#mayhaps its just me. but it feels like its only filled w ads

[ribbononline]

frye fits i might as well share since i doubt ill do anything w em

#onaga clan fits :] based on some postgame hcs before the game can actually rveal what thatll be like lol #forst ones just an alt of her thief fit other two r meant to be more formal #frye splatoon #only tag that gets #i hope i did ok on these ! i need to find more reputable online sources for like #fashion (both traditional n modern) around the world #google is so exhausting to sift through nowadays. #mayhaps its just me. but it feels like its only filled w ads #and information written by ppl paid to write a little blurb who don’t actually lnlw anything about the subject #rip #i swear it wasnt always like this. orz

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The dying of the light (NJ x Reader)

Genre: Angst, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x Human!Reader

Warnings: Allusion to domestic violence/abuse, character death

Summary: Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Masterlist

Never judge a book by its cover is one of the righteous tenets to live by for everyone deserves to show the tale within and be judged based on that. It is quite astonishing what a person might learn this way.

But what if the chronicle is hideous? The title page a mere delusion?

Downstairs sound loaded curses, the breaking of glass and the plates filled with the dinner of the day adding a sharp edge to the animalistic growling tone in which is spoken.

That was used against an individual to whom it was promised never to be used yet was, the terrible overwhelming fear burning as bright within at the resonating words of argument as the scarlet outline on a tear-stained cheek. Withal, the hit has to be forgiven because it is the animal inside the brown-haired mature version of the bad boy with platinum strands who has a surprising liking towards philosophy and literature that forces the behaviour.

It is still you somewhere in there, Joon. You didn’t mean to hit me.

Nevertheless, it is difficult to believe the thought despite having been together for four years, the promising ring set with a moonstone signifying the love of the tall otherwise incredible man now gone mad with beastly instincts for a mere human regardless of the many she-wolves throwing themselves at the alpha’s feet whenever the season for continuing the bloodline has begun. That faith in faithfulness has to be held onto as much as the belief that the accidental branding is just that, an accident.

Right?

Maybe the topic of prolonged absences should not have been pushed, fabricating allegations which are obvious lies of not being loved enough to be talked to because the prestigious family of the apparent ancient Kim line would never tolerate anything other than a proper alpha female for the second-in-line to be the heir and the dawning of this at last realized by Namjoon.

Then came the sound of a vicious palm on an unsuspecting cheek, ear-deafening in the silence that followed the outrage of seeing any type of apology, verbally and physical, go to waste by being pushed away.

Literally.

Bloodthirsty ruby irises.

A snarl on plush lips.

Wrong.

The wolf hated it.

He merely did not like it.

You meant it. It wasn’t the beast, it was you, Joon. I could tell. It was you.

Bare feet storm up the creaky oak stairs of the two-storey home recently moved into together, making a damaged face instantly crawl haphazardly away from the position leaning against the door to the bed with thick blue-striped alabaster sheets that normally feels so safe when lying down with the fiancé after a long tiring day. Paralyzed with horror, the thick duvet is pulled up till the eyes only able to look on helplessly, hope the lock on the door rapidly put into place before the second flight will hold.

A loud bang on the wood evokes a heavy flinch, causing digits to hold on tighter to the self-made futile sacred haven. ‘Y/N! Open up!’

A second bang, frightful rattling. ‘Y/N, I’m serious. Open the door!’

Please, stop. Just go. Just this once, I want you to go.

A few more attempts are made at opening the entrance to the last secure place left in the small home, both parties knowing full well the werewolf could easily force an entry yet decides against it with every ounce of remaining sanity on this starry night lit by an almost full moon. A deep sigh of relief is barely audible when it escapes lips pulled into a grave straight line, allowing shoulders to sack slightly in relaxation upon hearing a civilized baritone voice from afar when the noisy threats have faded. ‘I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. I don’t kno- I can’t- I don’t understand what’s happening. It feels as if... as if-’

What follows the unfinished sentence are painful outcries at bones rearranging themselves to fit a dominant beastly body, having to retreat to the cage and collar on a short chain in the extended basement fast to not commit one of the other violent mistakes that were also sworn to never be made. ‘Fuck. Y/N- ngh- I know you’re listening, can hear your heartbeat. Ah! Ha... ha... Breath, baby. Just breath. I’m gonna go, okay? Try- Shit, need to hurry up. I’m slipping away, that’s what it fee- argh!’

Like the former utterance before the continuation of the confession, all that wanted to be said before the jaw started transforming and bright teeth forming the most delightful of happy smiles deform to malicious predatory fangs remains unspoken.

A relentless hush fills the wake of hasty stumbling footsteps down the creaking stairs, getting away as fast as possible from a person who has been hurt to a whole new extent that will be hard to surpass. Indeed, the fear of death is nothing compared to the harm inflicted by the actual brown-haired beloved and not the innate beast using Joon as a permanent host.

The calm does not soothe, but eventually eyes continuing to water with the burning aftermath of the supposedly unintentional slap on the cheek surrender in the lightless space to the slumber of the night.

Trying to ignore the dimmed growling mixed with agonizing outcries tearing the soul in two. One part wants to flee and never come back, mercilessly unforgiving for the act of domestic violence while the other wants to give a second chance because it is steadfast in its belief this wreck can be salvaged.

Endeavouring to dismiss the muted howl signifying Namjoon is no longer there.

Only the animal held in high esteem in the defied family.

A senseless beast.

That makes the hope of finding the tanned tall kind-hearted husband in the morning incredibly small if existent at all.

Maybe, this time, there is nothing to prevent being permanently truly lost.

It has become a relentless routine to, once consciousness is retrieved to a coherent level at the crack of dawn, go downstairs to the cellar immediately after chaotic nights given body by the barely audible tinkling of rattling chains. Normally, it is a relief to do so but considering the events of a recent past, each step made of lead is calculating, considering to wait a bit longer, longer than usual. Questioning whether or not the offender wants to be seen again.

The least I can do is set you free. Save you for the last time.

After a self-deprecating shake of the head, the last of the oaken steps are descended and bare feet pad over the cool tiles of the small hallway to the crisp white-painted door just underneath the staircase revealing fresh deep claw marks on the inside wood upon opening. Fingertips lightly trace the marks made by the monster, guilt at even daring to question whether the cruelty in the form of the abuse had been inherently the beloved’s sinking to the bottom of the stomach and sitting there heavily because the crude traces remind of the might of the suppressed being within.

As does the naked sweaty honey-toned body lying unconsciously on the hard concrete ground of the cage that was installed directly upon moving in, chained to the brick wall by a sturdy glistening iron chain and collar which allows just enough freedom for the current position. Considering the dewiness of the bared skin, the return to humanity has taken place quite recently, mayhaps twenty to fifteen minutes earlier than the digits carefully grabbing the keys to the constraints that were retrieved from the mahogany nightstand drawer before leaving the safe sheets arrived.

Lying where they are always being kept.

Next to the emergency gun.

Each movement is languid, every advance towards the significant other seeming to be in vain due to toes feeling as if they are incorporated into the cement below, afraid to approach and thus taking up a determined resisting stance a few metres away from stirring limbs. Withal, Namjoon is, apparently unconsciously, gradually approached regardless.

Familiar lashes flutter open in utter fazing, civilized irises the colour of the earth after rainfall on an autumn day taking in reality while meticulously constructing it from the increasingly registering pieces revealed by brief glances. Until they find the last simply staring puzzle piece, which makes the brow furrow in ashamed apologetic begging. ‘Y/N?’ The werewolf has left the ability to talk entirely, instead letting the affected husband speak with a sonorous voice inherently his albeit in need of some adjustment after the transforming harrowing event. ‘Y/N, I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- didn’t mean to- I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I hate myself for what I did to you, for losing control like that. I’ve never wanted to be a monster.’

Long fingers wrap themselves tightly around the iron bars, foreheads resting against each other as best as possible with the obstruction after a terrified wife with the paradoxical toxic wanting to forgive falls to the knees in front of tears streaming over glistening sun-kissed cheeks, unlocking the door while revelling in the comforting intimacy. However, when once solacing fingertips graze the spot where the hit landed, the body immediately flinches back as if being pulled into retreat by an invisible rubber band, eyes wide with the expected horror of a harmful repeat.

A similar expression maintains the unbroken lock of gazes, the hand likely meaning well hanging futilely in the air and falling away in defeat, plush lips slightly trembling in the effort to remain coherent. ‘I won’t- Baby, I won’t hurt you again. Please. Please, come closer. It was the wolf within-’

‘It was you.’ Breathlessly, the observation breaking the heart all over again as it denies the argument of the claw marks now that reality and the source of pain is too concrete, too close, is spoken aloud.

Protest in a recomposed beloved voice does not help conviction. ‘I’d never-!’

‘It was you, Joon. Just before you hit me, I saw it was you and not the beast.’ The headshake is too confirming of the empirical experience that is attempted to be denied despite knowing better but believing the self-served humanity preserving lie.

‘If it was truly me I would have never beat you! I would have stopped myself!’ The yelling reduces to a softness bordering on a whisper, clearly recalling what had been said in the night at the door before vanishing underground. Seeing the truth behind the conjured mirage. ‘I really- dammit, no, I couldn’t... couldn’t have. I- I can’t. I don’t want to be a mindless beast. I don’t- I don’t want to slip away.’

Though despising oneself for it, as soon as slender digits clamp agitatedly onto brown sweat-matted messy locks and Namjoon stares at bare feet, palms folded over the head to shield himself from cruel reality, instinct kicks in and makes a conflicted woman crawl towards the loved heavily sobbing man. Precisely as was done on the rare occasion the platinum bad boy showed his true hurt persona to a nerdy outcast girl while sitting in the gravel on the side of the high school building filled with students fearing him.

Everyone but her.

Because she understood.

Because she loved.

Arms envelop freshly transformed sticky shoulders after a brief instant of hesitance, one hand moving upwards to entangle in velvet locks and cradle the back of the head of the extraordinary significant other directly pulling a strangely affectionate body flush against a quickly rising and falling chest, face buried in the side of the neck to not show the brooks streaming uncontrollably again.

The promises formed by a tongue that wants to live in assuring fantasy sound misplaced, inappropriately positive in the grave atmosphere merely forming a prelude to a terrible future. ‘We’re gonna get through this. We’ll figure it out.’

‘You- You say that but- but your heart is racing with fear.’ Long once trusted digits wrap themselves around upper arms, undoing the embrace and creating a bit of distance to properly, at least attempt to do so, talk vis-á-vis. When the rooted horror becomes visible despite the mask under which it was supposed to be hidden, Joon’s troubled fragmented voice cracks further with sorrowful resignation. ‘You’re- You’re scared of me.’

A wordless shake to deny the truthful allegation, hoping to convince the tall cruelly wonderful man of the opposite yet failing in doing so as innate systems do not lie. ‘Don’t deny it, Y/N. It’s obvious. Still... still I want to ask for a second chance, but,’ this time, the tracing of the agitated mark left behind as a reminder on skin powerless against the beast is allowed, but it takes every ounce of strength and courage to remain, ‘but if I can’t change, if we ever come this close again to me accidentally killing you in rage again, then-’

‘Don’t. Don’t ask this of me.’ The shivers at the image of the unavoidable deal made at the start of the relationship remain as chillingly harrowing as they were at first when Namjoon revealed what is within and can overtake the body and soul entirely when not being appropriately trained to control it. ‘I won’t do it.’

I would run away, leave forevermore. But I cannot end the story the way you want. I don’t want to.

‘I beat you, baby. Furthermore, while trying to apologize, I came too close to transforming at the door and killing you by giving the... thing free rein. I only didn’t this time because I barely managed to get myself here.’ Comforting large palms frame a face gone pale with anguish, having to undeniably acknowledge this is indeed the matter of the circumstances and haunted by what the aftermath will look like. ‘You know what can happen, what I’ll do. I don’t want to discover your body in shreds at dawn, murdered by my hand because of a lack of control.’

The kiss lingers, tasting of salty desperation and genuine dangerous love.

Tasting of goodbye.

‘Promise me you’ll use the gun. Don’t shoot try to shoot in one of the paws but aim for the heart or between the eyes.’

‘Joon, stop. Don’t talk like this.’

‘I’m slipping away, baby.’ Affectionately, a thumb begins to gently brush over the clear sign of abuse, almost as if being able to kind-heartedly make it vanish by the soft contact yet unable to do so for it shall continue to linger. ‘We have to talk about it now because if things don’t change soon, I’ll be gone. Forever.’

I can’t do it. I can’t be the one to put you down.

‘Joonie, please stop.’ Teeth bite down on a quivering bottom lip, lashes fluttering shut to bask entirely in the warmth of the precious husband’s hands. The abuse can be borne and can be helped with aid in the form of anger management therapy. Surely that has to help against malevolent animalistic outbursts.

There has to be a way out of this.

Out of fate.

‘Kill me.’

‘No.’

‘Y/N, I’m not asking anymore. I’ll need you to put me down.’ Urgency has crept into a defeated baritone voice that wants, needs to be heard daily in order to live.

Is forbidden from fading by vows promising to withstand the storms blowing on the path of marriage. ‘We can work this out.’

All storms eventually pass.

Right?

Stay with me. Don’t leave me behind.

‘Maybe we can, but there is a big chance we can’t.’

And he was right, because the next month there was solely the wolf after being beaten worse than before.

He slipped away.

Aim.

Fangs.

Do not panic.

Growling.

Pull the trigger.

Regret.

Make it end.

Save yourself.

A second.

Crimson.

A whine.

Bullet hole in the wall.

Transformation.

Closing eyes.

‘Thank you.’

Tears.

The end.

The waiting crib of a fatherless child.

#BTS #BTS Werewolf AU #Werewolf AU #hyunglinenetwork #kimnamjoonnet #Bangtan #BTS fanfiction #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Werewolf!Namjoon #alpha!Namjoon