, turning off the lamp, and laying in the dark, your heart begins to race again.

And then, instead of doing any of those things, you run the spell again. You imagine the Infracti who’d attacked you, and you push back with all your might.

You run the spell so many times that it becomes muscle memory - your tongue repeating mindless syllables, your hands pushing and pulling magic like you’re conducting the ocean tide. You’re barely thinking about what you’re doing. Your mind goes blank, a low buzzing like static settling at the base of your skull.

Say the words, do the motion. Knock down anything that comes close. Say the words, push the magic. Say the words, push the magic. Get them away, keep them away, get them away away away -

Your wardrobe explodes noisily, wooden splinters flying through the room followed by your shirts and slacks. You scream and drop to the floor, covering your head, just as one of your shoes crosses the room and takes out your lamp, leaving you in the darkness you’d been avoiding. You shake on the floor, still covering your head even though the danger has passed.

You hear Namjoon shout your name before he throws your door open, flooding your room with light from the corridor.

“What happened?” he asks, trying and failing to turn the light on with the switch on the wall. The lamp lies on the ground, shattered. You can see it because you’re still at eye-level with the floor.

Namjoon must spot you, cowering, and makes his way towards you.

“Careful,” you warn him, finally uncovering your head and trying to sit up. Your arms both sting, and you bet you have chunks of wardrobe in them, like giant splinters. Lovely. You don’t even want to look. “There’s pieces everywhere.” You’re not sure if you mean the wooden splinters or the shattered lamp. You feel delirious.

Namjoon freezes midstep, one foot raised in the air.

Satuel appears behind him and seems to understand what happened. She waves her hand and you watch as the wooden pieces of the wardrobe and the ceramic pieces of the lamp slide along the floor to a common spot, making a nice, neat little pile of debris.

“Come,” she says. “Out here where I can see you.”

Out in the common room, she looks you over, tutting when she looks at your arms. Your heart begins to slam in your chest as she examines you; you’re very aware, suddenly, that you must be bleeding.

Namjoon and Satuel look at each other, having a silent conversation that you are very much not a part of.

“Go back to bed,” she tells Namjoon, who is hovering a few feet away, unsure how to help. “I’ll take care of her.”

He does as he’s told, a bit robotically, and you’re sure he was half-asleep for the whole encounter. He might wake up in the morning and think he dreamed it.

Satuel procures a pair of tweezers - from where, you aren’t sure - and guides you to sit at the small table where you eat. She gingerly takes one of your arms and bends it so she can see better as she starts to work.

“Care to tell me what happened?” she asks evenly, her focused gaze only on what her hands are doing.

“Was practicing a defense spell,” you mutter. Your eyes suddenly feel heavy. “Must have messed up. My wardrobe exploded. It broke the lamp.”

“You should have been sleeping,” she remarks, putting down the arm she was working on and motioning for you to hand her the other.

You don’t answer this. You don’t want to admit that you were too scared. You don’t want to look weak and frightened. You don’t want to offend her by admitting you’re afraid of her kind. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing her kind can frighten you. These feelings contradict each other, yet somehow both manage to be true.

She seems to know anyway. She finishes working on your second arm and places it on the table, sitting back and looking at you with wet, black eyes. Your stomach turns, and the hairs on your arms raise.

You hide them under the table.

“Prince Taehyung can heal those when he… wakes,” she says. It occurs to you, as she stumbles over this wording, that at this moment Prince Taehyung is simply a monster. If you needed him, now, he would be no help at all. In fact, in his current state - wherever they have him tucked away - he’s the most dangerous one here.

Everyone else would need to use discretion if they fucked with you. Under the curse, Prince Taehyung would have no such qualms.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

She continues to watch you, then cocks her head slightly. “There is a tea I could bring,” she says. “It would calm your nerves. It would likely help you sleep. I’ll bring some.”

You want to object; you don’t know what it’s made of, what the effect will be. You want to stay clear-headed. You want to stay awake. You never want to close your eyes again.

But this is the first kindness Satuel has shown you. This is the most she has spoken to you at length. You don’t want to reject her, lest she never try again.

“Thank you,” you nod. “I’ll try it.”

Still, when she brings you a steaming mug, you sit on the couch in the main room and hold it between your hands. You inhale the steam deeply, noting what you can recognize: chamomile, definitely. Perhaps lavender. Something else that you can’t name.

You look up at her, nervous. “Will I be able to wake when Prince Taehyung is ready for the ritual?” you ask. “Or will I be -?”

Drugged, is what you want to say. You don’t.

She smiles, and it almost looks warm. “You’ll feel normal,” she assures you. “It won’t make you groggy.”

You nod in thanks and sip at it. When you’ve finished, you set the mug on the low table, and you bring the heaviest blanket from your bed back to the couch. You curl up in a ball, the blanket over your head, and breathe slowly, waiting for sleep.

You leave every light in the room on.

—

It is not Satuel who wakes you, but Namjoon, gently shaking your shoulder and pulling the blanket just enough that your eyes peek out. You squint up at him, the light almost painful in the wake of your dark little blanket cave.

“Sorry,” he says, grimacing. “I wanted to let you sleep more, but the prince has asked for us.”

You groan, closing your eyes again. You feel awful - your body aches, your head is pounding, and your arms throb in the places where Satuel had removed wooden splinters sometime early this morning.

Still, after a moment of wallowing, you push yourself to rise. “Do I have time to shower?” you ask, the blanket over your shoulders like a thick, winter cape.

Namjoon glances at the clock. “Maybe, like… a fast one?”

You do your best to hurry, though the water stings the open cuts you sport, which makes it tricky as you hop in and out of the water, hissing and wincing. When you’re ready, both Dansoo and Satuel lead you and Namjoon through the palace, up the steps to Prince Taehyung’s wing.

You’re greeted in the front room not by the beautiful, dark haired Infracti, but by a breakfast spread.

“Prince Taehyung will be with you in a moment,” one of his staff tells you. “Please help yourselves to breakfast.”

“God, coffee,” you manage, making a beeline for the table. Namjoon follows, and when Prince Taehyung comes through the door he finds the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch, each clutching a mug of dark liquid like they tether you to life.

He nods in greeting as he passes Namjoon, but slows his stride to pause by you. You look at him guiltily, already knowing where this is going.

“I heard there was an incident,” he says, voice low.

You shake your head as Namjoon nods. Traitor.

“Hardly,” you say. “I was practicing magic. I made a mistake. There was… uh, a problem.”

“An incident,” he repeats. Then, he sighs like he just doesn’t know what to do with you. “Can I heal you?”

You lower your gaze and hold up your arms.

He sighs again as he surveys the damage. Then, gently, he takes one arm and begins to run his spare hand over the cuts, and you feel the tingling sensation that lets you know the healing is working.

You swallow down how nice it feels to have his hands on you. It’s not productive, you remind yourself. Not only unprofessional, but unrealistic, too. Doubly foolish.

He’s dangerous, too. He’s one of them, too.

Triply foolish.

“I’d like you to stay out of trouble for maybe a day,” he scolds under his breath, barely audible.

“I’m finding that harder here than I ever did in the real - I mean, back home,” you joke.

The real world, you’d almost said. Like this one isn’t real, but truly just a dream you can’t seem to wake from.

It does feel that way.

If Prince Taehyung notices, he has the grace to ignore it.

He hovers as you work uneasily on your coffee, and then asks, “So, are we trying the ritual today?”

“That’s the plan,” you answer, and Namjoon shoots you a look like you aren’t being polite enough. But you feel like you and the prince have gotten, maybe, a little friendly on your visits to the stable, enough to give you the leeway to speak casually.

At any rate, he doesn’t object to your tone, instead leaning his arms on the back of the couch and asking, “Do you need anything for it?”

“Actually, yes,” you say, sitting up straighter. Now that the caffeine’s hit your system, you’re feeling more human - but definitely still sore from top to bottom. “Could you get us a metronome?”

“A metronome?” he parrots, brows furrowing.

“You know,” you say, flapping a hand. “The thing for music that keeps the beat for you? I saw your piano room, I’m sure you have one here somewhere.”

A smile grows on his face. “You saw my piano room?”

You don’t answer this, feeling your face flush; you’d found the piano room on the night you’d gone wandering, when Prince Taehyung had literally saved your life the first time.

Namjoon watches this exchange with raised brows, but says nothing. You try to ignore the look on his face.

Prince Taehyung’s smile grows, and he shakes his head a little. He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. He controls himself, mouth twitching back into something more neutral, and then he says, “Yes, I’ll send for it. Anything else?”

You consider this. “Somewhere quiet to work? We need a bit of space, and your staff can’t come too close or their energy will mix into the reading.”

He nods absently, already moving to ask one of his staff to fetch the metronome. “Don’t worry about that,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ve already thought of the perfect place. Come on, I’ll show you.”

—

Taehyung picked his greenhouse for the ritual. It’s spacious, far from his main quarters, quiet… and soothing, with several water features that bubble quietly. He thinks, though it’s just projecture, that this will be good for rituals or magic.

It’s calm and safe, and Taehyung thinks that’s important.

The other curse-breaker, the man, stays by the door, making sure none of Taehyung’s staff accidentally enter, and keeping a safe distance himself.

You sit cross-legged on the ground, facing each other. Taehyung watches you carefully, listens - from his place opposite you - to your pulse beat through your body, quickened with nerves and excitement. He feels your magical signature like a caress, and it astounds him that you can’t feel it, can’t feel the magic brimming at your fingertips, ready to be directed.

“This is supposed to be different than before,” you remind him. “I’m only going in with the intention to look.”

He nods. He hears what you’re telling him - it shouldn’t hurt this time, shouldn’t drain him, shouldn’t feel like his insides are being funneled backwards through his body.

Before the curse had tried to kick you out - before the pain had started - having your magic toy around with his… well, it hadn’t been unpleasant at all. It had felt good, if he was being honest. Like something was clicking into place, as it was meant to.

“You’re going to feel me poking around, just like before,” you repeat his earlier words. “You’ll also likely feel things that… belong to me.”

He feels his brow furrow. “What does that mean?”

You twist your mouth and eye the ceiling. Taehyung waits, lets you decide how to explain it.

“It’s like…” you say slowly, still thinking as you talk, “we both open up and let our magic through. So the same as I can steer my magic to take a look at the curse, you could steer yours to investigate mine. It’s… available.

“If that happens,” you continue explaining, clearly intending to do a better job looping him into the whole process this time, “you might, without meaning to, interact with it. You might feel emotions that belong to me - that’s most likely.”

“You’ve done this before?” Taehyung asks, though he knows the answer.

“Once,” you nod. “A long time ago, though.”

“What happened that time?” He leans back on flattened palms, putting a little more space between you.

“It went well,” you say, something energized coming over you. Like you perk up when you talk about your work, your successes. “I was breaking the curse for this woman - she was like, so old -”

“Older than me?” Taehyung asks, failing to hold back a teasing smile.

You laugh. Taehyung likes the sound of it. “Old for a human, okay? Anyway, we did the ritual and I was looking around at her curse and I could feel her magic kind of… pressing back? Not in a bad way, though, just… presence. And when we finished and ended it, she told me something…” You break off the story, letting out a laugh that’s maybe a bit bitter - Taehyung can’t tell. “She told me some things about myself, about what I was feeling, things I had gone through recently at that time - like while she was in there she just got a little film of my life, or something.”

“That sounds invasive,” Taehyung murmurs.

You shrug. “I knew what I was agreeing to. It was sweet, and kind of funny. And I cracked her curse.” The pride in your voice is evident.

“So,” Taehyung asks, back to playful, “what film am I scheduled to see today?”

You laugh again, and his smile widens. “Books, probably,” you tell him. “Hours and hours and hours of books.”

Taehyung waits patiently as you get ready. He places his hands palm-up on his knees, and you place yours palm-up on top of his, resting lightly. They’re small, he notices for the first time, fitting neatly inside his own.

You lift one hand and reach to set the metronome at a slow pace. It’s so slow, in fact, that Taehyung thinks for a moment that it must be broken.

“This is to pace our breathing,” you tell him. “Inhale and exhale between the beats. We’re going to do that first - just breathe in time, together.”

“I don’t need to do anything else?” he clarifies. He wants this to go well, he wants this to work.

He wants it to be done and over so you can look at him and tell him, I know exactly what’s missing, we’ll have the curse ended before midnight tonight. He wants you to tell him, it’s over - the curse is gone.

“I’ll tell you,” you assure him, your voice becoming almost melodic as you step into your role as a magic-wielder. “For now, breathe. We’re inhaling - ready?”

He does as he’s told - inhales until he hears the device’s click, then begins a slow exhale. Click. Inhale - click. Exhale - your own breath mingling with the gurgling body of water behind you is the only other sound in the room. Click. Inhale.

“Good,” you say on the exhale. “You keep that rhythm - that’s your most important job.”

He nods, concentrating on the rhythm, the clicks, his breath in and out.

“Next job,” you murmur. “Keep your eyes on my eyes. Don’t look away.”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and you hold him there, steady, as you breathe together in time. Your eyes dance as they take his in, and he thinks he can feel you already - your magic starting to touch its fingers to his, tentative. He’s not sure he’s ready for when your magic opens for him, when he’ll be able to press against it and feel what you’re feeling, not just see it reflected in your eyes.

“Good,” you say finally, lips barely moving. “Don’t do anything but what you’re doing right now. I’m going to start the incantations.”

You do, quietly, your voice calm and even. The chanting is musical, almost like you’re singing to him. Taehyung can feel everything as it happens - so strongly that it almost startles him out of his breathing, almost makes him lose focus and tear his gaze away from your eyes.

As if you can sense him faltering, you press the backs of your hands more firmly into his palms, silently reminding him of his only tasks.

He focuses, but he can still feel it - your magic rising up, strengthening, beginning to expand. He can feel it when it touches his, cautiously, like letting a dog sniff your hand before you stroke its head. It’s somewhere between a tingle and a warmth, your magic, and it slips seamlessly into his, filling up every empty space. Like water, like air, like every element he needs to keep existing.

It feels good - just as it had last time your magics had mingled, and this on its own is distracting.

Focus. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.

Your magic begins to explore - he can feel that, too. He can feel it as it lifts and examines, feel it as it prods and dives within him. He could lose himself in this - in the way the controlled breathing lulls him into calm, into the warm and pleasant sensation of having his magic matched and complemented, into the cool press of your hands into his.

He could - but he doesn’t want to. You’d said that he could - “without meaning to” - explore your side. You were forgetting: he may not have done this ritual before, but he is Taehyung of Rune. No one has better magical control than his family. It’s in his blood, just like yours, and he can steer his magic just as well.

He presses in, watching your face for any indication that you recognize the feeling. There’s none; your eyes are unfocused, muscles slack except for your mouth, which repeats the incantation hollowly, over and over. Emboldened, he presses further.

The memories come without context in quick-moving bursts; they’re hard to follow. Some are still images, some play like a video clip on fast-forward, others are just dark but sound rings through Taehyung’s head, foreign and jolting. Each comes with a feeling - or more than one - that Taehyung feels so deeply they must be his own.

The faces of humans who might be your family, and the feelings of both love and disappointment.

Books, as promised, and feelings of comfort, of pride.

Cities, waterways, more faces, more books, an old man, books again, another city, another pile of books -

Loneliness. Loneliness stitched into all of them.

Images begin to ping in Taehyung’s mind as familiar -

Namjoon’s sharp eyes, and the feeling of gratitude.

The throne room of the palace, his parents, the image of Infracti eyes - fear, fear so engulfing that Taehyung’s fingers flex against yours instinctively, and he fights to keep exhaling until he hears the click somewhere in the back of his mind.

His own face, his own form approaching from the end of a hallway. Taehyung is swept with surprise to feel excitement attached to his image, something tinged with affection, and danger, and thrill, and something that Taehyung can’t - or won’t - put a name to.

Guilty, he pulls back, letting his magic simply simmer along with yours instead of steering it into your consciousness.

He listens to the clicks, focuses on his breathing. Feels a stupid little smile sneak across his face, feels relief that your eyes are too unfocused to clock it. Feels a swell of affection for you, the human - no, witch - sent here to fix him. Feels a twin swell of protectiveness as his mind replays your fear.

He’ll do better, he promises himself. He’ll do better at staying with you, at keeping everyone else away.

He becomes aware that he no longer hears you chanting and watches your eyes carefully for the moment you come out of the trance.

You come back to yourself with a gasp, and Taehyung is startled to find you gaping at him, wide-eyed, struggling to get a word out.

“What?” he asks, stomach sinking. “What?”

You look around frantically like you’re trying to place yourself. “Maiesti,” you finally whisper, horrified, wild eyes coming back to find his. “I think someone tried to kill you.”

—

Prince Taehyung leads you - at a fast clip - to a small room that reminds you of a meeting room that an office building might have.

As you walk, you fill in Namjoon, talking almost faster than you can think.

“One of the threads,” you say breathlessly, “was definitely, absolutely intended for ending life.”

Namjoon stops walking; Prince Taehyung does not, carrying forward, causing you and Namjoon to scurry to catch him.

“You’re sure?” Namjoon asks.

You look at him evenly. “Entirely.”

“So, I was right,” he says quietly. “Remember? When I said I thought death magic might be involved?”

“I remember.”

He shakes his head. “I think my grandfather knew, or at least suspected.”

You look at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why he called me. I’ve been wondering. He had to suspect there would be an element of death magic - that’s my area of study. He knew you’d need me for that.”

You huff. “If he thought this was a murder attempt, that would have been nice to know ahead of time.”

Prince Taehyung acts like he hears none of this, simply leads you into the meeting room and asks a guard to fetch his parents.

The three of you wait in tense silence. You don’t know about the men, but your mind is racing with possibilities - the who, the why.

The Queen looks alarmed when she enters, and while the King doesn’t look as frantic, there’s definitely an air of concern.

“Thank you for coming,” you say, greeting them respectfully. “We wanted to speak to you right away. The Prince and I completed a ritual this morning -”

“You what?” The Queen asks sharply, but she seems to be directing this at her son, who ignores her with the polish of someone who has ignored their mother for over five hundred years. He motions for you to continue.

You continue again, a little shakily. “We completed a ritual whose purpose was to feel out more of the curse, identify some threads of intention that we missed before.”

“Was it successful?” the King asks.

“It was,” you say carefully, “but I felt you should know about a major thread that I uncovered.”

Everyone looks at you, waiting - those who already know what you found, and those who are about to hear for the first time.

You take a breath and lay your palms flat on the table. “I found a thread whose intention was death.”

“How sure are you?” the Queen demands, standing up straighter, her brows furrowed.

“There’s no doubt,” you say calmly. “That’s what it was. Whoever cast this curse… they included the intention to kill Prince Taehyung.”

The King shouts someone’s name and an Infracti hurries into the room, leaning down to listen to the King’s request. He leaves again, and the King addresses the table.

“My cabinet members are being summoned,” he says. “We’ll address this at once.”

“Why would they bother with all the other threads,” the Queen asks, her eyes on you, “if they just wanted to kill him?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “It doesn’t make sense to me, either - but the intention was there.”

“I can speak to that,” Namjoon says calmly. The Queen snaps her attention to him. “Death magic is my specialty. A curse like that - just to end a life - it can’t be done. Magic… as I’m sure you know, magic is life. Magic wants life. It will not end a life unless it is twisted just right. It’s likely that whoever cast this curse had to… add padding to sneak this piece in. Perhaps they hoped that if they failed - which clearly, they did - then at least the prince would suffer.”

“Which he is,” you add, unhelpfully.

“The Scores must be behind this,” the Queen says.

“There’s nothing that particularly indicates them,” the King points out.

“Except seven thousand years of war,” she shoots back. “Who else? Who else would benefit from killing our son?”

The King rubs at his temples. “I want to know where their little venefici was the night the curse began,” he muses. At that word, you feel blood rush to your face. You expect Namjoon to pat your arm, but it’s the prince who meets your gaze across the table, his face open and apologetic.

“Father,” he murmurs reproachfully, the first time he’s spoken since you all gathered.

You wonder what he thinks about all this.

You wonder if he’s frightened.

The King follows his gaze and frowns. “No disrespect intended,” he says, though his tone indicates that he’s displeased at being corrected. “We appreciate your skill here. But I need to find who cast on my son, and bring them to justice.”

“And cure him,” you say. This time, Namjoon does knock into your arm, trying to shut you up.

The King narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t address your insolence.

“And what about you?” The Queen asks, directing her attention at you and Namjoon. You try not to squirm. “What does this discovery mean for the counter-curse?”

You exchange a look with Namjoon, and you give him a nod. Death magic is his forte, not yours.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a good-news-bad-news situation,” he says, inclining his head respectfully. “The good news is we identified that element of the curse so we are able to begin finding how to counter it. The bad news… well… the thread of intention called for loss of life. In countering that… only life can pay for life.”

Prince Taehyung’s head snaps up. “Will someone have to die?” he asks, horrified, eye wide.

“Not necessarily,” you hurry to soothe him. “It may take Namjoon and I some time, but I’m confident we can find a way that isn’t so… drastic.”

“You’re dismissed, then,” the Queen says, her voice still even and cold. “I don’t want you wasting a single minute until you have something worth trying.”

You nod in understanding and move to leave. Satuel and Dansoo are waiting in the corridor, ready to walk you and Namjoon back to your quarters. You glance over your shoulder as you go, trying to get one last look at Prince Taehyung.

To your surprise, you find him standing still, watching you walk away. From this distance, he looks more like you expected him to look the first time you’d met him - somehow both haunting and haunted.

<;- Prev || Next ->

thank you for reading! chapter 9 coming next friday!

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darqx · 11 months

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Got an evil eye

In which there’s a small Demon!Rire Angel!Rire comparison.

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

😇 The lore of Angel!Rire is essentially:

Possibly rogue angel that kills people under word of God.

Word of God being debatable because his criteria for killing people changes a lot - (eg: might kill a bad person cos they’re “bad”, similarly will kill a good person to get them to heaven faster, similarly will just “mercy” kill whoever because humans are a plague to themselves and others etc) - EITHER WAY no one seems to be stopping him.

Also debatable is whether he believes in his justifications for his actions or if he’s just doing it for fun and purposely smoke-screening that fact.

I have described their main similarity before as deception since they both seem viable (as a normal human / normal angel) at first. Their main personality difference is that their modus operandi is flipped - Demon!Rire will often see how long he can con someone, but will eventually reveal his true nature and will match what he says with it. Angel!Rire is more blunt and will reveal his true nature almost immediately, but will continue saying things in complete antithesis to that reveal thus masking the reality of his intentions.

I do know what OCTs are! But I probably would never join one due to lack of time. They seem to be very large commitments and i’d be better off trying to find that time to do BP :V

There is no set location for BTD (considering that me, Gato and EP all come from diff countries LOL)...other than maybe “Earth” and “some city/town place that predominately speaks English”.

This is, actually, one of the more popular questions I get asked over time about Rire XD; Which makes me think I need to update my FAQ to include it. Anyway in my FAQ i put it like this:

CAN RIRE FEEL LOVE? I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…

And from other answers to similar qs:

IF he becomes fond of someone for whatever reason, he will probably become more possessive. His methodology might not change so much, but there would be more aftercare (cos if you want someone to last longer...)

I never go any more in depth when answering these kinda qs even though i’m sure people would like me to XD

At first I was going to say “I don’t know Depeche Mode”, but when i looked them up on Youtube i saw “Just can’t get enough” and was like OH I KNOW THESE SONGS.

As for Rire it’s not super in line with his usual, but I don’t think he’d mind the music!

He’s gotten used to moving between different climates quickly so it doesn’t really affect him as much.

You would not be the first so go for it if you want lol.

#boyfriend to death #rire answer dump #answer dump #also one q unrelated to Rire but i didnt want to answer it by itself lol #also also thank you to all the lovely compliment asks people have been sending me!#they're not qs so i dont answer them but i do read and appreciate them and leave them in my inbox so i can keep reading them later #<3 <3 <3 #angel rire

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ellieslittleburrow · 4 months

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Geralt Headcanons

Painrings : Geralt of rivia x daughter/ Geralt x platonic! Reader

Warnings : none

A/N : hello peeps, i tried my best to make them broader and not just limit them to father daughter stuff, we can turn one of them into a little ficcie if desired. Alsoo Comments are much much appreciated. Enjoyyy 🥀

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You and Geralt had found each other on destiny's commands. It wasn't easy, suddenly being under somebody's wing, having to trust them and listen to them.

Whenever danger was felt, Geralt would place a hand on your shoulder, his own little protective move, prepared for whatever's about to come.

When you're out in a market or somewhere he deems to be dangerous, he makes sure to always be somewhere behind you. No matter how far you get away, he's always somewhere close watching over you.

After a few of your nightly freakouts, Geralt offered up a little spot beside him every night. He doesn't order you to come over. He doesn't ask if you want to come over. He just settles down on whatever bed he's sleeping on and puffs up a little pillow he keeps beside him. If it's a whole seperate room. Then the same line is growled :"I'll keep my door open in case i am needed."

A boy smiles at you and the witcher is there to smile back. Not in a possessive way. Not in a she is untouchable kind of way. Just a simple smile, to assert his threatening presence. A smile that says if she is hurt, you're fucked.

Mornings are your least favorite time of the day. Geralt is always at the foot of your bed, gently swinging your foot left and right, in an attempt to wake you up. It surely annoys you but it's not until he grabs your wrist and pulls it upwards that you start getting annoyed. And then comes the full pull, when he grabs you from under the armpits and drags you out. You groan in unpleasentness but let go anyways.

Late nights are for sure your favorites, though. Just a grumpy old guy running after you and pleading for you to go to sleep. You dodge his reaching arm, giggling at his frowning features. He growls your name and sighs, giving up. And you just stand awkwardly, triumph radiating out of you.

What you reeeally dislike, though, is those little fights you and Geralt have about your future and your training. Him not wanting you to get in harm's way. You doing everything possible to get in harm's way. He yells at you. You never ended up crying or anything like that. You just bottled it up and sat in your little corner, getting slowly eaten up by the deafening silence that reigns the space. But then one of you breaks it. And everything slowly goes back to normal.

All in all, life with the witcher is not easy. But how could you deny the warmth that coated your broken heart, the warmth that filled it with love. The warmth that filled it with the father, brother, protector that you never had.

-------

End of poem. I could never use such methodology for my own school work, goddammit. Anyway, i hope yall like this ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

#sister x brothers #sister!reader #daughter!reader #sibling fic #father figure fic #daughter x father #protective brother #adoptive father troop #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #witcher fanfiction #geralt x daughter!reader #witcher x reader #platonic!reader #henry cavil x daughter #henry cavil x reader #henry cavill fic

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adiluv · 9 months

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❥ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 — 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄. ˚⊹꒷

📓୧・꒰summary—wc꒱ affection, regret, and zenith. 1503.

🎸୧・꒰warnings꒱ yandere character ꒰forced/unhealthy relationship, manipulative behavior, mentions of abduction꒱, reader is not traveler, lightly edited.

💿୧・꒰adi moment꒱ sorry for the scara/wanderer posting, may or may not end up happening again! i've got mixed feelings on how this turned out, but yandere scaramouche owns my heart atm and i had to write something for him. hope you enjoy! ૮꒰..◜ᴗ◝..꒱ა ♡

as a disclaimer, i don't support yandere behavior in real life! please don’t interpret this post as justification for any of scaramouche's actions.

જ⁀➴ affection: how do they show their love and affection? ˚⊹꒷

Being openly affectionate is a rather difficult task for Scaramouche… though it isn’t exactly hard to understand why. Betrayal after betrayal combined with years of working beneath the Tsaritsa certainly don’t encourage emotional vulnerability, any tenderness he’d once possessed being forsaken for the sadistic persona he now proudly flaunts.

He’d used that very façade of his to attempt to push you away, back when he’d still had yet to realize just how desperately he needed you in his life. Affection from Scaramouche would remain a rarity between the both of you for quite some time, even after he’d taken you into his ꒰albeit forceful꒱ care. It was safer for him, that way. You weren’t exactly subtle with your discontentment, and the sting of abandonment wouldn’t hurt as badly if he kept you at a distance.

But when he asks—no, demands a hug from you—you’ve really got no choice but to oblige.

At first, he’s hesitant in the embrace, hands shakily grasping and pulling at the fabric on the back of your shirt as you hold him. Although without the need for air, the stiffness of his body made it seem as though his breath had gotten stuck in his throat, mechanical grasp erratically tightening and loosening as he attempted to adjust. Once he finally does, he absolutely refuses to allow you to pull away, keeping you still in his grip for well over a minute before he finally relents. His eyes are wet as you glance at him, a tear-stained blotch on your clothing as he hurriedly barks for you to turn away.

Despite his initial reaction, these commands for physical affection only become more and more frequent afterwards—much to your distress. Beginning with those awkward hugs and culminating in full blown cuddle sessions ꒰one-sided as they usually are꒱, Scaramouche gradually allows himself to become more and more acquainted with the softness of your touch.

Gift-giving is also a rather common habit of his. As strange as it is for him to be jealous, considering that you aren’t even allowed to sit in the manor’s garden unattended, he just can’t help but worry about you. Seeing you decorated in clothing and accessories of his choosing alleviates his worries, reminding him that you’re still his, even when he might be far away on one of the Tsaritsa’s missions.

It starts out small. A gold necklace. An intricate bracelet, the design of which mimicking the traditional Inazuman motifs found on his clothing.

But it’s not long until he has you fitted for the garments themselves, tailors indebted to the Fatui hauled over from the solitary nation to create an entirely new wardrobe. Scaramouche, of course, oversees the entire process. Not a single detail is overlooked, with him comparing different samples of designs and forcing them to start over whenever he’s displeased with one of their creations. Any attempts to get him to loosen up are met with harsh glares—the same reasoning repeated to you every time.

“Their debts will be paid by their labor,” he’ll justify, “A mercy considering the Fatui’s usual methodology.” Unless they want to find a permanent residence amongst the cadavers in Dottore’s lab, incompetence simply isn’t something he’ll tolerate.

And, sure, the expense is one that causes a fair share of annoyance from the other Harbingers—especially Pantalone, who was made to fund the operation—though it’s hard to pay any attention to his vexed murmurs when you look so good in the finished pieces.

જ⁀➴ regret: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? ˚⊹꒷

Scaramouche? Feel bad? When he’s doing you such a gracious favor? Archons, now that might just be the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. In his eyes, it should really be you that feels bad. You should be sobbing at his feet, begging him to forgive you for your oh so constant insolence—your endless whining and complaining.

After all, how could he possibly ever expect to feel pity for the circumstances you’ve found yourself in? You, who’s currently ‘trapped’ within a mansion more luxurious than you could’ve previously imagined. You, who he makes sure is both well fed and dressed—who has countless Fatui guards at your every beck and call. You, who he specifically keeps safe from the many dangers of the world you so stupidly wish to explore. You, who he endures some of Dottore’s more gruesome experiments for—just so your DNA can be preserved in case of tragedy.

In actuality, the thought that he’d regret ‘taking you’ from your ‘home’... it’s just pathetic to him.

You’re innocent. Naïve. Foolish, to be totally honest. How could you possibly hope to survive out there without his protection? Teyvat is not nearly as safe as you wish to believe, the gods that you find reprieve in oftentimes uncaring to the suffering of their believers. He knows that from experience, and yet you still refuse to believe him. Everything that he’s done is for your sake, ungrateful as you are—it’s a miracle that he hasn’t exposed you to the true nature of the world in order to stop your incessant nagging.

Scaramouche doesn’t even think he asks much of you, either. All that he expects you to do is sit still. Remain by his side, allow him to shower you with love and ꒰more importantly꒱ keep you safe. Not… sulking around in the room he’d prepared specifically for you, not wildly declaring that ‘you’d never asked him for his protection!’—no, not at all!

So, no, he doesn’t feel any sort of remorse for his actions. What he's done is simply for your own good, and you’re simply foolish to not appreciate that. If he didn’t love you as much as he did, you would’ve been disposed of a long time ago. At the very least… be grateful for that.

જ⁀➴ zenith: would they ever break their darling? ˚⊹꒷

In a way, it’s simply an inevitability with him. Entanglement with the Fatui has rarely ever spelt out positive outcomes for those involved, something you’ll learn because of Scaramouche’s attempts to protect you. Living within his carefully constructed dollhouse doesn’t do much to dim the memories of your old life, nor does it do anything to quell the urge for freedom burning deep within your bones. Awareness of the world you’d once known and fear at the very notion of being struck beneath his control for the rest of your life… None of it bodes well for your mental health, either.

Lacing it with the violence made common from the Fatui, or the punishments inflicted on you in hopes of finally destroying your will to escape ꒰whether they be physical or mental꒱—it’s really no surprise to see the ambitious spark within your eyes eventually being snuffed out.

Isolation alone is already enough to drive the average person insane. With all that you’ve been dealing with on top of that, it’s honestly quite commendable that it doesn’t happen sooner.

At first, Scaramouche doesn’t take this new development of yours well. Your lack of response, lack of reaction to even the cruelest insults of his being hurled at you—to even his mere presence—it freaks him out, slipping beneath his guard and making him feel as though you’ve already abandoned him. Really, how dare you not pay attention to him? Are you mad? Or is this just your latest attempt at escape? Aren’t you just trying to fool him? To make him believe that you’d learned your place just to turn around and sneak away?

It must be.

He doesn’t leave your side unless necessary, having his soldiers keep watch on you whenever something pulls him away. Whatever new game you’re playing at, he’s determined in his attempts to stop you before you can take a single step outside. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. His patience wears thin, the realization you still haven’t done anything hovering over him and sending him into frenzies. But coupled with your newfound compliance to his commands, the way that you numbly follow along with any plans he makes for the both of you—well, he’s eventually forced to realize that you don’t even intend to try running.

As much as he finds himself enjoying your obedience, a part of him simply can’t help but miss your spark. The delicious fear that glazed over your eyes when you were caught doing something suspicious, the fits of passion that led you to stupidly defy his orders… They’d been aspects of you—aspects of the version of you Scaramouche initially fell in love with, the version of you that stubbornly persisted when you still had the opportunity to back away from him.

But this version of you doesn’t move away whenever he pulls you into his arms, doesn’t recoil from the touch of his fingers as if he’d somehow burnt you. This version of you doesn’t cry and beg him to go outside, doesn’t fight against him when he goes on tangents confessing his love to you—occasionally grants him the chance to hear an ‘I love you, too.’ slipping past your lips.

Ultimately… that’s good enough for him.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact wanderer #genshin wanderer #wanderer #yandere wanderer #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere alphabet

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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Hi lovely how are you? Could you do a ”someone is trying to steal morpheus girl”? 🥹

A/N: Hey!! I'm doing fine, thank you! Exam season is right around the corner, so I'm living and breathing diagnostic tests, methodological models and theories of emotions.🌺

[MASTERLIST] || [Sandman-inspired playlist]

You know what the problem with Mona Lisa is? Everyone flocks like a mindless herd just to look at it as if there was nothing else at Luvr. Alright, it's the painting but it's not like there aren't any other paintings around the globe, right? And you know what that guy's problem is? He really thinks he's doing something with that sleazy smirk he-

"Are you doing alright?" Hob asked Morpheus. "You seem angry." It was a nice euphemism, a true monument of Hob's diplomacy.

Morpheus looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not angry," he stated in an ever-so-stern voice as if his act could actually fool anyone. After his very believable statement, his gaze returned to you, who was sitting sideways to the bar counter, sipping on an affogato. It was your own decision to leave them alone while they were catching up - it was their get-together and if it wasn't for Morpheus's desire to have you by his side wherever he went, you wouldn't be at the inn at all. Over your shoulder, Morpheus could see the face of the man who made him abandon his little chat with Hob - glistening eyes and a warm half-smile that made Morpheus terribly aware of his own tendency to be rather expressionless.

"Right, obviously," Hob answered with a wide grin on his face. There was something absolutely hilarious in watching the literal King of Dreams and Nightmares silently burn a hole in the face of some random mortal with his intense gaze. The atmosphere was only growing more tense, even if you and the charming strangers weren't aware of it. Tempted to push the swaying domino, Hob leaned towards Morpheus and added something quietly: "You know, you can admit it bothers you that someone is hitting on the girl you like. She is very beautiful, it was to be expected."

Like - what a useless word! Liking is for ice cream flavours or music bands. Morpheus was far beyond liking you. In some oddly possessive and quite pathetic way, he considered you to be part of him. People don't just like their own arms, do they? Instead, they find it hard, nearly impossible, to imagine existing without those very fingers, hips or knees; it seems strange to live in a body different from the one you have. Equally, how bizarre everything would be if he did not have you by his side! Like a parallel world where people have two left feet.

"It does not bother me," he answered in a husky voice before frantically getting up from the table. Hob continued snickering to himself in an infantile expectation of the uproar looming over the inn's patrons. But it wasn't only the human passion for action that spoke through him: in some way, Hob hoped that this fairly meaningless frustration will teach Morpheus something about himself and you - that if he doesn't cherish you, someone else gladly will.

With a characteristic stiffness in his step, Morpheus reached you and the stranger. His hand firmly grabbed your shoulder, making you think that something serious was going on and he was needed elsewhere immediately. You looked up at him but he did not spare you even a glance - his stern gaze was stuck to the brunet sitting across from you, whose once charming expression fell into something much more awkward. Clearly, Morpheus's appearance surprised him.

"We must leave," Dream spoke in a strict tone.

"Are you okay, love?" you asked him as you stood up from the stool and gathered your belongings. Hearing the affectionate title, the stranger whom you had been talking to unconsciously raised his cheeks and furrowed his eyebrows - disgust. Perhaps he considered Morpheus a little too, for a lack of better expression, bland appearance-wise to think about him as in any way equal to you. What a strange thought it truly was: that you, a mundane human, were settling for Dream of the Endless.

Feeling desperation crawling up his spine, the brown-haired man took the last chance he had: "Will I see you around?"

You gave him a polite smile while meaningfully shaking your head. "I can't imagine you will, no. Have a good day."

Following Morpheus's rushed footsteps towards the entrance door, you glanced over your shoulder towards the corner where he had been sitting, only to see Hob snickering as he watched the two of you leave the inn.

After a few minutes of walking, he stopped his march so suddenly, you bumped into his back. Morpheus turned around immediately but because of the lack of distance between you, he was towering over you. Having him look down on you with that unguessed, stern gaze was strangely both alluring and intimidating. There was a creeping thought in the back of your head that you had been oblivious to some scheme that definitely had something to do with you.

"Tell me," he began with a slight waver in his voice, "would a human make you happier?" Morpheus spoke quietly as though he didn't want anyone else to become privy to his own fears. There were many who would wreak unimaginable havoc once they got such information into their terrible claws.

"I don't understand what you're trying to say," you answered. Feeling flustering at how close you two were, considering it was a public space, your voice grew quieter with each word. No matter how well you've grown to know Morpheus, there was still some subliminal menace haunting the thoughts of anyone in his vicinity.

His ragged breath brushed against your face. Looking up into his clouded, dark eyes, you felt yourself growing smaller. At that moment he could ask you for anything and you wouldn't dare to decline. "I can give you everything you might wish for," he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, "but I can not join you in the life you are used to."

Suddenly, the strange events of the past fifteen minutes became painfully obvious and you found it funny that you had been oblivious to this web of anxieties until now. "If I wanted to have a typical 9-5 with a picket fence, do you think I'd still be here?" you asked him. Morpheus slightly turned his head to the side. It was hard to say whether he was pondering your words or felt shame at ever accusing you of anything short of honesty. Whatever it was, you brought your hands up to his face and gently forced him to look back at you. "I'm not hanging around because I'm afraid to be lonely or something like that. I've made my choice, Morpheus. And that choice is life with you, whatever it may bring."

There was a certain sense of disbelief in his glistening eyes - it wasn't that he doubted your honesty, he truly did believe that you believed it, but a subconscious part of him, the festering wounds of all the infatuations he couldn't love as long as he wished, rendered him unable to take your statement without a grain of doubt. In other words, you were a person of integrity but he wasn't a man of faith. Not yet, perhaps.

You craned your neck to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Without thinking about it, Morpheus tilted his head towards you. His eyes fluttered shut but only for a split second as he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"You don't have to believe me," you began unsure of whether it was a good idea to address the fairly obvious shadow of fear that loomed over him. "But if you can, just trust me that I don't want anyone else."

"I trust you with all that I am."

"Good." You gave him a wide smile. Not expecting such a sudden change in your demeanour, Morpheus furrowed his thick eyebrows. "Because I'm taking you on a small adventure."

Before he could ask you anything, you grabbed his elbow and began walking somewhere. He let you pull him in whatever direction you wanted - he always did. Perhaps he wasn't quite aware of it yet but he never suspected you of ill will. When it came to you, he was surprisingly naive.

"Where are you leading me?" he questioned you but never forced you to stop. In a very ignoble way, Morpheus was devoted to following some human's whim.

You shrugged before answering in a humorously questioning manner: "Straight ahead? Just following my gut."

Morpheus surprised himself with his own contentment - getting lost in the Waking World was okay as long as it was him and you.

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novlr · 11 months

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Any tips for world-building?

Our Reading Room post today is all about world-building! Here are some of the top tips from it to help you get started. Orson Scott Card’s tips for worldbuilding

Orson Scott Card is widely recognized for his ability to create complex and detailed fictional worlds.

Here are some of his key worldbuilding techniques:

Define the rules: since you are writing about a world that doesn’t exist yet, you must create and define the rules of the world and its elements.

Inventing the past: it is important to connect the events of the story with the past of the world by answering the following questions: why did it happen? How did it happen? What were the consequences?

Language: the way societies communicate in your world influences their interactions, concepts, and culture. It is their way of seeing and perceiving the world you have created.

SPERM principle for building societies

This is a methodology that comes from tabletop RPGs like Dungeons & Dragons. It focuses on defining the relationships and elements that make a society function and move as a whole. These elements are:

Social: What is the class structure? Are there outcasts and privileges? Why does this class structure exist?

Political: How are important decisions made? Who makes these decisions? What political alliances exist? Who are the most influential citizens?

Economic: How is the population sustained? How is wealth distributed? What products, goods, and services are traded? Are any products or resources scarce? What commercial alliances exist with other societies?

Religion: What practices or rituals give meaning to your society? Is there a division between believers and non-believers? What are the values that are perceived as positive and which are negative?

Military: Who are your society’s enemies? What weapons do they possess, or what is their technological capacity to defend themselves?

Environments: physical and cultural

These concepts are the brainchild of Brandon Sanderson, another great writer with a remarkable ability to build expansive worlds.

A fictional world can be separated into two categories: the physical environment and the cultural one.

Physical environment: all the elements of the world that exist without the intervention of thinking entities, like flora and fauna.

Cultural environment: these are all the elements that are a construction, tangible or intangible, of thinking entities like education, hierarchies, language, technology, etc.

In addition to this, it makes use of the consistency between both types of environments so that they do not contradict each other.

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sun-death · 2 years

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The worst part of hell is not the suffering, hell has very little suffering in any traditional sense because as anyone should know, from suffering comes a completion, an overcoming, which is one of the greatest feelings a man can ask for.

James Ellis, A Methodology of Possession: on the philosophy of Nick Land

#james ellis #a methodology of possession #nick land

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pissvortex · 11 months

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Recently I saw some news articles online claiming that an infant was jailed because its parents possessed a Bible in North Korea. And everybody’s eating that shit up

i think i do remember hearing somewhere that if the primary caregiver of a family goes to prison in north korea then the whole family goes with them so that they stay together as a social unit, but definitely don’t quote me on that because like 90% of what comes out about north korea is completely unable to be verified.

there also seems to be a massive industry of english language NGOs set up in South Korea to take advantage of that fact. they conduct “independent investigations” into human rights abuses in the DPRK and report their findings from these investigations to the U.N., which gives them more access to human rights grants and other massive funds.

the methodology for the investigations published by these NGOs is interviewing and giving surveys to a couple dozen north korean defectors. it pretty much starts and ends there. Yeonmi Park is a pretty notorious example of one of these defectors who found monetary incentive to lie and become a media figure, which is what she did. other defectors also usually aren’t going to have a positive opinion of the country considering they left in the first place (if you don’t count the people who defect back to north korea after living in south korea for a while). it’s not exactly rigorous investigation, and there’s usually not a verifiable way to prove that what they’re saying is true.

in the case of religious stuff specifically, north korea has a long history of being harassed by christian missionaries as well as a christian-led reactionary backlash to the revolution that makes this even more complicated. people seem to think that north korea destroys all christians on sight because they hate God and Freedom and are Satan Loving Communists or some shit but historically christianity has existed in NK entirely as political opposition. i made another post on that here (x)

but generally speaking if you google something and it was first reported in the New York Post it’s safe to assume it’s fake and laugh about it

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qsmp-lore-dump · 4 months

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Code, Eggs, Eyes, and Arin

What is the most important thing to residents on the island? The Eggs. Their children. The easiest thing to hold over a parent/caregivers head is to manipulate them.

Luffy escaped Egg Island, he isnt supposed to be on Quesadilla. The Eye workers tried to capture him from the Federation but failed. The next time they tracked Luffy he was with Phil and when Phil refused to hand over Luffy the fight broke out and ended in a threat, using his child as leverage.

Later the Fed re-confiscates Luffy, leaving him nowhere to be found when the Eyes return to collect. Talking is no longer an option and attacks will ensue at random, attacking what the residents care about, until they get what they want: the entity that doesnt belong on this island.

I used to think the Codes were attacking the Eggs to get rid one the only thing keeping residents tied to the island. To get them to leave. A book was even dropped with “Leave” written in binary not long before a Code showed up to attack.

I dont think this was a threat anymore. This was a warning, a heads-up, from someone else. From Arin.

From the start we know Arin is a target of the Codes. What I couldnt figure out is why after attacking him, they switched to attacking the eggs. Because, if Codes were attacking the eggs because they are what the residents care about, how could Arin/Luzu fit into that methodology? It doesnt.

But it does fit with the methodology of the Eye Workers.

On Day 24 Luzu learns about Tilins death, overwhelemed with this information, Arin takes over. Shortly after there is a Code attack targetting Arin.

Foolish, BBH, and Dapper take Arin back to Luzus house, when he explains the computer that is more or less where his mind goes when not using Luzus body.

Luzu being so taken over by the death of his child to the point that Arin needed to take over, it the evidence for the Codes of how important these egg things are to residents.

Arin leaves for that day and Dapper is attacked while with BBH. Why not attack Foolish? He was there with Arin too? Because BBH was with Dapper. Seeking to find Arin again, go to the one who is with their prized possession and threaten it because what the Code seeks, Arin, is not around anymore.

And from that point on, the Codes attacked over and over and over for months. Two eggs were attacked more than others during this time. Dapper and Leo. The eggs whose parents were last seen with Arin.

The attack on Day 45:

While a bunch of residents and their eggs were gathered at Luzu’s to theorize about Arin, the famous book drops. Right in front of Arin’s computer.

It was assumed this came from the Codes, because it was written in binary. But Arin also speaks in Binary, he speaks in many languages.

Luzu did not wake up on this day, and without Luzus body, Arin couldnt be there physically to warn about the attack about to happen. I think “Leave” was dropped by Arin.

There’s still a loose end in this right, Philza. Why did the code first show up to Phil on Day 15 at that airship, and why did it give him a book with the coordinates to Arins computer?

The airship is a trigger point, something very connected to Codes. The mega Airships appear associated with Codes more than once.

Phil spent a lot of time with Luzu on Day 1 and perhaps thought they had a close relationship.

I'm really not sure about the Phil thing yet.

#qsmp thoughts #qsmp theory #qsmp code entity #qsmp code monster #qsmp binary entity #qsmp binary monster #qsmp arin #qsmp luzu #qsmp luffy #qsmp egg island #qsmp eye workers #qsmp watcher #qsmpblr #qsmp #qsmp philza #qsmp bbh #qsmp foolish #qsmp eggs #qsmp badboyhalo

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envyq00 · 7 months

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Omg hiii, it’s been a while since I posted anything. Soooo I’m knee deep in Ghost brainrot so I made a ministrysona/Ghost OC. His name is Virgil Externus, and he basically was a skeptic of the supernatural his whole life until he experiences a demonic possession. After that point in time, he becomes desperate to seek answers and joins the ministry. Using his methodology of science in tandem with his newfound beliefs, he starts reading up on the occult and strengthens his ability to talk to spirits. He even manages to summon Papa Nihil’s ghost after his death, and comes up with the process to resurrect him/put him back in his body temporarily during rituals. But most importantly, Virgil spends most of his time as an assistant bishop to Copia, when he was only a cardinal. Once Copia became Papa Emeritus IV, Virgil was promoted to cardinal as well. There’s so much more I could probably talk about but I only have so much time and space. I hope you guys enjoy him for now! (Also there’s a bonus Papa sketch shhhh)

#digitalart #envyqocs #the band ghost #ghost oc #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost band oc #ministry sona #ministry oc #ghost #copia #ghost copia

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sluttyten · 1 year

Text

UNHOLY - Chapter Six

full masterlist || UNHOLY chapter index

genre: supernatural au

characters: fem reader, yuta, ten, winwin, mark, others mentioned

tags: polyamory, smut!, threesome, demon sex, religious themes

length: 10,441 words

<-previous || next–>

“Well, this is gonna be fucking awkward now, isn’t it?” Mark asks, looking back and forth between you and Ten and Yuta.

Tonight you’re at another one of Mark’s deep underground labyrinthine clubs. This time in a private room overlooking the club below. They have a few more friends here, drinking and boisterously laughing and singing along to the music the DJ has got booming through the club, but you’re not paying too much attention to those guys.

You’re leaning against Ten’s chest, his arm draped across your shoulders. You’re quite comfortable, your feet are in Yuta’s lap on the other side of the table.

Mark and WinWin sit together on the same bench seat as Yuta, occasionally looking at your feet in his lap, sometimes just staring at the way that Ten’s fingertips brush the top of your tits in this very tight and low-cut top you’re wearing tonight. More than once Yuta has commented possessively to WinWin about the lusty way he’s staring at your tits.

Mark wrinkles his nose slightly, looking around at the three of you. “You start fucking, and now WinWin and I have to feel like fourth and fifth wheels to your demonic tricycle?”

You can’t hold back a laugh.

It’s only been a few days since that night when you summoned your flames for the first time, and this is the first time since then that you’re seeing either Mark or WinWin. You’ve been focusing on your demon lessons, though admittedly those have been a little distracted and not very informational. More often than not over the last few days, any attempt at giving you a lesson in demon powers becomes one or both of your instructors fucking you.

After your mastering of the bursting-into-flame lesson, you’ve moved on to shapeshifting, which Ten had mentioned to you. It was certainly more difficult, and even now you’ve had no actual progress. Of course, the distraction provided by your two demons being entirely capable at shifting is likely partially to blame for that.

For example, Ten had shapeshifted to have a dual penis, not quite the trident like you’d joked about finding when he first took his pants off, but close enough. Truthfully it had been funny at first to see Ten standing there with two penises, until your curiosity took over. You couldn’t help yourself from touching, from seeing that it’s not just an illusion, but a real flesh-and-blood functional penis. Naturally, you’d needed to take it further. Ten had happily let you experiment with him, settling onto the sofa with you between his legs to watch both cocks grow hard, and when you tried blowing both of his cocks, they’d just shifted back together in the tight heat of your mouth.

Ten’s instruction was rarely actually informational when it came to shape-shifting. He and you mostly had fun. There was the two dicks thing, but he’d also shifted to have tits, growing his hair out long until he looked like a gorgeous Renaissance muse. That day hadn’t turned into sex, but rather into him manifesting tubes and cans of paint and canvases, which the two of you had painted on before devolving into fingerpainting each other, and dragging Yuta into it too when he showed up.

Yuta was certainly the more serious of the two when it came to your lessons.

Yuta actually taught you, instructing you in the history and methodology as well as the limitations of shape-shifting. Turning into most animals and creatures was fine—cats, bats, and rats were simplest, but he could transform into birds or fish or bugs, into any animal that existed in the natural world. The limitations existed when shifting into items for disguise—a tree or a plant was easier than, say, a car (which is too complex), a lamp post (unable to light up if you’re an electric lamp post, but if you’re an old gaslit lamp, you can summon your flame to help), or any object that wasn’t once a living thing.

“I once got stuck as an armchair for several days before someone realized and helped me,” Yuta had told you as he shook his head, leaves falling, replaced by his hair as his skin smooths out from the rough texture of bark. “Sometimes, if you listen closely, I still groan when I move like I have old springs in me.”

“There’s no way!” You laughed.

Yuta nodded, his smile warming his face, and he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest. “But, truly, my love, shifting to look like a different person is both one of the easiest and most difficult things.”

Yuta had evidenced this when he shifted his features smoothly right in front of you, and within seconds, you were staring at yourself like you were looking in a mirror. But when the other you opened its mouth, Yuta’s voice came out, its eyes gleamed demonic black, and the air hung heavy with the scent of sulfur.

He’d shifted into several other people then. Celebrities that you requested, humans you’d met here in Hell City at Mark’s clubs or when you’d gone out with WinWin, but when you asked if he would shift into WinWin, Yuta shook his head no.

“That’s the limit, my love. We can only shift into other demons and humans. When we attempt other supernatural beings, it never turns out right. Do you want to see?” Yuta asked.

He’d transformed into Mark first, but he looked like Mark just with viciously red eyes, fangs fully engaged, and deep, bold hunger lines spreading away from his eyes, making him look truly monstrous. But it was when Yuta shifted into WinWin for you that you truly understood what he meant.

You’d never seen WinWin in his wolf form. Never seen him as much more than just a slight bit of claw, his single hand turned into a furry paw, his canines becoming more prominent and his glowing eyes. But as Yuta stood before you as WinWin, he looked more wolf than man. Fur sprouted all over his body, on his arms and neck and chest, infringing on his face. His body grew, shoulders bulging with knots of muscle and hunching, his clothes ripping as his body transformed, and his hands twisted into clawed paw-like versions of hands, and his teeth sharp, his eyes the dangerous yellow of a monster.

You’d cringed away, admittedly terrified to suddenly be faced with the beast.

“That’s what happens,” Yuta had explained as he came back to himself. “If you attempt a supernatural being, you can only show them in a twisted form. But sometimes you can tweak it, manipulate individual pieces of yourself until you come close to resembling them. Like WinWin, for example. If I wanted to look like him, I would just manipulate little things about myself, which is more time consuming, not nearly as instantaneous, and there’s always something just a little off when it’s done.”

Right before your eyes you’d begun to see the little changes as Yuta grew a little taller, as his body shifted in bone structure and musculature, his features morphing into WinWin’s, or at least ones very similar to WinWin’s.

And when at last he stood before you, you could sense the difference. There was just something… off about how he looked. Like WinWin, but not.

So, although Yuta’s lessons were usually rather instructional when compared to Ten’s lessons, these also invariably would end in sex.

So, as Yuta stood in front of you looking so much like WinWin, there was one major difference. Unlike the WinWin you knew, this one was naked.

Your eyes unavoidably drifted downward, a little bit of curiosity and also just the inability to simply not look at the cock staring back at you.

Yuta had laughed when he realized where you were looking.

“Is that an accurate representation, or are you making it up?” You couldn’t look away from the long, heavy cock he possessed, wondering if that was truly what WinWin was packing. It was like…. Ridiculous to look at. Probably close to a foot in length, thick all the way around, veiny, and pink at the tip. You’d never seen anything like it before.

Again, Yuta had laughed, reaching a hand down to touch himself. “Wouldn’t you like to know, baby girl.”

You did want to know. Once upon a few months ago, you’d almost given into having sex with WinWin in that club, and if you’d taken his pants off to find that cock, you’d have been so underprepared. But since then you’d been with two demons, you’d had handfuls of filthy dreams about WinWin, so at the time of the lesson, you couldn’t seem to look away. You’d had your lusty thoughts about him, but if this is the cock that WinWin had, you would just write off your fantasies because there’s no way you could feasibly take this, even in your wildest dreams.

You hadn’t yet mentioned the dreams to Yuta or Ten, but surely they had to have some suspicions. You still weren’t sure if they could read your thoughts or not, but it often seemed like they could. So, surely, if they possessed that ability, they had to know by now the way that you dreamed about the other two members of your found family.

“Come on,” Yuta had said, still stroking the long cock he temporarily possessed. “Do you want to test it out?”

You’d given in to your base urges, the curiosity overwhelming your logic, and you dropped to your knees and reached for his cock. It was impossible to fit it all in your mouth, your hands worked what you couldn’t, and Yuta just raked his fingers through your hair and did his best to gag you on his cock.

It had been a little startling when you looked up at him partway through, having forgotten what he looked like in the moment, to see WinWin looking down at you. But you didn’t mind too much. You found WinWin attractive. And it was becoming more and more clear that Yuta knew that too. He’d begun to play with you as you went further than just blowing him. He’d wanted to roleplay, have you call him WinWin and beg for him to knot you.

You hadn’t truly understood the meaning of that, not to its full extent, in the moment, but you’d gone along with it, fucking Yuta as WinWin. He’d had to reduce the size of his showy cock for you to successfully take it, but even then he’d been big up until he let the whole illusion fall apart as his orgasm hit, and then he was your Yuta again with flames flickering on his back, and a normal-sized cock pumping into you.

It was afterwards, the following day, when you’d visited the Hell on Earth Library of the Public, or HELP as it was better known. You’d located a book on werewolves, just overwhelmed by curiosity about if werewolves were normally so hung and what the hell knotting was about. That book, as well as one that was a general encyclopedia on the supernatural, were going to be your sources. After checking them out and bringing them back to your apartment, you’d learned quite a bit actually, but you’d tucked that information away as interesting but not completely relevant.

Neither you nor Yuta mentioned the WinWin roleplay over the last few days, but there were times, such as tonight at this club, when you looked at WinWin and wondered if his cock could really be so magnificent as Yuta had made it seem.

Mark’s still looking at the three of you, particularly at Yuta’s hand on your ankle as your toes press against Yuta’s thigh, inching higher toward the meeting of his thighs. WinWin stares at the tips of Ten’s fingers resting just beneath the top edge of your shirt, fingertips on your very soft cleavage.

You notice. You notice both of them, and you settle more comfortably into Ten’s side, tossing a smile over at Yuta.

“What can I say,” Yuta smugly says, “Our girl has truly shown us her demonic side, Mark.”

You roll your foot higher in his lap, toes brushing the bulge of his cock. Yuta grins and tightens his grip on your ankle. Mark’s eyes flash toward you.

“Relax, Mark.” You draw your foot out of Yuta’s lap, and you sit up straighter so you’re not totally draped against Ten. “We’re not going to do it in front of you. I was just teasing.”

His face is stiff, concealing whatever thoughts are racing through his mind. “This just isn’t that kind of club, y’know?”

WinWin snorts beside Mark, folding his arms across his chest. “Have you told the people down there about that?” He indicates the dance floor below. “I can see a couple having sex right now, but they at least think they’re being sneaky about it.” You look in the direction WinWin indicated, but you can’t see anyone in particular that stands out, but WinWin’s eyes have a particular glow to them, like his wolf side is a little closer to the surface than normal.

Mark must be able to see whatever you can’t because he swears and rocks onto his feet, calling over a club security vampire, whistling to him quickly and gesturing down at the crowd.

“Buzzkill,” Ten hisses. “Let them have their fun.”

“This isn’t that kind of club!” Mark insists, “Go down the block if you want a sex club that allows that kind of stuff. Frozen Hell is right there!” He sinks back down, folding his arms across his chest. His gaze momentarily settles again on your tits before he’s looking away, glaring at Ten for a moment as Ten continues teasing him, and then he stares down into his drink.

“You just need to get laid, Mark,” Yuta says affectionately, lifting a hand to lay it on Mark’s shoulder. “How long has it been since that girl?”

“He accidentally turned her,” Ten whispers to you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. Mark looks up to glare at Ten again, but Ten doesn’t stop. “Got a little too wild, drank all her blood, and three days later he swore it all off. No fresh human blood, no sex.”

That’s odd. Not odd that he swore those things off, but odd because you remember how Mark behaved the night you met. The way he flirted with you, like he was fully attempting to seduce you, intending to have sex with you if the others hadn’t snapped you out of his little mind game. But now that you think about it, all the times you’ve gone out together to clubs or just around the city, Mark had never talked about sexual partners, he’d never engaged with anyone that was clearly flirting with him. Much about your perception of him has changed since that first night you met him. Long gone is his kingpin-esque vibe, replaced now with the casual young man he is beneath.

Like right now, he’s blushing. The drink in his hand supplies the blood that rushes to his cheeks as Ten continues with his teasing. It’s cute and funny.

You’re laughing along with the others as Ten says, “He took a vow of celibacy, like a vampire priest.”

And then Ten mockingly does the sign of the cross towards Mark.

That’s where you draw the line.

“Don’t fucking do that.” You lean away from Ten, punching him on the arm. “Don’t mock that.”

You still respect bits and pieces of the faith. And something about the sign of the cross still feels very important, like you should never desecrate that. You won’t disrespect the elements of the faith, even if you do feel that God has abandoned you, and even if you do sometimes still find yourself questioning if he’s even real when a place like this and people like all of these supernatural beings can exist.

“What?” Ten laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth even in the face of your clear annoyance. Yuta laughs too when Ten says, “Still a little saint after all, hmm?”

Ten attempts to slide his arm back around you and draw you in, but you slide away, leaving the seat empty beside him. “I’m going to dance,” you announce, turning your back on the table. You can sense Ten moving as if to follow, so you turn back around, pointing a finger at him as you hiss, “Don’t follow me. I’m pissed at you right now.”

Ten, chastised, sinks back into his spot, picking up his drink to hide the flush on his cheeks. He mumbles, “It was just a joke.”

You don’t care if it was just a joke. It was something you were raised to believe in, and you’re still struggling to untangle yourself from all of that. Mark has been helping you with that a bit, but there are still those core things which just feel wrong to violate, such as crossing yourself in a situation that doesn’t call for it.

You leave the private room, descending a spiraling set of stairs to join the party on the dancefloor, to have some fun, to get away for a minute. You intentionally find a spot out of sight of the private room. You don’t want them to watch you – not Ten who you’re angry with, not Yuta who had laughed along with him. You dance like nothing else matters even as the heat of your anger or annoyance at Ten simmers like your flames just beneath the surface of your skin. You dance like no one can see you, especially not the men you left behind at your table.

But one of them finds you anyway.

You feel the energy of the crowd shifting around you, ramping up with excitement, and you only see the reason for that as Mark cuts his way through the crowd toward you. He holds his hand out, offering it to you, his eyes a subtle red-brown, eyebrows lifted in invitation. He doesn’t have to speak, it’s all in his expectant gaze, the question, “Come with me?”

You give him your hand, and Mark pulls you through the dancers, the tight press of bodies. You don’t know where he’s leading you, and for the moment you don’t really care. You just don’t want to go back to the table because you don’t want to look at Ten. Maybe you’re being unreasonable.

Mark’s hand is cool in yours, squeezing so tightly around your hand that you worry he might crush the small bones in your hand. But he’s holding tight, keeping you close behind him as he leads you behind the dazzling bar, squeezing behind the bartenders and all the illuminated glasses on the wall.

When he brings you through a doorway behind the bar, it’s then that you finally ask him, “Where are we going?”

Mark glances back at you. “You needed to get out of there right? Since you were clearly pissed at Ten, I figured we could just leave.”

Your imagination takes off, spinning down a readily waiting rabbit hole of Mark deciding to challenge Ten and Yuta both telling him to get laid. What if he were to make his claim on you, to bring you into some private room in the warren of tunnels in Hell City’s underground? A thrill goes through you at the thought, followed quickly after by a surge of guilt. Even if you’re annoyed with Ten, that’s no reason to go off and have sex with one of their closest friends. You’re being silly with this line of filthy thought.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks, turning his head to the side to look at you from over his shoulder. “Your heart is racing.”

You feel your face flush with heat. He can hear your heartbeat? “Nothing.”

“Sure.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe you. “Try to calm yourself down at least a little. I’m taking you to hang out with my coven.”

“What?” If anything, that makes your heart beat even faster. You walk a little faster too, trying to catch up to Mark’s side instead of trailing behind him. “Your coven? Why?”

Mark’s smile is one again that makes you entirely forget that you’re not both just normal humans living normal human lives in a normal human city. A little crooked and spreading too easily, a loose expression that just seems to appear and make his eyes shine even in the dim light of these underground streets. “Are you nervous? You’ve met some of them before, you know.” You wiggle your fingers, and Mark’s hand loosens just a little bit around yours, but he doesn’t let go and neither do you. “I just thought you wanted to get away from them for a little bit, and I’ve never shown you Covenant really.”

The name rings a bell. A door at the end of an alley. An old sign with faded letters spelling Covenant. It’s the place where you’d first met Mark when he sat on that throne looking like the King of the Vampires. The place with all of that religious imagery and stolen artwork that had been defaced.

For the first time you look around at your surroundings, noticing that Mark is walking with you quickly by the doorways that lead into other loud clubs, underground restaurants that promise unique dining experiences, and a bar with roars of laughter blending on the ground with the pools of rainbow colored light that spill through the stained glass windows. He turns you sharply through the alleys, down stairs that squeeze down narrow passages, winding you ever farther beneath the surface of Hell City. Part of you wonders if he’s trying to get you turned around or if he’s maybe trying to lose someone behind you with as many twists and turns as he takes.

“Why are you taking me to Covenant?” You ask, panting just a little bit at the quick pace with which Mark is taking you down stairs and sloped streets. This underground city rises around you. Tall, dark walls stretch up into the darkness toward the underside of Hell City’s streets.

“When I’m not sleeping over at your apartment, the Covenant is where I stay. I want to show it to you.” Mark pulls you through an unlatched gate down another alley, and as you walk along, you hear the gate click shut behind you. You want to ask him why he’s taking you along this winding way, and why he wants to show you Covenant, but you’re already asking so many questions of him.

Mark suddenly stops, and you bump into his back.

“Hold on,” is the only warning Mark gives before you feel his arm around your waist. He bends slightly at the knee, his arm growing tight around you, and then just like that the ground is no longer beneath your feet.

Everything is so fast, you’ve only the time to say “Fu–” before your feet are on a solid surface again. The “--ck!” comes as your chin bumps against Mark’s shoulder, his laugh vibrating his chest as he holds you against him.

“Fuck!” You repeat the exclamation with a thump of your fist against Mark’s chest, pushing yourself away from him, but you can’t get far. He keeps his arm around your waist, and you’re glad for it. Mark has the pair of you perched precariously on the edge of a rooftop several stories above the alley that you’d just been standing in.

From up here you can see that the Underground of Hell City is just as much a city as the surface world. This city rolls ever deeper into the distance, endless with flickering lights illuminating the streets and the windows. It reminds you of a scene from a historic drama you might have watched, like looking into the past of old London or Paris, maybe looking out at ancient Rome or Alexandria, like an ancient city had been sunken just beneath the surface here.

You wouldn’t know that behind the facades of these walls there are pieces of modernity in the nightclubs and everything else. From here, it looks just like you’ve slipped backwards in time. The only thing missing is the sight of the stars and the moon overhead, though you can see in the distance a tower that rises up like the Tower of Babel, circular and many-tiered, the tallest building you can see.

“That’s the entrance from the surface,” Mark tells you.

That’s crazy, you think. The number of times you’ve been down here, going to different places that he or WinWin or Yuta and Ten had brought you, and you’d never really imagined this whole underground city looking like a legitimate city before. You’d always stayed on the one level pretty much, so you hadn’t really realized how far this city sloped downward, how far it stretched, how what you’d believed to be hallways and corridors were probably more like actual streets and alleyways.

Admittedly, you were usually too distracted or even too intoxicated to really look up. Your demons or the other two held you enraptured every time that you were down here. Why would you even think to look up?

Mark laughs again, and he moves back from the edge, bringing you with him. “Are you so amazed? Have you never seen the city before?”

You shake your head, still clinging to Mark even though he’s put a few feet between you and the edge of the rooftop. There’s so much to look at. This underground city is so dark, but the streets and the buildings themselves have an orange glow, completely different to the constant orange glow of the city above. This is a city trapped forever in night, illuminated by street lamps, candles in windows, paper lanterns.

Something bright flashes through the night, like a shooting star as it falls from above. Your eyes immediately hone in on it, a shimmering trail of light that falls from the city above down and down and down before it vanishes.

“The river,” Mark explains. “It’s more of a waterfall to Hell down here, but the concept is still the same. You don’t want to get caught in it.” You remember the river above when Yuta and Ten showed it to you, the darker water that flickered with white souls as it ran along the riverwalk, how Yuta told you that it vanished underground at some point and never resurfaced.

As you watch, another spark of white, which must surely be a soul on its descent, passes.

“Do you want to come inside, or should we stand here and look at the city a little longer?” Mark finally starts to pull away from you, and the withdrawal of his touch pulls your attention around to him again.

“I thought we were going to Covenant?” You let your hand slip away from Mark’s, watching as he walks towards a rooftop access door.

“We are.” Mark gestures at the roof beneath your feet. “The part you’ve been to before, that’s down there.”

And why didn’t he take you through the front entrance? Or even the back entrance? What’s with this strange manner of entering the building through the roof? And the winding circuitous way he brought you here?

Sensing your suspicion, or perhaps reading it plain on your face, Mark explains, “I don’t like to share this particular place with just anyone. When we first left the club, I almost felt like someone was watching us, so I took a roundabout way getting here.”

“It was probably Yuta or Ten. I’m sure we’ll get an earful from them when we get back,” you say. “They both like to keep a sometimes annoyingly close watch on me.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees. “They’re clearly really possessive over you. But, if they’re angry we ditched them when we get back, I’ll make sure to apologize. Now, I want to show you this.” Mark pushes the door open, and he steps inside without a single look back as he vanishes into the dark interior.

You hesitate because although you trust Mark, there’s just something that doesn’t sit right about following a vampire into the darkness of a mystery room.

But then a match strikes. A small flame glows in the dark, throwing shadows against the walls of the room, and as you approach the door, you can see Mark’s hand caught in the light of the match, bringing the flame to first one candle, and then another.

This isn’t a roof access door, as you’d originally thought. This is a room. A very small room situated here on the roof with not much more than a wooden bench, the two lit candles, a small stand with a book on it, and mounted on the wall of the room is an elegant cross that makes you think, to some degree, that this matches the theme of the other religious works in the Covenant – stolen, likely from a Church. It gleams in the candlelight, golden and covered in gems.

You step inside, gazing at this small chapel in the middle of Hell City’s underground. This was the last thing you expected to find here, but right now, it feels like it’s exactly what you need.

A sense of clarity floods through you.

“I thought you might like this.” Mark sits down. “As I’ve told you, I’ve had a lot of my beliefs challenged since I was first turned. I’ve had my doubts about God and the greater purpose of human life, but I always come back to this.” He looks around the space, at the cross and the book beneath it. “I know that I have no hope of getting into Heaven, my soul is too black, I’m too deep into sin to ever have the hope of being lifted up from here and seeing Heaven, but I still pray. I still ask forgiveness, and I try hard to believe that there’s someone up there listening to my prayers and granting me forgiveness, still watching over me.”

You sink down beside him, and you reach over to take Mark’s hand.

“I try not to let it bother me, like, when Ten and the others tease me like that. About being a celibate priest vampire,” he laughs quietly. “I’m not perfect. Far from it. He’s right that I swore off drinking fresh blood and also sex because, if I thought Heaven was unreachable before, after I turned that girl – killed her by accident and sat by her side until she changed into the same kind of monster that I am – I know that it’s beyond out of reach. I can’t tempt myself with that again and push Heaven even farther away.”

Mark sighs. “Sometimes I feel like no one else in this city really gets it. A lot of them weren’t raised with any aspect of religion. The rest pretty much abandoned religion after they experienced their supernatural awakening.” He swings his head around to look at you with his eyes like drops of liquid night, catching the flickering light of the candles. “You get it, don’t you?”

“I do.” You clasp Mark’s hand a little tighter.

He looks back up at the cross. “I made this chapel above the den of unholiness that I built, thinking maybe it’ll help negate some of the chaos and sin of a vampire coven. I brought the vampires to me that were lost and in need of guidance. I gave them a home and a purpose other than just the senseless bloodlust. You can come here anytime you want, if you need a place to feel a little bit like… home. Like, a place to pray that I hope feels like it’s at least a good spot for it.”

Mark’s words are timid, hopeful. You nod. This little chapel on the rooftop does feel like a good spot for prayer, if that’s something you need to do. You can tell that there’s nothing truly hallowed about it. Nothing here in the room gives you the same tingle as you’d experienced when you’d gone to the Church in your town. There’s no holy water here, no Eucharist. Only the cross, unadorned with a Christ figure, and the book beneath, which you assume is a Bible.

Mark twitches, as if he means to get up, but you hold tight to his hand, tugging him back down beside you.

“Can we stay for a little longer?” You swallow, nervous to pray for some reason.

You don’t really know if there’s a God up there. But you also don’t know that there’s not a God. All you know is that praying feels familiar, it feels right sometimes, and you miss it.

“We can stay,” Mark says quietly. His thumb rubs over your knuckles, and you see from the corner of your eye the way that he bows his head and closes his eyes.

You do the same, slipping into the feeling of prayer like speaking to an old friend.

Whether the others notice the disappearance of you and Mark, you don’t know.

You and Mark, after spending a decent amount of time together in the quiet solitude and tranquility of his rooftop chapel, descend into Covenant.

Mark shows you through the upper floors of his establishment. He shows you briefly the apartment he possesses, which is just a bedroom and an office in what used to be the ensuite bathroom. There are more apartments, every floor bustling with vampires. Some closed doors hide the sounds of moans. Some rooms have the doors wide open. There are cats and bats. There’s a whole mini kitchen on the second floor that only has fridges stocked with blood bags, as well as a mini fridge that has human food and beverages.

“For guests,” Mark explains.

There’s a lounge room, kind of like a common area in a dorm, filled with sofas and armchairs, pool tables, dart boards, and a very old Pac-Man machine. Here, there are vampires ranging in ages. They all greet Mark warmly, eyeing you curiously. You haven’t met all of them, but you do recognize one. His name is Haechan, currently entertaining half of the accumulated vampires in the room as he belts out an obnoxious pop song into the microphone of a karaoke machine.

Mark has introduced you in the past to several members of his extensive coven. The otherworldly beautiful female vampires with their flawless skin and shiny hair, their looks that draw you in no matter sexuality. The male vampires are just as alluring, equally as graceful as the women. All of them are beautiful, even with blood red eyes.

You know Mark has only turned one of them, just the girl that made him give up on drinking fresh blood. Everyone else in his coven he’s earned their loyalty, taken them in, shown them that they can trust him. There are other covens in Hell City, but none so powerful as Mark’s.

Mark introduces you to a few more vampires on your way out. There’s Haechan who waves enthusiastically when he spots the pair of you. There’s a vampire that Mark tells you is the oldest in his coven, named Taeil, who is just happy to have the safety of a coven and who joined in because he’d met Haechan and couldn’t live an eternal life without the ray of perpetual sunshine in the otherwise dark existence of vampires. Mark introduces you to a newer vampire named Jisung who moves too quickly for his lanky limbs, making him clumsy, though it adds to his charm.

And when you finally make your exit through the front door of Covenant, Mark points out the straightest shot here from the Tower that you enter the underground from. It’s actually a lot easier to get to than you remember from your first visit, and you tuck that piece of information away, hoping that you’ll remember it correctly when you choose to come use his quiet little chapel on the roof.

The less straight and simple path from Covenant heads back to the club where you’d left Yuta, Ten, and WinWin. Mark doesn’t lead you on as winding of a path as he had before, but it still takes several minutes to reach the club again, and he sneaks you back in the same way that you’d exited.

You feel better. More right in your own skin as you step back into the noise and crushing heat of the dancefloor.

Mark slips away almost instantly, his attention caught by someone at the bar, and you dive back into the crowd of dancers, picking back up where you’d left off, but happier and freer now.

WinWin appears while you’re dancing, bumping into your back while he’s dancing with a girl that you think must be some kind of aquatic supernatural being due to the way that her hair is still dripping wet, and (no offense) the slightly fishy or briny smell coming off her. She wears a silky gray dress, her round dark eyes looking you over when WinWin smiles at the sight of you.

The girl is instantly forgotten as he leans in to speak directly into your ear. “Are you still mad and want to be left alone? Or can I dance with you?”

You weren’t even mad at him to begin with, so you let him stay, thinking that, if anything, the sight of you dancing with him might serve to make Ten or Yuta jealous.

The forgotten girl gets swallowed by the crowd, and for a while you forget everything too. Happy to just lose yourself in the feel of the music pulsing in your bones, the feel of WinWin dancing along with you, not necessarily all over you like he had been the last time you danced together on the night you first met, but close enough now to make sure no one separates you from him. Close enough that when at last you lift your head to look around for any sight of your two demons, WinWin catches on.

“How does it work?” He asks, leaning down to speak directly into your ear, but still shouting to be heard over the music. “The three of you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer that, not certain what kind of an answer he’s seeking. “What do you mean? Like details?”

WinWin straightens up to look you in the eye as he says, “I’m not a pervert. No, not details. Like, are you together? Are they your boyfriends or mates or, like, is it just sex? What kind of a family dynamic did I get brought into?”

Now, that’s something that you haven’t really spoken about over the last few days. You know that Yuta said Ten’s a jealous guy, and they’ve both displayed jealousy when you’ve mentioned Hansol. But there’s no label on this. You don’t know what this is. Is it just fun and sex? Or is it more than that?

WinWin presses closer, fitting his body with yours as you dance, and you welcome the heat of it. Especially when he leans down, his lips against your ear again as he says, “I mean, I’m only asking because in case it’s not very obvious, I like you, and I want to know if I still stand a chance.”

He timed it perfectly, fitting the words into a total lull in the music, unless the buzzing silence is just your mind struggling to comprehend what he’s just said.

“I like you,” WinWin repeats as the music begins to pick up again, and somewhere in the crowd a few people howl. He glances towards them, but when he looks back at you, you’re still staring up at him slack-jawed. He smiles, tapping his fingertips beneath your chin to get you to shut your mouth. “You don’t have to answer me or make any kind of decision right now. I just wanted to make my intentions known.”

You like WinWin, too. You’ve found him attractive since the first time you met, and since he became a friend, you’ve grown to actually like him. Since your return to Hell City, everything has just been so emotionally confusing, if you’re being honest. The dreams, the friendships, your powers being awakened, as well as the new sexual experiences you’ve found with Yuta and Ten.

And it’s not like Ten and Yuta own you. They’re just your demons, your protectors, instructors, and friends, the ones you’ve been having regular sex with over the last few days, fucking like rabbits every chance you get. But there’s no label. And they clearly don’t mind sharing with each other, so would it really be so different if you gave WinWin a shot?

“I’ll give you time to think about it,” WinWin says, his hands skimming over your shoulders and down your arms, as he puts a little bit of distance between you and him. Not too far away though. He smiles, eyes flashing in the blazing lights of the club. “We don’t have to rush.”

You don’t rush it at all.

You dance together with WinWin for a while longer before the density of the crowd, all the bodies hot and sweaty around you, grows to be too much, so you head back up to the private room together.

Mark is still not back. Yuta had passed you on the stairs as he went to fetch a new round of drinks. Only Ten still sits at the table, watching WinWin over his glass with a bit of heat and bite behind the look as you choose to sit beside WinWin on the other side of the table.

“You smell like him,” Ten says after a moment, his tone accusatory.

You ignore him.

Ten continues to watch you, consuming himself with jealousy, as you just chat with WinWin, as Mark returns to the table with Yuta, sliding a tray of drinks onto the surface.

Ten’s jealousy turns into him pouting, drinking too many of his smoking beverages, and by the time you decide to call the night at an end, it takes both Yuta and WinWin to haul Ten back to your apartment. He grumpily snarks at WinWin the whole way, even bursting into flames at one point after you’ve resurfaced in Hell City. It’s a successful attempt to get WinWin to move away from him.

“Would you stop?” You snap, planting yourself in front of him on the street as WinWin steps aside to pat down the smoking shoulders of his shirt. “We were just dancing, if that’s why you’re so bent out of shape, Ten. Stop being an ass.”

Ten looks at Yuta, who just raises his eyebrows in silent reply.

“They weren’t just dancing,” Ten faux-whispers. “I know it. WinWin’s too into her for them to have just been dancing.”

Heat floods through you, a mixture of a blush and your own flames rising to your skin. Your mind instantly is swept back into a short while ago, WinWin’s confession replaying in your mind.

Yuta pinches Ten’s side, hauling Ten’s arm a little higher over Yuta’s shoulder. “Does it matter, Ten? She’s not ours. We can’t tell her what to do.”

Ten pouts, turning a baleful look on you. He looks more like a kicked puppy than a demon right now, and it’s melting your resolve to stay irritated with him.

“We just danced, you jealous ass. Don’t look at me like that, Ten.” You fold your arms across your chest. “We talked, we danced, and what does it matter if anything happened? I don’t belong to you or to Yuta, do I?”

He’s pouting still. “I want you to be ours. I don’t want to share you with WinWin. I don’t want to be a stepfather to a bunch of werewolf cubs!”

“Oh my God,” Yuta groans. “Alright, I’m speeding this up. He’s too heavy to carry across half the city. Win, can you keep her safe the rest of the way?” And then to you, he says, “I’ll talk to Ten. He’s just drunk and possessive.”

WinWin nods and promises. “I’ll get her home safe, Yuta.”

What a change this is from the first night you met WinWin. The way Yuta nods, fully trusting WinWin now when the first night he’d nearly ripped WinWin’s head off for wanting to be alone with you.

Yuta turns on the spot, vanishing into thin air with Ten, leaving nothing behind but some of the glitter from Ten’s shirt floating to the sidewalk.

You reach over, taking WinWin’s hand. His fingers go stiff for a moment before he relaxes, squeezing his hand around yours. You smile and ask, “Walk me home?”

WinWin keeps you tucked close to his side as you walk through the city. His hackles are raised, for lack of a better term, eyes glinting amber and his teeth are bared as someone catcalls you from down an alleyway.

Although this hour looks nearly the same as every other in this city, the late hour has drawn out the true monsters who lurk in the shadows, and WinWin growls any time any of them come a little too close or seem to be speaking or even looking in your direction.

“You have to be careful,” he tells you once you’ve reached the relative safety of the lift in your building. It creaks and begins to rise up through the building, and WinWin stands right beside you, your arms bumping each other as the lift sways slightly. “There’s all kinds of freaks in this city.”

“You know, I once included you in that number.”

WinWin frowns.

“But, at the time, everyone was. I didn’t consider myself at all in the number of people here who weren’t entirely human.” You tap the back of his hand. “I’d just seen you for the first time. Yuta hated you. I’d never met a werewolf before, and before you and Yuta started your dispute, I thought you were human, so I did look at you as a little freaky.”

Still, Winwin frowns a little. “And when did that change?”

You shrug as the lift finally sways to a stop at your floor. “Some time after you saved me from being exorcized.”

He steps around you to open the door of your apartment, and sighs a little in relief, saying, “I was worried you were going to say, like, yesterday.”

You make no rush to tell Yuta or Ten about WinWin’s confession. If you’re not going to act on it, what does it matter?

But you can’t deny that you think about WinWin’s words, that you fantasize about being with him just as much as you’d fantasized about him, Yuta, Ten, and Mark while you’d been with Hansol.

Sometimes you think about it when you’re all hanging out together and you catch WinWin’s eye, or when you’re walking around the city together with just WinWin and his hand lingers just a little too long. Sometimes you think about it when you’re in the midst of having sex with one or the other of your demons, but you know that Ten might just burn up with envy if you mention WinWin while he’s the one you’re having sex with.

So you hold your tongue.

Things have been good between you and Ten since you kissed and made up for fighting over his jealousy and his disrespect to the faith. The last thing you need to do is create a spike in Ten or Yuta’s jealousy by bringing up WinWin. You don’t know what Yuta said to Ten that night, what words were exchanged at all before WinWin dropped you safely back at your door, but if Ten is still jealous, he hides it very well.

Mostly he hides it by showering you with his affection. Plenty of cuddles, kissing, manifesting gifts he thinks you’ll like, and clinging to you so much that you can tell he’s making Yuta a little jealous.

“Mine,” Ten murmurs, his face buried in your hair against your neck, his arms possessively around you.

You may not need to sleep as much as you once did, but you do still require it from time to time, and you were just trying to sleep when Ten slid into bed with you, tangling his legs with yours and fitting himself behind you. He smells like brimstone and sweat, a strangely appealing combination, even in the circumstances. You’ve just been pulled out of your nap time dreams to be faced with all of this, and instead of startling and pushing Ten away, you lean back into him, welcoming his presence. You don’t know where Yuta’s gone off to, but he’d been in the apartment when you dozed off. Everything feels quiet and empty now, and if you do your best to attempt to sense your surroundings (a trick they’ve been trying to teach you over the last week), all you can find is you and Ten curled tightly together in this bed.

Ten sighs a little, nuzzling against the back of your neck. You’re a little surprised, the more you wake up and remember that Ten had told you that he was going to be gone for a few days on a little mission for the Queen of the Night. Yuta hadn’t had to go, and he’d taken full advantage of having you to himself yesterday, which was probably part of the reason you’d felt tired enough to need sleep.

“You’re back?” You ask after a moment.

Ten hums. “I am.”

“You stink.” You let the words slip bluntly from your mouth.

Ten almost always showers immediately after returning from whatever it is that he does when he goes to Hell or goes on special jobs. Ten’s very clean, that’s one thing you’ve certainly picked up on more since this more intimate part of the relationship began. So for him to climb into bed unshowered and smelling like the armpit of Hell, you wonder what’s wrong.

“I know,” Ten agrees, voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to hold you, though.” His arms grow tighter around your waist.

“If you hold me any tighter, I might just split in two,” you tease. Your first attempt at getting him to loosen his arms is unsuccessful, but after a moment Ten relents, and you’re able to twist around to face him.

His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed. You can see all the tiny veins in his eyelids, and when you extract a hand from where it’s trapped between your body and his, you lift your fingertips up to lightly touch Ten’s face. He’s beautiful, to an unreal degree. Of course, you’ve found him attractive and generally beautiful since your first meeting in the cemetery, but right now it’s really hitting you. His warm skin beneath your fingertips, the delicacy of his eyelashes and his semi-translucent eyelids makes you careful with your touch. His eyebrows relax slightly. The corners of his mouth twitch.

Your fingertips move from his eyelids to his nose, to the wrinkled spot between his eyebrows, back down his nose to the bow of his lips.

His eyes open, and you’re faced with a light brown color, caught somewhere between demon black and the yellow cat-eye. He watches you as you make a study of his face, memorizing every line and detail in dual perspective through your gaze and your touch. Ten’s eyes flutter half-closed and you swear he nearly purrs when your fingers drift to his hair and push along his scalp. His hair has grown out since you first met him. Nearly jaw-length and a little wavy. It’s soft, making him look pretty.

Ten makes a little sound when you lift your head from the pillow to lean in, but he welcomes your slow tender kiss, the way you fold yourself against his chest, the way one of your legs slides over his hip to hook around his lower back. Ten places a hand on your waist, letting it slide down to your hip, and when he finds your bare thigh and the oversized shirt that you fell asleep in now riding up, he smiles and deepens the kiss, tipping you back onto your back.

Ten’s thigh wedges between yours, and you start to move your hips in small circles against his thigh.

“Did Yuta neglect you yesterday, or do you just miss me that much?” Ten teases, breaking away from your lips to sponge kisses along your throat instead.

“You,” you sigh, “Missed you, Ten.”

“I missed you too, darling.” He sighs, breath feathering over your skin as he shifts the neck of your shirt to the side, exposing inches of your shoulder. His lips move like fire over your skin. “You’re the only Queen I want to serve anymore.”

You laugh, unable to help it, and you press at his shoulders. “You don’t mean that. I’m no Queen.”

Ten’s smile meets your shoulder, teeth nipping lightly. “Yes you are. To me. To Yuta. Queen of our hearts, mistress of our souls.”

“And what would your actual Queen say if she ever heard you say that?” You knit your fingers through his hair.

Ten groans, hiding his face against your chest. “Honestly, darling, I don’t really give a damn. I’m serious.” He lifts his head, blazing gaze meeting yours. “It might sound cheesy and lame, but you’re the only Queen I want to acknowledge. I don’t belong to her, not the way I do to you. I’m tired of her missions, tired of it taking me away from you, tired of….” Ten trails off, hiding his face once again. “I’m tired of missing you.”

“I’m right here.” You push your fingers through his hair until Ten tilts his head to look at your face. “You don’t have to miss me when I’m right here.”

His breath puffs against your shoulder. “I was thinking about you while I was away, you know. Daydreaming, you might say. About you all stretched out in your bed, right here like this, playing with yourself and waiting for me and Yuta. I daydreamt the feel of your cute bottom in my hands.” His hands slip beneath the shirt, around beneath your ass until he’s cupping the round cheeks. “The feel of pulling you into my lap, filling you with my cock when you’re so wet and tight around me. The way you ride me, your tits bouncing, all flushed and moaning. It was difficult to concentrate on the mission, anyway. I had to come home to you.”

You smile at him. “You spent your whole mission daydreaming about fucking me, but you’ve been home for how long now, and you’ve barely touched me.”

Ten sits up on his knees, his hands still on your ass, and he lifts your hips into his lap. “Let me remedy that.”

It’s easy enough for Ten to pull your panties to the side, baring your pussy to his hungry gaze. Easier still for him to tease your sensitive bits with his fingers, to fit two fingers perfectly inside you, curling them slightly to find that spongy spot inside you.

You gasp his name, arching your back, and the shirt slides up to your tits. Ten lowers his head to your belly, kissing over your abdomen while he pumps his fingers inside you. His tongue swirls over your belly button, igniting a deeper heat in your belly. This is the closest you’ll get to Ten eating you out – his mouth on your belly while he fucks you on his fingers – and you’re perfectly fine with that because Yuta’s always eager to make up for Ten’s lack of oral sex.

But today, Yuta’s not here, and Ten brings you crashing through your first orgasm on his fingers, his lips curling into a satisfied grin against your belly. His body between your thighs prevents them from closing around his hand, and he moves to kiss up your belly, pushing the shirt up with his free hand while he still strokes you through the orgasm, aftershocks shaking your limbs. Ten kisses your tits, over your heart, up your throat, and finally he reclaims your lips.

His fingers leave you feeling empty, and you whine against his lips, wanting him to fill you again.

Ten echoes the sound back to you, a little more breathy, definitely teasing. And when you feel his wrist nudge against your belly, you realize that he’s probably got his hand stuffed down his pants. The fingers that were just inside you are probably now wrapped around his cock.

Your knees draw up a bit, affording Ten the room to press closer to you, now grinding against you and his hand in equal parts. You kiss him and twist your fingers in his hair, silently imploring him to just get his cock out and put it in you. Something of your message gets across to him, and Ten shuffles on his knees, and then you’re tipping your head back to moan his name as he rolls his hips and buries himself inside you.

You bite your bottom lip as Ten pulls himself up, his hands sliding beneath your thighs to secure them around his hips. You like watching Ten like this, the way he moves so smoothly when he rolls his hips, hitting in deep. Ten likes watching you like this too, his warm brown eyes filled with lust and adoration as he watches one of your hands drift down between your legs to play with your clit.

“Just like that, darling,” he says, “Just like my daydreams.”

Ten is always so graceful, even when his composure begins to slip and his movements grow more determined, more intent with sparks lighting up his irises. He falls forward over you again, fists pressed to the mattress on either side of your head. His hair falls in front of his face, and you lift your hand to tuck one side of it back behind his ear. Ten turns his head to the side, brushing a kiss against your wrist, pushing even closer into you, readjusting your thighs and the tilt of your hips.

“C’mon, little saint,” Ten teases, his teeth dragging lightly over your wrist. “Cum for me.”

You won’t be won that easily.

Ten’s grin widens when you reach around to dig your nails into his muscled ass, when you lean up until your mouth touches his chest, lips around one of his nipples. Ten is so sensitive, that is one thing that you’ve learned since this started; he’s sensitive all over, so even just touching his chest like this and digging your nails in is going to drive him a little wild.

His eyes flash from the subtle brown they’ve been to his favored yellow cat eyes. You can’t deny that although seeing that does in fact strike you as bizarre, you also kind of like how the different eyes change Ten. His entire aura shifts ever so slightly. There’s a slightly more animalistic way that he looks at you, the way he moves inside you, like he wants to have you fully and completely.

And not that you would admit this aloud to him, but it vaguely makes you think of a different semi-animalistic man. A set of werewolf amber eyes.

Sooner or later, you’re going to have to bring that up to your two demons, but for now you suppress those thoughts to your best ability, focusing only on Ten.

You pull your lips away from his nipple, leaving kisses up his chest to his jaw, licking and sucking against a spot just beneath his jaw that makes Ten release a broken moan. His body presses impossibly closer as he sinks fully over you, hips twisting as he pushes your thighs open just a little more.

You’re all skin to skin now, the heat between you bringing a dew of sweat.

“Fucking perfect,” Ten praises you, his lips skimming your cheek. “Feel so tight around me, darling. And—“ You release one hand from his ass to run your fingers up the expanse of his back, just your fingertips on his skin, and Ten shivers against you. A soft moan and his eyes fluttering shut are big indicators that he’s enjoying it.

“Are you gonna cum for me, Ten?” You lick beneath his jaw again. “Make me cum too.”

Your bodies are both slick with sweat now, skin sliding and sticking together in equal parts. Ten drives his cock inside you rapidly, all sense of his smooth grace gone in his rush to just achieve the bliss of orgasm. His fingers move into your hair, tightly pulling and guiding your mouth to his for a messy kiss. The angle that he’s hitting has you moaning desperately into the kiss, your nerves and every sense alight.

Ten cums first, pulling out of you to cum over your belly, his cockhead blurting out cum against your clit as he pushes back down towards your entrance, pushing in deep to fuck you again.

Your hands go to his sides, holding tight to his tiny waist as he presses his forehead to yours and fucks you breathless. Ten circles his hips, grinding his cock into you, his lips parted as you both pant and moan softly to each other. Your orgasm rocks through you, and you squeeze and clench and hold tighter to Ten through it.

He collapses fully against you, every inch of your bodies pressed together, his forehead still against yours.

You lie there in the blissful aftermath for a few moments before you catch another whiff of sulphur and sweat, and you know it’s not just him anymore.

“Now we both stink,” you complain, trying your best to push Ten off of you, or at least to squirm out from beneath him. You want to wash the stink off, to smell instead like your body wash that quite literally smells like a happy summer day.

Ten, naturally, holds you even tighter, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. “Now you smell like me because you’re mine,” he practically purrs. “You always smell like Yuta after you’ve been with him. When you hang out with Mark or WinWin, you smell like them. I want you to smell like me, even if just for a little bit.”

“Gross,” you pout, but you cease your squirming, content to lie here in sweat-damp sheets, playing with Ten’s hair idly, letting all the hours of eternity pass by if that’s what is going to make him happy.

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a/n: once again, I’m so sorry about the delay in getting this posted! I hope you enjoyed!!

#nct smut #yuta smut #ten smut #nct fics #wayv smut #nct #nct 127 #wayv #nakamoto yuta #yuta fics #ten fics #ten lee #unholy

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