#and manipulation with memory and feelings

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |15|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Fifteen: Reel Around the Fountain

warnings: physical violence (choking), highly suggestive content (off-screen smut with a build up), psychological trauma and grief, references to pregnancy loss, manipulation, trauma, and references to death.

note(s): you're officially caught up with my wattpad and ao3.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots

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One week since your return, and the cabin still feels like hostile territory. Conversation dies when you enter a room. Glances follow your movements, some curious, some wary, some outright hostile. You've become accustomed to the weight of their judgment, have learned to move beneath it like carrying a physical burden.

Natalie is the worst, her anger manifesting in cutting remarks and pointed silences. This morning, as you reach for a cup by the makeshift stove, she deliberately moves it out of your grasp.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Did you want this? Weird, it's almost like objects just disappear sometimes without explanation. Must be confusing."

You say nothing, reaching for a different cup instead. Her metaphor isn't exactly subtle.

"Nothing to say?" Natalie presses, leaning against the counter. "No witty comeback? No explanation for why you let us think you were fucking dead for weeks?"

"Not this morning, Nat," you mutter, pouring yourself water from the pot.

"Not this morning, not yesterday, not the day before." She makes a show of checking an imaginary watch. "When exactly is a good time for you? Should I pencil something in for next month? Or are you planning another wilderness retreat before then?"

You take a deliberate sip of your water, using the moment to gather your patience. "I've already apologized."

"No," Natalie corrects, her voice harder now. "You said 'sorry' once when you first got back. That's not an apology, that's a fucking placeholder."

Before you can respond, Shauna enters the cabin, arms laden with freshly washed clothing. Her eyes flick between you and Natalie, assessing the tension with a single glance.

"Everything okay?" she asks, the question directed at neither of you specifically.

"Peachy," Natalie replies, pushing away from the counter. "Just catching up with our resident ghost. Did you know they can actually speak? Rarely, but she  can."

She brushes past Shauna on her way out, leaving you alone with the one person you've been most diligently avoiding.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably as Shauna begins sorting the laundry, separating items into neat piles on one of the bunks. You watch her hands—steady, methodical, familiar in their movements. How many times had you seen those same hands sort through supplies, tend wounds, stroke hair away from your face when nightmares pulled you gasping from sleep?

The memory makes something twist in your chest, a sharp ache of longing for what's been lost. Before your departure, after Jackie's death, you and Shauna had become inseparable—grief and guilt binding you together in ways you couldn't articulate. Nights spent huddled for warmth that became something else, something deeper—her fingers tracing circles on your back as you finally surrendered to sleep, your arms around her when sobs would wrack her body in the dark hours before dawn.

Now, she won't even look at you directly.

"Need help?" you offer, gesturing to the clothing.

"I've got it," she replies, voice neutral but distant.

You nod, taking another sip of water to hide your disappointment. "Sure."

She continues working in silence, and you should leave—give her the space she clearly wants—but your feet remain rooted to the spot. There's something almost magnetic about her presence, drawing you in despite the clear boundaries she's established since your return.

"How are you feeling?" The question slips out before you can reconsider it.

Shauna's hands pause briefly over a shirt—Travis's, from the size of it—before resuming their task. "Fine."

"You look..." You hesitate, unsure how to complete the sentence without touching on subjects she's made clear are off-limits. Thinner. Sadder. Different. "...tired."

She glances up then, meeting your eyes for the first time in days. Something flashes across her face—anger? Pain? Longing? It's gone too quickly to identify.

"We're all tired," she says flatly. "It's kind of a prerequisite for being stranded in the wilderness."

The dismissal stings, but you push forward anyway. "Shauna, I—"

"Don't." She cuts you off, her voice suddenly sharp. "Whatever you're about to say, just... don't."

The cabin door opens before you can respond, saving you from whatever ill-advised words might have escaped. Lottie enters, her movements graceful despite the bulky winter clothing she wears. Her eyes find you immediately, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"There you are," she says, as if she's been searching for you specifically. "I was hoping you could help me gather some herbs today. I found a patch growing near the southern clearing, but it's too much for one person to carry."

You glance between Lottie and Shauna, caught in the sudden tension that seems to fill the small space. Shauna's expression has closed off completely, her focus returned to the laundry with almost aggressive intensity.

"Sure," you finally agree, seeing no graceful way to decline. "Just let me grab my jacket."

As you move to retrieve your things from your sleeping area, you catch the look that passes between the two women—Lottie's expression serene but somehow challenging, Shauna's a flash of something that might be irritation, might be jealousy. The exchange lasts only a second, but it settles like a weight in your stomach, a complication you're not equipped to navigate.

Outside, the air is sharp with cold, the sky a brilliant, merciless blue above the skeletal trees. Lottie leads the way into the forest, her steps confident despite the unmarked path. You follow silently, grateful for the physical activity, the chance to escape the stifling atmosphere of the cabin.

"She doesn't like when I talk to you," Lottie says suddenly, without turning around.

The observation catches you off guard. "Who?"

Lottie glances over her shoulder, her smile knowing. "Shauna."

You focus on the uneven ground, careful not to slip on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Lottie slows her pace until you're walking beside her. "She watches you when you're not looking. Gets tense whenever I'm near you. It was the same with Jackie."

The casual mention of Jackie's name makes your breath catch. "Don't."

"Don't what? Speak the truth?" Lottie's voice is gentle, almost sympathetic. "Jackie knew it too. Why do you think she was so angry that night? The night she..."

"I said don't," you snap, harsher than intended.

Lottie falls silent, but there's no offense in her expression, only that same eerie patience she's displayed since the crash, as if she's operating on a different timeline than the rest of you, privy to outcomes you can't yet see.

You walk in silence for several minutes, following a path that seems to exist only in Lottie's mind. The forest around you is hushed, dormant, waiting for a spring that feels impossibly distant.

"Here," Lottie finally says, stopping at the edge of a small clearing. She points to a cluster of plants growing improbably through the snow, their leaves dark green against the white backdrop. "Winter herbs. They have properties that help with... dreams."

You kneel beside the plants, recognizing them from Lottie's previous foraging expeditions. "Bad dreams?"

"Dreams can't be categorized that simply," Lottie says, kneeling next to you, close enough that your shoulders touch. "They're messages. Sometimes warnings, sometimes... invitations."

Something in her tone makes you look up, finding her gaze fixed on you with unsettling intensity. "What kind of dreams have you been having, Lottie?"

Her smile deepens, a private amusement playing across her features. "I told you. Dreams about you."

Before you can question her further, her hand comes to rest on yours—a deliberate touch, skin against skin. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through you, a reminder of how long it's been since anyone has touched you with anything resembling gentleness.

"You've been hungry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not just for food."

You should pull away. Should put distance between yourself and whatever strange energy radiates from Lottie in this moment. Instead, you remain frozen, caught between the desire to retreat and the desperate ache for connection that's been building since your return.

"We should get back," you finally manage, withdrawing your hand with an effort that feels physical.

Lottie allows the retreat, but her eyes never leave your face. "Of course."

You gather the herbs quickly, stuffing them into the makeshift sacks you've brought. The task gives you something to focus on besides Lottie's proximity, the knowing way she watches you, as if seeing beneath your skin to the turmoil beneath.

The walk back to the cabin passes in tense silence, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the occasional call of winter birds overhead. By the time the clearing comes into view, you've almost managed to convince yourself you imagined the strange intensity of the moment in the forest.

Then Lottie's hand brushes against yours as she takes some of the herbs from your arms—a touch too deliberate to be accidental, too brief to acknowledge without seeming paranoid. She smiles at your startled glance, then moves ahead toward the cabin, leaving you to follow in her wake.

Inside, the others have gathered for the midday meal—a thin stew that stretches their dwindling supplies, supplemented by whatever protein the morning's hunting has provided. You take your usual place at the edge of the group, aware of Natalie's pointed silence, Van's sympathetic glances, Tai's barely contained disapproval.

Shauna sits across from you, her eyes carefully averted, focused on her bowl with an intensity the watery soup hardly deserves. You try not to stare, but your gaze keeps drifting back to her—to the sharp line of her jaw, the way her hair falls in front of her face when she leans forward, the restless movement of her fingers against the rim of her bowl.

It's pathetic how much you miss her. Miss the quiet conversations in the dark, the way she'd seek out your hand under blankets when the others were talking around the fire, the soft sound of her breathing as she fell asleep beside you. Miss how after Jackie's death, you'd become each other's anchors in a sea of grief and guilt—holding each other through nightmares, whispering confessions too dark for daylight, finding moments of impossible tenderness amid the horror of your situation.

"You're staring," Lottie murmurs beside you, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You look away quickly, focusing on your own barely-touched meal. "No, I wasn't."

"It's okay," Lottie continues, as if you hadn't denied it. "I understand hunger."

The way she says the word—hunger—makes it sound like something sacred, something primal. You shift uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how close she's sitting, how her knee occasionally brushes against yours beneath the crowded table.

"I'm not hungry," you lie, pushing your bowl away for emphasis.

Lottie's smile suggests she knows exactly what kind of hunger you're denying. "If you say so."

The meal concludes with the usual distribution of afternoon tasks. You volunteer for wood gathering, hoping for some time alone, but Tai assigns you to inventory instead—a deliberate move to keep you within sight of the cabin, you suspect. The others disperse to their duties, leaving you to sort through their meager supplies, counting and recounting items that barely sustain survival.

You're halfway through tallying their dwindling medical supplies when Shauna approaches, her expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," she says without preamble.

Your heart lurches at the words, equal parts hope and dread flooding your system. "Okay."

She gestures toward the door. "Not here."

You follow her outside, past the immediate clearing to a fallen log that's become an unofficial meeting spot when privacy is needed. She sits, leaving enough space beside her that you can join without touching, a calculated distance that speaks volumes.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You watch her profile, the way she chews slightly on her lower lip—a nervous habit you've always found endearing.

"What are you doing with Lottie?" she finally asks, still not looking at you.

The question is not what you expected. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," Shauna says, an edge to her voice now. "The herbs, the touching, the little private conversations. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you reply, genuinely confused by her apparent concern. "She asked for help gathering herbs. That's it."

Shauna finally turns to face you, her expression tight with something that might be anger, might be fear. "Lottie isn't... she's not who she was before all this. Talking about dreams and visions and things that—" She breaks off, shaking her head. "Just be careful."

"Careful of what? Lottie's always been a little weird, but she's harmless."

"Is she?" Shauna's voice has dropped nearly to a whisper. "Are you sure about that?"

The question hangs between you, loaded with implications you're not sure you understand. Before you can press for clarification, Shauna continues.

"You left." The words come out flat, accusatory. "After everything—after Jackie, after... after everything else we've been through. You just disappeared."

There it is—the conversation you've been avoiding since your return. "I needed space."

"Space," Shauna repeats, the word dripping with disdain. "So you faked your death? Let us mourn you? Let me think—" She stops abruptly, swallowing whatever she'd been about to say.

"Let you think what?" you press, turning to face her fully.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter now." She starts to stand, but you catch her wrist, an instinctive gesture you immediately regret when she flinches.

"Shauna, please," you say, releasing her immediately. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I was messed up. I couldn't handle being here, seeing you every day, knowing what—"

"Don't," she cuts you off harshly. "Don't pretend this was about Jackie, or about us. This was about you being a coward."

The accusation lands like a physical blow. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" Shauna laughs, a brittle sound that bears no resemblance to happiness. "Was it fair to make me think you were dead? To leave your blood on Jackie's jacket where we would find it? Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"I wasn't thinking clearly," you admit, the closest you've come to a genuine explanation since your return.

"Clearly," she agrees coldly. "And now what? You're back, you're saying nothing about where you've been or what you did, and suddenly you're spending all your time with Lottie of all people?"

There's something in her tone—possessiveness? Jealousy?—that makes your pulse quicken. "I told you, she asked for help. It's not like I'm seeking her out."

"No?" Shauna's eyes narrow. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're replacing one fucked-up relationship with another."

The implication sends a flash of anger through you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have a pattern," Shauna says, her voice rising slightly. "Jackie, me, now Lottie. You just can't help yourself, can you? Always gravitating toward whatever's most likely to blow up in your face."

"That's bullshit," you snap, standing now too. "Jackie and I were—that was different. And you and I were never—we didn't—"

"Didn't what?" Shauna challenges, stepping closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, close enough to smell the pine soap she uses to wash her hair. "Didn't hold each other every night? Didn't whisper things we'd never tell anyone else? Didn't cross every line except the one we were both too scared to acknowledge?"

Her words leave you breathless, confronting truths you've kept buried beneath grief and guilt and the consuming task of survival. "Shauna..."

"And then you left," she continues, relentless now that the dam has broken. "After everything we shared, after I told you about the baby, about my fears, after I held you through your nightmares and you promised—you promised—you wouldn't leave me alone out here. You just disappeared."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, the words woefully inadequate against the tide of her anger.

"Sorry doesn't bring back the weeks I spent thinking you were dead," Shauna says, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "It doesn't erase the nightmares. It doesn't change the fact that when I needed you most, you weren't there."

The accusation hangs between you, heavy with unstated losses. You think of her pregnant belly, now flat again, the question you've been afraid to ask.

"What happened to the baby?" you finally manage, your voice barely audible.

Shauna steps back as if struck, her expression shuttering completely. "You don't get to ask me that. Not now. Not after—" She shakes her head, arms wrapping around her middle in a protective gesture that makes your heart ache. "Stay away from me. And for god's sake, be careful with Lottie."

She turns and walks away before you can respond, her posture rigid with anger or pain or both. You watch her go, the distance between you widening with each step, a chasm of your own creation.

You remain by the fallen log long after Shauna has disappeared back into the cabin, trying to process the confrontation, the revelations it contained. The admission that what existed between you wasn't just grief or convenience or the desperate need for human contact in the face of tragedy—it was something deeper, something neither of you had been brave enough to name.

And now it's broken, possibly beyond repair.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. You look up, expecting—hoping, perhaps—to see Shauna returning. Instead, Lottie emerges from between the trees, her expression serene as always.

"I saw her come back alone," she says by way of explanation. "Thought you might want company."

"I don't," you reply, harsher than intended.

If Lottie is offended by your tone, she doesn't show it. Instead, she sits beside you on the log, closer than Shauna had, her thigh pressing against yours despite the ample space available.

"She's angry," Lottie observes, her voice light. "But anger isn't the opposite of love. It's just another form of it."

"Don't," you warn, echoing your earlier response to her mentions of Jackie. "I'm not in the mood for cryptic bullshit right now."

"Not cryptic," Lottie corrects gently. "Just true. Shauna loves you. Has since before. Will after."

"Before what? After what?" You turn to face her, frustration building. "Can you, for once, just say what you mean instead of playing mystic?"

Lottie studies you for a moment, head tilted slightly. "Before the crash. After you leave this place." She gestures to the wilderness around you. "Time isn't linear here. I've seen it—how threads connect, overlap, double back. Your threads and Shauna's are... entangled. Always have been."

"You don't know what you're talking about," you mutter, but there's less conviction in your voice now.

"I do," Lottie insists, her hand finding yours on the log between you. "Just as I know about the hunger. The emptiness inside you that nothing seems to fill."

Your head snaps up at that, meeting her gaze with shock. Those were your exact thoughts during your self-imposed exile, words you've never spoken aloud to anyone.

"You—"

"I told you," she says simply. "I dream about you."

Something cold slithers down your spine—fear or anticipation, you're not sure which. "What exactly do you dream about, Lottie?"

Her smile deepens, something predatory entering her expression. "This," she says, and before you can react, her free hand is at the back of your neck, pulling you toward her, her lips meeting yours with surprising force.

For a split second, you're too shocked to respond. Then instinct takes over—anger, confusion, and weeks of isolation converging into a surge of adrenaline that has you shoving her away violently. Lottie tumbles backwards off the log, landing in the snow with a soft thud.

"What the fuck?" you demand, standing, fists clenched at your sides.

Lottie makes no move to get up, simply looks up at you from where she's fallen, that same knowing smile playing at her lips. "You're not angry because I kissed you," she says calmly. "You're angry because you wanted me to."

"That's bullshit," you snap, but even as you say it, you're aware of a treacherous heat in your blood, a response your body had no right to have.

"Is it?" Lottie sits up slowly, making no attempt to stand. "You've been starving for weeks. I can see it in the way you watch her, the way you flinch when anyone comes near you. It's eating you alive."

You take a step toward her, fury building at her presumption, her ability to see through defenses you thought impenetrable. "Shut up."

"Make me," she challenges, still seated in the snow, looking up at you with an expression that borders on anticipation.

Something snaps inside you—control, reason, restraint, whatever thin veneer of civilization has survived the months in this wilderness. You move without conscious thought, dropping to your knees in front of her, one hand coming to her throat, pushing her back until she's pinned against the ground.

"Is this what you wanted?" you growl, your face inches from hers, fingers pressing just firmly enough against her windpipe to be felt, not enough to truly restrict her breathing. "Is this what you dreamed about?"

You expect fear, resistance, perhaps even tears. What you don't expect is the slow smile that spreads across Lottie's face, the deliberate way she arches her neck against your grip.

"Yes," she breathes, the word barely audible.                                                                                                           

The admission should repulse you, should make you recoil and retreat. Instead, it ignites something dark and hungry within you, a need that's been growing since Jackie's death, since your isolation, since Shauna's rejection.

Before you can reconsider, your mouth crashes down on hers, the kiss nothing like the gentle exchanges you shared with Jackie, nothing like the hesitant, tender moments with Shauna. This is raw, almost violent, teeth and tongue and desperation.

Lottie responds with equal ferocity, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer. You're dimly aware of the cold seeping through your clothes from the snow beneath you, but it's distant, irrelevant against the heat building between your bodies.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Lottie looks up at you with pupils blown wide, lips swollen from your assault. "Take me," she whispers, the command clear despite the breathlessness of her voice.

You should stop. Should pull away, apologize, retreat to the safety of distance and denial. Should remember Shauna's warning about Lottie being different, dangerous perhaps.

Instead, you surrender to the hunger that's been consuming you for weeks—for touch, for connection, for oblivion however briefly it might be found. Your hands move to the fastening of her coat, pushing it open to access the warmth beneath, and Lottie's triumphant smile is the last thing you register before giving yourself over completely to the primal need that's been building inside you since the moment the plane crashed, stranding you all in this wilderness where normal rules and restraints have long since ceased to apply.

In the back of your mind, a voice whispers warning—that this is a mistake, that Lottie is not what she seems, that there will be consequences you can't foresee. But the hunger drowns it out, silences caution and reason alike as you lose yourself in the temporary escape of skin against skin, of pleasure sharp enough to eclipse grief, of connection however fleeting or false it might prove to be.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 10 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , Part 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The first thing you saw was light—bright, sterile, and blinding. You winced, your eyes fluttering shut again before they slowly adjusted. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, white with soft shadows moving across it. The smell of antiseptic told you exactly where you were.

You blinked, turning your head slightly. Bucky sat at your side, his posture tense but calm, like a sentinel who hadn’t moved in hours.

“Good morning,” he said softly, voice warm and low, careful not to startle you.

You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. Still, you managed to whisper, “I’m… I’m safe, right?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re safe.” His voice was firm now, protective. “No one’s going to hurt you—not while I’m here.”

The reassurance was like a wave washing over you—and suddenly, your chest tightened. Your lip trembled as a sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your mouth, tears spilling uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Bucky was caught off guard. His eyes widened for a second, but then he reached out without hesitation. He gently pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin, his hand moving slowly across your back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay now.”

But you weren’t okay.

Your breaths came faster. The hospital room started spinning. The walls felt too close. Your skin itched with the memory of everything that had happened. Selena. No—Stanley. The betrayal slammed into you all over again, a cold knife through your gut.

“I let him in,” you choked out between sobs. “I trusted him. I gave him a job. I believed in him. And he… he watched me. He followed me. All this time.”

Your vision darkened as the panic took hold—your heart pounded against your ribs, your lungs refusing to work properly. The machines around you began to beep faster. A nurse rushed in, but Bucky held you close, grounding you as you trembled.

“I should’ve seen it,” you cried. “I brought him into our lives. I—Dolly… she trusted him because I did.”

You gasped for air, hands fisting into the hospital blanket. “He followed me into dressing rooms, Bucky. I never fully undressed, but still… he watched. I thought I was being careful.” You looked at him, eyes wide and filled with horror. “I feel sick. Violated. How could I not know?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His hand wrapped tighter around yours.

“He’s never getting near you again.” His tone was like steel.

You looked up at him, broken, your voice barely above a whisper. “How can you be sure?”

He looked at you for a moment, then said, “Let’s just say… men like him don’t survive in prison.”

You stared at him, unsure what he meant.

“He’s got the face and body,” Bucky added, almost coldly. “He’ll be popular in there.”

You blinked, stunned. Your eyebrows raised, your mouth slightly parted, but Bucky didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. He didn’t want you to dwell on it. Not someone like Stanley. Not someone who started a cult in your name, who manipulated you, lied to you, and cost the lives of the people you cared about.

Why should you care what happens to him?

Bucky gently pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders. “Focus on healing,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t deserve your thoughts.”

Bucky sat back down beside you, watching you closely.

"You don't have to think about any of that right now," he said gently. "You look thirsty. Do you want something to drink?"

You gave a small nod.

Bucky stood up, walked over to the table, and poured water into a cup with a bendable straw. He returned to your side and held the cup steady as he guided the straw to your lips. You sipped slowly. The cool water was a relief, soothing your dry throat.

Just as you finished, a soft knock echoed from the hospital room door.

Your body tensed instinctively. Eyes wide, your breath caught. You weren't ready for more surprises.

Bucky stood, his expression unreadable as he walked to the door and opened it slightly, peeking through.

"Oh, it’s just you," he said, his tone shifting to something more casual.

"What do you mean ‘just you’? I’m the one overseeing this case," a voice responded with a touch of indignation.

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully and opened the door wider. "Yeah, yeah... Come in."

You watched as Bucky stepped aside to let the visitor in. The two clearly knew each other. There was an ease in their interaction that only came from familiarity.

"His name is Steve," Bucky explained, glancing back at you. "He’s a profiler—and officially part of this case now."

Steve stepped forward awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Sorry to disturb your rest."

"It’s alright," you replied with a soft smile, though your voice was still weak.

Steve blinked rapidly, clearly trying to stay professional—but he looked a bit starstruck. Being in the same room with a famous singer wasn’t something that happened every day.

Bucky nudged his friend’s shoulder with a smirk. "Come on, man. Say what you came here to say."

"Oh—right!" Steve straightened up, clearing his throat again. "I just wanted to inform you that ‘Selena’—or rather, Stanley—will be in jail for a very long time. We have enough evidence linking him to two murders."

Your face fell, the color draining from your cheeks at the word murders. Your fingers gripped the edge of the blanket. The weight of those deaths—the betrayal—sank heavily into your chest.

Steve noticed your change in expression and shifted gears quickly. "Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just… wanted to say we got a lot of help from Bucky here."

You glanced at Bucky. "Really?"

"Yes," Steve nodded. "Without him, we wouldn’t have solved the case in time. We might not have even found you."

Bucky gave a small shrug, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "It was easy, actually. I just noticed one thing about her—him."

You tilted your head. "What did you notice?"

"‘Selena’ never went to the bathroom," Bucky said plainly.

"That's it?" you blinked, confused.

"I followed your routine closely," Bucky explained. "Your schedule was packed—rehearsals, photoshoots, events. Hours on end. Even the most disciplined assistant would need a bathroom break. But ‘Selena’ never did. Not once. That’s not dedication. That’s unnatural."

Now that he mentioned it, your brows furrowed. You searched your memory. He was right. You had never heard Selena excuse herself, not even once. Not even a casual ��Be right back.’ Not even during 12-hour shoot days.

Even Dolly would excuse herself now and then.

Bucky continued, his tone darker. "And how Dolly and Jack died… there were patterns. Both were seen talking to someone they knew right before they were killed. The crime scenes suggested no forced entry. She had access to their homes."

Steve chimed in. "After some questioning, we discovered Stanley used your fandom as a cover. He targeted fans who worked in Dolly’s and Jack’s apartment buildings. That’s how he got their access codes. Same with Vert’s place."

"But… forensics showed the killer was male," you said slowly, trying to connect it all.

Steve nodded. "Exactly. That’s why we couldn’t completely rule ‘Selena’ out. Despite how she—he—presented, there was no solid alibi. And now, with the evidence we’ve gathered, we’re confident we’ve got enough to keep him behind bars for a long time."

You exhaled deeply, overwhelmed by the storm of information. Your eyes drifted down to your trembling hands. A killer had almost taken over your life—lived in your shadow, earned your trust, and taken the lives of those closest to you.

"There are a lot of charges pending," Steve added, gentler now. "But what matters most is you’re safe. And we’ll make sure it stays that way."

"Thank you," you murmured, managing a small, genuine smile.

Steve's ears turned slightly pink.

"Why are you thanking him?" Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms dramatically. "I’m the one who saved you first."

You rolled your eyes with a soft smile.

Steve shot Bucky a look, smirking. "Oh, shut up. You’re just jealous." He glanced at his watch. "Anyway, time to go." He turned back to you, a bit more sincerely this time. "It’s an honor to meet you. I hope you recover fully and quickly."

You nodded politely, your expression grateful.

Bucky walked over to the door as Steve made his way out. "Get the hell out," Bucky muttered, half-jokingly, giving Steve a little shove.

Steve chuckled as he stepped into the hallway, then leaned back in with a teasing grin. "You like her, don’t you?" he whispered loudly enough for you to hear.

Bucky’s jaw clenched.n"No, I don’t. Shut up."

Steve raised a brow. "It’s obvious, Buck. Even she probably knows."

You tilted your head in curiosity while Bucky pushed him farther out into the hallway. "Go away before I punch you, Rogers."

"Love makes you soft!" Steve called out with a laugh as Bucky slammed the door behind him.

He let out a huff and leaned his forehead against the door for a moment before turning back toward you.

You smirked.n"So… that’s the friend you told me about before?"

He walked back to your bedside and nodded.n"Yup. That’s him. Used to be skinny as paper."

Your eyes widened. "Really? But he’s almost as big as you now!"

You paused, remembering the stories. You’d heard how Steve had been tortured even longer than Bucky. But looking at him now, with his kind eyes and confident posture, he seemed like a walking golden retriever—not a trace of the darkness he'd been through.

"How did he…?" your voice trailed off.

Bucky sat down slowly beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression softened.

"It wasn’t easy for him. Or for me. Sometimes… we still get nightmares. Flashbacks." He went quiet for a beat. "But it's not as bad as it used to be."

You looked down at your hands, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think I can pull through, like you guys did?"

He looked at you, his eyes filled with something honest—something that had seen pain and still chose to stay.

"I believe you can. But it’s not easy. It takes time. A long time." He leaned back, arms crossed loosely. "There were days I thought I’d go insane. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe." He looked off toward the window. "Until I met Mrs. Walls."

You blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yup. Meeting her… it brought me back to when I was a kid. She reminded me of something real. Something warm." He let out a breath. "At that moment, the darkness around me finally started to lift. Just a little."

You smiled softly, a glimmer of recognition in your expression. "I guess we’re some of those people who see their teachers like parents, huh?"

Bucky nodded, then his brows lifted slightly, remembering something. “Speaking of parents… I heard someone told Vert that we look alike.”

You immediately blushed, caught off guard. “Ehm… You probably didn’t realize it, but yeah. You really do.”

He squinted at you, unconvinced. “Me and him? That’s impossible. From which part?”

You counted with your fingers. “The jawline. The eyes. The way you tilt your head when you're listening to something. And that smirk—always raising your left eyebrow. Oh! And the way you play the guitar. Same fingerstyle. Same posture. Same little wrist flick thing.”

Bucky smirked.

“There it is!” You pointed at him and smirked back. “That exact smirk.”

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Didn’t realize you noticed every little thing about me.”

You flushed deeper and looked away. “I-I don’t. It’s just… pretty noticeable.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh? Really?” He leaned in even more, teasing. “Anything else I should know you’ve been secretly observing?”

You grabbed your blanket and threw it over your face. “Shut up. I’m a patient. Stop bothering me.” Your voice was muffled as you hid under the covers.

Bucky laughed softly, trying to hold it in. “Alright, alright. I’ll listen to the patient’s orders.” His voice was still full of amusement as he watched the lump under the blanket.

Then his tone shifted, slightly more serious. “There’s more, though. Vert asked me to take a DNA test.”

You peeked out, blinking. “Huh? Did you take it?”

He shrugged casually. “Yeah, I did. But I don’t expect anything. It'll probably say 0%. I’ve given up on the whole ‘parents’ thing.”

You sat up straighter, watching him. “But… what if you are related to Vert?”

He shook his head. “Impossible.”

You tilted your head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. My gut says otherwise.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes in challenge. “Wanna make a bet?”

Your eyes lit up with intrigue. “What kind of bet?”

He leaned forward, voice low and daring. “If you’re right, and I am related to Vert, you can ask me for anything. No limits.”

You grinned. “And if you’re right?”

His eyes glinted with mischief. “Then you owe me something. My choice.”

You extended your pinky. “Deal.”

He linked his pinky with yours, the air between you suddenly warmer, closer.

Your hands stayed there a second too long. His eyes dropped to your lips. Yours flicked to his. The space between you seemed to shrink with every breath. His hand brushed your wrist, and your heart skipped.

Then—

“My dear! I came as soon as I could!” Mrs. Walls' voice burst into the room.

You both jolted and quickly pulled away, scrambling to sit upright as if nothing happened.

Mrs. Walls, oblivious to the tension she just shattered, rushed toward you and pulled you into a tight hug, her arms warm and comforting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stroking your hair like a worried mother. “I was so worried. I told them to call me if anything happened.”

You melted into her embrace, suddenly feeling like a child again, wrapped in safety.

“If you need a place to stay,” she said firmly, pulling back to look into your eyes, “you can stay with me. As long as you want.”

Your chest tightened at her words, a warmth flooding through you. You glanced at Bucky—he was already looking at you, and the way his expression softened said everything.

You turned back to Mrs. Walls, voice gentle. “Thank you, Mrs. Walls. I’ll gladly take your offer.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Six months later.

The classroom was alive with laughter and bright chatter. Colorful drawings covered the walls, some of them lopsided stick figures holding guitars and microphones—your influence was clear even in crayon. Sunlight poured through the windows, dancing across the hardwood floor as a dozen kids sang, clapped, and played simple rhythms with tiny instruments.

One of the kids, a little boy with untamable curls and wide brown eyes, tugged on your sleeve. “Miss?” he asked in a shy voice. “I heard from my mom that you’re a famous singer.”

You chuckled, crouching to his level. “I used to be.”

His eyes grew even wider. “Really?”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Yup.”

He beamed. “That’s why you’re so cool!”

You laughed, tousling his hair. “Thanks, buddy.”

After being discharged from the hospital, you'd made the decision to quietly retire from the music industry. No more spotlights. No more late nights and endless rehearsals. When you told Mr. Vert, you’d expected a dramatic reaction—maybe anger or disappointment. But instead, he simply nodded and smiled.

“If that’s what brings you peace, I’m proud of you.” he had said. His calm acceptance caught you off guard… but it felt like closure.

You took your first step into your new chapter as a guest music teacher—just to try it out, just to feel it. But after just one week, you knew. This was it. This was your new calling. Helping kids discover rhythm, melody, and the magic of self-expression—it filled a part of you that music stardom never had.

You stepped out of the school building just as the final bell rang, your bag slung over your shoulder and a soft breeze playing with your hair.

Then— Honk!

You looked up to see a sleek, brand-new SUV pulling up to the curb. The window rolled down.

Bucky leaned out, smirking. “Need a ride, ma’am?”

You grinned. He stepped out smoothly, walked around the car, and opened the passenger door with a small bow. “Ladies first.”

You laughed as you climbed in. “Thank you, kind sir.”

You slid into the passenger seat, and Bucky closed the door gently before getting in beside you. The new car smell filled the cabin, and the leather seats still looked untouched.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyeing the dashboard. “Another gift from Mr. Vert?”

Bucky shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, having a son means having an excuse to spend absurd amounts of money.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

Flashback Start

The DNA results had been a bombshell—99.9% match.

Neither Bucky nor Mr. Vert had known about each other.

When the results came in, Mr. Vert was stunned into silence. But only for a moment. Quickly, he gathered himself and turned to Bucky with something between regret and wonder in his eyes.

“I… I didn’t know. If I had—” “It’s fine,” Bucky had cut in, though his voice wavered.

All his life, he’d been alone. No family. No roots. Then, just like that, he had a father.

At first, Bucky didn’t know what to do with it. Mr. Vert, on the other hand, threw himself into fatherhood like a man trying to make up for lost time—lavish gifts, long talks, even awkward attempts at dad jokes.

It was heartwarming and hilarious watching them navigate this strange new bond.

You’d overheard Bucky stumbling through his first attempt at, “Thanks… uh… Dad.”

And Mr. Vert, with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, proudly replying, “You’re welcome, son.”

It was beautiful. Messy. Real.

And as for the bet? You won.

Which meant you could ask Bucky for anything.

Flashback End

The SUV pulled into Mrs. Walls’ driveway. Her cozy home looked exactly the same—wind chimes, potted plants, and that familiar wooden porch.

Bucky turned off the engine and turned to you with a grin.

“After dinner, what do you want to do next… my girlfriend?”

You smiled teasingly. “Go back to your house.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Then what?”

You leaned in slightly, your voice soft. “We eat the leftover dessert Mrs. Walls made… and watch movies from your watchlist this time.”

His smile widened. “Perfect.”

Then he leaned over and kissed you gently on the lips, the kiss tender and sure.

When he pulled back, he reached for your hand. Fingers intertwined, warm and steady.

Together, you walked to Mrs. Walls’ front door.

This was what you’d asked for. Not flowers. Not diamonds. Just him.

Not your bodyguard. But your boyfriend.

And he was more than happy to be both.

-The End-

Thank you so much to everyone who’s been with me from the beginning until the end of this story. 💖💖💖

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

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[thisrots]

pretty little relapse

jinx x reader 𖦹 part 1

𖦹 warnings: fem!reader addicted to jinx’s bodily shimmer, mentions of addiction, toxic!manipulative!jinx x manipulated reader, slight nsfw (more to come in part 2 <3)

𖦹 word count: 2.1k

It’s quiet in your empty apartment bedroom, too quiet. It’s 2 a.m., there was no movement, no sounds, not even a breeze through the cracked window. You should be taking advantage of the silence, using it to get a good night’s rest, but this is the kind of silence that hurts. Your skin’s too tight, bones itch, sweat clinging to the sheets where you lay, and that constant buzzing that’s been in your head for days—it’s like that static you’d wake up to as a kid at night once your show was over.

Except this time it wasn’t a show, it was her laugh. That loud cackle was stuck behind your eyes—mind clinging onto any bit of remembrance of Jinx it had left. You’d lost count of how many days it’d been since you last saw her, but it felt like fucking weeks now. You were trying to hold off, to stand your ground and mean that last time would be the last, even if you both knew that was a total fucking lie.

But as much as you tried, you could taste her—actually taste her on your tongue. A perfect mixture of sugar and something chemically. Like jolly ranchers that had just been mixed with something from a lab. It always left an electric feeling after—a high that would make your heart race, pupils dilated at the complex taste of Jinx.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the hallucinations started a few days ago. Her voice, at first. Whispering in your ear, giggling in corners of the room. Now you’re seeing her, too. Sitting on your counter, swinging her legs. Crawling into your bed like she owned the place, pressing cold fingers against your cheek.

“You’re pathetic without me.”

You’d scream at her false presence, throwing whatever was nearest at her, shattering multiple plates and vases in the process. You started clawing at your skin in the shower just to feel something, anything other than the endless hole she left in you. You’d tear out your hair, sobbing out at the cruel, fiending desire that drove you mad.

There’s no way this was normal. This yearning, these withdrawals that were taking over your life, gnawing at your fucking brain every time you’d hear Jinx’s haunting voice coaxing you back to her. She’d done something to you, you were sure of it. What really wasn’t normal either was how you’d fallen right into her trap for the thousandth time, slipping on your shoes and bolting out the door as you went chasing after the high you so badly craved.

Chasing Jinx.

You don’t remember the walk—just neon lights streaking past, nausea curling in your gut, legs moving like muscle memory. You needed no directions, no thought process on how to get to her, it was as if it was second nature to you. By the time you got to Jinx’s place, your jaw was so tense it ached, knuckles white as you stare at the familiar door in front of you.

You knock at first.

Once. Twice.

…Nothing.

You know she’s inside, you can fucking feel her. That same buzz was louder now, sharper, causing you to flinch as your frustrations grew. It’s like she was already controlling you again, waking up the parts of you that were numb without her.

You pound your fist at the door. “Jinx!”

Silence. The same silence that was tearing you apart these past couple days.

You let out a low growl as you roll your neck, channeling all the strength you had. The next thing you know, your shoulder is slamming into her door. Once, twice, you put your whole strength into the third hit, cracking it open with a violent snap, body thrown onto the floor as you make it inside.

There she was, sprawled out across the couch like you weren’t a thought that even crossed her mind. Like she wasn’t the reason you’d felt like you were coming off of hard drugs, hanging on by a mere thread. Her discolored socked feet were on the coffee table, hair braided messily, spinning a screwdriver in her hand.

“You always were dramatic, weren’t you, toots?” Jinx didn’t even bother to turn around to make sure it was you and not some random. It was always you. She spoke while focused on the tool in her hand, her voice sparking a fire in your lower stomach, heart stuttering as rage and slight relief hit you all at once.

You groaned as you picked yourself up, room spinning as her aroma swirled around you, body swaying from side to side. “This—” Your voice shakes, sentence broken up by your pants. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”

She turned around, still on the couch, head resting on her arms as her eyes followed your movements. “Duh.”

She was calm, cruelly calm. Like she’d seen this crash coming and just let it happen. As if you hadn’t just broken past her door, as if her strung-out ex situationship wasn’t about to relapse right in the middle of her living room.

“You just… let me go.”

“Mhhhmm…”

“Knowing I’d get like this?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” She started, pointing the screwdriver at you. “Right again, doll face!”

Your eyebrows threaded together, face scrunched up in anger. “I thought I was fucking dying.”

“You looked okay to me. Walked away just fine, in fact.” She paused, her head tilting at you. “Well, not now. Now you just look like shit.”

Your hands curled up into fists, whole body shivering as your blood boiled underneath your skin—the two parts of you that held anger and longing mixing into one. You wanted her to touch you, to crawl under her skin, to be greedy and taste her until you forgot your own name. To completely drown in her, to be full of nothing but Jinx. And yet, the other wanted to tear her fucking throat out for doing whatever this was to you—for circling you around time and time again knowing you’d come back.

“What did you do to me?”

Jinx sighed, tossing the tool to the side as she jumped over the back of the couch, starting to walk slow circles around you. “What did I do to you? Hmm, let’s see…”

She stopped in front of you—…except for a flicker. For half a second, there were two of her. One real, one maniacally laughing at your desperation. You blinked it away, breath hitching. “Ooo, I know, I know!”

Caught in your hallucinations, you were suddenly pushed into the wall, landing with a hard slam! The wind was knocked out of you, coughing and gasping for air as she positioned herself in front of you, caging you in with a leg between your thighs as her hands gripped the wall.

“I kissed you,” She started, her voice quiet yet full of manipulation. “And I let you fuck me. I gave you what you begged for, and now you’re blaming me because you can’t handle the comedown?”

You blinked at her, eyes darting back and forth as you tried to piece it all together. She rolled her eyes, smacking her lips at your confusion. “Use that pretty little head of yours for a second and think. What courses through my veins, is part of my entire being, hm?”

…Shimmer.

That word hits you like punch to the stomach, letting out a sharp gasp at the realization.

No fucking way.

Her eyes were locked onto yours, staring deep into your soul, it was almost terrifying how hypnotic they were. She was watching you unravel, slowly realize how fucked you truly were. You lost hope, she could see it in your pupils, how the light dimmed from them. She saw the second your mind shut off, letting her have complete control over you.

She had all the power now, and you’d come to realize that. Just a second ago you were dying to throw a punch at her, yet now you could feel yourself melting into nothing. Feel your mouth watering at her pheromones, smell the shimmer coming out of all the sweat glands that were opening up as a sweat tear rolled down her cheek, the only thing you wanted to do was reach over and lick it off, savoring her in your mouth.

“This is fucked,” You whisper, like it’s a secret. Like your late realizations of the truth are something to be ashamed of. “This isn’t normal.”

“No,” Jinx murmurs, her eyes softening and voice melting in your mind like honey. “It’s not.” Her finger tilted your jaw up, forcing you to focus on nothing but her. As if your mind wasn’t already taken over by Jinx, as if she didn’t know she owned you the second she separated her lips in the first kiss you two shared. “But you don’t want normal, do you?”

You hate her. You really fucking hate her. But you’re already leaning forward, chasing her breath, the scent of her skin. Already aching like a dog in heat, eyes tearing up from her slight touch. Her hand tightly gripped onto your face. “You want me.”

Her face leaned in closer to yours, knees buckled and wobbly, every nerve in your body screaming, breath quivering from her touch. Your hands instinctively gripped onto her shirt, pulling her in even closer. You needed her so badly you’d lost all sense of yourself, letting out a whimper as her lips hovered over yours, her knee pressing into the evidence of your neediness—the damp spot left between your thighs.

“Say it,” Jinx whispered. “Say you need me.”

She waits. Not impatient—no, she’s expectant. Like she’s done this before. Like she always knew this moment would come.

You hesitate, just for a second. This interaction was different from the other times, this meant something. You were practically letting her leash you down, about to tell her that she owned you for the rest of your life if she wanted. In that moment, it sounded like a dream come true. As sick and pathetic as it was, you only wanted your shimmer fix from her, and you knew nothing else would satisfy. You wanted her to spread her thighs in your face, her clear yet slightly purple hued wetness waiting for you every time you needed it, lapping it all up as she moaned out your name. Gods, your mouth watered at the mere thought of it.

Fuck it.

“I need you, Jinx, please,” You croak, voice wrecked, tears blurring your vision as they spilled down your cheeks. “Please fix me. It fuckin’ hurts—hurts s’bad—I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking live. Please give yourself to me, please.”

And just like that, a toothy grin raised on her face, eyes lighting up in violet flames. She was more than content, she was ecstatic, immediately softening her grip on your face as she cupped your cheeks with both hands. “There we go, that’s a good girl,” She praised, wiping your tears away with her thumbs as a broken sob escaped your lips. “You really thought you could quit me? How adorable.”

She pressed her thumb pressing against your lips to prevent you from speaking. Something had taken over your mind at this point, the disgusting desire controlled you now. So when your tongue wrapped around her digit, pulling it in your mouth to savor her sweet and saltiness, you didn’t even fight against it. Your eyes rolled back at the taste, hips immediately bucking against her thigh. Your sensitive clit ached at the friction, feeling your juices leak out of you as a muffled moan vibrated against her skin, dribbles of your drool dripping off her hand.

Jinx’s eyes widened at the sight of your desperation, never seeing this side of you before. Of course you’d come crawling back time and time again, but this? This was submission. This was saying, ‘Put that fucking collar on me, name tag and all.’ She smirked wildly, letting out a snicker before speaking.

“Look at you,” she cooed. “Drooling all over me. You’re obsessed, aren’t you, pretty thing?” She teased, pulling her thumb away before going to close the broken door the best she could. She then gripped onto your shirt collar, dragging you to the couch as she threw herself on it. You don’t even flinch or fight against her.

“On your knees, junkie.” You don’t hesitate now, don’t bother to resist, not that you wanted to. You’d crawl for her if she asked you to. Your knees hit the cold floor, fingers twitching as you impatiently waited for her instructions. She began to unbuckle her belt, her pants coming undone.

“You need me so badly?” She tugged them down, leaving her in nothing but lacey black panties, your eyes tracing her bright blue happy trail as far down as it’d go. She began to manspread in your face, her wetness already spilling out of her undies. Your mouth watered, nails digging into your thighs as your breath hitched at the sight. You belonged here—made to be owned by her, to depend on no one else but Jinx.

“Show me.”

[jinjooha69]

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (Dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

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Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Degrading talk, Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

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Chapter 1

The rain hadn’t stopped since late afternoon—gentle at first, then louder, heavier, drumming steady on the roof. The sky outside had gone all dull and bluish-grey, like someone turned the world’s brightness down. You sat curled on the living room sofa, legs tucked under you, your sundress brushing against your knees. The smell of rain mixed with the faint aroma of roasted chicken from the kitchen. Warm. Familiar.

Your dad had been in a good mood all day. He kept checking the clock, humming tunelessly under his breath. Something about an old friend coming over. "Haven’t seen him in years," he’d said. You barely remembered the name—Toji. He used to come around when you were little. You had this vague memory of a man who brought you candy once. Big hands. A low voice. That was about it.

The doorbell rang.

Your dad perked up, grinning like a kid. “That’s him!”

You stayed where you were, half-watching some rerun on TV, half-daydreaming, listening to the door swing open.

“Toji, you bastard!” your dad’s voice boomed with laughter. “You made it through the rain.”

And then he walked in.

You glanced up casually—and froze for a moment.

He wasn’t how you remembered at all. The man in the doorway looked like he belonged on a billboard for a gym or something. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, rain still dripping off his hair. Grey sweats hung low on his hips. His smile was lazy, but not arrogant. He had a calmness to him—solid, grounded.

You didn’t stare long. Just a blink, maybe two. Then you looked away, back at the TV, pretending you didn’t notice anything weird. You didn’t know why your throat felt tight.

“This is her?” he asked your dad. His voice hadn’t changed. Deep. Low. Rough around the edges.

“Yep. She was only ten the last time you saw her.”

“Damn. She’s all grown up now.” His tone was casual. Not weird. Just… surprised.

You smiled awkwardly when he said hi, gave a little wave. You didn’t know what to say. He seemed nice. Polite. Probably just being friendly. Maybe he was staring a little, but maybe not. You were probably imagining it.

---

Later, at dinner

He sat across from you at the table. Not next to you, not too close. Just across. Your dad was doing most of the talking anyway, filling the room with stories and laughter.

Toji listened. Quiet. Smiling sometimes. He only asked you a few questions—how was college, what did you like to study. You answered, soft and brief, eyes mostly on your plate.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes drifted to the curve of your throat when you swallowed.

You didn’t catch the way his fingers lingered near yours when he passed the salt.

You didn’t hear how his voice dipped just a little lower when he spoke to you, quieter than how he spoke to your dad.

Because in your mind, he was just… Toji. Your dad’s friend. A nice man who used to bring you candy. Well He was Handsome. Tall. Muscular. Attractive. Maybe a little intense, but he hadn’t said anything weird.

So you didn’t think much of it when he said, “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You just blinked and smiled, bashfully. “Um… thanks?”

Your dad was already halfway through his third beer, slurring slightly. Toji glanced at him once, then back at you, and just smiled again.

You thought it was just a nice night.

You had no idea.

---

It was one of those slow Saturdays. The kind that feels stuck in syrup—cloudy skies, lazy breeze coming in through half-open windows, and your dad snoring on the recliner like he was being paid for it. Toji had been around since afternoon, lounging around the house like he belonged there, like he'd never left in the first place.

Your dad had pulled out his usual stash—whiskey he “only drinks with close ones,” which you knew just meant anyone willing to stay and listen to him ramble. Toji played along like always—quiet, attentive, letting your dad do most of the talking, just adding in a word or two when he had to. The two of them had been laughing and pouring drinks for hours.

Now your dad was passed out on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, the glass still half full on the coffee table. You stood in the kitchen, rinsing out your own cup, keeping your head low. You weren’t really in the mood to talk.

But Toji didn’t leave.

He sat at the dining table, one elbow resting lazily against it, nursing his drink. You felt him watching you—again. Not intensely. Not weird. Just... steady.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer right away. The faucet ran too loud. You turned it off slowly, drying your hands on a towel, then leaned your hip against the counter.

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

He hummed, like he didn’t believe it but wasn’t going to push too hard. The kind of sound people make when they’ve been around enough messes to recognize one when they see it.

“You don’t talk much,” he said after a pause, lifting the glass to his lips. “You used to talk a lot when you were little.”

You looked at him then. He wasn’t teasing. Just observing. Like he actually remembered.

“I guess I had less to say back then,” you murmured.

Toji raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “Or more people who listened.”

That one hit a little too close, and for some reason, it loosened something in your chest.

You sighed, walking over slowly and pulling out the chair opposite him. You didn’t sit like you normally would—not with that bounce or energy. You just lowered yourself quietly, fingers curled in your lap, shoulders drawn a little tight.

He poured you a drink without asking. Just a little bit. Just enough to warm your throat. You didn’t normally drink, but tonight your chest felt too full. You accepted it wordlessly.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he said after a few minutes.

You didn’t look at him. You just nodded, swallowing down the sting behind your eyes again.

“Boy trouble?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh, short and bitter. “That obvious?”

“To someone who’s been through enough of it, yeah.”

There was no pressure in his voice. No smugness. No curiosity for the drama. Just… space. A gentle offer to unload if you needed it. And you did.

So you talked.

Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just the bare bones of it—how he’d cheated. How you found out. How he didn’t even bother denying it, like he’d been waiting to be caught. How it made you feel stupid. Replaceable. Like something that could be tossed and picked back up if he ever got bored.

Toji didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his eyes on you, his drink untouched. That stillness in him made you feel safe somehow. Like he wasn't there to fix anything—just to witness it.

“That’s messed up,” he said quietly when you stopped talking.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

You looked up at him then. He wasn’t looking away. He was serious. And warm. And weirdly kind, in that quiet, heavy way men like him sometimes are when they aren’t performing for anyone. His voice was lower now, softer, like he didn’t want to scare you off.

“You’re too soft for people like that,” he added, eyes dragging across your face slowly. “Too trusting.”

You looked down at your glass, cheeks heating for no reason you could name. “Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“No,” he said, not even hesitating. “You’re just young. You’ll figure it out.”

The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did, but they did. You swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered. “I just… keep thinking if I was prettier, or sexier, or—”

“Don’t do that,” he cut in, voice low and firm. “It’s not you. It’s him.”

You looked at him again. His expression hadn’t changed. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something deeper. Something you didn’t understand.

“You’re more than enough,” he said. “More than you even realize.”

Silence sat thick between you for a moment. Not awkward. Just... charged. You didn’t know why your chest felt like it was tightening. Why his words made your throat close up.

Maybe it was the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about your ex. Like he was seeing something in you that you hadn’t even noticed yourself.

You blinked hard, looking away. “Thanks.”

He stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a low scrape. You thought he might walk away. But instead, he moved to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, then walked over to you and gently set it in front of you.

“Drink this,” he said, voice back to that calm, grounding tone. “And go get some rest.”

You nodded, fingers curling around the cool glass.

As he turned to walk out of the room, he paused for a beat, his back half-turned.

“You ever need to talk again,” he said, not looking at you, “don’t wait for your dad to invite me over.”

And then he left. Quiet as rain.

next chapter

.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Halazia❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers

✫彡wordcount: 10k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: talk of virginity and sex, kissing, drinking wine, manipulative hwa and joong take advantage of drunk reader (ONLY by drinking from her), a few mentions of death of a family member

➯a/n: wwwah im scared to let you guys down, i hope you enjoy !!

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @kllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝I promise.❞𖤐

     𖤐 It was late fall. You were twelve years old.

    The water was cold between your fingers. The grass was soft as you laid on your stomach.

    You were all alone.

    The rest of the village was gathered together, celebrating the life of your recently departed mother.

    But you did not feel like celebrating. You only felt like dunking your head in the water and screaming until you ran out of air.

     When you sat up to do so, a familiar presence had stopped you before you could.

     "Go away, Mingi..." You already knew it was the invisible man. You didn't have to look or ask.

    The grass beside you sunk as his unperceivable form took a seat next to you.

"You're in pain. Has someone harmed you-"

"I said go aw-"

"I will do no such thing." You were shocked at his sudden stern tone. In the years that he's haunted both your dreams and your waking hours, he's always been soft spoken towards you. "I will do no such thing," he repeated a bit softer when he sensed your unease, "I will not leave your side when you are in such pain. Pray tell me, what has hurt you?"

You looked towards the water. The river where he had first came to you, that day you were learning how to fish from your mother. "I cannot speak it aloud... it's too horrible."

You felt his cold hand on your back, you felt him looking at you. You pulled your knees up and hugged them to your chest.

"Your mother?" He asked gently, getting his answer when you began to sob immediately. "Oh, sweet child," his ghostly embrace was more comforting than you felt it should have been; but you took what you could get. "I wish I was here with you. One day I will hug you and make all of your pain go away. I promise." 𖤐

"Did you hear me?" Wooyoung reaches across the gap between his horse and your and Hongjoong's, flicking your arm.

"Owwww," you draw on dramatically, "what was that for?"

You had been journeying with the Vampires for twelve days. Despite your initial efforts to distance yourself, to build a metaphorical wall between you and the trio, you started opening up to them around the eight day mark.

You no longer flinched from every touch, but you certainly didn't search them out. You didn't keep your answers to their questions to one or two words anymore, but you didn't offer them anything unprompted.

"I said we have about another three hours before we reach the castle," he repeats what you missed while you were stuck in your own memories, "do you need to stop for a little bit?"

"Oh," you shake your head, "no, I'm okay. Thank you, My Lord."

Hongjoong hums from behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Your hips must be aching by now, you are still not used to being on horseback."

"I can bare it," you sigh, fidgeting with the bandage on your hand. "My Lords, might I ask a question?"

"Didn't you just?" Yunho, from his own horse in front of you, smiles over his shoulder, "of course, speak freely amongst us."

"Well," you take a breath. You don't know if you really want the answer. Because you're afraid. But going in blind is worse. "What will happen when we arrive to the castle?"

"No need to be frightened." Yunho speaks softly — and you don't have to ask how he knows you're scared. After almost two weeks with the councilmen and their subordinates, you know they can hear your heartbeat quickening no matter how steady you try to keep it with deep breaths. "We will call upon the rest of our soulmates, if they don't greet us when we arrive."

"That's very well but..."

"But...?" Wooyoung mimics you, tilting his head.

"Will... uhm, forgive me for being so crass, My Lords, but will they drink from me like you did?" You really don't want them to. Even though you were beginning to form a sort of trust with the trio, the times they fed from you over the past days always left you feeling queasy.

It was nowhere near as bad as the first time, when you had nearly passed out from the blood loss, but it still leaves you feeling dizzy and oddly warm.

You don't want that feeling from anyone, really. It feels sinful. The warmth in your body feels like it taints your soul. At least with the three of them, you have some sort of idea what to expect. Again, you have the beginnings of trust with them. They always ask for permission after the first day in the church. And you always grant it because something deep inside of you feels... sad at the thought of denying them.

Yunho is the gentlest, but he has the biggest thirst. Perhaps he's careful with you on purpose because he knows that you'll be losing a lot of blood. After you offer up your wrist to him, he kisses your forehead before taking as little as possible — which for him is still... a fair amount.

Hongjoong falls somewhere in the middle. He prefers your neck, which you had found always makes you dizzy the fastest, and left you feeling the warmest. He likes to feed at night; he climbs on top of you when everyone besides the designated guard is asleep and the only thing you see when awakening at the feeling of his lips on your throat is his glowing eyes.

Wooyoung... well, for a lack of better words; Wooyoung is feral. He's only fed from you twice since the day in the church because he knows that he can't handle it — he knows he can't stop himself. Maybe going hand in hand with that, feeding into it, is the fact that he waits until his hands are shaking and his throat is bone dry to feed from you because he's so afraid to harm you. When he finally does ask, and you remove your cloak; he doesn't have any preference or favorite. He tackles you and holds you tightly as he feeds from you, moaning and growling all the while.

If Yunho's soft kiss of gratitude leaves you warm, if Hongjoong's preference for your neck makes you hot — Wooyoung's begging eyes and bestial noises throw a match into your very being and set you ablaze.

But it's been two days since any of them last sunk their fangs into you, and you've connected the reasoning as to why. Wooyoung said the High King has a "large appetite" and Manon was making sure you were very hydrated.

You aren't an idiot.

They're preparing you to be sucked dry.

"Not all at once, no," Hongjoong reassures you with a soft squeeze to your hip. "Since we're already more used to your scent, we will make sure they stay in line. Though..." You can tell he doesn't want to tell you this next part, but he does anyway, "I will tell you that I have never known the High King to wait for anything he wants, and he will want you immediately."

He can hear you gulp. Your heartbeat rattling your rib cage. "I will make sure he's gentle, little one. No harm will come to you. I promise."

𖤐❝It is you.❞𖤐

To say that the castle is imposing would be an understatement. You can almost feel all of the darkness wafting off of the expansive building as you grow ever closer.

When you came up the large hill it was situated upon, a bell had started ringing. You didn't have to be told that the sound was to tell others of the return of the councilmen. Others that include the High King and the rest of his council.

   Hongjoong squeezes your hip gently as he hears your heartbeat speeding up.

There's a parade of servants that are lined up by the main doors, all bowing as your entourage finally arrives right in front of the castle.

"Rise." Is all that Hongjoong says, and they all snap into action; running to help the others in tending to the horses or carrying bags.

He jumps down and points to one of them, beckoning him forward. The servant bows, "thank Th-"

    "No time for formalities. Yes, 'thank The Goddess, My Lords have returned safely', blah blah blah. Listen closely. Gather the others. Gather the King. Tell them we have found her."

    Hongjoong watches the boys eyes widen, and follows his gaze. Wooyoung is helping you down, holding you upright as you stumble.

     The Lieutenant looks back to the boy, "did I say stare at her?"

    "Apologies, Lord Kim-"

    "No. I didn't. Hurry now, they have waited long enough."

    The boy disappears before his eyes, nothing but a blur as he hurries to inform the rest of the royals.

    "I told you we should have stopped," he hears Yunho chastise you as he approaches, grabbing the bag of your possessions. They made it painfully clear when someone else tried to carry your things at an early stop in a city — don't do that.

    "I'm fine, really, Lord Jeong," your rebuttal is dulled by the way you cling to Wooyoung for support.

   "Mhm," Hongjoong manages to make his hum the most sarcastic noise on the face of the planet, and smirks as you throw a measly glare his way.

    "You should have a warm bath to soothe your hips-"

     "They're ready for you, My Lords," the boy Hongjoong had sent was already back, panting as he bows.

    "You're fast," Hongjoong smiles, patting his shoulder as he passes, "good job, kid."

    As Wooyoung helps you towards the open doors, the now smiling boy bows once again. When you bow back weakly; the healer yanks you back up. Before you have the chance to question him, the sounds of the castle overwhelm you. 

    It's bustling with life, or rather with undeath, at the return of the councilmen and the quick spreading information that they have come back with their soulmate.

    People are running around, bowing and reuniting and talking amongst themselves. While you feel a lot of eyes on you, wherever you look the person is always quickly looking down and bending at their waist as you pass with Wooyoung on one side of you and Yunho on the other.

    You try to take in everything going on around you, you glance at all of the grandeur with awe in your eyes that makes the Vampires smile. They know you've never left your village before they arrived and effectively stole you away; and they've taken great pleasure in showing you all kinds of things at every opportunity, every city that you passed through.

    "-had better be important." Someone's sleepy grumble breaks your inspection of the walls and their decorations as Hongjoong throws open a door.

    "Family!" He smiles brightly, earning another groan.

    "How can you possibly be so energetic after such a journey?"

    Wooyoung helps you up the small step into the room, and the idle chatter stops. When Yunho closes the door to the room behind you, it cuts off the lively noise of the castle.

    The room must be a meeting area. Almost all of the space is taken up by an enormous table, nine chairs around it.

    "Dear Goddess..." Your eyes flick to the man who spoke. He has hair that matches Yunho, a light blue. He feels... familiar. He's looking at you like he's looking past your skin, into your soul.

    Because he is.

   He barely even registers that you've grown up, that you look almost entirely different. Because your soul looks exactly the same even as the years have worn down the edges of it. "(Y/n)?"

    The others look between you.

  You hold onto Wooyoung's sleeve as your gut fills with unease, not enjoying their eyes on you one bit.

    "This is her." Hongjoong pulls back a chair and sits back with a wide smirk. "This is our soulmate."

    The room explodes with action.

    You're yanked from Wooyoung's side, into the arms of a buff man. "I knew it! I knew we would find you! Oh, you're so soft," he's nearly purring in your ear, holding you tightly as your feet hover above the ground.

    Two of them are asking a million questions at once, directed towards you and towards the trio that is responsible for finding you.

    The familiar man slaps his hands together and starts praying, thanking The Goddess in jumbled and hurried words.

    At the head of the table, the Vampire with pink hair lets his jaw drop. "...What?"

    The chaos continues, questions flying and making your head hurt even though you don't even try to answer them.

    "Quiet!" The pink haired man bellows, and everyone stills effectively immediately. The man with his arms around you tightens his grip.

    You've already made a guess, and it's proven right. This is the High King. You don't dare look at him after all of the rumors you've heard. It was frightening enough when some of the ones you've heard about the Lieutenant were proven right.

    Those about Lord Kim were almost harmless. Those about High King Park Seonghwa are anything but.

   "Let the girl down," he orders, and the man does so carefully. Yunho is there to steady you, leading your cowering form to the only empty seat beside his own.

    Across the table from Seonghwa, at the other end of the giant table. The distance doesn't provide much comfort when you know just how fast they can move.

    As you sit, Wooyoung speaks with a grin, "isn't she precious?" Hongjoong swears that there's stars in the younger man's eyes, and he can't blame him at all. 

    "Your name is (Y/n)?" Seonghwa ignores his words, looking at you closely and listening to your racing heartbeat.

     "Yes, My King." You whisper, digging your nails into the wooden armrests. You had imagined a thousand different ways this would go if the High King didn't approve of having you as a soulmate. It didn't matter how attached his loyal councilmen were to you if he didn't want you around.

    "It's her. It's her, I have no doubt-" Mingi's voice is cut off by the rushing wind as Seonghwa all but teleports to the other side of the table.

    You yelp as his face is suddenly in the crook of your neck. He sniffs deeply, and grabs onto the armrests next to your hands. You slam your eyes shut, forcing yourself to tilt your head back in submission. He lets out a pleased groan, inching closer.

   The rest watch on, the trio who's already experienced it sharing a smirk as they watch the eldest Vampires skin come in contact with yours.

    The tip of his nose touches your neck and his lips widen in a cheshire grin. A million sparks travel through your body from the contact point. "It is you."

   He leans back, licking his lips. They can all tell he wants to have a taste. The glint in his eyes is undeniable.

   But, much to their surprise, he doesn't. He's holding back. He never holds back.

   He's back in his seat, breathing deeply and swallowing before he speaks. "Might you explain what happened, Hongjoong?"

    As he does, you take a sneaking glance at each of the council. Every time, you're caught — but it doesn't stop you. Especially because they meet your gaze with bright smiles. The only one you don't look at is Seonghwa.

    "You've already been feeding on her?" Yeosang, you've learned, has a small pout as Wooyoung lets slip a comment about how good you taste; and the other two agree with breakneck speed.

     "Have you no self control?" San, ironically the one who grabbed you, slaps Wooyoung's arm.

    "No, no," Hongjoong shakes his hands, "the myths are true. A soulmates blood is... it's a drug. She's a drug. None of you would be able to resist either."

 

     Seonghwa tuts his tongue, "I find that hard to believe." No, he doesn't. Even just smelling your blood through your skin had his fingers itching to grab you and never let go.

    He looks to you. You don't meet his gaze even though he knows you can feel it. "Did they hurt you in their haste?"

    "No, My King."

    Yunho holds back a chuckle at your formality with the man. You were like that with him not too long ago.

   "I don't believe it, either. No body can make a Vampire lose control by their smell alone. Especially not any of us," Jongho takes a deep inhalation, trying to get a whiff.

    Mingi hasn't taken his eyes off of you the entire time. He's afraid that if he even blinks that he will wake up from this dream.

   "She can." Wooyoung stands quickly, turning and rummaging in a drawer. "Here." He's next to you, a needle in between his fingers.

You take it slowly, looking up at him with your brows pinched together in confusion. Then, it dawns on you. "Lord Jung, no-"

"Yes. Prove to them that The Goddess has crafted you just for us. Even the blood that pumps from your heart is created with our souls in mind."

You look to Hongjoong. He promised no harm would come to you, and this seemed like a surefire way to get yourself bitten. But he nods.

You feel like you've never been so exposed in your life.

   There's eight pairs of eyes on you, each of which belonging to a Vampire more frightening than the last one you look at.

    As you scan the royals slowly, your hand starts trembling. "Do- do I have to, My Lords?"

    "Yes," Yunho meets your gaze as you come back to him quickly after taking a peek at the High King. "It's okay ba." He's taken up your dialect in your two weeks together. It makes you slightly less nervous. "We won't let them get out of control."

You take a deep breath and look down at your hands. You pinch the needle tighter and bite your tongue as you prick your finger.

You know realistically that this is a horrid idea. But you seem to trust the three men enough to purposely make yourself bleed in a room full of bloodthirsty strangers.

The reaction is instant and intense, just as it was in the church. San is held back from literally climbing over the table by his belt. Yeosang is sucking in shaking breaths through his mouth, forcing himself to look away. Jongho, the youngest, is slammed back into his chair as he growls and fights against the Lieutenant. Mingi slaps a hand over his mouth, but his eyes still never leave you even as they morph into a crimson color that shows his desires. Wooyoung is smirking as he holds back Seonghwa by his shoulders.

"Please, please," Jongho pleads, meeting your shock widened eyes.

Is he... pleading with you?

"Just a lick," he pants, his red eyes filled with hunger and primal want, "just one?"

"We told you," Hongjoong giggles at the youngests pout, "she's nearly irresistible. Yunho," he nods to the taller man; and he gets the message.

"No!" San whines, a legitimate sorrow in his voice as Yunho leans over and licks the blood from the tip of your finger. He groans as he falls back into his chair defeated, Seonghwa and Jongho following suit.

The lot of them are breathing heavily, purposely to get the remaining scent of your blood or unintentionally from the ton of bloodlust they were just smacked with that was unlike anything they've ever experienced.

You cower in the chair, gulping past the lump in your throat. You were certain that something would go horribly wrong, but the trio held true to their promises to keep you fairly safe.

"I-" The King stutters, gripping the edge of the table with a vengeance. "I should... we should..."

"Take your time, Hwa," Hongjoong chuckles, reaching over and rubbing your arm gently —

"Welcome home, little one."

𖤐❝She is delicate compared to us.❞𖤐

       Seonghwa sits back on his throne slowly, grabbing the sides with trembling hands. He's deeply regretting not sinking his teeth into you, but he knows that this is a... delicate situation.

    When he had found the rest of his soulmates, they were already turned. And while their blood tasted good, it wasn't nearly as tempting as whatever divine curse you are.

    He's been waiting since the day he was born to finally be complete. Now he has all eight of his soulmates under the same roof and he let you be lead away to rest — to rest! He should be worshipping you right now! 

     "Ymanya!" He yells loudly, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

    "Yes, My King?" The elderly looking woman bows as she quickly runs to the throne.

    "I have a new job for you."

    "A job, King?"

    "Yes, a promotion. You are no longer the manager of the staff," he leans back and crosses his legs as he looks down at her. "This job is much more important, so I need you to listen closely, yes?"

     "Of course."

    "You will be the keeper of the Lady of Halazia."

   "The Lady?! You finally found her?" She clasps her hands together, tilting her head back in a short prayer.

     "Indeed, and she is a human," he thinks back to you, your image is haunting him, "she... she is delicate compared to us. I am placing her under your care. If harm is to befall her in any way when we are not present — any manner at all, I will hold you personally responsible. If she trips and falls, I will push you down the stairs. If she gets a cold, I will make you sleep outside. Should she go hungry, you will not even see a drop of blood for weeks. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

    "Yes, My King," she nods, "you needn't worry. I will take the utmost care of the Lady."

     "Good. You are my most capable servant, have I told you that before?" He half-smiles, watching her return the favor.

   "Many times, King."

    "Make sure that it keeps true. We have waited a long time for her, make her feel welcome. Have Gele accompany you, as well. She is good with humans."

   When she bows and turns to leave, he calls out before she can —

    "One more thing, Ymanya."

    "Yes, My King?"

    "Report back to me with what you learn about her. I want to know everything about our Lady."

𖤐❝Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?❞𖤐

    Clang!

   "Gele, be careful."

You stir at the sound of footsteps around you; groaning as you nuzzle deeper into the pillow.

"Shh, don't wake the Lady." The soft voice whispers, "Lord Jeong will have our heads."

You sit up quickly as you realize where you are.

The chambers they provided you with are bigger than your entire home back in Caethnor.

After being led to them by a servant, who was (very threateningly) told to treat you with the utmost respect, you were left alone for a while.

You did not mind one single bit. It was the first time you had been alone for more than fifteen minutes in days.

You had sat down on edge the large bed and hummed. It was... very comfortable. Just to feel it, you thought as you laid back — and then you were promptly asleep.

By the look of the sun casting the startled strangers in the golden hour light, that had to have been a few hours ago.

The two women jump back, one of them clutching an empty bucket to her chest tightly, "ah!"

"What are you doing?" You scramble to your knife, gripping the handle when the older looking woman speaks.

"Oh, My Lady please! Please, don't fret! Lord Jeong sent us to fill you a bath," she explains quickly, raising her hands to show you that she means no harm.

You eye them frantically, the bucket and the fact that they seem dressed like the other servants you had seen corroborate with her words. You let go of the dagger on your boot and bow to them, "sorry, you startled me."

    When you come back up, they look completely in shock. "...Is something the matter?"

    "My Lady, you needn't bow to us," the younger girl with red hair shakes her head, "you are our superior."

    You rub your eye as you slide to the edge of the bed, "what?" You must still be foggy with sleep. 

    "Oh, Gele," the older woman turns to the redhead, "she was a common villager, she does not know these things! My apologies," she turns back to you, smiling sweetly, "this all must be very drastically different for you."

    "Uhm," you clear your throat. It's the first time someone has acknowledged that. "I suppose it is."

    "Here, come with me, child," she approaches slowly and waits for you to grasp her hand. "My name is Ymanya, this here is Gele." She explains softly as you take her wrinkled hand, standing to follow her. "We will be your maids."

    "I do not think I will need any maids..."

    "Then our jobs should be easy," Gele giggles lightly as she sets the bucket down, testing the temperature of the water in the tub that they had managed to fill without waking you.

    It was only separated from the rest of the chamber by a folding screen, and you almost wonder how they managed such a task before you remember how little sleep you had gotten on the journey.

    "Forgive my bluntness," Ymanya hums before going on, "but the Lords have hand picked us to care for you, and we must do our very best to please them. They have told us they will have nothing but perfection when it comes to your wellbeing." She can sense your hesitation about having someone doing things for you, and she places a hand on your shoulder, "you can think of us as your assistants. We are here to make your life easier, My Lady."

    You can't think of anything that you can't do on your own — but you know that it's probably a useless task to argue with the council. "Must you call me that if we will be so close?"

     "What else would we call you?" Gele asks as she settles on the stool in the area.

    "My name, I would think," you laugh a bit, watching Ymanya reach into a cabinet and retrieve a towel.

    "The Lords have told us to only refer-"

    "Well, what they don't know won't kill them." You sigh, "please, when it is just us; don't use that ridiculous title. I'm not a Lady." 

    It's their turn to be hesitant, thinking over whether or not this is a test. "You are," Ymanya nods, "you are The Lady of Halazia now. You're fated to the most powerful men in the realm, we should address you with respect."

    You shake your head, having a hard time grasping the concept. You are no Lady, you're just a nun from Caethnor. "Respect should be earned-"

    "My Lady (Y/n)," Gele perks up, gesturing towards you, "that might please both you and our Lords. Is that okay?"

    "I... well, I suppose that's better." You give her a smile, "I am okay with that. Should the Lords have a problem with it, I will try to tell them such."

    You jump when Ymanya's hand comes in contact with the back of your dress. "Actually!" You turn around quickly, "this is one task I would much rather do on my own." You ramble out quickly, shaking your head.

    "Of course, Lady (Y/n)," the grey haired woman smiles apologetically, bowing as she ushers the younger girl out, "but I bid you not tell the Lords. We promised Lord Jeong that we would help you. But, I know that it would probably be most uncomfortable for you."

    "It would," you gulp, making the woman chuckle. You're so tremendously different from her Lords. You were born a commoner but you were fated for royalty... it might be nice to have someone like you in the castle. "I will not tell if you don't."

   "A deal, then." She steps forward again and takes your hands, looking at you sincerely, "I hope to help you adjust to life here, Lady (Y/n). I know it is all a lot of change... but you seem like a strong girl. Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?"

      "Thank you, Ymanya," you squeeze her hands gently. She has an aura of nurture around her, you don't even care that her hands are freezing cold. She's a warm person.

     "We have all waited a long time for you," she looks down, squeezing your hands back, "I am glad to have you join us, My Lady (Y/n)."

𖤐❝I should educate you quickly.❞𖤐

     "Lady (Y/n)?" Gele knocks on the wall next to the screen divider, hovering just outside of it.

    "Yes?" You hum from the water. You should thank them for working so fast to get the hot water in the tub, it feels wonderful on your sore muscles. It's a pleasant feeling to truly wash yourself, not just clean up in whatever body of water you could find. 

    "The Lords Choi have requested your presence in the dining hall after you are finished, should I tell them you accept?" 

    "Uhm..." You sit up in the water, pushing back your hair, "which ones is that, Gele?"

    "The Lords? The Choi brothers, San and Jongho."

     They were both having to be held back, if you recall correctly — and you do. You aren't entirely sure if you want to be alone with them-

    "My Lady, if I may..."

    "Yes, what it is?"

     "Lord Kim will also be in attendance, if that eases your anxieties. I know you traveled with him."

   

       It peeves you that it does, in fact, ease some of your worries. With a sigh of trepidation, you go against your want to just crawl back into the bed and tell her, "yes, tell them I will join them, please."

     "Right away, Lady (Y/n)." 

You hear the click-clack of her shoes and the soft closing of the door, waiting for it to clunk into place before you stand and carefully pull yourself out of the tub.

This place compared to everything you've ever known is like comparing night and day.

You've never known anything besides your little home, and here you are in chambers big enough to put your house inside of; with people calling you 'Lady' and luxuries that you didn't even think of when you thought of how royals might live.

As you dry yourself with the ridiculously soft fabric, you hear the door open again. Ymanya's voice follows, "yes, place them just over there on the bed. The Lady will go through them."

"Shall I take her measureme-"

"Not tonight, she has had rough travels. We will-"

"Ymanya?" You call softly, wrapping the fabric around you tightly at the sound of an unfamiliar man's voice.

"Yes, My Lady?" She responds quickly, shooing the man out of the room and closing the door behind him.

"Who was that?"

"The royal tailor, he has brought some gowns for you. Might I help you get dressed?" She stops just outside of the divider, remembering that you aren't just any Lady or Lord she's served. You aren't used to having people wait on you.

"Gowns? What about my clothes, where are they?" You peek your head out the side of the screen, jumping back when you come face to face with the elderly woman.

"Apologies," she bows a bit as she backs up, "they are being cleaned. And the Lords have had these dresses prepared for a long time, it would greatly please them if you wore one." She looks at you in a way that tells you it's probably a smart idea to start pleasing them; eyes flicking between you and the pile of clothing. "Would you like me to help you pick one?"

Begrudgingly, you step out from behind the privacy barrier and hold the fabric around you tightly. "I suppose so."

She goes through them as she hangs them up in the large wooden closet in the room. They all look like they'll fit you, maybe a few adjustments needed to be perfect — but that isn't what makes you hesitate to pick.

What gives you pause, is the fact that they are all so clearly made for a proper Lady. Supported bodices and flared sleeves and frills and lace corsets in the backs of most of them. Even the basic white shift and stockings you now had on were made of what feels like heaven against your skin.

"Please, My Lady," she sighs, "I know that you probably have never worn such gowns, but I fear the Lords will grow impatient."

You trill your lips as you look over them again. You certainly don't want to make them wait even longer, so you force yourself to choose. "This one."

You can't lie and say it isn't beautiful, because it is. The deep purple fabric has swirling flowers embroidered on the skirt, and the black bodice is meant to be tightened with the matching ribbon that weaves in the back of the torso. But it's meant to be worn by royalty, and you feel far from worthy.

She helps you slip the fabric over your head and smoothes out the skirt with a small smile, "have you ever had your hair done, Lady (Y/n)?" She asks as she comes behind you and begins tightening the built in corset.

   "Not since I was a child, no..."

    "Allow me to do it, come," she leads you quickly to the short chair by the vanity and sits you down. "A Lady should always have her hair done, that is one thing I must insist on." She jokes lightly, carefully combing through your hair.

    "Only because you insist." And only because it reminds you of a simpler time, when your mother would sit you in her lap and put intricate traditional braids in your hair. "May I ask you a question, Ymanya?"

    "Of course, My Lady. I will answer any questions you have."

    "Is there any traditions in Halazia that I should be aware of? I didn't have the best education on those kinds of things."

    "Oh, there is many. Too many to tell you them all now, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can ask the Lords to provide you a tutor — if you want, of course."

    You hum in response, fingers tracing the frill of lace on your sleeve. "Well, any that I should know tonight?"

    She thinks for a moment, her hands pausing as something comes to mind. "Well... perhaps one that I should warn you of."

    "Warn?" You look up to her, eyebrows raised.

   "It's not so much of a tradition as it is... as it is just something that happens. Just something the K-" The smell of your fear is growing as she speaks, and she figures she should stop lest the King have her head if he smells it as well. But you look so pure and... you remind her of someone. She wants you to have a fighting chance; not be smacked in the face with what the night has in store for you. "I'm sorry, My Lady, might I ask you somewhat of an improper question?"

    "Improper how...?"

   "Lady, forgive me, but are you a virgin?"

   "What?!" You squeal, eyes widened at such a sudden and personal question. "I- What kind-"

    "Lady (Y/n), please answer the question."

    You turn back around in the chair quickly. "I... I am."

    That changes just about everything. She needs to tell them, and fast. "Do you know... do you know how those things happen?"

    "Ymanya, please! This is much too scandalous to speak so freely of..."

    She sighs, going back to fixing your hair as she speaks, "in your village, perhaps. But in Halazia, we speak rather plainly about sex. The Lords are often seen kissing and," she clears her throat, "kissing among other things around the castle. It is not taboo here."

    "Why are you telling me this?" You ask shortly. You want this conversation to be over. Because you had just imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing each other, and it gave you the same heat in your body that you felt after they drank from you. You need to pray after conjuring such a sinful scene.

    "I would like to warn you, because I can tell you are pure of soul and of body... the Lords do not only have a strong craving for blood."

    You hesitate to ask, but you feel you must.

    "Meaning what exactly?"

    "Meaning; perhaps if you do not know what to expect, I should educate you quickly."

𖤐❝What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?❞𖤐

Your heart is pounding wildly, despite the fact that you have now been sitting down for a few minutes.

The large dining hall was empty, and that somehow made the situation worse. Now you had to sit in silence as you thought over everything that Ymanya told you as she finished your hair and led you to the room.

Wooyoung conveniently left out the fact that the Kings large appetite was not limited to blood when you spoke all those nights ago. Ymanya filled in that missing information with the fact that he had ravaged each of his soulmates the night he found them, and their sounds traveled through the whole castle.

And she was regretful to tell you that she expected no different in his treatment of you. She did, however, tell you that she would try to speak with the King and get him to be gentle. She had been serving the castle since before he was crowned, you had learned along with the barrage of information. He trusted her word and took her advice on things to do with staff and care of the estate.

"Your heart is about to beat out of your chest." Hongjoong's voice spooks you into jumping up from the chair. He's entered along with San and Jongho... and Seonghwa. If the King is here, Ymanya hasn't gotten to speak to him.

If it wasn't before, it certainly is now.

"Hey, what's the matter with you, little one?" He asks softly as he joins your side, carefully lowering you back into the seat. "Has something happened?"

"Uh," you shake your head, trembling, "no. No, My Lord, my apologies. I don't mean to worry you."

"What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?"

"Are you frightened of us?" San asks quietly as he takes a seat across from you. "Because you needn't be."

"I'm sorry, My Lords, I am just anxious..."

   "Hmm," Hongjoong pouts as he eyes you, "what for? Didn't I say I would take care of you?"

     "Yes, Lord, but-"

     "Then don't fret." He leans and pulls you forward gently, kissing your forehead. "You have no reason to be anxious. Let's enjoy a meal with our soulmates."

𖤐❝I promise myself to you.❞𖤐

     You had blissfully forgotten all of your worries as you spoke with the men, as you ate together.

    You had forgotten most of your fear of the man with pink hair who sat at the head of the table. He's still undeniably intimidating, even as he watches you and the brothers exchange stories with a small smile.

You had, that is, until the sound of hurried footsteps and a voice rang out. "High King!"

Ymanya is bowing repeatedly as she hurries into the room, and seeing her suddenly reminds you why you were freaking out when you sat down.

He doesn't even look away from you as he addresses her. "Is this important, Ymanya?"

"Yes, My King. It is most urgent. I deeply apologize for disturbing you, but I have-"

He looks towards her with a glare, and she stops her rambling. "Then, what is so important that you must barge in here?"

"I'm sorry, My King. Might I speak with you in the-"

"Speak here."

All of your eyes are on her now, and she meets your gaze. Yours isn't annoyed or curious like theirs. Yours is wide and nervous. You shake your head quickly.

Having your maid tell one man that you were a virgin so that he didn't hurt you was one thing. Having her speak it in front of four of them would make you want to disappear from embarrassment.

"Out with it, Ymanya."

"Don't," you manage to squeak as she opens your mouth. "Ymanya, don't."

She looks between the two of you. His gaze demanding and dark, yours scared and embarrassed.

San tilts his head as he leans forward, "Ymanya, you know better than to keep secrets from us."

"O-of course, my Lord, I-"

"Ymanya, please!" You grab Hongjoong's arm as you stand, gripping his sleeve as you look to him, "tell her to stop, Lord Kim. I beg."

"Enough of this!" Seonghwa shouts; slamming his hands on the table, sending you flying into Hongjoongs lap to cower. "Enough. There will be no more of this. If Ymanya knows something important enough to interrupt us, I will know what."

Hongjoong wraps his arms around your trembling figure, "Seonghwa, you are frightening her." He whispers in the tense silence.

"Perhaps you should just speak, Ymanya," Jongho says slowly, placing a hand on Seonghwa's shoulder to ground him.

"I-" She bows deeply, "I'm very sorry My Lady (Y/n). I must tell him. I do not wish for you to be harmed. Your embarrassment will pass."

"Why would I harm her?" He snarls, approaching her slowly. He towers over her, glaring down.

"My King," she looks away from you and towards the floor. "The Lady is a virgin. I bid you, please do be gentle with her... I know how you are with your soulmates, My King. I only wish for her soul to remain unharmed — for you not to taint your relationship. This is why I tell you."

It's silence for a long moment. Sill. Everyone unmoving. Your ears are ringing and hot as you feel the brothers looking at you.

"You may leave." Seonghwa says, his voice tense as he makes his way back to his seat. "Thank you, Ymanya."

"Of course, My King. Apologies for interrupting you, My Lords." She pauses at you, you look like you want to bolt; but Hongjoongs arms around you stop you from doing so. "Forgive me, My Lady."

"Leave now," Hongjoong nods to the doorway, pulling you closer to his chest.

Her footsteps hurry away just as fast as they came.

Silence. Stillness. The air charged with tension.

"Is this true?" Seonghwa speaks up, eyes back on you and unmoving once more. "You are a virgin?"

You nod, just barely.

"Speak, girl."

"Seonghwa, she's embarrassed, leave her be-" Jongho is cut off your yelp as you're suddenly pulled from Hongjoong's lap.

The King has you pressed to the wall by your shoulders, holding you against it as he looks into your very soul; his eyes red. "Speak."

"Yes." You whimper, looking away quickly.

"How is that possible?"

"Because she hasn't had sex yet, dumbass," Hongjoong joins his side, looking down at you with a small smirk.

"But you're so beautiful." He whispers, his eyebrows pushed together as he inspects you. "How did nobody take you yet?"

"It... it is not done in my village, My King. We wait for our soulmates..."

He bites his lip, taking a few deep breaths.

"Not at all?" San asks as he and Jongho join the elder Vampires in crowding you.

"Not even hand stuff?" Jongho looks, arguably, a little too eager — his previous ideal of letting you have space is gone.

"H-hand stuff?" You gulp, flinching when Seonghwa all but falls onto you. His head on your shoulder and his body pressed against you as he lets out a groan.

"You've never..." Hongjoong trails off, moving his head side to side as he thinks of the words, "touched anyone? A cock? A pussy, maybe?"

"Lord Kim!" You gasp, scandalized, "don't say such things! Of course I haven't touched-" You clear your throat, fidgeting against Seonghwa's weight. "No, I haven't. What is the great big deal? I'm already embarrassed, you needn't tease me."

"Oh, this isn't even close to teasing," San smirks, leaning against the wall next to you. "Wait until Wooyoung finds out, that will be teasing."

"You're going to tell everyone?" You pout, already knowing that, if they're making a big deal of this, the others certainly will as well.

"We have to, little one. Otherwise they might jump your bones before we can do the ceremony."

"Ceremony? What ceremony? I don't want to-"

"You must," Seonghwa growls from your neck, startling you, "we must. When a Vampire takes a virgin, it is different. It is not just simply sex. Because the veil of our souls is thinner, our souls will touch when I... when..." He pants, his hands grabbing your hips. "Oh, Goddess, give me strength..."

"We will wait until you are ready," Jongho quickly soothes any fear of being forced into a literal soul shaking ceremony, "otherwise, the bond between your souls will be tainted. And — we don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

   That's a little bit of hypocrisy when you're still pinned to the wall.

"It's that powerful?" You ask with wide eyes, fiddling with your sleeves. Talk about pressure. You had a friend who told you losing your virginity was scary, and your fear has been multiplied.

"Indeed, it is," Hongjoong reaches and strokes the back of Seonghwa's head from where it's still buried in your neck. "It's the greatest honor for a Vampire to take someone's virginity. That's why people always sacrifice virgins to us, but really we never care. We don't touch them, it's too intimate."

     "Please," Seonghwa whispers mumbled, his lips electrifying your skin, "promise yourself to me. I can make you feel so good when the day comes. I can show you pleasure that you never even dreamt of."

    Hongjoong and San share a smirk as they hear your heartbeat thudding faster and faster and faster.

    None of them were able to resist Seonghwa when they first came to the castle. Wooyoung was the fastest to cave; he let the older Vampire take him on the stairs, he was so fired up. Yeosang held out the longest, he was the shyest, but still he only held out a measly month and a half.

   Nobody can resist Seonghwa.

    Not even you. It's a mix of anticipation and fear which makes you speak —

   "I promise myself to you."

𖤐❝It aches in my bones.❞𖤐

     "This place truly never ends, does it?"

   You follow Gele the next morning, taking in every little detail as she slowly shows you around.

    "It is... expansive," she giggles, opening up yet another door that leads to yet another never ending hall. "This is the- oh, Lord Song." She bows quickly, drawing your attention towards the man.

   "My Lord." You bow as well, greeting the blue haired man.

    "Ah, what good timing! I was on my way to your chambers," he smiles at you as you rise, his eyes bright in the morning sun that filters through the large windows.

   "Really? What for, Lord?"

   "I feel as if we have much to discuss. Gele, if you'll leave us." The woman pauses, taking a look towards you. When he clears his throat, she's quick to disappear.

    "Come," he takes your hand and leads you back the way you came. The tingles make your fingers twitch, but you don't let go. "How are you finding your way so far, (Y/n)?"

    "Good, I suppose. Thank you, My Lor-"

   "You needn't be so formal with me. We know each other!" He throws another smile your way. "Wooyoung told me that you remember me. I'm glad."

    "Oh, yes," you nod lightly, "I remember... some. Mostly from my early teenage years."

    "I have always been there," he admits quickly as you enter the hall in which your chambers reside, "I tried to check on you at least once a day, even if I didn't show myself."

    "Seriously?" You ask jaw-dropped as he opens the door.

    "Indeed. How do you find your chambers?"

    His quick change of subject catches you off guard, "uhm... good! Very good, My Lor-"

   "Mingi." He corrects you quickly, hesitating to let go of your hand.

He looks around the room as if to inspect it. "I haven't been here in some years... not since I lost contact with you. I couldn't bare it."

     "Has this-" You hesitate, watching him closely as he takes a seat on the vanity stool.

   "Oh, go ahead! I'm sure you have many questions, and I will give you many answers."

   You lower yourself onto the end of the bed, looking around the large chambers. "Has this room always been for me?"

    "For a very long time." He nods, somewhat of a nostalgic look overcoming him. "After the first time you heard me, we had it renovated. We were sure that you could be joining us any day. We had no idea we would have to wait so long."

   "Oh..." You nod, not knowing exactly what to say to him. You feel a bit guilty for whatever reason.

    "I used to come here everyday and pray that The Goddess would keep you safe. But, after I could no longer find you, I must admit... I lost my faith for a while."

   "Might I ask," you start softly, "how did you manage to lose me? Lord Jung told me that you were veil walking, and I'm afraid I don't know much about that, but... it seems odd for it to just stop."

    "Oh, well, I am no walker. I'm just a seer, The Goddess blesses me with visions. After you were born, I felt it — well, we all felt it but I felt it. I felt your soul come into creation. And I begged The Goddess to show you to me, but... all I ever got was blurry images. I learned how to veil walk so that I could find you. Yunho tried, but his soul isn't strong enough for such powers."

    You listen to him closely as he continues. "Veil walking is always easier when you are presenting to a child. Their souls are more- more uhm... susceptible. I thought it would be different for us, because we're soulmates. But I think I lost you when you reached womanhood."

    You think back to the time. It was around your first blood that he no longer appeared to you. "Oh, yes. That must have been it. I was no longer a child..."

    "Must have been." He hums, tilting his head, "why do you ask? Seems an odd thing to be curious about with so much more going on."

    Why did you ask? You wonder to yourself for a moment before it suddenly dawns on you. "I do believe I missed you."

    His eyes widen ever so slightly, his heart starts beating a little faster. "You did?"

   "It's odd but-" you swallow, looking away, "you came to be a sort of comfort to me. Especially after my mother passed. I felt terribly alone... but you were always there. I could feel you even when you didn't speak. I started to think you were my guardian angel."

    There's a pause between you, and you look up to see tears forming in his eyes. "Did I say some-"

    "Might I give you that hug now?" His eyes are begging. His entire being wants to embrace you. To hold your body and not just hover over your soul like he was forced to do as he watched you grow up.

    "Yes." You say before you can think.

    "I have missed you, too." He tackles you onto the bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly and your arms quickly giving him the same treatment; albeit weaker.

"My soul craves you in a way that aches. It aches in my bones. When I could no longer see you, I was a mess — I could not sleep, I would not eat, I-" You lean your head onto his shoulder and he sighs softly, holding you closer.

     It feels so... right. Like you were made to embrace one another.

    "I am happy to see you again, Mingi."

𖤐❝You can handle one more glass, can't you?❞𖤐

    "Are you not eating, My King?" You ask as you note his lack of a plate. The others are all eating along side you.

    "Not yet," he grins lightly, standing to pour you some more wine. You've already had three glasses.

    "Oh, My King, I don't usually drink so much-"

    "Well, this is a celebration, isn't it?" He hums while filling your cup, "our first meal together as a completed soul. It's an occasion to drink." He sits back down, holding his cup to yours, "cheers."

    You take a breath as you clink your glass to his, "cheers." If they keep up this pace of refilling your wine every time you take a sip, you'll have to be carried back to your chambers. You would already have to be shown the way, no chance you could find your way back through all the twists and turns while your head was so light. 

     So light, in fact, that you fail to notice that the King doesn't even drink from his glass. You fail to notice his ever present gaze on you.

    He said he would wait for you to be ready for intimacy — he said no such thing about waiting to feed on you. He's a patient man, yes. But also one with an insatiable hunger.

    He has to have at least a sip of blood a day. Usually he doesn't care from who. But since he had smelled your blood, everything else tasted... off.

    He doesn't indulge much in food like the others, only things he liked when he was living. But even his favorite food made him sick. His body only wants you.

    "You'll have to teach me sometime," you bow to Yeosang with a slight slur in your voice, "archery is one thing I never did pick up."

    "But she can fish like nobodies business!" Wooyoung chuckles, leaning his head on your shoulder; similarly inebriated. For every glass you had drunk, he drunk about three. Vampires have fast metabolism, you suppose. "She spears them with a stick! How badass is that?"

    You laugh as you lean your head on his, and the sound of your joy has hearts beating all around the table. "I can teach you someday, if you like. I know something that My Lord doesn't," you giggle drunkenly.

    "I would like to learn," San pipes up with a smile, "I can teach you something in return! Woodworking, forgery, armory, sewing, you name it."

    "You do all of those?" You ask in awe, usually a worker might know one or two; but then, he has been around a long time. He has had time to master multiple skills.

    "Oh, yeah," Hongjoong throws his arm around the man, "Sannie is our jack of all trades." He smiles brightly, kissing his cheek.

    You've quickly gotten used to their public displays of affection, it was clear that they had no qualms in showing their love for one another.

    And it didn't bother you. You had thought that it might, being that even married couples didn't show much affection where you are from.

   "Yunho mi," you call to the man, "I have a question."

    "Ask away, (Y/n) mi," he smiles, leaning his head onto his hand.

    "How do you make the fire?"

   "The fire?" He smirks as he conjures a small flame at his finger tip.

    The look of your shock earns you a few laughs. "Yes! How?"

    "Magic," he shrugs nonchalantly, "I can do all sorts of things. I can show you, but I'm afraid it can't be taught. You'll have to stick to San and Yeosang for learning new things."

    "Oh, I would love to see," you smile, a sparkle in your eyes that has the man just about ready to show you every trick he knows right here and now.

    You lean back in your chair as a servant reaches for your plate, giving her the room to gather it. "Thank you." She pauses at your words, looking to the closest Lord; who happens to be Wooyoung because he's attached to your hip. He nods, giving her a stern look.

    "Of course, My Lady. You needn't thank me, 'tis my job." She says just above a whisper as she gathers the nearby plates.

"You're so cute," Wooyoung grins as he pulls you over to him and kisses your cheek.

Seonghwa stops the girl when she goes to collect your glass, "let her finish it."

"Of course, My King," she nods, gathering what else she can before leaving with one more glance spared towards you.

     Hongjoong leans forward, topping of your drink even as you gesture for him not to, "you don't need to bow to anyone besides us, you're the Lady of the castle."

    You hold back a groan as you look at the glass. You don't want to be rude. "Lord Kim, I'm should not drink anymore, perhaps someone else-"

"Drink, little one," he's next to you in a second, picking up your cup. "You can handle one more glass, can't you? For me~?"

Oh. Oh, that pesky heat in your skin is back.

"O-okay," you blink up at him, suddenly very still in your seat as he lifts the cup to your lips.

"Chug," he smirks as you take the glass to your lips, never leaving his gaze as you begin to drink.

"Chug, chug, chug," San and Wooyoung chant as you do just that. The others smile as they watch, Mingi whistling in an impressed manner as you keep up with the way Hongjoong tilts the glass.

A drop leaves the corner of your mouth and travels down your neck. Yeosang watches with wide eyes. "Excuse me." Is all he says before he disappears, a suspicious blush on his face.

You swallow the sweet wine quickly as he all but pours it down your throat, keeping your dazed eyes on his; taking in the way the corner of his lips curl up and expose his fangs.

As he moves the empty glass, you go to take a breath — only to be met with his lips on yours.

You squeal in surprise, your hands hesitating before finding purchase on his wrists as he cups your cheeks.

"Oh, he's going to eat her alive," Wooyoung's joke from beside you never reaches your ears.

Hongjoong rests his forehead on yours, taking in your heavy breaths. When you open your eyes, you find that his have turned red. "Let the King and I drink from you." He hums, cradling your heated cheek, "won't you, little one?"

"Yes..." You slur softly, holding his wrists tightly. "Please."

The others are beyond jealous now, but they let it go. Their time will come. They should have pieced together that they were making you drink so much so that you wouldn't feel as much effects of the blood loss that's to come. Sneaky bastards, taking advantage of your naive nature— why didn't they think of that?

   "Come, then," he giggles as he helps up your stumbling figure.

     His plan worked like a charm. After hearing how Seonghwa hadn't fed, he came up with it. He's very observant of you, he knows that even the littlest praise or affection leaves you dazed. That, paired with the ever flowing wine that would also help you start pumping more blood, made you putty in his hands.

    He felt a little bad, but what was he to do?

   You were afraid of Seonghwa, but he had to drink lest he wither away.

    And it's been days since he tasted you, he was starting to get restless.

    It's not their fault your blood is a drug to them.

𖤐❝HALAZIA❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

"I want you to teach me." You whisper as you look up to him. His eyes are still on the pages, but he isn't registering a single word — and you know it. "Please, My Lord. You said that you would teach me anything I wanted to know."

His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

"Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

[lemonsummersoda]

back to friends

rafe cameron x f!reader

summary: you and rafe cameron were something undefined—more than friends, but never lovers. after leaving the outer banks behind, you try to move on at college, but some memories refuse to fade. when you see him again at a party, everything you try to bury rises back to the surface. some love stories never get a name, but they leave a mark. ( 1 )

content warning: slow burn, drug use, overdose, emotional distress, toxic relationships, and family conflict, emotional manipulation, and alcohol consumption. 18+

notes: hello! this is my first time writing, and english is not my first language. i'm still learning, so it might not be perfect—but i hope you enjoy it. feedback is very welcome, and i’d really appreciate it if it’s kind and useful. thank you so much for reading! (I just finished watching Normal People, and I wanted to write something sad 😔)

despite the loud music, everything went silent the moment your eyes met rafe’s.

you didn’t say much to him at first—just listened as he spoke vaguely about what he’d been up to.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” you interrupted, cutting through his laughter.

rafe paused, turning toward you slowly. he raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand.

“I must be very popular, right?” he joked dryly.

you chuckled, cheeks flushed, a little tipsy as you leaned back against the couch.

“No, no, I mean... longer,” you said with a small, mocking smile—not aimed at him, but at yourself.

“Ward Cameron’s son, right?” you asked.

rafe pressed his lips together. he knew you were testing him.

“You must’ve heard about my reputation,” he muttered, gripping his glass tighter.

an awkward silence settled. your friends were listening now.

“I’m Sarah's friends,” you said.

he smiled faintly. “Oh, she never told me anything about you.” he continued to play dumb.

you wanted to laugh at how cold he was pretending to be.

“You really don’t know?” you pressed, pouring yourself another glass of wine and taking a drink. you wiped the stain at the corner of your lips. “how was your life there?”

rafe started breathing heavier. it irritated him—this push, this dig for confession.

“good,” he answered curtly.

you nodded. “How is it good?” you muttered, not waiting for his answer.

“is it good that I always told you I loved you? is it good that I would’ve done anything for you—even pretend we don’t know each other?”

your voice cracked. “is it good that I worry about you, cry for you, scared you’ll die from an overdose?”

rafe stood up abruptly.

“What the HELL is wrong with you?!” he snapped, already on edge.

your friends stared, stunned. they hadn’t known about you and rafe's relationship.

rafe ran a hand through his hair, massaging his temples, before grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. he was furious—furious at you for calling him out, for trying to make him feel.

he led you outside, past the noise, to the sidewalk. the streetlight above cast a warm glow on you both, like you were the leads in some tragic movie.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said, gripping your shoulders—not harshly, but firmly, not letting you run.

you looked at him, shaking your head. “I didn’t do anything,” you said, breath trembling. “I told you before. I won’t forget us.”

you bit your lip, trying to hold it together. “how could you? how could you pretend we didn’t know each other, rafe?”

he was quiet for a moment, then turned away slightly. his hands dropped.

“Just... forget about me, okay?” he said, softer this time. “we need to move on.”

you laughed bitterly. “yeah.. move on.. I don’t even know what I did fucking wrong, rafe.”

your voice cracked as you sobbed. tears were already falling.

“Tell me,” you begged. “what did I do wrong?”

you reached for him, but he pulled away.

“Y/N…” his voice was gentler now. “you deserve a better run. really.”

he looked at you with something close to despair.

you laughed again, broken. you were drunk. tired. heart aching.

“you,” you said, poking his chest. “you’re a piece of shit. I—I hate you so much.”

your voice cracked as more tears spilled.

“and I love you so much..”

you stared at him for a moment longer, then turned and walked back into the party.

rafe stood there, frozen. then slowly sank onto the curb, hugging his knees, burying his face in his hands.

you drank everything you could get your hands on. you just wanted to forget. you stumbled, bumped into people, started flirting, trying to feel something else. anything else.

then someone grabbed your wrist.

It's him.

“you should rest,” rafe said. his voice was quiet, but urgent. he looked worried. genuinely worried.

you tried to pull away. “why do you care?” you slurred. you wiped your tears.

“you’re gonna leave me anyway. just... go.”

those words cut him. deeper than you realized.

he didn’t want to be the one pushing you away, forcing you to forget him anymore.

“Please,” rafe said, wrapping his arms around your waist, steadying you. “let’s go back.”

you leaned into his chest, arms slowly curling around him.

“push me away, then,” you whispered. “show me that you’re done. that you’re angry, tired, and you don’t need me. don’t do this. don’t hold me. don’t worry about me.”

you looked up, eyes filled with tears.

“that gives me hope,” you said. “and I can’t have that.”

he looked into your eyes, and something in him broke.

he slowly raised a hand to your face, brushing away your tears. he never thought of himself as perfect. he wasn’t. he was a mess. on drugs. failing school. failing himself. but you—you were everything. you were light.

he didn’t want to ruin you. but he couldn’t let you go, either.

so he held you tighter, forehead resting gently against yours. his eyes closed.

he kissed your closed eyelids, your cheeks. then finally, softly—your lips.

the crowd was still there, the lights still spinning. but in that moment, it was just the two of you.

and you.. you didn’t know what would happen next. you just knew one thing.

no matter what this relationship looked like—

you would always live in the space of his heart.

Thanks for reading! I know it's toxic, but that's Rafe Cameron..😔

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Till Death Do Us Part II

Part 15 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and inebriation.

NOW

You wake up with a slow sigh, still unaccustomed to this cold feeling despite how long it’s been. You really hadn’t gotten used to sleeping alone in the weeks since your departure from Billy.

The technical term for what you were on was a break. The very sound of the word in your head caused an ache in your chest.

Funny enough, your memory of that night had come back to you a week ago, your brain dredging up every forgotten memory of him in his absence. 

It haunts your dreams now, the way he looked at you as you walked down that aisle, the veil covering your face, appearing pure as though he hadn’t pressed his face between your thighs and made you cum on his tongue repeatedly from the moment you’d left the shop, all the way to the chapel. Beneath the veil your hair had been quite askew, only quickly smoothed over a few minutes before.

The memory makes you smile, his eyes, following your every movement, the dress swishing around your thighs, a bouquet he’d bought for you just moments before- a small collection of succulents- because the roses had looked on the brink of wilting and everything else had been sold at that late hour.

The marriage had been ordained by an Elvis Presley impersonator, cracking jokes more than anything else so of course you’d never have thought that any of this was real.

Absentmindedly, you realise you never had a first dance, and you wonder if that even mattered to Billy at all.

You shake your head, sitting up, you really needed to stop thinking about him. The entire point of this break had been to see if feelings lingered if you were apart, but the very thought of it had seemed stupid right now.

How could you forget him? After all the things he’d done to you, and the ways he’d made up for it. He wasn’t the same man you’d first met, and definitely not the one you initially married. He was something in between, and in some ways, he’d become even more than that.

There was no denying that there was something seriously wrong with you. The reminder of all the ways he’d violated your privacy had given you some sort of comfort, instead of the fear it was supposed to elicit. You wonder if he was monitoring you, even now. Maybe you should have demanded he respect your boundaries. 

What if there was a part of you that wanted him to do it? What was really so wrong with what he'd done?

A laugh punches out of you. Here you were again trying to excuse his actions. He was an obsessive, dangerous manipulator who didn't like taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Your stomach grumbles, and you groan, sliding out of bed to begin your day.

He'd been so kind about the separation too, offering to pay for you to stay at a nearby hotel until you'd made your decision, but it was still too close to him, you'd walk out of your building and find yourself in front of Anvil, aching to go in.

So you'd taken his jet all the way to Singapore, where you'd hoped to find a way to sort through your emotions.

He'd even signed the divorce papers, relinquishing them to you to be filed whenever you made your decision. They were sitting in your carry-on suitcase still, burning a hole into your luggage.

And the ring- you feel your heart squeeze as you look down at your left hand during breakfast at the hotel restaurant and find your finger bare- you'd given him back the ring. The look on his face had almost destroyed you. How could you hurt him so badly?

You could barely eat, and you’d forced yourself to go out and explore the city. Singapore, after all, was one of the best cities to be sad in. There were so many dazzling displays, but you could only tolerate them for as long as you didn’t think about him- because the moment you wondered how his eyes would look, glittering in the city lights, or the way he’d kiss the back of your hand and tug you closer to him- it made you achingly depressed all over again, turning away from the beautiful sights to crawl into your cocoon of a bed, in hopes of a better day tomorrow.

Occasionally, to your dismay, you held onto your pillow and cried. You didn’t know why you were crying, if it was just all the pent up emotions, or maybe something else like a deep hatred for yourself, but you’d fall asleep after a fitful cry, and get up in the morning to do it again.

Your marriage wasn’t over yet, and that was all you had to hold on to, laying in your bathtub after a long day, sipping wine, a calm haze sinking over you after your latest sob fest.

After a while, you stand, grabbing your robe and wrapping it around you, moving on autopilot, the bottle of wine in one hand and the glass in the other. 

When the bottle is halfway finished, you feel your usual craving for some burning hot fries,  your stomach grumbling in agreement at the very thought of it. You sway to the phone on the nearby table, picking it up for a second before hesitating. The low humming on the phone makes you nervous, that you were going to have to speak words to another person while you were in a state like this. You could only imagine the judgement that the person on the other line would pass upon you when you stumbled over your words.

Ugh, you put the phone down, only to pick it up a moment later, calling down for an order of fries before you could overthink it. As you put the phone down, you find yourself studying it hopelessly, remembering the last time you’d handled a landline- when you’d been pretending to call for help with your predator of a husband.

The memory brings a smile to your face, and you flop back into bed, pulling the pillow over your head as the memory makes you warm.

You still had that video on your phone- of your wedding night- would it be so bad to watch it again?

There’s a soft knock on your door. You sit up curiously, tugging the robe tighter around your body to make sure you’re presentable before tugging the door open.

Shit, you totally should have checked the peephole first.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of a hotel attendant, holding out a covered tray with a little paper marker with your room number printed on. You accept the tray gratefully, smiling at the woman in thanks, before stepping back to close the door.

Had your food really been made that fast? You hum eagerly when you tug the lid off to find steaming hot fries, curling up with your bottle of wine and eating them happily.

You wiggle your toes, enjoying your delicious snack, scrolling through social media on the new phone you'd gotten, when you happen across a thirst trap video of Billy.

It makes you laugh at first… the footage of him walking into several events, even before you were with him, stopping, a clear hint of irritation in his eyes that only you could recognize. To everyone else it probably just seemed like he was unbothered, but you could see the barest indication that he hated stopping for photos.

And then you see the shot of you and him standing together, and your stomach tingles. The video zooms in on his facial expression when he turns to look at you, completely cropping out your face but it doesn't abate the delight that you feel, because you know he's looking at you.

It seems that the internet had discovered how hot your husband was, and in a way you were both glad, and a tiny bit miffed that he was being admired.

It doesn't stop you from searching his name up and looking through similar videos, frowning when you catch sight of a few news articles about that night you were abducted… the story slowly going cold as time moved on. Billy had been right, the story would die down when people found other things to talk about. The world, to your amazement, just kept on turning.

You almost broke your no contact rule to send Billy these videos of himself, curious to see his reaction to Britney Spears’ Toxic being played while he walks down a red carpet in slow motion, another shot of him inside the party, having a sip of whiskey, the top button of his black shirt open, that dastardly strand of hair in his face.

Were you wet from this? You shift your body slightly to find that the answer is yes, groaning as you drop into the couch pillows.

Extracting yourself from him was harder than you thought.

.

In the morning, you're doing a little cleaning up when your eyes fall on the empty food tray.

You tilt your head, trying to recall the exact time it took between you calling the hotel restaurant and your food arriving. It must have been five minutes at most. You don't even get food at that speed when you're inside the restaurant, let alone the distance they'd have to travel to get it to you. It implied that someone had to have anticipated your order- and what better suspect was there than the man that had stalked you for years without you knowing.

Was Billy watching you? Like actually watching you? And he'd ordered you warm fries because he knew it was your favorite thing to eat while inebriated-

You groan in delight, dropping onto your bed.

Yeah, definitely something wrong with you. But that was so thoughtful… right?

For the first time since you've been apart, you start to feel a little bit better, and you take your time to explore the city again, thinking about him, and whether he was actually watching you or not.

What if he was following you? It wasn't like him to trail behind you like that- at least, not that you knew of- but maybe absence had made his heart grow more obsessed?

My poor husband, you think with delight as you duck into back alleys and through malls to see if your thoughts were right. When you see no sign of him, you wonder if you'd fabricated the entire scenario because maybe it was your heart that had grown more obsessed.

You're looking for a place to duck into and hide to see if anyone would show up, when the neon snake catches your eye.

It's a sign for a tattoo shop, and the wheels turn in your head as you walk toward it, feeling impulsive.

Maybe it's the reminder of being chased by him, that inspires you, or the way you feel right now, like you're playing a game of cat and mouse, and at any moment he might step out of the shadows and pull you into him.

Which… might actually be where you want to be?

You leave the tattoo place hours later, looking around as you leave the mall.

It takes you a second to notice, on the bustling streets of Singapore, but you would know the stance of a bodyguard anywhere.

Even in street clothes, they stick out to you, having seen enough in the past few months to identify the squaring of the shoulders, the slow, precise movement of each step. 

You were in fact, being followed, but not by Billy himself, but by his hidden security detail.

Boring, you think, offended.

You were supposed to be on break, but why did that make you want to torment him so much?

How much mischief would it take to provoke him into showing up? 

You were curious to see what he would do, when confronted with your many misdemeanors, fully prepared to have your heart ripped out if he didn't show up.

But he would, wouldn't he?

Even if you never wanted to see him again, he would show up at the first sign of your distress, that was just the kind of obsessed man he was.

It starts with a shopping spree, that doesn't go well at all. There are fits that don't flatter and sizes much too small and at one point you look into your lumpy reflection in a changing room mirror and swear you're never trying on another dress again.

You crash into bed feeling like absolute shit about yourself and trying your hardest not to cry because you've cried a lot already.

You needed help, you couldn't navigate the vastness of Singapore's fashion district all by yourself and you wonder if reaching out to someone would be a good idea.

You sniffle, reaching for your phone to pull up Sam's contact, typing out a quick text asking her if she had any free time to offer some advice.

Her response is quick, and makes you tilt your head in confusion.

Hello Mrs, Russo, I'm on my way! I'll see you in the morning.

You hadn’t even told her where you were. Not to mention, it was almost an entire day of flying to get here from where she was.

I'm not in New York. You text back.

I know ;) Is her suspicious response.

Was she already on a plane? How would she-

You grin, pressing your palm over your eyes. Your husband was paying very close attention to you.

How dare he? You were supposed to be on break. He should be trying to live his life normally, not watching over you like some stalker.

Yet you giggle, kicking your feet as you pull up Maria's contact.

She answers with a soft excited greeting of your name, followed by the usual pleasantries of ‘How are you?’ and ‘I'm great, thanks for asking.’

“I'm just calling to make sure someone's checked in on Billy.” You say, trying to be vague about the details, because Billy had told them you were away visiting your family.

“I saw him on Monday, he was alive, just a little grey you know?”

Over the phone you can hear a whistle blow, followed by soft chatter and you figure she's at one of her son's football practices.

“Grey?” You ask.

Maria hums in agreement, distracted by whatever she's looking at.

“Scruffy, a little pale. I think he just misses you.”

It hurts to hear in a way you weren't familiar with.

“Oh.” Is all you can find yourself to say.

“If you can, would it be possible to check in on him soon? He tells me he's fine, but…”

“I get it, I will, don't worry. I'll see if I can take him a pie or something tomorrow.”

You let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you for everything, Maria.”

I hope we can still be friends when Billy and I separate, you think sadly.

You bid each other goodbye, before hanging up.

Tomorrow you would know for sure where he was, which would tell you the extent of his stalking.

For tonight, you slide into yet another bath, and try not to let your inadequacies swallow you whole.

.

Coming to the nightclub all by yourself was definitely not the best idea you’ve ever come up with.

But still, it was something to do in an attempt to provoke him.

Maria had confirmed just two days ago that Billy was, in fact, still in New York, throwing himself into work with no attempt to take care of himself.

Again, the thought of him like that had really eaten at you, the urge to care for him lingering even though you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a month.

Sam had been sketchy on the details when you’d met her for breakfast that same morning, stating that photos of you spotted in Singapore had come up on some gossip sites, which was how she knew where you were. She’d made it seem like she’d know you’d need her, making plans preemptively just in case you called, and taking a nice vacation if you decided not to reach out to her. 

Which was definitely suspicious, but she was indeed a godsend, navigating through designer boutiques, knowing exactly where to look so that you didn’t try on anything that she wasn’t sure you’d love, even going as far as to advocate for you when a saleswoman told her that there was nothing in your size when they’d thought they’d been out of earshot.

She was amazing, and you think by the end of this, if you decided to stay with Billy, you’d ask her to be your official stylist.

However cool you thought clubs were in New York, could never possibly hope to outdo the magnificence that the nightlife in Singapore could hold. All out was an understatement, with laser strobes and dangling crystal chandeliers, there was a mix of old and new that always managed to amaze you.

You’re seated at the balcony bar, overlooking the revelry going on below, the club is filled with pulsing bodies, the music thrumming in your ears, an enjoyable mix that encourages you to sway your shoulders with each drink you have.

You’re in a short black dress, topped with a fancy designer jacket statement piece on top, to show off your legs while shielding you from feeling too exposed. Your heels were black suede with little buckles around your ankles, a little too high for your liking, but you didn’t mind much because you weren’t doing that much walking.

It was nice, albeit lonely, no one to enjoy it with, all by your lonesome as the bartender stared at you with curious eyes as he slid you another glass of wine.

You must have looked pathetic by yourself, but you really didn’t mind all that much, only here to see if you could draw him out.

You hadn’t considered that sitting by yourself at the bar was something else entirely, until a man slides into the space between you and the other person sitting beside you.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” The man says, smiling down at you.

He’s quite handsome, as almost everyone in a place like this is, with a tightly fitted shirt, and his hair styles to perfection, you watch him signal the bartender for a drink while you study him and decide on a response.

“And if I am?” You ask curiously.

He smiles, looking unbelievably boyish, and yet still stunning.

“Then it’s their loss because I found you first.”

You make a sound of amusement, smiling up, and when you can’t resist, you let out a little laugh.

“Does that line really work?” You can’t seem to stop laughing.

He takes a sip of the whiskey that’s been slid towards him, but it seems forced, as if his order was to impress you more than his desire to enjoy it.

“You tell me. I got to see your pretty smile after all.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, a slither of delight going down your spine at being noticed. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

“I hate to break it to you- um-”

“- Simon,” He offers, taking hold of your free hand to place a soft kiss on the back of it.”

Your brain sort of malfunctions, but not in an excited way, but more in a ‘what-on-earth-is-this-maniac-doing?’ type of way.

“-Simon…” You repeat, “but I’m married.”

His thumb gently circles the back of your hand.

“Are you now? I don’t see a ring.”

Good point.

“W-we’re on a break.” You explain, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to divest this to a stranger.

“He must be an idiot to agree to that. If I had you, I’d fight for you like no tomorrow.”

Which makes you groan internally in disgust. He had no idea the circumstances of your break, and here he was doling out his thoughts that nobody asked for.

“Maybe I’m the wrong one.” You offer, reaching for your glass of wine.

Why is his hand still holding yours? He was trying to be slow and seductive and yet all you were starting to feel was disgust.

His hand trails slowly up to your elbow, dragging the tips of his fingers slowly down your arm again. It felt nice in your buzzed state, but it wasn’t the man you wanted.

“If you’re wrong then I can make you right.”

You laugh into your wine.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ll have to find another girl to charm, I’m not the one for you.”

“So you find me charming?”

Was he even listening to what you were saying? Or was he just trying to say something in hopes that you went home with him?

“Maybe a little,” You answer honestly, “but I meant what I said.”

Your stomach twists as his fingers trail up to your elbow again, this time, he raises his hand to push your hair back, away from your face. You blink, trying not to stiffen in discomfort at the liberties he’s taking.

“You sure? We could-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s being grabbed by his shirt and hauled away. 

You watch the back of one of the burly Anvil guys retreat into the crowd, gripping Simon by his shoulder tightly as they move.

You make a small sound of amusement, watching as their heads disappear, and refocusing as someone else fills the space beside you.

At first you think that it’s Billy, your heart picking up speed as the guy with a similar build and height as your husband steps into view. He’s wearing a black hoodie, pulled up over his head, and a black face mask that you see people sometimes wearing when they ride the buses. He’s facing away from the bar, with that classic Anvil bodyguard stance, and when he sees you looking in his peripherals, he turns his head to look at you, and nods.

Blue eyes. 

Your shoulders drop in disappointment, turning back to face the bar, finishing your wine and raising the glass for another.

“Who are you supposed to be?” You ask, staring at him suspiciously. The Anvil guys don’t usually wear masks.

He turns his head to you, distracted from giving a death glare out at the crowd behind you, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out two cards and extends them toward you.

One is his ID, and the other is an Anvil identification, with his face on it, a scar on the lower half of his face that you figure would draw attention if it was visible.

“Dave?” You say, reading the name aloud, passing the cards back to him.

He nods, his hands are gloved, and you wonder why as he places the cards back into his pocket. 

You exhale loudly, raising your glass to take another sip.

.

When you stand to leave, a little after midnight, you wobble on your feet. Dave reaches out to grip your elbow- you’d shed your jacket after the alcohol had made your skin too warm to bear wearing it.

You make a small laugh, playfully tugging your arm out of his grasp, walking slowly toward the steps, your deathgrip on the railing is necessary, because your vision isn’t the straightest, and when you almost stumble, you find Dave once again in your personal space trying to give you support.

You shove him when you get your balance, but it does nothing more than move him a step back.

“You must not value your hands very much.” You grumble, taking another step down.

Dave is sort of annoying really, with the way he hovers, unlike the Anvil guys before. He seems hellbent on staying two steps behind you at all times, but you find this making you even angrier. Billy had really sent you a babysitter instead of coming himself. 

As the door opens, the flashing of cameras catches your eye, causing you to gasp, stepping back and knocking right into Dave.

His hands grip your hips securely, and you turn to look back at him with wide eyes.

“Is there another exit?” You ask, not wanting to be photographed in this state to be seen by many people, even accidentally.

Dave has another idea, pointing at your jacket so that you pass it to him, he tosses the open garment over your head and shoulders, linking his elbow in yours so that he can guide you.

Your arm wraps around his, inching in close so that you can raise your hand to grip his bicep for support, feeling the muscle below his clothes, making you yearn for the attention of the man that wasn’t here.

He guides you into the car, supporting your hips when your legs wobble, and then you wait for the door to close before you tug your jacket off your head.

The car’s tint is dark, but the minute you’re out of sight, the photographers go back to the entrance of the club, taking pictures of people coming and going.

You sigh, relaxing, and then you straighten when the door opposite to yours opens, and Dave slides in.

It was… very odd. You don’t think Billy would ever allow a bodyguard to sit in the back with you. He’s the kind of man who would fire someone if they looked at you for too long.

Was this a sign? Was he pulling away from you?

You shudder out a breath, staring angrily at Dave, who at least has the decency to pretend he doesn’t notice.

Would Billy really give up so easily? After possibly sending you Sam, and the food from the other night? Had you imagined these things in hopes that he was paying attention to you?

You swallow, trying to hold back tears and wanting to take your anger and despair out on this new bodyguard.

Surely, Billy would remove him from your detail if you flirted with him a little.

“Dave,” You call sweetly, and you watch as he tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement.

You raise one precarious foot, extending on the seat till your heel is almost touching him.

“Will you unbuckle my shoes for me?” 

He seems to hesitate, before nodding, reaching for your ankle with gloved hands, sliding closer till your foot is on his lap. He tries to undo the delicate buckle, but the gloves are too thick to get any sort of dexterity.

You watch with half open eyes as he tugs his gloves off, and then you blink in awareness when you finally see his hands.

The exact same hands that have explored every inch of your body.

How could you not know these hands? That have touched you and held you, the perfect combination of coarse and well-kept, a freckle on the back of his right hand, carefully moving to undo your shoe with such careless precision that your body aches at just the sight of his hands.

But you saw his ID card, comes the voice of logic in your head.

Something that would be easy enough to fake, if this was Billy Russo after all. And the blue eyes? Contacts obviously, and maybe he’d swapped his usual cologne for something generic just to throw you off his scent… literally.

He gets your shoe off, and you tug your foot away, bending the knee to get more comfortable as you place your other leg on his lap.

Even this could be a fabrication in your mind. Did you really know his hands so well? Could you honestly guarantee to yourself that you could pick them out in a lineup?

Maybe you could, maybe you would know him by the touch of his hands alone if you couldn’t see. So distinct it was to you, smooth, with an underlying hint of a rough life, mixed with the careful way he always seemed to handle you, all of it, so alike to him.

When ‘Dave’ gets both your heels off, you smile in thanks, bending your other knee, flashing him your panties as you turn to place your feet back on the floor. 

You hear him inhale sharply, and you smile to yourself, pressing your head against the window, closing your eyes, pretending to be tipsier than you really were so that you could come up with a game plan.

You actually don’t come up with any plan, falling asleep easily, the alcohol in your system pairing with the knowledge that he was here and you could barely keep your eyes open for another second.

You only wake slightly when he’s lifting you out of the SUV.

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, running your hands over the expanse of his shoulders, committing the sensation of him to memory. 

You needed to know for sure, a foolproof piece of evidence that would solidify him as Billy, and not the Dave he claimed to be.

You know his tattoo would be a dead giveaway, but you didn’t want him to figure out you were on to him either. The discovery had to be subtle, distracting him from what you were doing before he realised.

You decide to fake waking up when he steps into the elevator, groaning, you flail angrily in his arms.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” You ask, pushing at him.

He struggles not to drop you as you fight him angrily, tugging at his hoodie, clawing your nails into his collarbone to make a point.

You catch the faintest line of ink on his chest just as he places you down.

You stare at him angrily, wobbling on your feet.

This had to be Billy.

“You’ve got some balls, Dave. It’s a shame Billy’s going to detach them from your body when I ask him to.”

He straightens, a brief hint of amusement before he looks down in apology.

You huff, turning away from him, a combination of inebriation and drowsiness making it really hard to stay standing.

You lean against the wall of the elevator, bare feet on the cold floor, trying to decide what your next move is going to be and frowning when you draw a blank.

You were mad at him, that much you were sure of, and you definitely didn’t want to give away that you knew who he really was.

In the reflection of the elevator doors, you notice your heels dangling from his fingers, the very concept of it making something light up in your brain.

Maybe punishment was in order, for what- you had no idea at the moment- but you wanted to make him squirm.

It’s really fucking hard to make it to your door, and everytime he tries to help you, you smack him away, threatening to have him fired if he put his hands on you again. He never listens, his hands reaching out to grip your hips when you lean too far in one direction.

By sheer willpower you make it to your door, and you huff angrily when the key card refuses to work.

Billy waits patiently this time for you to ask for help, and when you finally turn to him, he’s leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, still wearing that dumb mask and hood.

You grit your teeth, tossing the key card at him, watching as he catches it mid air, which is definitely not what you intended to happen.

He drags it slowly over the sensor once, and the light turns green, you reach for the door handle, pushing it down and stumbling into your room.

You drop your mini clutch onto the marble countertop, bracing against it while you get your bearings.

He’s standing at the door, studying you, and you can hardly bear the sight of his disguise and you don’t understand why.

“Are you a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?” You say snarkily.

He stiffens, taking one step in and letting the door swing shut. He doesn’t move, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for orders.

“Bath.” You rasp, “Please.”

It’s really disrespectful, and you know that, but there’s something about ordering him around that makes you feel good, that maybe he will do anything you say, or maybe he will snap and show you who’s really in charge.

Or the scariest outcome- that he’d leave for good.

He nods, walking to the bathroom and after a few moments, you hear the bath filling with water.

You amble in on jelly legs, sitting on the closed toilet seat to watch him work, holding up bath accoutrements that you’d bought in your time here, silently asking which ones were okay.

When he gets it right, and all that’s left is to get the water filled, you point at the makeup remover and cotton rounds on the sink counter.

“Bring that here.” You say simply.

He picks it up, his hands ungloved, turning to approach you.

You don’t say anything, watching as he extends the products to you, and when you give him a disappointed look, he pulls out a cotton round, putting a liberal amount of makeup remover on it, before he presses two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

You close your eyes, unable to look at him, feeling him gently swipe the cotton over your face, pulling your makeup off gently.

“Thank you, Dave.” You say finally, head lolling into his hand, your face feverish against his palm.

He doesn’t respond, his only answer is slight, barely there caress of his fingers on your cheek before he draws away, heading to the door.

“Wait.” You whisper, watching as he stops in his tracks, hesitating before he turns back to you.

“Dress.” You say simply, standing to give him your back.

Your stomach flutters as you feel him drag the zipper down, the fact that this was really him was messing with you. What would he do if you tried to kiss him?

Would he give in? Or would he uphold the pretense of this ‘Dave’ persona?

When he gets the dress undone, you simply utter the words ‘Get out’ before you’re shedding your clothes and sliding into the bath. 

You almost fall asleep there, but when the water gets too cold, you find the strength to get yourself out, grabbing your robe.

He’s left water and Advil on your nightstand, and you huff, crawling into bed, feeling different than you were before.

.

.

.

[literaphobe]

apparently it's an unpopular opinion but honestly i feel really bad for marinette. you can tell she wants to do right by adrien but hasn't figured out what that is, and other people (gabriel, nathalie, a bit of ivan and that last comment adrien made about remembering a time his father genuinely loved him) keep confusing her every time she tries to unload that burden and just tell him. and the fact that she hasn't old chat noir and the only one she can even talk about it with is nathalie whom she can't be completely candid with and whom i'm not sure she should even be wholeheartedly trusting... like i'm getting anxious just trying to place her point of view.

no i was thinking about this in the shower like SHES ONLY FOURTEEN!!!!!! not only is she expected to make decisions and keep secrets from her boyfriend these same secrets are ones she needs to keep FROM THE WORLD???? and she’s just a kid like what the fuck… it’s low key a haha funny thing in shows like these that the superhero kids r smart and a lot of the adults are kinda dumb but also simultaneously there are EXTREMELY MANIPULATIVE ADULTS here who are fucking everything up!!!! marinette is in MANY WAYS as much of a victim as adrien is in this whole situation because like. yes he did not ask for any of this and it’s so horrid that he does not know the truth and is being indirectly manipulated in the process (forcing himself to believe his dad was good and that he should’ve appreciated him more or tried harder while he was alive etc :()—but at the same time marinette is being somewhat told here HAHAHA FUCK YOU!! if you tell adrien this he’s gonna be so fucking sad and also EVERYONE WILL SHIT ON HIM AND HE WILL BECOME A PUBLIC TARGET. everyone will think he’s just as evil as his dad. everyone will attack him with insults and the press will bombard HIM with questions. his only parental figure left in his life? she’d have to go to JAIL or maybe WORSE if you tell the truth, and no one will be there to raise him!! hah!! and like. this is definitely gradually killing her and eating her up inside and yet she can barely do anything about it because she’s one of the few things adrien has left in his life and if she falls apart because of all this what will be left of him?

at the same time, how long can she keep this up? how many accidental almosts can she endure, in terms of discovering letters gabriel left wanting to turn adrien into the next hawk moth, in terms of alya accidentally discovering these secrets and being SO HORRIFIED she needs that memory erased to carry on?? those same memories that weigh down Marinette’s shoulders every day… how much more can she take?

no matter what she does it’s a lose-lose situation, really. and i think a part of her knows that. it’s just a matter of which loss, and how quickly each plays out

[certifiedsoulstealer]

THE SECOND COMING

( last part ) and possibly an epilogue of Shauna's pov

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Warnings: emotional manipulation, references to trauma, age gap, cult behavior, smoking hot woman.

Reader is 25

They started watching me the way you watch something that might move when your back is turned.

Natalie was the first to say it, low and offhanded to Taissa like the fire would eat her words before they reached me.

“She looks just like her,” she said.

“Not just,” Taissa replied. “It’s in her voice. Her posture. The way she waits before she speaks.”

I wasn’t meant to hear it. But I did.

And it wasn’t the first time I’d been told I moved like a ghost someone forgot to bury.

Lottie began appearing in places before I arrived.

As though she knew my path before I took a step.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

She offered things:

A bowl of tea that smelled like rain and something dead in the soil.

A flower crown, left at the foot of my bed, still damp with morning.

A journal I hadn’t opened, until I saw what was already written inside:

“She’s come back to us.”

I asked her what it meant.

Lottie only smiled, like she’d said too much in another life and learned better this time.

“You were born after,” she murmured, “but the wilderness knew you before. It moves through you like it moved through her.”

She didn’t say who she meant.

My mother.

Or the girl my mother used to be, the one she starved out of herself to survive.

They started calling me Little Shauna when they thought I couldn’t hear.

Even Van, whose grief had softened into something like glass, looked at me too long.

“I keep forgetting,” she said once, “that it’s not her. That it’s you.”

Some nights I’d catch my own reflection and wonder too.

Was I just her shape, walking around with different memories?

Or was I something the forest remembered better than she did?

My mother barely looked at me. Even when we sat close enough for our knees to touch.

I asked her once—soft, so the ache wouldn’t spill over—

“Do you hate me?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said finally.

“You mean I’m not yours?”

She flinched like the fire had spit at her.

“You’re too mine,” she whispered.

She wouldn’t look at me. “You weren’t supposed to carry it,” she said. “That hunger. That silence. You weren’t supposed to feel it the way I did.”

“But I do,” I said. “You knew I did. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

Her silence was heavier than any scream.

I found the letter by accident.

Tucked away in Lottie’s drawer, between dried herbs and dead flower petals.

It was my name in my mother’s handwriting.

A page smudged with meaning.

She frightens me. Not because she’s cruel, but because she’s free. I think she hears it. The wilderness. The wanting. Maybe more clearly than any of us ever did. I can’t love that in her—not without breaking. But I know you can.

I held the paper like a blade careful not to make myself bleed.

She hadn’t saved me.

She hadn’t protected me.

She’d surrendered me to to what, I still don't know

At dawn, I stood at the edge of the woods.

The air hummed. Still and waiting.

Lottie came without a word. She stood beside me like she belonged to the same silence.

“I read it,” I said.

“I know,” she answered.

“She gave me away.”

“No,” Lottie said. “She gave you back.”

“To what?”

“To whatever was already waiting.”

I looked out past the trees, the shadows shifting like they recognized me.

“She couldn’t love the version of me that looked too much like the girl she left behind,” I said.

“She loved her,” Lottie murmured. “But love doesn’t always survive the return.”

We stood there in the soft hush before morning.

“I’m not her,” I said. “I’m not my mother.”

“No,” Lottie said, her voice full of something not quite joy. “You’re what she could’ve become if the wilderness had been allowed to keep her.”

And maybe… maybe it still could.

Later that night, I opened the journal again.

Below the words She’s come back to us, someone had added more.

“Or maybe she never left.”

I stared at it until the ink blurred.

I closed the journal.

And I didn’t sleep.

[honeygrahambitch]

Will walked into the living room without saying a word and placed a bottle of limoncello on the table. He crossed his arms as he waited for a reaction from Hannibal.

"Welcome back. Anything interesting?" He asked as he lowered the book he was reading, looking at Will past the bottle that was evidently obvious.

"I brought limoncello. The best on the island. You are not avoiding it anymore," Will said, the accusation not making Hannibal have any reaction.

"I haven't been avoiding it."

"You like lemons. You like drinks that have a lot of flavor. You like alcohol. You like Italy. What's wrong with it?"

"It is indeed a special one," Hannibal agreed, the weak smile on his face annoying Will even more. "I just don't feel like having it."

"We've been living in Italy for six months. I consumed bottles of limoncello in front of you. You refuse me every single time. It won't kill you," Will insisted as he walked into the kitchen to get glasses.

"I think limoncello is wonderful. I really appreciate it. It's nothing personal, Will."

"Why are you being so enigmatic about it? You can tell me if it makes you sick or stuff like that. Remember when we learnt about my aperol aversion?"

"How could I forget? I loved that particular suit. What a fascinating night." Hannibal said thoughtfully. "It's nothing of that sort. Limoncello doesn't make me sick."

"Perfect. Then we are drinking together tonight. It will go well with the tiramisu you made this morning." He said as he poured the yellow content into the glasses, about two fingers in each.

Hannibal could already feel the sweet perfume in the air. A drink he really used to enjoy. Was it the time to share something with Will?

"There is something very particular about limoncello," he said as he stared at the contents of his glass, "I find it delightful. However, it turns out, I have never been able to build tolerance for it."

Will arched an eyebrow. "There's no way. You are alcohol-resistant. I have only seen you slightly tipsy when we finished three bottles of wine when we got this place."

"I'm surprised you have memories from that night. You blacked out, after all."

"Don't change the subject," Will said while changing the subject, "Limoncello gets you drunk?"

"Yes. And I am not used to the feeling. Especially because I am not really myself when I'm drunk."

As a response, Will pushed the glass towards Hannibal. "You got me curious now. It's a safe space, I am here. Knock yourself out."

"No." Hannibal refused. "I don't know what I am capable of when I have zero control of my prefrontal cortex."

"Well, you murder and cannibalize people when you are in control of your prefrontal cortex. It can't get any worse."

"It will. You won't like it. I am not funny."

"I have a feeling you'd be quite entertaining," Will argued. "I have seen so many sides of you during the last years. I don't hate any of them. And," Will pauses "this is natural, Hannibal. Everyone gets drunk now and then."

Hannibal looked at his glass then at Will, then again at his glass. He was being emotionally manipulated into making himself vulnerable. There was something savory about losing all control in front of Will. At the same time, there was something terrifying in showing Will that side of himself.

"I apologize for my future actions."

(To be continued)

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Per the poll, we're going with "half of Spargus casually parents the boys and Jak doesn't know what to do with that"

Some context: this is set within a half-WIP where I was exploring ways to interpret Ashelin's manipulative little "or did the hero I know die in the desert?"

In this universe, Jak was technically clinically dead for almost 90 seconds because heatstroke is no joke and adding eco imbalance probably makes it worse. He was resuscitated inside the city walls, so the Wastelanders shrug and invoke a law as old as the city: "a "corpse" just took his first breath in our city, that makes him one of us by birth." And then he and Daxter got sent to live in the Arena barracks wing meant for younger Wastelanders (he's not loving it)

Jak was in a bad mood. He'd been up most of the night, dealing with flashbacks, and he was tired. He hadn't finished any of the work he'd been handed so far, and he was supposed to report to Damas in two hours for gods only knew what reason. In the three-odd weeks he and Daxter had been here, he'd spoken to the man all of twice. What had he done? They hadn't even let him go past the gate!

"Jak, you done with the-"

"No," Jak snapped. Immediately, he felt a little bad. Running a hand over his hair he sighed. "...sorry, Daxter."

Daxter narrowed his eyes. "You need a nap."

Jak looked away. It wasn't like he didn't know that. He bit down on a sharp retort.

He hated not finishing a task. It made him feel useless. Like a failure. But he was having so much trouble just. Focusing!

Sitting and tying nets back together was as repetitive as scrubbing the floors back in Sandover -- or the prison, occasionally, when the Baron was coming and the guards had to pretend they actually took care of the facility sometimes. It let Jak's mind wander. In the prison, that was a welcome escape. But after his escape, he didn't like letting his thoughts loose. They tipped into bad memories too often, and trying to remember the good ones was hard.

Right now, all Jak could really think about was the nightmare the morning dorm headcount had woken him from.

The image of Samos glaring down at him, hand on the controls of the Chair, was going to haunt him for a while.

The crews of the Looper, Half-Shark, and Black Eel moved along the beach, monitoring the kids from Dorm Five who had been assigned to help them. They were mostly in their late teens, like Jak, but there were a few unusually small ones -- a thirteen year old, a twelve year old boy and his eight year old brother -- given that they had nowhere else to go. There was a reason the other dorms called Five the Orphanage when they thought the matron couldn't hear them.

Most of the other ten kids were already done, or close to done. And Jak couldn't even do something he used to do all the time as a little kid.

"Y'alright there, sprout?" asked a gruff voice.

The captain of the Half-Shark stopped at the end of the pier with his hands on his hips. When Jak scowled and tangled his fingers in the cords, he made a knowing sound.

"One of those days, huh?"

"What days?" Jak growled.

The grizzled man winked and tapped a finger to his nose.

"Got a visit from the night hag, didn't ya? I won't tell. All sorts of dreams'll put shadows like that under a man's eyes in the night. You can take a break if you need."

"I'm fine."

Jak wove another two rows and knotted them in place. Silently, he willed the man to just go away. The last thing he needed was for any of the others to notice that he wasn't pulling his weight.

He'd never been around this many young people in his life. Ten was bad enough, but there were some hundred or more teenagers all told rotating through the barracks. The noise, the way they all knew each other already, it locked Jak's voice down eight times out of ten. They all stressed him out too much to even consider conversation.

Daxter claimed that he had two rivals and an archnemesis already. Jak didn't want to talk to any of them.

They were normal. Most of them had never been forced labor for a sage or a gangster or a resistance. They'd never been imprisoned, or tortured, or consistently told that if they weren't carrying everyone's burdens, they were worthless.

The only ones who had remotely similar experiences were the three who were rumored to have escaped Marauder slave camps. They didn't speak to anyone but each other, but as soon as he'd arrived they'd seemed to recognize the shadows hanging over Jak. During allotted mealtimes or when they were thrown out into the common area during the chaotically unstructured "free time", the two girls and the younger kid had started sitting silently with their backs to him: keeping watch so he and Daxter could eat. And Jak was not about to ask them what they'd gone through after that kindness.

Matron Pax reassigned Jak from room four to room eight within the week, putting him next door to the pale trio. All the "quiet kids" went on the same end of the hall. He appreciated that the woman paid attention to her charges' personalities, but he could've done without some of her rules.

"It ain't gonna do you no good to run yourself into the ground, son," the captain remarked. He folded his arms. "What's your hurry, anyhow? Ain't like you've got to earn amulets yet."

Jak looked up with incredulous annoyance.

"Yeah we do? We're "newcomers", remember?"

Daxter grimaced. "We don't even know how to drive!"

Captain Oaken raised his hairy eyebrows in surprise. Then understanding settled in.

"Ah don't mind them younger warriors. They're just bein' snots because they gotta earn their citizenship, while you're a born citizen."

Jak recoiled. "I think you've been out in the sun too long. I wasn't born here."

"We think," Daxter added helpfully, "We dunno where they snatched you from. Samos is a lying liar who lies, remember?"

Jak elbowed him and shook his head.

"Your king dragged us here half-dead."

"A good ways more dead than just half, remember?" Oaken corrected.

Suddenly, the midmorning sun felt cold. Slowly, he set the net down and stood up to look the captain in the eyes.

"What?"

"They didn't tell you?"

The captain sounded surprised. He scratched his nose and glanced back at the other teenagers. None of the others were close enough to overhear. Oaken lowered his voice anyway.

"Boy, you was dead dead a quarter of a minute before they got you in the gate. No pulse, not breathing. There was gawkers all over the place while his lordship got your pulse going again. Word got around."

Jak felt sick. Dead? He couldn't have been dead! He wasn't sure if fifteen seconds even counted. His brain would've still been active, right? His brain was still active, and he didn't remember any hypoxia.

Of course, he didn't remember much of anything else, either.

Technicality. It was only a technicality.

Calm down. Calm down, you didn't actually die. He's a fisherman. They tell tall tales. Probably thinks that's supposed to impress me.

"You alright, boy?" Oaken gestured to the pier. "Maybe you oughta sit, huh? You're looking pale."

When Jak only stared at him blankly, he patted the boy's shoulder gingerly.

"Don't let it get to you, eh? They brought you back, and it was inside the city walls. That's the part that matters."

Insane. These people were insane.

But...

If it meant he didn't have to fight to be allowed to stay, if it meant he maybe, hopefully, might actually have rights, maybe he could ignore some of the bizarre tendencies of this city that had...rescued? Captured? Conscripted them?

He never did finish the net. He was completely distracted for the remainder of the morning, wrestling with the implications. Eventually, the warrior on rotation as Dorm Five's resident advisor just excused him to report to the tower.

"What?! He's not even done!"

Luka glared at Jak and Daxter.

"Why does he get to leave early?"

The RA rolled his eyes at Luka.

"Because he got summoned. You could've left by now if you weren't goofing around with the fishhooks instead of cleaning the traps."

Luka sulked, but didn't say anything more about it. Jak fully expected the burly teenager to say something snide about it later that he'd probably have to smack him for. Luka, as he had been assured by the little kid, Koda, didn't like new people in the "orphan hall", and always gave newcomers a hard time. So what else was new.

"Ooooo, he's in trouble," one of the girls snorted in a sing-song voice.

Why were teenagers in Spargus so...childish?

____________________________________

Jak ignored them all. He had to follow a map to get to the citadel, avoiding people as much as possible. He tended to stay away from people anyway, but today especially he just wasn't in the mood for hu'men interaction. The one plus side of getting called up to talk to -- or be talked at by -- the king of this place was that it would probably be quiet.

Anything his dorm...neighbors...or whatever they were...said had to be taken with a heavy grain of salt. But Daxter had heard that the king didn't like more than a few people in a room with him at a time. Either he was paranoid about getting ganged up on, or he just didn't tolerate loitering like Torn.

"Hey, hold up!"

Oh now what?

Jak turned slightly to find a woman with a gunstaff approaching quickly. He tensed, ready for a fight, but she had a fairly casual expression.

In three steps she'd reached them, all while patting her pockets for something.

"Geez, I know the Youth Barracks had a population boom, but you'd think Pax would notice the naked kid."

"Excuse me?!" Jak sputtered, leaning away from her.

With an exclamation of triumph, the warrior produced a somewhat grease-stained rag. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she plucked the cap and goggles from Daxter's head and wrapped the rag around his brow and the back of his neck, just like Jak's scarf. When she deemed the result satisfactory, the warrior slapped the goggles back on him.

"Okay, carry on."

Both boys stared at her.

"What was that?!" Daxter squawked, "Did you just put a grease rag on my head?!"

"Didn't have a handkerchief." The warrior shrugged. "Listen, pipsqueaks, Foothills clan learned a long time ago: fur don't save you from sunburn. You'll thank me later."

Jak exchanged a glance with Daxter. It was true that Daxter's skin had been extra sensitive lately. They'd just assumed it was the heat and sweating. Neither had considered that he could get sunburned.

A little chagrined, Jak looked up at the woman and muttered a quick thanks. He waited, assuming she wanted something in trade. Everyone seemed to barter here, rather than pay in paper orbs.

"Alright, scram," the lady said, waving them off nonchalantly. "You look like you got chores or something. Don't ever say Mel didn't do nothin' for ya, huh?"

Jak didn't speak for the next two turns in the neighborhood. Daxter was more than happy to fill the silence for him.

"Is this what it's like bein' you?" the ottsel asked, hanging over his shoulder, "The eyes all the time? Peeps just comin' up and decidin' stuff about ya? Not that I blame em for lookin, but it does start to wig an ottsel out."

He'd once assumed that being the center of attention was all he really wanted. Even negative attention was still attention, and Daxter had learned every way to provoke people, just so they would have to acknowledge his existence. But now he wondered if there was such a thing as too much of a good thing. Because if he and Jak got into trouble, Jak wasn't the one getting all the consequences anymore. They didn't just tack Daxter on as an accompanying afterthought to "help", no, it was much worse. Matron Pax had proved adept at finding ottsel-sized chores to make him do!

On the one hand, he was being acknowledged as his own person, being nagged at to eat at the same time as everyone else, to stay in his room after lights-out, to go to school (or what passed for school here).

But on the other hand, he couldn't get away with rot anymore!

"I never know what these people want," Jak grumbled as the tower finally came into view. "Are we here to work, or are we being patronized? They're watching us, Dax. I know we're being monitored. There's no way people would randomly stop a stranger to make him fix his scarf."

"Or scold us for carrying three ammo crates at once," Daxter added.

"Or drag us off the street at noon to make us sort beads until noon rest was over," Jak agreed. "Nobody just...does that for strangers. Especially not a city where you're either useful or deadweight."

One more person tried to stop them when they got to the tower. Jak actually remembered this guy's name. Watchman Chayne guarded the elevator up to the throne room. He was a pretty easygoing guy, compared to most Wastelanders. Jak didn't mind him so much.

"Hold it," Chayne signed, raising a brow, "What are you two up to?"

"I dunno, ask Damas," Jak retorted.

"Whatever it was, we didn't do it!" Daxter added quickly, "And I have character witnesses!"

Chayne let out a soft, hissing laugh and waved them into the elevator.

"Oh, your turn for newbie check-in, huh? Just don't mouth off and you'll be fine."

"Define mouthing off," Daxter said, steepling his fingers.

Chayne blinked at him slowly, then looked at Jak, then at Daxter again.

"Godspeed, kid."

Great.

[halfdeadhalfpaniced]

Monkie kid is wasted on the 10 minute toy commercial for children it’s stuck as. I don’t have the energy or skill to write a full rewrite or au right now so here’s some loose ideas for stuff I would add or change:

LBD deserves a full on cult her motivation and villain speech already reminded me a bit of a cult leader and mayors already there so why not just give her a few more goons in the form of some other minor demons and even humans she’s manipulating. It could be difficult for the gang to properly beat these people up because they’ve been brainwashed so they feel a bit bad doing so.

More Mei stuff! She has such an interesting back story being the descendent of Ao Lie why not show how that affects her life more? Show the pressure she’s under and the guilt her family has pushed on her for wanting to be herself! Maybe she has some kind of double life and they don’t even know she’s sneaking out to do things like motorcycle races and extreme sports with a good Mei centric episode showing them finding out somehow and her proving herself to be capable talented and an important part of the team. They don’t completely understand approve or stop working about her but learn she’s an adult who has her own life and as long as she’s still doing some of the important family traditions they can’t really stop her. They still worry but there’s also a deep pride they won’t admit since she’s helping so many people.

Give Macaque AND Wukong more clear fuck ups and motivations for them! I already mentioned giving LBD cult leader charisma and manipulation skills that could be affecting Macaque but make it clear Wukong still holds a grudge too and acts even more irrational and impulsive when Macaque is involved. Show in subtle ways they both deep down still care for each other show the way they’re prior healthy relationship affects them struggling subconsciously to cause proper damage to the other! Show them trying to reason with each other from skewed perspectives and memories of their issues both full of bias and things the other forgot or dismissed as unimportant have them both be unintentionally unreliable narrators of their own lives forced to get a neutral mediator and tons of individual and couples therapy to figure out what actually happened.

Show more demon culture especially in parallel to human culture! Something like how for generations many demons have abandoned or never even engaged in the brutality they as a species are known for just trying to live their life’s without causing problems and distancing themselves from those that do. Many humans still show fear and discrimination towards them but that’s one of the things that makes Pigsys special because it’s owner a pig demon is in a healthy relationship with a human who’s always there so they treat every customer the same and give every paying customer the best possible food they can provide at affordable prices.

Show demons not fully trusting MK because of his ties to Wukong someone who was previously considered a hero for them and a rebel to heavens tyranny but in their eyes ended up turning against them to slaughter their family’s and friends for a monk basically becoming “heavens pet” to them and “cheap entertainment for humanity abandoning those who supported him from the start” or “a sell out who forgot where he came from and wishes you did too” many of which Macaque echos back to him during fights just fueling his perception of Wukong being a heartless traitor.

More of the major demons that actually are problems fully adapting to modern society and using that as a weapon. Opening business running smear campaigns starting gossip ect. Not just physical fights but mind games and playing the game to inconvenience the gang even selling products that cause problems for the city or being celebrity’s or influencers of sorts manipulating the people that way. Stuff like the new mayor diverting funds or canceling a Monkey king festival to use the money for other things like soup kitchens affordable housing or park maintenance because while the gang knows this was done out of spite you can’t really argue about it much because yea those things really did need the money and they are really good things for the community so what’s a few less booths and rides at a festival?

On the mayor make him a genuinely amazing mayor who even loves and is actually great at his job. He’s solving problems charismatic happy and the best the city has had in years. So when the gang does realize he’s an evil demon working for a complete psycho cult leader ( willingly or unwillingly) anything they say just sounds like a crack pot conspiracy theory badmouthing the beloved mayor out of spite or because he decided a monkey king festivities funds could go to helping a community because of course the biggest monkey king fan boy from a loving safe background wouldn’t understand that there are more important things in life!

Connected to a few previous comments but have people who don’t fully support or trust the gang especially MK. Bad newspaper article’s gossip side eye in the streets slanderous social media posts conspiracy theories about him and the gang ect. Just some good old fashion background conflict and drama! Obviously also show all the fans and supporters too like people giving them free stuff or extra business for pigsys but that’s a little bit less fun

I’ll probably post more stuff for this eventually or I’ll answer any questions faster depends what happens first ig

Also Ik I might have torn into Wukong a little bit more after saying they both fucked up but it is so much easier and makes more in the universes content to come up with ideas for him in this since it seems like nobody knows who macaque even is in this world and the centuries of opinions and feelings towards wukong just built more naturally

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

What is true power of Timelord(Doctor especially)?Does he,or other regular Timelord,posses any superpower or skill like Master when he was throwing lightnings or 10thDoctor when he fought with a sword in "Christmas Invasion"?Cause sometimes you have to participate in a direct fight and not all issues can be solved with intelligence,companions or plot twist

What is the true power of a Time Lord?

Let's set expectations early: Time Lords are not Marvel. They don't shoot lasers from their eyes or have the ability to generate bellybutton lint at will (x).

That said, they're not powerless either. Their abilities are just rooted in some biology trickery, psionics, and really aggressive academia.

⚙️ Physical Abilities

Reflexes: Time Lords can perceive in five dimensions. This allows them to anticipate events, movements, and patterns in ways that feel almost precognitive. Combined with faster-than-human reflexes and high neural speed, they can react extremely quickly, enough to swordfight a Sycorax on a spaceship in pyjamas.

Healing: Their bodies are extremely resilient, capable of healing rapidly from injury, and in rare cases, they can even share regenerative energy to heal others, though this cannot resurrect the dead, and comes at a heavy cost.

Stamina & Durability: They don't tire easily, resilient in hostile environments, and are notably difficult to kill. Many master the respiratory bypass system, allowing them to survive without oxygen, and making it extremely annoying to try and suffocate them.

🌀 Psionic Abilities

Telepathy: All Time Lords are mildly telepathic. They can send and receive thoughts, manipulate memories, form psionic links with others, and access minds via physical contact.

Low-Level Telekinesis: Limited to very small objects—game pieces, buttons, the occasional feather. Not battle-worthy, but scandalously underused.

mRNA Memory Access: Yes, if a Time Lord ingests biological matter containing RNA (like, say, a biodata strand or a bit of flesh), they can access that being's memories. Let's all just take a moment to think about that.

⏳ Chrono Abilities

Five-Dimensional Perception: Time Lords exist across, and are aware of, five dimensions. This allows them to perceive time non-linearly, detect anomalies, and occasionally experience flashes of possible futures or lost presents.

Time Sensitivity: They can feel temporal disturbances, like you might feel pressure or heat. This is often described as a hum, a wrongness, or the sensation of being out of sync with the room.

Instinctive Chronology: Most Time Lords have an innate ability to track chronology. They always know when they are, and in most cases, how wrong everything else is.

🧾 Honourable Mentions

Low sleep requirements

Significantly improved senses, including enhanced hearing, sight, and proprioception

Slightly enhanced strength and endurance

Extreme longevity

Regeneration, of course

Higher baseline resistance to radiation, toxins, and temperature changes

Excellent hair

⚡ What about the extremes?

The Master's 'lightning bolts' were the result of a botched regeneration, interrupted by outside forces. What you saw was unstable regenerative energy discharging chaotically, and it's not a standard power set.

Similarly, the Tenth Doctor's glowy floaty moment on the Valiant was a singular event. He spent a year tuning into a mass telepathic network, amplified by the Archangel system, fuelled by the collective attention of the human race. For a brief moment, this allowed him to:

Levitate

Manipulate physical matter (telekinesis)

Manifest shielding

Rapidly heal and de-age

Deliver a well-timed speech about forgiveness

This was not repeatable without a very specific set of circumstances, and definitely not the sort of thing you can just do because you're a Time Lord. That was a one-time paradox-soaked miracle powered by narrative gravity and collective belief.

🏫 So...

Time Lords are powerful—but in the bend-reality-with-an-academic-reference sort of way. Their abilities come from perception, precision, and a lot of cellular firepower, not raw muscle or super abilities.

Related:

📺|🧬👽Some of the weirdest pieces of Gallifreyan biology we've not thought much about

💬|👁️⏲️How do Time Lords see the future?: Overview of the five-dimensional aspect of Time Lords and how they perceive the future.

🤔|🛡️⚡How does healing work in Time Lords and hybrids?: Healing processes with some helpful guides to timeframes.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[vermilionsun]

Demo 2.0 Notes [2]; Oracle Main Route - Leander

! Spoilers, duh

We shoud call Leander and Ais "Long Lads," ha! Not funny? Oka

"Aw, the Amaryllis district- Oh, they changed the curtains. Oh, WAIT they made it... greyer? Aahh.. Makes more sense"

Noting the lilies down for later

[Narrator voice: This right here is the calm before the storm. You can clearly see me completely unprepared for what is about to follow. Innocence is a frail thing, that is easy to corrupt and easier to manipulate. Leader did both.]

Leander, in this demo, is more... captivating. The first things we hear him talking about is joking why he's unfit for the Senobium (all that about paperwork and white robes) ((yeah, sweatpea, they didn't know you'd come out with those massive honkers, OBVIOUSLY the coats don't come in your size smh T-T))

Where do, WHRE DO I START? You can clearly see there is NOTHING left of the silly man we had on the previous demo.

Leander was way less tense, introduced with a magic trick which only served as just that - a showing off.

But here, he's channeling the flower to make a point. From the Eridian's standpoint, he's breaking some kind of 'law' set by the Abbess that refrains mages to cast spells.

And let's take a look at his little speech without the scenery descriptions;

"If you want nothing but guidelines, impractical policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go. But I'm not going to wait for word from on high. And unlike those clerics, I don't need the Abbess's approval to cast a spell or two. These are our streets. We make our own luck here."

He's literally, shamelessly, publically defying her

Side note; "That's the thing about flowers [...] right?" - Was he talking about the MC or himself here?

Okay, ma'am, I'm trynna find a way to, idk, SURVIVE without guilt and fear?

This scene is SO important and I cannot stress this enough

This actually shows how the Bloodhounds Adders take care of eachother. And of course they'd be protective of their leader against outsiders [and we know MC sticks out like a sore thumb]

And Kuras's referall is the thing that gets us to him! It makes much more sense, instead of it being another little fun fact. And also him talking about Kuras like that feels a little...

We also get a taste of the information exchange policy - we look at leander's scar, he looks at our bandages

[this is a little mix-and-match of the options, I apologize]

Kay, so;

He's using himself as an example, telling us the story of his youth and his realisation of the Senobium's unfairness [having, persumably, seen both sides]

He's offering help, and actively proving himself trustworthy

He's painting himself as a saviour, offering the MC "everything they've ever wanted"

Awwww he's such a good and helpful guy! So good and nice!

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

"Two lifetimes," I humbly REFUSE to believe this was just a saying to convince the MC. He's lived twice, has reincarnated with memories, has been necromance-d soMETHING IS FISHY AND IT'S NOT COMING FROM THE RIVER

Aw and our room is so pretty... and messy as fuck.. but totally salvagable and homely sooner or later, right?[!!!]

But... why is the window green? *stares at leander*

[princessluna-writings]

Talking and cloud watching (Conquest + Grandparent!Reader)

You were watering your plants, making sure not to overwater them so the roots don’t rot, you put the now empty cup down on the windowsill and make your way outside to the backyard since that was where Conquest was. You open the door to your backyard and see Conquest staring up at the cloudy sky, most likely cloud watching since it’s a small hobby he picked up from you, you walk up to him and stop when you’re next to him, looking up at the sky as well. “cloud watching, Conquest?” You ask, your voice gentle and friendly, which Conquest liked about you.

Conquest loved and hated how you spoke gently to all, even to those who didn’t respect you, but he still couldn’t believe why you were so nice to him. “Mhm..” he hummed in response, still not letting his guard down around you due to being set on betraying you, “y’know, I’m glad a man as nice as you decided to stay with me, even if you don’t seem fully comfortable with me, I still feel as if I’m doing something good for the world” you smiled softly.

Conquest chuckled softly to himself, such a fool you were, thinking he was a mere man that wanted to be friends with you, hah! The thought you juts innocently thinking he was a friend of yours made him realize that it would be even easier to manipulate you-

“Makes me feel less lonely since my grandchildren don’t talk to me or visit me”

silence.

You can tell you at least got his attention when you can sense his eyes on him.

“I don’t remember the last time we’ve spoken or seen each other. Shoot, I don’t even remember what I did to make them not want to see me anymore.. maybe it’s because I was busy with work in the past but I was practically forced to work more because of my boss, or maybe I said something that stuck to them? I don’t know, it hurts me when I try to look back on memories and realize the most recent age I can remember them being is when they were in their late teens.. I miss them so much..”

You both sit in silence for a few moments before Conquest speaks up, “did you try to communicate with them?” He asks, to which you sigh in response “I’ve tried and yet nothing.. I don’t know if they have blocked me from their cell or are just ignoring me..” Conquest didn’t speak and only looked back up at the sky as he thought about what you told him, you’ve been left alone for years while your grandchildren are possibly somewhere far and aging while you slowly wilt away?

…

What’s this feeling in his chest..

His train of thought was cut off by you pat him on the bicep, “time to go inside, it’s about to rain” you started to walk away and walk back inside of your house as Conquest just stared at you before back at the sky and then back at you and he followed you inside.

‘One more week, I’ll stay for one more week and then destroy everything in sight.’

[winn-wynn]

Percy Weasley au but he got Tom riddle’s diary