#STRIKE FORCE SAS

[retrocgads]

UK 1987

[tvshowpilot]

Gear up and join us as we embark on this adrenaline-fueled video countdown of the best TV shows about the special forces!

[sayruq]

As Gaza spirals toward full-scale famine, displaced civilians and health workers told CNN they go hungry so their children can eat what little is available. If Palestinians find water, it is likely undrinkable. When relief trucks trickle into the strip, people clamber over each other to grab aid. Children living on the streets, after being forced from their homes by Israel’s bombardment, cry and fight over stale bread. Others reportedly walk for hours in the cold searching for food, risking exposure to Israeli strikes. Even before the war, two out of three people in Gaza relied on food support, Arif Husain, the chief economist at the World Food Programme (WFP), told CNN. Palestinians have lived through 17 years of partial blockade imposed by Israel and Egypt. Israel’s bombardment and siege since October 7 has drastically diminished vital supplies in Gaza, leaving the entire population of some 2.2 million exposed to high levels of acute food insecurity or worse, according to the Integrated Food Security and Nutrition Phase Classification (IPC), which assesses global food insecurity and malnutrition. Martin Griffiths, the UN’s emergency relief chief, told CNN the “great majority” of 400,000 Gazans characterized by UN agencies as at risk of starving “are actually in famine.” UN human rights experts have warned “Israel is destroying Gaza’s food system and using food as a weapon against the Palestinian people.”

[monamipencil]

─�� 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan

⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober

⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI

[ 07th October, 2024 ]

Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home. 

A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch. 

“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”

The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching.  You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you. 

[ ... ]

The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame. 

Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.

You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.

Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.

“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.

Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”

He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”

“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”

He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”

“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”

You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”

He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.

The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.

The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.

He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.

“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.

“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.

He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.

Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.

“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”

You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.

With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.

After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.

The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.

A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.

He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.

Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.

His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!” 

But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.

His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.

A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.

He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.” 

You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.

A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.  

You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace. 

Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige. 

His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch. 

Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle. 

With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.” 

“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?” 

“For you? Yes.”

“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle. 

“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you. 

You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.

He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger. 

His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.” 

“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you. 

He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.” 

A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters.   His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”

“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it. 

“Please, eat me out!” 

He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs. 

You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt. 

His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles. 

He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.

The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.

“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.

The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.

Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’

He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.

Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.

The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.

The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.

“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish, dollface.” 

His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.

You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.

He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.

His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.

“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”

Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.

You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.

Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.

“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.

You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”

Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.

“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.

All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.

His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.

Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms. 

[ … ]

“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.

Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.

Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.

“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.

“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”

“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.

“And, He visited.”

Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.

He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”

“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.

Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.

He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.

“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.

You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.

The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.

But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.

In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.

And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it. 

They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you��what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning. 

So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place. 

His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead. 

What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul? 

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.

⛧spooktober taglist !

@verogonewild @blancflms @chromequette @junniepookiedookie @kyeomiis

@jeonghnie @scoupsieee @xuminghaes @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ririesna

@monstacheol @hoshiskimchi @miyx-amour @woozidanisms @choco-scoups

@cookiearmy @shadowyjellyfishfest @wonwoossecret @strxwberry-skiess @iamawkwardandshy

@merakilles @vitaminkyeom @okiedokrie @armycarat2612 @gyuguys

@idubiluranghae @goodforgyu @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @gyubakeries @nonuify

@aaniag @4cheezflatbred

[peachigummi]

test my luck ꢾ꣒ mattheo riddle.

summary: enemy to lovers! Mattheo and y/n have been each other's biggest haters since year 1, they're in their final year at Hogwarts. Mattheo finally pushes y/n to the edge, with his venomous words and guilt tactics.

pairing: enemy! mattheo x fem ravenclaw! reader

warnings: not for the faint of heart! mature themes/language. mentions of abuse. slow burn? bullying angst!! oh my god angst, but ends with some bittersweet fluff I promise! attempted suicide sorry (after reading this back, i dont mean it to be manipulation or to glorify or romanticize but! shit!! for a plot?)

note: i haven't written anything in literal years, the pov is going to shift a lot so bear with me. i honestly just lost any sense of motivation. but something in me just bloomed. you wont see any hp things on this blog it is my journal and i feel like sharing! maybe a part 2 in the making. if this gets enough response.

word count: 6,828

(slightly not really proofread or fan fact checked? if that's a thing ha)

playlist: should i create..? you know damn well the smiths would be in it! like Bigmouth Strikes Again?? that is mattheo!

reblogs & comments are so appreciated! i hope you enjoy <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was the start of your last year of Hogwarts, it was an okay time. You personally didn’t get into too much trouble, you liked to stick by yourself for the most part. You studied hard because your muggle parents were still confused about you being a witch, and what you would get out of it. It was hard to process that information, it was a thing of fairy tales. You had to prove yourself in this new world. That…that was hard when you were constantly looking over your shoulder for Mattheo Riddle.

“What’s a whore doing in my seat?” Speak of the damn devil. 

You turned to look at him with a sarcastic smile, “Well hello to you too Mattheo.” You nod at the three other boys that were with him, each of their arms crossed. “Draco. Blaise. Theodore.” You return to look at Mattheo, “you know last time I checked… there are no assigned seats in Potions.” You looked around and the class was still fairly empty.

“Think again and think hard.” Mattheo spoke to you in a cold shallow tone, he barely looked at you. He circled around the table you were at, your eyes following him. He suddenly stopped right behind your chair, yanking it back. There was a loud scrape, the few students that were in the room turned to look at the scene unfolding. You didn’t meet any of their eyes. Mattheo slammed his hand on the side of the table, making you flinch. You hated that you reacted that way. He grabbed the back of your ponytail, forcing your head forward where his hand was, “Look.” M. Riddle. D. Malfoy. B. Zabini. T. Nott. Their names were carved into the side. You grabbed Mattheo’s hand, the one that was still holding onto your ponytail, you tried to pry his icy cold fingers off. It only made him tighten his grip, he bent down to get close to your face, “I suggest you move unless you want me to carve my name onto your face as well.” he spat and finally let go. 

“Whatever,” you gathered your books, “this seat sucks anyways. I’ll go hang out with Professor Snape up front.” You rolled your eyes as Draco lit up a cigarette, handing the pack to the boys to share. If you’re going to try and get away with smoking, yeah do it in the back of the class I guess.

“You really like being a teacher’s pet don’t you? That’s why you’ve always got your nose up Snape’s ass.” 

“Seriously fuck off! Go continue to lose brain cells with your sorry excuse of friends.” You push the seat back and let it topple over. You mentally slapped yourself, you shouldn’t be feeding into his remarks.

“That’s cute sunshine, I’ll bet you have a hard time standing up for yourself in every aspect of your pathetic life. Do better.” Mattheo smugly said, smoking the cigarette that was in his hand.

You opened your mouth to speak but decided against it, you ended up just flipping him off. He did the same, giving you an annoyed look. You took the seat next to Hermione in the front of the class. Ugh! That Mattheo. “Are you okay?!” She asked, shooting daggers at the group, turning to you again “How can you put up with that? We have to tell someone..” you shook my head and whispered, “it’ll only make things worse. I don’t want to be a snitch. It’s already been six years anyways… how can one more year really change things.”

Blaise laughed, “you like that don’t you mattheo? Isn’t she so cute when she’s angry, you like feisty girls, yeah?”

Draco chuckles, “oh he definitely does, too bad she’s a stupid bitch.” The group laughs together.

You could hear them hollering from the back. You tried to calm yourself down and pay attention to the different measurements of the potions you were being taught. Maybe I could switch this class to a different time. You thought, focusing back to the lesson when Professor Snape mentioned something about needing to be in groups of three for an upcoming project.

Before Snape could assign anyone, Mattheo spoke up, “Sir I’d like to work with Theodore, if that’s permitted.” Snape looked annoyed by his interjection but answered, “No, Theodore will be with Y/N and Draco. Nothing will change. I already made the groups, they will be posted near the storeroom.” He gave Mattheo a dirty look.

You could hear Draco scoff but he didn't say anything. Yet. He kept to himself and his buddies while they continued to smoke and do other things to piss Professor Snape off before the class was finally dismissed. I guess I didn’t need to worry about being in a pair with Mattheo. You still wanted to protest against the group choice, but nothing would come of it. You knew better than to go against Snape’s final word. Theodore wasn’t such a horrible person, he actually can be pretty smart and helpful, if you got him alone. Otherwise when he was with even just one of his buddies, he was just like them - a jerk. It was Draco you won’t be able to stand.

“Don't do anything stupid, Y/L/N, and we might actually do okay in this project.” That was Draco himself, walking over with Theodore.

You ignored his comment, “where should we meet and when?”

“We can use one of the abandoned classrooms. Before the lunch break?” Theodore suggested, handing a note with directions.

“Okay. See you.” You said as bluntly as possible, gathering your book. You went to grab the ingredients your group might need. 

“Teachers pet!” Draco yelled after.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Of course you were the first to the abandoned classroom, you had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes before either of them showed. When they did, they didn’t bother to apologize, though you didn’t expect them to. Even with smart comments from both boys, you finished discussing the project and the presentation at a decent hour. It was quiet as you started to collect your things, Draco excused himself earlier to collect a package.

“Y/N, why is it that you hate Mattheo so much?” Theodore broke the silence, carefully watching you wrap the vials carefully. You paused, taken back. “He’s been trying to get a rise out of you since day 1, why?” He continued nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

You quickly grab them out of his hand and put it in your own breast pocket, “don’t smoke around me.” 

This made him annoyed, “Hey! I need those! They keep me calm!” 

“No you don't, you've been fine this entire time without them. I’m not trying to raise your blood pressure right now. You’re fine.” You give him a good look, maybe he was playing dumb. How could he not know? Theodore and Mattheo were best friends; they must have already talked about this, “I only hate Mattheo because he hates me. It’s all there's to it…” I think.

He lingers for a moment after you answered him, there is something else you haven’t said, “tell me what you think. There’s always some deeper reason for this sort of stuff” He rested his chin on his hand. See this is why I favored Theodore from the rest of his group, but should I still trust him? He could use this information against me. I took the chance.

“Over the years I suspected it was just plainly because I was a mudblood and not some perfect pure-bred like you folk.” You continued to wrap the vials carefully. 

Theodore rolled his eyes, “He does have a thing against people with different backgrounds than his own. He thinks everyone in this school should be from a wizarding family. But that’s not the case with you.” He grabbed a vial too, helping me wrap them, “He’s never said anything about your parents or how they’re muggles.” Mattheo would talk about me when I wasn’t around? Why would he do that? You looked into his eyes searching for some joke or underlying lie. There was none I could detect.

You recall the moment aloud when you first laid your eyes on Mattheo, “It was at the train station. Our first year. I remember hugging and kissing my parents goodbye, not wanting to let go of them. I turned around to go on the train and there was a much much smaller Mattheo staring at me with wide beady little eyes that were glossed over with tears. He was cute in that split second - ” You couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Theodore watched you carefully. You straightened your lips, continuing, “ - before he stuck a solid wad of gum in my hair.”

Theodore bellowed, nearly falling backwards in his chair, “Yeah that sounds like him, that’s a classic stunt he’d pull off. There was this one time in year 5 when he stuck gum on the chair of one of the professors before class…I never saw her so mad after she sat down and got up, her chair nearly followed her around!” He tried to settle himself down, “Mattheo always had a thing for doing stuff to people and acting as if it’s all a joke.”

“It’s not a joke when you have to cut your hair super short in order to remove the gum. I felt so naked without my long hair, it was so beautiful! And he made it worse when he made a point to show how ugly I was to everyone in the Great Hall. I even remember you laughing just like you are now.” You pushed his shoulder.

Theodore smirked, “yeah we all laughed, how couldn’t we?! You looked ridiculous before you grew it back out. We used to call you Baldy McEgg-head. You’d get so mad, only making us laugh harder.” At least someone cherished the memory. You rolled your eyes.

It grew quiet again, “have you ever met Mattheo’s parents? Has he ever talked to you about them?”

“No. I’ve never met them. He’s never really talked about his parents or his life outside Hogwarts. I don’t think he’s on great terms with his dad. He always stayed with them during the breaks, and wasn't ever allowed to spend it with us or here at hogwarts. He missed out on a lot of important hang outs. I wished he was there for them” Theodore explained, he sounded disappointed and angry.

“Do…do you think he’s jealous of my home life? The affection I was receiving in front of him at the train station…” 

He thinks for a moment, “I suppose it could be a possibility…hard to tell. He doesn’t allow himself to show too much emotion, again, probably has to do with the way he must have been raised.”

You wanted to do more research into Mattheo’s family…but how? “Thanks for this Teddy. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” You finished packing everything into your bag. Before you left you tossed him back his pack of cigarettes, “see you later.”

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You let out a sigh of relief, to be alone once again. Mettheo Riddle, what secrets do you hide? You made your way to the library instead of the Great Hall. After a few hours of searching around the library, you finally find a section of massive thick old leather bound books. You blew on the covers, these books contained a record of all the wizards and witches that had attended Hogwarts. Kind of like a yearbook, but it told you what came of them. Who married who, what did they end up doing after Hogwarts, etc. a rare but quite the gem of a find. “R… R.. R” you whispered, touching the book ends. You look at the bottom of the bookshelf finding the one that contained the last names that began with R. You found it, and you began to look through for the name “Riddle.”

Just as you got to the last name, you felt a wave of shame. You were snooping into somebody’s life. Their history. This is wrong. If Mattheo wanted to talk about his home life, surely he would have. He was hiding something. There were heavy slow footsteps coming around the corner of the aisle. You snapped the book shut holding it behind you and you looked at the section opposite of where you just were. Mattheo, they were his steps, you could tell. 

“Of course you’d be in the library doing nerd stuff.” He doesn’t sound happy, but also when is he truly ever?

You looked at him then around yourself, “who me? A nerd for being in the library?” I mean he wasn’t wrong but ..yeah. You still point at him, “Where are you then? Because it seems to be you’re also in the library with…” you fake gasp, “...Me! Making you a nerd too!” You hoped that confused him, you shifted the leather book behind your back. It was getting heavy by the second.

“I’m ditching classes to smoke,” He takes a rip of a cigarette that was nearly at its end, he blows the smoke in your face. “Nerd.”

“Whoop-dee-doo what a stellar insult Mettheo. I’m a ravenclaw. What did you expect? I’d rather be a nerd than a-” You took a step closer to him squinting then widening your eyes in horror, “oh my god Mattheo did you lose a tooth from all that smoking?” He quickly shoved his pinky into his mouth feeling his teeth in a panic. If there was one thing he cared more about than cigarettes it was keeping up with his good looks. Uh did I just describe him as good looking?

He actually laughed once he finished counting his teeth, “They’re perfectly fine. I care about taking care of myself, unlike you. How often do you wash yourself? I doubt you even brush your hair. I did you a favor when you had to cut it off. You have no sense of style, even with a selection of uniforms! Why do you dress like it’s winter all year? You dress like a peasant from the 1820’s”

Okay ouch, that kinda hurt. You’ve been insecure with your body, you always struggled with that. Dressing in sweaters helped hide it. You didn’t know how to respond, maybe he's right. You couldn’t stand up for yourself to save your life. You just shoved his shoulder with your own and walked past him. 

Matthew continues to follow you, “did you just shove me you twat?” He snatched the book out of my arms holding it a ways away from you, “If you’re going to do sneaky shit, don’t do it so obviously. Is this a diary or something?” Your eyes widened trying to take it back, but he held it up high above his head easily with one hand.

“Yes! It’s my diary, it’s where I gush about the god almighty perfect Mattheo!” I sarcastically said, still hoping he wouldn’t look at the title of the book. “No stupid! I dont have one, I just got done working on the potions project with your buddies. Hand me back the book.”

“Oh I bet you three had lots of fun. Did you talk about me while you were there? Did you talk about how you can’t take your eyes and mind off of me? You’re clearly obsessed, following me around like a love sick puppy. You pop up wherever I happen to be.” 

“Ew no never.” You fought your expression back, did Theodore tell him something? Fuck. “Draco left, it was just Teddy and I. we spent it kissing the whole time. Super carefree. His lips surprisingly didn't taste like cigarettes, they were pretty sweet.”

Mattheo’s smug smirk fades even before you finish your sentence. He hated how you used a nickname for his friend. He despised the thought of you kissing anyone, especially his mates, “fucking liar. THEODORE, not TEDDY, doesn’t like you. He just tolerates you because he has to. He wouldn’t be caught dead kissing you. You’re disgusting and I pity anyone who has the displeasure of touching you in any way other than to harm you. 

You hold your hands up, “woah woah woah, whatever makes you sleep peacefully at night. Why else did Teddy take me to an abandoned classroom, it was our chance to get away together especially after Draco conveniently left.” You couldn’t believe you were lying through your teeth, this would forsure come back and bite you in the ass even harder. You haven’t even had your first kiss yet. You haven't even been romantically linked with anyone before. 

“Stop fucking calling him Teddy, it’s Theodore!”

“Can you guys get a room or SHUT UP! For Merlin’s Sake” A random student yelled out at us. Slamming their hand on the table. You were embarrassed because you took pride in keeping the library a sacred place to study or relax.

“Piss off. Go find a room of your own instead of listening to us talking. You must be a first year, if you’re still so sensitive to other’s voices in the library.” He continued to raise his voice, “We’ve been like this for years! Blah blah blah!!”

“Stop it Mattheo.” You shove him again, mouthing to the student, I'm very sorry. With the distraction you go and grab the book in Mattheo’s hand but he quickly readjusts his grip.

“You don’t have to apologize for me, sunshine. You should apologize to him for your existence, do everyone a favor will you?” He finally looked down at the title of the book, Who Were They and Where They Now?: Hogwarts. He carefully used a single finger to pry it open to where the fabric bookmark was, immediately seeing his own surname. He gives a manic laugh looking up at your face and slamming the book down to the floor, “you stalker. You are obsessed with me.” 

He lunged at you. You took a step back, you hit the shelving. Your heart was beating so fast you thought you would pass out from the red handed guilt. 

“What kind of information were you looking to find huh?” He pointed a finger at me, his eyes ice cold. Looking to murder. Your head suddenly hurt, there was a high pitched ringing that wouldn't stop. You went to cover your ears to find some relief but Mattheo grabbed you and shook hard, “what the FUCK did you think you would find? Tell me. Tell me NOW!” You didn’t know what to say he just stared hard at you, his nails digging into your arms. You winced. He began to speak fast and harshly as if he knew, as if you had said something. 

“Did you really expect you would find out that I had a happy home? Do you think I’m happy being born in some dingy hovel? Do you think I'm overjoyed to be related to and be abused by my father? He beat me black and blue and hated my existence. My mother just sat there silently watching. She doesn’t care. Would YOU be thrilled knowing that you came from a long line of dark wizards who’ve caused pain and suffering to people for centuries.” 

You began to cry, “Mattheo..”

“You honestly think I would be so proud of that to tell everyone?” He scoffed.

“Mattheo you’re hurting me…”

“I. Don’t. Care.” His deep brown eyes didn’t leave yours, “you should have minded your own business. Stupid girl prying into my history. What do you care? Did you think I'd be less of a jerk to you if I had a perfect loving family like yours? ”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry! I .. I.”

“Shut up. You don't get to speak. I don't need you feeling sorry for me, I can handle myself. This is probably the worst you’ll ever experience.”

“Y-You’re right. I’m.. I’m grateful I never had to e-endure that” You were one stuttering mess. 

He moves one hand to cup your mouth to shut you up again, “what did i say. I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth.” He rose the other up threateningly. 

You closed your eyes. Do it Mattheo. Please. I deserve it. I’m sorry I tried to pry. Do it. He was surprised by your offer and looked at you in confusion, his expression didn’t change though. “What kind of sick request is that?” You open your eyes again to meet his. Both of you were in disbelief, did he just-? “Why would you want me to beat you? Because you feel bad for me? I don’t want nor need your sympathy. Trying to act like a saint that's willing to be my punching bag whenever I want.” he scoffed, letting your mouth free, taking a single step back away from you.

“Then why are you so mean to me? Tell me that. When I first laid eyes on you during our first year at the train platform, I thought we would be friends.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing where his fingers had dug into you.

“You’re a prissy annoying know-it-all goody two shoes that thinks she’s better than everyone. You can’t help but chime in whenever you have the chance and show off.”

“So it’s just my existence then huh, nothing else to it?” You felt your own anger finally rise, you wiped your tears off your cheek trying to regain composure.

“Pretty much. You’re unbearable. You are the most unexciting thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Let me fix that for you.” Your eyes betrayed you and let the gates open, the flood starting to spill once more. Before Mattheo could get another hold of you you quickly shuffled off, dropping your things. Already feeling limp. Just hoping your legs would carry you a bit more.

Mattheo rolls his eyes, “tsk so stupid.” He stood there staring at the place you once were. Thinking about what occurred when he processed what you said, “Y/N! Hey I-..” He began to follow in the direction you went off to.

Your shuffle turned into a run, you just needed privacy. Anything. Your dorm was too far away, so you went into the nearest girls bathroom and into the furthest stall to sob.

Mattheo reaches the hallway, looking to his left and right. Fuck where did she go? He closes his eyes to listen closely. He heard something faint and went with his gut.

You sat down beside the toilet, hitting your head with your fist. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” You heard a familiar giggle, “go away Myrtle. Now’s especially not the time.” 

Bathroom, you had to be in the bathroom. He went inside not caring if another girl would see him, “Y/N? You’re in here, I know you are. Look, just come out will you?” Instead Moaning Myrtle came forth.

“Are you looking for me?” she bit her finger looking him up and down, “we don't get that many cute boys in here.” She sighed, still admiring him, “Nevertheless, shame on you. How could someone as delicious as you treat someone so horribly.” She laughed in his face.

“Shut up. I don't need to be lectured by some depressed ghost. Why are you even here. Go away.” He went further inside the bathroom pushing doors in, “actually have you seen a girl come in, Y/N?”

“Yes!” She said excitedly pointing to the last stall, “She’s coming with me and we’ll get to haunt together. It’ll be so fun to not be alone anymore” She broke into another high pitched laugh, clapping her hands with joy. 

“What the hell is she on about?” That’s when he noticed broken glass from a mirror. His heart drops, “you’ve got to be kidding me…” He rushed over pushing the final door in, but this one wouldn’t budge. “Y/N. It’s Mattheo..” his heart drops and he pales when he notices blood start to seep out from under the door, you’ve hurt yourself. “Y/N!” He says again louder, “open the door! Open it right fucking now! Y/N!!”

You didn’t want him to see you like this, no one should have to see this. You try to hold the door closed but you were losing your strength to do anything. The blood made it slippery so your hand slid down, “M-m-mattheo haven’t..you said enough?”

Myrtle pointed to the glass, “look how eager she was! Damaging school property to break free” She did a couple spins in the air, “any minute now!”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough.” Mattheo raised his wand and shot a blast at the lock, it broke open and he flung the door open to reveal you laying on the floor. His heart seemed to stop completely. “Shit! Dammit! Y/N!” 

The blast frightened you, “No. Mattheo. No.” You could only make out his dark curly haired head. You tried to swat him away before losing consciousness due to blood loss. 

Professor Snape rushed in after hearing a blast, “what the bloody hell is going on in here, Mr. Riddle.”

Mattheo looked at him with an angry and panicked expression, “I need her in the infirmary right now.” He said through gritted teeth. He leans over you, grabbing a large bunch of toilet paper and quickly kneels next to you. Applying pressure on your bleeding left wrist.

Snape understood immediately, “Keep the pressure on the wrist, Riddle.” He was able to pick you up easily, but he was not enthusiastic about having your blood staining his robes, “with HASTE Riddle! Follow me!” And off they went to the infirmary. Once there Snape quickly laid you on a bed gently before Madame Pomfrey took over. 

She was able to stop and clean the bleeding, while she examined the cut striation she asked both Snape and Mattheo what blood type they were, “The girls lost too much blood, she needs a transfusion.” She began to stitch the wrist, the cut was near vertical to the veins. 

Mattheo in a less than a split second looked at Pomfrey, “Am I able to donate for her.” He didn’t say it as a question, he wanted it to be a command. 

“As long as you share the same blood type then yes, sweetheart. Please, fresh blood is much better. We can’t wait more time, Ms. Y/L/N is so terribly pale. She can have a seizure any minute if we dont get more blood to her brain” still carefully pulling at threads. His hand was still holding yours. 

He nods impatiently, less talking, more action. “I’m AB-” he gulped. One of the rarest blood types in the world, “what type is she?” he began to roll up his sleeve even before Pomfrey was able to respond.

“Goodheavens! Thank Merlin. She’s AB- as well!” She sighs looking up at the ceiling for a split second, calling for a nurse to help set up the transfusion. He took a seat on your left, watching the nurse insert a needle into each of your arms. He didn’t flinch, but he gave her a threatening look when she inserted a needle into your arm, thinking she would bring more pain to you. 

Madame Pomfrey stood up, finished. “If it was with a straight razor and not a glass shard, I don’t think i would have been able to-” she let her voice die down after seeing how pale Mattheo began to look too, she shut her mouth as to not worry him more with what the other alternative was. He couldn’t hide his guilt. His eyes were alternating between your face and his blood that was slowly running into your body through a single tubing. He desperately needed it to go faster. 

“Is there a chance she would wake up with problems with her veins or her nerves?” He asked.

Pomfrey patted the boy's shoulders, “Let’s hope not, let’s hope they hold. With the basics in place, there’s nothing a little magic can’t help.” This eased him, “Ms. Y/L/N wont wake for a couple of hours. She needs to be watched to make sure she doesn’t rip my stitching job or we will go back to square one my boy. Can I trust you?”

“Is that really a necessary question?” He bit his tongue, “Sorry, yes I will watch over her. I need to be here when she wakes up.”

“Best she gets a psychiatrist too, but that's a later issue to address. We’ll focus on physical healing for now.” Pomfrey looked at Mattheo curiously, isn’t this one of the trouble-making slytherin boys? She shook her head and walked out to attend to another student.

“Y/N i’m here.” He studies your face, deep with regret and guilt. He holds your right hand tightly, he whispers softly, “it’s okay, you’re going to be alright..”

“Riddle.” Snape was still watching everything from the shadows of the room, “What happened to my best student, why is he in this condition?”

“It’s my fault, Professor…I was making a fool out of myself. I was treating her like hell… it went too far. She must have had a breakdown and she-” he couldn’t bear to describe your condition out loud.

Snape held a hand up to silence him from saying more, “rather than giving you detention for the rest of your time here at Hogwarts. I will need you to attend all the girl’s classes she will be missing in her recovery. She must not fall behind.”

“Yes sir, I understand. I’ll do it.” 

Snape turned to leave but came back toward the boy and yanked the cigarette box from his uniform pocket, “none of these for you either, especially as you are sharing blood with Y/N. She never liked you smoking.” and off he turned around to change his own robes from the blood.

“Anything for you.” he whispered towards you, “please wake up soon.”

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You began to stir, your eyes fluttering open. You looked around in a panic. You were incredibly sore, especially your left wrist. It stung badly. Mattheo had fallen asleep in the chair when he jolted awake to the sound of your movements, “Calm down, relax, you’re in the infirmary. You’re safe.” He couldn’t help but feel like he just lied about it being safe, if he was the cause of this.

“M…m..Mattheo” You began to cry again, “I’m so sorry.” You went to reach out and hug him but flinched. You followed the red transfusion line to him, “oh Mattheo.”

He sat up to lean towards you. He shushes you and wipes your tears with the back of his hand, ‘you need to calm down and take it easy, princess. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you're still weak. This is just to bring your levels up, you’ll start to feel better soon.”

You stared at his beautiful eyes, ones that had held so much hate but there seemed to be no trace of it now. You felt guilty, I acted like a coward. “Myrtle said it was going to be quick and painless. I’m so stupid I couldn’t even do it right.” You felt another wave of tears coming but  you tried to choke them down.

“No youre not, you’re not at fault.” He couldn’t help but chuckle cautiously as what he was about to say, “you might be a know-it-all but you just need to have more control with your thoughts. Don’t listen to Moaning Myrtle. Don’t be hard on yourself, you're not stupid. You did nothing wrong.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor.” you were so exhausted. But you needed to get this out before you lost consciousness again. With your good arm you help his hand tightly, looking him in the eyes again to emphasize the point you were going to make, “Mattheo, I really am idiotic. I Am. I did think you had a perfect life, it didn’t cross my mind that you had it any other way. You were always carefree and just let's be honest, acting like you're’ better than everyone else. It was wrong of me to have assumed that.”

He frowns. “Don’t apologize. There’s no way to tell what someone is going through ultimately. I..cope in my own way.” He softly strokes your cheek with this thumb.

If it wasn’t for the pain, you would have thought you were asleep. Dead. Or in purgatory. A realm between realms. No way the mattheo I’ve known my whole life is sitting beside me looking..lovingly at me? You felt horrible. Did I just manipulate him into caring about me? Just hours ago he was mocking and saying nasty things as usual. 

Mattheo could see the look of disbelief in your eyes from the way he was behaving, “Y/N. I’m caring for you. No you’re not dreaming or in some other realm. You’re here, with me, thank Merlin. You didn’t manipulate me, you woke me up.”

You sat up too quickly for your own good, your head feeling light “How are you doing that?” 

He shook his head, “Another time. I’m really sorry for how I treated you. You think I’m just some asshole, but I'm more than that really. I want to be more than that. No one else has gotten to see the real me.”

“Mattheo, I see you.” Despite your pain, you reach out to cup his face between your hands. For a second, you saw the boy you first laid your eyes on that first year at the train station. The same sad eyes, “I see you.”

He sighed into your touch, it was a soft and innocent gesture he was not used to. He chuckled softly, and gently placed his hands over yours, keeping them there. He didn’t want to lose the touch, “I know you do, and that’s exactly why I'm afraid.”

You couldn’t help but imagine - how different our lives could have been for the last 6 years, if he would have just introduced himself to me. Explained why he looked so pained when I was with my family. “My parents would have welcomed you as their own” you explained your thoughts to him. “I could have protected you. You could have visited me during the holiday breaks. I know saying it will not change the past and what has happened to you. But I see you Matty.”

“yeah..it’s too late to change the past, I should’ve but I didn’t think you’d understand. It doesn’t excuse the way I treated you all these years, Y/N.” His voice got shaky, his eyes starting to water. He was a mess.

“No, don't you start Mattheo please, baby.” You brought him into a hug, again ignoring your throbbing wrist. “Easy now.” you soothed the curls that were behind his neck. They felt so soft.

Mattheo rested his head on your shoulder and held you tightly, softly crying into you. He wrapped his arms around you and held onto your shirt like he was afraid to let go. He couldn’t remember the last time someone treated him like this, it felt so new and overwhelming.

You kissed the top of his head, inhaling - cigarettes. You hated that he smoked but at this moment the smalle was comforting. He let out a deep sigh. You broke the hug only because you scooted over on the bed, and tugged him to lay beside you. We watched you, he looked so tired. He nodded in agreement with a small smile, he carefully laid beside you, making sure to be careful of your condition.

You gave him a reassuring look that wasn’t hurting you. I’m okay. You looked at your arms touching side by side, still connected by the tubing. You couldn't help but laugh, “Matty isn’t it ironic? All this pure-blood and mudblood talk and look” you carefully lifted the tube, “we’re still one and the same foundation.” You smiled at him, helping wipe his tear stained cheeks now. “Thanks for your donation to me.”

He too couldn't help but grin back at you. He couldn’t believe you weren’t pushing him away for how he treated you, or for how vulnerable he was at the moment, “any time, but please actually don’t do that ever again. You made me worried to death..”

“No I won’t. Pinky promise.” You held out your pinky for him to take. 

He took it in his own nodding, “good, you’re stuck with me now.”

With our pinkies still woven, you  looked at the size difference. You turned toward his Bambi like eyes, “let's start this over on the right foot. Better late than never? Hi i’m Y/N, [insert some fun facts about yourself].”

Mattheo smiled more widely, blushing his pinky did make yours look kiddish. It was adorable. He gave you a playful look, smirking at you like he usually would, “Nice to meet you there, Y/N. I’m Mattheo, the sexiest guy you’ll meet in Hogwarts.”

There’s my Mattheo. “And you promise to…?” you coaxed him.

He gave your pinky another squeeze, “to try to be nice and kind to you, and avoid bullying you….as well as to not smoke in your presence…you happy?”

You kind of nodded, holding in your laugh, “aaaand…?”

He looked at you, trying to read what you wanted him to say. He gave your pinky another, slightly rougher, squeeze. “And I promise not to throw a wad of gum into your beautiful hair?”

“Bingo. Mr. Riddle, that’s what I was ultimately looking for.” You let go of his pinky, “but it is nice to know the other stuff too.” you waved your hand like it was nothing, but it was my everything. He gave you a sarcastic scoff, he liked that you were still acting like your old self too. 

You kissed his cheek and his face went redder than a cherry, you acted shocked “woah did I just make Mattheo, the sexiest guy in Hogwarts BLUSH?!” You slapped your hands against your cheeks in play disbelief, slightly regretting the pain it brought to your arms. He quickly shook his head and blushed even more than originally thought possible, he tried to hide his face away from you, “S-shut up! That’s a lie! I was not blushing, it’s just your imagination.”

You laughed at his reaction, taking his hand in mine once more comparing the hand sizes. You put my head against his shoulder, before dropping your jester attitude. Making him form another pinky promise with you. “Mattheo, I promise to be there for you. I want to protect you. You shouldn’t live in the shadow of your home life, especially not alone. Just as much as I’m stuck with you. You’re stuck with me. That’s my promise to you.”

His heart beat fast, it nearly melted his heart to hear your promise. He let out a deep, shaky breath. He couldn't stop the small tear that rolled down his cheek, he didn’t bother wiping it. He just leaned his head down to rest on your own, “deal…”

There was a pause, before you spoke up again.“I know we just started the year but please, come back home with me this Christmas holiday when it rolls around.” You blinked up at him. You started to feel really sleepy, that was to be your last request and plea for the moment, “I’ll show you how muggles get down to holiday business.”

Mattheo looked down at you and smiled softly, as your eyes were struggling to stay open, “yea sure, i’ll spend the holidays with you” he wasn’t sure how he would, but he would worry about that later.

Many promises were made this day, and you intended to keep each and every single one of them. In many ways, you knew this would still be the same Mattheo you had always known, but it would all be so different now. You managed to break through his extremely guarded shell, the hardest way possible. But it needed to desperately be broken.

You turned Mattheo’s head to look at you, he met your gaze. The corner of his lip curled up as he knew what you were about to do. He let you take the lead, closing his eyes. You kissed his lips slowly, cherishing how it felt. You wanted more of him, but your body was pleading for rest. You hugged his arm and surrendered.

He couldn’t help but touch his lips afterwards with his fingertips. He watched as you gave in to exhaustion, he followed your lead and let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes, “Goodnight princess.” Mattheo fell asleep to the sounds of you breathing and the sound of your heartbeat, they would surely become one of the most blissful lullabies to be heard by him. He intertwined his fingers with yours, he wouldn’t ever let go.

[ceilidho]

prompt: reader is a large animal vet making a house call to a certain ex-SAS member's ranch.

-

It’s the first time you’ve been called out to this ranch. 

You’ve been to some others in the surrounding area—just last week you stopped by a ranch just half an hour away—but never this one. It’s far out of the way, almost tough to find—you miss the turnoff twice, each time forced to turn back around and squint to find the poorly marked dirt road leading to the ranch. Your shoulders only unclench when the ranch house finally crests over the horizon and you spot the horses milling around in the fenced-off enclosure. 

They must have had an in-house vet prior to calling you out. None of your colleagues remember ever visiting and the ranch is big enough to necessitate one. It sprawls across the landscape, acres upon acres. The kind of ranch that deals in thoroughbreds, horses that go on to graded stakes races. In the pen already, you can pick out Thoroughbreds and American Warmblood, the distinctive spotting of an Appaloosa, even a couple Hanoverians. 

There are men working around the ranch outside of the main enclosure that you park just a dozen or so yards away from, but something about the man standing by his lonesome with the horses makes you pause. 

A head taller than the rest, and built like a redwood. Bandana affixed around the lower half of his face, almost bandit-like. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You’re not here to pass judgement on people; you’re here for the horses. Whatever scars mar his face are hardly your concern (still, rugged, you think, a bit breathless even sitting in the front seat of your truck). 

When he turns in your direction, eyes locked on your truck and then locked on you when you pop into the back to grab your bag, your back straightens. Imperceptibly, yet still. Compelled to measure up somehow, to whatever standard he expects.

He strikes you as the man in charge. “Mister Riley?” you call out, shielding your eyes from the sun. 

He beckons you over with a gloved hand. Even from the distance, he leaves you unsure of yourself, quick to stumble when his stare starts to burn. 

“Doc,” Riley greets you when you’re close enough, and you fight back a shiver. His voice rumbles like thunder, like hooves pounding into the freshly tamped earth, into the dirt. 

“You called about a pregnant mare,” you remind him. 

The bag in front of your legs puts a bit of distance between the two of you, a needed buffer. Up close, he towers like sequoia, in fact, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, old tattoos on his left arm faded like beaten leather. He holds out a hand though, forcing you to take a step forward out of politeness and shake it. Your lips tighten at the touch of his skin. It’s weathered too, coarse palms and fingertips; there’s dirt caked around his nail beds, the kind that never comes out, the world’s indelible mark on the skin. 

He stares at you for a moment without speaking. There’s no helping the way you squirm under his gaze.

“The horse,” you remind him, cheeks hot.

“She’s in the stables; I’ll bring ya to her.”

You struggle to keep up with him, bag bumping against your leg as you haul ass after him. Big as he is, he moves quickly, fast on his feet—used to quick beasts, you know, probably used to anticipating their movements, always one step ahead. Your last shred of decency keeps you from staring at his ass the entire walk to the stables. 

Her coat is a rich coal colour, mane sun-bleached. Inky eyes peer back at you when Riley lets you into her stall. It’s cooler inside somehow, out of the inescapable glare of the sun; the sweat on the back of your neck stays wet under Riley’s eyes though, nervous rather than weather-born. 

She’s gorgeous though, the mare. Pretty as can be. Heavily pregnant too, you can see. Obviously well taken care of too, still decently muscled like she’s still been taken for walks and rides during her pregnancy. 

“She’s too far along now to ride,” he tells you when you remark on that, his voice carrying in the confined space. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it makes you perk up again, at attention, head whipping over your shoulder to look at him. 

“I can tell. A little over two months ‘till she delivers,” you say with a nod, looking down at the chart you have on her. “I can come back for her last deworming before she foals, if you want.”

He grunts, doesn���t answer. You take it as an affirmative. 

It doesn’t take you long to run through her check-up. A docile girl, you coo when she lets you touch her without any sign of aggression, sweet-tempered thing. It’s second nature after all, at this point in your life. 

Still, you find yourself watching Riley out of the corner of your eye, careful under his watchful gaze. Not that you usually aren’t, but still. Your movements feel intentional, precise. 

When he walks you out, you get a bit bolder in the sunlight. Freer to pester him with questions. 

“Did your last vet retire or something?” you ask, fishing for information. It’s probably none of your business, but you find yourself curious anyway. There are a few different vet practices operating in the area, so it’s always helpful to know who’s going to your competitors. 

He shakes his head. “Friend of mine went to school for this—been with me as long as I’ve had the ranch. He got hitched a couple weeks ago though.”

“Moving away?” you guess.

“Opening up a practice,” he corrects, making you frown. That’s worse, at least for you. “On his honeymoon this month though, so he gave me your name.”

“My boss’ name, you mean.”

“That’s right,” he says, and you realize that he’s walked you all the way to your car, half-pinning you to the door of your truck. Just close enough that a new layer of sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. You have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Don’t know if I caught yours, little filly.”

Now that makes you stutter over your name, confidence finally failing you. When he hums like he’s caught your name in his head now, mapped it to you with his sharp eyes, you feel yourself swallow reflexively. 

“Not like you’ll need it for long,” you tease, trying to gain back some semblance of control. “Just until your friend gets back and sets up his practice, at least.”

“Not sure about that. Might find some use for you yet,” Riley says, close enough now that you can tell he smells of hay and silage, peppery when you breathe in too heavily. 

And you breathe too heavily. Hard not to when he crowds you up against the truck, hand laying flat on the roof, boxing you in. You wonder if any of the ranch hands are looking over at the two of you, curious. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, head empty. Mouth dry enough now that it hurts a bit to swallow. 

His brown eyes glint in the sun. Honey gold under the light. “I can think of a few reasons to keep you around.”

[gofishygo]

i know that everyone says this but the mw3 rm soap death was shit awful . looking back at it, logistically , it shouldn’t have happened .

so the first injury in this was soap being shot in the right shoulder (most likely in joint tendon region) . pretty painful , and if did hit in the area i believe it did , would hinder mobility in the upper right region of the body (neck, arm, some torso muscles .

HOWEVER !! soap has proven to be shot in similar or worse regions in other missions and has been able to carry through and complete objective alive .

what you are seeing is a move that should have killed makarov instantly . this is a stab performed to the external jugular vein (and due to soaps experience , possibly a carotid artery . i was taught this attack in weapons studies , my friends in the military were also taught that this region is one of the quickest ways to krill . (not giving murder advice just trying to prove a point please don’t ban me) not to mention this is immensely painful . realistically , mans should have dropped then and there . not to mention there were sas soldiers who should have opened fire the second they saw him anyways ??

now THIS is the part that pisses me off the most. see makarov’s lock ? that actively engages the trapezius and scalene muscles , which would be DIRECTLY affected from the stab would . combined with the fact that soap is (estimated) 80-90 kgs , he would not have been able to perform that lock let alone hold it .

and with soap being part of the fucking MILITARY , he should have been able to get out of that by a) breaking the locked arm and using the other hand to either disarm / kill makarov (which he should have been able to handle , especially judging by the fucking alone mission) or b) hitting the back of makarovs knee to send them both to the ground, slip under him to not break his arm and hit em w the buck+trap+flip to get a vantage, and then continue the fight from there, which should be very short anyways considering that makarov’s bleeding out faster than a fucking SNAKE STRIKE . and somehow with the majestic force of activision giving less than 2 fucks about all the characters and medical theory there , makarov manages to get a straight aim and shoot soap straight through the ear ??!! and then bolt past a fuck ton of bullets that should have BEEN FIRED ON HIM EARLIER and then hurl himself INTO A TRAIN . if you wanted to kill of one of the leads in the modern warfare series , do it in a way that is well written and thought out and accurate .

[bits-and-babs]

Your fics are amazing! Would you ever write about König?

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 — 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : rumours of an elite soldier have the base reeling. murmurings of 'monster' and 'freak'. what happens when you come face to face with the beast, only to find he's nothing like the whispers cautioned?

pairing : könig x f!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. war, violence, graphic gory imagery, self-conscious könig baby, little bit of hand kink, basic bitch smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tight fit, sugar-sweet teeth rotting smut. this feels so basic… but I was struggling. please note, kilgore is a name previously linked to könig. I have used it as a codename 🙂

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Warfare training preps for the inevitable—those moments you need to fire a weapon and how to camouflage and navigate enemy territory without detection. These inescapable horrors are 'another day in the office' by the time you enter the field, the prickling chill of fear driven out of your system. Whistling RPGs are not dissimilar to the scream of your Drill Sergeant's commands, the cold, hard ground of a dilapidated building no more uncomfortable than the standard-issue barracks mattress you would ease your wearing bones into after training. 

Fear, beaten out of each man and woman that slipped on the uniform, held no commonplace in the military. Weapons, the call to war, brutality and sirens did little to raise the blood pressure. 

Whispers held far more weight and struck unease into the hearts of even the most desensitised of fighters. 

It was inarguable that each military in every country, at any time, had its own 'boogeyman'. Notorious fighters with absurdly large kill counts consisting of three digits that inevitably earned a bounty for their head, funded by the enemy—elite warriors who acquired a legendary reputation that ultimately became horror stories. The Ghost of Kyiv, The American Sniper Chris Kyle. These military cryptids kept their enemies awake at night, baying for blood and begging for the piles of bodies they left behind to stop growing. 

After years in the SAS, you were beginning to think that there was no such thing. Each soldier was prolific, brutally efficient and inarguably the best of the elite forces. It was only upon entering Task Force 141, a genuinely mean feat, that you began to hear the unshunnable, hushed whispers of Kilgore. 

“Did you hear about Berlin?” 

“Kilgore? Yeah, heard he blew away a whole Al-Qatala cell.”

“Twelve of ‘em. The hostages were traumatised.”

These mumblings had persisted for months, consistently updated with crazy tales of whole garrisons blown to smitheries by this massacre-happy hulking mass of pure military precision. You, like the rest of 141, elected to ignore the gossip. This was a battlefield, filled with elite soldiers, not a school playground. 

                            ✰

Austrian mud splatters your camo-clad shins as you sprint through the forest terrain, your heart lurching in your chest as your rain-soaked fingers almost fumble your gun to the sodden ground. It’s freezing cold, the gush of rain edging on a flurry of sleet as lightning cracks above your head. Clothes soaked through, the moisture and icy wind form something of a ‘Pact of Steel’, working together to deep freeze the marrow of your bones. 

As you slip in the mud again, heel skidding across the slick soil, you realise how dire the situation truly is. Separated from 141 during the firefight, you’d navigated north. You continued running for the safe house once discovering your coms had been dispatched by a stray bullet— that certainly would have ripped through your heart and dispatched you instantly if not for the layers of plastic settled over it. 

Thunder rumbles in the clouds above, the boom reminiscent of a distant air strike. Slurried earth gives way beneath your feet as you push on. Exhaustion gnaws at your joints as you scramble for safety, bested only by the adrenaline that buzzed in your ear like a vicious drill sergeant. “Move it! Do you wanna die?! Well fucking move!” 

You can hear their boots in the mud, the advancing Al-Qatala mercenaries chasing after you and shooting blindly at your heels, competing with the distance and dense foliage. You’re like an injured fox, feverish bloodhounds nipping at the end of your tail— what could they do with an SAS hostage? How much leverage would it buy? 

Bullets whistle by your feet, the proximity of some enough to set your hair on end. They’re closing in, jowls dripping with slobber as they attempt to close their teeth around you. Just a little mor—

Crack. 

Chaos erupts behind you, the thump of a body and a flurry of shouts. Panicked voices overlay each other in different languages, Urzik and Persian. You scramble for cover behind a treetrunk, the bark cutting at your palms as you brace for incoming fire. 

"Kilgore!" Someone shouts, and your blood runs cold, eyes wide as they dart around the foliage for the legendary soldier. The whizzing of high-powered bullets persists, dropping Al-Qatala mercenaries into the mud beneath them. You hear the yelled orders, Urzik fighters urged to retreat.

You're unsure if one fails to hear the directive over the din of warfare, but you hear the advancing feet of the mercenary advancing on your position—the squelch of the mud beneath the rubber sole of his combat boots. You scramble with your weapon, checking the gun's safety and readying for a one-shot shoot-out. 

When a bullet shreds through a victim's head, the sound is reminiscent of a watermelon being cracked open. It's a sickening crunch. A wet spray of warm blood cuts through the downpour of rain, splattering across your face. Some of it is solid, brain matter and shards of cranium. 

It's not silent by any means. The rain continues to beat against the floor, pattering in the puddles that had formed in sole-shaped prints in the soaked earth. Cracks of thunder sound in the distance, and the droplets drum against the leaves in the forest's canopy. However, the sounds of the firefight cease. 

"You can come out," a voice calls to you. Accented; Germanic. You hesitate for a moment, once again strengthening your grip on the gun you'd clung to. Your lungs strain with the sudden intake of breath, ribs crushed beneath your tac-vest. "Ghost sent me." 

Easing your head out from behind the tree trunk, you marvel, somewhat horrified, at the gigantic, hulking build of the man who stood in the clearing. Fallen enemy combatants surround him, a blanket of corpses draped across the turbid forest floor. A black veil covers his face, and his equipment litters his tac-vest. 

You'd be lying if you said you were unperturbed by the sight. Instead, fear lurches in the pit of your stomach, and you freeze in place. It's only when your eyes catch the crystal white slicing through crimson on the patch sewn into his shoulder that the airy voice, which certainly doesn't match his enormous frame, brings you a sense of safety. 

"The safe house is ahead. We could get you warm–– clean you up?"

                            ✰

Staring into the bubbling pan of water settled over the small fire, you relish in the warmth that creeps across your chilled body. Still, you're soaked, the damp clinging to the threads of your clothes. The scent of iron still assaults your nose, the water that you pick off the fire cautiously heated enough to scrub the blood from your face. 

Kilgore, who informed you upon entering the safehouse preferred to be called by his name König, had seated himself in the corner of the large, relatively empty room. He looked ridiculous like this, attempting to compact his body into the crevice. You don't doubt it's an attempt to ease the nervous energy bleeding through your pores, your hands trembling as you attempt to dip the rag he had gifted you into the hot water. 

"Did..." You swallow thickly, glancing up at the Austrian, "Did you tell the Lieutenant where we are?" 

"Mhm-hm," he nods slowly, his jade eyes watching you from beneath the face veil. They're sharp and bright, contrasting so strongly against his uniform's muted and inky shades. "He's planning evac." 

You scrub the gore from your face, wincing as you feel the shards of bone scrape across your face. König's eyes bore into you from the other side of the room, watching you struggle to remove what was left of the grime the rain had failed to wash away. 

"I've-... Heard a lot about you," you speak to him, attempting to cross the vast space he had consciously put between you. His green eyes gaze at you, unblinking as he watches your expression. König is trying to read you, trying to comprehend how you feel. He's cautious, trying not to push you outside of your comfort zone. 

"About Berlin?" He asks, and his voice is so soft that it reminds you of a child attempting to speak after being reprimanded by their parents–– wary of a second bout of raised voices. 

"Yes," you mumble, dipping the crimson rag into the water before laying it across your skin again, "About Berlin." 

König hums softly, casting his eyes to the aged, wooden floorboards. The woodlice have chewed through them, moss growing in some parts. You can see he appears uncomfortable, his knuckles white from the fists that form in his lap. 

"I didn't mean to scare anyone," König admits in a whisper, catching you off guard. His shoulders sag slightly, and you see him pick at loose threads in the knees of his camo trousers. 

"N-No... I meant to say how courageous it was," you point out, watching his fidgeting hands still suddenly, "You risked your life for those hostages... saved them singlehandedly. No one else would have done that." 

Hesitant silence settles between you both, König considering your words carefully as he stares at his lap. You can't see his face, the veil concealing all but his eyes, though you're almost sure he's stunned by your comment. It takes him a moment to discern his next step, but he finally lifts his body from the wooden chair he'd pulled into the corner. It creaks with the shift in weight distribution, floorboards straining as he walks across the space towards you. 

"You also saved me," you point out, watching him kneel before you, "Faced a whole cell..."

König steals your words from your mouth when his huge hand settles around the bloodied rag in your palm. He doesn't speak at; first, silence hanging between you once again as he dips the cloth into the water. Then, he soaks it until it drips, droplets pinging off the surface, and wrings it out. His dorsal muscles ripple beneath the backs of his palm, veins a ballpoint colour and standing out against his pale skin. 

"Ghost asked me to," he mumbles, carefully holding the damp fabric and slowly reaching for your face. He gives you time to pull away–– you don't. 

"You could have ignored him," you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. He still towers over you, even balanced on his knees, head and shoulders slumped over you. You can see the ocean green of his eyes clearly, the halo of brown flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and oddly feminine. 

The pressure of the cloth against your skull is so delicate. König appears to be afraid of hurting you, gently brushing away the flecks of blood in your hairline. He shakes his head gently, considering your kind words. "What kind of man would I be, Leibchen?" his voice is airy, tone flimsy.

Those stunning eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching for your answer. Instead, all you manage is a weak shrug. 

"Were... Are they afraid of you?" You whisper to him, struggling to find the words to broach a topic that appears to affect König so profoundly. It's his turn to answer wordlessly, offering an equally frail nod. 

König takes your chin ever so gently in his hand, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turns your head in search of further blood-spatter. He sweeps the makeshift face-cloth over your skin, focusing on removing the grime altogether. 

You'd heard the cruel rumours, the whispers of 'monster' and 'freak'. This König you'd met couldn't possibly be the same they uttered about maliciously. He held a child-like kindness, the brutality of the job seemingly doing little to chip away at his humanity. The same couldn't be said about the others. 

"König," you whisper his name softly, watching as he continues to focus on clearing up your skin. His soothing touch smoothes across your temple now, removing some mud speckles. "Don't listen to them."

You can see his eyes soften, once again turning to yours as you reach to fiddle with the edge of his veil. Upon tracing the border between the pads of your thumb and forefinger, you find that it's t-shirt material, the zigzag seam stitching rough against your touch like barbed wire. "They haven't seen you like I have." 

Those eyes gleam with amusement, little crows-feet creases forming in the corners. He's smiling, and your heart stutters against your chest. 

"That right, Leibchen? I've had a mask on this whole time."

The gentle teasing lilt to his tone makes you lightheaded, urging you forward with your frankly ridiculous plan. You begin to lift the edge of his veil upwards. You take it slowly, his pupils dancing across the bare skin of your face as you reveal the point of his chin. His skin is equally as pale there, barely exposed to sunlight.

König doesn't stop you as you continue to lift the fabric from his face, exposing the curve of his lower lip. The skin there is soft and plush, little creases in the flesh making your heart thud awkwardly against your ribs. Finally, you stop at his cupid's bow, so soft and subtle it's barely there at all. 

You can feel his gaze warming your skin as you trace his lips with your eyes. Hesitation holds you still, uncertain about the final step of this stupid plan. König, as ever, doesn't push you. Doesn't even breathe. When you lean forward, the tip of your nose brushing his own that still lay beneath the cloth, you hear a sharp yet gentle inhalation. It triggers goosebumps across your forearms, butterflies battering the pit of your stomach. 

Soft. His lips are so soft when you mould your own to their shape. König's veil tickles the skin of your face when you kiss him, and you feel his gigantic hands settle on either side of your neck as he begins to return your affections. They swallow you, and your pulse leaps against his palm. 

König smiles, and the kiss turns toothy and a little lopsided. You can't help but giggle nervously, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he presses gentle pecks to the edge of your mouth. Despite his massive, intimidating frame, each action is deliberate and soft. 

"... Are your clothes still wet, Schatz?" He's breathless despite his seemingly put-together appearance, his nose bumping yours as he interrupts your answer for another fragile kiss. "We could get you out of them." 

                            ✰

Your standard-issue military t-shirt slips and falls from the cot's mattress as König gently pulls your hips towards the edge. His fingerprints have already bruised into your thighs despite his attempts to be gentle. When he'd begun to panic, you told him not to worry–– he'd already bruised up your neck with his teeth and lips; what was a couple more?

Butterflying your legs out for him, König groans softly as you expose your glistening cunt for him. You're shy, covering your face with your hands as his fingers massage the soft, malleable flesh of the inside of your thighs. 

"Schatz," he whispers, and you peer through the gaps of your fingers. König gazes down between your legs, green eyes gleaming as he positions his cock between your folds. "So beautiful." 

It's ridiculous, you think, staring down between your legs. König is huge in every sense, the shaft of his cock thick and veiny and drowning out the seam of your sex as König shifts his hips forward to swipe the length of him across your weeping cunt. You can't help your mind running away with itself–– surely he needed a weapons license to carry that thing-?

A weak chuckle sounds above you, and you crane your neck to catch his eye. "I will take it slow, Schatz, I promise you."

You believe him. He had been so delicate with you this whole time, laying you down gently on the bed, careful when removing your gear and your clothes not to let the material snag on your nose or chin. 

König's hand disappears beneath the face veil, spitting into his palm before he smoothes it over the head of his cock. He groans, eyelids fluttering beneath the mask as he drags his hand over the length. It's a pretty sight, you think, such a colossal man shuddering in bliss. When he sweeps his cock through your folds again, he carefully taps the tip of his dick against your clit to illicit a whimper. 

"Mhmm, gentle. I promise you," he repeats, inching the tip of his cock down until it settles at your entrance. The soles of your feet find purchase on König's hips, and he massages your calves gently as he begins to inch into you at your nod of approval. 

Oh, Christ. 

König stretches you the moment he sinks inside. There's a delicious burn, one that has you lifting your hips with a whimper as you equally try to escape and dive into it. He's wheezing, eyes glued to where your bodies meet as he watches you flutter around his size. 

"Ha-So tight, Schatz," he groans loudly, stopping when you firmly grip the bedsheets. He notes your expression of slight pain, the tears welling in your eyes as your body attempts to accommodate the intrusion. König seemingly can't help the flurry of apologies that fall from his mouth as he leans over you, settling his thumb against your clit in an attempt to ease you open. "Here. I want you to feel good, Engel." 

The tremors in your thighs rattle against his hips as he circles your clit slowly. It's blissful, the sticky, warm arousal that blooms through your abdomen as he teases at the sensitive nerves. You arch your back against the mattress, moaning out his name breathlessly as he continues to inch his cock further into you. You barely notice when he finally settles the rest of him inside, wailing softly when it twitches and knocks something earthshattering inside you. 

"O-Oh fuck––" you choke on your curse when König shifts his hips forward, jutting into your cervix and winding you suddenly. You probably look ridiculous, eyes rolling back into your skull as you claw at the vast expanse of his chest. You drag pink lines down the pale skin, drawing blood to the surface, but it does little to phase König this far along.  

"Good, Liebling?" He murmurs, continuing to assault your clit. You can barely form a coherent sentence in response, drooling around a string of 'yes, yes, yes'. It's all he needs to find comfort in advancing, easing the length of him out of your weeping cunt before driving it back in at an achingly slow pace. 

You want to slam your fist against his pectorals and insist he go faster, but you're not sure you're ready for it when he slides into you balls deep. It's as though he's settling among your lungs, filling you so good that you're seeing static in your line of vision. 

The sound of a desperate groan from above barely brings you back down to earth, noting how he's staring at your face. His pupils are blown wide, almost devouring the green of his irises. It takes you a moment to realise you're drooling, his slow and steady pace already pushing you to a mindless edge. 

"Oh-" you moan, digging your nails into his abs. They ripple beneath your touch with each deliberate thrust, and König hisses at the sharp sting and the crescent moon indents they leave behind. "F-Fuck, König- Too much-!"

"It's too much?" He wheezes, eyes searching your face. You desperately shake your head, terrified he'll pull away from you despite the inching arousal building at the base of your spine. Wrapping your legs around his hips, your heels press into the small of his back and hook him in place despite your protests. 

It sparks something feral in the hulking man, his hips surging forwards and jolting you up the mattress. Your breath escapes you in a squeak, arousal soaring and buzzing thickly in your abdomen as König mumbles in German, his soft voice coming out all gritty under the strain of his exertions and bliss. 

"Mhmmm- fuck-" you babble, eyes rolling again as you lift your hips to meet his. He sinks impossibly deeper, and your breath stutters as you feel the telltale tug of your orgasm. "Oh God- König, I'm-"

"Tell me," König whispers, rutting up inside you. He doesn't bother to inch out of you now, repeatedly battering so deep inside you that you struggle to inhale as your orgasm approaches fast. 

"Hngngg- hah-ah- I'mgonna- c-cum-" you choke with each sudden thrust, his thumb quickening its pace against your arcing clit. Perhaps he shifts his hips slightly or reaches even deeper than before, but he brushes against something utterly debilitating, and you cum with a loud shriek of his name. 

It bursts through you with blistering heat, your fingernails sinking deep into the curves of his bicep as you brace against the waves of bliss that crash over you. König keeps fucking into you, your walls squeezing tight around him as his thumb persists in its assault on your throbbing clit. Tears stream down your face, and König can't hold on much longer as you strangle his cock. 

"Hah-Shit-" he slurs, his voice barely reaching your ears as he buries himself as deep as you can take him. He cums with a haggard moan, body trembling as his cock spurts inside of you. There's so much of it, too, leaking out of you before he even manages to move. 

Both of you take a moment, both stunned by the overwhelming ecstasy. König doesn't bother withdrawing from your heat as he slumps beside you, turning you on your side to face him. He offers no words, burying his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. 

Your chest heaves as you suck in oxygen, skin prickling with heat as König encases you in his massive arms. You don't need the sheets, his body-heat burning hot beside you as you press your skin to his.

No words need to be said, you think. König had offered his feelings in the form of his reverent touches and delivered his thanks for your kindness in the delicate kisses he'd pressed to your lips as he carried you into the bedroom. 

As you lay in the dark, settled into König's side, you trace your fingers over the curved scars, the bulletholes that have healed over against his ribs. They rise and fall beneath your touch, lungs expanding and deflating with each breath. It's a sobering moment, the thrumming of his pulse against your palm reminding you of his humanity despite the whispers at the base that had insisted upon his bestiality. 

You realise those who speak cruelly of him and ruin his self-worth don't understand their impact. To them, he's a cryptid–– his very existence called into question. They hadn't seen him with their own eyes, only heard the mind-boggling tales of his startlingly impressive missions and monstrous size. 

They hadn't felt his heart, the way it fluttered against your touch when you'd offered compliments. Hadn't experienced the soft plush of his lips pressing into your own in heartbreakingly sweet kisses. He was no monster. 

And when Lieutenant Riley came for you the following day, choosing to ignore the marks left on your skin and the way you hesitated before climbing into the helicopter to offer the Austrian a gentle wave and a promise that you would return, you began the mission to rewrite his story. To change hearts and minds.  

It didn't take long at all.

"Did you hear about Kilgore?"

"I did! He saved a member of 141. Incredibly brave–– I heard the situation was dire."

"She spoke very highly of him. Said we could count on him."

"I certainly wouldn't mind fighting alongside someone so dependable and courageous." 

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Navigation || AU Masterlist || All images & fictional characters go to their respective owners. All bios barring Keegan and Hesh are taken directly from in-game. They are not mine.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST || Total Works : 22

╰┈➤❝ [Captain in the 22nd SAS and commander of Task Force 141. Peerless combat tracker. Elite seek-and-strike expert. Specializing in unconventional warfare, Price is a target-focused war fighter who deploys a cut to the chase lethality.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

LIEUTENANT SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY MASTERLIST || Total Works : 12

╰┈➤❝ [An expert in clandestine tradecraft, sabotage and infiltration. He lives with a redacted past and an undercover present, marked by a concealed appearance to hide his identity and maintain anonymity in the field.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK MASTERLIST || Total Works : 4

╰┈➤❝ [Sergeant in the SAS. Recruited by Captain Price to Task Force 141 after operations in Urzikstan and Borjomi. Expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and VIP protection.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH MASTERLIST || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [The youngest recruit to pass SAS selection, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish is known as a perpetual FNG, a label he wears as a badge of honor. A confident, instinctive CQB expert, Soap was handpicked by Price for TF-141.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

ALEX KELLER MASTERLIST || (COD: MW 2019) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Former CIA SAD turned Warcom ground branch asset. Specialized training to infiltrate enemy lines and survive in inhospitable conditions. Charged with desertion after joining Farah to topple Barkov's regime in Urzikstan.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [Former member of the USMC and one of the original fifteen to survive Operation Sand Viper in 2005. Currently a Scout Sniper for Task Force: STALKER, also known as Ghosts.] ❞

LIEUTENANT DAVID 'HESH' WALKER MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Son of Elias 'Scarecrow' Walker and brother to Logan Walker. Joined the U.S. Special Forces after the ODIN strikes in 2017. Fought in the Federation War. Handler to his MWD, Riley.] ❞

KÖNIG MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [König suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life, often being bullied during his childhood. At the age of 17, he volunteered for the military.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

NIKTO MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Nikto is a former undercover agent of the FSB. At one point he was captured and tortured by Victor Zakhaev, leading to his face becoming disfigured. He constantly wears a mask to hide his injuries.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 12 - Revelations

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 5.2k words. The truth is coming out grab your popcorn.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting, heats, scuffing), Pregnancy, talks about termination of pregnancy, abortion discussion, use of weapons, blackmail, mentions of bombs, all my homies hate Graves, language, angst, lots of crying - all hurt no comfort, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past SA, lots of guilt, mentions of suicide.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Tears are streaming down your face when John walks into the room. His eyes go wide and he strides over to you. You’re not even trying to hide your scent anymore. Your arms shake as you throw yourself around him, sobbing into his chest. 

“Hey, what is it?” he asks before looking back at Dr. Piper. She waits for a moment, seeing if you will calm down and tell him. 

“There’s no easy way to do this,” she starts, turning around and picking the test up. “She’s pregnant.” You hold your breath as you wait for John to take the news in. 

“She’s on birth control,” John says, shaking his head. You let out a sob. He breaks away from you and it makes your heart ache. 

“Yes she is,” Dr. Piper sighs. 

“Dr. Miller,” you breathe. 

“What?” Dr. Piper asks.

“He was giving me injections. Before my heat, for the hormone blocker,” you say between sobs. John looks at Dr. Piper.

“Why would he need to give you injections for Simon’s hormone blocker?” she says. You can hear anger rising in her voice. Dr. Piper doesn’t get angry, you’ve barely heard her raise her voice. You feel guilt hit you as you sniffle. John moves in front of you pulling your chin up to look at him. 

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and commanding. You swallow the sob catching in your throat, looking in his eyes.

“You need to tell Dr. Montgomery everything Dr. Miller did to you.” You nod looking back down at your knees. You can hear the disappointment in his voice. His hands leave you again, and you feel like you’re drifting further away from him.

“What about the pregnancy?” John asks in a lower voice. Dr. Piper sighs. 

“We don’t even know if a pregnancy could even be viable. Her entire reproductive system has been changed due to the chemical, just like how you guys can all knot.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“I will order the medication for a medical termination. The fetus is only two weeks along. It can be terminated with medication.” You feel sick, your hand pressing on your abdomen. You don’t want a baby, not now. You’ve completed your job though, you’ve been a good omega. It’s your only goal, to birth more alphas and omegas.  

John lets out a long sigh as he moves away from you. Maybe he thinks you’re disgusting now. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with you again. You deserve this. Dr. Piper is right.  Why did you need injections for Simon’s hormone blocker? John turns back to look at you, his fists clenched, and dread comes over you. Maybe he’s going to hit you. You deserve that much. He turns to look at you, his hand coming up. 

You close your eyes preparing for the strike. 

His hand lands on your cheek, his thumb rubbing it. You open your eyes letting out the breath you’ve been holding. You look up in John’s eyes. He looks sad. He’s not going to hurt you; he’s never hurt you before. You swallow the lump in your throat. He lets his hand drop and heads for the door. 

“What are you going to do John?” Dr. Piper asks. 

“We’re going to find Dr. Miller,” he says, turning back quickly and then leaving the room.

John’s heart is thumping hard in his chest as he makes his way down the stairs. You’re pregnant. Clearly this is no accident. Dr. Montgomery seemingly already has her suspicions. Dr. Miller has been up to more than just forcing your heat.

“Everything alright sir? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Soap chuckles nudging Ghost. John walks over to them without saying a word. He stands for a few seconds then rests his hands on his hips. 

“Is this place clear?” he asks eventually. Everyone looks a little confused looking around each other.

“What do you mean?” Soap asks. 

“Bugs, is the place clear of bugs,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. He can smell his own anger in the air. 

“Yeah it’s clear,” Gaz says, taking a step towards him. He can smell Gaz trying to calm him. John starts to pace, wondering how he can explain it, if he should tell them about the pregnancy. 

“What’s wrong John?” Laswell asks, standing up from the desk. 

“We need to know what Dr. Miller has done to her,” he says. He looks around at them all. He’s not going to tell them about the pregnancy, not yet. 

“Ghost, Soap, go back to his room, strip the place. I’ll stay with Laswell and Dr. Montgomery to find out whatever we can. Gaz, when the doctor’s done you’re to stick with the omega. From now on one of us will be with her at all times. Understood?” he says. The chorus of ‘yes sirs’ comes back to him as he looks round the room. Soap and Ghost leave. Hopefully they can find something. 

“What are we going to tell Shepherd?” Gaz asks, coming to stand next to him. 

“Let me worry about that. You focus on your job, which is making sure the omega never leaves your sight. Keep her in the barracks, I'll get someone to pick up dinner for you both,” Price says.

“Is she alright?” Gaz asks. John folds his arms looking over at him. He wants to tell him, the thought of it swimming around in his head. If not just to have someone else know. But the less people who know, the better.  

“When we know what he’s done to her we’ll have a better idea. She’s okay,” he says. Gaz nods and follows him over to Laswell. It’s not long before you’re coming down the steps with Dr. Montgomery behind you. Your face is still puffy but you’re not crying anymore. You walk straight over to him with the doctor's hands on your shoulders. You won’t meet his eyeline. You won’t even look at him. He can sense your guilt, let alone smell it.

Dr. Montgomery won’t protect your scent, it's not her job anymore. Gaz walks round and your head pops up to see him. Price can smell his nervousness. Gaz isn’t stupid, he knows somethings wrong but he doesn’t push anything, throwing his arm over your shoulders and turning to walk you to the exit.

“I can watch her,” Dr. Montgomery says. Price shakes his head.

“Need you to help us with Dr. Miller,” he says, gesturing for her to come over and sit with Laswell. Price watches you leave with Gaz. He can’t tell if he feels disappointed or mad. He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at himself. At Dr. Montgomery. They were all supposed to keep you safe and they failed. 

Now he has to deal with the consequences. John stands behind them as Laswell types on her laptop. She has access to the CIA’s database which should help make things easier. It doesn’t take her long to find out Conor Miller was a fake name. It came back to a man who was found dead, a suspected suicide. So they have the identity he took, but they still don’t have his name. 

It’s not long before Soap comes back with a laptop, he puts it down in front of Laswell.

“Found it hidden behind a wall panel,” he says. “LT’s still scrubbing the place.” 

Price nods as he looks over at Laswell opening the laptop. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to get in?” Soap asks. 

“Few hours to bruteforce it probably,” she sighs. Ghost walks through the door next slamming a notebook on the table. Dr. Montgomery picks it up, opening it to the first page, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up and unfolds it. She reads it. Price moves over so he can get a better look.

“ Fuck, ” she says under her breath as she finishes reading. 

“What is it?” Soap asks. 

“I know who he is. Dr. Miles Ashford. Hale's personal bitch.” Dr. Montgomary stands up pushing her chair back. Laswell types the new name into her program.

“How did you not recognize him?” Ghost asks. 

“He’s the perfect plant. I think over all the years I worked for Hale, I’ve only ever seen him once, maybe twice.” She runs her hand through her hair. “He would be Hale’s man on the surface taking care of his estate so Hale could stay in the bunker for months at a time.” 

“So he and Hale were close?” Soap asks.

“I guess so. Hale didn’t trust anyone but he kept Ashford around, even when it turned out he was an alpha. I’m pretty sure he’s the only alpha he kept alive.” She explains. John is about to open his mouth to speak when the door to the lab crashes open.

“What the hell is going on!?” Shepherd shouts as she strides across the room over to them. 

Shit.

“Price, I let you do your own thing and now I'm learning you’re tearing the base apart?” he asks, stopping in front of Price.

“We have a situation, and we’re investigating,” Price says, standing his ground.

“And when were you planning on telling me what’s going on?” 

“When we had more concrete information,” Price responds. Laswell stands up from her chair to come to stand next to him. 

“What’s happening then?” he asks.

“The omega was attacked. It turns out Professor Hale planted a scientist,” John explains.

“Attacked how?” Shepherd asks. 

“She was injected with a drug that forced her heat,” Dr. Montgomery explains. Shepherd crosses his arms as he takes in the information. 

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“She’s okay, she-” 

“She’s pregnant,” John interrupts her. There’s silence in the room. John keeps his focus on Shepherd. He clears his throat. 

“It was my understanding she was on birth control.” 

“She is. I suspect this has been going on for a while and someone has given her contraceptive suppressants,” Dr. Montgomery says. It makes the hairs on the back of Price’s neck stand up. This has been going on for a while. You never said anything, and they never caught it. Now look at the mess they’re in. 

“We have a name. Dr. Miles Ashford. He’s Hale’s personal assistant. He stole an identity, that’s how he managed to stay under the radar. According to Dr. Montgomery, he would mostly work above ground outside of the lab. Hence the reason no one recognized him,” Laswell explains. “I have put it all in the report.” 

“Well, I assume plans have already been made to deal with this?” he asks. Dr. Montgomery nods. “How could this happen? I thought you ran a pretty tight ship in this lab. Now you’re saying Professor Hale managed to plant someone in here?” 

“You were the one who set out the rules, I followed. It’s not exactly the type of work someone wants in their resume, the whole thing is based on trust,” Dr. Montgomery says. John can hear the spite in her voice. 

“Where is he now?” Shepherd asks.

“We assume back with Hale,” John says. “He went MIA a few days ago.”

“You’ve put all this in the report?” he asks, looking at Laswell.

“Of course. We’re still working on gathering all the information,” she says.

“I’ll get Graves to send out a search party, maybe they can find something,” Shepherd says. John nods. “When will the report be done?” 

“By the end of the day I’ll send what we have,” Laswell says. Shepherd puts his arms back down at his side, and he looks round the room. 

“I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow morning.” He nods at John then turns, heading to leave. As soon as the door is shut behind him John turns around, everyone’s eyes on him. 

“She’s pregnant?” Soap asks first. John nods.

“What’s going to happen?” Ghost asks next, his arms crossed. 

“Termination. We don’t know if the pregnancy is even really viable,” Dr. Montgomery says.

“What does she think?” Soap asks. There’s silence again.  

“She’s scared, confused. She feels guilty,” Dr. Montgomery says. There’s an edge of something in her voice. She sounds almost annoyed. John can see Ghost’s eyes burning into her, he has that look in his eyes. The one he gets when he doesn’t trust someone. Price will have to talk to him later. 

“We’re all to blame here. We all let her down. Now it’s our job to fix it. Then we go after Hale,” John says. Ghost’s eyes move back to John. John nods at him.

It’s going to be okay. Keep your head straight. 

Ghost sighs, blinking then turning to Laswell.

Fine.

John looks back at Dr. Montgomery. 

“Let’s get back to work,” he says, crossing his arms and watching everyone move. Soap and Ghost leave again slamming the door behind them. John pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s going to be a long day. 

Johnny switched with Kyle a few hours later. Kate had tried to show them how Kyle connected the cameras and microphones up so they could decode them but it was like trying to teach an old dog new tricks. After a while she got frustrated and John sent for Kyle. 

“How is she?” Piper asks.

“Sleeping,” Kyle says, going over to help John. That’s good, you need to rest after your heat. As long as you’re resting, you’re calm. 

Kyle seems to have a knack for computers, and he knows his way around them. He managed to pull some audio files from the microphones he started decoding yesterday. Nothing of use though, just generic conversations. It could take days to decode the rest and go through them. 

Kate managed to get into Ashford’s laptop quicker than she thought. Piper had been sat down going through everything, mainly just research on things she had asked him to work on. She was working her way through the documents from the oldest first. She straightens up in the chair as she reads through a document dated before your heat. 

“ Shit, ” she says reading the document. It confirms what she already suspected: contraceptive suppressants. She knew deep down this was always Hale’s plan. To have a ‘pure’ omega. He wanted to get you pregnant so you could give birth to what Hale considered a ‘purebred’ omega. Guess he didn’t care if it was him who got you pregnant or not. 

The only reason you’re on birth control in the first place was because he would invite his friends to fuck you while you were in heat. Piper slams the lid of the laptop down, getting up and going into her office, slamming the door behind her. 

She’s angry but she shouldn’t be. This is her fault. She should have known, she should have been paying closer attention. There’s a knock on the door. 

She swallows the tears, wiping her eyes. She doesn’t deserve to cry. The only one who’s suffered here is you. It’s always you who suffers. She clears her throat and opens the door.  

“Found something?” John asks. She nods, standing to the side so he can walk in. She closes the door behind her. 

“He was giving her contraceptive suppressants,” she sighs, managing to keep her voice steady. 

“Any long term effects?” he asks. 

“No, it should be passed through her system already,” she says.

“Anything else?” he asks. She shakes her head; she hasn’t found anything yet. He sighs, nodding.

“I’m sorry I let this happen,” she says. Now is the time to apologize. 

“It’s not just your fault. She’s our responsibility too.” 

“I should have known not to trust any alpha that was still alive. It’s so obvious. Hale made a habit of killing alphas,” she sighs. 

“Yeah well hindsight is 20/20. You can’t blame yourself,” he says. She looks up at him. “You’re helping now, you’re fixing your mistakes, and that's what matters.” 

“You can be angry,” she says. He smiles.

“You’re not solely to blame. You can’t take it all on your shoulders. We’re going to get through this. We need to work together,” he says, taking a step towards her. 

“She’s never going to be safe John, not until Hale is dead.” 

“I know. We’re going to get him. I promise,” he says. She smiles; she believes him. 

“Chin up. She’s going to need your support. She’s going to need you more than ever over the next few days.” 

“You’re her pack, she will always need you more than me.” 

“Which is why it’s important we work together.” He pats her shoulder and she smiles at him. 

“Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything else,” he says, leaving the room. She lets out a breath as she’s left alone. She knows he’s right, but it’s not going to change her mind though. She’s always going to blame herself.

Piper is alone in her lab for the first time in what feels like forever. She sits down at her desk. Her computer is gone. John had Kyle search it. She had nothing to hide, so it didn't take him long to clear all the computers in the lab. It was only Dr. Ashford’s hidden laptop that had anything. 

John told her she should come and eat with them. She’s not hungry though. They said they were done for the day but she can’t relax yet. She just needs a few minutes alone. She should have never trusted anyone. She should have known something was up. Dr. Ashford really was the perfect person for Hale to slip in. She should have known something was wrong when an alpha came forward. 

She remembers the culling, remembers you being forced to watch. The smell of blood in the air, your fear, the nightmares. It went on for weeks, months. Hale killed them all, apart from Ashford. He needed someone on the ground. According to Kate the person who’s identity he took had a family, wife, and kids. His death was ruled a suicide, but they all knew better now. 

She sighs, letting the guilt eat at her. She put your life at risk and she didn’t even know it. They don’t even know what he had been up to other than the contraceptive blocker. She gave you a full check and couldn’t find anything. She is just hoping it's nothing too serious, and now with you being watched 24/7 and Dr. Ashford presumably with Hale, you should be safe. 

She shakes her head leaning back in her chair looking up at the ceiling. You’re never going to be safe until Hale is dead.

She’s not sure what is going to happen next. She hasn’t been privy to John’s plan. All she knows is they’re stuck here for now. General Shepherd seemed to understand the gravity of the situation but he blamed John. It’s her fault too. She has to take some of the blame. Commander Graves has been busy, so he hasn’t been around which is good because you’re scared of him. The calmer they keep you, the better. 

The sound of the door opening makes her jump. She looks out her open office door, and she can smell alpha in the air. She looks at the time. It’s late and she smiles. It must be Simon. She could use a chat with him right now, even if he does seem mad at her. She doesn’t care if he just wants to remind her how much of a horrible person she is. She could use his company. 

Suddenly, she sits up straight in her chair, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. Simon wouldn’t have let the door slam, and she wouldn’t be able to smell Simon. He hides his scent so well. She stands up as the figure walks into her doorway.

“Don’t move,” Ashford says, aiming a pistol at her. She holds her hands up, lowering back down into her chair. His alpha is strong in the air. Fear too. He’s not used to this. 

“I could scream. People would come running,” she says letting the adrenaline fill her with confidence.

“Then both you and the omega would be dead,” he says walking into her office, closing the door behind him. She swallows the lump away. She can’t let him know she’s scared. She has to use everything to her advantage.  

“What are you doing here? I thought you would have been back with Hale by now,” she says. His hand is shaking slightly. He’s not comfortable with a weapon in his hands, he doesn’t look comfortable doing this at all. Maybe she can use that to her advantage. 

“I can’t leave without the omega,” he says. 

“Right, well I’ll just go get her then,” Piper says, throwing her hands up and standing up.

“Sit down,” he says, his voice louder this time, more commanding. His alpha is stronger, the ground after rain and blood, just like the Professor. Iron thick in the air, her nostrils flare as she breathes it in. She always associated it with blood. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and she sits back down. 

“You’re going to bring her,” he says as a matter of fact. Piper scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Why do you think I would do that?” she asks, crossing her arms. 

“I assume you figured out about the suppressants, the drugging?” he asks. She nods, where was this going?

“Well, there’s a tracker in her neck,” he says, watching her face for a reaction. She keeps her expression neutral. She doesn’t want to give him anything. She feels sick. Of course Hale would find a way to get a tracker in you. Yet another way she let you down. She swallows the guilt away. She can’t let him know what she thinks. 

“You have 24 hours to get her. There’s a truck, parked in the lot. It’s the only one with a yellow stripe on the back left tire. The door will open with the keys under the driver's seat. Drive out the west exit, and tell the guard you have a special transport for Ashford, they’ll let you through. Drive 2 miles west until you hit a bent stop sign. Stop at the sign and get into the passenger seat. I’ll meet you there,” he says. She looks at him confused, she shakes her head.

“You’re crazy, seriously fucked up if you think I’m helping you,” she spits, leaning forward in her chair. 

“Look, I didn’t expect you to help. In addition to the tracker there’s a bomb in her hip,” he says, shrugging. Piper’s holding her breath. She can’t help it, nerves slip through. He's lying, he has to be.

“If you tell anyone or fail to follow the instructions, then I'll set it off.” 

“You’d kill her, and what would that achieve? Throw away all of Hale’s work for nothing.” 

“I know I won’t ever have to do it. I know you’re going to follow the instructions and bring her,” he says smiling. It makes her feel sick. He has to be lying, for your sake he has to be. 

“What makes you think I’m going to help you?” she says, sighing and shaking her head.

“Because you love her, and I don’t think you want to see her harmed,”  he says, the smile still on his face. He’s not wrong, but bringing you back to Hale, it would be a death sentence. He might as well kill you. 

“How about you take the rest of the night to think about it. You have until this time tomorrow.” 

“What if I just tell Captain Price, or General Shepherd about this?” 

“You found all the cameras in the lab right?” he asks.

“Maybe.” 

“There are others, ones you’ll probably never find. Besides, she has the tracker in her, we’ll know where she is at all times. Oh and the people paying Shadow Company? Professor Hale is footing half the bill. It’s probably best if you follow the instructions,” he sighs. She can tell he wants to get out of here. 

Hale is paying Shadow Company. That's how he managed to get back in the base. He’s starting to get fidgety. Maybe she can stall him, keep him here until someone comes looking for her.

“Why are you telling me all this? Why not just kill me? Get the omega yourself?” She asks. 

“And go up against her pack? They’ll tear me to shreds. They trust you, and she trusts you. She’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Of course you can ignore the instructions and she’ll die. You can tell them and she’ll die. It’s your choice,” he says, shrugging. Not much of a choice. 

“What about me?” she asks. 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I'm sure Professor Hale is looking forward to seeing you again though. He asked for you alive,” he says backing up to the door. He wants to leave. She can’t let him.

“How did you even get back in here? There are soldiers everywhere.” Fuck. He already explained this. She’s panicking trying to stall him.

“Have you not been listening?” he laughs. “They work for Hale! I’m on a first name basis with half the staff here.” 

“Why not just get Shadow Company to take her then?” she asks. He sighs like he’s getting bored of her questions.

“I’d rather skip the bloodshed. Graves too, he cares about his company's image.” 

“You really are a horrible person,” she says as he opens the door without taking his weapon off her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember, yellow mark on the wheel, bent stop sign.” He smiles walking out the door. She sits there for a second, not quite believing what just happened. 

Move! 

She springs up out of the seat. She should chase him. He only has a pistol. She’s sprinting out the door turning to the exit of the lab. It’s dark and starting to rain as she frantically looks around. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air. 

She’s failed again. 

She wants to scream. Instead she balls her hands into fists letting her nails dig into her hand. She looks around for any kind of movement, but there are so many buildings, he could have easily slipped into any of them. She should tell John. He’d start a search and probably find him before he had a chance to leave. 

She can’t though. She remembers the bomb inside you. She wishes it was fake and he was bluffing. She remembers Hale working on that technology; he had managed to get it to the size of a pill you could swallow. There were a lot of gruesome deaths from that. 

She should have fought him. He only had a pistol. She should have risked it.  

If she died, he wouldn’t be able to get to the omega. Your pack would keep you safe.

Stupid. Pathetic. She’s let you down again.

She walks back into the lab. There’s a tracker in your neck. A bomb in your hip. Piper goes into her office, closing the door behind her and sinking to the ground. Her body is shaking now as the adrenaline wears off. 

She can’t let you die. She doesn’t have a choice. She sobs into her hands. 

She just hopes you’ll forgive her.

It’s early in the morning when Dr. Piper wakes you by shaking your shoulder. You blink awake. It’s only just turning light out. 

“Morning,” she says. She looks distracted by something. She’s never woken you like this before. You smile at her sitting up. She goes to pick up your slippers. 

“Come on, I need to check something,” she says. You nod, pulling your slippers on as you follow her out the room. She seems nervous, like she’s in a rush. It must be something important. The sun is just coming up, the fog settling across the fields and the tops of the trees. You like that. You breathe in the fresh scent of pine before you get into the lab. 

The place seems like it’s even more of a mess than you remember. You follow her straight upstairs. The only room that seems to be in order is the medical room. There’s a new machine in here now. 

“Hop up on the bed,” she says, sitting down on a stool and going over to the machine. You nod, getting up on the bed and laying back. You watch as Dr. Piper moves closer to you. She seems fidgety, and it's making you nervous. 

“What’s that for?” you ask as she pulls your shirt up to your chest. 

“Ultrasound. It lets me see inside you,” she says, keeping her answer short. 

“So you can see the—” You don’t know what to say, fetus? Baby sounds wrong. According to Dr. Piper it’s no bigger than a seed. Pregnancies move quicker than normal for omegas. If you were to keep it, you would only be waiting around 4 months.  

“It’s only a week or so along, so there won’t be much to see,” she says. You nod, watching her fiddle with the machine. She squirts something on your skin. It's cold and it makes you gasp. 

“Sorry,” she says before reaching over and bringing some kind of weird looking scanner to your abdomen. You expect it to hurt but it doesn't. Dr. Piper looks focused on the screen you can’t see, frowning as she presses buttons now and then. She stays silent moving the device round your lower body. 

“Can you see it?” you ask after a few seconds of silence. She looks back at you for a second, she nods. 

“Can I see it?” you ask. She shakes her head.

“There’s not much to see, I’m checking everything is in order before the termination.” You sigh, nodding. You don’t want a baby right now, and you know John definitely doesn’t. It’s no one's fault, only Dr. Miller—well Dr. Anderson—and he’s gone now. You still didn’t understand who he was. You’d never met him. You didn’t even know Professor Hale had an assistant. She moves the device around to your hips looking up your sides before finishing up on your stomach. 

She sighs, putting the scanner back in its slot and looking over at you smiling. You smile back sitting up as she wipes the gel off your stomach. 

“Does everything look good?” you ask, pulling your shirt back down. She doesn’t say anything, just pushes the ultrasound machine away before standing up off the chair. 

“Do you trust me?” she asks suddenly. You look at her confused as you get off the bed. 

“Of course I trust you,” you say. You can smell her scent calming you in the air. It makes you relax but you can tell there is something going on. Hairs stand up on the back of your neck as she takes a step closer to you.

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Is there something wrong?” Your hands press on your stomach. She shakes her head, one of her hands landing on your shoulder. 

“You’re going to have to be brave okay?” 

You nod. You’re not sure why suddenly fear rises in you. She pulls you into her arms. You can smell her. She smells good, safe. Of course you trust her. You close your eyes, hugging her back.

It happens quickly her cold hand moves up to the back of your neck, before you can react she digs her nails into the sensitive skin. You yelp as pain shoots down your spine. Your hands fly up instinctively to pull her hand away but she squeezes tighter. You feel like you can’t breathe. You won’t have long left, a few seconds maybe. 

“Why?” leaves your lips your own voice sounding foreign in your ears. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says. You see tears running down her face. Your vision goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp. You try to hold on but you can't. The last thing you remember is Dr. Piper lowering you to the floor.

Next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

[daydreaming-nerd]

Hey, I saw that you are writing to Rhys and I have been asking, I just ask that you be patient because I don't know how to explain it very well

Anyway, would you like a fic, like, with two scenarios? where Rhys and the reader LITERALLY love each other with the same intensity? like, a scenario where Rhys defends and protects the reader, and another where the reader defends and protects him?

Thanks!

Unconditionally (Rhysand x Female! Reader)

Summary: you and Rhysand are fiercely protective of each other no matter what the situation is. 

AN: I hope this is kinda what you were looking for!

Warnings: fluff, mentions of abuse, Amarantha sighting (brotha ew), blood, death, mentions of rape, SA.

When I found the High Lord of the Night Court I was nothing but a weapon crafted and created from birth by Keir. Chosen for my impeccable beauty, Keir had molded me to be an assassin that could rival Azirel himself. Keir had long sought to own the entirety of the Night Court and he had every intention of using me to do it.  My beauty allowed me to seduce any man within an inch of his life. But my sleight of hand and dexterity made me nearly lethal. When Keir wasn’t using me I was locked away deep within the Hewn City, forced to train with men who were much bigger and stronger than me. Oftentimes I thought to run, escape, but I was always beaten into submission. 

The night I met Rhys was the mission I had been bred to complete for many years. I walked into Rita’s dressed to the nines and blended in perfectly. The second the devilishly handsome High Lord made to leave I followed him, waiting in the shadows until it was my time to strike, the second I got the blade under his neck he winnowed out from under me and returned the favor with a blade of his own. I’ll never forget his first words to me...

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing with such a dangerous weapon?” he drawled. 

He could've killed me that night, but he didn’t, he showed me mercy and maybe pity too. It turned out he knew much more of me than Keir thought he did. He saw how scared I was offered me sanctuary. At the time I didn’t have a clue who he was to me, but looking back, I think he knew all along. Through months of getting to know each other despite my fear of him at first, we grew to like each other. Soon we grew to have witty banter that kept me on my toes, and intelligent conversation about anything and everything that would surpass the long hours after dinner.  After a few months he started sending me on missions with Azriel, and eventually after a year or so he sent me on missions of my own, his way of saying he trusted me.  

One fateful mission I was sent on to an Illiryan camp left me battered and bruised. It seemed the Illyrian generals sought to teach me what happens when a woman comes into their camp and causes problems, even if it is at the request of their High Lord. I never would’ve made it home if Cassain hadn’t found my frozen body in the ditch they had left me in. Looking back I was almost thankful for the event, it was how Rhys and I realized we were mates. Ever since then we had been truly inseparable.

“Rhysand, I won’t ask nicely again,” purred that clearly female voice. 

Amarantha had been after Rhys since he escaped from under the mountain, but I had never seen her in the flesh. She would send letters and emissaries asking for Rhysand to be her whore, promising him riches and luxuries beyond his wildest beliefs. Yet now she stood in the townhouse, auburn hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her black off the shoulder dress squeezing her tightly.  How she got here? I don’t know, but I do know that from where I sat in the shadows she wouldn’t see me drive a knife through her skull. 

“Amarantha, I'm a mated male. The answer is no,” Rhysand drawled trying to keep up appearances, but down the bond I could feel a sense of fear. 

“She can watch if she likes,” Amarantha mused, and it was my last straw. 

I snuck up behind her with the stealth and dexterity that had been bred into me from a young age. I hardly needed to use it anymore, being Rhysand’s mate gave me ample immunity across Prythian. But god if there was ever a time. I press my dagger to Amarantha’s throat and I feel her body try to move but she's far too late.

“Sorry Amarantha I don’t like to share,” I growl, pressing the edge of the blade even deeper. 

“Did I mention that my mate is lethal?” Rhysand boasts with pride.

“I’m s-sorry,” she pleads and a tear falls on my black dagger. 

“Now mate,” Rhysand smirks. “We wouldn’t want to get blood on the new rug.”  

I roll my eyes at his snarky remark. It was little comments and that effortless swagger that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.

“Beg,” I utter in her ear. My voice filled with absolute authority. 

“P-please I’ll leave. I-I’ll never come back,” she says through her sobs. 

I yank her hair back further, “Why should I let you go?” I smirk. 

“Because I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so sorry.” she cries even harder.

“Sorry for what?” I ask condescendingly.   

“For what I d-did to R-Rhysand,” she says, like she’s too afraid to reveal the whole truth.

I felt Rhysand tense through the bond but it only made me see red even more, knowing that her presence still affected him. 

“What did you do to my mate?” I ask like I don’t already know the answer. She stays silent, choosing to cower. “Tell me!” I shout. 

“I’m sorry I f-forced him into my b-bed.” she admits and her knees go weak at her admission the only thing keeping her up is my hand in her hair and my dagger to her neck.

I couldn’t help but see the image of him and her. Rhysand helpless below her as she rode his cock, the reason he still was too scared to let me take him that way. Images of him cumming inside her, his body's natural reaction to what she was forcing him to do. I remember how he told me the stories of him crying himself to sleep while she slept soundly and happily. 

“You touched my mate, and for that you’ll pay the ultimate price,” I sentence her. “He’s fucking mine.” I growl before slitting her throat. 

Her body falls to the floor in a heaping pile of dress skirts and her own blood and I toss my bloodied dagger over her dead body. I check my hands for blood, but like a trained assassin should have it, not a drop is on me. 

“Well so much for the rug,” Rhysand drawls, standing from his chair. 

I walk over to him, the rage the mating bond caused me to see drifting away at the sight of him. He wraps his arms around my waist. 

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “But she was a dead woman the second she stepped in this court. Thinking about what she did to you still makes me sick to my stomach.” 

“Shhh,” Rhys coos, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not mad at you. If you didn’t kill her I was going to.”

“Sorry I kind went all deadly assassin on you, but-” 

“The mating bond was provoked,” he cuts in, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “Trust me I know the feeling. How do you think I feel when you come home injured from a mission?”

“Holy shit y/n!” Cassian drawls from behind me. I turn to find him nudging Amarantha’s limp foot with his boot. “Mating bond chafing a bit?” he chuckles. 

“More than a little bit,” Rhys laughs with male pride. 

I simply raise my eyebrows at the Illyrian in a challenge and pull Rhys down to kiss me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rhys asks me for the millionth time. 

“Yes Rhys I’ll be fine! I promise!” I reply but I wasn’t too sure of my answer. 

I had never been back to The Hewn City since I left on that mission to kill Rhys all those years ago. But today I finally made my return. I had avoided the city as much as possible and Rhys never so much as asked me to come along with him. Returning would mean the torture, the assault and every nightmare I faced here, I would have to face again. Today I had decided I was done hiding, I wanted to face my fear, show Keir that I was more than just what he made me. I knew I would be more vulnerable down here, most likely off my game. But Rhys had assured me we would only be making a quick appearance at the party and then leaving, so I felt now was as good a time as ever. 

“Alight, but if you want to leave at any time you let me know okay?” he says, kissing my brow.

“I will,” I smile. 

We walk through the large doors to find the people of The Hewn City already kneeling. The second I come into view their gasps reverberate throughout the room. Everyone knew I was Keir’s pet, but now I stood dressed in black with a crown atop my head, beside the one man I was bred to kill. The High Lord. 

We take our seats on the twin thrones at the end of the room. Keir bows to us both and I don’t miss the shock in his eyes as he sees what became of his pet. It becomes clear to me that he thought I was dead for all these years, and now I walk into his city once more with a crown on top of my head. 

“Let there be music and dancing!” Rhys proclaims and the room fills with a beautiful orchestra as the festivities begin. 

“Welcome Rhysand, who have you brought with you tonight?” Keir asks, faking his innocence.

“My mate of course,” Rhys says, pressing a kiss to my hand. “I must thank you for introducing us. She is without a doubt the most delectable creature I’ve ever known.” he continues nibbling my palm. 

“I- uh. Well” Keir stumbles over his words. 

“Leave us,” Rhysand orders. 

Keir scrambles down the steps to wherever he thinks he might be safe from Rhysand’s death stare. I knew this place always put him on edge, no doubt with me here tonight he was fuming. 

“How are you feeling?” Rhys asks, fondling my hand.  

“Good, considering I’ve never seen Keir show true fear before,” I laugh replaying the image in my head. 

“Maybe next time I’ll have him juggle and sing you a song then too mate,” Rhys chuckles. 

I watched as people danced and sang and were generally happy. I never knew this side of the Hewn City. The normal side I should say. Keir always kept me locked in the dungeons, the only time I was ever allowed out was on missions and when he chose to parade me around like his little pet. His way of striking fear into the hearts of his subjects. Seeing the people act like, well, people was almost jarring. They were monsters, but they were still fae just like me. 

“I’m thirsty darling, I'm going to grab a glass of wine, would you like one?” I ask Rhys. 

“Yes but let me fetch a servant or come with you.” he replies and I can sense his unease. 

“No, I want to show them all I’m not afraid of them,” I say quietly so only Rhys can hear. He nods his head and I feel him tug on the bond as if to say ‘be safe’. 

I waltz down the dias steps and over to the corner where wine is held in large barrels.  I don’t miss the shocked looks from those around me followed by hushed whispers. No doubt all of them were talking about how I used to be Keir’s pet. I keep my head held high and reach for a glass to fill up. 

“Well hello beautiful,” a deep voice drawls from behind me and I whip around 

My shoulders tense up. I would recognize that voice anywhere. Dante. The man who helped to “train me”  in the art of seduction. He would come into my cell and teach me how to seduce a man, which of course led to him taking advantage of me. He was one of Keir’s favorites. 

“Remember all the fun we used to have little one?” he grins wickedly stepping towards me. 

“Normal people would call that rape,” I snipe at him, trying to act like I’m not terrified. 

“Oh but you used to make such pretty sounds for me,” he teases, stepping closer and I feel my back hit the wall. “Lets see if you still do.” 

In a second his body presses me to the wall and his hands are hiking up my skirts. I try to push him off or look for help, but here in the Hewn City it wasn’t uncommon for males to take what they want when they want it. 

Dante’s motions stop and his eyes go wide, like his brain is about to explode. He falls to his knees before me and every vein in his head and neck look like it’s about to burst. I look up to see Rhys standing behind him, nothing but pure murder in his eyes.

“I would think twice before touching another male’s mate,” Rhys grits out standing in front of me so he can look down on Dante. “Especially your High Lord’s.”  

“I’m sorry Rhysand I didn’t know,” Dante wheezes. 

“Have you touched my mate before?” Rhys asks and Dante neglects to answer. “Very well then I’ll just have to find out for myself.” 

Dante screams in agony writhing on the floor, Rhys no doubt tearing into his mind to find out what he wants to know. I look around at the stunned faces watching one of their own lose his mind in the middle of the ballroom, even the orchestra had stopped. I felt shame fall over me as I realized what Rhys was seeing. Images of me, dirty, bruised and helpless being forced to seduce and please the man writing on the ground. Rhysand’s shoulders tensed and suddenly Dante stopped writhing. 

“So you have touched her before,” Rhysand drawls. “What a pity, I almost considered letting you off with a warning.” 

Within moments Dante’s screams echoed off the walls and I knew what Rhys was doing, he had done it to the Illyrain who threw me in a ditch all those years ago. He was melting his mind from the inside out. He didn’t even have to lift a finger. 

“Let it be known that whoever disrespects my mate again shall meet the same fate!” Rhysand’s voice booms, addressing the crowd now. “Maestro you may continue!” he finishes, turning to me.

Rhysand’s shadows shield us from the rest of the onlooking crowd and the second I look into his eyes I’m immediately comforted. 

“Are you okay?” he asks me, taking me in his arms. 

“Yeah I’m fine, you got here before anything happened.” I sigh, melting into his touch. “I’m sorry you had to see that, you know, the things he did to me. I hoped you’d never know” I say, casting my head down in shame. 

“Hey don’t you dare be ashamed,” he says tilting my chin up. “What he did to you was unforgivable. If I had known earlier I would’ve had his head on a pike.” 

“I love you Rhys,” I say, burrowing my head into his chest. 

“I love you too mate,” he smiles stroking my hair. “Let’s go home.” 

[slut4evanpeters]

My baby, My baby

kyle spencer x reader

song i recommend listening to: i bet on loosing dogs by mitski

warnings: EXTREME angst, very slow burn (im a slut for a back story), kyles past, manipulation, mentions of SA, objectification of men, arguing, fluff, happy ending, i think thats it!

word count: 6.5k

notes: this one is kind of heavy im so sorry guys:( theres not enough fics that give kyle the justice he deserves 😞 not even gonna lie i started bawling while proofreading this. also i would just wanna put out there that if you are struggling with ANYTHING my dms are always open to talk:)

It was just an average chilly night when you found it out.

The familiar sounds of your mother and father arguing once again filled the silence, voices bouncing down the empty hallways and ringing in your ears. For weeks now, the yelling and the clash of words had become as common as the ticking of the clock sitting on your shelf. It started with the usual pattern. Your father muttering something unnecessary, your mother shooting back, voice like glass ready to shatter. And then, like clockwork, things would escalate. A plate shattering, a door slamming, the sharp clinking of silverware as it Falls to the floor. Somewhere along the line, you’d learned to tune it out, even finding a strange comfort in it all.

But tonight was different.

A raw, intense throbbing in your head amplified the shouting in a way that pushed you over the edge. Something inside you snapped, like a thread pulled just a bit too tight. You threw your thick, silk duvet off in one swift motion, the cool air meeting your skin as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet sank into the plush carpet, the fibers soft as you steadied yourself and took a breath.

Without another thought, you crossed the room with swift steps, each one heavy with frustration. Reaching for the door, you grabbed the handle and flung it open, the force sending a slight echo through the hallway.

The sound of your feet slamming against each step echoes through the house as you storm down the stairs, your frustration at your parents boiling over in your chest. Every stomp is a silent scream. You’ve been holding back, but this time, they’ve pushed you past the point of reason.

As you reach the bottom, you stop, breathing heavily. The air is tense, almost vibrating. Your eyes fix on your parents in the kitchen. Your father, lips pressed thin, hands gripping the countertop, and your mother, her face unreadable but her body tense, holding herself with a dangerous stillness. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can speak, your mother turns. In one swift motion, she reaches for the knife block and pulls out the biggest blade.

The metallic glint catches in the light, and your breath halts. The kitchen feels like it’s shrunk to the size of a shoebox, every noise amplified, every heartbeat throbbing in your ears. You watch, frozen, as she raises the knife, her arm cocked and ready to strike. Your father stumbles back, hands up defensively, panic widening his eyes.

Without thinking, you scream, the sound raw and desperate, shattering the air like glass.

And then. Silence.

A thick, heavy silence, as if the whole world is holding its breath. Your eyes stay fixed on your mother, but you feel something different. A strange, burning energy coursing through you, pulsing from your chest to the tips of your fingers, as if an invisible string connects you to her.

With a sudden violent burst, your mother’s body flies back, her limbs flailing as if she’s caught in a hurricane. She’s thrown against the wall with a bone-shaking crash, and the framed pictures around her rattle off their hooks, crashing to the floor and splintering into shards. The knife slips from her hand, skittering across the floor.

You’re panting, your own heart thundering, and for a moment, the world spins, feeling somehow both right and wrong, as if you’ve crossed an invisible line.

Your father stares at you, his face drained of color. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out, only an expression of sheer terror. Without another glance, he bolts for the front door, slamming it behind him , leaving you and your mother alone in the wreckage.

You turn to her, her eyes wide and wild as she slowly lifts herself from the floor, her breath ragged. She seems smaller somehow, her gaze darting between you and the chaos in the room. She finally looks at you directly, eyes brimming with fear, and in a trembling, barely audible whisper, she says, “You’re…one of them.”

The words echo in your mind, heavy and unfamiliar. One of them? You feel the weight of her accusation, the horror in her voice, and yet, beneath it all, a strange sense of power fills you. A darkness, a part of you that’s been waiting in silence for this very moment.

That’s how you find yourself standing before the tall white mansion, Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The building stands before you, grand and stoic, its intricate columns rising up to the ceiling high before you. You glance up, taking in the massive structure. a place that feels like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The sheer size of it makes you feel small, and yet, the air around it seems charged, humming with an energy that you can’t quite place.

The events that led you here flash before your eyes in quick memories. The look of terror on your mother’s face after you threw her back against the wall, her whispered words about being “one of them,” and the silence as she drove you away from the only home you’d ever known. Her voice, low and hesitant, echoed in your mind as she explained that your family had a history with witches and unbeknownst to you, magic coursed through your blood, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

“Blessed.” she said, but the word tasted sour. Blessed. That’s how she’d framed it, though her face had twisted with fear as she said it, as if she could barely look at you, barely stomach the person her daughter had become.

You’d rolled your eyes at her, that one last act of defiance as she’d tried to make sense of what had happened, desperately clinging to the idea that this was some sort of gift. A gift. The idea was almost laughable. If being able to throw your mother across a room was a blessing, it felt more like a curse. But now, staring up at the mansion, all of that seems to drift away, replaced by a strange, thrill.

Taking a deep breath, you clutch your purse tightly, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. You begin to walk up the stairs, each step echoing through the morning air. Your heels click rhythmically against the hard concrete, the sound bouncing off the towering Greek pillars that flank either side of you. You feel their presence, cold and impassive, as if they’re watching, judging.

The further you ascend, the more the air seems to thicken, charged with a strange energy that sends a shiver down your spine. Each step brings you closer to a new world, a world that feels like it’s already reaching out to pull you in, whether you’re ready or not. With one final click of your heel on the top step, you stand before the doors, the shadows cast by the pillars now stretching long and deep around you. You pause, feeling the weight of what lies beyond.

You straighten, squaring your shoulders, your grip tightening on your purse as you prepare to enter this place. A place that promises answers and, perhaps, even more questions.

You raise your hand, hesitating for a second as your knuckles hover over the door’s dark wood, a mixture of dread and anticipation twisting in your stomach. But you gather yourself, take a deep breath, and knock sharply on the door. The sound echoes hollowly through the heavy wood.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence. You feel your pulse quicken as you wait, each second stretching on, amplifying the strange energy that’s lingered around you since you first set eyes on the mansion. Then, faint footsteps approach, growing louder, until finally, the door creaks open with a low, drawn-out groan that sounds almost otherworldly.

Standing before you is a woman, elegant and composed, with hair as golden as sunlight and eyes so deep a shade of brown that they’re nearly black, with a glint in them that’s both welcoming and mysterious. She stands tall, her posture regal yet effortless, wearing a fitted black dress with an intricate lace collar that radiates of old-world elegance. Her gaze meets yours, and for a split second, you feel as if she’s peering not just at you, but into you, as if she’s seen something hidden beneath the surface that even you haven’t fully recognized.

Then, she smiles, warm but with an edge of something unreadable, something secret. “Hello,” she says, her voice low and rich, “You must be Y/N.”

The way she says your name feels oddly intimate, as though she’s known it long before you arrived, as though the house itself whispered it to her. You feel a faint shiver ripple down your spine.

“Welcome,” she continues, her smile widening slightly as she steps aside, gesturing with a graceful hand for you to enter. There’s an invitation in her eyes, a silent, unspoken question, as if she’s asking if you’re truly ready for what lies within these walls.

With one last steadying breath, you cross the threshold. The air inside feels different, heavier somehow, steeped in a strange, stillness that makes you feel both protected and slightly trapped. You take in your surroundings, the grand foyer that stretches before you with polished marble floors gleaming beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. The chandelier casts fragmented light across the room, the crystals catching beams of sunlight from the windows and scattering them in delicate patterns across the walls and floor.

The scent of polished wood, and something faintly floral lingers in the air. It’s almost intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the place. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world. A world filled with secrets, shadows, and, somewhere beneath it all, an energy that hums with life, with power. The headmistress closes the door behind you with a quiet click that sounds like the sealing of a pact. Final and irreversible.

“I’m Cordelia,” she introduces herself, her voice steady and clear as she walks ahead, gesturing for you to follow. You can feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye, studying your every reaction, every flicker of emotion. There’s a subtle power to her movements, an authority that makes it clear she’s not merely the headmistress here. She’s the keeper of the academy’s secrets, the protector of its legacy.

As you follow her, each step echoing through the silent hallways, your heart beats a little faster. The mansion seems to stretch endlessly before you, filled with doors that are closed tight and shadows that cling to the corners. You wonder how many secrets these walls have witnessed, how many others have walked these halls with their own stories, their own fears.

Cordelia leads you deeper into the academy, her voice a steady presence as she tells you about Miss Robichaux's history, about the students who have come before you, and the purpose of the coven. But beneath her words, you sense an unspoken warning, a weight behind her voice as if she’s cautioning you. This world you’ve entered, it is not one to tread lightly.

You turn to your right, the polished marble floor beneath your heels as you step toward an open doorway. Through it, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be an dining room. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming through towering windows, casting a glow over the polished, table, long and grand, stretching nearly the length of the room.

At the far end, you notice a figure with platinum blonde hair, sitting with her back turned to you. Even without seeing her face, you feel a flicker of recognition. There’s an aura around her something powerful and dark. You’re not sure if it’s an instinct or an unease growing in the pit of your stomach, but it grips you, pulling your attention to her as if by force.

Then, abruptly, a searing pain spikes in your temples. You wince, clutching your head as a blinding flash fills your vision. In an instant, you’re pulled into a rush of images. Memories that are not your own, tumbling through your mind like a storm. You feel yourself slip, like falling into a chasm, as the world around you fades away.

Suddenly, you’re somewhere else.

The air is thick and you find yourself watching a girl. Her, Madison Montgomery, and she’s screaming. The scene shifts with a terrifying clarity, the details vivid and overwhelming. You see Madison, younger, her face twisted in horror and rage, as flames erupt around her. There’s a flash of red carpet, crushed beneath her feet as she stumbles back, staring at her hands, realizing what she’s done. The fire she’s conjured licks up the walls, and her eyes are wide, reflecting the flames that seem to both captivate and terrify her.

Another memory pulls you in, like you’re tumbling helplessly through her life. You see her standing in front of an audience, lights beaming down on her, cameras flashing. Fame surrounds her, yet there’s emptiness in her eyes. The applause seems to fade, the crowd a blur of faceless figures. She’s alone, trapped in a world that once promised her everything and now feels hollow. The lights dim and the applause fades, and a darkness consumes her.

Then, another sharp shift. You find yourself in a dark room with dim, flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. Madison’s face is contorted in a strange focus, her hands trembling over a mangled body on a table. A young man, Kyle Spencer. His broken, lifeless form lies beneath her hands, stitched together, his face pale and still. You can feel her desperation, a fierce determination mingled with guilt and something close to madness as she tries to force him back to life. A chant of a spell echoes in the room. She’s chanting, her voice loud and confident, but laced with fear and hope, until finally, Kyle’s chest rises with a shuddering gasp. But the moment isn’t joyous. It’s dark and twisted, a resurrection not for his sake, but for hers. Pain and control.

The images blur, but you see glimpses. Madison’s hand clenched around Kyle’s wrist as if to anchor him, her mocking words, the way she manipulates and taunts him, asserting her dominance over him, reminding him of his dependence. Her eyes are cold, her smile cruel, and a sick feeling settles in your stomach as the vision fades, lingering in your mind with the weight of something real and terrible.

You snap back to reality with a sharp gasp, stumbling slightly as the dining room floods back into focus. You blink rapidly, your vision still swimming, disoriented by the vivid intensity of what you just saw. The blonde figure before you shifts, and Madison turns, her gaze settling on you with a piercing, almost predatory look.

Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes raking over you in a way that feels both dismissive and mocking. “Well, well,” she drawls, crossing her arms as she leans against the table, clearly amused by your disorientation. “Look who’s already having visions. Must be so special,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowed as she assesses you with that haughty, almost venomous look. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” she says with a smug grin. “Though it’s a little rude to peek into people’s private moments. But, hey, you’ll learn manners eventually… or not.” She waves a dismissive hand, as if the whole thing is beneath her, yet her eyes glint with something sharper, a challenge or even a warning.

You’re still reeling, the images of her life blurring and pulsing in your mind. The way she toyed with Kyle, her cruelty and need for control, make your stomach churn. But Madison only grins wider, taking in your reaction with a look of smug satisfaction. “You’re gonna have so much fun here.” she purrs, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness.

And with a dramatic flip of her hair, she brushes past you, leaving a trail of cold disdain in her wake, and you’re left standing there, still shaken, feeling like you’ve glimpsed something you were never meant to see.

The next few days at Miss Robichaux's Academy have been a blend of fascination and unease. Adjusting has come easier than expected, with Cordelia and the other witches offering support knowing what you’re going through. You’ve met Zoe, Queenie, and Nan. Each of them are unique, with stories of their own, kind in ways that contrast against Madison’s cold, snotty attitude. Cordelia had explained that witches like you are becoming rare, power that can vanish in a generation without new blood.

But in the days that followed, your mind kept returning to him. The boy from your vision. Kyle. Despite never having seen him around the mansion, you could feel his presence, an unmistakable energy that screamed in the quiet corridors. It was as though he was always just out of sight, a shadow in your periphery, drawing you closer.

And then, one night, it happens.

You walk down the darkened hallways, the silence thick and heavy as a blanket around you. The dim glow of antique lights casts shadows that dance across the polished floors. Your pajama pants brush softly against your ankles, and your loose tank top, slipping off one shoulder, sways with each step. You round a corner when you hear muffled voices coming from a partially open door at the end of the hall.

“Kyle, come on… you know you want to,” Madison’s voice coos, her tone slick with manipulation.

You stop, heart pounding, her voice igniting a strange anger within you. The desperation in her tone, laced with a mocking condescension, is unmistakable.

Then, a softer voice replies, wavering, vulnerable. “No… just want to lay.”

Your pulse spikes with pure rage. You can feel the raw vulnerability in his voice, the hurt hidden beneath it, and without thinking, you stride toward the door and shove it open, letting it slam against the wall with a sharp slam. The sound echoes down the hall as you step into the room.

Kyle is standing there, and for a fleeting moment, your gaze locks with his. His blonde hair falls messily over his face, and his eyes are lost, haunted. Almost like he’s caught in a place he can’t escape. And then, before you can fully register the moment, the world blurs, a wave of energy washing over you, and you’re pulled into another vision.

It starts with a flash of warmth, light hearted laughter filling the air, and the scent of a beach. You’re suddenly witnessing fragments of Kyle’s life, moments of innocence and freedom. There he is, laughing with friends, his arm slung around his friends shoulders, carefree and bright. You feel his joy, the warmth of his spirit, the love he holds for his friends. The happiness and tenderness are so real that your heart aches with the beauty of it.

But then the vision shifts violently, twisting into something dark. You see a glimpse of the accident. The crash. Kyle’s face, pale and filled with terror as metal twists and glass shatters. Then, everything fades to black, and you’re thrust into a world of agonizing silence. When light returns, it’s cold and sterile, the beeping of machines and the murmur of voices mixing with a sickening. Energy. Madison’s voice echoes somewhere nearby, and you’re forced to watch as she brings him back. A mangled body, stitched together in a desperate, twisted act of resurrection. The confusion and pain in his eyes as he awakens, no longer whole, haunt you deeply. You feel his fractured mind, his broken spirit, bound to her. Trapped, a puppet brought back against his will.

You gasp, the vision dissipating as reality floods back. The intensity of Kyle’s memories leaves you unsteady, the pain and horror clinging to you like a shadow. Your heart is racing, breaths shallow as you try to shake off the raw ache his past has imprinted upon you.

Madison is there, watching you with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back with a mocking grin. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” she sneers, raising an eyebrow as if the whole thing were some sort of twisted game. “Enjoy the show?” She tilts her head, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Kyle’s mine, you know. You don’t get to swoop in and play savior just because you had a little vision.”

Ignoring her, you turn your gaze to Kyle. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you see the desperation, the fear, the fragments of a person he used to be. He’s trembling, caught in the haze of what’s left of his mind. Trapped between the past and this present that he never chose.

Without thinking, you open your arms to him, and something in his broken gaze shifts. He stumbles forward, instinctively, his body drawn to the comfort you offer. The moment he’s within reach, he collapses into your embrace, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly. He clings to you as if you’re a lifeline, his shoulders trembling as he buries his face against you. You can feel the tension in him easing, his erratic breathing slowing as he finally allows himself to feel safe.

Madison scoffs, rolling her eyes. “How touching,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, but you don’t even look at her. Your focus is entirely on Kyle, the broken boy now nestled in your arms, finding peace in your presence, perhaps for the first time since his resurrection.

As Kyle clings to you, his trembling form pressed against yours, another wave of energy pulses through you. It starts subtly, like a storm gathering within, and before you can stop it, another vision consumes you, pulling you deeper into Kyle’s fractured memories.

You’re standing in a small, dimly lit living room, worn and filled with the faint scent of stale cigarettes and bitterness of regret. There’s a woman Kyle’s mother, sitting on an old couch, her face pale and drawn, her gaze empty yet intense as she stares into the distance. Her features are gaunt, tired, but beneath the weariness is a sharpness, a bitterness that lingers in her eyes. She’s alone, her glassy stare betraying a lifetime of disappointment. You can almost feel the sorrow that hangs heavy in the air.

Then you see Kyle enter, younger, vibrant, his innocent smile lighting up the room despite the dark atmosphere. He glances at her with a look of hope, like a son yearning for approval, a glimpse of the mother he remembers from before. But her gaze drifts past him, unfocused, as though she’s looking right through him, her expression indifferent.

Suddenly, the vision shifts, blurring into darker moments, fragmented yet clear. You see Kyle in that same room, older now, his face worn with a new kind of sorrow as his mother’s hand trails over his shoulder, her touch possessive, her gaze twisted with a strange, warped affection. You feel his discomfort, his shame, the confusion that cloud his mind as he tries to pull away, his mother’s grip tightening, her twisted need for any semblance of maternal love.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Kyle withdraws into himself, retreating to a place in his mind that shields him from the reality around him. You feel his heartbreak, his sense of betrayal by the one person he should have been able to trust. The love he held for her is forced down, locked away as he learns to numb himself, his spirit fragmenting bit by bit with each encounter.

The vision shifts again, flashing back to the day he left for college, eager for freedom, for the chance to live a life on his own terms. You feel his hope, his relief as he steps away from that house, from her, determined to start fresh. But even then, a part of him carries the scars, the weight of her twisted hold over him. Darkness he can’t quite escape.

The vision ends abruptly, leaving you breathless and shaken, the horror of Kyle’s past etched vividly in your mind. You blink, reeling from the raw emotions that still linger, struggling to ground yourself as you return to the present.

Kyle’s grip on you tightens, his fingers clutching your shoulders as if sensing your understanding. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that shatters you. There’s an unspoken plea in his gaze, a yearning to be seen, to be understood. His face is etched with pain, haunted by the memories that linger in both of you now. You reach out, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe.

Madison stands nearby, her smirk faltering as she takes in the scene, her cruel facade wavering. But you don’t spare her a glance. You’re focused entirely on Kyle, your heart breaking for the boy who’s suffered so much, who’s been broken and betrayed by those who should have protected him.

“Hey.” you whisper softly, your voice a quiet promise. “You’re not alone, Kyle. Not anymore.”

He sinks further into your embrace, and for the first time, you feel him relax. A fragile sense of peace settling over him as he clings to the one person who’s finally offered him the compassion he’s longed for.

You pull back slightly from Kyle, feeling the warmth of his hold reluctantly loosen as you meet his eyes. There's a quiet plea in them, a vulnerability he rarely shows anyone, and you gently brush a strand of his hair back, offering him a small nod of reassurance.

“I’ll be back, Kyle,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the fury burning within you.

With one last reassuring look, you stand, directing your attention to Madison. She watches with a raised eyebrow, her mouth twisted in a smirk that only fuels the fire inside you. Her arms are crossed, as if nothing she’s done could possibly be considered wrong.

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your voice low and edged with a cold fury. “Madison… What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She raises her brows in mock surprise and fake innocence. "Oh, calm down,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. "I was just… entertaining him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, her voice dripping with a fake sweetness that makes your stomach turn. "Not my fault he can’t take a little fun.”

You feel your fists clench involuntarily, your nails digging into your palms as you try to control the anger coursing through you. “Entertaining?” you repeat, your voice shaking as you take a step closer. “Is that what you call it? Tormenting someone who’s already been through hell, treating him like he’s your puppet?”

Madison rolls her eyes, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “Look, he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I brought him back, remember? That’s more than anyone else has ever done for him. Maybe he should be a little more… grateful.” Her words are sharp, laced with that biting sarcasm she wears like armor.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably on the floor, his eyes downcast, clearly torn by the twisted logic in her words. Seeing him struggle makes your anger flare hotter. You step protectively in front of him, blocking Madison’s view of him entirely. “Grateful? Grateful?” You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping as you shake your head. “Grateful for being dragged back into a nightmare he didn’t ask for? For being manipulated and humiliated by you?”

Madison’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, you see a flicker of anger in her expression. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snaps, her voice growing colder. “This world isn’t made for people who play nice. I know what I want, and I take it. That’s what it means to have power.”

“Power?” you spit back, your voice sharp as steel. “Power doesn’t mean breaking people down just because you can. Real power is knowing when to stop. When to help rather than harm.”

Madison’s jaw tightens, her smile gone, replaced by a thin line of resentment. She scoffs, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest, her stance rigid and defensive. “Please,” she says, her voice biting. “You think playing the savior makes you any different? You’ll get tired of it. You’ll realize that people only want you when you’re useful to them. Like him.” She gestures dismissively to Kyle without even looking at him.

“That’s enough,” you say, voice rising as your anger breaks through. You’re inches from her now, your gaze locked in an intense stare-down. “Kyle’s not some possession for you to toy with. He’s a person, and he deserves better than this… better than you.”

Madison stares back, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. She looks at you with a mixture of despise and something that almost resembles vulnerability, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Fine,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “If you want to play caretaker, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not worth the trouble.” She shoots Kyle one last look, her eyes cold as ice.

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoes through the walls, the silence that follows thick and tense, lingering in the space she left behind.

You stand there, breathing heavily, letting the anger slowly drift away as the reality of what just happened settles in. Turning back, you see Kyle sitting there, his face a mixture of confusion, relief, and a hint of awe, as if he can hardly believe someone stood up for him.

Softening, you lower yourself back down beside him, reaching out to take his hand gently in yours. “It’s okay,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “She’s gone. I’m here now… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, sunlight streams softly through the curtains, and as your eyes flutter open. You find yourself still propped against the wall. Kyle is asleep in your lap, his head heavy and his breathing slow and uneven. His face is turned slightly toward you, his features softened by sleep but still carrying the marks of his trauma. Creases of worry, faint bruises that never seem to fully fade, exhaustion that rests permanently under his eyes. He looks so worn and fragile, more like a lost child than the broken soul of a man sitting with you now.

Gently, you trace the outline of his cheekbone, noticing every detail of his face. His muscles twitch slightly under your touch, and his brow furrows as if even in sleep, he’s struggling. But he doesn’t wake, and you let yourself take in this quiet moment, heart aching for what he’s endured. You can almost feel the scars his past has left on him. He’s been hurt so much, lost so much of himself. But there’s a resilience in him. Flickers of hope beneath the pain that keeps him moving forward.

As the morning stretches into day, you stay close to him, sharing quiet moments and small reassurances. Even though words are often lost between you, there’s a silent understanding growing. Comfort that comes just from being together. Every so often, he looks at you with that same hesitant expression, as though he’s not quite sure if he deserves this.

By evening, you find yourselves in the garden. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the dimming sunlight casts long shadows across the cobblestone paths. You sit on a weathered stone bench, surrounded by vibrant roses and tall hedges that offer some privacy. Kyle sits beside you, stiff and tense, his hands loosely clasped in his lap as he stares at the ground, as though he’s reluctant to look up.

He seems more restless tonight, his hands occasionally twitching, his gaze flickering to the flowers and back down. Finally, he attempts to speak, his voice low and halting. “I… feel… wro..ng.” His words are slow, each one seemingly pulled out with effort. “Like... b-broken pieces… that don’t fit.”

Your heart tightens as you hear the struggle in his voice, the way he’s trying to put together the broken pieces of himself to explain what he feels. He’s more hesitant than usual tonight, his voice disjointed, eyes darting around as though he’s worried the darkness within him.

His gaze drops, and you see the pain there, the deep confusion and shame as he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’m not… enough. N-not… me.”

You take his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the roughness of his knuckles. “Kyle,” you say softly, leaning closer so he can hear you clearly. “You’re here, and that means so much. You’re stronger than all the things that have happened to you. You’re not broken.”

He blinks at you, confusion and a spark of hope flickering across his face. “I… try,” he murmurs, his voice catching, as if he’s not sure if trying will ever be enough. He lifts his hand to his face, running a hand over the lines of his face, his eyes dark with the memories of the things done to him. The things that have fractured him.

“You’re not alone, Kyle,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes fixed on yours with an almost childlike vulnerability, and he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. His hand, slightly trembling, reaches out, brushing against your arm. For a moment, he just looks at you, his face softening, some of the tension easing as he absorbs the comfort you offer.

“Thank……you,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost miss it. It’s rough and broken, but there’s something genuine in it, something that feels fragile. He leans into you slightly, his head resting against your shoulder, and you feel his body begin to relax, the weight of his tension slowly fading.

In the evening air, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the garden, you sit together in silence. The stars slowly emerge in the sky above, casting a faint light over the garden, and for the first time, Kyle seems to let go, trusting that he’s safe here with you.

A couple of months had passed since the night Kyle finally opened up to you in the garden, and everything felt like it had shifted. The dark moments that had once defined his life began to fade, replaced by something softer, something that held warmth and hope. You’d spent every day by his side, helping him with patience and kindness as he took small steps toward healing. And now, looking back on those early days, you were amazed at how far he’d come.

The academy felt lighter, like a home. The other witches had become like a family to you, each one adding their own kind of magic (literally) to your life. Even Cordelia seemed to gleam with pride whenever she saw Kyle opening up or laughing with the rest of you. Madison, of course, still sneered and offered her sarcastic remarks, but her bitterness was easy to ignore now. Her words had lost their sting. In every way things were better than you could have ever hoped.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the garden again, Kyle’s favorite spot in the academy. The sun was setting, casting a golden haze over the flowers and filling the air with the scent of roses and freshly turned earth. You were both kneeling side by side, hands deep in the soil as you planted a new bed of wildflowers. Kyle had grown fond of gardening. There was something about the calmness of it, the gentle, nurturing process that seemed to bring him peace.

As you finished placing the last flower into the soil, Kyle turned to you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was still something a little unsteady in his gaze, but his eyes held warmth. There was spark that hadn’t been there before.

“You… helped m-me…. find this,” he said, his voice more sure now, each word steadier than they used to be. “This peace.”

You smiled back, brushing a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve done most of it yourself, you know. You’re stronger than you think, Kyle.”

He looked down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he fumbled with the edge of a leaf, as though gathering his courage. “But… you didn’t leave. I don’t think… I could’ve found it without you.” His words came slower, but clearer, each one laced with genuine emotion. “You make me feel… real. Like I’m more than… what I was before.”

A pang of tenderness shot through you, and without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You are, Kyle. You’re so much more than that. And I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize every feature, every tiny expression. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but you felt his gratitude, his trust, and something deeper in that simple touch.

He took a shaky breath, his smile widening. “I… don’t think I need… anything more than… this. Just… you.” His voice was quiet, like he was sharing asecret, his eyes soft and full of the warmth you’d come to recognize as love.

A gentle, happy laugh bubbled out of you, and in one swift, bold movement, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, Kyle tensed, his breath catching in surprise, but then he melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you in return. His head rested on your shoulder, and you could feel him relax, his entire being just sinking into the hug as if it was a safe haven he’d been searching for his whole life.

“You’re home, Kyle,” you whispered softly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

He nodded against your shoulder, his voice muffled but full of warmth. “Yeah… I think I.. am.”

You held each other in the golden glow of the setting sun, surrounded by the blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves, the world felt perfect. It was quiet and peaceful, with nothing but the steady rhythm of Kyle’s breathing against you. In that moment, you both knew that this was exactly where you belonged.

Kyle pulled back, meeting your gaze with a look that was so full of gratitude and tenderness that it made your heart ache. His smile was real, wide, and hopeful, and he reached for your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours as if he never wanted to let go.

[shadowdaddies]

Always Yours

Azriel x Reader angst to fluff

A/N: okay this is the alternate end to Never Yours, based on this request where reader and Az have a happy ending. The story is the same up until the cut, and that's where it changes. This is still quite angsty so please read the warnings.💜

Warnings: drinking, drugging/vomitting as a result, attempted SA

Azriel had been gone on mission for weeks, leaving your heart aching, empty and alone. You tried to be understanding of his role as spymaster, supporting and encouraging him when he would leave you in Velaris. Over the past year with tensions growing between courts, you and Azriel had spent more time apart than together. A dichotomy of emotions was consuming you, the loathing you felt towards him for abandoning you so often battling how deeply you missed him. 

It was another lonely day in your home, holding back tears while you cleaned the house as a pathetic attempt at distracting yourself. A knock on the door stirred you from your eddying thoughts, and you set down the cleaning supplies, wiping your tears as you looked through the peephole. A head of long blonde hair appeared through the lens, and you sighed, unlocking the door as it opened to reveal Morrigan on the other side. 

Forcing yourself to reciprocate her cheery smile, you held the door wider as the perky female bounded into the room, curls bouncing behind her. “Get dressed. We’re going out to Rita’s tonight,” she announced as she waltzed past you towards your bedroom.

Opening up the armoire, Mor pulled out a low-cut sleeveless black dress, tossing it onto the bed before moving towards the jewelry box on your dresser. Sighing, you sat down on the bed, playing with the silky fabric of the garment. It felt wrong, going to Rita’s without Azriel. It felt wrong letting yourself have any fun while he was risking his life to keep your court safe.

“I don’t know, Mor. I would just rather stay in tonight,” you uttered in a defeated voice, dropping the dress skirt back onto the bed. 

Oblivious to your misery, Mor whipped around, a beautiful necklace and matching earring in her hands as she approached you. “None of that. You and I are going out for a girls’ night, and we’re going to have fun. You do remember what that word means, don’t you?” she teased, her hair tickling your neck as she reached around to clasp the necklace on you. 

You chewed your lip, staring at the dress as you deliberated your options. “Just one drink,” Mor spoke, softer this time, eyes wide with sincerity. 

A small yet genuine smile made its way to your lips at that. “Just one drink,” you agreed, stripping your shirt as you changed into the outfit she’d laid out. 

Mor squealed with excitement, helping you get ready before you left for the bar. It was a crowded night, a sea of new faces in the crowd that you observed from where you stood at the bar. It had been so long since you’d been around this many people - the lights, the music, the crowd - and you were suddenly overcome with nerves. 

Knocking back the drink that Mor had ordered for you, you flagged down the bartender for another, finishing that one quickly as well. You were feeling the effects of the drink by the time you dragged Mor to the dance floor, feeling giggly and light for the first time in ages. 

A striking female caught Mor’s eye, and you laughed as you nudged your friend towards the part of the floor where the other female stood. “Go talk to her, I’m going to grab some water,” you whisper-shouted into her ear over the music. Mor nodded, the two of you parting ways as you escaped the sweaty, writhing bodies on the dance floor in search of the bar.

The place was even more crowded than before, the bartender now slammed with drink orders as you failed to flag him down for a water. Feeling a warm presence at your back, you turned to see a tall male, dark curls falling in his brown eyes as he smiled down at you. Only after blinking several times did you confirm that this was not Azriel, but a handsome stranger whose hand now rested on the small of your back.

It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this, and you found yourself leaning into his warmth, a smile gracing your lips when he leaned down, whispering into your ear. “Can I get you something to drink?” he spoke in a husky voice, thick with desire that had heat pooling between your legs. Feeling tipsy and eager for something to quench your thirst from dancing, you simply nodded, thanking the male as the bartender brought over a drink for you that was definitely not water.

The room was spinning, and you clutched onto the male at your side, melting into his warmth as broad arms wrapped around you. A soft laugh sounded at your ear, the words coming out distorted as someone whispered comforting words in your ear. 

The scent of pine filled your nose, Azriel smelling slightly different than usual as you burrowed into his chest. A hand found your chin, tilting you up to see a blurred face. You were focusing hard, vision coming to just enough to realize that this was not Azriel. You pushed the male away, your arms weak, movements sluggish.

A shout sounded from your side, blonde hair in a whirl as the man fell to ground, blood pouring from his nose. You stumbled forward, Mor’s embrace catching you before leaning you back against the counter. 

“What were you thinking?” She yelled, holding your face in her hands, a rage unlike which you’d seen from her before in her eyes. Your vision turned spotty, breathing becoming difficult before your stomach lurched, everything in your stomach emptying onto Mor and the ground. 

The scent was strong, Mor’s eyes flaring as she recognized the wrongness of the drink. Your head lolled back against the bar as Mor flagged down Rita, telling her everything. City sentries detained the male, the last thing you saw before your vision faded completely.

You awoke the next morning, your head pounding as you squinted against the light pouring through the window. You heard the rustling of clothing from the other side of the bed, panicking at who the intruder might be. But when you turned over, your heart nearly burst with joy at the sight of Azriel, changing out of his leathers and into sleeping clothes.

Hazel eyes flashed to yours, deep with sorrow and red from tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, voice shaking as he stood there, frozen.

“I’m glad that you did,” you spoke, a cough erupting in your throat at the dryness there. Azriel rushed to your bedside table, grabbing a glass of water as he guided it to your lips. 

“I rushed home as soon as I received word from Rhys. Mor told me what happened at Rita’s last night. I am so, so sorry that I wasn’t there for you,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours as salty tears dripped onto the bedsheets.

“It’s okay, Azriel. I am okay.” You sniffled, heart twisting with the words you wanted to say instead. Pulling back, you looked into his eyes - beautiful, hazel eyes - as you brushed a black curl from his face. “That’s not true. I’m not okay, Azriel. I need you here. I’ve tried to be strong, but I am not whole without you. And I know that that’s selfish but-“

Azriel cut you off with a soft kiss to your lips, a smile breaking out across his perfect face. “My love, I am not going anywhere. Now, or ever. We had Madja look you over last night after the incident.” He paused, reaching down for your hands as he pressed kisses all along the backs of them. “We’re having a baby.”

Your world stopped turning in that moment, pure awe written across your features as you dared to smile up at Azriel. “What do you mean? How?”

Azriel smiled. “Well, I think you know how that happens, but I’m happy to show you if you need a reminder.”

With a giggle, you pushed him playfully. Hope filled your veins, giving you new life that you hadn’t felt in too long. “A baby?”

Azriel pulled you close, the scent of chilled mist and cedar giving you comfort as you leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his lips brushing your forehead. “I’ve talked to Rhys. We’ll be re-delegating roles in the Court so that I can be here, where I am needed. With my family.”

[usafphantom2]

22 November 1972. First loss of a Boeing Stratofortress (B-52D-65-BO, 55-0110, 'OLIVE 2') in the Vietnam War. Hit by a surface-to-air missile (SAM) while on a raid over Vinh, the six-man crew escaped and were recovered by a Sikorsky HH-53 search-and-rescue helicopter.

@ron_eisele via X

Side Note: Ridiculous rules of engagement,Forbidding B-52 crews to use their electronic countermeasures against SA-2 launches,Forcing crews to engress target areas from the same direction and time as previous strikes with no deviation were just some of the stupidity that caused B-52 losses needlessly.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hello!! I just started reading your works recently and I think it's safe to say that I have fallen in love with them <3 the way you write both the cod guys and the reader feels so real and poetic that I just, eat it up everytime. I read your Barbarian! König post and it got me thinking about something.

König and Ghost are kinda opposites when it comes to their darlings. König likes darlings fiesty and snippy but Ghost likes his darlings as more agreeable or soft but not weak, ykwim??

And it got me thinking about Barbarian! Ghost. Whereas König got his darling bc he killed her husband and she was there when it happened, I see Ghost as going to take one girl originally but then the darling steps in front of said girl and says to take her instead, saving the girl and sacrificing herself. Idk but I think he would be very attracted to that, and unlike König who gently picks you up and puts you upon his horse while you kick and bite him, Ghost grabs you and lays you stomach first against his horse harshly, keeping a sturdy hand on your back as he rides away.

Sorry if this is weird or ooc!! But it was just a thought that came to me!

Oh Barbarian!Ghost would be sooo disinterested on the outside. He only saves her ass discreetly, but saves it more than enough times to spark her curiosity.

Why does he come to her rescue and then abandons her to her own devices?

CW: Minor violence (bruises), noncon groping, fear of SA, blood, cuddling & snuggling, Ghost being a complex PTSD weirdo who has a fascination towards bones.

It’s actually she who approaches him first, not the other way around. He allows her to seek protection by staying near him and thus get the others off her back: he might even throw her a piece of roasted lamb as if she were some stray cat, lurking about his campfire. But there’s not much more than that on offer for her: only a few sideways glances that tell her he regards her mostly as a nuisance and a liability, accompanied by a few scrap bones that luckily have some meat and fat still on them.

He shows her how to snap the bigger ones in half to get to the life saving marrow, and that’s when she realizes he regards her a bit dumb, some pretty royal girl who doesn’t know how to survive without a man.

And who’s to blame for all that? Clever men who have forced her to learn poetry and songs, pluck chords and recite philosophers from memory. No one ever even taught her how to ride a horse, the only things she can do is chat about the latest political turns and whether it’s old-fashioned to style your hair Southern style.

Now she’s supposed to strike a conversation with a barbarian who dresses in furs and wool, who collects the knuckles of his fallen enemies and looks at her like she’s the uncivilized one here. He probably plays dice with those bones, and she’s never seen him force a woman under him; she’s never seen him take a woman at all.

He’s probably half dead already, some ghoul raised to ravage this earth. But everytime she gets drooled over or spat upon, groped or squeezed or slapped on the soft flesh of her butt, she makes her way to him and only him. To become one with the shadows too, or to disappear, perhaps.

He gives her his biggest, thickest pelt to wrap around her shoulders, to cover those assets that make these wartorn men so crazy. Or then he doesn’t want to find her frozen to death at dawn... Dark, vast eyes look at her in the early morning fog, up from above from the highest heights, as if asking why she overslept again.

A rabbit is thrown at her feet, but she doesn’t know what to do with it: she knows he wants her to skin it, yes, but how? Even with the knife he provides her, she can only stare at the soft creature helplessly, lick her dry, creaky lips until he sighs and comes to wrench the blade away, taking the hare before it turns too stiff.

She’s almost certain he’s not even interested in women until one day, someone goes a bit too far and grabs a handful of her to squeeze. The spitting, jerking and screaming turn into a whole fistfight until she gets drawn to her knees by her hair. He’s about to rip her scalp off, of that she is sure from how much it burns.

Tears stream down her face from pure pain alone, but this time, the bone marrow man doesn’t only save her. He walks to the scene like a shadow, yanks her gropers head back, and slits his throat right then and there. The others take a few steps back, mist rises from their gaping mouths as he lets go of the bleeding slump, looking at the pulsing, open vein as if he intends to drink from it. But it seems he only wanted to confirm that the dead stay dead because his interest in this man fades as quickly as it was aroused.

She rises to her feet, only to get swept off them as he dives for her hips and raises her to a crude carry, mainly meant for wheat sacks and sheep.

With a wide palm resting on her butt, he hauls her back to his fire, further away from the open field, and she doesn’t dare to utter a word. He doesn’t squeeze her, he doesn’t grope or slap or force her, but he does throw the fur away from her shoulders to check her body for bruises. She stays silent for the whole inspection as he moves her joints and limbs to check if anything’s broken, carefully like she indeed was only a little lamb. Brushes the pads of his fingers across the darkening spots that tell a story of violence, and it makes her shiver.

They’re just bruises, but they’re also evidence that her body is not her own anymore. Still, this clinical inspection feels far more intimate and warm than the rough hands and demanding mouths from before: it’s not just the intention behind the touch, it’s his presence.

You’ve never felt so thoroughly seen.

A low rumble rises in agreement to you taking his probing so well, and you kind of wish he would hold you tonight.

Just… Hold you.

When he withdraws, content with finding you relatively intact after the attempted assault, you grab his wrist. His head snaps back instantly, but he doesn’t pry himself away from your insolent little fingers. If anything, he’s curious.

You don’t know his words, and he doesn’t know yours, so you decide it’s best not to speak at all.

Pulling his palm back, you bring it to your hip, then further up to your waist, trying to make it clear that it’s only closeness and body warmth you seek. You leave it there, and it stays there, out of its own free will. A thumb brushes over your ribs, explorative. His eyes travel, they move down the line of your neck and try to decide what you might want from him, but then you see the fathomless depths he’s been hiding. His eyes come alive, and there’s such darkness there, an unquenchable well of want that shoots fear straight down your stomach.

You were wrong about him, so wrong…

He’s not disinterested, he’s just been holding back a tide as if it’s no big deal to fight back the very gods on his own.

His palm feels like fire, but he doesn’t move, only battles with his demons for a while. You lie there before him, feeling utterly idiotic for thinking he’s different from the rest of the men.

But then… The fur gets drawn over your half naked body. Slowly, deliberately. He’s not reverent: he only knows the consequences of his actions, and this is a path he does not wish to take.

It doesn’t prevent him from laying himself down to sleep next to you, however.

It doesn’t prevent you from slowly reaching an arm around him, the rigid form that slowly, so slowly turns lax. You risk to curl against him: not safe, only warm. A stray royal cat and a ghoul who collects bones, you think, but then the ghoul sighs and turns. You should feel rejected from the way he presents his back to you, but you suspect that it has something to do with him coming alive downstairs.

And you cling to him.

He doesn’t rip you off of him as you slip a hand under his arm and bend against him, like a river otter who just found a fat clam. His solemn breaths lull you to sleep, and he stays still for you: all night until the birds start to sing and the sun warms your face, the whole heap of you two.

Like a big pile of snow, melting on a summer’s day…

[wandafiction]

Monster

Warnings - Being tied to a chair and blindfolded. discussion and description of torture, use of knife, blood. small talk of SA.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Drip, drip, drip. The sound of water dripping in the distance, echoing around the room, disturbing the silence that fills the darkness. The sound of metal scraping on the wall startles the woman forced from her sleep, her arms burn as do her feet as she tries to move but the rope around them drags across her bare skin. A hiss leaving her lips as she struggles, fear striking, her heart frozen as she hears the scraping of metal getting closer and closer. She turns her head trying to see what is behind her but her eyes only meet blackness when she opens them. 

Only then does she feel the fabric that is tightly wrapped around her head, blocking any light from the room ever entering. Her panic worsens, her heart beating against her chest, her ribs taking the assault that her heart causes as it tries to escape the very place that keeps it safe. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle to attention when the sound of metal fades only to be replaced by the sound of heavied footsteps. 

Her neck strains against the back of the chair as she turns her head up trying to take a peak below the fabric that traps her in the dark. A flicker of light, a flicker of hope gone too quickly when she twitches in the reaction and the material slips and extinguishes the mere thought of hope. 

The strain on her neck against the wood becoming painful she lets her head fall forward, the muscles in her neck sighing in relief at the moment. Her hands continue to try and fight the ropes that bound her to the chair, but the burning is too much and she allows her body to fall limb. Only then does she notice it. 

The silence. 

The footsteps, the metal, the water. All stopped. 

All to be heard is her heart beating against her ribs. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“You’ve not screamed yet.” The woman jerks her head up at the voice, the back of her head hitting the chair causing her to groan at whoever was standing in front of her to laugh. “You know your mouth's not covered. You could have screamed, but you chose not to. You chose not to scream for help, to call to anyone, who might hear, to save you. You fight against the rope, fight against what keeps you bound here. Fight against what you cannot fight. Yet you don’t use the one thing that can save you. The one thing that could have a hero swooping in, untying your hands and setting you free. It amuses me.”

“Why shout for a hero who shall not come? Why make my throat bleed with my screams when I know there is no one to rescue me. Why break my sanity by ripping my throat raw, scratching my voice till I no longer have one, burning my lungs with wasted air? Why would I scream into the emptiness that must surround me when I fear, I shall never see the light of day.” The girl tied to the chair, bound with no escape huffs a laugh with a pained smile. 

“You are not like the ones I have had before.” The stranger voices with intrigue, the other woman’s eyes darting left to right under the fabric covering them as she hears slight movement in front of her. “No one has ever answered back so quickly.”

“The ones before me?” The woman tries to swallow her fear and hide the croak in her voice.

“Yes dear. There were, oh, so many before you.” The girl in the chair flinches when she feels a gloved hand touch the left side of her jaw, the softness of the touch contradicting the rough leather of the glove. “So many, I must say I may have lost count. So much wrong with them, it caused them to meet their fates.” 

“What are you going to do with me?” The adrenaline of waking up bound, the confusion within her mind trying to get their bearings has worn off and all to be left is the fear.

The fear of the known unknown. The fear of an ending that is inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable. The fear of what is to become after her undoing, the arrival of the becoming of death. The fear seeps out of every pore of the woman’s body, the way the hair stands on her arms a warning too late of the situation she finds herself in. Her lips become dry, her throat becomes tight, her heart beat reaches her inner ear as it begins to pound in her head.

“I don’t know what I am to do with you.” The voice of the strangers brings the woman’s attention back to the present of what is supposedly in front of her. “I never truly know what I am to do when I begin my work. Not until they speak to me, not until they squirm against whatever punishment I see fit. Not until they beg.”

“You don’t scare me.” The woman in the chair spits out, smirking slightly when the stranger's hand on her jaw reacts to what she assumes is the stranger wiping her face. 

“No dear.” The stranger grabs onto the woman’s jaw harshly, digging a blade's edge into her neck just enough for a little blood to trickle as the stranger leans forward to whisper in her ear. “You are fucking petrified.” 

“Fuck you.” In a moment of pure petrified rage the woman tilts her head back only to bring it forward at full force, a crack echoing around them both as her forehead makes connection with the stranger's nose. 

The stranger's head snaps backwards, blood instantly spurts from their nose as the bridge of it snaps pouring down their face and onto the other woman’s shirt. Their grip on her jaw is so tight that as they tumble backwards with the force and shock of the hit they bring the woman with them. The knife against the woman’s neck slices upwards slightly before the harsh ricochet of hitting the floor causes it to jump up and slice up the woman's cheek to her eyebrow; cutting some of the fabric around her head as it does. 

The stranger falls on their back with a loud grunt, a large puff of air leaving their lungs as both the woman and the chair fall upon them. The knife clatters to the ground, blood staining the recently sharpened blade. With the hand now free of the weapon the stranger goes to grab their nose only to pull away the moment they feel it move and a surge of pain course through them, yet no sound leaves their parted lips apart from a low growl filled with anger: the taste of metal staining their tongue as blood pours from their nose. 

The stranger's hand that is still gripping onto the woman's jaw moves down to her throat and tightens like a boa constrictor against its prey. The air within the woman’s lungs becomes trapped, the air she wishes to take in stopped by the forceful hand bruising what used to be porcelain skin. Now stained with the blood that leaks from her wounds, the bruises, and the hand of a stranger who wishes to do her harm. 

“Yes!” The stranger chuckles, and even though the woman feels like her time has already come, her vision becoming blurry as her chest becomes painful with the lack of breath, she finally takes in the voice of a stranger. “You have some fight left in you my dear. A spark of hope you may not even know you feel. But I, oh I am going to do everything I can to get it to burn out. And then - well - I am going to have so much fun with you. So much fucking fun.” 

The stranger's hand lightens on the woman’s neck allowing them to feel the gulp of air she takes in, a harsh few coughs following as dirty air escapes and clean air replaces it. The stranger’s hand tightens again but this time allowing just enough room for the woman to take small breaths. Before the woman can think of what comes next she feels something wet press against her neck, taking a few licks at the fresh wound there before it moves to her jaw and makes its journey upwards to her brow.

As the mask rises with the movement from the stranger her eyes dart to the left, catching sight of the stranger's tongue just as they remove it from her face. She fights against everything keeping her on top of the stranger but it only causes them to laugh at the struggle. 

“Oh my dear, you waste your energy on such thwarted attempts of escape.” The stranger uses their hand on the woman’s neck, moving the other to the seat of the chair, to turn them over.

Their hand stays on her neck, their other moving to grip onto the woman’s left leg with yet another bruising grip. The stranger uses their grip to scrape the chair along the floor, a horrible sound that makes the women cower more. They move to a crouched position to be able to keep their hand on both the woman’s leg and her neck at the same time, not allowing her a moment of reprieve from the constant threat of them. 

The woman takes a shuddering breath as the grip on her leg softens and the stranger starts to drag two fingers up her leg, her mind racing as she feels the gloved fingers touching her skin. Realising that when she was not conscious the stranger must have cut up her pants she starts to squirm against the touch, trying to escape even if her efforts are fruitless. A shiver travels the length of the woman’s spine, as the stranger's hand stops just short of the top of her thigh the other hand moves from her neck to her collarbone. 

“Oh my dear, though you may be tied, though you may just be a mere game to me, a toy in which I play with. Although you may not be able to see me, I myself am quite able to see you. And my goodness you are a different kind of beautiful. I do not know what it is you possess that makes me crave what hides within you.” 

The woman’s eyes close behind the fabric as she tries to calm herself, even if just for a moment.

“I surely have what all the other people before me had, those that you have lost count of, that causes you to want to do me harm.” The stranger hums, their hand on her collarbone leaves her skin to brush the woman’s hair out of her face. 

“Perhaps my dear, but none of them have managed to break my nose and none of them ever speak with such certainty of death until many a day. Many a week. Many a month of torture. They choose to scream, they choose to cry, they choose to bargain and they may even choose to remain silent. Yet once they have finally accepted that they are to die no matter what they do, no matter the amount of promises I break about letting them go if their family is to pay me money. But it is not money I have ever been after.” 

The woman’s bottom lip trembles as she takes in the strangers words, feeling them as well as hearing them move. Their hands leaving her body completely, feeling their presence move from the floor next to them to instead move to stand. A long sigh leaves the stranger's mouth as they bend down, their hands wrapping around the top rail of the chair. The woman’s mind freezes of her racing thoughts of what the stranger could mean by their words as she feels herself and the chair rise from the ground. 

“You are quite fun, and it is only the first few minutes … at least for you.” The woman feels her leg attempt to tap nervously within its binds, tears finally seeming to prick at the corner of her eyes at the reality of her situation. 

“For me?” The legs of the chair hitting the floor echo around them as the woman’s words sit in the air between the two of them.

“Yes my dear.” The sly voice of the stranger makes the woman sick to her stomach as they come to stand in front of her, their hands on her legs as they bend down to rest their chin on her knee. 

“What did you do to me?” The woman's voice wavers at the thought of what could have been done while unconscious and can’t help voice it. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” The stranger's voice seems to soften with an inquisitive tone as they turn their head so it is their cheek resting on her knee instead of their chin. 

“Did you … Did you harm me while I was not awake to the world?” The stranger takes in a long breath, their hand moving to rest on the woman’s other knee as their finger starts to draw small circles. The woman struggles not to take comfort in the small action. 

“Are you asking if I harmed you? If I hurt you? If I took advantage of what was in front of me? If I raped you?” The woman’s eyes close behind the mask as she hums at a yes with the nod of her head.” Oh my poor dear. Who hurt you to think such thoughts?” 

“Men.” The woman says without thinking but it causes the stranger in front of her to let out a short laugh. 

“Terrible creatures.” The woman’s head tilts in interest at the words, but before she can question the stranger, their hands move to cup her cheeks and it silences any thoughts she has. “My dear, I did not harm a single part of you while you were not conscious of the world. Yes I may have cut your pants while you slept but only to admire you below what the fabric did hide. Nothing scandalous might I add. I did nothing more than that. Your shirt is still intact, I promise that. I kept my distance. And it may be of no reassurance to you that I was simply watching you as you slept, but that is all that I did.”

“And how am I supposed to trust the word of the person who has me tied to a chair and blindfolded so I can not see them.” 

“I do not ask you to trust, I just ask you to believe. I may be a killer my dear, but I am no monster.” 

“Just because you did not harm me while asleep it does not mean you won’t hurt me now I am awake, it does not make you not a monster. Just a different kind of monster.” 

“Ah! How dare you!” The woman screams as the chair suddenly falls back as the force of the stranger's hand pushing against her legs as they stand causes it to tip. Her head bounces off the hard floor, stars visible in her vision at the impact. “I am no monster!”

“But you are!” The woman shouts back with a cry. “You have me tied up here, talking to me as if you don’t and yet describing to me what I am to become. Another victim of your hand.” 

“And yet you spoke to me as if I was not the person who has the very power in their hand to control your life and death!” The stranger shouts back, kicking the woman in the side with their heavy booted foot. “You sit there, talking to me as if it is the most normal thing for a person to do. You do not scream, you do not shout for help and you do not cry! You talk! You talk to hide behind the fact that you are paralysed with the fear of what is to become of you!”

“Fuck you!” The woman lets out a sob at the pain in her side, where she knows a new foot sized bruise forming there. 

“You are a paradox my dear.” The stranger's voice is eerily calm as they gently lift the chair from the floor, ensuring it falls gently back into its place. “I am a mess of thoughts of what I should do to you, what I could do to you, what I want to do to you. I want to see how much I can do with you before you scream, before you beg me for your life, before you tell me you can pay me. But I also seem to hate to see you hurt. I apologise for knocking you to the floor, and for kicking you. And for cutting this porcelain face of yours” 

“Why do you not just end it now? If I am such a paradox to you.” The woman flinches as the stranger's finger traces the fresh cut on her face, unsure of whether she is still bleeding or not. 

“Because you my dear are perfect and I have so many plans for you.” 

The strangers hands move to cup the woman’s cheeks, taking care to avoid the fresh wound on her left cheek. They bend down slightly, placing their faces mere inches from the woman in front of them, who can only feel the breath on her face as an indication the stranger has moved closer. Their thumbs push just under the fabric still covering the woman’s eyes, as their forehead comes to rest against hers hiding a wince of pain with a soft puff of air. 

“You are bleeding.” The woman states with confusion. 

“You have done quite a number on my nose my dear.” The stranger removes themselves from the woman. 

“Am I the first to have done that too?” The woman questions with a pleased smirk as she hears the stranger walk away from her, before hearing them chuckle under their breath. 

“You are in fact not the first to try and do me harm.” The woman listens as she hears the stranger opening something up with a rip before wincing and letting out a small curse. 

“Fine I shall rephrase. Am I the first to have caused the harm intended?” The woman shakes her head as she feels a smirk appear on her lips as she hears the stranger chuckle again. 

“You are in fact not the first to leave a mark. But you are the first to actually do some damage.” The sound of a crack echoing around the room and a relieved sigh leaving the strangers mouth.

“I could tell I did something, as I now have your blood on me.” The woman allows a small feeling of smugness to fill her at the idea of harming her captor, but nearly jumps out her skin when she hears something metal hit the floor. 

“Shit. Fucking gloves.” The sound of rushed footsteps making their way back to her is the only way the woman can tell the stranger is on their way back, flinching when she feels something cold and wet touch the skin on her face. “No need to flinch my dear.”

“What are you doing?” Her voice wavers with anxiety as she tries to tilt her head away from whatever the stranger has in hand, even though she is aware it will be useless. 

“I simply want to clean the mess I made of your face. It is dangerous for the blood of another to enter the wound of another. I do wish to cause you harm but giving you something bloodborne is not the way I wish to do it.” 

“Maybe it would be an easy way out compared to what you have planned.” The stranger kisses their teeth as their free hand gently grips the woman’s jaw tilting her head back towards them. 

“A bloodborne disease is never a nice way to go. Now I may be clean of those diseases but I do not wish to take that risk with you. Now please, let me clean you up. It is simply an alcohol wipe in my hand.” 

A silence surrounds them as the stranger presses the wipe to the woman’s skin with a softness she did not expect. She presses her lips together to hold back a pained hiss when the wipe swipes directly over the slash on her cheek. But a groan rumbles in her throat when a fresh wipe replaces the old one and the sting of the alcohol causes a rush of pain through her. 

“My apologies my darling. I am almost to the end of this cut in your face, then I am too sort the cut on your neck.” The feeling of the wipe leaves the woman’s face instead replaced with the feeling of gloved hands pushing together against her cheek. “You shouldn’t need stitches but I will put a large band aid over it to keep the skin together and it should heal nicely.” 

“Why let it heal nicely if you are to kill me anyway?” The stranger hums and the woman holds back yet another wince as a fresh wipe makes contact with the slash on her neck. 

“You could have killed yourself doing what you did.” They decided to say instead of answering her question. “You were stupid, almost ruining my fun just to get a hit in. But yet here I am with a, no longer broken but, still slightly bloody nose. So brave might be added to the list of words which could be used to describe you. Brave but so fucking stupid my darling.” 

“Maybe a quick death would have been easier than what you may put me through.” The woman says defeated as the stranger's hand removes itself from her jaw. 

“Maybe for you, right now it seems that way.” The sound of something ripping is heard by the woman before the stranger's hand is back on her, finger and thumb pushing the broken skin together. 

“For me right now? All I know is I am going to be killed at some point. The unknowns are the when, the why, and the who.” 

“All in due time my darling.” The stranger explains as they strategically place the band aid on the woman’s face to allow for the best healing to take place, doing the same thing on her neck as they both allow a silence to settle around them. “We shall leave them on for a day or  two, then we use ointment to let them air.” 

“You seem to care too much for someone who is a murderer.” 

“Just because I do harm does not mean I can’t care.” That makes the woman in the chair let out a sarcastic chuckle with a shake of her head. 

“People who do harm to others do not care for those they do harm to.”

The stranger falls gently to their arse with a quiet thumb, their left leg resting against the floor while their right sits at a bend allowing them to rest their chin on their knee. Their hands come to rest on the rope keeping the woman's legs tied to the chair. They sigh as their hand moves to the knots, humming to themselves, coming to a pause as they come to rest upon it. 

“My darling, you do not know what it is like to have my heart and my mind. Do not act and speak as if you do.” The stranger's finger traces around the knot as they speak. “I do have some care, I may not remember the last time I truly cared for many. Those who have fallen before you, the care got less and less as the need to act on the want to hurt, the need to feed my desire, to live out my fantasy. I have lost myself to myself, but there are moments when I feel, I care, I hate what it is I have done. I hate myself in those fleeting moments of what used to be, yet I cannot undo what is done and soon the hunger takes over and another victim sits where you are seated.” 

“You speak as if you live with regret, as if you apologise to the dead bodies of those that lay before you, as if you repent for the sins that are contained within these walls. And yet here I am another victim showing that those falsehoods of yours are just those, false.” 

The sound of a smack reverberates around the room as the woman’s head turns on a swivel, the connection between her cheek and the hand of the stranger is unmerciful, the pain worsened by the glove their hand hides away in. The stranger's heavy boots make haste behind the woman before the scraping of metal is heard and the woman’s heart once again fights against the ribs that keep it trapped.

The woman sucks in a harsh breath when she feels the blade of the knife sit across her neck, not enough to break skin but enough that any slight movement could be cause for a disaster on her part. The stranger's other hand violently grabs onto the woman’s hair, yanking her head back so it hits the back of the chair. They bend down so their mouth is level with her ear, breathing as if they have just run a marathon almost feral, their tongue poking out to lick at it. The woman jostles at the action and she can feel the stranger smirk against her ear. 

“Do not forget the one who is in power here my dear. You may not wish to anger me further than you already have by questioning my intention. I am the one who has you here tied up, I am the one with the knife to your throat, I am the one who wishes to seek out their desire, I am the one with the power. I am the predator, you are my prey. A hunter watching as its game struggles in their trap. I have the power! Not you! Me!” 

The stranger pulls away from the woman whose head drops forward, a ragged breath leaving her lips as she feels small relief from the fact there is no longer a knife against her neck. The sound of clattering metal in the distance is hard as the stranger shouts into the silent room, to no one in particular. 

The moment of reprieve doesn’t last long enough for the lady as the strangers hands press against the side of her face harshly squishing her cheeks and lips. Their breath harsh against her face as they mumble incoherent words below their breath, a single finger tapping against the woman’s cheekbone. 

Then in a moment it all happens too quickly for the woman to even fathom she is pulled from the dark into the light, her eyes closing at the sudden intrusion of it. Though not a bright or harsh light, she has been in the darkness for long enough for her eyes to feel a sting to the change. Rapidly blinking through the pain, she manages to slowly open up her eyes allowing the minimal light to fall upon them. 

Her eyes naturally dart around the room, but there is a lack of things to see beside a table by the wall to her left. She takes in the fact it has an open first aid box upon it, her eyes taking in the bloodied wipes that sit upon it. But then they flicker to what is next to the open box and sees an array of different blades, and a few boxes with insignia and labels on them she cannot quite make out. Her eyes then dart to her right where she sees the discarded knife thrown to the other side of the room, a small blood trail following it on its travels across the floor. 

From what she could tell she was in some sort of basement, maybe a garage or storage room. She does not know which of three is the worst, but knowing she could be below (or joined) to someone's home makes a new fear sink in. The stranger has no fear of being caught, leading her to believe they live far enough away from a neighbour for them to feel safe enough not to cover her mouth and probably those before her. 

Then her eyes meet those of the stranger. Her breath becomes stuck in her throat, her heart dropping to her stomach, her lip trembling as her eyes prickle with tears. A new fear falls upon her, a new feeling of confusion envelopes her, the feeling of heartbreak permeates through her heart and the feeling of betrayal invades her very soul. 

“Hello my dear.” The stranger smiles with a sickening kindness towards the woman whose mouth falls agape at what she sees before her, who she sees before her. “Now tell me again how I supposedly do not care for you.” 

The woman’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, her head shaking as the utter disbelief fills her very being. Her breath shakes as she tries to piece it all together in her head, piece together what it is she is doing here, what it is the stranger is doing here. She questions everything she believes in as the person in front of her crouches down to match her level. Their smile reaches their eyes, as they look into hers. 

A new feeling dawns within her, as her eyes meet the stranger’s even when trying to avoid their look. Their eyes drag her in, a feeling of what is known out weighs the feeling of the unknown to come. Their hand reaches out to her face, all too caring, and the woman flinches away from the touch. Retracting their hand the stranger sighs, dropping their head to look at the floor momentarily before looking back at the woman with what seems to be an apologetic smile. A silent sorry held within their lips, sorrow filling their eyes.

Yet it only lasts a moment as the stranger smiles once again at the woman. A smile all too familiar to the woman. A smile she used to cherish seeing, a smile that would always make her smile, a smile that would make any of her woes disappear within the instant they are thought of. The smile that has turned into the one that shall kill her. The one she has wrongly trusted, the one in which her heart told her never to fall for. The smile that got away from her all too long ago. 

“So tell me Wanda. Tell me I do not care for you the way in which you say I do.” A single tear leaves the woman’s eye as they meet those of the strangers. 

“You seem to have lost all the care for me you had those years ago.” The stranger hits their hand against the chair making Wanda Jump. 

“This isn’t real. It can’t be.” Wanda’s voice breathless in disbelief.

“Oh but it is. I’m right here. This is very real.” You smirk something evil that makes Wanda’s stomach churn. 

“Now I know you truly don’t care for me. Not like this.” The stranger’s smirks drops turning into a scowl as they lean in closer to Wanda. “This isn’t real.”

“Say my name. Make it real.” Wanda shakes her head and the stranger grits their teeth. “Say my name.” 

“This isn't real.” Wanda whispers more to herself than anyone. 

“Say my name dammit, and tell me how I have lost care for you!” The stranger spits venomously, their hand hitting the arm of the chair as they do, and Wanda’s head hangs in defeat as she accepts whatever fate it is the person has chosen for her.

“Y/n.” 

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