#Gruesome Great Houses

[tudorblogger]

‘Gruesome Great Houses’ by Terry Deary

Genre: Children’s Non-Fiction – History Published: 2005 Format: Paperback Rating: ★★★★ I do love a good Horrible Histories book! They just never seem long enough and some of the things I find most interesting I want more information on. But that’s the nature of a children’s book and I can remember absolutely adoring these books growing up, and still loving them on my rereads over the last few…

[mycological-mariner]

I’ve been looking at way too much renaissance through to enlightenment paintings of saints and it is showing

[all-pacas]

I finished my Rome book and have now begun one about Pompeii. I’m 65 pages in and I already love it: yes, it covers the volcano, but most of the book is about “this is what the town and daily life of it would have been like, actually.” Fascinating stuff. Things I’ve learned so far:

- The streets in Pompeii have sidewalks sometimes a meter higher than the road, with stepping stones to hop across as “crosswalks.” I’d seen some photos before. The book points out that, duh, Pompeii had no underground drainage, was built on a fairly steep incline, and the roads were more or less drainage systems and water channels in the rain.

- Unlike today, where “dining out” is expensive and considered wasteful on a budget, most people in Pompeii straight up didn’t have kitchens. You had to eat out if you were poor; only the wealthy could afford to eat at home.

- Most importantly, and I can’t believe in all the pop culture of Pompeii this had never clicked for me: Pompeii had a population between 6-35,000 people. Perhaps 2,000 died in the volcano. Contemporary sources talk about the bay being full of fleeing ships. Most people got the hell out when the eruption started. The number who died are still a lot, and it’s still gruesome and morbid, but it’s not “an entire town and everyone in it.” This also makes it difficult for archeologists, apparently (and logically): those who remained weren’t acting “normally,” they were sheltering or fleeing a volcano. One famous example is a wealthy woman covered in jewelry found in the bedroom in the glaridator barracks. Scandal! She must have been having an affair and had it immortalized in ash! The book points out that 17 other people and several dogs were also crowded in that one small room: far more likely, they were all trying to shelter together. Another example: Houses are weirdly devoid of furniture, and archeologists find objects in odd places. (Gardening supplies in a formal dining room, for example.) But then you remember that there were several hours of people evacuating, packing their belongings, loading up carts and getting out… maybe the gardening supplies were brought to the dining room to be packed and abandoned, instead of some deeper esoteric meaning. The book argues that this all makes it much harder to get an accurate read on normal life in a Roman town, because while Pompeii is a brilliant snapshot, it’s actually a snapshot of a town undergoing major evacuation and disaster, not an average day.

- Oh, another great one. Outside of a random laundry place in Pompeii, someone painted a mural with two scenes. One of them referenced Virgil’s Aeneid. Underneath that scene, someone graffiti’d a reference to a famous line from that play, except tweaked it to be about laundry. This is really cool, the book points out, because it implies that a) literacy and education was high enough that one could paint a reference and have it recognized, and b) that someone else could recognize it and make a dumb play on words about it and c) the whole thing, again, means that there’s a certain amount of literacy and familiarity with “Roman pop culture” even among fairly normal people at the time.

[rhosgobelbun]

steve's been knocking on doors trying to find eddie. he would be annoyed that all he's found are couples and groups in states of undress but this is some random house party, so it's what steve expects.

plus he's too relieved that he hasn't walked in on eddie being a part of any of it.

steve knows it's gross to feel this way. he trusts eddie 100%. it's not right to let past relationship problems cloud his judgement when it comes to what he has with eddie - who hasn't given him any reason to doubt.

but eddie is so new. been together for only 2 months now new.

and tommy was so old. childhood friend/fucked up situationship for 10 long years old. just ended for good a year and a half ago old.

so even though he knows, hopes, prays, that it's ridiculous to compare the two together, steve still checks the bathroom and makes sure the man on his knees in front of some blonde cheerleader isn't his boyfriend.

and then promptly ducks down to avoid a brush the blonde cheerleader throws at him.

'sorry!' steve apologizes. he hurries to slam the door closed and makes his way to the very last room at the end of the hallway.

maybe he left? eddie didn't want to serve here anyway, rich druggie clientele be damned. so even though they came together, maybe eddie had an emergency and-

steve cuts that thought off because well. he found eddie.

'baby!!' his boyfriend exclaims, alone, sitting on the floor in the middle of some random strangers room with a jar of peanut butter. he's got a spoon full of it half way up to his mouth and his eyes are red.

at least 4 brownies deep red.

the wave of relief he feels is actually pretty concerning, but steve will think about that some other time since he's too busy trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the long haird idiot looks.

'eddie, what are you doing?'

eddie looks guilty and for a split second steve thinks maybe he did walk in on eddie with someone else. (maybe he's waiting on them? maybe they already left?)

then eddie holds up the jar of peanut butter and says in the saddest voice, 'i needed it stevie, i don't remember how long it's been since i've had peanut butter. but i didn't think you'd find me! stay back! don't you come any closer!'

so this whole time while steve's been worried that eddie was off doing what tommy used to do to make him jealous, eddie just snuck off and hid away to eat peanut butter because steves' allergic.

starting to snicker, steve goes to sit across from him. 'i can be around it babe, im not gonna die.'

eddie rushes to close the jar, spoon shoved inside and all. he gives steve the stink eye. 'i know what peanut allergies can do to some people. i refuse to watch you blow up like a tomato.'

steve rolls his eyes and reaches out, acting like he's gonna touch the jar.

eddie yells. jumping to his feet, he scurries out of the closet like an over grown rat, 'steve harrington this is exactly why I was trying to eat this away from you!'

steves laughing now, giggling like a hyena. he can't believe he ever doubted this man.

later that night - after eddie has showered and brushed his teeth at least three times - when they're tucked away in eddies room under the covers, steve talks to him about his freak out. eddie apologizes for leaving him alone at a strangers party like that. he holds him close, gives steve a ton of kisses and promises to create a DND character that represents tommy.

'i'll turn him into a toad and kill him off in the most gruesome way imaginable. he'll be murdered to death, the kids will be traumatized. it'll be great. just you wait and see, my love.'

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 6

<<< Part 5

You can't describe the anger you felt after receiving the news of Jaehaerys' death, and the sympathy you felt for Helaena.

And you made that anger very visible in the council.

"Jaehaerys is now dead, but you know who is Aegon's new heir? Aemond"

Despite knowing that Daemon is the one who did it, you didn't confront him, you left your mother with that task.

Trying to get as much as information, you managed to keep up with Daeron, and become his friend with sweet words.

Your youngest uncle is infatuated with you to the point where he send you a letter consisting of three pages.

Also you send many letters to the houses allied with your mother's, thanking them for their loyalty.

This is to strengthen the alliance and ensure it.

But the letters you received back, there are two who stood out.

One from Cregan Stark, who has shown great respect and even requested that you two always keep in touch through letters after you ensured him that you will send your dragon to help in protecting the wall from the wildings and white walkers after war.

And the second letter is from Davos Blackwood...It's disturbing in some sort of way as he described in gruesome detail what he is going to do to your enemies.

Most importantly, you send a letter to Helaena filled with sincere apologies for what has happened.

As for Aegon, you hesitated about sending him a letter.

However, you have thought of what your grandfather, Tywin, would have done in such situation.

To protect your house, you need to make scarfices even if it hurt your feelings.

You decided to send your oldest uncle a letter, trying to stop the upcoming war filled with bloodshed.

"Dear Uncle... I know that you are grieving, I apologize for your loss on the behave of my family... our family... let us think calmly and end a war that might result in many deaths on both sides, we both already lost someone dear to us, again, as a parent, I understand yours and Helaena's pain, I'm truly sorry, Aegon"

When Aegon read your letter send by a reven, he breaks down.

You are the first person to comfort him, his own mother didn't even do that.

But you did... which means you love him, right?

Aegon slept that night while clutching your letter to his chest after rereading it many times.

Meanwhile, you received a letter from Oldtown.

A letter from... Daeron.

Part 7

[psychotrenny]

I think one of Imperialism's most evil strategies is the national scale torture you'll see inflicted on countries that dare to dream of freedom. Like it's not just about overthrowing the anti-imperialist regime itself, but utterly breaking the very social, economic and in turn psychological foundations it's built upon. Prolonged periods of destruction that are as systematic as they are sadistic with the aim of making life unlivable until the government either collapses or gives in, accepting whatever concessions are forced upon them as the nation is remoulded into an dependent and obedient little neocolony.

Sometimes an imperialist power will act directly to achieve this (just take the gratuitous and deliberate destruction of civil infrastructure during the bombings of Yugoslavia and Iraq), but the preferred strategy is to employ local proxies. Groups like RENAMO in Mozambique or the Contras of Nicaragua. Bands of reactionaries, traitors and general desperadoes are gathered up, trained, armed and transported over the border at the expense of the Imperialists and their local collaborators. These armed groups have no interest in build mass support, of representing an alternative way of life. Their only purpose is destruction; killing, torturing, looting, burning whatever they can in order to bring their country to its knees. Frequently targeting important nodes in the networks that sustain the nation and the people's faith in it (bridges, rail depots, factories, hospitals and schools) but ultimately happy to attack whatever they can; every house burned or person tortured contributes to the climate of terror and corrosion of government credibility. Because when they kill these groups don't like to do it cleanly; their attacks generate countless reports immolation, disembowelment, victims hacked to pieces and left to bleed. But when possible they prefer to leave their victims alive and capable of further spreading their terror, inflicting the most vicious sorts of rape and mutilation on a mass scale

It's not just just evil for the sake of evil mind you. The cruelty has a point; human destruction to accompany the physical. Every person killed is someone who can no longer contribute to the development of the nation, while even living yet physically and psychologically broken victim places further strain on their country's increasingly fragile support systems. Meanwhile the terror of these actions spreads the impact beyond their immediate victims. The murder and torture of peasants makes the survivors too scared to go back into their fields, slowly starving the nation as the rural economy grind to a halt. The gruesome deaths of traders and travelers leaves the survivors too terrified to continue their business, shutting down the distributive networks that make national development and often life itself possible. The terror unleashed on foreign professionals can prompt the survivors to flee and discourage newcomers from arriving, depriving the underdeveloped economic and education systems of the skilled workers they need to improve or even function. And every broken body, ever broken mind, is proof of the government's weakness and ineptitude; a humiliating failure to protect their own people that demoralises supporters and empowers dissenters. The motivated sadism of these terrorist attacks is a microcosm of the motivated sadism displayed by their Imperialist backers

But why go to all this trouble? Why not just send in the paratroopers or organise a coup to end those troublesome regimes quickly? Sometimes it's a matter of possibility. As great as they are, the powers of Imperialist nations are not unlimited. All manner of constraints (domestic unrest, international condemnation which advantages dangerous rivals, the simple financial and human costs of such operations) limit what actions are viable or desirable. This is especially significant when the targets are motivated and disciplined anti-imperialists with a base of deep-rooted popular support, the sort of regime that won't go down to a simple commando raid or bribe to the right general. But sometimes, it's not enough to merely cut down a dissenting government; you have to salt the earth and make sure nothing similar ever grows back. I'll finish with the words of an anonymous Jesuit priest, talking about Nicaragua yet in terms widely relevant enough to be published in John Saul's conclusion to A Difficult Road: The Transition to Socialism in Mozambique (1985):

In Chile the Americans made a mistake. They cut off the revolution too abruptly. They killed the revolution but, as we can see from recent developments there, they didn't kill the dream. In Nicaragua, they're trying to kill the dream

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[eraenaa]

Birthday Present

Feyd-Rautha x Lady Reader Tag List

Synopsis: During a state visit, you, a daughter of one of the great houses, have captured the attention and fatal attraction of the Na-Baron and were quickly turned into his promised wife. 

Warnings: ¿Enemies to Lovers-ish?, Arranged Marriage, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Blood Play, Fingering, Choking, Violence, Murder , Over Stimulation, Not Proofread

Word Count: 5,900 (pls bear with me)

Finally watched Dune: Part Two and needed to make a quick little fic because another psychopath to obsess over with has been unlocked.

You dreaded for this day to come. You begged your father and brother to just leave you in the safety and comfort of your home, but still, they insisted— practically forced you to join them in the business venture they will partake in Giedi Prime. You walked out of the royal ship with your brother by your side, trying hard not to let the frown slip your face, especially when your fine dress had lost its color due to the planet’s black sun. Your eyes trailed around those who were present as a welcoming party for your kin, “Why are they all bald?” You whispered to your brother, who could not help but snort a laugh at your question. It was unnerving to look at them; no warmth nor life was evident. You were escorted inside the palace and it was barely different from the outside, still bleak and dark and plain. 

You feel curious eyes trail you as you walk with your family, who are being escorted to meet Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. You clenched your jaw and held your breath as you were met with the head of House Harkonnen. You heard tales about him and his state, but none could prepare you enough to be met with him face to face. If you had thought his subjects were already unnerving to look at, you would gladly give up the gift of sight just as long as you no longer had to see nor remember the image of the gruesome Baron. You quickly planted your eyes on the ground, having looked enough at the man who floated about in the middle of the room that you had missed the way that dark blue eyes were planted steadily on your frame. 

“Welcome to Giedi Prime, your Grace,” You hear the Baron greet your Duke father, and you stay silent and hope that they would be quick with the pleasantries and let you retire to rest after the long journey to their dreary planet. You hear the baron address your brother, making him step forward, and you pray for your presence to be ignored, but alas, your name was called, and you feel all eyes upon you. “A beauty this one is, your grace… she looks just like her mother,” The Baron mussed, and you could only offer a tight smile at his praise because you had no recollection of what your mother looked like because the price of your life was hers. You backed away and took your place next to your brother once more as the Baron began to introduce his kin. 

“My nephews, Glossu Rabban,” the baron introduced, and your brother nudged you to raise your gaze and show your host respect and recognition. You did as told and locked eyes with the dark blue orbs that had been entranced upon you ever since you entered the throne room. “And Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” You swallowed thickly and turned stiff as the heir to House Harkonnen stepped down and walked toward your direction. Your linked arms with your brother tightened as the Na-Baron paused before you, bowing and taking your hand into his cold ones before placing a kiss on your knuckles. Feyd-Rautha wanted to smirk at the wide-eyed and blushing state he placed you in. The only greeting you gave him was a quick curtsy and a mumble of “My Lord,” The Na-Baron returned to his place at the right hand of his uncle and kept his gaze tranced on you. 

“How long are we to stay here?” You asked your father as he and your brother escorted you to your chambers. “Until the treaties are settled,” your father replied, and you scrunched your nose as the eyes of Harkonnen subjects followed you wherever you went. “They’re all staring at you,” Your brother mumbled, noticing the curious gazes as well. “Maybe they haven’t seen anyone with color or hair yet,” You distractedly said as you looked behind, the pair of dark blue eyes still haunting and following your every move. “Did I really have to come here?” You asked your father with a frown. “Yes. We could not leave you alone for an extended period— what will happen if our planet suddenly goes to war and you were there, left alone?” Your father asked, his protectiveness shining through. “Then I’d be surrounded by our army and best warriors.” You replied and earned a stern look from your father. “What am I even supposed to do here?” You grumbled and ceased by the door of your guest chambers. “You can explore the planet— do some sightseeing.” He answered, but that only severe your frown. “Sightsee what? Everything here is either black or gray— either bleak or depressing” You said, making your father sigh. “Just get ready for dinner,” He said, and you gave up on fighting them and their decision to drag you to the planet. 

A knock sounded out in your barren chambers. You understood that the palace was pushing some kind of aesthetic, but they took it to an extremity. There was literally just a bed and an armchair in your chambers. A very stark difference from your own room or even the guest chambers in your planet’s palace. Your handmaid opened the door whilst you looked at yourself in the mirror; you were to be escorted by your brother and were expecting him by the door, but hearing the gasp from your handmaid told you otherwise. You looked toward the chamber room door and saw the Na-Baron standing by its threshold; your maid stood by the side, head hung low, and was quietly trembling in fear. 

“Can we help you, Na-Baron?” You asked and smoothened the fabric of your gown. Trying your best not to appear unnerved by his dark gaze or his imposing demeanor. “I am to escort you to the dining room, my lady,” He said and offered his arm for you to take; you made no move to do so. “Oh…my brother was—“ you slightly frown as he cuts you off. “He is already there with your father,” He said, and you licked your lips and hesitantly nodded, having no choice but to take his offer to escort you. 

Feyd eyes curiously at the gown you fashioned and the decorations in your hair. You were a deep and vivid contrast between him and his planet. Your dress made of velvet trained behind you, the heavy and overflowing cloth cutting through the silence between you and the heir of House Harkonnen. You did not know if you should converse with him or just remain silent. And if you did choose the former, what topic of conversation would you even propose to the fearsome— psychotic warrior that is the Na-Baron? 

“How are you finding Giedi Prime, my lady?” His deep and raspy voice cut through the silence, and you thought of an embellished reply that would not offend the warrior. “Different… I— it is most unique, Na-Baron,” You manage to say after a short while, Feyd noting how you struggled to give a kind reply, your brows in a furrow, and your lips would open and close as you thought of what to say. 

You finally could breathe freely, and your stiffened form turned lax when the Na-Baron escorted you to your seat next to your brother and let go of his hold on your hand. You tried your best to keep your gaze away from any of the Harkonnens as you feared they would immediately see the fear and agitation in your eyes. “Is this human?” You lowly whispered to your brother, poking the cut of unidentified meat on your plate. Feyd smirked to himself as he heard the fear in your voice— overly wary, and it would seem the tales of their house had been implanted in your pretty little head. “It is cattle, my lady… but if you do prefer human flesh, our cooks could arrange that for you,” Feyd-Rautha relished at how your eyes widened and your cheeks blossomed with color once more. It was an interesting reaction that he had never been accustomed to see. “No, this is fine,” You quickly said and did not miss the amused smirk on the Na-Baron’s pale lips. 

The following day, you were set to tour around the planet with your brother along with the Na-Baron. You three had just stepped out of the palace and into the light of the black sun when your brother was suddenly summoned to attend the negotiations. You took a sharp breath and turned to your sibling, widening your eyes and silently willing him not to leave you alone in the presence of the Na-Baron. Your brother could only shrug and place a quick, chaste kiss on the top of your head as he ran back inside the castle walls. 

An awkward and uneasy silence followed you and your host as the tour began. Guards following the both of you in the direction of a large structure— that is as specific as you can get as the resident of the planet has still said no word as to where he was leading you. 

“This… is the arena,” the Na-Baron finally said, and you could hear the delight in his tone as if the brutal and triangular infrastructure had brought him calm and serenity. You nodded your head and wandered your eyes upon the high walls and countless seats that surrounded you. “You shall return here soon enough, a special celebration to take place in a few days,” You hear him say as your gaze was still stuck high above where you were guessing private boxes were placed. When Feyd did not hear your reply, he stepped closer and boldly placed a hand on your waist, making you jump in shock and quickly step away. “You don’t talk much, do you?” He asked. He usually was quiet, only speaking when he thought it necessary and the silence he provided brought an additional sense of mystery to him. But with you… he could not restrain himself as he felt the want— the need to speak. An urge he had never had before, an urge he could not control. 

“I prefer more to listen, my lord,” you answered, a white lie on your lips. You love to talk and blab about anything and everything, but you just did not want to exercise such habits with or around him, fearing he’ll grow annoyed by your yapping and slit your throat— a habit you heard he was fond of. You heard the Na-baron hum, and you avoided his gaze as he stared you down, as if trying to deduce if what you had said was the truth.

You followed the Na-Baron as he led you to more sights and structures that the Harkonnens take pride in. But everywhere you two went, you could not be rid of the curious and wondering gazes that followed. It was not a new scene; being a duke’s daughter meant you had been accustomed and exposed to the public. But being exposed and stared at and gawked at by people so different than you felt entirely unnerving. It made your skin crawl and your body tense uncomfortably. Your once proud and straight stature turned demure and small as you walked the dark and gray halls of the castle, you being the only thing of color and vividness in there, making you feel out of place and suffocated by the plainness.  

The Na-Baron escorted you back to the guest wing and paused by your door; you quickly curtsied and disappeared behind the metal doors to finally put some space and distance between you and the lord you had been forced to spend the day with. Feyd’s jaw clenched as the metal doors closed upon him; if it were anyone else, his patience would have run thin, and he would not looked kindly upon your impertinence. But even in your boorish actions, the Na-Baron could not help but find it amusing— possibly even endearing. 

As you were finished being prepared for yet another dinner, you turned to the doors once more at the sound of the opening, revealing your brother. “How was the tour?” He asked and sat by your bed as you stood in the mirror and adorned yourself with the precious metals and jewels. “When are we to leave? I… I would very much like to return home.” Was your reply as you still felt your skin crawl at how the eyes of the Na-Baron would asses you and your every move. “That bad, huh?” Your brother mused, and you sighed heavily. “I do not like it here, brother… I cannot… this place is entirely bleak and depressing.” You reasoned, and your brother only shook his head at your bellyaching. 

“They barely even have furniture! Their sun is black… there are no gardens or greenery and flowers to admire— I am quite literally the most vivid thing here!” You suddenly exploded, but your brother could only laugh. “Just a few more days, sister… we were most productive earlier. You’ll only have to endure this planet and its plainness for a few days more,” Your brother said, and you solemnly nodded your head, willing yourself to endure and be patient as your whole being wanted nothing but to return home. 

True to the Na-Baron’s words, you and your kin were in the triangular arena a few days later. A grand celebration for the birthday of the heir of House Harkonnen. Feyd-Rautha stepped out into the black sun and walked onto the pit with the screams and cheers of his house’s subjects. His eyes cast above and searched for only one being— an attention he seeks to be entranced upon him. The Na-Baron felt his lips curl wickedly as your eyes were upon him, seated in the royal box next to your brother. Your expression trying not to show contempt or disapproval. The Na-Baron was known for his skills in fighting— he is the greatest warrior there is. Everyone was impressed and in awe by his skills in combat, and he was certain that it, too, would impress you. 

You clenched your jaw and turned your head to the side as the Na-Baron was relentless in fighting the remaining members of House Atreides. You planted your gaze on your lap and fisted the fabric of your dress as you hear the land of steel and the grunts of prisoners. You took a deep inhale as your brother nudged you once more, urging you to watch the scene as it would be an offense if the Baron caught you ignoring the efforts of his favored nephew. You swallowed thickly and returned your eyes towards the men who fought; there was only one opponent now. 

Feyd-Rautha returned his gaze to you, delighting as you still had your eyes upon him. There was only one prisoner now, only one more man between him and the amazement he thought he would garner from you with his violent display. But as Feyd-Rautha set his eye on the final prisoner, his jaw ticked, and his hold on his blade tightened as he noticed that the Atreides prisoner was not drugged. He turned his spiteful gaze to his uncle, the vile man simply smirking and giving a nod of his head. Dark blue eyes flickered at you, who had her lip between he teeth in anxiousness. The Na-Baron squared his shoulders and refocused; he could not be made a fool nor a failure when the eyes of his planet were upon him— not when your eyes were upon him. As always, Feyd-Rautha emerged victorious in battle. 

“The slave wasn’t drugged,” Feyd said as he stood before his uncle, his form rigged still with the pestering feeling that he might have failed and been humiliated under your gaze. You tried to kill me?” he gritted out, but his uncle was merely amused. “Tonight, you are a hero… my gift to you,” The Baron explained, but that did not sedate the rage in the Na-Baron’s being. “I ought to drown you in that tub,” he snarled, but his uncle chuckled at his threat. “Don’t be hasty… I have another gift for you,” that piqued Feyd’s interest. “A bigger one,” his uncle added. “The girl, the duke’s daughter.” With just the mention of you, the Baron noted the quick shift in his nephew’s temperament. Desire shining through his rage. 

Feyd’s lips staggered as he thought of a reply, as he thought of how his uncle was able to acquire you for him as if you were some mere whore and not a daughter of one of the great houses. “Her father approved?” He asked and saw as a smirk rose to the lips of his uncle. “He had no choice but to… if he wanted the treaties to take place and for war to not come to their planet— he must offer his daughter to you.” Feyd let a rare and sincere grin slip his lips with the thought of you being bound to him. 

By the guest wing, an ugly discussion was taking place. “Father, you cannot be serious,” You all but cried, “To that psychotic Na-Baron!?” You screamed with tears streaming down your face. You knew it; you knew coming to Giedi Prime was a mistake— your intuition warned you greatly, but you ignored it and complied with your father’s wishes and orders. “There was no other way. I’m sorry,” Your father sighed and tried to take hold of you to calm you down. “You would leave me here to be his bride? You would leave me here vulnerable in the desolate walls of these Harkonnens?” You cried in pain, but your expression turned confused as your father shook his head. 

“The Na-Baron, your betrothed, will be heir to Arakis… you shall stay and rule there with him.” You hear the hopeful tone in your father’s voice as he tells you that you will be the lady of the most coveted seat and planet in the universe. “You… you cannot do this to me— please do not do this to me, father, I beg of you,” You cried, only crying harder as your father took you into his arms and offered you his apologies once more. Nothing can be done; you were now promised to the fearsome and formidable Na-Baron. 

They arranged for you to acquaint yourself more with your soon-to-be husband. Servants of House Harkonnen escorted you to him, and you followed mindlessly, but your stomach pitted in fear as you realized you had been led to the Na-Baron’s chambers. Your lips agape, and looked behind to see the servants hurriedly shuffling out of the Na-Baron’s room. You felt yourself grow cold and the life in your face went pale. You cautiously looked around the chambers and saw three women by your right, dressed and styled differently than the servants. The presence of women used to always bring you comfort in uncertain scenarios, but the three present did not aid your raging fear. 

“What’s so special about her?” You hear one of them drawl to the other, and you feel your lips upturn in confused fear. “Such a pitiful thing… weak and so fragile, could not even stomach to watch our lord handsomely fighting those puny slaves,” You frown and finally turn to them, the three just as eerie and disturbing to look at as any of their people, maybe even more so. “So what does she have to be rewarded with our great master Feyd-Rautha?” A third girl asked, and that is when you realized what their roles were. They looked at you expectantly, trying to know what you possessed to be rewarded or punished with the title of the Na-Baron’s betrothed. “I do not know,” you began, “Perhaps hair? Or sanity? Take your pick.” You boldly replied and watched as their teasing and amused looks turned scathing and jealous. Before any of them could make another remark, the sound of the door opening and boots walking the floor echoed through the room. Your expression was hard as you watched the three girls lower their heads demurely and out of respect as their master entered. 

“Ah, my future wife… I see you have met my darlings,” You turned to your betrothed, a smirk on his lips and his dark eyes sickeningly delighted as he was in a room filled with women he was certain would bring him much pleasure. You licked your lips and crossed your arms across your chest, your gaze flying to the three women who brazenly insulted you just mere moments ago. “You whores,” You boldly stated and let a fleeting smirk fly to your lips as you heard them hiss at your true statement. “My darlings.” Feyd-Rauth corrected, defending his loyal pets. You hummed and nodded your head. Finally, matching the fiery gaze of the Na-Baron. Every second you held his gaze, Feyd felt himself tighten against his trousers. You had always shielded your gaze from him, never letting him stare deep into those enchanting and lively eyes, and now that he did, all he wanted to do was stare into them, watch as tears would form when he made you cry in pleasure. 

“I always thought whores are acquired after marriage, but I suppose the Na-Baron is always one step ahead,” You bitterly mused at the man across from you, expecting him to grow enraged as you called his ‘darlings’ whores once more. But instead of rage, you only saw the smirk on the Na-Baron’s lips widen. “Are you jealous, little wife?” He asked and threaded closer, you let a frown slip your pretty face and a scoff left your lips. “Do not call me that,” You gritted. “And no, I am not… in all honesty, I am relieved in their existence if it means that you would be preoccupied and far from me and my bed; you could have a hundred ‘darlings’ for all I care,”  You stood your ground no matter how your mind went alarmed at the murderous look on your betrothed’s once amused expression. 

You chewed your cheeks as the Na-Baron silently motioned for the three women to step closer. You thought he was testing you, to see if you were truly unbothered and not at all jealous that your future husband was being satisfied by other women, but you gasped in horror as Feyd-Rautha swiftly took his dagger and slit the throats of his three pets. They fell at your feet, and you could only watch and step back in horror at the scene of black blood pooling and spewing from their throats. You were trembling, and Feyd-Rautha took you into his arms, forcing your face to look at him, enjoying the horror in your eyes. “Now, nothing will keep me from you and your bed, wife,” he lowly whispered, and you were defenseless as he captured your lips. Hungrily kissing you and pulling you impossibly closer to him to feel the softness of your frame as blood flooded under your feet. 

All was quick to fall into place. One moment, it was announced you were to be wed to the heir of House Harkonnen, and the next, you were being prepared for the actual ceremonies. You felt bile rising and tears falling as you stared at yourself in the mirror. A gown of white in the make and design of your home planet rather than the fashion of Giedi Prime. “You look beautiful, sister,” Your brother complimented quietly. He, too, turned solemn as he had no way to protect you from the arrangements made behind closed doors. “Let’s just get this over with,” You mumbled and took his arm for what you believed would be the last time. 

You were being escorted down the aisle by your father,  Feyd-Rautha’s eyes upon you impatiently; he could no longer wait any further and suffer through the ceremonies and banquets before he had you alone in his chambers. After your kiss two nights prior, you quickly left the chambers and left the Na-Baron to want and desire more. Each moment that had passed has left him hard and strained, with no other outlet for his needs to be quenched and met; his only choice was to wait for you to be his wife. 

It should shame you to admit, but the kiss you shared with the Na-Baron didn’t leave you disgusted. It was alarming to note that your body had turned warm, and throughout the night, your thoughts strayed to wanting more. You had been kissed before, once, but it was nothing compared to the way Feyd-Rautha kissed your lips. 

You stood by his side as a man in front spoke in a language you could not comprehend or understand. The only thing your mind could focus on was the way the Na-Baron’s hand held yours. Cold and calloused palms enclosed around warm and soft ones. You raised your gaze as the man in front of the two of you finally spoke words you understood, announcing to the room that you and the Na-Baron were officially husband and wife. You set your eyes upon Feyd-Rautha, whose dark eyes were on your lips. Letting go of your hand and taking hold of your face to kiss your lips without warning. It was a quicker kiss than the one shared the previous night, and you were dismayed yourself as your body wanted more, so much more. 

Feyd smirked as he saw color bloom onto your cheeks and felt its warmness against his cold touch. No word was exchanged as he escorted you through the aisle, the cheers of his subjects ringing loudly; absent were the reactions of you and your kin. You were still silent during the banquet, only offering a ghost of a smile when you two were approached and presented with ‘congratulations.’ You tried to ignore the way your body responded when your husband placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze now and then through the fabric of your gown. “You look ravishing, my darling,” You hear him whisper in your ear, his warm breath sending a chill down your spine. 

“Do not call me that,” you gritted as you had no wish to share an endearment he used with his whores. Feyd smirked as he believed that heard a hint of jealousy in your honey voice, “And what would you like to be called, wife?” He asked, and you clenched your jaw and thighs as that brought a surprising twist in your core. Your reaction was not missed by the Na-Baron, a wicked smirk spreading to his lips and his hand inching higher from your thigh. “Tell me, wife… are you too as excited as I am for the bedding?” He teased and nipped your ear, making you gasp, turning to him with shock and wanting-filled eyes. Your eyes shifted from his dark blue orbs to his plush lips, and the desire for it to be against you became increasingly prominent. You gulped as his eyes turned impossibly darker and his jaw clenched, you took a sharp intake of breath as he abruptly stood. “The feast is finished, leave.” That was all he said before he urged you to stand and dragged you to his chambers. 

You were like putty in his arms as he pushed you up against the cold wall of his chambers. Your lips roughly danced against each other, and his hands hiked up your wedding dress, leaving fire with his cold touch. For days, you had convinced yourself you felt no attraction to the man who had his lips on you’re neck and hand against your cunt. “You are a great actress, wife. Making me believe you hated me— wanted nothing to do with me, but that cannot be true, not when your cunt is so wet and ready for me.” You gasped as he inserted his finger inside you without warning— the feeling foreign, and you did not know if you should embrace the uncomfortability or the prospect that pleasure was quick to bloom. “So tight… my little wife had never been defiled— that shall change,” He mused against your lips, swallowing your whine when he inserted another finger inside your wet cunt. 

“M-My lord,” You cried at the curl of his finger; you heard him ‘tsk’ and rub his thumb against the sensitive bundles of nerves on your cunt. “Enough with the formalities. I am your husband, and you will call me by my name— you will scream my name when you come.” Your eyes rolled back as his other hand clasped around your neck, your husband thrilled and overjoyed as you only clenched tightly around him, and a pleasured moan slipped past your lips. He thought he’d have to be gentle with you— that he would scare you with his savage desires, but as he felt you cling and clench to him as he added more pressure around your throat, he knew you would be able to take and would be grateful for his brazenness in fucking. 

“Feyd… Feyd!” You cried as you felt your thighs tremble and your core painfully twists in want of release. You whined and cried as you felt his fingers slip out of you, your knees weak and your body desperate for release. “Patience, little wife,” Your husband cruelly mussed, his eyes locked upon you as he licked the essence of you clean from his fingers. You moaned as his lips met yours again, tasting yourself as his tongue teased yours. You whimpered as he placed his rough hands tights on your hips, imprinting his mark and making it known to you that he was yours. You groaned as he bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, him pulling away to admire the red the beaded on your plump, sweet lips. “Such a pretty color…” he murmured and bought his finger to wipe away the blood and taste it, you growing more aroused as a rumble emerged from his throat. Feyd watched as more blood dripped from your lips, and he wasted not a drop of it, kissing and tasting all of you. 

Feyd moved the two of you to his bed, pushing you down on the soft, silk-coved mattress. You swallowed thickly as he took out his dagger once more, a grin on his lips as he saw a speck of fear in your eyes. “Such a beauty you look in this dress… but I know you’ll look better without it,” He took the dagger and cut through your fine gown, nicking your stomach on the way. Feyd zeroed in on your sweet blood once more, his eyes hungrily taking in your body that was now exposed to him. “Oh…” You moaned as his tongue soothed the cut he made, his tongue teasing you as it would thread lower but would return to the cut every time it oozed blood. “Feyd… please,” You finally relinquished and let your needs be known. He hummed as his cock grew harder at your moans. 

“What do you want, little wife?” he hummed and took a deep breath of your scent. You whined as his tongue teased your navel, and his lips threaded further south but quickly moved north again. You moaned as his black teeth gently bit your bosom, his cold hand pawing at the other, your nipples taut by his cold hand and hot tongue. “Tell me, little wife, what do you want?” You whimpered again as nipped your skin once more, “You. I… I want you,” You finally said and yelled when Feyd flipped you to your stomach. Anticipation sat heavily as you heard him shuffling to remove his clothing. You breathed harshly as you felt his hands on your behind, kneading the smooth, plump flesh; his thumb teasingly brushed your cunt, and you were quick to moan. 

“What did you want again, my pretty wife?” He hummed by your ear, his toned body pressing against your back, his throbbing cock resting on your derrière. “You, I want you. Please, Feyd… I— please just fuck me,” You cried and let go of any pride you had in exchange for feeling pleasure. You howled as his thick and large length pushed its way inside you. Feyd hissing as the tip of his cock was being squeezed by your cunt. You were wet, galaxies, you were wet. But not wet enough for your husband’s cock to slip inside comfortably. Friction and resistance were prominent, and Feyd enjoyed that tremendously. Excruciating pain first had to be felt before you could feel the pleasure that you were desperate for. 

You gasped and felt tears rim your eyes as a cold hand found home around your neck again. “So fucking tight… all fucking mine,” Feyd hissed as he fully sheathed himself inside you; his hand felt the trickle of pained tears, and he was determined to turn it into tears of pleasure. “Such a good wife taking all of me,” He praised and squeezed your neck tighter. You whimpered and raised your gaze, only now noticing that the wall that your husband’s bed rested upon was entirely reflective that you could see him in all of his glory. Knelt behind you and a pleasured expression on his face as he gradually moved his length in and out of you. 

It felt like eons before you finally felt pleasure, but when it finally came, it was the most blissful feeling you had experienced in your life. The way he harshly gripped your throat, the way that his lips would pepper kisses on your shoulders and back, was enough to quickly drive you into climax. One where you screamed and called for his name, begging him to slow down, but he did no such thing. Only increased his speed and moved his hand to draw circles upon your bundle of nerves, coaxing another climax from you, making you scream his name louder and your body over-sensitive. “Feyd, Feyd, no more, please,” You cried as your whole body was already exhausted and trembling. 

“I do not understand you, wife. Just earlier, you were begging for this… you were begging to be fucked by me.” He grunted as he, too, felt his peak to come. He moved his hands to bundle your hair, the texture so soft and foreign, his fingers running through the locks and pulling it to make you groan. “Such a perfect cunt, such a perfect wife. You will sire me many heirs… you will always be my side.” Feyd groaned as you squeezed his length tighter and tighter to the point he felt pleasurable pain. You hear his animalistic growl when he finally spills himself deep inside of you, watching through the reflective wall as his face contorted into sheer pleasure, his rasping voice repeating your name as you feel both of your essences drip on the inside of your thigh.

He moved your head for your lips to meet with his again, him biting down to draw blood once more. You pulled away and gasped for air as well as gasped in shock as you felt his once limped and just emptied length grow erect inside you. “Did you truly think we were finished?” He asked against your lips. “I’m going to fuck and breed you until you’re unable to walk, little wife.”

[citrusdarling7]

The Bloodline

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description- as a highly trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, you were prepared to do your part in carrying on the selective genetic material of this generation. however, a change of plans are made, and you are told that you must secure the bloodline of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the dangerous young heir to Geidi Prime

warnings- unprotected intercourse, p-in-v sex, fingering (f! receiving,) sort of knife-play, blood, violence via gladiator fighting (but not too descriptive,) BG propaganda, slightly inaccurate Dune technology, feyd-rautha has black cum (credit to @valeskafics for that one<3)

word count- 1,857

a/n- wow, it's been a while. haven't published anything on this site in like over a year I think, but I hope at least someone will enjoy this sick little piece I wrote instead of doing my homework :)

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It was never supposed to be him.

You were supposed to be paired with the heir of Caladan, Paul Atriedes, and you had been told this since your first day of training. Yet, the Atreides' had all been killed on Arrakis at the hands of the Harkonnens, and your Reverend Mother decided that the duty of continuing another selective bloodline would fall upon you. The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha may have been the result of 90 generations of predetermined genetic material, but that didn’t make him any less psychotic. Nor any less intriguing.

The bright sun of Geidi Prime was high today, and the air was sticky with humidity. Cheers erupted from the crowds as a young Harkonnen warrior gutted a slave in the pit below, and you found yourself growing bored of the spectacle. One of the ladies to your right let out a shriek at the gruesome scene, drawing your attention.

“How is one supposed to stomach this brutality for an entire day?” She exasperated. 

“It is tradition for the Harkonnens’, Lady Clarissa. They value strength, and what better way to prove it than in the gladiator pits?” Your Bene Gesserit training consisted of much time studying the histories, and you pride yourself on your knowledge of the cultures of all the Great Houses. Lady Clarissa grimaced before adjusting her hairpiece and fixing her mouth back to a pout.

“It is deplorable, but I suppose you would have no issue with that sort of thing,” she remarked. You paid her no attention; the Bene Gesserit were not well liked by many nobles, Lady Clarissa’s family included. Her discontent mattered little to you, although you felt yourself wishing you had at least one other Sister here with you. 

Unfortunately, your Reverend Mother had sent you on this mission hastily, claiming that the upcoming celebration of the na-Baron’s birthday would be the perfect time for you to carry out the task. Coming from a Great House yourself, it was not abnormal for you to attend such an event, but the marks of the Sisterhood followed you wherever you went. Although controlling your mind was usually an easy task, you found yourself slightly anxious after waiting hours to finally get a glimpse of your target.

It felt as if years had passed before the announcer finally declared that the young na-Baron would now display his bravo in a fight against three slaves, supposedly the last remaining members of the Atreides household. You perked up in your seat, pulling the binoculars close to your eyes as the crowd bellowed. 

Feyd-Rautha strided out to the center of the pit and bowed before the Baron, giving you a good look at the young heir. He was pale, so pale that the sun seemed to reflect off of his skin. The black fighting suit he wore drew your attention to his muscled torso, his sculpted abs peeking out from beneath the hem. His face was stern, although a smile stretched from his lips as one of the slaves began to stagger towards him. As you watched him slice open the other man’s throat, you found your heartbeat begin to race. You were intrigued. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The interior of the Harkonnen palace was grim, as you had expected it to be. You walked through the fortress slowly, counting your steps as a way to calm your breathing. After the spectacle in the gladiator pits, you were immeasurably more nervous than you had been when arriving on the planet. Feyd Rautha was brutal, vicious, and likely insane. Yet, you could not deny your attraction towards him. It was stupid, immature, and dangerous. You were a trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, and this was your duty. To conceive a child with the na-Baron, and ensure the bloodline is secure.

You were not supposed to be on this side of the palace, yet no one questioned as you walked by. Your gown swept across the floor as you moved and your hairpiece tickled your bare shoulders. The na-Baron’s chambers were ahead to your left, and you noted the absence of guards, as well as the faint sound of approaching footsteps. A rather ghastly portrait of a late Baroness served as an excuse for your attention, although you struggled to prevent your eyes from wandering to the dark form approaching. 

“Well, what do we have here? Are you lost, little pet?” His voice was deep and raspy, and you found your mind faltering once again. 

“ My Lord na-Baron.” You restrained from bowing your head as you turned from the painting, staring directly into the man’s eyes as you sweetened your gaze. “I believe I may have wandered too far from the guest’s hall. Mayhaps I have wandered into a trap?”

“You should not be here.” He stepped closer, and began to stride around you in a circular fashion, like that of a predator stalking its prey. He watches you with hunger in his eyes, imagining what pleasure it would bring him to tear the dress from your body and take you right against the wall.

The Reverend Mother had been right; sexually vulnerable.

“Perhaps, I am in exactly the right place. I wished to congratulate you on your triumphs in the fighting today, it was truly a spectacle to remember.” You approached him swiftly, and the smell of steel and musk filled your nose. “I have heard many tales of your strength and bravery, but none measure up to what I have witnessed today. You will be a fearsome Baron, just like your uncle.” At the mention of the Baron, Feyd’s eyes lit up and his hand snapped around your neck. 

“So you must be the gift my uncle has promised. He must have bought you Off-World, for I have never seen a Harkonnen slave as beautiful as you. I will enjoy ravishing you.” 

Your heart beat sky-rocketed as he tightened his grip on your throat, making you lose control.

“Release me,” you commanded with the Voice, out of instinct rather than fear. The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and Feyd obeys. The grin on his face falters as you stumble backwards, realizing that you may have just destroyed generations of planning, with only two words. Thankfully, Feyd does not seem discouraged.

“Ah, not a gift then, but I will have fun with you all the same, witch.” With a sudden movement, he pushed you against the wall and captured your lips in a harsh kiss. Feyd’s hips pressed hard against yours as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. His scent was overpowering in a way that made your head spin and seemed to subdue your thoughts. Your thighs clenched in anticipation as the na-Baron grabbed at your neck once more.

“Tell me, witch, what do they say of me in your homeworld? Are all you little witches so eager to please?” Feyd’s threatening gaze made your knees falter as you looked up to him with a soft smile.

“Not all of us, my lord. But I must admit, I have found myself rather allured by the temptations of your beautiful planet.” His hand dropped from your throat, and vanished to his side before reappearing a split-second later, with a curved blade in his grip. The tip of the knife rested against your skin, the cold steel making you shiver. Feyd swiped his other palm across the wall, causing it to unlock in a strange clicking pattern. His eyes burning into yours, he led you backwards into what you presumed to be his bedquarters, the blade at your neck guiding you in the way he wanted. 

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you allowed yourself to be pressed onto it. His blade was thrown aside, allowing his hands to roughly tear at your gown, ripping the bodice straight in half. You let out a gasp as you felt cold fingers slip between your undergarments.

“What a brazen little slut you are, showing up outside my chambers so wet and wanting.” He thrust two digits inside of you, finally satiating the ache that had been present from the moment you laid eyes on him in the arena. He fucked you roughly with his fingers, setting an excruciating pace that had you whimpering and writhing against the bed in mere minutes. 

“Please, my lord. I want you inside of me,” you begged, reaching up to run your hand along his torso, stopping when you felt the bulge of his manhood straining against the confines of his pants. 

Feyd eagerly obliged, tugging off his pants and stroking his thick cock rapidly to prepare himself for you. He lined his tip up with your entrance and wasted no more time teasing you. The na-Baron thrusted into you, hard, making you clench at the bedsheets and thrash your head to the side in an attempt to stifle your moans.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, little witch,” he grunted, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them above your head. His dark eyes burned into yours as you tried your very best to keep quiet, not wanting to alert any servant that might have been lurking outside. He met your lips with his once again, in a ravenous kiss that had your teeth clashing against his. Feyd bit down on your bottom lip, drawing blood that he hastily licked up before moving on to attack your neck. 

You were so full with his cock inside of you, and you had never been more aroused in your entire life. The metallic smell of blood seemed to radiate from the man, and his fingers left delicious bruises wherever they ventured. You felt your toes begin to curl and your stomach tighten; the agonizing pace at which he was fucking you had you close to the edge of bliss once again. He could feel you begin to clench around him, your walls gripping his cock like a vice.

“Is the little witch going to cum for me? Go ahead, you’re mine now,” He finally released your hands, and you immediately gripped at his muscled shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “My uncle may not have intended you for me, but fate has. No one else will ever have you.” You nodded desperately, not caring about the words coming from his mouth but rather the immense pleasure he was giving you. 

Finally, a wave of bliss overtook your body, making you shake and scream as Feyd continued to roughly fuck you. You lost control of your mind once again, seeing stars as you came.

Feyd was close behind you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm had him rutting his hips against yours, letting out a deep groan as he emptied his seed into you. 

It took you a few moments to regain your senses, to finally realize that you had successfully completed your mission. His black seed leaked out of you, a sickly sight that made your face flush. He had left his distinctive Harkonnen mark on you, and the bloodline was secure. It was never supposed to be him, but you were very pleased with the way things had worked out.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present. Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough crappy carpet under your feet. You stood up shakily. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, scared the living hell out of you.

You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, he only stared, probably to drunk to realize it was his own daughter.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, disgusted by your sight, “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

You couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood there. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied through your teeth.

His eyes flared with rage, and he raised the bottle, ready to hit you. You tensed up, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, “Don’t hurt her.”

JJ’s plea just hung there, like this thin, fragile thread barely holding things together. For a second, your dad froze, his hand twitching, eyes darting between you and your brother.

And then, with this pissed-off roar, he chucked the bottle at the wall. It exploded into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the house, loud and final, like it was the last brutal note in this nightmare that felt way too real.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat.

Panic hit hard as his grip tightened around your throat, stealing your breath. You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but he was way too strong, too determined.

Dark spots started creeping into your vision. You gasped, fighting for air, but he only squeezed harder. The room blurred and started spinning, and just when you thought you were about to pass out, his face began to change, shifting right in front of you. You blinked, trying to clear your head, and when you opened your eyes again, it wasn’t your dad choking you anymore.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The fear was paralyzing, like ice-cold dread flooding through your veins.Your heart hammered against your chest, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout for help. His grip was solid, unbreakable, like he had no intention of letting go.

You struggled with everything you had, but it was like fighting through quicksand. Every move felt slow, heavy, like you were trapped in molasses.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

A wave of nausea hit you, your stomach twisting with disgust — at him, at yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the image of his hands around your throat fresh and terrifying, making it hard to process how he could sleep so soundly. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake him, and hurriedly grabbed your clothes, dressing in silence.

Standing in the cramped bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping it would wash away the nightmare. The coolness gave you a quick moment of clarity, but the dread still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You stared at yourself in the mirror — pale, tired, and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You needed to leave, clear your head, figure out what the hell to do next. Quietly, you slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed your keys from the nightstand, and took one last glance at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely clueless about the fear swirling inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and dead silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine down the hall. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit your skin like a slap of reality. It was like stepping out of one world and into another — the difference so harsh, it almost felt unreal.

You walked a few more steps, but suddenly everything started spinning. Your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded, your legs giving out as you slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong.

You couldn't fall apart now.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind. You were a dirty traitor.

The cold didn't couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't ignore the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you got closer to the entrance, you spotted him at the front desk. He looked a mess — worried, disheveled, like he’d just woken up and thrown on some shorts in a rush. His face was tight with tension as he talked to the front desk guy, hands moving wildly, gesturing around like he was freaking out. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The nightmare was still fresh.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic.

"Sir, I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself, "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. You should feel repulsed.

His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. And then, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think much of it. It was you or him.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what came next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your stupid actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing.

"You okay?"

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, he watched you carefully, as if he was afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any given moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. He was smart enough to read your bullshit, but he only took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Is this about last night?”

Your body froze instantly. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other. You couldn't be.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off. The vulnerability in his voice pierced your skin, a consequence of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you. You probably deserved it.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, even though you knew he didn't mean it.

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted quietly as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, "Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt so much frustration rising within you, "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, "I wanted you."

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. Why did it feel like this was going to crush you?

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent, for the second time that morning. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation became clear as day. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet without him was almost eerie. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down?

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence driving you up the walls. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him.

You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously, “What are you doing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot, “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, “Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from earlier.

“You need to sleep this off."

He nodded but didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

That night? It never happened. It felt like everything was happening all over again.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the hauntings of your past, blending into a tiring cycle of fear. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. He never asked for you help.

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant.

Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. Maybe you should've kept quiet, but his druken monologue was still very much killing you inside.

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, "How can you be so sure?" he murmured.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, “I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. That didn't matter anymore to him.

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. It was over. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The beauty of the scene did little to ease the anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face still void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat.

“Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

Not ever, that's what he meant.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

You didn't like it one bit.

“Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man announced, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the plan. Right? The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, Rafe moving to place himself between you and the older man, “Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves.

"Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You knew this had to be a trap.

"Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you couldn't think about what might happen to both of you if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling at that point.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. Oh hell no. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“Run.”

Before you could protest, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly.

Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight wasn't over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier.

He grabbed your arm like you were some kind of animal, “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to him, your heart pounding with relief. He was okay. You were okay.

His arms wrapped around your lower back tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching your face to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you.

It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain. No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you didn't want to scare him.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation.

You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was too much. The police and the traffickers were in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood. There was nowhere to run.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you.

"Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips, "Go."

Before you could tell him off, you felt hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient and hurried.

As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was nothing but a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't rest until you saw him again. Alive.

When the boat finally docked, paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down and a police officer approached you.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down again. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic, “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words.

Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him. Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt so helpless.

“I can't just leave him."

"We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, without another option, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the station and into a waiting car, you could only imagine him lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[angelesca]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐮𝐨𝐟𝐮’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

˚☽˚.⋆ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩. 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫-𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐝.˚☽˚.⋆ a collection of your four great encounters with a dragon, zombie, lion, and a changeling, and their daily life in your house (your haunted house haha) w.c: ¬3k // content: dan heng (imbibitor lunae form) / zombie!blade / guardianlion!jing yuan / changeling!luocha x gn!reader, gang of idiots, 4 crazy guys in your house, they share one brain cell (and its dan heng's), short writings and bullet point headcanons, found family vibes, huo huo as your exorcist, tail is there too ig, chaos everywhere, probs out of character, rushed this for halloween (failed) so quality is questionable

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐛𝐢, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 – 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝. you coined this as a curse of sorts, a coagulation of the corrupted karma from your ancestors, you rationalised. 

you need serious help. under the black quilt of the night sky, tall tales speak of a renowned exorcist. if they are as good as locals say, the days of sleepless nights and hair-pulling frustration will finally be cleansed. 

in the fyxestroll garden, bad omens riddle the place. perhaps it is a promising sign of the exorcists' capabilities, who is unintimated in the territory of their enemies. you reach a pavilion, scanning the people and matching them to your criteria: short girl, green, and… weird tail. 

“uhm,” the ‘weird tail’ was an understatement. “are you huo huo?”

the girl jumps when you tap her shoulder from behind, swinging her fiery tail around as she faces you. “oh!” her mouth shapes into a circle, eyes frantically flitting. “h-how may i help you?” 

“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you,” you smile, pulling a friendly expression in hopes that it will calm her jittery nerves. “i’ve heard that you deal with exorcisms? i was hoping you could help me with such matters.”

“uhhh, do you know who you are speaking to?” your eyes follow the bouncing of green flames behind huo huo, confused at the sudden third voice. “we are the best in town! you should be on your knees! to even comprehend that you dare approach us-”

huo huo scrambles to hide the boisterous heliobus. “sorry! don’t mind him…” the tail harrumphed, letting her regain control. “w-what ails you to come seek me?” 

“ah, well,” you tap your chin in contemplation. “there’s a lot.”

and so, you begin recounting your haunted days to huo huo.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

1.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚. what was believed to be an all-mighty species in the past, was reduced to a forgotten folklore.

when you found dan heng, he was lying wounded in an alley like a stray cat. nothing about power or might was portrayed on his face: creased eyebrows, gritted teeth, he clutched onto a bleeding patch by his abdomen.

you took the injured creature to your home, and now, somehow, its his home too. 

distant and quiet at first

when you took interest in your his book, he opened up ever so little – non stop yapping when you engage with his interests

dreams of traversing the universe in a massive space-weaving train

reveals that his nightmares are of a gruesome past. you stay by his side during those nights

you thought he would leave eventually after healing. how come he’s also cooking your meals and cleaning the place? 

you learned the language of his tail: when he’s delighted, it wags like a dog. his tail brushes and wraps lightly around your leg when he is really relaxed

brews crazy bitter coffee – learned from a certain person. wakes you up like a slap to the face

it was another stressful day of work. endless papers and nagging, you were sure your supervisor must have been an enemy of the past who came to haunt you too. 

yet, when you opened the door, the stress seeped out like vapour. after all, you had a dragon in your home. his terrific presence was ovepowering.

“hey, dan heng,” the mythical dragon was reading the latest volume by his favourite author. it was a strange image to wrap your head around in the beginning. as months passed, you grew accustomed to this daily life. “how’s the book?”

dan heng’s tail swished upon seeing you. quickly, he averted his eyes back on the book. “intriguing. it writes in detail of a distant planet covered in snow.”

“oh?” you placed a cushion on the floor, sitting next to him. you yawned, almost unhinging your jaw. “is it… good…?” you were slipping out of your composure, head hanging low, your body close to spilling over the table. sleep was taking you.

dan heng caught your shoulders, saving you from injury. your head was heavy with burden. he lifted some of your weight as he moved your head onto his shoulder, even if only temporarily.

as still as concrete, he dared not to rouse you from your deserved sleep. he has seen your restless days and effort to chase after the unforgiving deadline. it was why he took on your domestic duties, as best as he could, cleaning and cooking to ease some of your responsibilities. 

his tail wrapped around your leg. just as you have been there for his nights, imbibitor lunae would be there for yours too.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

2.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞. languid posture, killer eyes. a jiangshi, was your initial thought, yet he had no affinity for blood. but it was definitely not human.

you were strolling along the xianzhou pier when you bumped against a brooding frame. bowing your head, a wordless apology, you wished for that to be the end of the interaction.

it was only when you were in front of your house door, that you realised it had followed you, lured by your scent, the scent of a vidyadhara. no words, no other action. braindead? perchance. 

when you opened the door, all hell broke loose between the dragon and a zombie.

that zombie went by blade.

theres not a day when dan heng and blade aren't having a go at each other

speaks even less words than dan heng. stares at you whenever he wants something. you’ve more or less learnt how to read him by following his gaze. for example, looking at the door meant he was bored and needed his walkies wanted to go outside

personal guard dog. will accompany you outside and swing his sword at anything threatening. although for blade, the threshold for what counts as threatening is horribly low. good thing normal people can’t see him

not too fond of light. when it is too bright, he trusts your body to block it. e.g. stretching your shirt as if it can hide him inside too

no thought, head empty. forgetful, zombies don't have the best memory

does he not notice the drool on his mouth when he stares at your bare arm? bites you randomly. not painful, though. you are always praying that his bites aren’t infectious like in the stories

sometimes you hear blade’s quiet ramblings. jingliu? maybe a fellow zombie friend. paying a price? maybe he’s in debt

“could you both please stop it already?!” your throat was burning.

“he… started it…!”  the dragon struggled beneath the zombie, who was clawing at his nemesis.

you knew one effective way to stop this. “blade! i’m going for a walk!”

works like magic. blade immediately halted, empty brain firing at the trigger word. with one last sassy side eye at dan heng, he took his rightful place by your side. 

dan heng stared at him, stunned. “what the…you littl-”

you browsed the stalls. a radiant shine caught your attention. it was a pendant made of multicoloured glass beads, hanging on a thread of intertwining rainbows. you held it under the sun, a kaleidoscope of crimson and sable shimmers reflected on your skin. it reminded you of blade. 

without another thought, you purchased it enthusiastically. you turned to blade who stood with his sword in his crossed arms, eyes closed. “blade, let’s go. i have something for you.” you whispered, though most people would believe you were talking to yourself anyways.

blade nodded, eyes half-open. “o…kay…” his fingers tugged onto a corner of your jacket, a preventative measure for getting lost.

you both sat on a bench far removed from watchful eyes. verdant trees hung over you, shading you in camouflage. 

taking the pendant out, you handed it to blade, smiling. “for you.”

“what gives…?” blade questioned, inspecting the gift as if it had evil hidden powers.

“no reason, really,” you watched his careful hands which cradled the pendant. “well, i guess it reminded me of you.”

blade gazed at you. he looked at you and then his pocket. you tried to decipher it; this was one wasn’t in the manual.

he scooped out a golden lump and handed it to you, holding your hand in his. “for you… too…” blade mumbled.

“wait… this is…” you picked up his gift, eyebrows creased. “this is… this is the limited edition ultra rare golden super original one-in-a-billion trashcan figurine! you remembered!” you squealed, excited beyond measure. “how did you even- did you steal this??”

of course he remembered your favourites, however hard it may be for the forgetful blade. when he thought of you, even he, a zombie, could become human again.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

3.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧. these pairs of statues were all too common in the streets of xianzhou, a semblance of divine protection and prosperity.

you were on your usual stroll, which happens to attract the worst fates, when you felt a pair of eyes on you. you gulped. the one day you don’t bring blade along, has to be the time where his sword would prove useful.

turning around, you saw a guardian lion statue. wait, did it just tilt its head?

you blinked. that day choked the loudest scream out of you. in front of you was the spirit known as jing yuan.

you opened the door to your house. hell broke another time between a dragon, zombie, and a lion.

in spirit, jing yuan is a lion; by heart, he is a sloth. bro sleeps all day like a cat (though a lion is a big cat). unlike blade, jing yuan loves sleeping in the sun

reliable, wise old spirit. offers you good life lessons.

gently scolds dan heng and blade when they fight, like a father and his children. works 50/50 on blade, but your method has a 100% gacha rate. you become the emergency button.

fluffy mane. works great as a stress reliever (approved)

has a good friend, lightning lord, who comes to hang out

cultivated a garden in the back. plucks the flowers for you.

fondness for children. he did mention having adopted some blue kid once.

“now that i think about it,” you turned to jing yuan who was sluggishly lying on the living room floor, flicking through the tv. “where’s your partner? don’t guardian lions come in pairs?”

jing yuan was chewing on some jerky. “i ate them.”

“huh?” you examined the jerky in his mouth. “surely not…”

jing yuan did not respond, smirking like a mischievous cat. he patted down the space next to him.

you raised an eyebrow before sitting down where he wanted you, legs splayed on the floor. the afternoon sun casted its gaze through your window. it was perfect for a nap.

jing yuan decided just that, taking your lap up on offer. his bountiful mane bundled like wool in your hands as you stroked his head. 

“what if i clone myself? perhaps that can complete the pair.” jing yuan hypothesised, a playful gleam in his eyes.

“you can do that?” you asked curiously.

“why, of course. as a powerful spirit, my abilities are quite extensive. i can even make blade smile with his teeth showing.”

“ah,” the thought was uncanny. “please leave blade alone.”

suddenly, a bulky weight pressed onto you from behind. strong arms draped around your waist, encircling you in a warm embrace. someone or something was nuzzling onto your shoulder.

you looked back and saw jing yuan. you looked in front and saw jing yuan. two. jing. yuans. your brain exploded. “o-oh-”

the original jing yuan studied how your body grew warmer. “if you like it so much, i can keep him here...” he purred.

“i don’t…” you recollected your jumbled thoughts, retraining your breathing. “it’s too many spirits here! one jing yuan is enough.”

original jing yuan grinned. “so that’s your answer.”

clicking his fingers, the original jing yuan sucked in the fake one, like he was drinking a beverage. he rubbed his belly, satisfied, the cat-like smile plastered on his face.

everyday you experience something new. “oh… my god.” 

jing yuan licked his lips. “told you i ate them.”

“did jing yuan just...” dan heng was standing in the doorway, perturbed. a giant shadow loomed behind him. “commit cannibalism...?”

blade charged forward, sword in hand.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

4.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. a myth that travelled from the far west, they were also known as shapeshifters.

on your casual walk, and you swore after this you were never leaving the house again, you stopped by a pharmacy. you talked to a blonde man behind the counter and asked for pain relievers.

“uhmm, sorry, who are you talking to?” the assistant was concerned as she approached you.

you pointed at the man in front of you who was chewing on the assistant’s head. “huh? what?”

you did not realise that luocha was a spirit, his human disguise fooling as intended.

blade kicked down your door before you could open it. the changeling struggled against a dragon, a zombie, and a lion. 

the most enigmatic one out of the bunch. even the other spirits are creeped out

occasionally, his neck creaks at impossible angles, bones crunching. recites anything he has absorbed. kinda like a parrot. you get used to it.

the house is cramped so luocha is banished to the basement with his coffin. sometimes sleeps on the living room floor. always tripping over his body. plus, he sleeps with his eyes open

outside of his healing expertise, he has negative common sense in everything else. has probably almost burnt the house down a hundred times, if not for jing yuan’s protection spell. chews on blade’s hair like a horse. dan heng will weaponise an egg in hand when needed

willing to learn the ways of the human. is attached to you as he copies your actions, but is sloppy and clumsy

changeling powers come in handy for espionage. want to change your work days? ask luocha to disguise as your boss and grant seven sundays

will sometimes shapeshift when overwhelmed – like a shut-down response? whose dog is that? why is there an elephant on the toilet?

waking up to another dreadful day, you headed downstairs. luocha rose from the dead like a mummy, arms criss-crossed on his chest. 

your heart leaped. “the living room floor again?! ugh…” it was too early for this.

“good morning, master.” luocha stood up. he bowed, and you cringed hearing his spine break in half.

“uh, you don’t have to call me that.” you scratched your head as luocha reanimated himself back up straight.

luocha scratched his head. “your majesty?” he curtsied, almost tumbling.

“no, that’s worse.” you tilted your head.

he tilted his head. “my honeybear?” 

“what? where did you learn that?” you sighed. “just call me by my name. and please stop breaking your neck already.”

luocha readjusted his twisted neck. “hmm, i see.” 

you walk to the kitchen, roaming for breakfast. luocha marched up to you. “what is the most wondrous one doing anon, languish in posture and darkened eyes, at the crack of the ascending, hopeful dawn, at which hour thee shouldst beest slumbering soundly without a careth?”

you just barely understood him. “making breakfast, wanna help?”

“oh, i see.” luocha’s eyes twinkled. he read about this in the books, the part where the two main characters get closer as they cook together. a domestic activity that touches the hearts of readers as the characters brush hands, sidled close.

grabbing your ingredients, you chopped the tomatoes in slow demonstration for the learning luocha. “here, you try.”

“i see.” luocha takes the knife, his grip questionable as he holds the blade upright like a sword. fear ran cold in your veins as you gulped it down.

“u-uhh, maybe don’t hold it like that- holy sh- luocha you chopped your leg off!!”

“that didn’t work.” luocha calmly reattached his leg like it was just another day.

your lips curved down. “let me see it.” your fingers caress the area when the wound would have manifested. it really did heal.

“i... see…” luocha read about this. the part where the main lead tends to the other’s injuries. was it hurt and comfort? in this scenario, they get closer as their true feelings spill out after almost losing each other. then… they k-k-k-k-k-k-k-ki-kik-kis-kis-kit-kith-

“luocha, why did you turn into an elephant?”

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

you sigh the weight off your chest after recounting your strange encounters. “so that’s that.”

huo huo’s eyes are distraught. 

“ha! hah! hahahaahaha!” the tail, conveniently named ‘tail’, roars, “how miserable! so, you want us to perform an exorcism? name your price peasant, no lower than a million credits!”

“tail…” huo huo swats at the heliobus. she looks back at you. “if it’s an exorcism… i can place a talisman in your home to w-ward off the yin energy temporarily. i suspect that your overflowing yang energy is… attracting strong spirits.”

“well… that means they won’t come back?”

huo huo tilts her head, pondering the stars. “i guess so,” she notices your scrunched eyebrows. “... are you sure about this? oh! not that i-i’m saying you shouldn't but… you looked happy when you were talking…”

“huh? really?”

“preposterous!” the tail fumes, “you mean that they looked depressed! depressed! why in lan’s name are you turning away good money?!”

you contemplate for a moment. without those four, your days would be quiet, peaceful. isn’t that what you wanted? isn’t that why you came here in the first place?

maybe, you enjoyed your little haunted house more than you thought. 

you sigh, chuckling. your eyes brighten. “thanks, huo huo.”

she nods, smiling at your refreshed confidence. 

the night feels different now. lantern lights dress the streets in a bright fever, like the kindling of fire. was it always this warm under the cold night sky?

you open the door once more. the scene is all too familiar.

“hey dan heng, what book is that- “

“blade, why are you biting the table leg?!” 

“jing yuan, wake up, it’s past evening already!” 

“and luocha… just keep being you, i guess.”

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

“hey, did you hear the rumour down by aurum alley?”

“huh? i don’t think so?”

“apparently, people have heard strange sounds coming from a house: bloody screaming, cracking bones, and worse of all, meowing cats!”

“oh? that’s creepy…”

“yeah, they call it 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐮𝐨𝐟𝐮!”

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

a/n: i was supposed to get this out by halloween buuuuut i got lazy can't believe i wrote something more unserious for once in my life but it was pretty good fun! hopefully the change in writing style is not too jarring(?) lemme know who you liked most out of the gang! (´ ω `♡) my fav to write was luocha (and tail)! thanks for reading!🎃

[jjngkook7]

Choices (7)

Werewolf Au! Jungkook x Reader / Enemies to Lovers [Angst and mature content. Not smut but almost smut.]

Summary: Jungkook finally found her. His mate. His lifelong partner. But she’s a human. Does he have to stay with her or can he stick it to whatever and whoever binds mates together and make his own decision?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

You groaned as you finally shut off your alarm. After hitting the snooze button four times, you only had 30 minutes to get ready for work. As you dragged yourself out of bed and into your washroom, you thought about your dream last night. It was still a nightmare but not as gruesome as it usually was. Entering your washroom, you grimaced at the person staring back at you in the mirror. Your eyebags were heavy and your skin flat and colorless. Due to your inability to get up on time, you could only afford to wash your face and brush your hair if you wanted to at least have a coffee before work. Oh, the joys of Monday’s.

It seemed like your morning really set a precedent on how the rest of your day was going to be. You were 15 minutes late to work because of traffic, you forgot about a meeting that you set up and lunch was a bag of chips because you forgot your wallet at home. Needing to leave the chaos of the office, you decided to eat your sad lunch at a park. You ignored how cold your bottom was getting against the park bench as you watched the people around you go about their day.

“Rough day at the office?” an all too familiar voice asked.

You looked up and locked eyes with Jungkook. Great, now I'm hallucinating. If having visions of Jungkook wasn’t bad enough already, he looked better than you remembered. His hair was a little longer now and his eyes bright amber.

“Hello?” Jungkook waved his hand in front of you.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

“Oh you are real…oh my god! You’re-what are you doing here?!” it felt like you had just went through all five stages of grief in a nanosecond.

Jungkook watched in real time as the sleep vanishes from your eyes. He waits for you to collect yourself before taking a seat next to you on the bench. His body shivered not from the cold but from the sudden energy radiating between both of you. After being away for so long, he forgot just how strong the pull of a mate was.

“Aren't you cold?” you asked bewildered by how he was only in a long sleeve and jeans.

Jungkook wanted to laugh. He knew you were probably freezing from how pale your fingers were. He also noticed the tiredness on your face and wondered if you had been sleeping at all.

“How long do you have left for your lunch break?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“20 minutes.” you replied.

Jungkook nods and quickly tried to figure out how to tell you that your life was in danger and that the only way to save you was to live with him for a bit and let him mark you.

“I think we’re going to need more than 20 minutes,” he says.

Jungkook was able to explain the situation to you within 20 minutes, leaving out the part where he had to mark you. The argument that happened afterwards lasted 30 minutes. You couldn’t just move to the mountains when you had a job to show up to and who was going to pay rent for the unit you were already living in? In the same breath, Jungkook explained that it was dangerous to live so close to civilization in case there was an attack and shared how much he didn’t want to live with you.

“Do you not hear the absurdity of what you’re asking me to do?” you argued.

“Do you think I want to do this?” Jungkook sneered.

“Then don’t!” you exclaimed.

“Fine!” he shouted, matching the volume of your voice.

“Fine!” you shouted back before marching back to your office, your bag of chips forgotten on the bench.

__________________________________

Jungkook adjusted his cap as he waited for you to leave your house. He rolled his eyes when he heard your alarm ring for the third time signifying that you had no intention of getting up. You’re going to be late again idiot.

After your guys’ encounter at the park, Namjoon reamed Jungkook out for being stubborn and doing the exact opposite of what he was supposed to do. They came up with a compromise that Jungkook hated even more than the original plan. Night and day, Jungkook would essentially watch you from afar in case a rogue decided to attack. He’d follow you to work, to the grocery store and home. At night, Jungkook would make rounds around your neighborhood until late and then head back to his own home before repeating it all again the next day. Before he knew it, Jungkook's life revolved around you now.

“One more snooze and you would’ve been screwed.” Jungkook grinned when you opened the door.

Biting your tongue, you locked the front door before making your way past him. You were already running on a couple hours of sleep and seeing Jungkook’s shit eating grin this early in the morning made you want to scream. Unbeknownst to Jungkook, your sleep schedule had gotten worse now that you knew your life was at risk. If you were lucky, you’d only wake up twice in the night. Despite the lack of privacy, knowing that Jungkook was around just in case anything happened did give you some sort of reassurance. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you kind of liked having him around. Sure, he’d make your anger spike anytime he spoke but his presence added some excitement to your daily mundane routine. When you were out and about, you’d try to spot him in a crowd like a game of “Where’s Waldo”. It was getting harder for Jungkook to hide his amusement anytime you would find him because when you did, you’d stick out your tongue at him. He did noticed that you continued to look more and more tired than before. He had wondered what was causing you so much stress but pushed the thought away because that wasn’t part of the job description.

As you stood in front of your office building, you turned your head to see where Jungkook was. Scanning through the crowd of people on their way to work, you finally locked eyes with him and inhaled sharply. It was always a sensation overload whenever you looked at him because his amber eyes would pierce right through you. After the initial shock, a smile crept onto your face. Jungkook was trying to keep a low profile with his all black outfit and baseball cap but he didn’t realize how much he stood out like a sore thumb. Everyone bustling through were clad in thick winter coats and layers upon layers just to keep warm yet there he was standing at the end of the block with nothing but a black flannel button up and jeans. With one more glance, you made your way into your building excited to see him again later. Once you were out of sight, Jungkook immediately made a quick dash back to your house. Last night, Jungkook picked up the faintest scent of a rogue, but this morning the smell strong and near.

As he approached your home, he slowed down and tried to process what he was smelling and sensing carefully. Fortunately, he only picked up the scent of one rogue but the claw marks on the side of your house and fresh tracks in the snow meant that Jungkook was a little too late.

Usually, Jungkook kept his distance when he would follow you around but something must’ve happened between the morning and now because he was walking right beside you. It wasn’t the brushing of your bodies when you bumped into each other that formed the butterflies in your stomach but his hand on your lower back leading you home that did it. Jungkook kept you almost right up against him and you felt embarrassed for relishing in both his touch and smell. It was concerning how much you didn’t care about your safety when being this close to him felt so good. On the flipside, Jungkook could not afford to have his attention waver for even a second. He had to somehow cut through all the sounds and smells of the city just to pick up a stray whiff of any rogues. Jungkook was glad to have his attention focused elsewhere than on how your body was reacting to him. If he thought about it too much, his ego would grow too large for him to handle. You were usually so difficult to deal with and so stubborn but all he had was one hand on your lower back and you were compliant to his every word. Would you still be such a pain in the ass if you were under him? Could you possibly talk back if you were writhing from his touch? And what could you possibly say when he’s shoved down your throat?

“Do not open the door unless it’s me.” Jungkook ordered before pushing you into your house and slamming the door shut.

You take a moment to calm your heart. All you could think about was how his hand eventually wrapped around your waist and how strong his grip was. Once the high wore off, you dragged yourself upstairs to get ready for your night feeling less scared than you should. If Jungkook could muster through his hatred for you to keep you safe on the way home, you knew that you were in good hands.

You stirred awake and checked the time on your phone. 2:05am. You plopped your head back onto your pillow and tried to get back to sleep. You tried to still your mind but the heavy pitter patter against your window made it hard to do. Guess I'm awake now. Luckily, you didn't have work tomorrow so you and your insomnia could be friends for a night. You sat up and ran a hand through your hair as you stared out the window. You wondered if Jungkook was still outside or if he went home. If he was still here, he'd be soaked to the bone. Do werewolves catch colds? Putting on your slippers, you made your way to the front door and opened it. You scanned the driveway and sidewalk but with how heavy the rain was falling, it was hard to see. You took a step outside to see if he was around the corner but before you could turn your head, Jungkook himself appeared from the other side of where you were looking.

"I thought I told you not to open this door." he sighed annoyingly.

You felt your throat go dry when you saw him. He was dripping from head to toe and you envied the way his shirt clung onto his body.

"It's raining really hard and I didn't know if you were still outside." you said after prying your eyes away from his body.

"I told you to keep the door closed unless it's for me." he argued.

"Yeah well it is for you because I wanted to check up on you, god." you bite back. Jungkook had such a sour attitude but he truly was such a sight for your sore tired eyes.

You look over his shoulder and see that the rain was pouring even harder with no plans to stop. Had he just been patrolling your place since you finished work? Supernatural or not, Jungkook shouldn't be standing around in this weather.

"You should come in and rest." you said, after much consideration.

Jungkook immediately shook his head and backed away from you, "Why would I do that?"

"Because you're soaking wet! And besides, you've been roaming around for hours and if my neighbours get suspicious they might call the cops." you challenged.

Jungkook falls silent and you see his eyes shift from side to side, trying to look for something that wasn't there.

"Jungkook you've been out here since I got home. Whatever's out there would've gotten you by now. Please, just come inside and dry off for a little bit," you plead, "I won't be able to sleep knowing you're just out in the rain for no reason."

I'm out here for you. You're the fucking reason. Jungkook chewed the inside of his cheeks in thought. The invitation was tempting. He was absolutely exhausted and after staring at the dark day in and day out, his mind was starting to play tricks on him. Protecting you was one thing but his pride was bruised. All he did for the past few hours was ruminate on how he didn't see or smell the rogue. He wanted to crush the thing and kill it with his bare hands to make up for his inattentiveness, but he was tired. You took his silence as compliance and stepped aside so he could come in. Before Jungkook could mentally brace himself, the overwhelming smell of you sent his senses into overdrive. He placed a hand against the wall and took deep breaths. Every time he inhaled, it felt like his brain was going to pop out of his skull. The lights were too bright, the sound of the rain too loud and your scent was so strong he could almost taste you.

"Are you okay...?" you asked as you slowly closed the door.

Jungkook's back and the tension throughout his body brought you back to when you found him in that abandoned shed. You mentally cursed wondering if tonight was going to be another repeat. To your surprise, Jungkook managed to compose himself and turned around to face you. From how his usual amber eyes were now maroon, you knew he still wasn't quite back.

"W-where is your washroom? I'm going to clean up." he asked, his voice strained.

You direct him to your washroom and watch as he staggered away. When you heard the sink turn on, you quickly ran to your room to grab what you could to prepare the sofa for him. As you searched through your closet for an extra blanket, it quickly dawned on you that Jungkook was in your house and was going to stay the night. Suddenly, you were hyper aware of all the embarrassing things you owned. When you finally found your extra blanket, you suppressed a groan at the Sanrio characters decorating the duvet. He's here to rest not judge your choice of home decor. You grab a pillow from your bed and made your way back to the living room. As you were setting up the couch, you noticed the mess of cups and candy wrappers on the coffee table. If you knew that you would house a werewolf that was supposedly your soulmate, you would've cleaned up a bit more. Pushing the thought away, you made your way towards the bathroom where Jungkook hadn't made a sound. He's not dead is he? You took a deep breath before bravely poking your head through the door to check on him. The sight before you literally stole the inhale you had just taken away. You had imagined Jungkook shirtless many times before but your imagination was truly nothing compared to what he looked like in real life. Jungkook was leaned over the sink, his wet shirt by his feet as he wiped his chest with your towel with one hand. Every time he brushed his hand against his body, the muscles in his arms flexed. The raindrops cascading down the curves of his shoulder blades and back polluted your mind with lewd scenarios.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Jungkook scoffed.

You mumbled a pathetic apology as your eyes continued trailing down his body. The deep gash on his arm reeled you out of your perverted psyche. Without thinking, you quickly approached him and inspected his wound.

"Jungkook, you need to go to the hospital." you gasp at how torn up his arm looked.

"Please." Jungkook almost laughed.

You shoot him a look and push him aside to grab the first aid kit under the sink. Jungkook watched in amusement as you rummaged through your kit to find something to treat his wound. You seemed to forget that he was not of this world. This injury would heal in a week and a bandaid was not going to help.

"Give me you arm." you demanded setting a tube of polysporin and bandage wraps on the counter.

Jungkook raised his brow, "Are you going to make me a bowl of chicken noodle soup and put on my favourite cartoon as well?"

How this asshole was your soulmate was beyond you by how quickly he was able to bring you to anger within seconds. Jungkook could hate you all he wanted, but he didn't have to make you feel useless while doing so. For the past week and a half, he was literally supervising you like you were a child and it made you feel so foolish.

"Can you just let me do something for once? Just let me-" you exhaled with closed eyes, "let me feel like I'm helping for once."

Jungkook let out a sarcastic "ok" and surrendered his arm to you. You unscrewed the cap from the polysporin and wanted to kick yourself for dropping it during the process. It was really hard to focus when he was staring at you in his shirtless glory. Ignoring the fallen cap, you pushed out the ointment onto your finger and reached for his arm. The jolt you usually received whenever you guys touched made you flinch.

"You're okay." Jungkook encouraged after feeling the power from the shock himself.

Biting your lower lip, you gently grabbed his arm again and waited a few seconds for the sensation to pass before rubbing the medicine onto his cut. Jungkook watched are you carefully tended to him. In his absorption of your actions, he couldn't feel the corner of his lip turning upwards and the silencing of his mind. All he could hear was your breathing and if he focused a little more, the fluttering of your eyelashes as you blinked. It was endearing watching you meticulously layer the bandage perfectly on his arm. The treatment you were giving Jungkook was going to do absolutely nothing for him besides make him itchy. His species didn't heal like humans. They were able to heal on their own and if they were mated, their healing time was even quicker. You released the bite you had on your lower lip once you successfully wrapped him up.

"I'll let you do your own thing now," you laughed awkwardly stepping away from him, "There are extra towels under the sink and the sofa is all set up for you."

Jungkook holds your eyes for a few seconds and you see that they're back to their usual amber colour.

"Goodnight," he nods.

"Goodnight," you repeat before retreating back to your room.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you slept through the night.

You woke up a lot earlier than you intended to but you felt refreshed. You didn't have any nightmares, in fact, you didn't dream at all. You graciously welcomed the daylight that usually disturbed your already horrible sleep shining through your window. As you put on your slippers, the butterflies in your stomach swarmed when you remembered that Jungkook had slept over. You sat on the edge of your bed and slapped your cheeks from how hard you were grinning. He was probably gone by now but you were going to spend the whole weekend replaying last night in privacy. You giddily swing your bedroom door open and immediately froze. You held your breath and didn't move a single muscle as to not wake the sleeping Jungkook on your couch. After an agonizing minute, you quietly approached him with pursed lips. He was sound asleep with his mouth slightly agape. When Jungkook wasn't speaking or awake in general, he sure looked like an angel. The skittish grin you had on earlier crept back at the sight of him all curled up in your Sanrio blanket. Jungkook rarely let his guard down yet here he was sleeping so peacefully in your home. He had to ability to hear a pin drop in a crowded room so judging by how he didn't wake up from the slight noises you made, poor guy was probably drained. You desperately fought the desire to brush his bangs away from his eyes and left to go wash up instead.

You rolled your eyes when you see the bandage you so caringly put on Jungkook last night in the garbage next to your toilet. You couldn't at least flush it down or hide it? Ass. Still, he let you tend to him and that was good enough for you. Jungkook was still asleep by the time you finished your morning routine. You crept back into your room and decided to clean up. You had completely ignored the state of your home with the little sleep you were getting every night. You looked over to your laundry basket by the window that had been taunting you for weeks and decided to finally tackle it. Sitting down in front of it, you began to sort your white and coloured clothes. As you thought about the things you wanted to get done today, you began to feel excited about the prospect of having a productive weekend when your bedroom door suddenly swung open, the hinges breaking in the process. A frantic looking Jungkook entered followed by a curse when he saw where you positioned.

"Get behind me right now!" he shouted.

Your body and brain freezes from the sudden shock, "W-what?"

"Can you fucking listen to me for once and just-"

Your bedroom window shatters and a black mass breaks through. A scream emits from you when the rogue snaps at your arms. You scramble backwards as the creature attempts to wedge its body through the fracture it created. If you were any closer, you would've been a goner. The absolute depravity of the monster fills your entire body up with fear as flashbacks from the first time you ever encountered a rogue replay in your mind. You couldn't feel your legs and all you could do was scramble back as far as you could go. Tears immediately flood your eyes when the creature snarls and breaks free of the glass that was holding it back. There was absolutely nothing you could do as the creature lunges towards you, the smile it has on it's face seared into your brain. Another scream escapes from you as Jungkook grabs its neck and slams it onto your bedroom floor. Your stomach turns when you see it squirm abnormally under his grasp. The rogue produces high pitched cackling as Jungkook delivers blow after blow to its face.

"Close your eyes." Jungkook orders and you do as you're told.

You choke out a sob when you hear the sick animal laugh as Jungkook tears its flesh apart and breaks its bones. Eventually, the room falls silent but you keep your eyes shut afraid of what you might see. You jump when Jungkook places his hands on your arms.

"Hey it's just me, it's me. It's okay, it's over now." he attempts to soothe you while grabbing your hands, halting your useless attempts to push him away.

When you finally come to, you grab onto him and push your face into his chest. Jungkook tells you to keep your eyes closed as he carries you into the living room, not wanting you to see the aftermath of what he did. He holds your trembling body as tightly as he can and waits for your sobbing to subside. Once he hears your sobs turn into sniffles, he lifts your face from your hands and through your teary vision, you see an apologetic expression plastered on his face.

"I'm packing a bag for you. Tell me what you need, we leave in 20 minutes." he says.

You try to fight against his hold, but he's much stronger than you.

"Jungkook! I can't leave-I can't-"

"We don't have a choice now," he says, his voice soft as ever, "this is the only way I can protect you."

[neoplatinum]

north and south poles | minatozaki sana

summary: sana wonders, are we not the two sides of the magnet?

pairing: childhood-friend!sana x fem!reader

themes: extremely angsty, best friends to ?? to ??, internalized homophobia, gender dysphoria, sana's not too great of a friend, reader is a pushover until she isn't, implied sex, original male character, [----] x reader

wc: 3.3k

(side a: we can't be friends - ariana grande)

when sana's seven, her mother explains the cardinal rules in life. that boys and girls are polar opposites, like two sides of the coin, or like left and right. boys and girls are like the north and south poles of a magnet. and for a long time this holds true.

boys like to play rough, kick dirt over each other, chase after poor cats in hopes of catching them, or smack each other in the head. it's all a bit too gruesome for sana. she never did like watching them play, it felt like they were fighting. boys are like boxing matches, competing for a top winner. but girls are different.

girls are gentle, they play with dolls together, creating groups to play house or sliding down slides, and everyone cheers each other on. girls also like sharing cool things they found: cute rocks, rings, and toys. girls are like gentle waves crashing against the beach.

sana makes this distinction very early on, boys are boys and girls are girls. there's no in between for a seven year old sana. and life gets explained to her pretty easily by her mom. be a pretty girl, and you'll marry a good man who'll protect you and your family.

but her mother also told sana that you were a rowdy kid. a girl that played with the boys; you liked kicking dirt at the boys, chasing cats to catch them, or smacking each other in the head. but you were a girl, you also liked playing with dolls, and sliding down slides. you especially liked cute rocks, so you were someone she needed clarification with how to categorize as a kid.

so she asked her mom about you.

"oh her, she has no manners. her parents probably don't have enough time to teach her all that. they're both always so busy at work." her mother's chopping onions as she speaks, not lifting an eye at sana. and little sana rocks herself back and forth in the kitchen, a little confused by her own mom.

she's met your parents, they were nice people. offering royal milk tea to her, even if she wasn't allowed to have it. they always gave sana first pick for dishes they made, always. and like them, you often gave her parts of your lunch whenever sana was given too little.

and when sana enters middle school, this cardinal rule starts to shake a bit. boys are boys and girls are girls, but you are a girl, with boy-ish tendencies.

you liked playing rough with fuji, throwing dirt at each other even if it stained each other's school uniform. you liked shoving bigger boys when they were mean to girls, even if you had a black eye and sana had to rub a hard boiled egg over it.

but you were also as gentle as a girl, you held sana's hand gently whenever she wanted to walk along the rock wall, balancing on the ledge. you also helped blow and wash off sana's cuts whenever she scraped her knee in dance. just like how her mother does it.

you were the in between, and in between's don't exist in her mother's cardinal rule. when her mother and father sit at the dinner table and sana's mother asks her which boy in class she thinks is cute. sana doesn't think of any boy, but she thinks of you. you with your rough exterior with the older boys, but gentle and soft to sana, always.

"fuji?" her mother asks her. and sana thinks about fuji, a dependable friend in her life. a boy that is also gentler, although sometimes she thinks he's too loud during basketball. he shoves harder than you do, when you three play tag together. his hands are more rough, he towers over sana and really she sees him like an older brother.

sana thinks fuji is exactly the guy that her mother would like for her to marry.

"yeah, i think so." but sana really doesn't think so, her mind drifts off to your long hair and your soft shoulders.

--

when sana's twelve and excited to go home with you after the sga meeting, fuji confesses to her at the back of the school. he presents to her a letter. and through it all, the only thing she could gather was that sana was the prettiest girl in their class, and she has the prettiest smile.

all these compliments feel nice, but it doesn't stir her like you do. when you tell her that her hair is pretty today or that the bow she chose to match her shoes makes her look look fashionable. she stands by the wall, hands behind her back and staring at her shoes. all she can afford to do is nod at the words.

she knows this much, fuji is nice enough. he doesn't kick her chair like some other boys in the class; he always lets her walk inside the sidewalk when there are cars. so when he asks for a first date, she agrees, not letting her eyes look up at him. he walks away relieved, but sana can't feel anything other than a weight in her stomach.

another cardinal rule her mother told her is that lying is wrong.

so she asks for your opinion, and as she stands by your desk, watching you peacefully take a nap. she thinks about just ripping up the letter in her hand. she readies herself for the best performance of her life. to ask you a question that's self-indulgent. if you'll be her first kiss. and just like that she broke another cardinal rule, lying to you, but mostly to herself.

she thinks your lips would be soft, smelling like that cherry lipstick you like so much. and when you do kiss, she feels like she's floating. your hands are soft, when they cradle her jaw. moisturized with that cherry hand cream she gifted you. your hands are smaller too, they fit her head nicely. and most of all you're gentle. you pull apart, and sana nearly falls forward, body leaning into the kiss.

you stare at her in expectation, and panic surges through her body. you aren't fuji, you are the girl that's always played rougher than other girls. a girl that'll always give her 100% during class sprints, while all the other girls lightly jog. and the first thing she can think of is that she wishes you were a boy.

so she say's the exact words that tear your heart apart.

“wow yeah, that was good.” sana fiddles with her school skirt, “i wish you were a boy, you’d make a girl very happy kissing her like that.”

sana says that, but she watches as your eyes fall, hand dejected, and she can't help but feel like everything she knows about love is wrong. you don't say anything, so she leaves, closing the sga door behind her.

eyes welling up in tears as she thinks about how wrong this all is. if only you were a boy. she sinks onto the floor and cries into herself. when sana goes on the date, and fuji kisses her at her doorstep, she thinks of you. how he has to bend down to kiss her, and it all feels so wrong. later that night she starts a pros/cons list between you and fuji.

the only thing she has written for fuji is that "mother would like him." she tears the sheet of paper and tosses it into her waste basket.

--

when sana's eighteen and talking to her friends about boyfriends. all they have to say is that sex is amazing. they all talk about their first time and when they ask sana of what she thinks, she confesses that she's never done it.

"doesn't fuji ask you to?" one friend asks.

"no, he doesn't." the girl looks at sana weird but then shakes her head quickly.

"some guys are like that, they might not want to do it yet." she comments and then the conversation shifts on to talk about the latest school gossip.

sana's quiet for the rest of the week. she thinks about it, sex with fuji, and all she can do is groan. it's the natural progression of a relationship, but she feels like it's a weight in her stomach. that same weight she felt when he confessed to her.

so she does what she naturally did next when she was twelve; she finds you. she hasn't visited your house in years, it's still the same, even though there's a new door that she doesn't recognize anymore. and when she rings it, she finally sees you up close after so long.

she thinks about what she came here for in the first place. oh right, sex with fuji. so she comes up with the best excuse she can, that fuji wants to have sex. she knows its absurd, she's lying through her teeth, none of the reasons makes sense.

but the way you look right now, she can't think of anyone else she wants to have sex with. it stirs low in her stomach. her wanting you, so she lets a bit of truth in her lie.

"i need you to be my first, i want you to be. it can't be anyone else." sana is firm, but you look conflicted. eyes flitting all over the room. debating your morals.

she grabs your hands. eyes with want as she stares at you, and then you say yes. and suddenly the weight is lifted. sana feels like she's floating again.

when you pull her into your room, she feels like she's invincible. this room has always been so safe, and the way you stare into her with want, she thinks she wants to stay here forever in your arms.

the way you ask for permission, the way you constantly ask her if this is what she wants. asking if she's feeling good, gentle hands smelling like cherries that slip off her clothes. she thinks she'll stay naked like this forever if you asked her to.

her mind fills with you, shouting your name into the night where only you two exist in this world. she thinks this is right, this is what love is all about. this little bubble lasts only a night.

weeks later, she proposes sex to fuji, and he nods adamantly. like a horny teenager boy, which he is. but it all feels so off, even though she know's that he'll never cross boundaries. his hands feel too rough, he's too fast and he never asks sana how she feels.

sana feels the emptiest when she thinks back to how she thanked you when she left your room, when all she wanted to say was "i love you." and cherish you for the rest of her life.

--

when sana's nineteen on her birthday, all she can think of is how she hates fuji's arms around her shoulder. how you stare at the arm like it's the most offensive thing in the world. and sana agrees too, it is offensive, so she shoves it off, playing it off like she has an itchy shoulder.

she smiles at the way you relax back into your seat, like you staked your claim on her. it makes her feel wanted by you. even if she knows its wrong that you kiss her messily in the bar bathroom five minutes later, she feels like life is right.

--

when sana's twenty, bored out of her mind in her apartment with fuji. she thinks of you, she often does anyways. eyes wide when she comes up with the best plan. she purposely fights with fuji, calls him too suffocating, watching tears roll down his eyes, and she feels bad. she really does, she hates seeing him cry because of her, but she needs to get away.

so she calls you, bags packed and waiting by the door. her heart leaping in her chest when you knock on the door. grabbing her bags and asking her to stay in the car. giving stern words to fuji before finally leaving together. away from fuji.

sana stays with you for weeks, waking up and sleeping next to you. always attached to the hip, just like magnets. she lets herself believe this is her life, living with you, being with each other forever. she fits perfectly in your hold, as well as you in her. she always tells you she loves you, but only after you fallen asleep. she whispers it into your ears like they'll be heard. like a spell she put you under.

she doesn't think about fuji until he texts her much later, asking if it's okay to meet up and make up. so she goes back, feeling awful about letting her boyfriend believe she's mad at him. she avoids you for months to not feel the guilt. but it eats at her every day.

--

when sana's twenty-four and enjoying a stroll in the city with fuji. he proposes to her, with both their families around for the surprise. as she listens to him, one knee up, professing his love for her. she looks at her mother, her mother with happy tears in her eyes and she can't find herself to say no, so she says yes instead.

wedding planning is fun when she thinks about it as a wedding with you, so the best she can do is ask you to be her maid of honor. she presents to you the wedding invitation in your apartment. talking your ear off about how happy she is, watching you get more and more upset.

just waiting for you to tell her you want to run away with her, to elope together. move away and change names and live in europe together. she lists off all the things she can think of that a girl would like in a wedding, but you never ask her to run away. she knows its selfish, to want you to pull her out of her life, she just can't find the courage to pull herself out of it.

you show up to the wedding, in a gorgeous dress that she thinks that she would marry you in right now. you give a speech about how you, fuji, and sana all met. you talk with so much passion in your voice. she thinks that you might actually be happy for them. sana cries tears out of despair, maybe you really do think sana loves fuji. but she's in love with you.

when you make an analogy that fuji and sana are like magnets drawn to each other, the whole crowd awws, and sana feels her heart break. thats how she sees you and her, a perfect match. the rest of the wedding becomes unremarkable to her.

when you disappear, sana searches for you: eyes wide and frantic. calling up all your friends and family, but they all say the same thing, "she said she's going on vacation for a while, soul-searching?"

sana visits your house everyday, waiting for you to show up like hidden treasure. ever since she's found out she's been pregnant, she's been trying to find tell you about it. you should be the first to know, but you don't show up until a month later.

and when sana wakes up to the sight of you, it's like she's whole again. she walks away from that conversation sadder than ever, you don't drown in her eyes anymore. hands shuffling and changing positions often as she explains about her new incoming newborn.

--

when sana's twenty-five you walk out of her life. after the long labor and intense pain she went through, out came her little baby girl. wailing and crying at the introduction of the world, fuji's trying to wipe down sana's sweat and calm her down, but sana's drowsiness leads to her calling out your name instead, fuji think it's strange but doesn't comment on it. she sleeps for a long time.

when she wakes up to fuji excitedly telling sana that you are visiting. she tries her best to smooth out her hair and her heart rate jumps at the news. so she gets ready for you to visit her.

she thinks she'll name her daughter after you, the same girl she's so in love with. when she proposes the idea, you shut her down. she's never heard this tone before, so harsh and so mean. but she deserves it, the same way she knows she deserves all things bad to her when you look so dejected every time she leaves. she needs you by her side, she can't do motherhood alone with fuji, she doesn't think she can do life without you.

but then you say it, words that make her feel like her heart got pulled out of her chest. you pulled it out. you're moving away, a whole different country, a whole life without sana. and you want to, be away from sana. she can hear it in the way you say it, the way you stand up from the visitor's chair, having only sat there for a minute. the way you walk out of the room. you would have kept walking out had fuji not stopped you.

and sana's angry, after all this, you walk away. she can't tell who she's angry at anymore. angry at you, angry at fuji, angry at her mom, angry at the world. and she lands on it, she's angry at herself. with hot tears running down her face, you look back one more time, and you still leave. like you just double checked that it is exactly what you want to do, leave sana all alone.

--

when sana's thirty and thinking, "yeah, i am okay after all this time." she isn't. because her little girl has just run into you. and nearly hit her head, falling back. but with gentle and caring hands, you stand her back up. asking her daughter if she's alright. and as her daughter runs back to sana, sana can see you for the first time in five years.

your hair is longer, you look more tired, more lines on your face. but your eyes are still so wild, familiar eyes that she's found herself dreaming about for years. for five years to be exact, she dreams of you returning. so you walk up to sana and fuji, calm and collected about seeing them after five years.

but sana's panicking, like she's seen a ghost. you basically are a ghost in sana's life, she's been wondering lately if you really have been there in her life, if not for photos she really wonders if this is all a dream.

a dream that comes crashing down, you pick up a small girl, she's younger than sana's daughter. but she's got your wild eyes and cute nose. and sana thinks that she could die here. right now the rug could be pulled out from under her and she wouldn't utter a peep.

you have a daughter, and a wife. a gorgeous wife who smiles at you like how sana used to. and her eye line follows, you look your wife with the same passion of when you were both eighteen and far too stupid to understand anything in the world. you look at this woman like you used to look at sana.

"it's been a while." sana's voice cuts in. she needs to hear your voice after so long.

"yeah, i guess it has." you reply, finally looking at her after so long. sana gulps, willing the tears away. you sound the same, lighter than your last conversation, like you've made peace with it.

"honey, you're crying." fuji says wiping away sana's tear and you smile at that. like you've finally accepted fuji as her husband.

"oh i didn't notice." sana laughs, rapidly wiping her tears away. she's embarrassed, here she is thinking that you still love her, but you don't. not anymore.

sana tries her best to talk with fuji and momo. them talking about their line of work and interests. but sana can only stare at you.

eyes wide open.

--

a/n: i think im actually evil for writing this. like no joke. but anyways!! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[loveriotss]

Yo! I was wondering if you could do some headcannons for Shigaraki, Aizawa, and Dabi with a male reader? I also thought it would be cool if reader had a quirk that had the abilities of a wendigo or skinwalker, and he would be really tall (around 6”6 or 7ft maybe?). I think it would be cool to see them with a guy that has a creepy quirk and personality, but really he is a gentle giant.

Anyway, have a great rest of your day/night! Thank you!!

HIM WITH A SKINWALKER QUIRK USER ⸻ tomura shigaraki + shota aizawa + touya todoroki

# tomura shigaraki + shota aizawa + touya todoroki INCLUDES — male! reader, fluff(ish), headcannons

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

[🎭] TOMURA SHIGARAKI . . .

when you both first met, he thought you were some kind of nomu.

was surprised to find out that you're a human but he respects you nonetheless.

he's intrigued by your quirk's eerie and supernatural nature.

very very curious about the details of your quirk but he won't ask you about it, he will just stare at you a bit creepily.

as you two grow closer, he's drawn to the contrast between your menacing appearance and your gentle demeanor.

he’s used to being misunderstood and understands the feeling of being seen as something to fear rather than to be understood.

he likes how your personality doesn't undermine your abilities.

if you're in the lov with him, he will rely on you a lot.

he trusts you, even if he doesn’t always express it verbally.

when it comes to missions or plans, shigaraki values your input and abilities.

your quirk’s versatility and your understanding of the darker side of things often make you a crucial ally in his schemes.

he respects your contributions and sees you as an essential part of his plans.

despite your imposing stature and fearsome quirk, you have a way of creating a soothing environment.

shigaraki treasures the quiet moments you share, where you can both escape from the chaos of the world and simply enjoy each other’s presence.

he's an odd guy who likes odd things and trust he will yap to you about it.

you just stare at him like '😀' while he casually talks about some gruesome thing that he's hyperfixated on.

[💤] SHOTA AIZAWA . . .

when you and aizawa first met, he was a bit cautious of you.

the appearance your quirk gave you was something he had never seen before.

that paired with your personality began to intrigue him.

feel like it would be funny if he had a pet cat who never really warmed up to everyone but the first day you visit his house he finds his grumpy little cat on your lap in minutes as you happily pat it.

will apologize on your behalf if you accidentally startle someone.

(which is like everyday 😓)

however if anyone tries to be rude to you because of your appearance he will defend you firmly.

has tried erasing your quirk which takes away whatever additional abilities you have but you appearance remains as towering as ever because of it being a physical quirk.

aizawa finds your quirk fascinating and is eager to understand it better.

will occasionally request training sessions with you where he will face you with scenarios that challenges you to use your quirk in different ways.

he values the calm and thoughtful conversations you two have.

you're one of the few people who can match his vibe since he is mostly surrounded by loud extroverts 🙏 (a/n: looking at you present mic).

if you were a hero, he would be one of your biggest supporters and will not tolerate any disrespect towards you from other heroes or even civilians.

[🔥] DABI . . .

when you and dabi first met, he was intrigued by you but still kept his distance.

your towering height and the unsettling nature of your quirk made him cautious.

if you were introduced to him through the lov he wouldn't really speak to you much in the first few days, opting to just observe you from the sidelines.

your personality was bit of a surprise to him.

it made him suspicious of you as he thought you were hiding your true personality and whenever he tried to bring it up with the other members they just laughed at him.

eventually he decided to 'investigate' you on his own and found his assumptions about you terribly wrong.

as you two grow closer and become 'friends', he starts teasing you.

will call you the most oddest nicknames but it's okay because you call him odd things back.

friendly fire between the two of you is common but a very fun sight to see as whenever the argument get's a bit heated, dabi tries to look menacing but compared to you he looks like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

despite his jeers and sarcastic remarks, he genuinely respects you.

he acknowledges your strengths and doesn't doubt your abilities.

he is a horror/supernatural freak so seeing someone who looks similar to the creepy books he snags from corner bookstores in front of him makes him fanboy internally.

he occasionally lets his guard down around you, sharing bits of his past or personal thoughts.

is also a very good listener. during your rooftop conversations he will patiently listen to your stories or whatever struggles you've faced.

NOTE — posting this embarrassingly late, really sorry to the anon who requested this 😓😓.

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. please don’t try to copy/steal my work. please do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.

[two-white-butterflies]

"Dreams didn't make us kings. Dragons did."

House of the Dragons Masterlist.

✮ - smut ୨୧ - angst ❀ - fluff bold - favorites

── ghost of you (୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

your touch could heal all his wounds, but a feel of your ghost will heal his entire soul. daemon's wife died when they were only seventeen. he's spent an entire lifetime searching for her ghost.

── fuck the rich. fucks the rich. (✮) (daemon targaryen, harwin strong)

you visit the beach and find two men that you can't resist.

── bigger than the whole sky. (୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

the oldest child of alicent and viserys is wed to daemon. once the dance begins, you become a glorified hostage.

── the sun rises from the west. (୨୧✮) (daemon targaryen)

daemon didn't die during the war, though there were many nights that he wished he did. a story where he loses you to battle.

── the sun sets in the east. (୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

daemon tries to navigate his relationship with his only one, and the new life that he is bestowed.

── i'm a m*therfucking starboy (❀) (daemon targaryen)

you meet the elusive prince of dragonstone and he fucking hates your guts.

── three great men and a woman (❀୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

daemon targaryen always found himself running to you after his failed marriages and exiles.

── a lemon cake (❀୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

the hendriks have always kept to their own. what happens when a betrothal happens between the only hendrik daughter and the rogue prince? a story where, you go through lengths in order to ensure your lord husband's loyalty.

── love by listening (❀✮) (daemon targaryen)

daemon targaryen goes rogue after his wedding to lady rhea royce, unwilling to consummate the marriage. he finds peace in a dornish tavern. you meet him in said tavern, and quickly become close friends. you share an adventure. both unaware that the other person is nobility.

── how is beauty that is living, be anything but true? (❀୨୧) (daemon targaryen)

daemon being adored and treated well by his loving wife while they talk about war and its aftermath.

── peaches (✮❀) (aemond targaryen)

after a year of marriage, your husband still refuses to acknowledge your existence, that is until after Criston Cole becomes your son's teaching instructor. (modern au)

── i want your heart (୨୧❀) (aemond targaryen)

a vampire falls in love with a woman of science. the people of town burn her at the stake after a world changing breakthrough.

── you're losing me (❀) (aemond targaryen)

after a gruesome breakup with jace, his billionaire uncle offers you a proposal that you can't resist. (modern au)

EXTENDED SOCIAL MEDIA AU THAT I'M NOT THAT PROUD OF

[blasphemousclaw]

ok so I watched Vaati’s new video on Rykard, really liked it overall but I wanted to go into more detail about what I liked and what I disagreed with. 

Gonna start with a list of the things I loved/found super interesting:

The way he laid out the evidence for Rykard’s inquisition having been on behalf of Leyndell was really really well laid out!!! 

I laughed at the “FAMILEEE” soundbyte 

His discussion about the origins of “hexes” was super cool 

I had never heard of the cut item description linking the Serpent Arrows to Shaded Castle! 

The idea that poison was involved in Rykard’s desecration of the Minor Erdtree… he didn’t mention this, but this idea could explain why there’s sickly greenish growths at its base?  

(Gelmir Minor Erdtree vs. Consecrated Snowfield Minor Erdtree)

Talked about the idea that the Great Serpent grew because of the sacrifices it was fed, then was killed, then came back as a normal-sized snake, that Rykard fed himself to and then grew large due to once again devouring sacrifices

Pointed out that the snakes inside the Abductor Virgins look like metal!!! I thought I was crazy for thinking this

1.0 Daedicar mentioned ‼️

His overall characterization of Rykard and his motivations is really good. he gets it

Now here’s some arguments he made that I disagree with:

Early in the video, Vaati makes the argument that the blue-robed Officials originate from House Marais because the blue robes are a part of Maleigh Marais’s garb as head of the House, because Inquisitor Ghiza wears bandages, suggesting that he’s “sickly born” like the rest of the Marais family, and because the unnamed guy in the Volcano Manor portrait also wears a metal mask like Maleigh Marais. He argues that House Marais were assimilated into Erdtree society, and presumably that the Official’s blue robes were a precursor to the other robes associated with the nobility (the Ruler’s robe, the Upper Class attire, and the Consort’s robe). 

There are several reasons why I disagree with this theory:

Masks aren’t unique to the Marais family: the Ruler’s set comes with a Ruler’s mask, said to be “customary dress among lords,” and Tanith also wears a mask with her Consort’s robe. I speculated that masks are simply part of the noble fashion alongside the particular style of robe. 

I don’t think it makes a ton of sense for pompous noblemen to have adapted their style of dress from a robe associated with a family of executioners carrying out “the darkest duties of mankind”

The Volcano Manor portrait guy does not have bandages under his mask like Maleigh does.

Maleigh and Ghiza don't really look alike at all:

Also, a different explanation for Ghiza’s bandages could be that he’s a remnant of the 1.0 version of Daedicar, a torturer in Rykard’s inquisition: “he would test new methods of torture first upon himself."

Overall I think a better explanation for the Marais attire is that, since their ancestral duty was serving as executioners on behalf of the Erdtree's justice system, they simply incorporated the Official's attire (worn by magisterial officials carrying out "surveillance, executions, gruesome rituals") into the garb of the head of their house.

I absolutely think House Marais is connected to Volcano Manor though; I've suggested that as executioners they serve as a branch of the Erdtree justice system working in tandem with Rykard's inquisition.

2. Later in the video, Vaati makes the argument that the Abductor Virgins were made after Rykard snakeified himself. I personally think that they were made before the snakening, but I can see the evidence for the contrary and I definitely think it’s possible. However, Vaati later says that the Abductors were used to transport people to the Underground Inquisition Chamber to be interrogated, which contradicts his argument that they were made after Rykard’s snakening… if Rykard is now a serpent, no longer a Praetor, what use is there for interrogation? And who is doing the interrogating, if Tanith was the only human left loyal to Rykard, and his inquisitors have long abandoned him? If the Abductors were made after Rykard became the serpent, the victims are probably just being fed to him. 

3. Towards the end of the video, Vaati says that the serpent displayed in the Temple of Eiglay is the flayed skin of the Great Serpent, and that might explain the Godskin’s presence there. But it’s not the flayed skin of a snake, it’s a snake shed:

It’s a pale, milky, almost translucent color, with some ragged edges and holes. Snakes shed their skin as they grow, and we know the Great Serpent “devours, grows, and lives eternally.” Rykard even has some shed skin stuck to his body and tail:

4. Lastly, I’ve beat this horse to death but you can’t say with 100% certainty that Rykard was born with red hair because he has pale hair in the present day. I will die on this hill