#Bone Pain Tablet

[nutrisage]

Support Healthy Joints with Effective Joint Pain Supplements

Healthy joint cartilage, which serves as a cushion between bones, is primarily made of collagen. Because of its high bioavailability, our hydrolyzed formula is quickly and easily absorbed by the body. Joint Pain Supplements, This vitamin, taken daily, prevents your body from losing collagen naturally. Additional supplements for increased mobility and joint support include biotin, MSM, and vitamin C. Visit at this link - https://nutrisage.in/products/the-joints-co-multi-collagen?variant=42220629688489

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[captain-kraken]

i started doodling on paint.net 4 hours ago. where the hell did the time go.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Anyone mind sending $30 my way so I can order lunch and focus on writing some Lucanis x Rook smut?

I have a ko-fi shop here with all my quilts (nearly all of them small enough to serve as decor). Stripe takes about five days to show up in my bank account.

Thank you!

Remember to mark this as for Friends and Family if you opt to send directly to PayPal.

[ketavmorningkick]

Best Supplements for Joint Pain: All-Natural Solutions for a Life Without Pain

In joints, numerous people globally endure pain that may be hindering. This may arise due to aging, injuries, or even arthritis thus it is essential to find effective ways of alleviating them to avoid low quality of life. Supplements are increasingly seen as safe substitutes for harmful conventional drugs, even though there are many different treatment modalities available. This blog delves into some of the best supplements for joint health and how they may assist in daily activities to make them comfortable and more active.

Glucosamine :- Among the identified supplements used for joint discomfort, especially with osteoarthritis, is glucosamine. It’s an organic substance found in cartilage that supports joints. The best glucosamine chondroitin for joint supplements enhances damaged cartilage repair, reduces inflammation, eases pain, and enhances healing. In several researches glucosamine has been proven to improve joint function while decreasing osteoarthritis symptoms; thus it is preferred by many individuals who seek the best supplement for their joint pains.

Chondroitin Sulfate :- Another vital component of cartilage is chondroitin sulphate, which often works together with glucosamine. Water level maintenance is managed to keep cartilage's elasticity and health. The studies indicate that chondroitin may increase the movement of joints, reduce pain as well as inflammation respectively, and retard the progression of osteoarthritis. Some patients have found chondroitin and glucosamine to alleviate joint pain notably.

Omega-3 Fatty Acids :- One among the substances in fish oil such as Omega-3 fatty acids is known to have anti-inflammatory properties. It can reduce stiffness and rigidity in joints, especially for people with rheumatoid arthritis. Through inhibiting the formation of substances that incite inflammation, Omega-3s function on this front. You can incorporate fish oil supplements or consume more fatty fishes like salmon, mackerel, and sardines which have numerous advantages making them among the best natural joint pain supplements. 

Turmeric (Curcumin) :- The strongest anti-inflammatory and antioxidant constituents in turmeric are commonly utilized in Indian dishes. In cases of rheumatoid or osteoarthritis, curcumin could be effective in reducing pain and swelling.  It’s worth noting that consuming food enriched with turmeric or even using turmeric supplements could help deal with joint problems. There are numerous joint support supplements online such as those made from turmeric which can be considered good options if you need something to support your joints.

Boswellia Serrata :- Indian frankincense, or Boswellia serrata, has been utilised for generations in traditional medicine to treat inflammatory diseases. The active ingredients of boswellia, known as boswellic acids, have been shown to lessen joint discomfort and inflammation. As claimed by some researchers, this plant can be equal in efficacy to NSAIDs when it comes to relieving joint pains without causing any side effects. It is for this reason that Boswellia is frequently among the best joint support supplements available online.

Collagen :- The health and integrity of cartilage, tendons, and ligaments depend largely on collagen as a protein. Joint pain and stiffness occur due to decreased production of collagen as we age. The body’s collagen levels can be replenished by taking collagen supplements which improve affected joints’ health while reducing their pains. For joint pain relief, hydrolyzed collagen is especially helpful since it is easier for the body to absorb.

MSM (Methylsulfonylmethane) :- MSM illustrates a compound with sulfur that possesses islands of anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving impact. It is frequently used alongside glucosamine and chondroitin to improve their performance. For people suffering from osteoarthritis or any other bone diseases, MSM can alleviate inflammation, increase the range of motion in the joints, and reduce joint discomfort. With these benefits, it's the best supplement choice for anybody searching for the best glucosamine chondroitin for joints.

Conclusion :- The pain in joints can affect daily life but the appropriate supplements have been known to provide easy solutions for such problems naturally. At KMK, we provide supplements meant to make joint movements easier and less painful. There is a wide range of other items that are helpful to people suffering from joint pains. For instance, glucosamine, chondroitin sulfate, omega-3 fatty acids, turmeric, Boswellia serrata, collagen, and MSM are some of the best joint supplements to relieve joint aches. Therefore it is important not only to keep fit but also to use these supplements to lead an active life without experiencing any joint discomforts ever again! So, give your joints the power with their supplements and enjoy a more active and pain-free life.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Do you think Color& or Killer would use would use AAC? Anyone else you think would?

Sure, definitely. I feel like Sans and Gaster had their own makeshift signals and number of sounds—taps, clicks, finger snaps—for quick communication whenever one or both didn’t want or couldn’t verbally speak, and of course this likely carries over when Color first escapes the Void.

Especially if he’s too confused, too overwhelmed, too scared to communicate or interact with a world that’s unfamiliar and possibly even unreal to him at first.

Perhaps Bravery’s influence is a major factor here, compelling Sans to be brave and speak up—even if that action later, looking back, possibly feels unnatural and out of character to Sans.

I do feel that Color will be taught sign language in his facility care stay if they didn’t already know—either by staff, or by other patients. Color has the time, the patience, and the perseverance to learn.

I do believe he will still heavily struggle—he has episodes of dissociation, he has a fractured open skull, he struggles with emotional regulation, he struggles with understanding social cues, sarcasm, overstimulation, he has severe trust issues of just about everyone and everything during this time, memory issues, getting easily exhausted both physically and mentally from social interactions and physical activity. His bones are fragile, his body is possibly even athropied due to the Void.

He will struggle to regulate his frustration, anger, and embarrassment if he makes a mistake or forgets anything—which he inevitably will, more than just the “normal” forgetting of someone learning something new.

I do believe Color would struggle a lot with using pen and paper as an alternative means of communication, not only due to the the Void having likely destroyed and annihilated his fine motor skills—as well as Perseverance’s possible dysgraphia, their potential eyesight problems carrying over from when they were alive, and the body’s already existing visual impairments—and the likely awful, painful chronic migraines that he likely deals with and could be triggered by stress and frustration.

A tablet with an app could help of course, but the screen lights could probably strain his one eye—unused to brightness or light as it already is—and he’s is very likely very, very behind on the latest technology and out of practice on what he does know.

If Color even actually remembers how to operate a phone or a tablet at all after two decades of not seeing or using any, and struggling to hold on to his sanity, memories, and identity.

Which, of course, could cause all the emotional regulation issues mentioned above. Wouldn’t be surprised if he needed up crushing or breaking a piece of technology given to him in sheer frustration—or was definitely going to, only to suddenly be overwhelmed with a dizzying, yet blanket feeling of calm overtaking him. As if suddenly stuck in molasses.

So, perhaps he uses cards or pictures given to him to nonverbally communicate at first— and perhaps the staff and another patient even caught on to his and Gaster’s made up little language.

Or not, perhaps that was something Color was unwilling to share with anyone there, as if possessive of his own experiences and memories—even as he kept doing it. If anyone did catch on to it and let him know that they knew, maybe that became a point of conflict.

So maybe Color uses those cards, pictures, nonverbal communications like facial expressions, body language, and hand gestures—whenever he can’t verbally bring himself to speak—while he learns sign language, and tries to relearn motor skills and how to operate both familiar and unfamiliar technology.

I’ve seen it HC’d that Killer in Stage 4 uses Morse code to communicate, and Killer in Stage 3 is primarily via body language and vocalizations. I do think Killer would primarily rely on sign language, either something he knew as Sans or learned himself as Killer (something new, beneficial for survival), or something taught to him—perhaps by Chara or even Color—when in lower Stages. Sometimes Killer in Stage 2 may be too apathetic to even want to put in the effort to communicate.

And of course, Killer will definitely use text to speech or an app if he must. He is a bit chronically online, and im sure his phone is one of the very few physical items he places value on.

It holds his cat videos and cat photos, it has stimulating games on it, it has Color’s number on it and proof of Color’s existence on it whenever Killer can’t see him or speak to him or touch him to reassure himself Color is real for whatever reasons.

Even if he possibly does have to speak in code with Color, and find ways to hide Color’s contact such as disguising it behind a calculator app or something.

Killer can also use pen and paper of course, and his goop adds as a substitute for ink and his finger as a pen—as potentially does his knife and either his or a target’s blood—but his possible visual impairment from said ichor and lack of consistent eyelights could be a hinder here.

As well has hand and arm cramps and exhaustion, man can potentially lose entire limbs and Reset to have them back, doesn’t mean his mind doesn’t pull the opposite of a phantom limb and randomly decide, “oh hey this arm shouldn’t be here, wasn’t this cut off?” and then his body starts freaking the fuck out.

As for others I feel would use AAC, regardless of the specific form and based off nothing but pure vibes, I’ll go with..Ink (pictures, drawings), Dream (I feel he needs to use AAC actually but is actually kinda struggling to either learn or to accept that an alternative option is valid), Nightmare (pen and paper and probably drawing).

I also feel like Cross and Delta would benefit from using some form of AAC, but both are kinda too proud to admit it; even as Delta encourages Beta to use it.

I feel like Dust, one who is nonverbal in some manner or just really not one prone for verbal speaking besides from maybe talking to Papyrus, just generally prefers to communicate via vibes and body language. Man shrugs his shoulders so damn much. People struggle to either see his face at all or read his facial expressions.

There’s probably more but I’ll leave my ramble here for now.

[lura-valentine]

Answer to my survey:

It's just a concept image, but with every stroke on my graphics tablet, a story was put together in my head. It's totally mental and has nothing to do with Shigaraki per se, but I feel the need to share this fantasy with you.

Maybe when you look at the picture you have a completely different backstory. Write your thoughts in the comments or reblog✏️ to share your ideas like I’m doing now.

I for one am curious to hear what others think, so please don't be shy and join in 🤗

!!ヽ(ﾟдﾟヽ)(ﾉﾟдﾟ)ﾉ!!

The legend of Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō

Setting: Feudal Period (Medieval Japan)

This era is characterized by wars between samurai clans, shōgun rule, and Japan's isolation from the rest of the world.

Why this setting? Most myths and legends have their origins in the Middle Ages, which is why I chose this one.

Story

As a baby, Shimura Tenko was nothing more than a shadow in a dying empire - a child of a daimyō (Provincial ruler) with no future, rescued from the flames of war. An allied daimyō took in Tenko and his sister when their father fell to the blade of an enemy daimyō. They grew up in silk and honor, in a family that considered them their own, since the ruler's wife could not bear offspring. Shortly after his arrival, Shimura Tenko was given the name Shigaraki Tomura, heir to a fair clan, a ruling family that watched over their province with a firm hand but a kind heart.

However, his seventeenth summer brought not the rush of young power, but the bitter breath of death. A famine spread across the land like a heavy, invisible curse - fields withered, wells dried up, livestock died. The old prayed, the weak died, and in the dark nights people told stories about the cause of this torment: a Gashadokuro (Japanese demon (yōkai)) - a skeleton made from the bones of the starving, driven by an insatiable hatred for the living.

Tomura went into the forests with his father and his most loyal warriors to drive away the monster. The fight lasted an eternity, and when the daimyō seemed to have defeated the beast, the yōkai struck one last time - his bony claws digging into Tomura's chest and his curse flowing like black ink into his blood. With the last of his strength, the monster breathed out words colder than death itself:

"Wretched people... your kind will suffer as I have and decay will be your downfall."

Tomura survived, but the yōkai's dark poison now pulsed in his veins. The priests of his clan bound his curse with sacred seals, forcing the poisonous force back into the depths of his heart, but the seal was no cure - just a lock on the door to damnation.

When news of the cursed heir reached the Tennō (The official, divine ruler), the emperor was overcome with holy anger. He, a pious ruler, could not tolerate the existence of such tainted blood and ordered the shōgun to remove the scum.

But the Shōgun (the de facto true ruler of Japan) was a pragmatist - he didn't waste a second on supernatural fairy tales. No honorable samurai should risk his life for a superstition. Instead, he bought the services of a horde of Kusa-Musha, outlaw mercenaries who wiped out villages and anointed their blades with blood for a sack of coins.

⚠️🔞 And so they came in the night like wolves waiting for the wind. They set fire to the palace, killed samurai as well as servants and raped the women of the house - Tomura's mother, his sister... No one was spared. 🔞⚠️

In the ruins of the burning ancestral hall, as the icy night sky shook with the screams of the dying and Tomura's father was murdered before his eyes, it happened - the pain, the despair, the burning, inextinguishable hatred broke the chains and the seal broke.

A storm of pure darkness erupted in a single wave of destruction. Tomura's body tore apart with the birth of a new being - no longer human, no longer a mortal creature, but a walking curse. Flesh and bone gave way and the yōkai within him screamed, "Free at last!”

He destroyed everything and spared nothing, neither the murderers of his family nor the few survivors who had called him “Lord” that morning. A massacre that no one would sing about.

When Shigaraki woke up, he was lying on cold stone. His palace was nothing more than a skeleton of charred wood and molten bronze. The halls where his father once ruled are now rubble and dust. The streets - or what was left of them - were covered in ash that settled in his lungs as if it was taking away the last of his humanity.

He glanced at his hands and for a moment he thought they weren't his. Too long, too sharp, too strange. His nails were black, his skin looked like it was made of parchment and was streaked with fine, dark lines.

"The Hand of Decay" he thought, but before the thought was fully formed, a strange, deep voice interrupted him:

"Not the hand of decay... the wings of decay."

The voice was like thunder rumbling in his head, as if the sky itself was speaking to him - it was the yōkai within him.

Shigaraki froze. A shiver ran down his spine, so strange and yet familiar, as if something inside him had been sleeping for centuries and had now opened his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his heart was racing - or maybe it didn't beat at all anymore, maybe it had long since become something else.

Then he felt something, a tingling sensation in his shoulders, a tugging deep in his back - wings.

With a sound somewhere between a gasp and an unnatural crunch, he spread her. Thin, ghostly wings, veined like coarse parchment, as if they had lasted centuries before finding their true form at this moment.

The wind tugged at them as if to carry them away, but they held firm, trembling as a strange heat spread through his veins, making him drunk and burning the truth into his core.

He was no longer human, no longer a daimyō, no longer an heir to any name. He was a beast, a yōkai - a dragon of destruction.

And from that day on his name became a curse. Whispered on dark nights, murmured in prayers for mercy, a shadow over the land that had betrayed him:

Shigaraki, the cursed daimyō - the dragon with the wings of decay.

Basic idea of ​​my kite design

Western Dragon

I deliberately chose a Western dragon design because the Japanese dragon (Ryū - 龍 or 竜) is different from them in many ways. They are often associated with water, storms and divine wisdom, rather than fire and destruction. Their symbolism ranges from protection and prosperity to chaos and divine punishment.

So why did I choose a Western design when a Japanese dragon can also represent chaos and divine punishment? The reason is that I know very little about Japanese culture and am only equipped with Wikipedia knowledge. I don't want to tarnish this or any other culture, so I chose a dragon design that is clearly associated with destruction, chaos and revenge.

Moth: Symbol of transience and death

Moths have a subtle but profound symbolism in Japanese culture. They are less well known than butterflies, but their meaning is often associated with transience, destruction and obsession.

In contrast to butterflies, which often represent rebirth and the soul, moths are seen more as a sign of decay.

Since moths often live in the dark and are attracted to light, they symbolize the longing for something unattainable.

There is a Japanese proverb: 「飛んで火に入る夏の虫」(Tonde hi ni iru natsu no mushi), which meant: "Like a summer insect flying into the fire." It describes someone who brings his own ruin - just like a moth that is drawn to the flame and burns up.

Some Japanese folk beliefs say that the soul of a deceased person can return as a moth to watch over the living or to deliver a message.

In some ancient tales, the moth is associated with Yōkai's and evil spirits that lurk in the dark.

Their “dust”, which remains on the skin when touched, was once considered “poison” or “curse”. It was believed that moths flying into the house at night heralded bad luck or an impending disaster.

My moral supporters

@doumadono | @alexandhisstuff | @unhinged-bratty-boy | @jake-lockley-vengeance | @taco-bee | @grossograsso

I mention accounts that my works 💜️ and 🔁. If someone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please write it.

[folkloresthings]

hii!💗i absolutely love your work and these past few days i've been sick:( and i can't stop thinking about bf Lando taking care of reader !! being super soft and cuddly and just making everything possible so she feels alright and gets better soon<3.

finally getting around to some requests and i’ve currently got a cold so starting with this!

SNIFFLES. ❨ lando norris x reader ❩

hell was the nicest way to describe it. for the whole day your head felt like it might combust, your throat close over and your nose fall off from so much sneezing. since dragging your numb body out of bed this morning, you’d barely moved from the place you’d found on the couch — bones aching each and every time they moved.

the newfound position had made it so that your phone was too far out of reach to care about each time it buzzed. perhaps why lando had left his meeting early to race across town to your apartment — anxiety bubbling in his throat at your digital silence.

“baby?” he calls before he’s even through the door, shoes slipped off and keys rattling on the table. “baby? are you here?”

the only response he got was a low groan that led him to the heap of blankets on the sofa, your hair just about sticking out from under them; the only indication that you were actually alive.

“what’s the matter, love?” lando coos, pulling back the corner of the blanket. your face pokes out, eyes puffy and nose red raw.

“m’sick,” you pout, voice all stuffy and nasally. lando bites back a smile, because despite the pity he felt for your ailment — you looked absolutely adorable.

“aw, darling,” lando chuckles, petting back the hair from your face, a gentle thumb rubbing over the round of your cheek. his heart swelled up, only wishing he had the power to take away the pain soaring through your limbs. “you should’ve called me, i would’ve come earlier to take care of you.”

“didn’t wanna bother you,” you mumble.

lando smiles, chest aching with the undying love that he feels for you and your kindness. “well, i’m here now. put on a movie and i’ll make you some soup, okay?”

you nod, obeying happily with the disney logo lighting up the television screen. lando disappears into the kitchen, rattling around for a little while until he returns with a carefully balanced tray.

“sit up,” he commands softly, setting the tray down. he helps you up, straightening your blankets to keep you warm. first comes a hot water bottle, tucked under your feet to keep the chill away. then, some medicine: flu tablets, balm on your chest and nose. tissues sit by for when needed, water too. “here.”

sitting by you, he lifts spoon after spoon to your lips — claiming you’re in no position to be feeding yourself. you are, and he knows that, but he rather enjoys being able to take care of you. it was usually the other way around. you, making sure he’s healthy and happy before and after races, not pushing himself too hard.

with the bowl empty and your stomach full, lando settles next to you on the sofa, guiding your head onto his lap. fingertips brush through your soft locks, gently soothing the headache that bounces around your skull.

“can i get you anything else? tea, or some chocolate?” lando frets, desperate to make you ask comfortable as he can. but his movement makes you whine, hands quickly coming to keep him just where he is.

“no, just need you.”

lando melts then, holding you close and swearing to never let you go. his arms tighten a little more around you, the soft songs of the disney movie you’d chosen aiding sleep to come over you. it comes easily, especially with lando’s warmth draping over your body.

“love you, lan,” you murmur, almost inaudible, before you drift off.

“i love you too, darling.”

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Obscuary's monster catwalk

Obscuary ghouls as cats

Wc: ~700

Ed

The sleepiest chartreux ever. He is always on the cat tower or in his bed.

Maybe it's because he is older than the other two and you see the contrast, but when Rui and Lyca chase each other or play he prefers to lay in your lap and make biscuits.

He used to play fight with Rui but once he acted really hurt to go back to sleep and Rui now feels guilty and still licks him to ‘make up’ for it.

His laziness is such that if you make him walk to his food and not carry him there/ serve him closer he will act as if he has a limp or meow as if he was pained enough for you to feel sorry. Either you or the vet are sure if he is in any real pain but you give him supplements for his bones and joints either way. You do notice he doesn't meow sadly while walking until he sees you and starts the whole melodrama.

What gives him away is how quickly he jumps up the platforms on the wall when Lyca tries to play with him and how smug he looks down on him when he can just meows him to go down.

Either way he is so sensitive to your emotions! When you cry in bed he will hop on your chest and lick your tears. (totally not him liking the salt in them)

Just like Ren you have to control his screen time, he might not like playing but he does stay totally still and has his eyes wide when you put on a conspiracy theorist on the tablet or TV.

Rui

A blond American shorthair.

The sweetest cat that purrs and meows so sweetly and contorts his body trying to ask for cuddles and kisses but as soon as you step a little closer and attempt to catch him he starts sprinting to the hideout. It isn't only you, the few female cats that seemed interested in him made him retreat too.

No matter how many times you chime at him and even spritz him he keeps biting pieces of your plants and flowers and keeps them ‘hidden’ in his hideout.

He is such an innate hunter! And he always brings you his victims, still when he brings you a dead ladybug or bird his appearance is closer to that of an apologetic child than a prideful hunter. It's almost as if he wants you to fix his mistake and return the little thing's life.

He seems to meet up with Romeo and Haru every night on your dining table as they meow (principally Haru, he is such a whiny baby)

He has a habit of picking up small pieces of clothing like socks and underwear and bringing them to the laundry room, even if it's helpful to already have them on the floor when you go load the machine, he sometimes opens your drawers and grabs clean ones to feel he is doing something productive. He did put Ed there once when he was nasty enough for him to refuse to help groom him.

Lyca

A messy and stiff haired Lykoi.

He was a rescue found between wild dogs that you fostered but decided to keep as his forever family.He still has some dog-like mannerisms, like wagging his tail when happy.

He is in kitty confinement jail (cat carrier) until he stops swatting and hissing at you or his brothers. Luckily Subaru was brave enough to stand beside him until he calmed and he behaved enough for you to free him under parole.

The first few days, even though he wasn't hitting anyone, nobody dared to approach him unless Subaru was besides him.

Speaking of, Subaru is the one who took it upon himself to teach him how to behave like a cat again, teaching him how to groom himself and jump high, much to Ed's chagrin.

He likes to stalk Ed, wanting to imitate what he thinks is the leader of the pack. He even annoys him trying to fight him but he just huffs and climbs up furniture or up the cat tree.

Unlike Rui, he is good at hunting and proud of it. He might be one of the few, if not only, who will bring you dead rats to show off. Once you even got a baby bunny that luckily was still alive even if scared.

[blackkatmagic]

Losing my mind over the new shades update??? Legit one of my fav fics for a long time now (I’m a sucker for angst)

Feemor throwing himself and Alpha-17 off a cliff (ahem, giving Alpha damsel in distress practice) is so dramatic I love it

And Feemor making such sad and somewhat ominous comments (oh actually you’ve seen my face before.. if only you could remember.. anyway byeeeee *falls backwards off cliff*)

Also ALSO… “but. Now the main plot can really start moving. :)” Kat. Kattt what does that mean I’m so afraid (utterly delighted)

And I’m just thinking abt Fox maybe possibly eventually discovering Feemor’s identify as the mystery Sith, would he think Feemors been tortured into it?? Augh so many possibilities for angst

And all the while Feemor thinking Fox hates him… (T^T)

:)

“He’ll follow,” Feemor says, and that at least he’s sure of. “Obi-Wan is as stubborn as Qui-Gon was. Even if he has trouble remembering me, he’s not going to give up on finding you.” He glances up as pain spikes, then pulls a sealed pack of painkillers from the pocket of his robes and tosses it across the fire to land beside Alpha-17’s hand. “Take some. I didn’t doctor them.”

There's a long, long second, and Feemor can feel the bone-deep and burning ache, but Alpha-17 isn't moving. A little exasperated, he aims a look at Alpha-17, and says, “If I wanted to hurt you, there would be easier ways to do it than sabotaging painkillers and resealing the packaging.”

Alpha-17 makes a rude sound, but after a moment he reaches for the tablets, deliberately checks the seals on the plastic packs, and finally tears them open. After another hesitation, he drags his helmet off, grimacing at the cold air, and swallows the tabs dry.

“You talk a lot about a dead Jedi,” Alpha-17 says harshly, and from the narrowing of his eyes, he catches the sudden stillness Feemor can't stop, the hitch of his breath he tries to hide. “Oh? Were you fucking him on the regular or something? Should have been Kenobi's step-parent, and now you're taking it out on the whole universe that you couldn’t be?”

[nutrisage]

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[yangkitties]

sick days ✩ p.sh

pairing: park sunghoon x gn!reader [established relationship] || word count: 0.7k genre: fluff || warnings: sick fic, nudity but in a non-sexual way, surprisingly proof read but as usual im not so sure </3, mentions of pills (hoon gives reader a tablet), lmk if i missed anything!! synopsis: being sick sucked. but it sucked a little less with sunghoon by your side, in sickness and in health. note: ngllll i liked the way this turned out <3 my idiot irl (gonna call her that from now on LMFAO) fell sick last week and i pulled this out of my ass to cheer her up :] oh and i fell sick like. day before yesterday. so. celebratory sick fic !! uhm anyways asks are appreciated plz come talk 2 me !! also sorry for the terrible formatting i couldnt find any other pictures that matched The Vibe yk >:(

You hated being sick. It was the worst feeling in the world. The absolute hatred you had towards the stuffy feeling of a clogged nose and the sluggish fatigue that settled into your bones could never be measured. And the worst part? You couldn’t even kiss your boyfriend to make you feel better. 

But Sunghoon was an angel whenever you got sick. He stuck by your side and took care of you and made sure you had everything you needed and more. 

And this time was no different. Flopping over in your shared bed, you groaned as you couldn’t move even an inch without feeling like your body was made out of jelly. 

‘Y/n stop moving so much, you’re going to make your body pains worse.’ Sunghoon walks in with a tray holding a bowl of hot soup and some tablets. ‘Eat. And then take these tablets. I called Jay and he said these should make you feel better soon.’

‘Hoon.’ You call out softly as you watch him collect the tissues lying around the room and throwing away the empty tablet sheets. He hums in response, mother hen mode taking over him as he moves around the room. 

‘Hoon, will you please feed me?’ You ask, voice low and stuffy. He giggles, turning to take a good look at you. ‘Oh my baby, come here.’ He helps you sit up before taking the bowl in his hands. He scoots closer to you, carefully feeding you spoon after spoon, rubbing your back when you cough, and gently kissing your forehead when you finish the bowl. 

As you gulp down your tablet, Sunghoon disappears into the bathroom to draw a bath for you. He comes out two minutes later, bottom of his shirt sprinkled with droplets. 

‘Hoonie… how’d you get splashed just filling up the tub???’ You question him incredulously. He just shrugs, giggling as he guides you to the bathroom. Slowly stripping you, he helps you walk to the tub, grip on your waist firm. 

You slip in slowly, the warm water a welcome feeling after the terrible temperature shifts you’ve had the whole day. Sunghoon silently begins to bathe you, softly scrubbing your arms and legs, and even going as far as to wash your hair. 

The silence is comforting, Sunghoon’s slender fingers massaging your scalp as you start to grow drowsy. ‘Hoon… thank you for this. ‘m so sorry you have to run around taking care of me..’ you apologise, genuinely feeling bad for making him work so much. 

He playfully pushes your head down a bit, clicking his tongue at you. ‘Be quiet Y/n, it’s literally my job to take care of you. What kind of idiot boyfriend leaves their partner to take care of themselves when they can barely move?’ He finished washing your hair, now moving onto slowly drying your hair with a towel. 

You wrap your arms around his damp waist, head nuzzling into the expanse of his abs. Finishing up with your hair, he places another sweet kiss on the crown of your head. He helps you dress into one of his oversized shirts and a pair of comfortable shorts, melting at how cute you looked. ‘C’mon baby, let’s get you to bed.’ 

Scooping you up in his arms bridal style, he carries you back to bed, placing you gently on the sheets. He tucks you in before moving away to change out of his damp clothes. 

A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him undress, a slight blush spreading across your face. ‘Like what you see, hm?’ He teases you, slipping into a shirt before walking over to sit next to you. 

‘Ugh, I absolutely hate not being able to cuddle you to sleep.’ You whine as he takes your hand in his. ‘I know baby, but if I fall sick, we just can’t cuddle for longer.’ He uses his other hand to trace the lines on your palm, shivers sliding down your body. ‘I hate it when you’re all sensible. What happened to my silly loser boyfriend?’ You grumble as he laughs, kissing your knuckles. 

You settle back into the pile of pillows, Sunghoon’s pretty nails tracing shapes and meaningless words onto your palm. You’ve always found that habit of his comforting, helping you sleep almost instantly. The combination of his lazy tracing and the medication you’ve been taking makes you insanely drowsy, so soon enough, you’re out like a light. You drift off into a comforting slumber, knowing he’ll be here when you wake up, waiting for you.

©️ yangkitties 2023 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

so...I have a new chapter of my Feyd-Rauta/Reader fanfic up and ready.

AO3 link: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 4 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

I also have it below the cut. It does require some content warning/TW and is NSFW/not safe for minors.

CW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/referenced incest, rough sex, blood and pain kinks, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter below the cut:

You wake up the next morning to the sound of the timepiece on your nightstand.

Idrisa had assumed correctly when she told you that just a half-tablet would help both with the pain and with getting to sleep later.  For half an hour afterwards, you sat in the bath, staring at the opposite wall and hoping the warm water would add to your relief.  Five minutes was all it took to start feeling better, your torn muscles relaxing, and half an hour to start feeling drowsy.

It took some effort, but you managed to get out, drain the tub, and clean your teeth before settling into bed, thinking about how this will be your nightly routine at least until you’re carrying his child.  Who knows?  You might be already. 

You’re sipping from the water still left on your nightstand when Idrisa comes in with a tray carrying a couple of mugs.  Over the past few days Idrisa’s learned that you like a bit of caffeine first thing in the morning but you’re not sure what the other mug’s for as she sets the tray down on the desk and hands you one.  You sniff at the contents; it smells savory.

“It’s bone broth for you, Na-Baroness,” she explains.  “I thought it might be nice.  It’s not medication but it has healing properties of its own.”

Bones of what, exactly? you think as you accept the mug.  “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light, avoiding the direct question.

“Sore,” you admit after taking your first sip, and it tastes quite nice.  “But what you gave me last night helped.”  You expected your womanhood to throb, but there’s also a persistent ache in your legs, your hips, the undefined muscles in your abdomen.

“You still have more for tonight,” she says, “just in case.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you tell her.  She looks away before trying to figure out what she could possibly say to that.

“I can’t help you with that part,” is what she comes up with.  “But I can assist with almost everything else.”  She turns to your closets and rifles through, picking out a few items for you to choose from.  Over her shoulder she tells you, “You’ll be expected at breakfast in an hour.  It shouldn’t take too long to get you freshened up.”

One of the few things you quite like about the Harkonnen Fortress is the emphasis on good hygiene.  Of course, you have extra features to maintain that the rest of the Fortress doesn’t, but you brought the supplies and ointments needed for that and you know where to have more imported when you run out.

When it comes time to dress you decide on a combination of your own clothing and Harkonnen that doesn’t clash. A bit of a symbolic union of the Houses.  You can’t help but think that people will have certain ideas of you today as a newly married woman who had, as clear as day to everyone, fulfilled all the marital duties expected of her last night.  Your walk isn’t quite as stiff as last night, though, and if you just walk a little slower then your discomfort won’t seem obvious to anyone not looking for it.

Of course, everyone at breakfast will be looking for it; your family out of concern, your new husband and in-laws presumably out of amusement.  It’s all you can really think about as you leave your chambers and descend for the Dining Hall.  That and the look on your new husband’s face as he’ll undoubtedly want to assess the damage.

You manage a smile as Idrisa announces your entrance.  There’s an open seat next to Feyd-Rautha that’s clearly meant for you and you take into account that your family has only just arrived and everyone’s watching you.  Everyone but the Baron stands in respect as you keep your polite smile, the one that projects that nothing could bother you, and you greet the table.

To his credit, Feyd still displays the kind of chivalry your father would expect when in his presence.  He stays standing when everyone else sits down so he can pull your seat out for you.  The kindness of the gesture’s somewhat undermined by the look in his eye, gauging every movement, every minute detail, and it makes you feel naked again under his shark-like gaze.  

You don’t look him in the eye as you sit down, nor when he pushes your chair in and takes his seat beside you, nor when you quietly thank him.  You know he’s still watching you, wondering how effectively he’s broken you in already, like a pair of combat boots.

The table is laid with everything you could need as far as drinks, but as a courtesy it’s not until you sit down that food arrives, delivered on massive platters by slave girls in billowy white garb and whose biceps strain under the weight of each tray. You’re sure that the Baron’s patience is a pretense that he’s upholding to appear polite towards your family, not one that will continue after breakfast, especially when you see his enthusiasm when he digs in with the appetite of multiple men.  

The food itself takes up most of his attention, but he does discuss trade routes with your father, who seems subdued and withdrawn.  Father maintains his end of the conversation but doesn’t offer more and barely touches his food–the latter you can assume is because he’s put off by seeing the Baron eat, and you don’t blame him.  Even with the bone broth from earlier you’re pretty sure you’d have more of an appetite if you didn’t have to sit close to someone who inhales nearly half of a spread meant for eight people.

You break away from that thought when Feyd-Rautha says, “Oh, so you don’t need to head back to Arrakis so soon,” and you follow his gaze to the entranceway.

Rabban trudges in, nose heavily bruised and in a splint.  He nods in acknowledgement to your family, offering a brief salutation before taking his seat.  He doesn’t respond to his brother, but quickly accepts a small glass of what you can only assume is whatever he was drinking last night.  He pours it into a mug that he tops with coffee.

“I leave in the afternoon,” he says, addressing his uncle instead.  “The spice is abundant.”

As they briefly discuss spice production on Arrakis, you shift in your seat.  Sitting down, you’d quickly realized, is also uncomfortable, and you’re glad for your brother-in-law’s entrance causing a diversion.

It doesn’t last long, though.  The Baron says, “It’s lovely that we get to reconvene again after such a fruitful wedding.”

Fruitful .  You can’t help your blush and you’re sure everyone notices.  You wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing and as the meal stretches on, the longer the worry of it eats at you.

It all goes understood, and for you it’s excruciatingly awkward, and everyone senses it, but no one mentions it.  Rabban certainly wants to; you can feel it whenever he sneaks glances at you, and you’re certain it’s on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you.  You don’t think he’s really lusting after you, though.  He just happens to covet his sibling’s shiny new toy.  It’s more than a little immature, given that he has nearly twenty years on Feyd-Rautha, and had come of age by the time his brother was born, but you think you can understand.  You may love your siblings and they may love you too, but that’s not how the Harkonnens work.  For them, siblings are a safety measure just in case the first one dies.  They’re taught to fight one another for the approval of their parents–or in this case, their uncle–and are stripped of any sentimentality lest they become weak.

Oh, Great Mother.  What does that mean when you do finally have a child?  You’ll likely be expected to have more than one even if one is all you need to appease the Bene Gesserit.

You take a sip of water and avoid Rabban’s gaze.  He probably would’ve been amused to see how slowly and gingerly you were walking earlier, maybe he would’ve bit down on a cutting remark on how you’d be a lot sorer if he’d been your groom.

Oh, Rabban definitely wants to taunt you over what you all know transpired last night, but he won’t.  He can sense the power shifting within the family and if he wasn’t aware that his younger brother was their uncle’s favorite before, he certainly knows now and knows why.  He probably just wants to go back to Arrakis where he has unquestioned power.

The Baron is once again the one who actually comes close to mentioning it.  “With such a distinct change in environment I’m sure you’ll want to relax, especially once you’re with child,” he says.  “We have an excellent system for that, some well-trained attendants as well who can provide things like massage, special baths.  We can keep you comfortable.”

After last night, the concept seems nice, but you’ll go out of your mind with boredom if that’s all you have to look forward to.  You want to know as much as possible about the planet you’re inhabiting and the family you’ve married into, no matter how gruesome the details.  You doubt the Baron or your new husband probably had thought about that, and had just assumed you’d be content as a human incubator for the next nine months.

“That is a wonderful offer and one I’d be interested in another day, perhaps, but I was actually wondering where you kept your library?  Maybe a room of archives?” you ask.  “I’ve had some education about the history of the Harkonnen line and some of the infrastructure of Geidi Prime, but I’m interested in learning more.”

The Baron considers your interest in his people and his planet versus your dismissal of his original suggestion before saying, “We have a very fine library, young Y/N, and within it a room of records.  Your attendant will know where it is and can accompany you whenever you like.”

“I can take her, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says immediately.  “I can give her a proper tour.”

I know you can take and give a lot with your new little pet , you can practically hear the Baron think.  

“If you prefer,” he says instead.  “We still need to discuss your birthday.  It’s only a few weeks away.”

Right.  Another gladiatorial “match.”  The one in which you’re to paint your new husband’s–-admittedly chiseled–-torso beforehand.

“We have time for that,” Feyd says.  “But I’d also like to show my bride the other parts of our Fortress, starting with the library.”  He manages to keep his tone casual, but you can tell his rebuttal irritates the Baron.  It’s almost comical, his surprise and annoyance that his nephew would want to spend any time with his wife other than the compulsory impregnation.

“Very well,” the Baron says.  “You can show her the library after our guests have left.”

They’re already packed up, as it turns out.  Worried about leaving you alone but eager to get back home, and perhaps ever so slightly assuaged by the fact that your new husband has some sense of decorum and that you seem intact.  Not your virginity, of course, but everything else.

You excuse yourself to use the bathrooms, a sort of salon with individual cubicles and sinks but a larger sitting area with vanities and larger mirrors.  You tilt your head at it, curious, because it implies that there are women of leisure on Geidi Prime, but there aren’t many that you’ve seen.  A single girl stands near the entrance and gives a small bow as you enter.

You also don’t expect to see your mother when you leave your cubicle and head for the sinks to wash your hands.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking like she wants badly to speak but not sure what to say.  You give her a small smile as you wash up.  The girl’s quick to hand you a towel and patient to wait until you’re done drying your hands before accepting it back without a word.

They truly have people for everything , you think, looking after her as she scurries back to her post and drops the towel in a hamper before you can so much as thank her.  You and your mother look back at each other.

“Father looks miserable,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Your father has a hangover,” Mother says.  

“He didn’t seem drunk when I left,” you say, leaning one hand against the counter. 

“He wasn’t,” Mother says.  “He got drunk after you and your…husband…left for the evening.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate.  You open your mouth, exasperated, wishing you could explain how it feels to have everyone act as though you’ve been handed a death sentence that they put you up to.  She takes your hands without a word and nods towards the salon.

“How are you feeling, really?” she asks once you’ve acquiesced and you’re seated across from each other.

“All things considered, fine,” you tell her.  She doesn’t look convinced.  “Mother, I…” you try to articulate it.  “I can’t say that I’m happy about this arrangement, but I’m going to have to live with it for years to come.  If I act as though my life is over then it is.”

She looks down and runs her thumb over the top of your hand.  “I kept preparing you for something like this hoping it wouldn’t happen,” she says.

“Well then, you did exactly right,” you tell her with a small smile that feels fake but one that she returns, however briefly.  She sighs and looks down.  “I’m grateful that you’re worried, and trust me, I am, too.  But it would help more if you believed that I can survive this.”

Mother leans forward, eyes widening in hurt.  “Your father and I wouldn’t have let you near that man if we didn’t think you’d survive,” she says.  “The Bene Gesserit gave us their word that you will, and it’s the reason we’re here right now.”

You furrow your brow.  Mother hesitates, glancing at the girl in her gauzy white dress, who remains standing and silent, not acknowledging your conversation.  Mother needn’t worry; the Baron would never bother listening to a slave speak even if she had something to offer.  When the girl doesn’t indicate that she’s heard anything, Mother continues.

“When the Reverend Mother spoke to us, she assured us that as brutal as he is, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen won’t defy Bene Gesserit orders to make sure you’re safe to have and raise his child.  She also said that he has an ingrained sense of honor and loyalty to the Harkonnen line.  He’ll ensure your survival and your children’s survival.”  And even if survival is the best you can expect right now, you can still count on that.

....................................................

The Na-Baron accompanies you when you see your parents off; neither his uncle nor his brother does the same.  He offers you his arm and you could almost laugh at the formality of it, his entire behavior towards you when you’re both fully dressed juxtaposed against last night.  He can play the perfect gentleman all he likes, but you won’t forget how he pressed you onto your stomach and fucked you ruthlessly.  Still, you take his arm, appearing as his poised and docile new wife.  He offers his final respects to your father but otherwise stands back at a distance, watching in silence as you hug everyone one last time.  You wonder if he’s ever hugged anyone a day in his life.

He still stands, waiting, when they board their ship, when it takes off.  He watches you watch until their vessel is no more than a pinpoint in the sky before he approaches you, arm extended again.  “Shall we?” he asks.

You’re still trying to accept that it’ll be a long time before you see your family again, your correspondence with them likely to consist only of letters, and he’s probably waiting for you to speak when you have nothing to say to him.  He doesn’t understand what you’re feeling and you doubt he cares to try.  You just take his arm and he leads you to the Fortress library in silence.

“I hope you slept well,” he says finally.

“I did,” you tell him.  “Although Idrisa had to give me a mild sedative to do so.”

You glance over at him and think that another man would feel guilt over hurting his new bride, but of course you’re stuck–for now–with this one, who keeps his expression neutral but who you can already see in his eyes both that he’s satisfied that he caused you pain and that he doesn’t care what methods you used to relieve it.  At best, he’s indifferent to your pain given that you seem fine now.

“Good, because I’ll want you in my chambers tonight after dinner.  Same procedure as last night.  Your girl will collect you when it’s time.”

“Alright,” you say, and he waits for just a moment before you realize what he wants and add, “ husband .”

He glances sideways at you, as if to say, Good.  You’re learning.  Don’t get too confident, though.  What he says, though, as you reach a set of double doors, is, “Everything and everyone here is at your disposal.”  Just as you are at mine .

When he opens the doors and you get your first look, you can’t help but be impressed.  Your impression of Geidi Prime was that it was hardly a planet of scholars, but the library is immense.

Feyd-Rautha notes your surprise.  Not that he says anything, but you doubt he’s flattered by it.  A librarian’s quick to appear at your side, head bowed, and Feyd snaps his fingers in his direction before gesturing forward.  “Come with us,” he says, and gives a rudimentary tour of the layout, showing you the Archives room and different wings.  It’s even more expansive than you’d realized, and you’re grateful for it.  You’ve got your work cut out for you, you think as you see the impossibly high walls lined with shelves up to the vaulted ceilings.

How many of these have you read? you want to ask him but refrain as the tour ends.

“Make sure the Na-Baroness has everything she needs,” he says to the librarian.  He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, though.  He looks directly at you, then beckons you forward with a simple curl of his hand.  When you come forward he cups your cheek in that same hand, and his kiss is neither chaste nor passionate; it’s a simple statement that he’s claimed you.  He’s marking his territory.

“See you at dinner,” he says once he lets you go.

............................................

You know what you want to read up on first.

There’ve always been rumors about the depravity of the House of Harkonnen.  You’d heard a few of them regurgitated over the years.  Some of them, like cannibalism, you’re reasonably certain aren’t true, but there are others you can’t dismiss.

Father implied once that the Baron’s voracious appetite for food was the least repulsive of his desires.  You’d been too young at the time to understand what he was saying, nor were they for your ears as you’d been listening in, unnoticed, but you can’t help but think about Father’s disgusted tone, because you certainly know what he’d been implying now.  Not that a Harkonnen-sanctioned record is likely to provide such details in their own library, but it’s a possibility you’ll have to consider even as the thought turns your stomach. 

You start, though, with Feyd-Rautha.  It takes pulling out several books and bound sheaves from a couple of different sections to get started, but a worthy investigation once you’ve found a comfortable place to spread everything out and get to reading.

You hadn’t realized that he was born not on Geidi Prime, but on another planet, Lankiveil.  You had , however, heard about how his father, Abulurd Rabban, defected from the Harkonnen line and everything it represented, opting for a different sort of life on a distant planet with a Bene Gesserit woman who gave him two sons born eighteen years apart.  This leads you into reading about Lankiveil, how it’s cold and water-based like your own planet.  Its main source of industry is whaling, and it almost makes you laugh to picture Feyd in a raincoat on a dock.  It’s just so far-fetched, the idea that he almost had a life very different from this one.

Of course, that was never going to happen.  Rabban is infamous for one major act that changed all of their lives forever: as a younger man he killed their father for abandoning the bloodline and shaming the Harkonnen name.  For the crime of patricide, he earned the moniker “Beast,” which he wears with pride.  The Baron had already gotten his claws in his elder nephew by then, but Feyd-Rautha had still been a little boy.  You’re not entirely sure how much he even remembers his father.  You don’t know if they’re happy memories, or if he’d loved him.  It’s still hard to imagine him ever having a childhood, but not only did he have one, his early childhood had been free from the Baron, from Geidi Prime, from the expectations of the House of Harkonnen and with two parents who you’re sure must have loved him.

It's an irrefutable fact that he’d come to Geidi Prime at the age of seven.  And that is where rumor and fact intermingle.  Some have claimed that Feyd’s mother sent him away for what she thought was his own protection; after all, she had never been on Geidi Prime nor known her late husband’s family, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her to assume that her son would be better off with his uncle.  Some believe she sent him away as punishment or for her own self-preservation, sensing danger in him at a young age and fearing what he’d grow up to become.  Others have insisted that the Baron had his youngest nephew taken away to ensure the possibility of another heir, having no sons of his own. 

You pause only part way through when Idrisa come in and suggests you take a break, maybe retire to your quarters and have something to eat and drink to tide you over before dinner.  Apparently no one will mind if you take whatever documents you choose back to your quarters.

“We are at the Na-Baroness’s disposal.  Whatever she desires,” the librarian assures you when you ask, his head inclined in a bow and his gaze downturned.  It’s still a foreign feeling, the way no one can bring themselves to look directly at you, their fear of you by pure association.  You clamp down on that discomfort as you thank him and return to your quarters with as many documents as you and Idrisa can carry between you.

As you reach your quarters and get settled in again, you wonder about Feyd-Rautha’s mother and the theories behind the Baron taking over as his guardian.  The first theory, you decide, is unlikely.  If she knew that her lover had defected and renounced his lineage, she would’ve known why.  He would’ve warned her about them, even if she’d never been and even if he hadn’t, the Bene Gesserit would have.  The second theory is entirely possible; you have no idea what Feyd was like as a young child.  You’d assume he was made rather than born, and that personality traits aren’t inherited, but perhaps the darkness was always there.  Perhaps she’d felt that he was doomed to be an extension of everything the Harkonnen represented.  Still not terribly likely, given his age, but possible.

What you can likely imagine, though, is the Baron simply plucking Feyd-Rautha from his home to collect and repurpose as his own.  He’s never been married nor produced any children and to simply claim one from a deceased family member, knowing no one could truly challenge him over it, would be an easy solution for that.  From what you already know about him, he probably wouldn’t even see it as kidnapping, just taking what rightfully belongs to him.

You’re aware that Feyd’s an orphan, but nothing as to why beyond Abulurd’s murder.  You find that there really isn’t enough to go on as far as his mother’s concerned other than her Bene Gesserit training and identity as Abulurd Rabban’s concubine, until you finally find the date and cause of death.

Feyd’s mother, according to the records, died when Feyd was fourteen.  She’d been murdered in her own home.  No one was caught, which means that the culprit’s been fiercely protected.  You’d be willing to bet real money that the Baron had someone kill her and take away the one motivation he’d have to return to Lankiveil.  It would line up with something else that you read; Feyd’s mother’s murder would have taken place shortly after Feyd-Rautha had attempted to assassinate his uncle.  It had been quickly thwarted and fourteen-year-old Feyd-Rautha had been punished severely but spared his life.

You can easily imagine the Baron killing the one family member left not connected to the Harkonnens so his young nephew would be so isolated that he’d have nowhere else to turn.

Are the lashes on his back part of the punishment he faced?  It would make them just over a decade old.  You’re still not sure about the scars on his inner thighs.  He likes pain; could they be self-inflicted?  Maybe done to him at his own request by a lover?  There’s an intimacy to them that you can only hope was done in an act of passion rather than a punishment administered by his uncle.

Although, and it makes you feel sick to think about, that option is also entirely possible.

If they were self-inflicted, or done for his own gratification, you wonder if he’ll one day ask you to draw a knife on him as well.  The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’d be willing to; certainly rather him than you.

“Idrisa,” you start, looking up as she enters the room carrying what looks like a pair of black dresses.  “How much do you know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to assassinate his uncle when he was a boy?”  She hesitates.  You wait.

“My apologies, my lady,” she says, looking down, “but I wasn’t in the Fortress then.  It was before my time.” Instead of elaborating further, she holds up the dresses, one in each hand to compare. “The Baron wants you to dress in the traditional Harkonnen style for dinner this evening.  Which of these would you prefer?”

You glance between the two.  Both long, both structured, but one with paneling and a more elaborate bodice that looks like it would take more time to actually get in and out of.  “That one,” you say, pointing to it.  If Idrisa knows your logic behind your choice, she doesn’t bring it up.  She just waits for you to put your documents away and after you’ve taken to the bathroom to freshen up, helps you get ready.

When you arrive for dinner, you’re almost the image of a Harkonnen lady, the only traits betraying you being your hair and eyebrows.  As expected, the Baron is already eating and while neither he nor Feyd-Rautha stand for you when you enter, your groom does stand to pull your chair out once more as you reach the table.  It’s a simple formality, you assume, to hold up the pretense that this is a normal marriage and as something he can easily take away.

“What did you think of our library?” the Baron asks when you sit down, accepting only one answer.

“Truly impressive, Baron,” you tell him.  “A testament to the House’s power and resilience.”

If you were worried what he would think about you wanting to look into his bloodline and history, those worries were unfounded.  After the exchange he barely acknowledges you the entire meal.  He and Feyd-Rautha, however, discuss the arena and new spice routes.  You quietly take everything in and watch them interact.

The Baron switches between backhanded compliments, mean-spirited little quips, and the occasional genuine compliment for his nephew.  He oscillates between seeming to respect him as a man fit to ascend the throne and still undermining him as hardly more than a child out of his depth handling any conflict.  Feyd’s frustration remains quiet, just beneath the surface, but palpable.  He seems to know that the Baron’s toying with him, testing him constantly, wondering which new way he flatter him only to put him down again. 

It’s also immediately clear that Feyd doesn’t like that you’re seeing him like this, that once again as soon as he’s gotten what he’s wanted he’ll abruptly send you away.  Whatever control his uncle takes from him he can always claim from you. 

He tried to kill him once, when he was much younger and weaker than he is now.  What changed?  Does he still think about killing him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?

You’ve long since finished eating by the time you realize that the men at the table have probably forgotten that you’re even there, so you clear your throat to get their attention.

“My apologies, but may I go to my chambers to prepare for the evening?” you ask, voice light.

You wait.  Feyd-Rautha turns and gives you a small nod.  “I won’t be too much longer,” he says, exchanging a cold look with his uncle.  You don’t want to think about what they say about you when you’re not around, or what kind of innuendo the Baron will leave.

..........................................

The second time of what you’re sure will become a nightly routine is a little less nerve-wracking, but not one that you’re looking forward to.

When you’re stripped down in his bedroom again you choose the same position, even as you feel like a completely different person than you were just one day ago.  There’s no fear this time, just resignation.  You’re not sure if it’s going to hurt again but it also doesn’t matter, won’t change anything.

He comes out of his bathroom in the same manner as last night, naked and only partially erect.  The sight may not scare you anymore, but you still, unfortunately, find his body nice to look at.  You’re getting used to everything else, as well.  The black teeth and gums nearly made you flinch the first time; now you’ve accepted it as the only mouth you’ll kiss from now on.

He approaches the bed.  “Lay back,” he says as he starts to climb into it with you.  “Spread your legs.  I want to check something.”

You blush, thinking, Can’t we just get this over with? as you comply and take a breath to calm yourself, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking directly at him.  You try to tamp down the embarrassment at how exposed you feel.

He inspects the damage, his fingertips pressing against your swollen folds and eyes darting back up to your face at your sharp inhale.  He gives your privates a more thorough pass-through than you were willing to give yourself last night.  You blink, concerned, as he takes his hand and spits on his fingers.

Why would you? --you think for only a split second before he brings his fingers back down to your torn and stretched womanhood, circling your bud in lazy circles and keeping his thumb there before dipping a finger inside of you.

You instinctively clench around the digit even as it doesn’t actually hurt.  “Relax,” he says, as if that’s something you can easily do in your situation.  His thumb continues working your bud as he curls his finger inside of you, pressing forward, and you see his brief smirk as you whine, taken aback by the jolt it provides.  He does it again, slipping in a second, and the stretch doesn’t burn quite as much, doesn’t pinch so much as it tugs.  You glance between his legs to see that he’s filling out the rest of the way from the sights and sounds of you skewered on his fingers.  That in itself makes you gasp and flush at the idea that this, warming you up and seeing you aroused, gets him going.  In many ways this preparation is just as much for him as it is for you.  

Just as last time, you sense when he decides, Alright, you’re ready .

He has enough decency to pause when he’s pressed all the way inside of you, because he still feels massive, and like there’s not enough of you to accommodate him, as though your insides need to rearrange themselves for this intrusion.  

It doesn’t hurt as much as last night, you remind yourself.  You breathe through your nose as you tremble and hold onto him, gripping his shoulders and remembering how he likes the way you “get your little claws in.”  The rocking of his hips is steady and deep but not too rough, not yet.  You whimper and adjust your grip on him, managing to breathe, taking in the way he slides in and out of your bruised canal.  It’s okay.  It’s fine.  You’ll get through this .

As soon as he can sense that you’re adjusted he goes harder, faster, relishing the way your nails scratch down his back.  You raise your knees up to his ribcage and squeeze, trying to get some leverage in.

It’s no real use; he controls the pace, grips your hip with his free hand and seems to like when your whimpers and moans are laced with discomfort, wordlessly begging for him to please slow down, be gentler.  Even if he doesn’t force you onto all fours like last night, it still feels animalistic when he speeds up further, grunting against the flushed skin of your neck, keeping you locked in place around him until you feel him coming, shuddering as he fills you up.  

For a moment he raises himself up from his forearms to his hands, looking down at you with an expression he can’t place, before drawing a few errant strands of hair away from your face and pulling out.  You don’t look at him as he collapses onto his back beside you.  Somehow you feel even more used than before, more like a warm hole than a woman.

The two of you lay together in silence as you wait for the throbbing to subside.  It takes a couple of minutes, but when you start to feel better you sit up and slide your legs to the side of the bed.  You won’t wait to be dismissed.  You sense him turn his head to look at you but don’t acknowledge him.  You’ll head back to your chambers, soak in another lukewarm bath, and take the second half of the tablet from last night, even if you don’t need it as badly.  It’ll at least help you sleep. 

You get up and head for his dresser, reaching for your clothes when Feyd-Rautha’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks.  “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

You turn and look at him, your eyebrows raised.  “You want me to stay?” you ask.

“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet,” he says.

You give his still-softened dick a pointed look.  “You look pretty finished off to me,” you tell him, and step into your slippers.

You realize you made a mistake as soon as you say it.  Feyd-Rautha’s up and at your back before you can finish pulling on your chemise.  He tears it off you, throws it to the floor and wraps an arm around your ribcage as he lowers his head to your ear.

“I won’t tolerate you questioning my own body or abilities,” he says.  “If I say I want another go, then I’ll have one.”

You squirm, and he turns you around, pinning you to the dresser as he grabs your hair and tightens.  You wince and try to push away from him, but he only grabs your wrist in his free hand and brings it down to the dresser.

“I won’t be disrespected in my own bedroom,” he says, and you force yourself to look him in the eye.  It’s the first time he’s seemed angry with you; the harsh angles of his narrow face more pronounced, his eyes pale and pupils blown out, his full lips the closest you’ve seen to a thin line.

Maybe it’s you he’s actually mad at, maybe not.  Either way, you’re the one he can take his frustrations out on.  

Play along, you tell yourself.  Even if he’s not going to kill you for insolence, he’ll find ways to make life worse for you .

“What do you want me to do?” you ask finally.  His face seems to relax slightly, and you realize when his chest moves again he’d been holding his breath.  After a moment he decides how he’ll punish you for your so-called disrespect.

“Kneel on the bed, hands braced on the headboard, with your legs spread.  Make sure to keep ‘em there,” he says.

You slowly step out of your slippers and turn, walking towards the bed.  The seconds that pass as you get into position are silent, agonizing.

You wait, and when you don’t sense him move any closer, turn your head to look at him.

He’s still staring, taking in his fill, before he strides forward and settles in behind you, one hand braced beside yours against the headboard, the other cupping your breast.

It doesn’t stay there, though.  After giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure he moves his hand upwards, around your throat.  Your first instinct is to freeze, wanting to move.  

He’s not going to kill you; he’s just trying to scare you, you tell yourself, and it’s working.  You try to breathe, calm your rapid heartbeat.  He can taste your fear; he revels in it.  He doesn’t squeeze but he deliberately leaves his thumb against your windpipe, his long fingers curled around your neck.

I won’t kill you but I easily can, he seems to say.  Unarmed and naked I could still kill you in brutal fashions you’ve never heard of.  And then he gently nuzzles against your hair, and the shift disarms you, makes you feel all the more helpless as you whine.

He releases your neck and you inhale, closing your eyes.  His hand trails back down, squeezing your other breast this time, down your stomach and to the apex of your thighs.   He idly strokes your bud, and it gives you a jolt despite your nerves.

“Who else has ever touched you here?” he asks.  It’s not a threat, but you could easily picture him killing anyone you name–it’s also not lost on you how fucked up that is.  Thankfully you can provide none.

“Just myself,” you tell him.  He huffs, as if to say, Yeah, I thought so , before taking one of your hands from the headboard and guiding it back in between your legs.

“Show me how you do it,” he says, his hand over yours.

You flush with embarrassment, but comply, bringing your fingertips to your bud and pressing down in a circling motion.

He gives a hmm , as you trail your fingertips to your slit, collecting the combination of his spent seed leaking out of you and your own growing wetness before bringing your digits back to your bud, has you whimpering at the slick of it.  He follows, hand tight over yours, learning your movements.  Despite your nerves it’s easier to get slicker, and to your horror you find yourself rocking your hips up against both his hand and yours.  You give a breathy whimper, unsure how your own body can betray you like this.  He finally tightens his grip on your hand and moves it to the headboard, leaving you in shock as he spits on his fingers and takes up where you’ve left off.  

He mimics your movements exactly, touches you the way you’ve touched yourself over the past few years, and yet it feels all the more exhilarating to have another hand there that you can’t help but gently move against his fingers, larger and so much longer than yours and yet so precise and deliberate.  

Before you realize it his cock, stiff again, slides against the cleft of your ass.  You gasp, wanting to turn around but he’s so close to you, chest against your back, and he grabs your hips to jut out further behind you, pulls you down his level, your thighs on top of his.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, withdrawing his hand from yours and settling back.  You can feel your body flush, your nipples stiff against the air, holding onto the headboard as you sense him grip himself in his fist and press against you.

It doesn’t hurt this time when he pushes in.  He can sense it in your moans, the way you’re wet and pliant for him, ready to take him however he comes to you.  You almost hate it, that he can do this to you.  That he probably could have from the beginning.  He rolls his hips up into you, the glide and pressure of it only on the verge of discomfort, but a welcome ache, a stretch inside of you.  

You reach a hand behind you, skimming along his flank, wanting to touch him, but he’s just out of reach and you drop your forehead against the headboard, your moans and whines spurring him on.  He grabs your hand and presses it back against the headboard before giving a deeper thrust into you, one that would’ve hurt yesterday but the push of it provides a delicious throb now.

The tension builds.  You can feel it like flames licking up your spine and belly, and he can hear it.  Your cries become increasingly desperate, your own hips rocking back down to meet his.  You hardly register that you’re doing it or why; your body takes over and makes the decisions for you.  He brings one hand to fondle your breasts again, one after the other, before bringing it down to your bud, and you can only imagine how smug he must be feeling that not only does he have you exactly where he wants you, that he’s making you enjoy it.

It finally feels good.   You’d almost assumed that it never would, but it does.  If anyone listened in, they’d hear the unambiguous pleasure in every noise you make and Great Mother, does Feyd-Rautha draw a lot of noises out of you.  

But then his hand comes back to your other hip, leaving you so close to the precipice and after several more thrusts he comes, grabbing your hips and pushing upwards with a harsh grunt against your hair.  He spears you onto him, pausing, rocking his hips up once more, and once he’s certain that he’s finished pulls out, grabs your jaw, and turns his face as much as he reasonably can to yours.

He sees your stunned expression, can feel that you’re still throbbing and in need of some sweet relief, and nods his head dismissively towards the door.

“ Now you can go,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if you want to slap him across the face or pull him in for a furious kiss.  He can see the warring impulses on your face and looks at you as though he’d be perfectly content with either, but still will react differently depending on which you choose.

You settle for a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and mashing your lips against his.  You think that you’d like nothing more than to push him down and take him for yourself, for your own selfish pleasure like he did.  You’re not entirely sure of the positioning but you’ll figure it out.  You shift, managing to turn to face him properly before resuming the kiss.

He allows it, even responds to it, for a minute before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you away.

He tilts his head at you as if to say, ‘ Next time don’t question my virility or how I can make you feel, and maybe then I’ll let you come. ’

You bastard, you think, wondering how much he’s enjoying the clear indignation on your face.  He likes provoking you, that much is certain, whether it’s fear or lust or anger.  You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, then, and so after some awkward shuffling you dismount the bed and pointedly look away from him as you walk to the dresser.  It would probably be more dignified if you didn’t have his seed leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs.  

You don’t bother to look back or say anything as you quickly redress and leave.

Neither you nor Idrisa speak as you head to your chambers, but as soon as you’re behind closed doors again you tell her that you’ll need a moment alone in the bathroom.

You’re grateful that she leaves you to it without an explanation this time as you glance in the mirror and the remnants of your blush that start at your hairline and follow down to your chest.  

You shrug off your robe and turn on the faucet before finally, shamefully, bringing your hand between your legs and feeling the slick of him there mingling with your own slick and rub down, cursing Feyd-Rautha and cursing this planet and hoping that the sound of the running water drowns out your cries as you brace yourself against the sink, head bowed, and come, shaking and twitching, to the memory of his tongue and fingers against you, of him inside of you.

When it’s over you can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror was you wash your hands and turn off the faucet

You’ll need the half-tablet tonight.  Not for pain, but because otherwise there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter One: Satan And His Hellhound SS: 9 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.7K Content Warnings:

Previous Next Masterlist

The tension in the Levanter-Miroh Publishing office is so thick it might as well be listed as an official department. Two years post-merger, the open-plan layout still feels like a no-man's-land, with the remnants of Levanter's creativity-first chaos clashing violently against Miroh's sterile, data-driven efficiency.

Somewhere in the middle of this battlefield, Ayame and Chan continue their daily war, a slow-burning feud that keeps the office on edge and entertained.

Ayame strides through the building, the click of her stiletto heels echoing against the polished tile floors. Her light blue mini skirt swishes with every purposeful step, the fitted corset-waist blouse tucked just enough to appease HR.

She sips her coffee and catches up to Nari near the elevators. Nari, ever the image of poised chaos, juggles her phone, a tablet, and the sheer weight of dealing with Kang Haechul and his corporate minions. 

"Morning, Ayame," Nari says, barely glancing up from her phone.

"Morning," Ayame hands her a sleek folder, one corner decorated with a small smiley face sticker she slapped on last minute. "Here's the pitch for that YA series I mentioned. It's fucking gold. I'd bet my coffee budget it'll trend for years."

Nari flips through the file, her lips twitching in approval. "Has Kang Haechul seen this?"

Ayame raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching with a dry smirk. "I sent it to the dementor, sorry, I mean Chan, so I assume so. But if it has even a drop of creativity, I doubt it'll survive his soulless, corporate vacuum."

Nari lets out a low chuckle as they step into the elevator. "Quarterlies?"

"Lower than projected, but not a disaster," Ayame replies, leaning against the wall and crossing her ankles. "Better than Q2, at least. I already talked to marketing about alternative print strategies to cut costs without touching the quality. Sent you a breakdown this morning. Oh, and I emailed about the team-building event I'm planning."

Nari pauses mid-scroll, looking up from her phone with a sceptical arch of her brow. "Team-building? You? I thought you'd rather eat glass."

"Rusty nails, actually," Ayame corrects, smirking. "But Minho's drowning in complaints, and HR's been a shitshow since the merger. Figured I'd throw them a bone before they all quit."

As if summoned by her words, Seungmin appears just outside the elevator as the doors slide open. He steps in, sharp in his suit, holding a stack of perfectly aligned documents. His expression is neutral, but his tone is dripping with quiet amusement. "Half of those complaints are about you and corporate stick-up-the-ass."

"Morning to you too, sunshine," Ayame replies sweetly, rolling her eyes.

Nari shakes her head, grinning. "Oh, Ayame, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Be stuck with Satan and his hellhound," Ayame quips, nodding toward Chan and Kang Haechul, who are making their way across the lobby. Chan is in his usual sharp suit, his perfectly styled hair somehow looking both effortless and infuriating. His gaze is piercing, clipboard in hand like a weapon of mass destruction.

Seungmin mutters, just loud enough for Ayame to hear, "Pretty sure Satan and his hellhound would be less of a pain in the ass."

Ayame smirks. "Exactly."

As they part ways, Ayame makes her way toward her desk, only to be intercepted by Hyunjin, who's rushing toward her like a man on the verge of collapse. His tie is crooked, his shirt slightly untucked, and his expression is nothing short of desperate.

"Ayame, please, I need a favour," he blurts, running a hand through his already messy hair.

Ayame groans, holding up her coffee like a shield. "What now, Hyunjin?"

He exhales dramatically, pacing in front of her. "Okay, so, my new puppy, his name is Tofu, by the way, he got into the peanut butter last night, and, uh, well, he fucking exploded. Shit everywhere. I'm talking walls, furniture, my expensive rug-"

"Jesus Christ, Hyunjin." Ayame cuts him off, holding up a hand. "What is it you want from me?"

"I need an extension on the monthly report," he says quickly, clasping his hands together like he's praying. "Just a couple of days. I swear I'll have it done by Wednesday."

Ayame takes a slow sip of her coffee, staring him down. "You'll have it Monday. Wednesday at the absolute fucking latest, or I swear to god I'll make you clean the conference room after next week's catered lunch."

Hyunjin's face lights up like she's just saved him from certain death. "Thank you! You're a fucking angel."

"I'm a fucking sucker," she mutters as she brushes past him, heading for the meeting room with a tray of cupcakes she brought for the morning meeting.

Just as she reaches the doorway, she's blocked by Chan, who leans against the frame with his arms crossed and that damned clipboard clutched like it's part of his anatomy. His dark eyes flick to the cupcakes, then back to her, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips.

"That was pathetic," he says, jerking his chin toward Hyunjin. "You could just tell him to do his fucking job, but no, you have to play saviour."

Ayame snorts, brushing past him without missing a beat. "Being a saviour is better than being a corporate dick-sucking yes-man."

"Interesting philosophy," Chan calls after her, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Inside the meeting room, the atmosphere immediately shifts as Ayame sets down the tray of cupcakes. Minho, seated at the head of the table, grabs two before anyone else can move.

"God bless you, Ayame," he declares, unwrapping a cupcake like it's Christmas morning. "Honestly, this is the only reason I come to these fucking meetings."

Ayame smirks, folding her arms as she leans against the table. "Don't stuff your face yet. We're supposed to at least pretend to talk about quarterlies first."

"I can multitask," Minho says around a mouthful of frosting.

Ayame slides into her chair between Seungmin and Seonghwa, expertly balancing her oversized coffee mug in one hand and a battered notebook in the other. The chair creaks slightly as she settles in, crossing her legs and shooting a quick glance around the table. Seungmin is leaning back like he doesn't give a single fuck about being here, casually scrolling through his phone, while Seonghwa greets her with a bright smile, his ever-present aura of calm cutting through the simmering tension in the room.

"You know," Seonghwa begins, his voice low and conspiratorial, "I watched this insane documentary last night. It was about the history of baking."

Ayame raises a brow, intrigued despite herself. "Was it good, or was it just weird enough to hold your attention?"

Seonghwa shrugs, his smile widening. "A little of both. Did you know Da Vinci invented the blender?"

Ayame snorts, nearly spilling her coffee. "Are you serious? That's what he spent his time on? Art, science, and fucking smoothie-making?"

Jisung, sitting across the table, immediately jumps into the conversation like he's been waiting for his cue. "Speaking of inventions, I've got something revolutionary: the pizza plate."

Ayame squints at him, her laughter tapering off as she processes his words. "The what?"

"The pizza plate!" Jisung exclaims, clearly proud of himself. "It's a second pizza you put under your first pizza to catch the crumbs. Genius, right?"

Minho groans from the end of the table, dragging a hand down his face like he's suddenly aged ten years. "No one fucking cares, Jisung. Literally no one. Please, for the love of god, stop."

Jisung smirks, undeterred. "You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."

Minho doesn't even look up, waving him off like he's swatting at a particularly annoying fly. "I'd rather think of literally anything else. Like how to end my suffering in this goddamn meeting."

Seonghwa leans toward Ayame, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do they ever stop arguing?"

Ayame sips her coffee, her tone light but laced with exasperation. "Never. It's like breathing to them."

Before Seonghwa can reply, Chan's voice cuts through the room like a fucking guillotine. "Alright. Can we please get started, or do you all need another minute to play kindergarten?"

The table falls silent, though Ayame, Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Minho simultaneously mouth the word dementor. Ayame bites down on her lip to keep from laughing outright, her eyes darting to Chan, who looks like he's five seconds away from snapping his clipboard in half.

"We're good to go," Ayame says sweetly, turning to Chan with a saccharine smile that's practically dripping with fake innocence. "But you? Your tie's crooked."

Chan frowns, glancing down at his tie, his expression shifting from confusion to realization as he catches her smirk. His tie is, of course, perfectly straight. He looks back at her, dark eyes narrowing dangerously as Ayame sips her coffee, her smile widening.

Before he can respond, Nari steps into the room, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown timer. Kang Haechul follows closely behind, his posture rigid and his face locked in its usual mask of condescension.

"Alright, everyone," Nari says, her voice calm but commanding as she takes her spot at the head of the table. "Let's try to keep this short. Haechul and I have an announcement to make."

The room collectively stiffens, the air practically crackling with unease. Ayame leans back in her chair, notebook in hand, her pen poised but motionless.

"We're adding a new position to the team," Nari continues, glancing briefly at Haechul before pressing on. "A managing director role."

Haechul nods, clasping his hands behind his back like a fucking monarch addressing his subjects. "He will oversee all departments and report directly to me."

Ayame's brows shoot up at the pointed emphasis on he, and she isn't the only one who notices. Eyes dart around the table, and the tension thickens.

Nari's polite smile tightens, though her voice remains steady. "He or she will report to both of us," she clarifies smoothly, though the strain in her tone is impossible to miss.

Haechul doesn't flinch, merely inclining his head as though the correction doesn't bother him in the slightest. "Of course. The job will be open to external applicants, but I'd like to prioritize hiring from within."

The subtle glance he throws at Chan doesn't go unnoticed, and the room shifts again, silent but charged. Ayame watches Chan out of the corner of her eye. He looks composed as ever, his expression unreadable, but there's a tension in his shoulders that only someone who's worked alongside him this long would notice.

Ayame leans back in her chair, tapping her pen against her notebook. "Interesting," she mutters, her voice just loud enough for Seungmin to hear.

Nari clears her throat, clearly sensing the unease. "To ensure fairness, we'll be assembling an independent panel since Haechul and I don't always see eye to eye on things."

Haechul's mouth twitches, his attempt at a neutral expression barely holding. "The final candidates will present their strategies to the board after the New Year. May the best man win."

Ayame's jaw tightens at the deliberate phrasing. "Man," she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes. "How fucking progressive."

Seungmin snorts beside her, his voice low. "Careful, Ayame. Your sarcasm's showing."

She doesn't bother replying, leaning forward instead to jot something in her notebook. Chan catches the movement, his gaze flicking to her with the faintest hint of curiosity, but she doesn't meet his eyes.

Nari steps in again, her tone firm but measured. "Let's stay focused on the task at hand. This is an important step for the company, and we'll need everyone's cooperation to make it successful."

Haechul nods, his gaze lingering on Chan like a fucking spotlight. "Exactly. Cooperation."

Ayame fights the urge to roll her eyes again, settling instead for a long sip of coffee. Beside her, Seonghwa leans closer, whispering, "This is going to be a fucking disaster."

Ayame sighs, her voice dry. "When isn't it?"

The meeting ends in a shuffle of murmurs, forced goodbyes, and the obnoxious screech of chairs dragged across the floor. Ayame barely lets the echo die before she gathers her notebook and empty coffee mug, making a beeline for the kitchenette like it's a lifeboat in the middle of a shipwreck. The room is blissfully quiet, save for the low hum of the coffee machine, and she takes a deep breath, relishing the rare moment of peace as she rummages through the cabinet for a tea bag.

Her peace lasts all of forty-five seconds.

The door swings open, and she knows who it is before she even turns around. That insufferable clack of dress shoes on the tile, deliberate but unhurried. Bang fucking Chan.

He strides in like he owns the place, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed over his perfectly tailored suit. His dark eyes lock on her like a predator sizing up prey. "You know the job's mine, shortcake."

Ayame doesn't even flinch, too focused on pouring hot water into her mug. She hums noncommittally, not sparing him a glance. "Cute. When I'm your boss, I'll make it a requirement that you have to do everything with a smile."

Chan lets out a low snort, tilting his head. "A smile?"

"Yeah," she says, finally looking up, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "It's this thing where the muscles in your face move to react to positive things. You should try it sometime. It might help you seem... less like a soulless corporate dick."

He smirks, sharp and cutting. "You've never smiled at me."

She lifts her mug to her lips, her own smile threatening to betray her composure. "Make of that what you will."

His eyes narrow, his smirk not faltering. "Enlighten me," he says, leaning in slightly. "Why won't I get the job, huh?"

Ayame sets her mug down on the counter with an audible clink, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter to face him fully. "Because you're the most hated man in this office."

Chan laughs at that, a low, deliberate sound that's equal parts condescending and amused. "Oh no, shortcake. No one hates me. They fear me, which is what makes me so fucking good at my job."

Ayame raises an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Fear doesn't make you effective, Chan. It makes you a pain in the ass."

He steps closer, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the lingering smell of coffee. His smirk deepens as he lowers his voice. "And yet, here I am. The most effective pain in the ass you've ever met."

Ayame rolls her eyes, scooping up her mug and pushing off the counter. "Congrats on the self-awareness, Captain Obvious."

She starts toward the elevator, but she can hear the inevitable click of his shoes behind her. Of course he follows. His insufferable confidence radiates off him like heat, practically filling the space as they step into the elevator together. The doors slide shut with a soft ding, trapping them in yet another standoff.

Chan leans casually against the elevator wall, his gaze sliding toward her as he takes a slow sip from his coffee. "When I'm your boss," he says lazily, "I'm implementing a dress code. No more dressing like that."

Ayame freezes mid-sip, her mug halfway to her lips. She turns her head slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Like what?"

He gestures vaguely toward her outfit, his smirk unwavering. "Like... that. The mini skirts, the corset blouses, the whole look. It's distracting."

Her laugh is sharp, biting, like the snap of a whip. "Distracting? From what? Your spreadsheets? Grow the fuck up, Chan."

He shrugs, taking another sip of coffee like she hasn't just insulted his entire existence. "Just calling it like I see it."

She sets her mug down on the elevator railing, facing him fully now. "Let me tell you something. When I'm your boss, I'm enforcing casual Fridays. No suits allowed. Hell, no ties allowed. And for the record, if you get that job, I'll fucking resign."

Chan raises an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something closer to amusement. "Oh, you will, huh?"

"Absolutely," she replies, her voice light but her words firm. "Just like you will if I get it."

His chuckle is low, almost inaudible, as he leans back against the wall. "I don't quit, shortcake."

She picks up her mug, her lips curving into a wicked grin as she sips her tea. "Oh, but I could fire you."

Chan laughs outright at that, a deep, rumbling sound that makes the elevator feel ten degrees warmer. "You'd have to beat me first. And we both know that's not happening."

Ayame tilts her head, her eyes sparkling with mock innocence. "I'm getting the distinct impression that's not the first time you've said that to a woman in your thirty-something years on this planet."

His smirk falters just slightly before returning full force. "Touché."

The elevator dings as it reaches their floor, the doors sliding open. Ayame steps out first, her heels clicking against the tile. She glances over her shoulder, her tone smug as she says, "So, we agree? If one of us gets the job, the other has to quit."

Chan follows her out, his pace deliberately matching hers. He considers her words for a moment before nodding, his smirk turning downright devious. "Fine. Agreed."

"Good," she says, turning away with a satisfied grin. "You're going to look adorable when I'm your boss."

Chan laughs under his breath, shaking his head as they reach their shared office. He pauses at the door, watching her with a look that's equal parts amused and competitive. "This war's gonna be fun."

Ayame doesn't look back, but her smirk is visible in her voice as she replies, "For me, at least."

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world

[embrosegraves]

𝔸𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤

(request) Sebastian Vettel x Reader  Periods are the worst but Seb makes them bearable  It’s just very very sweet!

Warnings: Reader has very intense cramps but its not too detailed. Reader's gender isn't explicitly mentioned but I wrote with afab reader in mind

You had never been in so much pain in your life. And you had once broken a bone. Sure your cramps had always been bad, but this was a whole different level of painful. You had woken up this morning with intense cramping and it didn’t take you long to figure out why. 

Your period had come a day early. 

Part of you was grateful that Sebastian was scheduled to be away for another day. You didn’t want him to have to deal with you while on the first day of your period. It was always the worst day of the whole week because your body was still adjusting to the sudden pain it was enduring. 

Sebastian was always a godsend when it came to your period. He was never embarrassed to go to the store and get what products you needed. He always made sure that he stocked up on things that he knew you liked. Things like your favourite sweets, your favourite tea bags and he always always always made sure that you had hot chocolate ready to be made at a moment's notice. 

All that to say that this time around, Sebastian had wanted to surprise you by coming home from the race weekend a little earlier than initially planned. Almost as soon as the race had finished and he didn’t have any more media duties to attend to, he got on the soonest flight back home to you.

Once Sebastian had reached the airport and collected his things from baggage claim, he received a notification on his phone. 

Flo: 🩸🩸🩸 starts today! 

Once Sebastian had seen it, he adjusted his plans slightly and made sure to stop at the store on his way home so he could get you some things to hopefully relax. 

Ever since the pre-race events had started earlier that day, you had been lying on the couch, curled up in the foetal position. The pain was so intense that you had only just managed to change your clothes in the morning and make your way to the couch. You didn’t have any extra energy to shower or grab any medicine that you knew you had. There was also the fact that you were trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need any medicine. That you could soldier through your period pain and be fine. 

That was exactly how Sebastian found you when he finally walked through the front door of your house. Given the amount of pain that he could see on your face, he knew you would struggle to answer anything he asked you. He quickly put his things down in the entryway, he could deal with it all later, and made his way to the kitchen to pour you a glass of cold water and put the kettle on so that he could make you a hot drink as well. 

Grabbing the glass of water and some medicine from the cabinet, he made his way back to where you were, put the glass on the coffee table before gently helping you sit up so you could swallow the tablet without choking on it. 

Once he made sure you had swallowed it he went back to the kitchen, leaving you to slowly sip on the water. Quickly grabbing your favourite mug, he made you a hot chocolate and topped it with mini marshmallows and chocolate powder. On his way back to the living room, he grabbed the bag of snacks he had bought. Walking into the room, he set the items on the coffee table and carefully sat down next to you. 

He spent the rest of the night comforting you and making sure that you were well taken care of. He whispered sweet things in your ear, both in English and German. It made you feel incredibly loved. Whispering assurances to you, Sebastian made sure that you drank your warm drink and ate some of the things he got for you. 

Eventually he got you to the bathroom, helping you shower away the gross feeling of sweat and gently massaging the soreness from your shoulders and neck. Afterwards he dressed you in your designated period pyjamas and laid you down on the bed before going to heat up your microwave heat bag. 

Crawling into bed beside you, he gave you the heat bag and wrapped you up in his arms. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your face to cradle it. 

“Thank you Sebby.” 

“I will always take care of you, Liebling.”

I smashed this out in one sitting. Briefly proofread but not at the same time??

Idk but I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoyed reading it!!

[meiandue]

pls do newjeans reaction / headcanon where their s/o and then previously had an argument and their s/o got injured badly?

okay !! but the injuries are not that brutal hehe, once again sleeping late to fulfill your requests. doing this on my tablet is hard bro tumblr doesn't stretch to the screen, BUT is fun bc i'm listening to music <3

new jeans masterlist | main masterlist

MINJI —

why did this even happen? minji asks herself, she's currently tending your cut on your palm. an argument between you happened earlier before dinner, she's supposed to get the ingredients at a nearby store, but instead she comes home holding two bags of chips and coke. was that the reason why she was all smiley before going off?

earlier...

"minji! what the hell did you buy?!" you say as you stood by the kitchen, eyeing the bags full of chips and bevarages and no sign of the ingredients you asked her to buy.

"you said buy something for tonight?" she asks back, putting down the bags and hanging her jacket.

"no. i said, ingredients for dinner tonight!" you reply, there's no way you'll be having what she bought.

"whatever, you're going to eat those for dinner and don't even dare to ask me for some of what i cooked." you pointed your index finger at her before walking off to cook.

now...

"you're so dumb sometimes." minji states while she wraps gauze around your palm. you glare at her.

"says the one who bought chips." you roll your eyes, then watching her take care of you wound with a small blush on your face, she looked so focused...

"hey- i only misheard." minji argues back, slapping your injured hand, seemingly forgotten that it's wounded.

"ow! what the heck?!" you retract your hand from minji, glaring at her while you soothe your poor hand.

"i'm sorry! i forgot." minji sighs.

"now look who's dumb." you laugh.

"oh, now look who can't cook." minji fought back and laughs as well.

"i'm not eating your chips." you roll your eyes.

"but you have nothing to eat." minji replies.

"then cook for me, idiot." she sighs and nodded in defeat, you smile and kissed her, now she's forgiven.

HANNI —

you both had an argument about her clean clothes and laundry. you thought the clothes on her bed were dirty and put them in the laundry, and it was unknown to you that she's going to use them later on their shoot of new jeans zine.

earlier...

"where are my clothes on the bed?" hanni asks, entering the living room where you are.

"oh, i put them in the laundry." you reply, looking up from your phone.

she groans and puts her hand on her head with a frustrated look on her face. "why would you put them in the laundry?!"

"i-i thought it's used and dirty.."

"why wouldn't you ask-!? ugh, forget about it." she walks out before you could speak, you sigh. well it's also her fault for putting them in the bed so messy.

now...

"are you okay?" hanni asks for about 30 times now, you lay on the couch clutching your side which has a big bruise.

good thing you haven't set the pile of laundry that has hanni's clothes in, rushing to get it, there was a piece of your clothing on the ground and you slipped because of it. landing on your side, you groan in pain and the next thing you see is hanni rushing to you with a worried face.

"yes, i'm fine now hanni, thank you for asking." after you said that, your side aches and you clutch it in pain, another reason for hann to be worried again. she slaps your hand away and lifted your clothes up to check your side, gasping when she saw a big purple bruise.

following her eyes, you gasp as well. "do you think it's a broke bone?" you ask, getting scared now, you're definitely not okay. she sighs in relief when she just misread tha date today and there was no filming, she has to take you to the hospital now.

DANIELLE —

she never starts the argument, she gets scolds by you, it was raining outside and the girl decided to shine her light outside and play outside like a little kid. but you said something that really hurt her. rushing to her room, you follow behind, saying a lot of sorrys.

SLAM-! THUD!

you fell down, holding your head after you groan in pain. danielle didn't know you were, that, close to her door and she accidentally slammed it too hard.

"are you okay?! i'm sorry.." she asks multiple times, her hands fly everywhere, not knowing what to do.

she hugs your head, but every minute passes, the bruise forming on your forehead gets worse. danielle panics once more, reaching for your hand and helps you stand up, leading you to the kitchen.

danielle took some ice from the refrigerator and wrapped them around her precious handkerchief and held it against your bruise gently, she was so worried but at the same time guilty.

"i'm so sorry... i didn't mean too..." she whispers, her lips quivering. you look up to her with a small smile through the pain.

"it's okay, i'm sorry too, baby." you held her hand, took the ice and aid yourself. before she can reply, she sneezes, you sigh.

"i told you not to go outside, it's raining." you chuckled and ruffled her damp hair.

"but it's nothing compared to your bruise..." she sniffles, pouting.

"it's okay, really. i just don't want you sick." you hug her, and you both watched as the rain falls outside your kitchen window.

HAERIN —

you sat on the floor, checking your wounded knee, she stood in front of you in silence. you bleed from the cut on your knee, because you were following after haerin as she walks to her room to avoid the argument. but while you do so, a sharp edge of an object wounded your knee.

haerin stood there is shock, not knowing what to do, shaky eyes stare at the blood dripping from your leg. her unsteady legs kneels down beside you.

"i'm sorry.." she silently says, looking at you from the side. she's apologising even if it's not her fault? poor girl.

"no, no, don't apologise. it's not your fault." you reassure, holding her hand tightly as you endure the pain.

"i-if i didn't try to go back. you wouldn't have gotten injured." she mumbles, looking at your knee and back to you.

"no, haerin, it's fine. i can just bandage it up." you struggled to stand up, but a pair of hands helps you up to the kitchen.

"look, i'm sorry for what i've said earlier. i know you were tired." you spoke, caressing haerin's cheek with a weak smile. besides it's better to have a cut than continue the argument and you'll hurt haerin more. seeing her cry hurts more than a wound.

haerin nods, "it's okay... but let's worry about your wound? yeah?" she made you sit down as she kneels to bandage your knee.

feeling so guilty and thinking you got this wound because of her, even if it's not, she can't help but feel that way :( like minji, she's very focused on aiding you, but winces when she presses too hard that your wound gushes out blood. so sad about it, her eyes won't even leave it for a few seconds. very careful about it, reminding you not to put too much pressure on your knee :(

HYEIN —

earlier...

again, you scold her for the 3rd time of the day, was very picky about her food and acts very dramatic. telling you that she doesn't want to eat anymore and storms to her room. sighing, but still, you went to the kitchen to cook some food for you and her later, just incase she gets hungry. plus you won't let her starve because of a stupid argument. knocking on her door for a few times, asking what she wants, she just tells you to go because she'll just order her own food.

now...

she finally exits her room with her phone in hand, ignoring you on the living room while she pays and takes the food she ordered. placing it down the coffee table, she noticed that you're wrapping gauze around your three fingers. her face turning into a worry mess.

"what happened?" she quickly sits down beside you, takes your hand and helped you with the gauze. glancing up at you, you were avoiding her eyes.

"i got cut, while cooking." your face flushes in embarrassment, after being so professional and bragging about your cooking skills, you got cut? eh, it's part of the cooking life anyways. hyein lets out a breathy chuckle, cupping your cheek.

"don't be embarrassed, it's okay. i just ordered food for us, you don't have to worry about anything related to food." hyein pats your palm, indicating she was done with the bandaging. she motioned to the bag of food on the coffee table, handing yours and taking her own. it's good to see her happy again, and not so mean, like earlier.

p/s : laziness season done! i'm terribly sorry for the wait anon :( i had to do so many chores around the house, weather updates, and it's raining heavily here 😭 anyways, hope you enjoy !!

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 24 - I never knew daylight could be so violent. (No light, no light)

Warnings: whump/angst/therapy

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Olivia needs help; but then again so does Natasha.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist.

.

Pain shoots through her abdomen and and she bows to it.

She doesn’t allow herself a cry of pain, only a huff of a breath and closes her eyes.

Her hand shakes as she empties the last of the tryptophan her heart sinking as she feels nauseousness rise and tremors shudder through her.

“Fuck,” she swears.

The night is going to be long.

She takes one of the last two tablets anyway knowing it’s only delaying the inevitable.

She sighs, laying down and trying to breathe through the pain.

Shield had the medications that she needed, but she didn’t quiet trust them.

Pain thrusts its way through her, making her clench her fists and forcing breath in and out consciously.

She decides in the moment to find Coulson or Fury. Shield is not safe but the two men would perhaps help.

She owed them, they owed her, and she’s sure she could call in a favour.

.

The seizure leaves her on the floor, her head pounding as she feels her consciousness return to her.

Wiping her mouth, she pushes herself up.

Hands still shaking, Olivia takes the last pill, hoping it makes her functional.

She knows she’s running out of time. She didn’t realise how close she was running out when she left.

Stupid, she berates herself.

Living in America had made her soft, dependant… Compliant.

If she was on her own, she’d have stocks, but instead, she’d just worked through the emergency medication knowing she’d have access to more.

Allowing herself a moment of self pity, she wonders just how to find the others, and slowly dresses herself.

The number she’d memorised for Fury may still work, and she contemplates if she’s able to make it to the closest pay phone.

The small apartment’s furniture helps her to move on shaking legs, and the walking stick she keeps in the closet feels like a good option.

Armed with a knife and sunglasses, she makes her way out to the harsh light of day.

Nauseous, she descends the stairs, tremors still wracking her body.

She can do this, she’s done much harder things.

One hundred steps, she tells herself.

When she reaches that, she counts 100 more.

At 345 she stops, breathing labored at the public pay phone.

“This better fucking work,” she mutters to herself, dialing the number.

Four rings in and she feels bile rise in her throat.

On the fifth, the phone picks up and she closes her eyes in relief.

“It’s bad,” she opens, “I need… what you owe me.”

Fury seems to understand.

“Safehouse six. I’ll organise for it to be sent there.”

He pauses.

“You owe me too. Don’t think I won’t collect.”

The phone hangs up and she groans, sinking to the floor, holding onto the walking stick and feeling another seizure coming on.

.

The knock at the door sets them all on edge.

Even though Fury calls to tell them that Olivia is coming, they all stand. Maria’s hand on her gun, Clint close to his bow and Natasha stands near the draw with the knives.

Coulson opens it, and finds Olivia standing there, just as Fury had said.

He opens the door wider, letting her in and showing the others that they have nothing to fear.

She enters, and Clint frowns.

“Are you… are you okay?”

The woman waves him off, and says something quietly to Coulson. He walks to the back room and returns alone.

“She needs some privacy and sleep,” he announces, much to all their confusion.

The shower starts running and Clint thinks of all the scenarios that could have had her looking so drawn and pale.

He turns back to the game of cards that he had been playing with Maria and swears as he loses again.

“I’m bored,” he complains.

Maria shares a look with him.

“How do we know Fury is okay?” she asks, much to Coulson’s annoyance.

“He’s okay,” he assures, “but if you want to go help, then fine, I can’t stop you.”

Maria grins at Clint.

“I’ll let you know how I go.”

“He’s gonna be angry,” Clint assumes, throwing the cards to the container.

“Nah; he’ll be appreciative. Who reads the lackies of Shield, better than me?”

Coulson sighs.

“I should go with you.”

He looks to the door that Olivia just moved through, and sits back down.

“Go. Call me in four hours and tell me what’s happening.” He looks at time.

“Four hours okay?”

Maria grabs the keys and a piece of pizza.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll call,” she smiles, pleased to have something to do.

The evening feels early, even though it’s 6pm, the sun moving to sleep. Maria reveals in the fresh air; and heads for shield.

.

Natasha lays on the couch. She’d opted to take first watch.

Olivia was still in the room, door closed having not come out since she went in.

Coulson in the other room, and Clint gently snoring on the other couch.

She doesn’t feel tired.

Probably, would be unable to sleep anyway.

If nightmares plagued her like they did in the cabin, she would have the whole house on edge.

At least the cell was soundproofed.

Here, she thinks she would wake up the whole apartment block.

Clint has eyed her when she’d offered to take first watch, and she had nodded assuringly.

Maria had called to say she was with Fury, he hadn’t sent her away much to Coulson’s surprise.

Coulson had decided he’d return in the morning, barring no incidents during the night.

Natasha was determined to just let them sleep.

She liked the darkness, and with others around, she was sure she wouldn’t be seeing anything… anyone.

Lost in her own thoughts, she catches movement on her left and stands to confront it.

“It’s me,” Olivia announces quietly.

Natasha sits up straighter.

The psychiatrist moves into the dimly lit room, and then to the kitchen finding water and taking a sip.

She downs two pills as Natasha watches on in interest.

“I’m defective,” she says, noticing Natasha watching her.

“They experimented with us, trialing… god knows what, to try and make us better soldiers. And they succeeded but at a cost.”

Olivia’s eyes rake over Natasha.

“Shield has drugs that help combat the symptoms. The Red Room would have just killed me.”

She feels scrutinized and wants to hear so much more of her experience of the Red Room.

It’s like piecing together bits of her own history, things she’s forgotten, things that have been wiped.

Part of the debrief had asked so many basic questions that she should know, but couldn’t retrieve it.

Experimented was right.

Natasha moves to seat at the bench to sit across from her.

Her face itches where the cut on her forehead is healing, and she suppresses the urge to touch it. Her whole body is itchy, uncomfortable and foreign.

Olivia looks to Clint, and deciding he’s asleep enough, starts to make coffee.

Natasha watches practices motions and refrains from talking.

She wants to ask her so much.

Waiting until Olivia sits, Natasha takes an offered coffee and they sip it together.

“Ask, if you need to,” she tells her, voice tired and resigned.

Natasha has so many, she thinks of the last couple of days. How impaired she had been to take care of herself, of Clint and how, if she was back in the red room, she would have been killed ten fold by now.

“How do you stop the nightmares? The flashbacks? How do I… I can’t sleep and then when I do… it bleeds into the day. I try.. But everything in me keeps remembering.”

Natasha holds back, the feelings and worries that have been plaguing her, she wishes she knew how to articulate them.

She feels like she’s going insane.

Wounds wide open and she can’t stop remembering.

Olivia looks at her, takes a slow sip of her drink.

“Your mind is an open wound, they’ve dug into in debrief and left it bleeding.”

Natasha nods.

It’s exactly what it is.

She feels like an exposed raw nerve.

Olivia sets down her coffee.

“We don’t have a lot of time together. Not what you need anyway.”

She sighs heavily, fatigue seeming to weigh her down, but the kindness and patience that she has always shown to Natasha remains.

“It’s not fair, that you have to deal with this. So the coping mechanisms I’m going to say to you I want you to use when and where possible. There are going to be a myriad of times, where they don’t work, but for a lot of the times it will.”

Natasha swallows, understanding what she’s saying.

“We haven’t the time so I need you to listen. To hear me. Okay?”

Olivia doesn’t even wait for her to respond.

“Being triggered, doesn’t apply to you because your nervous system is always going to be heightened, walking on eggshells, and when they crack, is likely going to be when you will feel it. With or without flashbacks, the emotions will come, and you won’t always understand it. When this happens I need you to note that it’s there, label it and stay with it, even for a moment.”

The urgency in her voice makes Natasha give undivided attention.

She doesn’t notice that Clint sits up, moves closer; but Olivia does.

“Emotions, they try and tell us something, things we aren’t subconsciously aware of, they sit in our body, in our chest, sometimes like a weight, sometimes like itch you can’t scratch. They can sit in our minds; numbing us to the world that’s happening around us. In small ways, in big ways too.”

Natasha feels her face grow hot.

Olivia’s words are true and she knows it.

“Work on finding where the emotion is in your body. Close your eyes, for a moment and extend your mind out. Learn Natasha, learn about emotions, their labels and how they feel. The Red Room didn’t care and the words you have for emotions mean nothing. You have to learn beyond happy and sad.”

Natasha swallows.

“Learn what happiness feels like, and remember it so you have something to compare it to. Learn anger, and how it’s different to hatred. Disappointment. Anxiety. Frustration. You know these in a sense, but your education on them is poor.”

Olivia stops, taking a breath and then a sip of her coffee, acknowledging Clint.

“Accept help from those that are willing but don’t trust blindly. You have your own thoughts and feelings and they matter too. Do you hear me?”

Olivia talks softer.

“They never taught you, because they never wanted you to know, how smart and powerful you are. The feelings and emotions and the rawness of it all won’t last forever. But when it comes do something with it. Do something with your hands like shooting a gun at the range, clean, shower, breathe. Anything that you can do that acknowledges the feelings but doesn’t erase them.”

She reaches across and grabs at Natasha’s hand, pulling her sleeve up to expose raw handcuffed chaffed wrists.

“Nights will be the hardest,” she acknowledges, “but they will get better.”

Natasha pulls away, embarrassed.

“Feel it,” encourages Olivia, “try not to hide from it.”

The silence in the room extends; but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“What if I can’t?” Natasha whispers.

Olivia smiles.

“Then you can’t. And you try again next time. This is not pass or fail. This is not the stakes of the Red Room. You won’t die because you can’t do something; even though it might feel like it.”

Finishing her coffee, Olivia stands.

“I’m truly sorry, Natasha, for everything you’ve been through. I can see why you’ve made it this far. I believe our paths will cross again, but it might not be for a while.”

Natasha nods, biting down on her lip.

The one person that understood her and everything she had been through… disappointment and grief floods her.

She feels it.

Olivia touches her hand again.

“You’re not without support.”

She nods to Clint.

Coulson bustles in and looks at the two women and Clint.

Daylight streams through the windows and Natasha feels herself withdraw.

.