β’α§ α§ Κα΄Η«α΄α΄sα΄α΄α΄ ? Not requested.Β°
κ£ΰ§β’ π¦’ α΄α΄ΙͺΚΙͺΙ΄Ι’s: Luka x reader, Canon Alien stage Au.Β°
Β°α§ π¦’ α΄α΄Ι΄α΄α΄Ι΄α΄s: based on that one Mizisua bath scene (it's one of my favourite scenes) Mentions of blood, mentions of death, Slight Nsfw themes, angst, fluff(ish?), body worship, surgeries and surgical scars, toxic themes, unhealthiness at its finest. α§Β°
β Cold fingers danced across your skin silently, brushing and caressing every injured area on the surface.
If you both were truly in your senses, then you would've realised how your hands caused pain on each other.
The soft sounds of water dripping from your body wasn't overlooked by him, the sound echoing throughout the cold air conditioned room. Your skin was frozen, stiff. You both were cold. In pain. The only thing that kept you both warm was each other's frigid touch.
After all those sick bastards did to the both of you.
You let out a soft whimper of pain when you felt his nose gently nuzzle against the metal branding imprinted on your collarbone, still trying to get used to it digging into your skin and almost breaking it. You retaliated back by brushing your soft fingertips over the branding on the side of his hip, the area still painfully sensitive causing the muscles to twitch slightly underneath the touch, forcing out a soft sound of discomfort from his dry lips.
Arms, legs, hands, body. Entangled together like messed up wires. Bare against each other with no sense of shame. It didn't matter honestly, when you were almost at the verge of death.
It didn't matter if it was with him.
Luka dipped his head into the valley of your breasts, like a young child seeking comfort in their mother's embrace. His fingertips proceeded to dig deep into your skin with the cold piercing through the layers. The pain was insignificant, the numbness overtaking the position instead. The silky, soft blonde locks brushed the underside of your chin, his breath fanning against the skin of your throat like a lover's caress.
You felt cold hands gently kneading and caressing your sides, trying to touch every inch of you. The action wasn't sexual. It was more of him trying to make sure you were really there. To restrain you from leaving like Hyuna did. The water on your skin acted like a lubricant for the movement of his hands, making it all the more painful and satisfying for you. Your digits slipped through his messy, wet locks, tugging against his scalp to elicit a pathetic sound from him and raise his head up. Glazed light yellow irises, now dimmed by the poor lighting, grazed your eyes. He looked almost vulnerable, untainted. Like he did nothing wrong. Like he didn't know what happened to him.
You felt him grab your wrists and drag your hands from his hair to his face in a slow motion, allowing you to feel the cold wetness of his cheek. There was desperation in his actions. He turned his head to press his lips against the inside of your palm, before gently forcing you to rub your hands against his face, the skin gliding over your palm in smooth but rough motions. You spotted the small rivulets of tears dripping down his cheeks from the pain his stitches caused, a sorry excuse of a smile gracing his lips as he looked at you.
It was almost as if he was making you feel guilty for loving him like this. For ruining him like this.
He kissed his way down your arm, mouthing at every inch of the cold damp skin he could find, making sure to drag his lips slowly down the soft skin of your forelimb. Tasting you. Savouring you. Using you. Wordlessly.
Luka.
He was the boy who once sat beside you quietly and listened to you ramble on. The boy who used to sit and draw pictures along with you. The quiet boy who would spend his time basking in the group conversations with Hyuna, you and Hyunwoo with his face resting on his cheek. The boy who stayed by your side at every step. The boy who clung to your figure whenever he felt unsafe or threatened. The boy who made a childish oath to protect you from the dangers of this planet.
The same boy who was currently worshipping your battered and scarred figure with his mouth and hands solely, his hand lifting your leg up from the back of your thigh, digging out parts of you you never knew existed.
You cupped his face from below and brought him closer, pressing your lips against his own and wiping away the stray tears escaping his eyes, before pulling him down to rest over you like a cold, comforting silk blanket, face pressed down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
You felt disgusted. Not because of him. But because of who you had become.
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