#i could never do death threats. but this is so much better.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 13

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; violence & mention of death

notes; hello lovely people, here is the new chapter ! A bit longer than usual but let me tell you that this one is heavy (and I did cut some of it to put it in the next chapter because I was a bit scared that it would be too much for one chapter). Anyways I tried to do a fun chapter, well ... you guys will see with your own eyes that I always need to make things a bit dramatic (only a little °°333). I think it's really the chapter I enjoyed the most writing so far so I hope that you will enjoy reading it <3. See you all next week, love you <333

thank you again @ailoda for you post it made me freaking emotional <333

previous ✧

The warm glow of the living room lights filled the townhouse, casting a cozy ambiance over the gathered Inner Circle. It was dinner day, and the entire group—Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Amren, Nesta and Mor—had joined you for an evening of food and conversation. It had been a few days since you went back home after the incident and  Feyre had personally come to you that afternoon to invite you, her warm insistence leaving little room to decline. You were drowing in your work trying not to give a thought to the bond and the fact that you hadn’t seen Azriel since. 

You’d opted for a simple yet comfortable outfit: wide, high-waisted black pants paired with a loose, long-sleeved blue top with a high collar. The fabric was soft and warm, perfect for the cool night air.

The room was alive with chatter and laughter, and you found yourself caught up in it, smiling despite the exhaustion still lingering in your body. Cassian and Mor were on either side of you, bantering animatedly about Velaris nightlife.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never been to Rita's?” Cassian exclaimed, his eyes widening in mock horror.

“I think once when I was younger, but ever since never.” you replied, shrugging. “I’m too busy saving lives to hit up bars, apparently.”

“It’s not just a bar,” Mor interjected, her hands gesturing wildly as if to emphasize her point. “It’s the bar. Best drinks, best music, best people—it’s a Velaris institution.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning. “Mor’s right. Even Amren’s been there. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you said, smirking.

Mor wasn’t satisfied. She nudged your shoulder, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “Come on. We’ll go together when you’re better.”

You chuckled. “Alright, but I don’t know when I’ll have time.”

“When?” she pressed, her hazel eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Next month, probably,” you answered, trying not to laugh at the look of disbelief on her face.

“Next month?” she repeated, incredulous. “Why next month?”

“Because next week, I’m going back to Windhaven,” you began, ticking the events off on your fingers. “Then I’ve got meetings with the priestesses, and then Starfall is coming, and after that—”

“Okay, okay!” Mor interrupted, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m going to have to kidnap you just to get you out for one night.”

You laughed openly this time, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll pencil you in when I can.”

Feyre approached then, her soft voice cutting through the lively banter. “Y/N, do you think you could join me for a painting class on Friday afternoon? And don’t you dare tell me you’re too busy with work.”

You raised a hand, pretending to look wounded. “I wasn’t going to say that. But I can’t make it—not because of work, though.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Then why?”

“It’s my weekly tea time with Madja,” you replied simply.

Cassian immediately perked up, his brows shooting up in interest. “Tea time with Madja?” he repeated, leaning forward with an amused grin. “That’s adorable. What do you two even talk about? Healer issues? New techniques?”

You swatted his arm lightly, shaking your head. “Hey! Just because I love my job doesn’t mean that’s all I talk about. We talk about... other things.”

“Like what?” Mor asked, smirking as she sipped her wine.

You tilted your head, feigning mystery. “That’s between me and Madja.”

Cassian let out a bark of laughter. “I’m picturing the two of you having a serious debate over tea about how to fix my dumbass when I inevitably crash into something.”

“Cassian,” Feyre interjected, rolling her eyes, “Y/N does far more important work than managing your antics.”

“Thank you,” you said to Feyre, giving Cassian a pointed look. “And for the record, Madja and I have very enlightening conversations. You’d be surprised how insightful she is about life in general.”

The group shared a laugh, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you let yourself relax. The lively chatter continued, shifting topics seamlessly as plates of food and glasses of wine were passed around. For once, you weren’t talking about healers’ matters or politics—you were just a part of the group, laughing and enjoying the moment. 

The peaceful hum of the room shifted the moment Elain entered, Lucien trailing just behind her. You were talking to Feyre and didn’t immediately notice the change in atmosphere until Rhysand’s voice broke through the casual chatter.

“Y/N,” Rhys said smoothly, gesturing toward the two newcomers, “allow me to introduce Lucien.”

You looked up, your eyes meeting Lucien’s in a moment of mutual surprise. “What are you doing here?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. The corners of Lucien’s mouth twitched into a small, amused smile, and he stepped forward to give you a brief hug.

“Good to see you too, Y/N,” he replied lightly, though his voice carried an undercurrent of genuine warmth.

The room’s dynamic shifted again as Elain gravitated toward Azriel, who was leaning against the back of the couch. Lucien, perhaps instinctively or perhaps by choice, found his way to your side. The juxtaposition didn’t go unnoticed, though no one commented on it—at least not aloud.

You handed Nyx back to Feyre, who smiled gently at you, her expression tinged with curiosity as she glanced between you and Lucien.

“I take it you’ve met before?” Rhys prompted, his brow lifting slightly.

You nodded, still a little thrown by Lucien’s sudden presence. “Yes, we breafly met when I was in Autumn centuries ago.” you explained. “And then again in Spring—he arrived a few weeks before I left.”

“Small world,” Lucien said with a faint grin, though his sharp gaze flickered to Rhysand, ever aware of the High Lord’s looming presence.

The conversation meandered for a while, touching on casual topics. But then Lucien turned to you, his tone shifting slightly and quietly asked you. “I heard about the healer meeting in Dawn. Did you have a chance to speak with the head healer of Autumn?”

Your expression softened, though a shadow passed over your features. “I did,” you said, your voice quieter. “She’s doing better, don’t worry. But, very honestly, Lucien... she won’t be in her best shape if she stays in Autumn. It’s slowly killing her.”

The room stilled, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Rhysand’s eyebrow arched, and you felt an unfamiliar sensation—a gentle yet deliberate tug on your mind. It was the first time Rhys had ever used his abilities on you like this, and though it was unsettling, you allowed it, letting him in.

What was that about? his voice sounded in your mind, calm but edged with concern.

The High Lady of Autumn tried to kill herself, you replied, the words laced with quiet gravity. 

The thought landed heavily in Rhysand’s consciousness, and though his face betrayed nothing, you felt the ripple of shock that coursed through him.

Shit, he muttered in your mind, his tone uncharacteristically unsettled. Does Eris know?

Yes, you replied. He’s keeping it quiet, but it’s caused even more division within Autumn. The tension between him and Beron is... palpable.

Rhysand’s silence spoke volumes as he processed the information. You could feel his thoughts flickering through the implications, his strategic mind already piecing together the broader picture.

And what do you think? he finally asked, his tone quieter now.

I think she needs to leave Autumn. Rordan their head healer told me that Day might be an option. But it’s her decision to make, not ours.

Rhysand’s agreement hummed softly through your connection. Keep me updated on her situation—and anything else from Autumn.

You nodded slightly, breaking the mental link as Lucien’s voice drew your attention back to the room. “And do you think she’ll leave?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

You shook your head, offering him a faint, tired smile. “I don’t know. I hope so. But it’s her choice.”

Lucien sighed, his posture stiffening slightly. “It’s complicated,” he murmured, his tone heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“Yes,” you agreed softly. “It is.”

Though the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the weight of what had been discussed lingered in your mind—and Rhysand’s—as an unspoken reminder of the cracks forming in Prythian’s foundation.

You turned to Lucien with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Oh, by the way, Lila says hi.”

Lucien froze mid-sip of his drink, his eyes widening in a mix of panic and exasperation. “No. Not her again,” he muttered, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “Why does she still talk about me?”

You burst out laughing at his visible distress, the kind of laughter that left you breathless. The others turned their attention to you, curiosity lighting up their faces. Cassian raised a brow, leaning forward. “What’s so funny?”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “Oh, it’s just... let’s say that during the healer meeting at least the nights we spent talking with the girls, Lucien was a very… popular topic. Let’s just say Lila is quite taken with Lucien.”

“Taken?” Lucien interjected sharply, lifting his head to glare at you. “No, Y/N. Let’s call it what it is—obsessed. I am terrified of her.”

Rhysand, clearly amused, leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. “What does she look like?”

You smirked, ready for the volley of descriptions. “Well, she looks like Tamlin—”

“But with boobs,” Lucien interjected, deadpan, cutting you off.

“And she’s short, like Amren,” you added, grinning as you gestured downward.

Lucien groaned again. “Short, running everywhere, and screaming.  Always screaming.”

You burst into laughter again, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong—she’s an incredible healer. Honestly, one of my best students. But... she’s something, that’s for sure.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Lucien muttered, rubbing his temples. “Do you know about the closet incident?”

“Oh gods, yes!” You exclaimed, grinning wide. “That was hilarious when she told us about it. The way we had to make her drink for her to be able to admit it, but don’t dramatise everything Lucien it was just her way to show her affection right?” you looked at him amused.

“She tried to lock me in a closet to stop me from leaving the Spring Court Y/N?” 

"Well that sounds oddly familiar?” said Feyre looking at the booth of you. 

Cassian’s laugh echoed through the room. “What is it with Spring Court and locking people ? First Tamlin, now this?”

You nodded, struggling to suppress your laughter. “Apparently, she thought it was the only way to get him to ‘listen.’”

You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. 

Rhysand leaned back, still chuckling. “So, to sum it up: she’s like Tamlin, but with boobs, short like Amren, runs everywhere, and... locks people in closets.”

Cassian doubled over with laughter. “You’ve got to introduce me to this Lila. She sounds like a riot.”

Lucien glared at him. “You can take my place if you’re so curious, I’m sure she would love you.”

The room burst into laughter again, the lighthearted banter a welcome reprieve from the tensions that had been looming. Even Lucien couldn’t help but laugh, though his mortified expression lingered.

On the other side of the room, Azriel leaned against the couch, his shadows curling restlessly around him like dark, living whispers. His gaze lingered on you and Lucien, watching the way you laughed with an ease that felt almost foreign to him. You looked carefree, radiant even, as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted from your shoulders. Lucien’s animated gestures and your bright laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the tight knot of unease growing in Azriel’s chest.

He shouldn’t feel this way. He couldn’t feel this way.

Azriel shifted slightly, trying to quiet the tumult within him. Elain was seated beside him, her delicate fingers brushing against his thigh in a silent question. He turned to her, her soft gaze meeting his, and he forced a small nod. “I’m fine,” he murmured, though the words tasted like a lie on his tongue.

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close.

He had wanted to cross the room, to come and sit beside you, to feel that inexplicable comfort that always seemed to radiate from you when you were near. Now that he knew about the bond, everything felt more tangled, more painful. The knowledge weighed heavily on him, suffocating in its clarity. How could you sit there, so normal, so composed, when you had known about this bond for longer than he had?

The thought ate away at him. How had you managed to keep it hidden? How had you endured the ache of it, the pull, without letting it show?

Azriel’s gaze flicked to Elain briefly, guilt tugging at the edges of his thoughts. He shifted subtly away from her, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Out of respect for Lucien, yes. Not that he’d cared before—but now, now he understood. He understood the quiet agony of seeing someone he cared about so deeply sitting with another. It twisted his insides in a way he hadn’t expected.

But it wasn’t just about respect. It was about you.

His shadows coiled tighter around him, reflecting the storm in his mind. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to untangle the mess of emotions that had overtaken him since discovering the bond. And the hardest part was the longing—to be near you, to hear your voice, to feel that connection that had only deepened with the knowledge of what you truly were to him.

You were laughing again, the sound clear and unguarded. It was a sound he hadn’t realized he craved until now, and it only added to his torment. The way you leaned slightly toward Lucien, your smile bright, as if there was no weight of a bond tethering you to him. As if he didn’t even exist.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his wings shifting slightly as he glanced at the floor. He needed a moment, a reprieve from the chaos in his chest. From the knowledge that while you laughed with Lucien, he was the one standing in the shadows, lost and unsure.

You had barely met Azriel’s gaze when Lucien raised an eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Right, let’s not talk about the Spring Court, Y/N,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

“How much time did the two of you spend in the Spring Court together?” Feyre asked, her curiosity piqued.

Without missing a beat, you and Lucien answered in unison, “Three weeks.”

The synchronization caught everyone off guard, and a ripple of laughter swept through the room.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and added, “And that was far enough, if you want my opinion.”

Lucien smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, far enough after nearly killing Tamlin, burning part of his estate, and getting proposed to by his last general.”

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to you. You stared at Lucien in disbelief, your mouth opening and closing for a moment before crossing your legs and taking a deliberate sip of your wine. “That’s so fake,” you said finally, your tone nonchalant. “I didn’t light the fire. I was just there when it happened.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he leaned forward slightly. “And tell me, Y/N, just how many people have proposed to you?”

You nearly choked on your wine. “What do you mean, Rhysand? Please.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. Everyone’s attention shifted to you, eyes wide with intrigue. You glanced at Azriel, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, and asked accusingly, “Did you tell him?”

Azriel shook his head immediately, his voice steady. “No, of course not.”

Cassian and Mor, ever the instigators, leaned closer. “Wait, wait,” Cassian said, grinning. “Who else proposed to her? Go on, Rhys. I feel like this is going to be good.”

Rhysand’s smirk widened, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well,” he began, drawing the word out dramatically, “our sweet head healer of the Night Court could have become the Lady of Dawn, if she had wanted to.”

The reaction was immediate. Mor screamed, her voice full of scandalized delight. “You were with Thesan? Y/N!”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Yes,” you admitted reluctantly, “and that’s all you’re going to get to know. End of discussion.” You shot Rhysand a black look, though he only laughed, clearly pleased with himself.

“Well,” you said quickly, trying to change the subject, “it’s not to interrupt, but I’m pretty sure dinner is ready, right?”

Feyre crossed her arms, a knowing look on her face. “If you think you’re going to escape this conversation, Y/N, you’re wrong.”

You sighed dramatically, looking up as if to appeal to the Mother above. “Oh, for the love of the mother,” you muttered, but the room erupted into laughter, the tension giving way to warmth and camaraderie once more.

During dinner, to everyone’s surprise, you found yourself seated next to Azriel. He had deliberately taken the seat beside you, leaving Lucien to sit next to Elain. The shift in seating arrangements caught more than a few curious glances. Elain’s worried look flickered toward Azriel, while Lucien, seated on her other side, raised an eyebrow at the change.

You tried to ignore the questions bubbling in your mind, though it was hard to brush aside the unexpected energy between you and Azriel. While you had resigned yourself to the fact that Azriel cared deeply for Elain, perhaps even loved her, this sudden change left you puzzled.

Amren’s sharp voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation, drawing everyone’s attention. “Is this a new table, Rhysand?” she asked, gesturing to the elegant woodwork beneath her plate.

Rhysand smirked, barely looking up from his plate. “Yes, it is. Y/N and Azriel broke the last one.”

You choked on your wine, coughing violently as heat crept up your neck. The room went silent for a heartbeat before Cassian burst out laughing, followed closely by Mor’s cackling. You covered your mouth, trying to recover as all eyes turned to you.

Amren’s silver eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned forward slightly. “Well, girl, a High Lord, a General, and now a Spymaster. You’re going for all of them, aren’t you?”

Your jaw dropped as laughter erupted around the table. “Oh, please shut up,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. You didn’t even dare to glance at Azriel, though you could feel the heat of his gaze lingering. The sharpness of Elain’s eyes, however, was impossible to miss. Her displeasure radiated from her in waves, her expression tightening as she glanced between you and Azriel.

“I’d like to point out,” Cassian added with a grin, “that I wasn’t the one who broke a table for once.”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Cassian,” Nesta muttered beside him, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips.

The table settled back into a hum of conversation, though you couldn’t shake the tension that simmered beneath the surface. Every now and then, you caught Azriel glancing your way, his expression unreadable. And while you tried to keep your focus on the food in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel that this dinner was only the beginning of something far more complicated.

The flow of the dinner had been pleasant enough, though Azriel sitting beside you brought an odd energy you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not entirely—but it was different. When it was just the two of you—working, talking, sharing quieter moments—it felt natural, even easy. But tonight, the dynamic felt... forced. Questions swirled in your mind: Did he sit next to you to make her jealous? Why let her mate sit next to her, then? You brushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the lively conversations around you.

Dessert was served, and you were half-listening to Feyre and Nesta talk about some shared anecdote when Elain stood abruptly, excusing herself. The movement caught your attention. Lucien’s worried gaze followed her, and when you glanced at Azriel, you noticed the same concern etched into his features. That expression.

The unease it stirred in you was compounded when Elain began moving around the table. Her steps faltered slightly, her balance uneven. You frowned, your healer’s instincts kicking in.

“Elain?” Feyre’s voice held a note of alarm as her sister stumbled closer to where you were seated.

You turned in your chair just in time to see Elain falter entirely. Without thinking, you shot up and caught her as she collapsed, her weight sudden but manageable in your arms. Her head lolled against your shoulder, and a collective gasp rippled through the room. All conversation ceased.

“Elain!” Feyre and Nesta rushed to her side, their faces pale with worry. Lucien moved swiftly to her other side, his hand hovering uncertainly as if unsure whether to touch her. Azriel was right behind him, his shadows curling protectively around him, his expression a mix of alarm and dread.

“Elain, can you hear me?” Feyre’s voice was tight with fear as she knelt beside her sister.

And then it happened. Elain’s eyes snapped open, but they were no longer the soft brown you were accustomed to. They were white—bright, glowing, and unseeing. The sight knocked the breath from your lungs, your grip tightening reflexively as the unnatural glow emanated from her.

“Elain,” Nesta whispered, her voice breaking as she grasped her sister’s hand.

“What’s happening to her?” Lucien demanded, his tone panicked.

You steadied Elain in your arms, trying to process what was happening. Your mind raced as you scanned her for any immediate signs of injury or distress. There was none—nothing physical, at least—but the way her body trembled, her unfocused eyes, sent chills down your spine.

“She’s having a vision,” Azriel said, his voice low and tight. 

Feyre nodded grimly at your question about Elain’s visions. “Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “But... she’s never reacted like this before.”

Elain’s body began trembling more violently, her breathing escalating into rapid, shallow gasps. You quickly moved, lowering her to the ground into a safer position, your movements precise and practiced. “Everyone step back,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the panic in the room. “Give me space.”

The others obeyed, though their worry was palpable. Feyre knelt near but didn’t interfere, her face pale with fear. Lucien and Azriel hovered nearby, their expressions equally stricken. Nesta stood frozen, her hands clenched into fists.

Elain’s trembling worsened, transitioning into full-body spasms. You glanced sharply at Feyre. “Does she usually react like this?”

Feyre shook her head quickly. “No—this has never happened before.”

Your jaw tightened as you assessed her condition. “Alright,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else. With a swift motion, you opened Elain’s mouth and carefully inserted two fingers to hold her tongue down, ensuring she wouldn’t swallow it during the convulsions. Then, your free hand hovered just above her head.

You closed your eyes, focusing your power as it began to flow from you. A faint glow radiated from your hand, and your hair lifted as if caught in an unseen breeze. A hush fell over the room, everyone holding their breath as the air grew heavy under the weight of your power. Azriel’s sharp gaze was fixed on you, his shadows coiling around him in tension.

Elain’s spasms began to subside as your power guided her, pulling her gently from the grip of the vision. The glow from your hand intensified briefly before dimming, and her breathing evened out. Slowly, her body stilled.

Elain’s spasms began to subside as your power guided her, pulling her gently from the grip of the vision. The glow from your hand intensified briefly before dimming, and her breathing evened out. Slowly, her body stilled. But as the connection between you and her held firm, something shifted—a thread of her vision snagged onto your mind.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to prepare. One moment you were guiding her back to reality, and the next, you were pulled into the recesses of her mind. Shadows enveloped you, thick and suffocating, until the world reshaped itself into the fragments of her vision.

The ground beneath you was barren, cracked, and lifeless. The air smelled of ash and decay, and the sky above was a swirling void of darkness. There were no stars, no moon—only an oppressive, smothering emptiness. Fires burned in the distance, their flickering light revealing the skeletal remains of a once-thriving land. This place had been wiped clean of life, erased by a force too terrible to comprehend.

You turned, searching for Elain in the chaos. And then you saw her. She stood just ahead, motionless, her expression vacant and unseeing as if she were a mere observer in this apocalyptic scene. You tried to call out to her, to reach her, but your voice was swallowed by the void. She didn’t seem to register your presence, her eyes fixed on the horror unfolding around her.

Your chest tightened, and you were about to take a step toward her when something else caught your attention. Movement in the periphery—a figure in the shadows. It was... you.

At first, you thought it might be a trick of the vision, a warped reflection, but the figure stepped into the light, and there was no mistaking it. It was you, yet not. This version of you was eerily calm, detached. You looked the same, but your expression held an unsettling stillness.

Then the change began. Blood trickled from your nose, then your ears, your eyes, and your mouth. The crimson streaks contrasted sharply against your pale skin, but you didn’t flinch or react. Instead, a faint smile curved your lips, haunting in its serenity.

Elain, still oblivious to your presence, stood frozen, her hand lifting to her mouth in silent horror as she watched the scene unfold.

And then, the darkness took shape. A hand, inky and unnatural, emerged from the shadows, its long, clawed fingers reaching toward the chest of the vision-you. The smile on your face remained as the hand struck in one swift motion, plunging into where your heart should have been.

You felt it. The phantom pain. The void. The absence.

You crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and the darkness seeped into the cracks of the earth, spreading like a disease. Elain whimpered softly in the vision, her form trembling as she stared at your fallen figure. 

The pull of the vision began to loosen, dragging you back to the present. You blinked, gasping for breath as you returned to your body, the sensation of your heart still pounding in your chest grounding you. Elain stirred beneath you, her breathing shaky as her eyes fluttered open.

Your mind reeled, the memory of what you had seen burning fresh in your mind. You didn’t know what the vision meant, but the chilling image of yourself—bleeding, smiling, heartless—was not something you would soon forget.

You exhaled, opening your eyes to see Elain staring up at you. Relief flickered in the room—until, without warning, her hand lashed out and slapped you hard across the face.

The shock reverberated through the room as everyone froze. You blinked, stunned by the sharp sting on your cheek. Slowly, you stood up, gripping the back of the chair nearest to you as if to steady yourself, your knuckles tightening against the wood. But your face remained calm, your expression carefully composed.

“Well,” you said dryly, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart, “that’s a new one.”

Feyre and Nesta immediately moved to Elain’s side, helping her sit up as she began to regain full awareness. “Elain, are you okay?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but worried.

Lucien stepped forward, his golden eye flashing with unease. “What happened? Why did she—”

“I don’t think she knew what she was doing,” you interrupted, your tone calm and measured, giving nothing away. You flexed your fingers subtly against the chair, grounding yourself as you continued. “It’s normal for someone to act unpredictably when coming out of a vision that strong.”

Feyre and Nesta gently guided Elain toward the stairs, murmuring reassurances as they helped her to her room. Lucien followed close behind, his expression tight with worry. Azriel, however, didn’t move. His gaze remained locked on you, golden eyes scanning your face with quiet intensity.

Slowly, you let go of the chair, shaking out the tension in your fingers. Your cheek still stung faintly, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing heavily against your chest.

You sighed softly, glancing at the mess of plates and half-eaten desserts left on the table. It felt like the room itself had absorbed the tension of the evening, the air heavy and stifling.

Mother above, what a night. You straightened, smoothing down your sleeves as you regained your composure. 

Azriel crossed the room in a few swift strides, his shadows curling low around his feet. His hand lifted slowly, hesitating for the briefest of moments before his fingers brushed against your arm—light as a whisper but enough to make your breath catch.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, almost a murmur, his thumb grazing your sleeve in a subtle, grounding motion.

You blinked, surprised by the question, by the weight in his tone. “I’m—” Your words faltered, the concern in his eyes throwing you off balance. “I’m fine.”

Cassian, ever the mood breaker, smirked. “Great catch, Y/N,” he said with a chuckle.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, casting Cassian a sharp side-eye that practically dripped with unspoken warning. His shadows flared briefly, wrapping tighter around his boots. Cassian raised a brow, but wisely said nothing more.

You tried to smile at Cassian, though it barely reached your eyes. “Thanks, Cassian” you said softly.

Azriel’s fingers tightened briefly on your arm before releasing you. His touch lingered like a ghost, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. His golden gaze remained locked on yours, searching, as though trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, softer this time, more for him than for anyone else.

He studied you for a second longer, his shadows curling and unfurling around him. His thumb brushed the back of your hand in a fleeting gesture that felt more like a promise than a reassurance.

“Good,” he said quietly, his voice steady but thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “Let me know if… you need anything.”

For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room, the air between you charged and warm. Then Azriel stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a heartbeat longer before turning toward the others.

You turned to Rhysand, your voice calm but serious. “How do her visions usually go?”

Rhysand leaned against the edge of the table, his brow furrowed. “Not like that,” he admitted. “She usually comes back to herself without shaking or... whatever that was tonight.”

You nodded, thoughtful. “You’ll need to monitor her closely if this keeps happening. What happened tonight—especially the shaking—is essentially her brain short-circuiting, going on and off repeatedly. I stuck my fingers in her mouth not for pleasure but to prevent her from swallowing her tongue.”

Cassian let out a startled laugh at your bluntness, but you continued without pause. “I helped her out of the vision, but it could be the content of this particular one was too violent, causing her to react that way.”

Lucien, standing stiffly in the doorway, finally spoke. “And if it’s not controlled next time? What happens then?”

You met his gaze evenly, your tone steady but grave. “Asking me that is like asking what would happen if you put a soldier in a war field. There are options, but death is one of them. She could stay in the shaking state without being able to come back to herself or choke—but those are worst-case scenarios.”

The room was quiet as you continued, your voice calm but firm. “It could also completely be a one-time thing. But this is why it has to be monitored carefully.”

Amren leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes on you. “Well, at least that was clear.”

You smirked faintly at her dry remark. “Clarity is what I aim for.”

Azriel’s eyes lingered on you, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as he listened intently.

“I could examine her further,” you added after a moment, “to see if there’s anything else that might explain what happened tonight. But I’d wait until she’s less shaken by it all. Right now, forcing her into anything might make things worse.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We’ll keep an eye on her and call for you if it happens again. For now, let’s give her some space to recover.”

Everyone seemed to agree with that plan, though Lucien still looked troubled. The room slowly eased out of its earlier tension, though the weight of what had just occurred lingered in the back of everyone’s minds.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, his golden eyes dark with worry. As the room shifted its attention to Feyre and Nesta returning, he leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. The touch sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“Are you sure you are okay?” His voice was low, barely audible over the quiet murmurs of the others.

You blinked, caught off guard by the genuine concern in his tone. Was Azriel truly worried about you?

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head lightly. “Don’t worry. A little slap isn’t going to kill me,” you said, throwing in a wink to lighten the mood.

Azriel’s lips quirked ever so slightly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease entirely.

Feyre’s voice broke through the moment. “Elain’s sleeping now,” she said, her tone carrying both relief and exhaustion.

Lucien exhaled audibly, a wave of relief washing over his features. Feyre turned to you, her expression warm with gratitude. “Thank you for your help, Y/N. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

You nodded, brushing it off lightly. “I’m just glad I was here when it happened.”

Rhysand’s eyes flicked between Feyre and Nesta, his expression sharpening. “Did she tell you anything about her vision?”

The two sisters exchanged a weighted look, Feyre biting her lip before she finally spoke. “Yes,” she said hesitantly, glancing at Nesta for confirmation.

“It’s not good,” Nesta added, her voice steadier but no less grim.

The room fell silent again, everyone waiting for Feyre or Nesta to elaborate. The weight of whatever Elain had seen hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel the knot of tension coiling tighter in your chest. Azriel’s hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer before he pulled it away, his expression hardening as he braced for whatever was coming next. 

Feyre exchanged a tense glance with Nesta, the silence thick and suffocating. Then, with a heavy sigh, Feyre began to explain, her voice trembling slightly.

“She told us about what she saw… about death, war, and darkness sweeping over everything. But the most terrifying part was…” Feyre’s voice broke, and she looked at Nesta to continue.

Nesta, ever composed, took over. “She saw you, Y/N. In the middle of it all. And…” She hesitated, her steel facade cracking for just a moment before she forced herself to say it. “She saw you...”

The room fell deathly silent, everyone frozen in place. Azriel, standing beside you, visibly tensed, his golden eyes narrowing as he processed the words.

You straightened, your expression unreadable. The weight of their words wasn’t new to you. You had already seen it yourself in Elain’s vision, and now, hearing it spoken aloud, it only cemented what you had felt.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice steady but filled with an edge of resignation.

Every head in the room turned to you, confusion and shock flashing across their faces.

“You know?” Feyre asked, her voice almost a whisper.

You nodded slowly. “I saw it too. I’m not sure how, but when I guided Elain out of her vision, pieces of it came to me. I saw what she saw.”

Azriel’s voice cut through the stunned silence, sharp and filled with tension. “Saw what? What exactly did you see?”

You turned to face him, your gaze unwavering, though the effort to maintain your composure was immense. “I saw the moment I die, Azriel.”

The breath seemed to leave the room all at once. Even Amren, ever-unflappable, looked taken aback. Cassian, wide-eyed, shifted uneasily in his seat. Feyre and Nesta exchanged another tense glance, while Rhysand’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening.

“What do you mean, you saw yourself die?” Azriel pressed, his voice low and strained, his shadows coiling around him like a living entity. His hand hovered near your arm again, as though he wanted to hold on to you, to ground himself in your presence.

You gave a bitter smile, the weight of the truth pressing down on you. “Exactly what it sounds like. She saw me die, and so did I. What do you want me to say? It’s not a matter of if, but when.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and the raw emotion in his eyes was almost unbearable to look at. “You can’t just… accept that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with an edge of desperation. “There has to be something we can do. We can stop it—”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” you interrupted, your tone sharp but not unkind. “I’ve lived long enough to know that sometimes, no matter what you do, fate has its way.”

Rhysand’s voice broke through, calm but commanding. “What exactly did you see, Y/N?”

You hesitated, the image flashing in your mind. The darkness, the war, and that final moment when everything stopped, and you fell. “I saw the world in chaos—death everywhere. And then I saw myself... my blood, my heart—gone. I felt it as much as I saw it.”

Azriel took a step closer to you, his shadows curling protectively around him. His golden eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t accept that,” he said firmly. “We’ll find a way to stop it. Whatever it takes.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, everyone digesting the gravity of the revelation. Then Amren, leaning back in her chair, spoke up, her voice cool but filled with an edge of challenge. “If fate has marked you, Y/N, then the question is not if we can stop it, but what it will cost.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, a reminder of the uncertain path ahead. You swallowed hard, the weight of the vision and its implications pressing down on you. But even as the room seemed to drown in its tension, you squared your shoulders, lifting your chin.

“Whatever happens,” you said softly, “it doesn’t change what I need to do now. We have time—maybe not much, but enough to prepare.”

As the heavy silence settled in the room, you could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you. Rhysand’s sharp violet eyes held yours for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of unease. “Y/N,” he began, “would you allow me to see it? The vision?”

You hesitated, the thought of someone else witnessing what you had seen unsettling, but you nodded nonetheless. “Go ahead,” you said softly, standing your ground. Rhysand approached you carefully, his movements deliberate, as though he didn’t want to startle you.

His mental touch was gentle, like a soft whisper brushing against your thoughts. You let him in, showing him the fractured, haunting glimpses of the vision—darkness, war, your bloodied form crumbling to the ground.

When he pulled back, his expression was tight, his jaw clenched. A faint twitch betrayed his composed demeanor.

“Don’t pity me, Rhysand,” you said, your tone firm, though there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. “I died once. I’ve been blessed by the Mother, and I’ve accepted that one day, that favor will need to be returned.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Azriel’s golden eyes locked onto you, his shadows coiling tightly around him. His expression was unreadable, but the look in his eyes was anything but. It was a mix of disbelief, worry, and something else you couldn’t quite place—something that made your chest tighten.

The tension in the room shifted, the atmosphere changing as people slowly began to disperse, their expressions ranging from solemn to thoughtful. Conversations were hushed, and one by one, the Inner Circle left to retreat to their rooms or find solace in other parts of the house.

You needed air. The weight of the vision, the discussions, and the gazes filled with unspoken questions were too much. Slipping out quietly, you made your way to the garden of the townhouse. The cool night air brushed against your skin, soothing in its simplicity. The stars above were bright, scattered across the inky sky like a promise of something eternal.

You found a bench near the center of the garden and sank onto it, tilting your head back to take in the view. The stars twinkled softly, distant and untouchable, yet strangely comforting. For a moment, you let yourself breathe, the crisp air filling your lungs as you tried to untangle the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

The quiet of the garden wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. After some time, you felt a presence approach—a familiar one—and moments later, a warmer jacket was draped over your shoulders. You turned your head slightly to see Azriel sitting down beside you, his movements careful and deliberate. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence, and instead, he leaned back to look up at the sky, mirroring your own posture.

For a while, the two of you simply sat there, the stars above a quiet audience to the unspoken words lingering between you. Eventually, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, you turned to him and asked, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

Still gazing upward, Azriel’s voice was low, steady. “Once, someone told me that sometimes no words need to be spoken. But if you want to talk…” Finally, he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes catching the faint moonlight. “I’m here.”

A small laugh escaped you, soft but genuine. “Are you actually quoting me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Maybe.”

Your laughter faded into the cool night air, replaced by a quieter moment as the gravity of everything settled back in. After a moment, Azriel’s voice broke through the stillness, softer this time. “How?”

You turned to him, your brow furrowing slightly. “How what?”

“How can you accept what you saw so easily?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the ground as though the question was too heavy to lift.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer, then sighed. “I don’t know, Azriel. I really don’t.”

He exhaled softly, the sound tinged with frustration, and his voice was almost a whisper when he spoke again. “Don’t behave like your death won’t affect other people.”

Your breath caught at his words, and when you turned to look at him, his hand slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around your hand. His touch was warm, grounding.

“Like it won’t affect me,” he added, his voice barely audible now, but the weight of his words settled heavily between you.

Your eyes widened slightly, your heart stumbling over itself as you processed the raw honesty in his voice. You turned your gaze back to the sky, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. After a long pause, you found the courage to ask, “When did you figure it out?”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, as though he was anchoring himself to you. “Figure what out?” he asked, his tone cautious, even though you both knew exactly what you meant.

The bond hummed faintly between you, a quiet rhythm you’d learned to live with but had never fully embraced. You turned back to him, meeting his gaze directly, and whispered, “That I’m your mate.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with emotions you had never allowed yourself to fully feel. Azriel's words hung in the air like an unanswered prayer, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft but resolute.

"The moment we nearly died on our way back from Dawn," he said, his gaze unwavering.

“Oh,” was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper. After a pause, he tilted his head slightly and asked, “And you? When did you know?”

Your throat tightened as you glanced away, searching for the courage to speak the truth. “When I saved your life at the House of Wind,” you admitted softly.

He was quiet for a moment, his golden eyes fixed on you. “Oh,” was his only response.

And then the question you had been dreading fell from his lips. “Why? Why haven’t you said anything?”

You turned sharply, your face a mask of incredulity. “Are you seriously asking me this now, Azriel? Look at you—with Elain.” Your voice broke slightly, but you steadied yourself. “I barely knew you at the time. What would you have wanted from me then? You loved her—or at least you thought you did. What would you have done if you were in my place?”

“I don’t love her,” he said firmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You shot him a sidelong glance, disbelief clouding your features. “Azriel, this—this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want this to be forced.” You took a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “You deserve someone better, much better than me. And definitely not someone who’s... who’s destined to die soon.”

He tried to interrupt, his expression pained, but you raised a hand to stop him. “No, please. You’re one of the kindest, most selfless people I’ve ever met. You’ve dedicated your life to protecting others, to doing what’s right. And I��I just can’t, Azriel. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

You turned fully to him now, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The heaviness in your chest felt unbearable, as if the weight of your fears and regrets were finally demanding release. “I work with death every day,” you began, your voice trembling but growing stronger with each word. “Every single day, I watch it take and take and take. I’ve seen families shattered into pieces—mothers begging me to save their children, lovers screaming for someone to bring their person back.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he took in the storm of emotions pouring from you, his golden eyes following every movement as you began to pace. “I’ve had fathers collapse in my arms because I couldn’t save their wives. Sisters sobbing, clutching me like I was the only thing keeping them tethered to this world. And I...” You paused, pressing a trembling hand to your chest, the lump in your throat growing unbearable. “I can’t—I won’t—be the reason someone else ends up in that position because of me.”

The words tumbled from you, raw and unfiltered, as though they’d been waiting for this moment to escape. “Do you know what that’s like? To carry that? Every mistake, every failure—it haunts you. It lives inside you. And knowing that one day, I’ll be the one taken... that I could leave someone behind, someone I care about... I can’t do that to anyone, Azriel. I just can’t.”

Your steps faltered as the rawness of your confession left you breathless, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could hold yourself together through sheer will. Azriel remained silent, his eyes following you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. His shadows stirred softly at his feet, as though they wanted to reach out to you but were unsure how.

“Why do you think I’ve always left?” you demanded, turning toward him suddenly, your voice rising. “Why do you think I’ve never stayed anywhere for long? Why do you think I’ve never let anyone get close, too close to me? Why do you think I’ve never been able to have something... someone real?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you could feel yourself unraveling. “I’m terrified, Azriel. I’m terrified of death—of what it takes, of what it leaves behind. It’s not just the pain or the loss... it’s the emptiness it leaves in its wake. And I can’t bear the thought of someone else feeling that emptiness because of me.”

Snow began to fall softly around you, the first flakes catching in your hair and melting against your flushed cheeks. You barely noticed, your heart hammering in your chest as the emotions you’d kept buried for so long spilled out in a torrent. The cold air stung your lungs, but you welcomed it, letting it ground you.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the ground as though the weight of your confession had finally crushed you. The snow gathered in the folds of your clothes, a stark contrast to the heat burning behind your eyes. “And I’m just so, so sorry that I’m your mate,” you choked out, your voice cracking as tears spilled freely down your face.

Azriel knelt beside you without hesitation, his movements slow and deliberate as though he were approaching something fragile. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into the warmth and steadiness of his chest as your sobs wracked your body. You clung to him, the snowfall around you a quiet witness to the storm raging inside you.

“I’m so sorry, Azriel,” you whispered again, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m your mate. I’m sorry I can’t be what you deserve. I’m sorry for... for all of it.”

His arms tightened around you, his shadows curling protectively, almost soothingly. His voice was low and soft when he finally spoke, the words barely audible over the sound of your own broken breathing. “Don’t you dare apologize for being you,” he murmured, his tone steady, even as his own emotions threatened to break through.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the garden in a quiet stillness that seemed to echo the rawness of the moment. Azriel’s warmth surrounded you, his presence grounding you even as the storm inside you raged on.

Azriel froze for a moment, his golden eyes locking onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name—something that made your chest tighten. Slowly, almost reverently, his hands rose to gently cup your face, his calloused thumbs brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. The tenderness in his touch made your breath catch, your heart thundering in your chest.

He tilted your head up, his shadows curling softly around your shoulders, as though they were trying to reassure you in their own way. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with raw emotion. The words were both a command and a plea, grounding you in the storm of your thoughts. “Just... look at me.”

For a heartbeat, everything else fell away—the snow, the cold, the pain. It was just him, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that made your knees tremble even though you were already on the ground.

And then, without warning, his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a lifeline. Gentle at first, as if he were afraid you’d shatter under his touch, but then deeper, insistent, grounding. A warmth spread through you, chasing away the chill of the snow, as if his very being was pulling you back from the edge. Your eyes widened in shock, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But then, as the bond between you pulsed like a drumbeat in your veins, you melted into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his tunic as if letting go would undo you completely.

The bond roared to life, the connection between you blazing with an intensity that stole your breath. You felt it in every fiber of your being—a tether that had always been there, humming quietly in the background, now surging forward with undeniable force. His shadows wrapped around you, cocooning you in their embrace, a silent promise of safety and devotion.

The kiss broke, leaving both of you gasping for air, your foreheads pressed together. His hands didn’t leave your face, his thumbs still brushing against your skin, as though anchoring you to the moment. The bond pulsed between you, vibrant and alive, and you swore you could feel his heartbeat echoing in time with yours.

Azriel’s voice, when he finally spoke, was a low murmur, trembling with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. “Are you done?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint, almost teasing smile. “Because it’s my turn to talk now.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt something other than fear—hope.

Azriel’s gaze pierced through you, deep and unwavering, as though he was stripping away every wall you had ever built, leaving you bare before him. The snow continued to fall around you, cold and relentless, yet you barely noticed it. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, kneeling in the snow, your breaths mingling in the frosty air.

“Y/N,” Azriel began, his voice low but filled with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “You are the person who’s made me see the world differently.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “The first moment I laid eyes on you, I felt... something. It was like I was drawn to you, like there was this force pulling me toward you, even though I didn’t understand it.”

His words were heavy, laden with emotion. You couldn’t look away, caught in the raw honesty of his confession.

“It took me months to figure out why,” he continued, his shadows curling faintly around him as though reflecting his inner turmoil. “Why I felt like I could tell you things I’ve never even told my brothers. Why, when I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to hide the parts of me I’ve spent centuries locking away. It was as if you could see me—truly see me—and not turn away.”

Your heart ached at his words, your chest tightening with the weight of his emotions.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” he said, his voice softening. “Why I ended up at the clinic that night of the solstice. Why I fell asleep so easily in your space, a place that felt more like home than anywhere else has in years. Why, in Dawn, every moment I spent away from you felt wrong, like I was missing something vital. And then...” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “When I saw you with Thesan, I felt this rage, this jealousy that I couldn’t explain. And that night, when the storm came, I accepted that I would die—because being with you in that moment, even if it was the end, felt right.”

His voice cracked, and you felt your breath hitch as his words pressed against the tender parts of your heart.

“And then you saved us,” Azriel whispered, his shadows curling around you both now, a silent embrace. “And the bond snapped into place, and everything suddenly made sense. And gods, I’ve hated myself every day since for talking to you about Elain—for putting you through that pain without even knowing it.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks, and you reached up, placing your hand on his face. His golden eyes closed briefly at your touch, leaning into your palm as though it grounded him.

“And tonight,” he went on, his voice trembling with emotion, “when I saw you with Lucien, I felt it again. That jealousy. The way you smiled, the way you laughed with him... I wanted to be in his place so badly it hurt.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, thick with self-loathing. “And I know I don’t deserve you. Gods, I’ve been the worst to you. But, Y/N, you are everything I didn’t know I needed. You are smart, strong, considerate. You light up the room just by being in it. You make everyone around you better, just by existing. It is so, so easy to fall in love with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words wrapping around you like a balm to your battered soul.

“And even if it’s for a year, or a month, or a single day,” Azriel said, his voice breaking, “I want to spend it with you. I want to be close to you, to be by your side, for however long we have.”

He reached out then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His gaze burned into yours, his bond thrumming with a quiet, steady pulse that matched your own. “Please, Y/N. Let me be with you.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, the sound soft and almost disbelieving as it fell between your lips. Your head dropped forward, resting gently against Azriel’s chest, his shirt dampening slightly with your tears. The both of you had shifted completely onto the ground, no longer kneeling but sitting in the snow. You were nearly in his lap, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer as though he feared you might disappear.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel obligated because of what happened tonight,” you murmured against his chest, your voice trembling. “I don’t want this to be out of pity.”

Azriel stilled for a moment, and then his hands cupped your face with such gentleness it made your breath hitch. He tilted your head upward, his golden eyes meeting yours, before leaning down and kissing you again—deeper this time, the connection searing into your very soul. It wasn’t hurried or desperate but deliberate, a kiss that held every unspoken word, every ounce of feeling he hadn’t yet been able to say.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and his hand moved to your shoulder, grounding himself in your presence as his scent wrapped around you. His shadows curled around the both of you like a protective cocoon, their touch faint and reassuring.

“Never, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice raw and barely above a whisper. “Never out of pity. I’ve long made up my mind about how I feel about you. Even if everything feels like a mess—if everything is wrong—I will never fall in love with you out of pity.”

The last words were so quiet, they were almost inaudible, but you heard them. And they wrapped around your heart, filling the cracks you hadn’t even realized were there.

Your hands moved on instinct, slipping inside his jacket as you hugged him closer, seeking his warmth and steadiness. Your palm pressed gently against his back, and your fingers began tracing soft circles at the base of his wings. Whether it was to reassure yourself that this moment was real or to offer him comfort, you didn’t know. Maybe it was both.

Azriel let out a quiet sigh, his chin resting lightly against your head as he held you. The snow continued to fall around you, the icy flakes melting against the shared heat between you. Neither of you spoke for a long time, the silence filled with the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint pulse of the bond humming quietly between you.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: safe. And in Azriel’s arms, with his shadows weaving around you, it felt like you’d finally found the place where you belonged.

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

tag list : @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @bravo-delta-eccho @messageforthesmallestman @celestialgilb @tiredsleepyhead @annamariereads16 @arcanefeelingz @fuckingsimp4azriel @adventure-awaits13 @diaouranask @rcarbo1 @6v6babycheese @goodvibesonlyxd @sa54va87to90re12 @firefly-forest @babypeapoddd @hailqueenconquer @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @pinklemonade34 @sourapplex @wickedshadowsinger @shinyghosteclipse @rose-girls-world @leptitlu @acourtofsmutandstarlight @feyrescanvas @dreamloud4610 @plants-w0rld @tele86 @dragonsandrinks @making-it-big @itsbonniebabe @motheroffae @azrielswhore @casiiopea2 @whyucloudingmymind @onebadassunicorn @prettylittlewrites @moondustxy @panickedmushroom @ly--canthrope @xlosttdreamss @phoenix666stuff @runningoncoffeeandchaos @zanaorian @prettty-thing @wxveysun @aslut4percyjackson @ailoda @byteme05 @elisabethch82 @

[natsaffection]

You should write more vamp nat but like fluff. PLEASE write one where vampire nat becomes like a whiney and needy dom. Or protective vampire nat, jealous vampire nat, obsessive vampire nat, possessive vampire nat

Vampire Natasha | hcs

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

A/N: Headcanons under the cut!

-

Being loved by Natasha isn’t just a romance..it’s an eternal, inescapable obsession.

🩸 Natasha’s Obsession with You 🩸

• Natasha doesn’t just love you, she worships you. You are the center of her universe, the one thing keeping her grounded in an immortal existence that would otherwise mean nothing.

• She is constantly watching you, even when you think she isn’t. She lurks in the shadows, monitoring your every move, making sure you’re safe.

• Her mind is consumed by you. Even when she’s away, you are all she thinks about. Your scent lingers in her nose, your voice echoes in her head, your warmth haunts her cold, undead body.

• She needs to touch you at all times. If you so much as shift away from her, she will immediately pull you back, gripping your hips, nuzzling into your neck.

• “You are mine, Darling. You don’t get to be anywhere but here.”

• Her obsession is territorial. She wants people to know that you belong to her. She wants them to be afraid of what will happen if they forget.

• She loves marking you. Whether it’s faint bite marks, bruises from her grip, or the possessive way her scent clings to your skin, she needs the world to see her claim on you.

🩸 Overprotective & Possessive Natasha 🩸

• If Natasha could keep you locked away in a castle where no one else could see you, she would. The only reason she doesn’t is because she knows you’d fight her on it.

• No one gets too close to you. If they do, they don’t get a second chance. One wrong glance, one lingering touch, and Natasha is there, standing between you and them, her green eyes glowing with quiet rage.

• “Back. Away.” Her voice is soft, calm, but the threat is undeniable.

• She makes sure you’re never alone. If she isn’t physically beside you, you will be carrying something of hers: a jacket, a scarf, something that makes it clear you are claimed.

• If she even suspects someone is following you, they disappear before they ever reach you. You never know what happens to them. You never ask.

• “You are so fragile, lyubov..(love)” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But don’t worry. I will never let anything hurt you.”

🩸 Jealous & Territorial Natasha 🩸

• Natasha doesn’t get jealous..she gets territorial. If someone even thinks about flirting with you, she is immediately at your side, pressing a slow kiss to your neck while glaring at them.

• She loves to make it clear that you belong to her. She’ll whisper possessive little things into your ear just to make sure everyone knows.

• “Let them look. Let them see what they can’t have.”

• If someone dares to flirt with you? She will drag you into her lap, wrapping an arm around you as she leans in close to your ear.

• “Tell them you’re taken.”

• If you hesitate for even a second, she will say it for you. With her fangs bared.

• If a vampire ever dares to challenge her claim on you? That’s a death sentence. Everyone knows better than to cross Natasha Romanoff, but if someone is stupid enough to try, she makes an example out of them.

🩸 Needy & Whiny Dom Natasha 🩸

• Despite how dominant she is, Natasha is so needy. She is clingy, whiny, and desperate for your attention.

• If you don’t give her enough affection, she will pout and sulk, curling herself around you like a spoiled cat.

• “Why are you ignoring me, moya lyubov? (My love) I’ve been so good for you.”

• If you even attempt to move away from her in bed, she whimpers dramatically, burying her face in your neck.

• “Stay. You’re warm. I’ll die without you.”

• She hates waiting. If you tease her, if you tell her “not right now.” she will physically drag you into her lap, gripping your hips tightly.

• “I don’t wait for what’s mine, Detka (Baby). And you are mine.”

• She is a spoiled dom. She doesn’t like being teased, and if you push her too far, she will make sure you regret it. She whines when denied but ruins you once she gets what she wants.

• She gets especially needy when she’s hungry. Not just for blood, but for you. You can always tell because she’ll start getting clingier than usual, constantly nuzzling into your neck, letting her lips linger against your skin for just a little too long.

• “You smell so good..” she murmurs, voice thick with longing. “I could devour you whole.”

• If you tease her? Oh, you’re doomed. If you so much as smirk and say “Not now, Nat..” she will literally whine like a spoiled brat.

• “But I need you.” Her hands grip your hips possessively, her lips pressing against your collarbone. “Please. Just one taste..”

🩸 The Monster in Love With You 🩸

• Natasha Romanoff is not a normal lover. She is obsessive. She is dangerous. She is inhumanly in love with you.

• She will never let you go. Not now, not in a hundred years. You are hers, and she is yours, and she will kill anyone who forgets that.

• She will make you feel her love. In the way she protects you, in the way she clings to you, in the way she worships your existence like a starving animal.

• And one day, she will ask you:

“Let me keep you forever.” And she will wait, patient but hungry, as you decide whether or not you want to become hers in every way possible.

Would you say yes?

-

-

-

-

[littlelav107]

ok "tinatamad na ako" ok sana tamarin din ang mga guro at pabagsakin na lang ang grade mo, sana tamarin din ang mga kapatid mo at kalimutan ka na lang nila, sana tamarin din ang mga magulang mo at di ka na nila pakainin ng lutongbahay, sana tamarin din ang tsuper ng carpool niyo at maiwan ka lang sa bahay, sana tamarin ang mga doktor kapag nagkasakit ka, at sana-

you get the point.

[siren--squid]

Going Through It in a way that only danvis can fix I think

[red-dyed-sarumane]

ive seen a lot of utaite & producers brush off this type of hate from fans but the fact theyre going to this extent really makes me think 1) it was not the intent to have that impression and they absolutely do care and 2) the death threats were getting to them

[deathbxnny]

Arcane characters when someone flirts with you. | Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika x Gn!Reader

I am the brain rot. The brain rot is me.✨️

Content: pre season 2 Viktor/Jayce!, Jealousy, pitfighter Vi, established romantic relationships, angst, threats of violence/death threats, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

He always struggled with self-esteem issues, mainly due to his sickness and disability that made it difficult for him to do much. A part of him forever will believe that you could easily do better than him, yet that doesn't stop him from getting terribly jealous anytime someone gets too friendly with you. Especially when they can see him standing next to you clearly being your partner as well.

But despite his insecurities, he doesn't allow anyone to harass you either on his watch. He lets you defend yourself for the most part until he has enough and lets his more sassy side handle the flirtatious person for you. He may not be able to do anything in a physical way, something he very much would rather avoid. But his tongue is sharp, and it takes little to make them quickly scurry away with a nervous apology for the disturbance.

He'll never admit to being jealous, however, and denies any teasing accusations you send his way. But he'll secretly ask for reassurance as he starts feeling embarrassed over his insecurities rather quickly after. A couple of hugs and kisses from your side will fix that right up, though.

》JAYCE

He has a reputation to keep up. And so, technically, he should always handle things professionally no matter what. People are watching him after all, and his public image can not be tarnished under any circumstance... or so he says. Things change in his mind when they are about you. In general, people know who you are and who you belong to since he rarely shuts up about it.

But every now and then, someone who is somehow unfamiliar with this concept will come up to you and attempt to woo you right in front of his very eyes. Now, Jayce tries to let you handle yourself, but doesn't hesitate to step in either if the person doesn't get the hint. His rather intimidating frame and position as a councilor help him out Immensely with this. He chases them away with a tight smile and a kiss to your head, as he casually asks how he can oh so graciously help them.

Once they leave, he'll pretend not to hear you, of you teasingly asking him if he was jealous. Him? Jealous? Hah! Impossible... okay, maybe a little. But don't tell anyone that.

》VI

As a pitfighter, Vi doesn't hesitate to get violent with anyone who comes close to the only good thing she has left in her life, which happens to be you. She's extremely protective and makes sure everyone gets the hint regarding who you belong to. But alas, there are always the couple strays that refuse to comprehend that fact and therefore attempt to "steal" you away from her. Something that never ends well for anyone.

Her temper is shorter than it used to be, and that becomes quite clear when she's quick to loom over the person that was pestering you. She knows that you can handle yourself just fine, too. But that doesn't stop her from grabbing their shoulder and asking them if she can help them out instead. Or maybe they want to talk it out in the pit? All the same to her, but the message is clear. She'll win if it comes to you every time, and that's enough to make the person scurry away in terror.

You'll definitely have to calm her down and reassure that you had everything handled. She's just looking out for you, though, and doesn't want you to get hurt, too, like everyone else in her life. The last thing she wants is to mess up again, so her overprotective tendencies will probably never lessen. Not that you kind anyways.

》CAITLYN

Your role as her partner is crystal clear to absolutely everyone in Piltover, especially after she takes over the troops as their new ruler. She's much more cutthroat and cold than she used to be before her mothers death, which made her extremely overprotective of you and your safety. She may even be suffocating at times with her security measures, but she finds it absolutely necessary. This also means, however, that those who try becoming a bit too friendly with you are always at risk of facing her wrath.

She doesn't hold back with her dismay and is quick to stand before you with a dark, stern glare directed at whoever was flirting with you beforehand. Caitlyn doesn't care if you can take care of yourself or not either. She'll take full advantage of her new position and power too, not hesitating to give the person that was pestering you a professionally worded threat that leaves them as pale as a ghost.

Admittedly, it's hard to tell if she's jealous or just worried in her own way. Before her mother's death, it may very well just be her being a bit jealous... but with her current position, she may also just be afraid to lose you too deep down. And she couldn't handle that.

》JINX

After Silco's death, Jinx's temper is milder than before due to her deteriorating mental health (if there was anything left of it to begin with). She's a lot calmer when handling situations and seeming more calculated than before, but that certainly doesn't quell the extreme abandonment issues in her at any rate. If anything, they've become much worse than before. This means that she'll cling to you and snap at anyone who nears you. No one is allowed to steal your attention away from her. No one can take you away from her. She just won't allow it when you're all she has left.

And so, she won't hesitate to use her gun on anyone who is pestering you. A death threat or two usually gets the point across anyway. Jinx will also let you handle yourself first, however though, knowing you can easily do that. But if things do get out of hand, she will step right to scare them away at best. She'd never kill anyone infront of you after all. She doesn't want to scare you away.

You'll have to reassure her of your loyalty a lot afterward, however, as her insecurities and issues can make her spiral fairly easily. Giving her a lot of attention and love makes everything go away, though, luckily.

》SEVIKA

She's very secure in your relationship and trusts you perfectly fine, which is why she rarely ever gets jealous. Why should she, anyway, when you'll always come back to her at the end of the day? Besides, people in the lanes know who you are and who you belong to, and most importantly, what will happen to their faces once she bashes them in if they ever harass you too much.

With that said, though, she typically lets you do your own thing and chase the person away yourself first before bothering to step in. If things get out of hand, then she'll suddenly be right behind you and tower over whoever it is that's not getting the hint. Blowing smoke right into their faces, she'll ask them if they have a problem, and if yes, then they should take it up with her outside. Although everyone knows she's the only one back afterwards. This usually does the trick.

Don't expect her to ever say that she is jealous, though, and hopes you know better, too. She knows you're loyal, as she certainly is for life and therefore doesn't worry about a thing regarding the strength of your relationship.

No one is better than her anyway.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[aphrvdisiac]

TO LIE AND LOVE LIKE YOU DO.

ellie williams & abby anderson x fem!reader.

part two of off to the races.

summary — it’s been months since you ran away from the loves of your life. you think you have escaped them forever — only for them to return, with a sick game of cat and mouse coming into play as they remind you just how much you belong to them.

warning tags — adult language. extremely dark content; m*rder, stalking, possessive and obsessive behavior, threats of kidnapping, lowkey blackmail (?), threats made with a weapon. strong adult content; slapping, spitting, double penetration, edging, mommy and daddy kink(s), gun play, bondage, threesomes.

author’s message — let me know if i forgot any important missing tags for this. please proceed with caution as this part is extremely heavier than the first part; ellie and abby are so not nice in here, and it gets dark pretty quickly.

“Where the fuck could she have gone?” Abby asked, her and Ellie frantically searching the penthouse. “She knows better than to turn off her location, or leave unannounced.”

“She was just here, sleeping and resting,” Ellie stated, and their panic was overcomed with frustration and anger instead. You knew that if you went anywhere without them, that you had to tell them exactly where and your location could never go off.

They would chip you if they could. They have thought about it numerous times.

Ellie’s phone rang, and she grabbed it out of her back pocket, noticing Joel’s contact. “Hello?” She answered, irritation playing into her tone. “What’s goin’ on, Joel?”

“The police are heading to your place,” Joel said, and Ellie put the call on speaker. “I don’t know what you two have done this time, but it is bad and I am not helpin’ out with any clean ups.”

“What are you talking about?” Ellie asked.

“I’m not some moron, Ellie!” He yelled, and she rolled her eyes. “They know you killed someone. They know your girlfriend was with you, too. I called her, and asked questions.”

“You did what?” Abby shouted. “Joel, what the fuck!”

That’s how they knew you had run away from them. You were a timid and easily frightened individual, and now that you were aware of what they had done, you scurried away and were going to hide. The pair knew they had some time to track you down to your home.

“Fuck off, Joel,” Ellie cursed, ending the call. “We have time to get her, to make up a story or whatever. We can avoid the police for the night?”

They agreed to find you and explain everything, to lure you back to them as they assured that there was nothing to worry about.

Abby’s eyes go wide. “The shirt.”

Ellie cursed under her breath, running to the closet and into the hamper — only to find the shirt completely gone. You had taken it, and now many possibilities surged through their heads.

“It’s gone!” Ellie yelled, and before the two could leave the penthouse to go to you, two detectives walked in.

The amusing yet realistic part of everything is that even though they knew that you thought you had gotten away for good, they were preparing on how to get you back, and never be able to escape again.

You had a particular interest in Philosophy during high school.

You loved to read the knowledge these scholar men would try to pass on, what they had to say about life, beauty, or death. You wanted to understand their wisdom, their perspective of all things, of everything around them, and how they got to a certain point about it.

You remembered a certain quote from Plato, of how Zeus feared the power of two humans mending together as one, leaving them with four arms, four legs, a head with two faces on it. However, he was so threatened by this that he split them into two, and left them to wander Earth to find each other again.

You had believed in that quote when Ellie and Abby entered your life. These two girls, the most threatening pair, would put a grand shift on your life, and how you perceived it as. They utterly shifted your world, they took you in, and prioritized your needs.

You were worshiped by them.

You couldn’t see beyond the horizon of the world without them there, and in your isolation, you still didn’t know how to.

More than sixty-five days since your departure, leaving them behind, and not hearing a single word from them.

When you came to your parent’s villa, your mother opened the door, and you sobbed into her arms, clutching onto her. She hugged you, stroked your hair, and didn’t know if she should’ve spoken or not.

Your tears soaked into her shirt, and she had to nearly drag you inside, afraid of what was happening with you.

“My dear, what’s going on?” She asked, clear to see the exhausted look on your face, your eyes bloodshot as she sat you both down on the couch. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“I just… Abby and Ellie,” you sobbed, heavily breathing, and shook your head, still in denial of what they did. “I just need to be here for a while. I’m going to transfer to Oxford.”

“You already decided on Columbia,” your mother stated, and you continued to cry, earning a sigh out of her. “You can’t just drop it now.”

You wanted to scream, “they might kill me if I return. They may never let me go after that.” You knew that they were combing through New York, probably already onto their next target — you knew the lengths they would go to just to have you back.

That was something you couldn’t fucking stomach.

“Mom, please,” you whispered, your voice jagged and shaky. “I just can’t go back to the city.” You stared up at her, and she cradled your face in her hands for a moment before nodding, and let you rest your head on her lap.

“Okay, love. You can stay here,” she assured, rubbing your back, and let you sob until you finally calmed down and fell asleep.

The next morning, your father was telling you about Abby and Ellie, wondering if you had any idea about it.

“They’re in deep shit,” he said, glaring at you. “What are you not telling us?”

“I don’t know anything, dad!” You denied, and your mother stood aside, arms folded. “Joel already asked me the same things that you are! I don’t remember shit from that night!”

“So you were there?” Your dad asked, and you fell quiet. He took your silence as an answer, sighing heavily and rubbed his temple in frustration. “You weren’t with any one of them? At all?”

“I… Ellie gave me some coke,” you confessed, guilt reeling into you as you were partially lying, and throwing her under the rug. “I was having a tough night after this guy was harassing me, and after she gave it to me, I was left with Dina and Jesse.”

An exasperated sigh came from your mother, simply frustrated that you had been doing drugs. You were never going to be her perfect daughter, and you didn’t know how long it was going to take until she accepted that fact.

Your dad took a minute to process this information before grabbing your shoulders, and forcing you to look at him. “From here on out, you know nothing. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, and he brought you into a hug, coddling the back of your head. Your father’s affection was never this tender or earnest, and you knew he was only being protective for the family image, but you didn’t care for that — your father was holding you for the first time since you were eleven.

You had to change your phone number, deactivate any social media you had, and new butlers, maids, and chauffeurs were put into place. Your parents allowed you to move to London a month later, staying in a comfortable flat, but were patrolled by bodyguards in answer to your paranoia.

After your readjustment to life, you prevented yourself from hearing anything Abby or Ellie, or if they were at trial. You needed to focus on yourself, get your shit together, and focus on your classes at Oxford.

A few months into the new school, you kept your head low and isolated — something you were used to doing when at Faye Academy, before they made themselves stuck in your existence.

You considered taking your courses online, but knew you’d only lose your mind being stuck in your flat for days on end.

All in four months, your life was granted something that you’d forgotten — freedom.

Not that Abby and Ellie were extremely possessive, but you haven't known anyone besides them in a while. You were able to make friends at Oxford, go out to bars and diners, without the fear they may kill someone who even breathed in your general direction.

It was a relief. And you felt human again.

Your parents constantly checked in on you, and often tried to visit. It was the first time in a while since they hovered over you, and were concerned for your well being.

“Yes, mom. I’m fine,” you assured over the phone, the device stuck between your shoulder and ear as you were returning your textbooks. “I finished classes early, so I was thinking of going back to Milan for semester break.”

“Well, honey, you see,” your mother started off, clearing her throat. “Your father and I were going to attend a gala tomorrow; Joel is throwing it.”

“I thought you guys cut him off,” you said, rushing out of the library, and to your car. “Especially after everything.”

There was silence.

“Mom?”

“Ellie and Abby were found not guilty,” she said, and your heart sank to your stomach. “The trial concluded yesterday— we didn’t want to say anything.”

You froze in your tracks. “What?”

“They didn’t kill that boy. I guess he had enemies all along,” she continued, and your head spun. “If you come with us, they won’t be there. Joel assured us of it.”

“So everything is just fine now because they’re innocent?” You questioned.

“Honey, you’re acting as if you know something,” she stated, and you exasperatingly sighed, continuing your walk to your vehicle. “But Jerry and Joel did say they were going to get the girls in contact with a psychiatrist.”

“Huh, and why is that?”

“I’m not sure,” she muttered, and you hopped into your car, locking the doors. “Would you like to come? And maybe we can then spend a few days in the city. Shop around Fifth.”

“I’ll think about it, momma. Still unsure about the city,” you said, and she sighed, visibly exasperated with your nerves. “I just don’t want an accidental run in with the girls.”

“You guys were so close,” she remembered. “I don’t know what happened, but I hope you all make up soon; they were the best part of your life.”

“Bye, mom,” is all you said, hanging up the call, and tossed your phone into the passenger seat, along with your book bag. You heavily sighed, staring blankly out into the parking lot.

They were the best part of your life.

They were the tragedy of you. They were Hell masked as Heaven, where their lure was nothing more than a ticket to damnation.

Yet, all of them were bestowed to you. You were their alter, their religion, the only reason as to why they believed in life, as you did with them.

But in your time of being free from their grasp, you could breathe, and find a newer light where nothing could dim it.

Your phone dinged, and your eyes snapped over to it, hands fiddling for the device. You opened up the lock screen to see a message from a random number.

Unknown: Image Attached.

You swallowed thickly, your hands numbing as you unlocked your phone and went to the conversation.

It was a picture of you from last night, hanging out with your friend, Delilah. She was someone you had been fond of since attending Oxford, and you had gotten close to her.

Unknown: Cute girl.

R: Who the fuck is this???

Unknown: Didn’t know running made you so dumb.

Nausea washed over you, and fear rattled in your bones.

Unknown: Hi, little lamb. You miss us?

R: I’ll call the police.

Unknown: I’ll tell them you tampered with evidence. We wouldn’t want that, right? Pretty baby like you isn’t suitable for jail time.

R: You would go down with me.

Unknown: You betrayed us. What makes you think we wouldn’t betray you?

You wanted to break your phone on your steering wheel, and you searched the outside of your car, checking your surroundings. There were only a few students, and it was still light outside.

But you knew they were watching you.

Unknown: You run again, and we will find you.

R: Why now?

Unknown: Had some troubles along the way, baby. But we took our time keeping tabs on you. Oxford treating you nice? How’s every bitch who fucks you?

R: You’re stalking me?

Unknown: You really are fucking stupid.

R: Don’t think I won’t get a restraining order against you.

Unknown: Why would you want that, little lamb? After everything we have done for you? Didn’t take you for an ungrateful brat, you know. We have been there when you needed us, taken care of you, dealt with people for you.

R: You mean murder people.

Unknown: Mhm.

Unknown: Be careful, honey. Scary world we live in.

You tried to send another message, but it wouldn’t go through. “What the fuck, what the fuck!” You screamed, going to your phone contacts, and bringing your phone up to your ear.

“Miss, are you alright?” Carson asked. He had been your personal bodyguard since you moved to London, and was respectful of when you wanted to be alone. “Are you in danger?”

“I need my house and the surrounding area to be checked out,” you said, reviving your car engine, and pressed on the gas. “Check for any sort of security cameras, too. Tell Rosaline to pack a suitcase for me as well, I’m heading to Los Angeles.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carson answered, the call dropping, and you put your phone in your lap. You were trying not to get into a car accident on your way back to your flat, but you needed to leave the city immediately. You were just happy you finished your courses on time, and you didn’t need to worry about your education for a while.

About to reach home, your phone started to buzz in your lap. You pulled over to the side to look at the contact, only for it to be unknown again.

You hesitated on answering, just wanting to let it ring through, but a part of you wanted to know what sick agenda they had planned out for you. You knew they weren’t going to stop, that they needed you vulnerable and scared in order for them to pounce at you at the perfect moment; just like a prey and predator situation.

A game of cat and mouse.

You accepted the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi, bunny,” you heard Abby’s voice, and your head spun. It had been so long since you heard either girl's voice, that you frowned at the sound of it, and almost how comforting it could be. “Missed you.”

“Abby…” you whispered out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I… You both need to stop this.”

“Why, bun? You don’t like it?” She asked.

“You and Ellie killed Brandon, and probably many others,” you told her, sniffling as tears carelessly dropped out of your eyes. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but murder is wrong.”

“You have the shirt, bunny,” Abby stated, and you went quiet. “Why would you do that, hm? If you really wanted to dispose and run from us, you would’ve left it behind, or turned it over to the police.”

You couldn’t tell her your logic or reasoning behind taking the shirt. It even sounded unreal to you, unbelievable, given the circumstances, and how you ran off.

“I couldn’t help but think of what would happen if you both went to prison,” you admitted, hot water running down your cheeks. “I… You and Ellie protected me, and I thought it was only fair I returned the favor. But that didn’t mean I wanted you in my life again.”

Abby hummed. “And why is that?”

“I’m free,” you muttered, inhaling sharply. “You and her wanted to keep me in a cage, keep me locked up forever. You have done it ever since you stepped into my life, and I couldn’t see it until that evening.”

“You make it sound so horrible, bunny,” she breathily chuckled, able to hear Ellie’s own laughter roughly in the background. “Let me ask you again; who’s going to put up with you? Who was fucking there when Miranda Rhodes was fucking spilling rumors about you having eating disorders? Who the fuck handled Timothy Yales after he said he had sex with you after Winter formal?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!” You shouted, millions of emotions flooding over you, and taking you at once, drowning “I never once fucking told you or Ellie to go out of your way to do that shit! I can fucking handle myself, and being away from you both has proved that.”

“Oh, bunny. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Abby stated, sharp and clear with you. She talked as if you were dumb, that you were about out of your mind.

You could nearly burst apart, everything of you filled with terror and rage. You weren’t sure if they expected you to bow at their feet for all their maniacal endeavors they willingly decided to partake in, but you weren’t going to.

You had come this far without them, you had managed to escape them for a good time, and you weren’t planning on stopping everything now. You weren’t going to surrender your freedom and life all for them, all because you knew what they were, and what they could do.

“If I have to turn in that shirt to make sure I never see either of you ever again, I will,” you said, and hung up the call, dropping your phone back into your lap, and continued to drive back home.

The moment your car was parked, you rushed up the stairs of the building, and bursted through your front door. Your guards were all there, Rosaline getting finished up with your second suitcase as Carson approached you from the side.

“Miss, we have searched the area,” he stated, following you while you walked into your bedroom. “We found no sort of threat, especially here. I have called your family’s plane to be prepped and ready for take off to Los Angeles.”

“Carson, please close the door,” you said, sitting down on the edge of your naked bed. He listened, shutting it, leaving you and him in your bedroom as you looked up at him. “I need to ask a question, and this stays between us. Do you get that?”

“Of course, ma’am. I am under your and your parents serving,” he reassured, keeping himself near the door, a secure radius between the both of you.

“Is it possible for me to avoid the law? Few months ago, I may or may have not tampered with evidence,” you blurted, and he inhaled heavily, but nodded, tuned in with you. “My reason is so stupid, but I’m regretting keeping it in my possession, and I don’t want to anymore.”

“Well, what is it?” He wondered.

“A shirt,” you began, and he cocked his head to the side. “With blood on it. Someone’s blood who isn’t mine, because my ex-girlfriends in New York beat this dude who was harassing me.”

“And you want to turn this in now?” Carson asked, and you nodded. “Okay, miss. I’m going to see what I can do, and once I do, you can hand it over to me.”

“Thank you so much, Carson,” you smiled, standing up. “Now, let’s head to the city of angels.”

You had your own bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. It was cozy and spacious, everything to your liking, but only stayed at it when you wanted to escape home. You had once brought Abby and Ellie, and to that, you had to undergo a whole alias, and a different room.

You didn’t have much anxiety about being at Chateau, you were packed with protection, and knew the pair wouldn’t make so much time or risks since their trial had concluded, also sure that Abby understood your threat about the shirt.

You had flown late into the night, it was about three in the morning of the next day, and you were drained with exhaustion. Sleep was becoming you, yet you were on high alert, and couldn’t help but to keep checking your phone.

You worried that there would be another call, or a text; that they weren’t quite finished with their game. In your isolation, you had much time to mull over Abby and Ellie, the things they were capable of, or the people they were.

You knew blood and carnage were them. Their beauty and charm was a simple mask that only you were able to see past as violence and cruelty rotted in their souls. Maybe they couldn’t help how callous and aggressive they could be, but they lived off of it; it was all they were. There was nothing to stop them, nothing that could change them.

In a sense, you assumed your presence and soul balanced them out well — you were a complete polar opposite to them, and that’s what stood out to people at Faye Academy.

They were terrorizing, vicious females, standing with you — a loving, and free-spirited person who didn’t do much, and just kept to herself. Nobody understood or could comprehend it, but that didn't matter to them — you were the solace in their life.

You knew that they were still rough with people — mostly men — in high school, but you didn’t know you were the cause behind each act of violence that they performed. But it made sense, even as you built a timeline.

There was Teresa Doles; she had nitpicked at your appearance for weeks. When you had finally gone to Ellie and Abby about it, pictures of her partying, doing drugs, and medical records of her being in rehab had been leaked everywhere. Her family came from a prestigious lineage, and her reckless behavior put a great indent to it. She had to move to England.

Jonathan White had to be admitted to the hospital after an event for the school. Doctors said they found traces of drugs and poison in his system — which made you laugh because he said he would murder you for rejecting him for Junior prom. You recall him shouting at you, calling you a series of derogatory names, but paid no mind. Ellie and Abby weren’t happy when he told you such a thing.

Kayla Lynn was sent to the ER after her body had been found beaten and bloody in the bathroom. She was barely conscious, unrecognizable to those who found her — the doctors had to pull a tooth and fingerprints from her just to get an ID. You remembered how she bullied you for liking girls, calling you derogatory names, and even said she hoped you would be killed for it.

And you knew there just had to be more than those people. So many of your bullies either switched schools, dropped off the face of Earth, or were in physical therapy after you had told Abby and Ellie about what each of those people did to you.

You were too gullible and head over heels in love with the duo to know they were doing so much behind your back. You had been completely tuned in with love and the relationship, all you saw was them as your blessing.

They meant it when they said they would do anything for you.

“We handled it,” Ellie’s voice would play in your head from that morning. It would repeat itself like a broken record, never shutting up.

We handled it.

We handled it.

We murdered someone.

You didn’t know exactly why the murder scared you, or what provoked you to exactly take the shirt.

You were about to close your eyes until a knock tapped at your door. “Ma’am, it’s Carson,” he said, and you welcomed him in, sitting up on your bed.

You turned on the nightstand's lamp, and he gave you a small smile. “I found a way to submit the evidence without it being traced to you,” Carson said, and your heartbeat went still. “If only you’re wanting to give up the shirt, of course.”

“Well, that was quick,” you nervously laughed, staring down at your lap. “What’s the plan to turn it in?”

“I have trusted connections to the NYPD. Some officers work as guards like I do,” Carson reassured, and you hummed, chewing on your lower lip. “We can send the shirt to them as anonymous, and you won’t have to worry about the shipping coming back to you; it’ll be under my name.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” he said, and your body trembled, mind hazy. You knew it would be the moral thing to do; the guy harassed you, but Ellie and Abby could’ve done anything else besides murder.

The only murder you were aware of, of course.

These girls protected and defended you and your name. They would put the world on fire, yet never let a flame brush on your skin; they were the poisonous paradise you couldn’t see as Heaven or Hell.

You had to release them, though. You needed to grow up without them by your side, because you were more than them, and they were more than you.

And if the shirt didn’t get them anywhere, at least it was out of your grasp.

You got up from your bed, padding over to your suitcase and opened it up. You grabbed a brown paper bag, and held it close to your chest. “Please make sure I don’t get in trouble for this,” you said, pleading eyes looking into Carson’s soft ones.

He could tell you were beyond frightened. That you were just someone who didn’t mean to do this, that your kind heart thought you were doing something right.

You had absolutely nothing to do with this crime, but somehow, you looked ashamed and guilty as if you did. In a sense, you were — you called Abby about the guy, you knew very well what she was capable of. It was no secret how violent and cruel Abby and Ellie could be — physically or emotionally.

“You’re safe with me,” Carson promised, and you smiled small, hesitantly handing him the bag. “Are you sure about this?”

The bag was out of your hold, Carson grasping onto it. “They need to learn their lesson,” you said, all your logic and thoughts mixed up in your head, utterly brainless at this given rate. “And I just want them to stay out of my life for good.”

He just nodded, taking the bag with him as he exited the room, leaving you alone again.

You couldn’t sleep after that. You couldn’t even try to rest knowing you were going to ruin their lives, putting into consideration all they did for you.

But, you had just regained your freedom, discovered who you were without them. You were able to make friends without their eyes boring into your soul, you could live in peace.

You couldn’t accept anymore threats or violence, just so you could remain theirs forever. Because you knew if they truly loved you, they wouldn’t put you in harm's way.

You stared blankly at the ceiling, trapped in your mind when your phone had a sudden ring to it. Your heart stopped, and you froze, your body wanting to sink into the mattress.

You let your phone ring through, letting silence fall pass after the noise stopped.

Not even a minute ticked by as the phone rang again.

You reached for your device, answering the call and brought it up to your ear. “What?”

“So much attitude, little lamb. You’re going to hurt my feelings,” Ellie's voice came through, and you sighed, sitting up. “I’m starting to like this game. Because I know you’re fucking scared.”

You scoffed. “No I’m not. I’m just wanting you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t deal with the idea of what might happen if we catch you,” she began, and shivers cascaded on your body, holding in your breath. “You want to keep running, baby? I don’t mind the chase— it’s exhilarating.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

“You knew that, bunny,” Abby joined in, taking over the call. “Why are you acting so surprised? You fucking got off on how insane we got about you, don’t act clueless now.”

“I was naive,” you retorted. “I was manipulated and blinded by you two.”

“Manipulated? Big idea for you to get at,” she continued, and you heard Ellie’s cruel laugh in the background of the call. “You knew what you were doing when coming to us about your bullies. You knew what we all would get out of it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered.

“You liked us hurting you too, bunny,” she stated, and your breaths were becoming uneven. “Always in skimpy outfits, flirting with others to get our attention. We fucking saw through you. You’re just as sick as us.”

“Shut the fuck up, Abigail!”

“Using my full name? I’m so frightened,” Abby chuckled, amused and lightened by your poor intimidation act. “Got me shaking in my boots here, sweetheart.”

“I hope you die— both of you.”

“God forbid, right? Then who’ll take care of you?” Ellie returned into the conversation. “Not even that Delilah bitch could do it. Or Holly, Nicole, Emily, Zaya— no one.”

You fell quiet for a moment, your eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know them?”

“Baby, we told you this,” Ellie reminded you, sighing. “If you were to leave us, we would get you again.”

You zipped your mouth, anxiety surging through you.

“Having fun at the Marmont?” Ellie asked, and you shot up from your bed. “Nice name you got— Emily Dickinson. Really… that name?”

“You’re fucking here?” You asked.

Ellie snickered. “Always in your corner.”

“I have people here, patrolling—“

“Oh, we get it, you fucking princess!” She yelled. “We know you have men, we aren’t idiots. For a valedictorian, you are sure fucking dense. You think you’re always one step ahead, but you aren’t.”

“Fuck you, Williams,” you sneered.

“See you real soon, lamb,” she said, and the call ended. You knew there was no point in trying to reach the number again, it was unknown and a useless line.

Ellie and Abby stood at the top of the hotel, Delilah beaten as cable ties strapped her wrists behind her back. “Alright, you bitch,” Abby picked up Delilah from the ground, adjusting the feeble girl on her feet.

“She’s…. she’ll hate you for this,” Delilah croaked out. “And no one will believe I’ve jumped to my death.” Her head was spinning, barely conscious enough to process what these two random, strange women wanted with her, or why they cared so much. She swore a second ago she was in her flat, sound asleep and relaxed, and now she was on top of the roof of the Chateau Marmont.

None of this made sense.

“We are going to share this little secret with you since you will be dying,” Ellie said, taking out a cigarette from her pocket. “You’re not the first person who has pleaded for their life, or thought their death wouldn’t be convincing. We do this all for her, and unfortunately, she does enjoy it.”

Delilah shook her head. “No, no. You don’t know her whatsoever.”

“She brought you here to your death, sweet Delilah,” Ellie continued on, puffing out a blow. “She knows that whoever tries to steal or touch her, will be either beaten or killed by us.”

“She wanted you dead,” Abby added, and Delilah broke into hysterical sobs. “And we do give our girl whatever she wants.”

Ellie cut off the cable ties, and Abby maneuvered the frail girl over to the ledge. “Anything else you need to say, honey?” Abby asked, and Delilah’s lips parted, prepared to speak. “I don’t give a shit,” the blonde said, pushing her off as her and Ellie watched attentively, grinning to themselves as Delilah’s body splat on the concrete, blood making a river around herself.

It wasn’t long until your guards were shouting, and there were sirens in the distance.

“Ma’am, there’s been an incident on the grounds,” Carson bursted into your room, and you swallowed thickly, your phone grasped in your hands.

You threw on a robe and your slippers, pushing your way through the men. “Let me go!” You shouted, Carson being the one to shove them off. “I need to see what happened outside!”

“It’s for your safety that you don’t!” One of the men, Jackson, protested, but Carson seized your arm, and tugged you outside by your bicep.

“We listen to her,” he reminded the group as they all followed you outside. You could hear a wave of voices and distress, police officers talking to one another. In your gut, you knew something wasn’t right, and you were overwhelmed with nausea.

The noise drew you closer to the entrance of the hotel, where a symphony of shouts were clattering, and police lights mixed into the moon’s gleam. A part of you told yourself to get back into your abode, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your feet tugged your forward, curiosity tingling in your body.

You shoved yourself through a heavy crowd, officers trying to get everyone to back away or stop filming what was happening.

“Excuse me!” You yelled, and pulled yourself further in.

You regretted listening to yourself for another time. Fiery and stressed voices shifted into echoes, banging off the earth’s walls, your eyes struck open by a corpse splashed on the pavement.

Your heart beated in your throat, vomit coating it, and knots twisted in your stomach.

Delilah.

Delilah was on the ground. In front of you.

Your brain didn’t dare register any part of the gory, morbid scene that was plastered in front of you. Blood pooled around her head, her scalp visibly cracked open and her eyes open. You swore she was staring at you, everything in you shaking and trembling with great fear.

“Ma’am, get back!” An officer shouted at you, taking you out of your trance. “Please, this is a crime scene!”

“I… I know her,” you stated, and Carson approached your side. “That’s my friend— her name is Delilah Morse.”

“Please sir, let us get through,” Carson chimed in, and the officer sighed, shaking his head. “This is someone she knows. Only she’ll give you details.”

The officer went to discuss with another official, and your hand buzzed. You flinched to it, not realizing you kept your phone in your hold.

You received a message from Unknown.

Unknown: Want to keep playing, baby?

Unknown: Look at you, so scared and sick. It’ll stop once you give up.

A tear from you covered the screen, and Carson had to push you out of your stare. “Ma’am, let’s go,” he said, and you had not realized the officer was holding up the caution tape to let you through.

You heard a female’s voice come to the side of you. “I’m Detective Anna Blake. What’s your name, and relationship to the victim, miss?”

You stated your name, your voice hush and shaky as you couldn’t look away from Delilah’s body.

“And your relationship?” Anna asked.

“We… I was her friend,” you answered. “What… what did she do?”

“It looks like an apparent suicide,” she responded, and that was enough for her to gain your full attention, a confused expression plastered on your face. “She dropped from the rooftop, and ate it right here.”

“That can’t be,” you shook your head. “Delilah wasn’t at all suicidal, or had any ideations. She was the most positive person I knew.”

“Yeah, but people have personas,” Anna stated, and you furrowed your brows. “She could’ve been acting for you, and everyone else.”

“She’s from London, Detective,” you said, and she stared at you appalled, but intrigued. “She wouldn’t kill herself here.”

Anna was quiet for a sparse second. “Huh… do you know something we don’t?”

Why couldn’t you just shut the fuck up?

There was an open entrance for the vehicles to come through, and for a moment, you swore you saw Ellie and Abby standing across the street.

You knew their silhouettes. And they were watching you, witnessing their crime.

You stared at them back, because now you accepted the truth that no matter where you ran off, that would be there. They would create mess and murder back to back until you gave up the running, and realized you only belonged to them.

Fear was a disease in you, and the only way to kill it was to face them.

Your mother wanted you back in New York. She gave you no choice but to attend the Gala with her and your father.

You tried your best to talk your way out of it, explaining that you had just witnessed your best friend’s corpse the previous evening.

Your mother said the Gala would be a great distraction. You tried to make any point or excuse to stay home, until your father had himself step into the argument. He tended to never insert himself into fights with you and your mom, but this time he felt the need to, and that’s when you were left with no choice.

Of course, your main concern was that Ellie and Abby were going to be there, and confronting them was going to be an inevitable situation. You had to prepare yourself the most as to what to say or do if they were to be in your eye radius.

“This dress is killing me,” you muttered, patting down the bottom part of the simple, yet elegant dress you wore. “And the corset of this is smashing my boobs.”

“Your dress is lovely, dear,” your mother assured, and you scowled. “You have always loved long dresses like this; so long at the bottom, we can’t even see your heels. And you always adored sleeveless corset tops on them, too!”

“You look perfect, honey. You wore this exact dress for junior prom,” your dad reminded, and you shivered to the memory of it. Abby and Ellie were your escort — of course — and everyone adored your dress, even making it into a page in Vogue because it was Vivienne Westwood.

“I just… I don’t want to see them,” you muttered, and the limousine came to a halt. “And it just doesn’t feel right being here, having fun and socializing, when my friend just fucking died.”

“Cherie, Delilah’s death was not your fault or anything,” your mother said, and you glared at her. “It is unfortunate it took place at the same time you were there, but she was just an unhappy girl.”

You didn’t want to converse with her anymore, only getting out of the car before any of them, and were immediately blinded by flashing lights. Your parents stood behind you, and you fixed up a promising smile, making your way into the gala.

The second cameras and screaming men were out of your way, you hunted down a busboy for a glass of champagne. “I will take that!” You grabbed the drink from the silver tray, thanking the man, and earned a groan from your parents.

“Can you at least greet people before you get wasted?” Your father asked, and you shrugged, letting him drag you over to the familiar faces of Jerry Anderson and Joel Miller. You hadn’t seen them since the few days before the murder.

“Ah, there she is!” Jerry exclaimed, and you exchanged a cheek kiss with him, and Joel. “We heard you moved to London. Oxford, right?”

“Yes. It’s been quite delightful,” you shortly shared. “I finished exams early, so I came back into town for the meantime.”

“And do you plan to catch up with the girls?” Joel asked.

You knew at that moment that no one quite understood what really took place that night, and you would never confess to it. They all blindly assumed that there was a great falling out in response to the murder of Brandon James, that you simply didn’t tolerate that behavior, and in some parts of that, it was true.

You had no place or reason to tell the whole truth, or to be honest, when there was an exact, appropriate place to share such a thing. Yet however, if you did, no one would believe you — there was no evidential proof or key to say that Ellie and Abby killed him.

They thought the girls were saints, who were being wronged by another higher power.

The actual case would have them dropping to the ground, and you couldn’t exactly say, “Abby and Ellie are sadistic killers who get off to the pain and torture.”

God fucking forbid, though.

“I’m not so sure,” you answered, taking a light sip of your champagne. “I want to keep to myself for the meantime, and make more goals for my future.”

“Well, if they came tonight, I’m sure it would’ve been lovely,” Jerry said, and you dryly laughed with them.

Champagne wasn’t enough to fill the hollow in you. You needed the strongest shit to exist at the bar.

You had a clear cue to let yourself leave their conversation, leaving you alone in the event. You went to the bar, and sat there, requesting a martini. You put your clutch purse in front of you, and sighed heavily, a migraine coming to your head.

You weren’t used to going to these high class functions by yourself — hell, you didn’t even go until the girls became a part of your life, and would be by your side at each and every one of them. It made your parents happy that they were there to tug you out of your shell, make you more extroverted.

A figure sat at the chair next to you, yet you didn’t pay any mind to it.

Until they said your name, and the voice was familiar.

Your eyes flickered to the side, and you saw Dina. Your eyes widened, your body directing toward her, and she smiled. “How have you been!” She cheered, pulling you into a hug, and you could only hug back. “You fell off the face of planet Earth!”

“Oh, yeah,” you broke the hug, facing her. “I… I decided to do school at Oxford. I just needed to get out of the city.”

“Oxford is nice,” she said, smiling small. “Jesse and I were worried about you. The girls said you had broken up with them.”

You gawked at her in disbelief as she went on to order herself a drink.

Who else was fucking clueless?

“Well, I guess,” you mumbled, your martini set down in front of you. “We just had issues we couldn’t resolve from the night before.”

“Oh shit, that sucks,” she sighed, shaking her head. “The breakup must have been terrible to have you move to London.”

Her glass of tequila on rocks came to her as she took a refreshing sip of it, and you were about to claw out your eyes. Either she had brain damage, was lying, or truly wasn’t aware of what occurred that night, but must have since it happened at Jesse’s club.

“Dina Woodward, be fucking serious with me,” you said, and she raised a brow. “You know what happened. That night.”

She blankly stared at you.

“That night… at your boyfriend’s club…”

Dina shrugged, and you were taken aback. “Jesse must know, then.”

“Ellie and Abby were accused of a serious crime,” she began, and you bitterly scoffed, “which they were found innocent to. They had to go through that trial alone, they went through Hell without you.”

“They killed him, Dina,” you told her, yet lowered your voice due to the gossip crowd that circulated. “You cannot seriously be defending them.”

“I’m not defending them,” Dina stated, and you rolled your eyes, downing your martini. “They have plenty of enemies, and you know that, too. Everyone wants to see them at their absolute worst, and do their own dirty work to make it happen.”

You got up from your seat, grabbing your purse. “It was nice seeing you, Dina.”

You shoved your way through the bustling crowd, and were stuck in the middle as soon as your phone began to buzz.

“Not this shit again,” you mumbled to yourself, and pulled out your phone, putting it up to your ear. “What the fuck can I do for you?”

“You look pretty, sweetheart,” Ellie said. “Don’t you worry, we aren’t in your vicinity.”

“Oh, I’m so fucking pleased to hear that,” you exasperated, rubbing your temple in frustration. “Then how do you know I’m here?”

“You’re right, my apologies,” Ellie laughed, and you heard rustling over the line.

“Bunny, we are going to play a game,” Abby came to the line, and your heart jumped rapidly. “We can see you, but we’ve made sure you can’t catch a glimpse of us.”

“What do you want?” You asked.

“You still don’t get it, darling. But that’s okay,” she took a hast pause, collecting her thoughts. “We told you many times that if you were to run, we would catch you, because you are ours. You can hide, change your name, go to different universities, but we will always be there.”

You swallowed thickly, knowing you were getting stares to your frightened look on your face.

“Your parents don’t give a shit about you, they only kept you away so their image wouldn’t be ruined,” she said, and you knew that was more than true; your parents would do anything to remain prestigious and clean, and you were the taint in their life. “You said you kept that shirt to return the favor, but there’s more than that.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Anderson,” you scoffed, and she hummed. “I gave that shirt away; you and Ellie are going to prison for good.”

“We’ll see about that, bunny,” she said, and the line went flat. You rushed yourself to the ladies room, nausea building in you as the room spun, and your nerves weakened your muscles. Laughter and shouts from strangers rang in your ears as you dragged yourself further to the bathroom, and the sickening gut feeling came back to you.

You couldn’t pull apart if you were truly just sick to your stomach, or your intuition was stronger than ever.

You pushed the door open to the ladies room, and to your luck, it was completely empty. You lunged yourself into a stall, and collapsed down on your knees, yucking it up into the toilet. Your anxiety and worry got the best of you, making you a mess so easily, and you were embarrassed by it.

You stood up after a few minutes, taking in slow, steady breaths, and gathered yourself, standing back up. You moved over to the sink, and settled your purse down, opening it up to grab your lipstick. You rinsed out your mouth with the faucet water, and sighed heavily, turning off the sink.

You reapplied your scarlet red lipstick, and put the item back into your purse, along with your phone.

Then a click was made from the side of you, gaining your attention.

The nausea came back, but not in a wave, yet in a violent crash. You swore your heart stopped for a moment, but could hear it violently beat in your eardrums while bile stung inside your throat, threatening to come out again.

Your body trembled, knees about to bring you down, and all you wanted to do was die at this very moment.

“Hey, little lamb,” Ellie said, grinning in pride. Your body pressed back against the sink’s counter, and tears approached over your eyes as you stared at her. “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

“No… no,” you said, able to take yourself to the bathroom’s entrance. You opened it, only to be met with Abby instead, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You are both not here.”

“Oh, but we are,” Abby said, moving forward in sync to your steps going backwards. She maintained a fairly safe distance, but one close enough to grab you if you tried to run. “Why so surprised, bunny? We promised this.”

Something about them was gravely different this time. There was a darker energy to them, a sense of evil and anger heating off of them as they stared at you down in the way the predator does when they have finally cornered their prey.

Yes, they got you, and you had no way out anymore — what a fucking terrifying and cruel revalation.

The cat got their little mouse, right by the tail.

You had fallen right into their trap perfectly, in all the ways they wanted you to. It took great cunning patience and practice to get you in this position, to have you trapped.

You were beyond scared; this was the reoccurring nightmare you dreamt of since the night you left. You always tried to consider or plan out what you would do if they were to approach you in any way, but you never paid mind to how methodical and intelligent they were.

You doubted their skills and abilities, and you were dumb to think they wouldn’t get you any time soon, that you would be free from them for a few more months, maybe a year or two – maybe even a lifetime — you wished and prayed upon it.

You were stuck now. The cat and mouse game came to their precise ending.

“Are you going to kill me now?” You asked, and they hummed, shrugging to themselves.

“Well, if we wanted that, we would have done it back in LA,” Abby said, and your eyes averted back and forth between them, trying to see if there was a possible way out. “Or back in London, who knows. We had so many open opportunities to kidnap you, but we liked this little game.”

“Is that what you’re planning to do now? Kidnap me?” You asked, snickering dryly. “Keep me hostage forever? Wouldn’t be anything new to me.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” Ellie told you, tilting her head to the side. “You liked this claim we have on you. You will never admit it and that’s okay, because we know it, baby.”

“Now let’s not be so rude,” Abby said, and you glanced at her. “Let’s say bye to our guests, and go back home, little bunny.”

Ellie and Abby had seemed to have enough time to decorate the penthouse. To your last memory of it, only the shared bedroom was furnished, and now, they had everything perfectly perched in precise spots.

You sat in the living room, on the black velvet couch as you stared out the window with a mindfulness of thoughts. The city was bustling, sirens louder than ever, and traffic stacked up. You tried to concentrate on the noise outside because it would be last time you would hear it.

The pair had finished fixing themselves up a drink, returning to the room, and sat across from you. You didn’t pay attention to them, fits of rage and terror consuming you inside. You don’t know why you thought you would actually escape them, and you had only dug yourself in a deep grave.

The familiar silence moved through the home, and you could feel their eyes spiking into you, waiting for you to say something. You had more than to say and ask, but you didn’t know where exactly to start, or if you were allowed to question certain things.

“You killed Delilah,” you blurted out, your eyes averting from the window. “You killed Brandon James, and many others, I assume.”

“We have,” Ellie answered, drinking her bourbon.

“I don’t get why. Why do you kill people? How do you even get away with it?” You asked, and Abby glanced over at Ellie, communicating to each other through their eyes. “Are you in like a fucking cartel or some shit?”

“Joel didn’t have an easy time getting to where he is,” Ellie began, setting her glass down, and slouched back on the couch. “He has some connections, and so does Jerry. It’s hard to get into it all, but they were doing illegal shit on the side to get money, build their legacies.”

“We didn’t kill until you,” Abby said, and you raised a brow, positioning your body in their direction. They could tell you were now intrigued, and you were; you were more than curious. “It was two months into knowing you, and you told us about Rachel Wayne. Remember her?”

“Of course I do. That bitch bullied me like it was her life’s purpose,” you lightly joked, and she sighed. “Why?”

“It was the day when she beat you in the girl’s bathroom, ramming your face into the blow dryer all because you got a higher score on your SAT,” Abby said, and you hissed at the memory. You were a good fighter, but Rachel’s envy possessed her strength that day, and she kicked you around like an animal in the bathroom.

She locked the door, keeping her friends, you, and herself locked in, while they recorded the whole moment. You went home with a concussion, a busted face, and cried to the girls about it.

“We were so fucking pissed,” Ellie said, scoffing to herself. “We knew Rachel well. We invited her over to my place, and made small talk, getting the information out of her about what occurred. We got names, and everything.”

You remained quiet, but stayed tuned in and fully focused.

“We got her high off cocaine, and once she was zoned out, we beat the fuck out of her,” she explained, and your heart thumped against your chest, about to pop out. “She was crying, and screaming; but it made us think of how that was you previously because of her. Our anger overrode us to the edge, and we started cracking her body in. We didn’t know we had killed her until she was completely fucking limp.”

“Those who had the video were dealt with too,” Abby assured. “If they refused to delete it, we made sure their lives would be ruined, their parents would be left with nothing. We knew how to obliterate these spoiled fucks.”

“Are you serious?” You asked. It was rumored that Rachel ran away to her boyfriend in Spain, and refused to come back because her parents were assholes to her, and just a straight disappointment to them. “How did you clean up your tracks?”

“Well, I called Joel in a panic, and told him everything,” Ellie answered, finishing her drink. “Joel told Abby and I to get ourselves cleaned up, and these men came over like an hour later, picking up after us.”

“They wiped our phones and tracks completely,” Abby said, and slid you forward her glass of whiskey. “And then we did it again, and Joel quickly realized we were doing it for you. He saw that you were our purpose, so he let us use his connections, and everything.”

“He was worried everything was going to collapse the second the cops came about Brandon,” Ellie recalled, and took out a fresh cigarette. “That was a mess we had to fix, of course. Like, I’d never seen Joel so pissed off before, it was insane.”

“How did you get away with the murder?” You questioned.

“Easy shit,” Abby laughed, shrugging. “He had himself in rough, bad business. We basically found someone who he owed money to, planted all the evidence and shit on that dude.”

“Now that motherfucker is serving life,” Ellie lit up the stick, inhaling sharply. “We made sure it wouldn’t come back to us.”

“But the shirt,” you reminded them, and they stared at you for a moment before aweing at your little tactic. “The shirt is with the cops.”

“Is it, though?” Abby teased, and a faint ding of the penthouse elevator chimed, footsteps approaching into the living room. “Right on time, too! God, I fucking love dramatics.”

Your eyes shifted to the noise, a broad and muscular figure walking to everyone; and you swore it was the night you were going to go into shock, or have an aneurysm.

Carson stood before you with the shirt in a clear zipped bag, and Abby stood up. “Thank you so much,” she grinned, and Ellie shook his head. “Your money has been transferred to your offshore account.”

“What the fuck?” You blurted, Carson directing his eyes towards you. “You knew?”

“I’m the one who’s been cleaning up their messes,” he admitted, and Abby opened up the bag, taking out the shirt. “It didn’t take much to convince your parents to hire me. I just needed a believable resume.”

You shot up from the couch, staring him down. “You told them where I was at, and everything! You are a fucking narc!”

“I didn’t have to tell them anything,” Carson dryly chuckled, amused by your terrified expression. “They were able to do that all on their own; I just gave them the starting point, and left it at that.”

You smacked him, the skin contact echoing in the home. He only laughed, finding you childish and weak, and shrugged. “I’ll have you fucking killed!”

“Loved to see you try,” he said, and took his exit, waving to the pair. You stared at where he was in utter shock, widely appalled with slight betrayal hitting your heart. You had trusted Carson wholeheartedly, felt secure and safe with him, and it all was a blinding lie.

Ellie started up the fireplace, and your eyes flickered to the ghostly fire. “No, no!” You shouted, trying to seize the shirt from Abby, but the auburn haired girl entrapped you in her hold, forcing you to watch the shirt to be burned.

“You know, I hope you start to learn tonight,” Abby tossed the shirt into the fire, and you wailed, thrashing in Ellie’s arms, yet it was pointless; in every way, they would always be stronger, you being a weakling.

The shirt crinkled and disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Ellie let go of you, and you glared at her. “We aren’t done talking,” she settled you back on the couch, and Abby brought a glass of chardonnay to you. “Now we want our answers.”

“I’ll fuck you up!” You spat, and they tried not to laugh. “What else shit do you have to say?”

“What did you expect to happen when you came to us about your bullies?” Abby asked, genuine and engrossed. “Did you think we would just have chit chats?”

You took a second to yourself, and you stared down at your lap, fidgeting at your dress. Before Abby and Ellie came into your life for good, they were notorious at the academy, and held that title with such pride. You knew what they were capable of, what they could do, and you saw them as your defenders from everything.

Did a part of you know what you were doing? Yes, but not that it would lead them to murder. You never understood or knew why they were so fixated on you, even before they decided to lure you into their lives. They had been riveted by you, and there was not a clear indication as to why, but you used it to your full advantage.

Your parents didn’t care about you, and they knew that. All three of you played a dangerous, deadly role in the relationship; it was volatile and brutal, but it was all you had, and they were all you wanted.

You spent so much time running and hiding from them, you never took a particular moment to realize your role in everything. You took that shirt because it was a part of you; you had Brandon killed, he was a deadman the second you called Abby about him.

You were just as guilty as them, you were just as part of their games and murder.

No one else was going to do this for you, nobody would burn and tear apart the Earth just to have you in their grasp again.

“There’s our girl,” Abby cooed, and you looked up at them, tears in your eyes. “You finally understand. After these years, now it has come to you.”

“You gave us the cards, we just played them the way you liked,” Ellie said, and you downed the chardonnay, exhaling shakily as you set it down. “We knew you were too much like us, we couldn’t deny you anymore. We had to have you.”

“Every time you said we handled it,” you sucked in a hard, jagged breath, “was that code for ‘we killed someone”?”

“What else would it mean, princess?” She mused, burning her cigarette out alas in the ashtray on the coffee table.

A silence slowly creeped into the room, crinkling of the fire and outside traffic filling it as it lasted what felt like moments.

“You know the first time we say you — God, we just knew we had to have you,” Abby spoke, and your eyes trained focused on them. “You hypnotized us by simply existing, by being in our vicinity. It was like we were blessed to come across one of God’s angels.”

You were always sure that they were attracted to you because you simply co-existed within their class status, and because they knew you were the only girl at Faye Academy that wasn’t corrupted or tainted. You were like this fresh breath for them to use — and you still thought like that after everything they had done for you, and even prove that they did love you beyond your body.

“Why me?” You asked.

“We don’t know what you did to simply draw us in, but we couldn’t resist. Every time I saw you in class, in your nicely ironed pleated skirt, in your dark blue polo sweater… your makeup done so pretty…” Ellie reminisced, a crude grin playing onto her lips as she recalled the first moment she laid eyes on you. “You were so pure, so perfect for us. It was no longer about wanting you, it was about needing you — we had to; everyday that passed by where you weren’t in our grasp, we could almost die from it.”

“You will never truly know how much you have us at our knees for you, sweetheart, and that’s okay,” Abby said, and you sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing you had been barely breathing the entire time they spoke about you. “But understand the risks we would go through for you; we live and breathe you. We crave and yearn for you, despite the fact you are already ours. What is our purpose if you simply don’t exist in our lives?”

There was not much you could say to that, only able to break down. They sat up from the couch, and Ellie reached her hand out for yours, softly looking at you.

“Let’s go upstairs, baby,” she gently spoke to you, and peered up, hesitantly interlocking your fingers with hers. She walked you with her, Abby trailing close behind as an easy quietude settled in place, though your sniffles were the only thing to be heard.

Walking into the bedroom, you were momentarily paralyzed by the memory of your last moment in it. You were on that same bed when you put all the pieces together, and had left them with no letter or anything; you took your absence, and that was that.

Ellie guided you over to the wall mirror, her and Abby brushing up close on your back, the two attentively admiring you. “We would do anything for you, sweet girl,” Abby said, and your sobs slowly came to a halt. “We’ll always happily be your executioner, for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re our girl,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I think you need a fresh reminder of what you put us through.” Her hand hid behind her for a moment, grabbing something from the back of her jeans. A gun came into your vision, and your breath hitched, but she kept it by her side.

Your neck was met with Abby’s soft lips, her warm breath fanning against your skin, and her fingers loosened the strings of the corset. You softly moaned, Ellie fixated on the sight of you easily falling apart to Abby’s kissing, and grinned to herself. “Doesn’t take much to have you under us,” she said, and you eyed her, nodding.

The dress was undone, and easily dropped off your body, the duo getting the view they had longed for all this time. You were bare and exposed, only in underwear, and a primal urge had shadowed over them, wanting to ruin you without any thought.

“Oh, bunny,” Abby whispered. “Just as perfect as we remembered.”

Her lips separated from your marked neck, and you whimpered as Ellie pressed her gun to your abdomen. “What a sweet sight that I will never get tired of,” she mumbled, kissing your cheek. “Seeing you fucking petrified as if we will kill you at any moment.”

“But you won’t,” you retorted. “Right?”

“No,” she promised as the gun was slowly dragged to your temple, and she clicked the trigger, only for the barrel to be empty. You flinched to the trigger, your heart racing. “But we will hurt you, I can assure you that, little lamb.”

She used the gun to steer you to the foot of the bed. “On your fucking knees,” Abby demanded, and you collapsed to them, your knees thudding against the cold, hard granite tiles. “Anytime you stop, we use this gun, and you can find out yourself if the barrel is cleaned out.”

“Yes, mommy,” you muttered, and they amusingly hummed. Ellie kept the gun in position, using one hand to unbuckle her belt, and strip off her jeans as Abby did the same. It was a rare thing for them to have their straps under their pants, only if they knew they would have to handle you at any given moment, and this was one of them. You were going to come crawling back, and they were prepared for it, to claim and destroy you all in one.

“Mama gets to have you first,” Ellie said, and you parted your mouth open, Abby’s stuffing your mouth full with her cock, careless to your gagging. She had her way with you, her hand holding the top of your head as she thrusted herself into your mouth, trying your best to not pull back and gasp for air. The gun was there to keep you place, and you couldn’t ignore how it pressed deeply into the side of your head.

“That’s right, baby. Fuckin’ whore,” Abby said, and you tried to best out of your nose, desperate for more air. You used whatever strength you had, forcing your head back, and engulfed amounts of oxygen into your lungs. “What the fuck did we say?”

The trigger was pressed, and your ears rang with it. Empty, again.

“You’ve been away too long, princess,” Ellie said, and Abby retrieved your head, your mouth filled with the silicone object again. “Was too busy fucking other girls, huh? I bet they couldn’t make you like this; I can see you fucking dripping through your panties.”

Your arousal was a wildfire in you, spreading through your stomach, and down into your thighs. You could feel the mess you were making, seemingly ashamed and embarrassed how you got wet from their threats, with a gun pointed to you that was possibly clipped.

“There she is, now you are being good,” Abby praised, her thumb pressing away the tears that fell on your apple cheeks. “Always doing your best for us, hm? Knew you missed us too, baby.”

Ellie crouched down to your level, the gun lined up under your head as her grin turned into a twisted smirk. “All that we did for you, little one,” she mocked a frown, sighing. “And you just ran away like that? Coming home to find you gone, and betraying us?”

You were lightheaded and dizzy, your mind hazy, yet tried to stay focused. Your moans and whimpers gargled in your throat, drool running out of the corners of your mouth, and falling down onto your breasts.

“You belong to us, and you better start getting that through your fucking skull,” Ellie seethed, her bitter fury coating her mind. “You are only hurting yourself by doing the shit you do. A fucking brat you are.”

Abby decided to give up on you, your mouth hollow and free. She grabbed you by your throat, a sinister shade lingering in her eyes, and air whistled through her teeth. “Little bunny, you have no clue what you’ve done to yourself.”

You were put in the middle of the bed, and Ellie looked at her gun. “Let’s see if she can still take us,” she said, and Abby hummed, nodding. Ellie adjusted herself in between your legs, shoving them open, and stripped off your underwear, moaning at the sight of your cunt. “Fucking hell. She’s fucking soaking, babe.”

Abby had bunched ropes in her hand, kneeling into the bed, and stared at your cunt. “What a sick bitch you are, bunny,” she teased, running a finger down your slick folds, and you whined. “All of this from a gun, Ellie. She fucking loves it.”

Nothing else was said as Abby grasped onto your legs, and pushed your legs up against your chest. Her hands gripped on your wrists, having you hug the underneath of your legs, and made sure you kept yourself locked in the placement.

Ellie tied your wrists together, tight enough to not cut off any blood supply, and then went on to your ankles, knotting them in one. She used another string of rope to connect your ankles to your wrists, making your position trapped and stuck.

“We don’t want to hear you enjoying this,” Ellie said, and gave the gun over to Abby as the blonde sat herself in front of you. Ellie took off her strap, letting it drop to the ground, and took off her underwear, only to move herself over your face. She carefully lowered herself down on, and her aching cunt met your mouth as you obediently sucked and ran your tongue on it.

Abby slowly slipped the gun into you, yet you were soaked enough to let it easily be fucked into you. She pressed down onto your stomach as she rammed the cold weapon into your pussy, and you tried to muzzle your needy noises, tending to Ellie’s needs.

The auburn girl rutted herself against your mouth, eliciting shaky moans and cursed under her breath. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart,” she muttered, looking over at Abby while she continued to fist the gun into you.

You lathered Ellie’s slick on your tongue, pleased how it dripped over your lips as you moaned to the sweet taste of her. If your wrists weren’t restrained, you would keep your arms around her thighs just to eat her out for hours on end.

Abby and Ellie were intensely dominant, it was unwonted when you gave them pleasure. They were refusing about it, saying that you were the one who needed to be desired and tended to whenever you wanted to be.

You couldn’t tell if you were immensely desperate or if the gun was fucking you so well, that you were already at the peak of your climax. You denied your orgasm, needing to get Ellie to hers, and harshly ate her out, fucking her hole with your tongue, sending her into a moaning, pleading mess for you.

“Oh shit, sweetheart— yeah, keep going,” she softly moaned. “Being such a good girl for daddy, gonna make sure to cum in your pretty mouth.”

“She’s making a mess on your gun and sheets,” Abby said, and for a moment, your cunt was not filled until she pushed her cock into you. “There we fuckin’ go, this is exactly what she needs.”

Ellie craned her body near Abby, the two kissing each other in a sloppy manner as the blonde roughly fucked into you. Abby kept her close as Ellie’s jagged moans and whines breathed into her mouth, doing all she could to keep herself up and close.

“You going to cum, baby, hm?” Abby asked, and Ellie moaned against her lips, nodding. “Go on, cum for us. You can do it.”

Ellie’s orgasm came crashing down as she squirmed and cried out, twitching on your mouth. Ellie pushed herself up, kneeling beside your head and leaned down to kiss you, both of you moaning at the taste of her. You sucked on each other’s tongues, Ellie slipping her hand down your stomach, and made way in between your thighs, rubbing your cunt.

She broke apart the kiss, her free hand gripping onto your jaw to make forced eye contact, and spat into your mouth. “Make us proud, baby. Want you to give daddy a good one,” she whispered, and you kept your eyes trained into hers as Abby pounded herself deeper into you, the squelching noises of your slick mixing in with your whimpers and throaty moans.

“So fucking tight, never gonna get enough of this perfect pussy,” Abby breathed, her hands squeezing the back of your thighs. “Made just for us, sweet girl. Everything about you was made for us to worship and ruin.”

“No one fucked you like this back in London, huh?” Ellie asked, and you shook your head. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. Probably had to get off all by yourself while you thought of us, too.”

“Just… just thought of you two the entire time,” you confessed, brows knitted together. “I need you so bad, ‘m sorry.”

“We’re here, baby,” she said, kissing the side of your head. “Next time you try to escape, you’ll absolutely fucking regret it. Got that?”

You nodded, and a warm sensation kindled in the pits of your stomach, knowing the familiar feeling. You squirmed, and Abby glanced over at Ellie. “If she doesn’t understand, we’ll just beat it into her,” she said, making it a sincere promise, and a chaste kiss was made to your forehead. “I would hate to do that, but it might just happen.”

Your approaching orgasm made it too troubling to know if they would harm you in such a way, but you were at the point that you couldn’t put it past them.

“Cum for mommy,” Abby insisted, and you moaned, your hips jittering as your climax broke out of you, broken moans escaping from you. “That was fucking nothing, you crybaby.”

The cum from her strap leaked with yours, dripping out of your hole, and making a puddle in the bedsheets. She unknotted the ropes, tossing them to the ground shortly after, and massaged your wrists.

You laid there for a second before bursting out in a fit of laughter, the two confused by it.

“What?” Ellie bluntly asked.

“Surprised you even let me cum,” you said, laughing a little more. “Usually you have me work for it.”

Abby and Ellie looked at each other before their eyes went back to you as they puckered their lips in thought nodding to themselves. Ellie picked you up from the bed, and brought a violent backhand slap to your cheek, halting your laughter altogether.

“You want to keep fucking laughing!” She yelled, giving you another one. “You are even fucking lucky we are touching you. We could have had you strapped to a vibrator for hours, and hit you every time you tried to cum.” Your lightness turned into sobs, and you stared at her through glossy vision, your pout shaking on your lips. They had simply run over their limit and patience with you, and you no longer doubted the sadism they would lay on you.

Abby just stood by, soaking in your tears and how easy it was to crack you. It was enough for the both of them to get off. She took you from Ellie, putting your arms behind your back as her chest brushed up against it, and Ellie took off her shirt, harnessing back on her strap.

God, I know you hate me, you thought to yourself. But please, have mercy on me.

Abby spat down your ass, using the saliva as lubrication, and dipped you down onto her strap, your ass hole brutally being stretched open. She kept you steady and positioned right for Ellie, who was not far behind as she shoved her cock into you.

“Ride us, bitch,” Abby said, and you obliged, hissing under your breath. The pain lasted longer than you thought, tears flooding into your ears while their size brutalized your cunt. “Such a sensitive cry baby. So easy for us to break you.”

Your head fell back on her shoulder, looking up at her. “Please, mama. ‘M sorry, I’ll be so good for you.”

Ellie grabbed your jaw, a violent smack struck against your cheek. “You enjoy lying to us, all the fuckin’ time. We should’ve disposed of you a while ago, see how you would’ve done without us.”

“What a pity that would be,” Abby taunted, laughing breathily in your laugh. As they found humor at the thought of you being a lost lamb without them, you were ripping at the seams as you went on to ride them at a gentle pace for you, the discomfort shifting into grand pleasure. “I would like to see that. Maybe next time we will leave, have you feel what we did.”

“No no!” You cried, shaking your head, and broke into hysterical sobs. “Didn’t mean to go, swear I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ellie jested, that eerie smirk of hers resting on her lips. “Because who will put up with you? Make you feel like this? Give into your fucking sick desires?”

“That’s why you’re perfect for us,” Abby noted, her hand creeping up to your neck, and viciously gripped on your throat. “Just as twisted and fucked in the head as us, more than you’d care to admit. No one will want or need you the way we do.”

You refused to deny them that. They were what you craved, they were the epitome of your lust and dreams, everything you yearned for, and were the helping hand to expose who you were to yourself. You would’ve done the same as them if they tried to leave; you would fucking slaughter those who they cared for just to have them again.

A match made in the ninth circle of Hell.

Your next high came to you, making it easily known as your noises got high pitched, making it an indicator. “Let me cum, please,” you pleaded, sobbing. “Want to cum, I need to— I’ll do anything you want.”

“We like you this way, stupid whore,” Abby said, and made the gun useful again, pointing it to your ribcage. “You cum, I pull the trigger.”

You body tensed, and you nodded, trying to ignore your unbearable high as it was becoming raw ecstasy to you. Your thighs trembled, about to give up on you, and you looked at Ellie through wettened eyelashes, your face drenched with tears and sweat.

The bedroom was rare filth, you could smell sin and vices burning through it. Your life was in their hands in every literal sense, but you wouldn’t have it any other way; you would rather die than not have them, and if that meant they would have to kill you themselves, you would let them. You were utterly nothing without them, and they knew it, too.

You had all the fucking wealth and privilege in the world to be someone, but you couldn’t be if they weren’t there on your side. You were them, and they were you. Your souls were eternally intertwined, and no matter where you went, you would always come back to them because they were it. They were all you sought out for.

Despite their desecration and souls being planted from Hell, they were Heaven and all things bliss.

You needed them. You would always need them.

You were winded out of your head as your orgasm stung inside of you, crying to be freed. You sobbed with it, shaking your head, but had to consider the gun that was indented into your skin. You had not known how much was passing when holding in your cum, but you couldn’t take it, and it was easily making you fall apart.

“Mommy, please!” You cried, blubbering in your tears. “I have to— ahh, please! I can’t do it, I can’t!”

“Yes you can, and you will, you fucking whore,” Ellie argued. “Unless you want to find out if the next shot has a bullet in it.”

You shook your head, and continued to break into sobs, your orgasm threatening to be released at the edge of you. It was becoming too much, your vision was blurring, and your heart was overwhelmed, almost frightened you would have a heart attack of some sort.

Ellie and Abby gave in, violently and recklessly pounding into you, putting your riding to a complete stop. You placed your hands on Ellie’s shoulders for support, Abby’s nails clawing into your throat as she continued to hold onto it for leverage while she maintained to hold you at gunpoint.

Utter euphoria rode over you, your eyes rolling to the inside of your head, and your back perfectly arched, crying out for the both of them. Your nails scratched at Ellie’s skin, your eyes getting a hast look at her fucking your cunt. Your noises and voice grated like rust at the back of your throat, breaths shuddering in your ribcage.

“You want to fucking cum, bunny?” Abby breathily asked. “Cry for it more if you really want it, sweetheart.”

“Mama, please!” You sobbed loudly, your mewls and cries faltering in your cries. “Want to be full of you, need to be bred by you two, please. Make me a pretty mommy for you, keep me trapped with you.”

They fucking lost it on you, ferociously driving themselves deeper into your wet, abused holes, and were coming to their own high. “Yeah, baby? Want daddy to fuck a baby into you?” Ellie cooed, a faux pout dangling on her lips. “Then you wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

You nodded, on the brink of being braindead. “Yes, yes! I wanna be leaking of you. Wan’ mama and daddy to breed me so badly, please!”

You were an incoherent babbling mess, your voice raw and rough as you cried with your noises of gratification. They easily had you at the tip, and were ready to push you all the way down, keep you sobbing.

“Fucking cum for us, fuck!” Abby demanded, dropping the gun, and let go of your throat. She laid her hands on your torso, her nails scraping against your skin, and you hissed to it. Wanton moans and whimpers echoed throughout the room, and a second hadn’t passed when your climax ran out of you, riding it out as the girls went on to fuck you.

You let them use you like a fucktoy until they had come to their own orgasm, stuffing their cum into you as a symphony of curses sputtered from their lips. All movements came to a stop, bodies trembling and sticky.

You had to internally keep yourself conscious, but it was seeming impossible. You collapsed onto the bed the moment you were unfilled with their cocks, letting them handle themselves before you.

You could feel a warm, wet rag running over your legs, and you stared up at the ceiling, your eyes lazily blinking. “We need to clean you up, sweetheart. C’mon,” Ellie said, and picked you up, carrying you into the bathroom.

The three of you shared a warm bath, sitting in the middle of them as they cleaned you up nice and well, being sure to be gentle to touch you. You had missed the sweet scent of them, or how their violent hands could be so kind to your body, chaste kisses being pressed on your spine and forehead here and there.

It took you a few years for you to figure out your purpose with them, and all that they did for you. It was more than enough. To many, it would seem insane of your justifications and reasonings to why they did what they did for you, but no one else's opinion mattered in the fact. They worshiped you, they devoted every inch and breath of themselves to your protection and well being.

This is all you wanted. You and them forever the rest of your life. If carnage and bloodshed had to present, then so be it; because as long as you had them there by you, it was okay.

It was going to be okay forever.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[nap-thym3]

Sebastian Solace(Pressure) x Reader/Self-Insert 🌊

Part-One /Fluff/1,886 Words

____________

Synopsis: In which when I first played pressure I just stood and stared at Sebastian’s character model for a solid five minutes. So this was born. yayayaya

____________

Army crawling on your knees and elbows, your chest rattles with your wheezing breaths. Truth was, you’d never been an active person. The most legwork you’d gotten in a day was typically at work, and even then, that was minimal. Suffice to say, being thrust into this shitshow of a scenario where running from constant threats was the norm, the situation couldn’t be anymore dire.

You wave a hand about in front of yourself, fanning away the disrupted layers of dust that fluttered in the cramped ventilation shaft as your rasping coughs bounce off the walls and create a cacophony of god-awful racket. You mutter a slew of curses to yourself, clapping your palm over your nose and mouth in a pitiful attempt to stifle your coughing fit. It would be just your luck for a nearby eldritch-horror to overhear your pathetic, asthmatic-self in the vents and drag you out by the ankles. The thought alone brings an electrifying jolt of anxiety through your person, and if you had the space you’d be looking over your shoulder in paranoia. Alas, the best you could do was put your jittering nerves to use and crawl just that little bit faster. Honestly, it was an accomplishment in of itself that you managed to shimmy-shammy your adult self into such a claustrophobic passage in the first place. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve just marched straight past the most convenient and inviting looking vent in the world. Probably assuming it to be a blatant trap. Except, you did know better. Just a few feet ahead lay maybe the only place in the entire bowels of this hellscape where you felt you were well and truly safe.

Crawling out of the shaft like an NYC subway rat, you’re finally free to hack up your lungs in peace without fear of death by angler. At least, no death from this one in particular. Blindly you lean back to sit on your haunches, eyes straining to pick up any movement in the darkness.

“Oh. It’s you.” Your shoulder’s jump as a voice drawls from the far-side of the room. Soon after, a gentle glow begins to illuminate the occupied space.

Now with your gracious host offering you visibility, you blink your adjusting vision over to watch as Sebastian seemingly just wraps up whatever file he’d been perusing in the dark. Before you can even attempt to try and sneak a peek at whatever he’d been reading, said folder closes shut with a swift snap. The merchant then carefully tucks the item away into his inner-coat’s pocket. A shame, your snooping has been so swiftly shut down before it ever had a chance to begin- you pout at the missed opportunity. Sebastian catches your longing gaze fixated on his coat, and gives a condescending little pat to the area where you know the concealed document is to be hiding. Wordlessly daring you to even try. Cheeky fish.

“Not even a ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you’? I could’ve been dying in there!” You bemoan in a familiar way of greeting, gesticulating between yourselves wildly as you saunter forward. Sebastian, unphased by your usual eccentricities, drags an unimpressed eye over your much smaller form. Analyzing. Probably looking at your absolutely filthy diving suit- sweat-drenched and caked in dust, grime, and maybe even a little bit of blood as it was. At least you assumed so, if the distaste visibly evident in his features was anything to go by.

“I was hoping whoever it was would die a little more quickly.” Was his dry response, before turning his head in indifference; seeming to have found whatever it was he was looking for on your person.

You scoff, “I see chivalry really is dead.” You gripe without any real bite in your voice. Already beginning to survey the merchant’s wares. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him as he begins to preen over his nails, pretending to be checking for dirt. Or blood, you didn’t know the guy well enough to say for certain what he did in his free-time. Your attention travels upwards, from his large hands up to his round face. The light emanating from his angler’s bulb casts an almost ethereal glow to his features. Especially with the way his eyes gleam that cerulean blue that’s quickly becoming a favorite color of yours. In addition to these qualities, there’s a very light sprinkling of bioluminescent freckles smattered across his cheeks. Sort of reminiscent to that of stars. Idly your fingers twitch, the sudden urge to reach up and map them like constellations startlingly strong. All these qualities make Sebastian feel so surreal, so out of this world. In juxtaposition to all of that, you’re confident to say that if he had the means, he’d be snobbishly turning his nose up at you right about now. The mental image brings a small, secretive smile to your face.

Sebastian rolls his eyes- or at least, you get the impression that he does. His lack of distinctive pupils makes it hard to tell.

“Are you going to actually buy something today?” He snips, cocking out a hip. “Or are you just going to keep gawking at me?” The merchant sneers through grit teeth(or maybe that was just his face?).

Snapping out of your reverie, caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie-jar, blood rushes to your head as you grin sheepishly up at his accusatory glare.

“Sorry, you’re just…” you wave a hand up beside yourself, willing the right words to come to you. Sebastian, amused by your silent floundering, quirks a knowing eyebrow at you. As if saying ‘Go on?’ The soundless goading sends you into a mental spiral- what did that mean? What did he think you were going to say? God- you don’t want to accidentally offend him, but you also don’t want to sound like a complete idiot. You gulp, mouth opening and closing a few times as you attempt to formulate words that will appease him.

Seemingly tired of you embarrassing yourself, Sebastian moved to speak, assumedly in an act of mercy from this sad display. Quickly, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, before he could beat you to the punch.

“You’re just really pretty.” Mortified, you clap your hands over your mouth. Yup. Those are. Definitely words that you just said. To his face.

Muscles tensing, you brace for his reaction. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, disgust, maybe? Mocking laughter, most probably. Any and all situations your brain can conjure up are absolutely humiliating in equal measure. However, as one moment drags into two, and the silence has still yet to be breached, you cautiously look Sebastian’s way. The sight that greets you is a rare one. The infamous Z-13, Sebastian Solace, is left speechless.

The Merchant’s smug expression falters, a look of genuine astonishment crossing his face. The dim light cast by his lure does little to mask the way his stature curls inwards slightly. A slight too much, in your opinion. You can see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching- as though internally wrestling with a response. Just as you had been a moment prior. The knowledge that he was just as at a loss for words as you were eases the tension in your shoulders, if only by a hair. Miser so does love its company, after-all. There’s a brief pause, heavy and awkward, until he finally speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“Pretty?” he echoes, almost disbelievingly. He then swallows, visibly thrown off-kilter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called… At-At least- that is to say, not in a good long while.” The second half of his sentence is murmured, as if mostly said to himself. But you had overheard, and he looks as if to have noticed the way your brows pinch in a confusing whirlpool of emotions. Mostly sympathy, pity, among other emotions neither of you were too entirely ready to put out on the table. God forbid you two express emotional maturity and speak plainly like adults. Sebastian flexes his long tail, the serpentine appendage looking as if it were going to either pull or push you away. However, before it can make any progress in either endeavor, Sebastian, -noticeably uncomfortable- clears his throat.

“Silly little thing.” He croons, swooping down from his towering height to give you a patronizing pinch to the cheek with his clawed index and thumb. “You should be mindful of your tongue, hmmm?” As he speaks, his usual edge returns to his voice. Your head helplessly tilts side-to-side with the motion of his ‘affection’. Affronted, and a little whip-lashed with his quick recovery, you swat the offending hand away from your face.

“Jerk! I was trying to be nice!” Despite the biting words, you can’t help but feel relieved to be set back on familiar ground. Whatever emotional vulnerability present in the moment prior was slowly ebbing away, returning to your regularly scheduled squabbling. Sebastian chuckles, bodily retreating to his previous stature and re-clasping his hands before himself with an echoing ‘clap’. You rub at your reddened cheeks, whether their heat was due to Sebastian’s rough treatment or from an entirely other emotion, was only for you to know.

Sebastian continues on distractedly, seeming to have already recollected his composure. “Flattery will get you nowhere here, you know. But… thanks.” You think you see his eyes dart away for a brief moment, before locking onto yours again. A curl of his typical smirk splaying across his lips.

You gasp dramatically, a goofy smile erupting on your face. “The mighty Sebastian? Saying thanks?” You tease.

Sebastian waves a hand about in the air dismissively. “Yeah yeah, just don’t let it get to your head.” He says, crossing his arms defensively. He steamrolls on before you get anymore wise ideas to- eugh, compliment him. “Now hurry up and buy something already!” He snaps, motioning to the various goodies strapped to his person. Not having to be told thrice now, you hurry and make your selections. Eager to move on from everything and anything to do with word ‘cute’. Nothing major, just a few batteries for the road and a mobile hacker or two. Sebastian seems to approve of your choices, and if the price he demands of you seems a little cheaper than the usual- well. You certainly weren’t going to complain.

Getting everything tucked neatly away and ready to go, you begin to trek back towards the vent before being stopped once more by Sebastian.

“Oh! And Traveller?” He calls. With an answering hum, you look back to maybe your only friend down here. The merchant in question seems to look like he’s turning something over in his head, before continuing with a withering sigh.

“Try not to get yourself killed out there, alright? I’d hate to lose such a profitable costumer.” He sing-songs grimly. Despite the harsh words, you can’t help but notice a slight undertone of warm endearment. Feeling like a certified Sebastian-whisperer, you pride swells in your chest at being able to read between the lines. With a barely concealed snicker at his thinly-veiled concern, you toss a final farewell his way before retreating. All throughout the next dozen or so rooms, you journey forward with a skip in your step. Feeling invigorated with newfound determination knowing that a certain merchant was counting on your safe return.

______________

eeeughh I’m so rusty with writing. Like. It’s not even funny how long this took me for just a one-shot? Idk I might continue this, I just suck so bad at staying motivated for fanfics. Anywho, hope any fellow Sebastian enjoyers out there liked this, there’s not enough content out there of him👍 please make more content guys pls I’m starved for the fics puh-LEASEE

[prentissluvr]

the language of love isn't dead — dean winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, frenemies to lovers, petty arguments, ft. sam!, dean is annoying obviously <3, reader speaks latin (i used google translate and it is probably very wrong lol), kissing, one mention of a sexual innuendo, a few joking death threats, non-serious mentions of choking, poorly edited, 2.4K words. requested !

summary : you tend to compliment dean in the dead language of latin after fights so that he doesn't know what you really think about him.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“you’re being ridiculous,” you frown at dean, arms crossed against your chest as you stare him down in tonight’s motel room.

“ridiculous?” he parrots, indignant. “this is baby we’re talking about. my car. you know, the ‘67 black chevy impala i would kill a man over?”

“yeah, i know her,” you reply, sarcastic in tone. “and your homicidal tendencies when it comes to her. i’m very familiar, dean.” you roll your eyes at him because you just can’t help it. dean makes it very easy to get annoyed at, for a multitude of reasons.

reason number one, he’s annoying. reason number two, he’s very hot when he’s angry. reason number three, he’s very hot pretty much all the time. it does not help that sam got first dibs on the shower, so he’s still covered in a bit of grime and blood from the hunt you just walked away from. it’s his best look, aside from any time that he smiles.

“well, then you should know that getting her perfectly tended to and polished leather seats dirty with wendy’s barbecue sauce is like a goddamn felony and i should sentence you to life of never even stepping foot near my car again,” he fires back, and if you didn’t know him well, which you do, you’d venture to guess that he’s joking. he’s not.

you groan in frustration. “for the last time, i did not get barbecue sauce on your car seats,” you insist.

“i saw you sneaking fries before we got to the room,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at you. “you could have gotten grease on the leather too.”

“i ate two fries dean, and i was careful. i used a napkin and i did not open my barbecue sauce!” you spit back at him. you can’t believe you’re arguing about this right now. except that it is so believable and so like you and him. it’s not like either one of you is going to back down, certainly not about something so petty and meaningless.

“then how come i found some in the back seat?” he says for what feels like the millionth time.

you throw your hands up in the air. “i don’t know! i don’t even use my barbecue sauce for my fries. there’s no reason for me to have opened it!” you argue, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “and how do you even know it was barbecue sauce?”

“it looked like barbecue sauce, it wasn’t there yesterday, you’re the only one who orders it and the only one who’s sat in the back since then. therefore, barbecue sauce,” he admonishes, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. you can’t help but laugh at him a little bit. he just sounds so ridiculous.

“well then, let’s say it was barbecue sauce—which it wasn’t. did the leather get damaged?” you ask pointedly.

“that doesn’t matter!” he practically rages, taking a step towards you. god, he’s beautiful and you hate him for it (you really, really love him for it). “what matters is that you got it dirty!”

“jesus, dean! just drop it, your car is fine!” you chastise, your voice raising a little in volume as you take another step towards him. you can see his light freckles better now. they’re so goddamn pretty it makes you want to choke him.

“just drop it?” he repeats, fuming. “i will not ‘just drop it.’ this is about baby. i can’t ‘just drop’ something about baby! how can i even trust you enough to let you in my car again, huh?” this is the point where he’s serious, but not that serious. there’s clear frustration and anger in his voice, but he’s stuck with you and he knows it. and when he asks that final question, his volume lessens and he shrugs. he’s looking for you to grovel or offer something to appease him. the question is whether or not to give him that. your instinct is, of course, to not. you let out a huff of breath.

“well, maybe because i’m excellent company in the car,” you suggest, a gloating tone making its way into your voice. “and i like your music better than sam does. which means we always outnumber him. that’s very important.”

he’s unimpressed, clearly. “you gotta come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” he goads.

you curl your lip at him and roll your eyes. “you absolutely suck, dean,” you state. he raises his eyebrows and you groan and roll your eyes yet again. that’s not the word to use around him unless you want a sexual innuendo thrown in your face. “you are absolutely horrible, dean,” you amend.

he laughs at you and his annoyance mostly subsides. “which means i have no problem getting back at you tenfold for getting goddamn barbecue sauce on my car seat.”

“te respicere bonum cum iratus es, ita dampnas,” you grumble, shaking your head and glaring at him. like tradition, you end the argument with a certain latin phrase full of choice words. 

now dean, sweet, lovely, silly, gorgeous dean, has no idea what you’re saying. he doesn’t care to learn enough latin for that. he doesn’t need to know, he thinks. your tone of voice says it all. he thinks those choice words are the type that one fills an insult with. today you tell him, “you look so damn good when you’re angry.” which, funnily enough, is not an insult.

it’s the perfect way of looking him in the eye and just spitting it out. you get to say without consequence what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you want to tell him so badly. it’s not the same as him knowing, but it helps. it eases your tension until the next time, it softens the blow a little.

sam fails to hold in his laugh behind you. you whirl around and glare at him, freshly dressed and out of the shower. you hadn’t even heard him leave the bathroom. narrowing your eyes at him, you tell your long time best friend, say something and you die. he puts his hands up in surrender, still laughing at you a little.

“shut up,” you grumble, then turn back to dean with a scowl.

“what was that little nerd exchange?” dean teases, realizing sam understood what you said.

“nothing,” you glower. “i’m showering now!” 

dean throws his hands up in protest. “you’re making me shower last after getting barbecue sauce on my car?”

“dean, i swear to the lord in heaven, if you–”

“fine, fine!” he relents, the sarcasm and teasing still clearly present in his voice. “you’re right, you should shower first, you probably have barbecue sauce all over ya.” you raise your fist in a threat and it’s dean’s turn to put his hands up in surrender. “i’m just saying!”

“stop saying!” you groan. “just– stop talking, i’m gonna lose my mind.” if i have to stare at your gorgeous face and listen to your gorgeous voice for another second i will go crazy. you sigh heavily. god, you wonder if you could survive not kissing him. monsters and demons and all the strange shit in the world… that’s fine. it sucks but, jesus, at least you know how to deal with them.

but doing it all with dean? you have no idea how to deal with that. so far, it’s by arguing with him, complimenting him in a dead language, and keeping him at an arm’s length. and so far, it’s not working out too well, because you still want him. you still want him to want you back. you still wish and wish and wish that the language of love isn’t dead, not for you and him, not yet, at least.

maybe the shower will help. this motel doesn’t have the worst showers; the water pressure is decent and the water stays hot for a while longer than some others.

you’re not annoyed when you finish, at least, not about his stupid accusations of you getting condiments on his car seats. unfortunately, you are still annoyed about how attracted you are to him. even more unfortunate, you suppose, is that you’re attracted to him, period.

you sigh because you can’t bring yourself to actually try not to be. not that anyone can reverse feelings, but you let your feelings run rampant, more than you should sometimes. you let him eat away at your heart like a goddman movie zombie that’s too stupid to remember it eats brains. then, you figure that the thought of him eats away at your brain too, because he messes with your rationality sometimes.

his eyes are on you as you leave the bathroom and you wonder if sam’s tattled on you. when you shoot him a look he shrugs and shakes his head. you’re not convinced, but you let it slide. you plop down on the pullout couch bed and pack your old clothes away, ignoring dean’s heavy gaze. only when the door to the bathroom opens and closes do you flop against the bed with a heaving sigh.

“i hate your brother,” you grumble, barely loud enough for sam to hear as the muffled sounds of the shower turning on hits your ears. you turn to your side and curl up, not even bothering to pull the sheet over yourself.

you can’t see sam, but you hear him scoff from his spot on his own bed. “sure you do,” he quips, completely sarcastic.

“no, i really, really do,” you insist, not meaning a word of it.

“well, he hates you too, then,” he answers, voice heavy with implication. you know what he means because he knows what you mean. hate, of course, is love.

“no, he doesn’t,” you counter, sad about it. you bet that no one’s ever sounded so disappointed that someone doesn’t ‘hate’ them.

“you’re hopeless.” sam’s probably shaking his head at you as he reads the words on the book in his lap.

“i’m hopeless,” you sigh.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s not until a few days later that dean confronts you about your little latin digs at him. sam did tattle, only because he’s tired of your pining, but dean won’t tell you that. he’s smart enough to know you’ll end up with your hands around sam’s neck if you end up finding out, and he’s not trying to have his… person strangle his little brother.

“hey, idiot,” he starts, the word layered with affection. “why do you always insult me in latin? sorta feels like you lose the point of insulting someone to their face like that.” 

he’s leaning against the hood of his car, beer in hand like always. it’s oddly uncommon to find yourself like this; outside, alone with him. the motel’s not busy and there are barely any other cars in the parking lot, and even less people. it’s just you and him as far as you can see. the night air is mild, cicadas singing as summer begins to slip away.

“well… maybe the point is that you know i’m saying something about you, but you don’t know what,” you shrug, sort of proud of the smooth answer. you’re not even lying. inside, you’re panicking a bit. this is dangerous territory.

“the stuff you’re saying is that horrible, huh?” his tone suggests a joke. his eyes suggest otherwise. it makes you pause. 

how unfair is it, to the both of you, to lie? to even joke that you’d say such mean things about him? about dean winchester, whom you know sort of hates himself. who has just two people by his side, you and sam.

and you, who only argues with him because it’s easier than being nice. you, who deserves what you want but won’t let yourself even try to have it.

“no,” you sigh out. “i’m not saying horrible stuff about you.” you don’t look at him, you don’t mess around. you take the joking in his voice and strip it away. you take the look in his eyes and put it in yours. it makes him look at you, for once. it’s easy to imagine his eyebrows raising, his lips caught somewhere between his signature smirk and a curious frown. “not in latin, anyways,” you add, letting a huff of laughter leak into your bitter voice.

dean keeps looking at you. you know you’re supposed to explain after saying something like that, but you’d much rather not.

“no?” he asks finally. now you have to say something more.

“no,” you confirm, still staring at the trees across the street instead of him. the street lights are orange in color, and it feels either cruel or hopeful that it’s such a beautiful night. “i… say it in latin because it’s something nice. and you can… ignore this, if you want. i say it in latin because i like you a lot, dean. y’know, more than a stupid, fucking friend.” you roll your eyes a bit, like you’re upset with yourself. then you swallow thickly and ignore the fact that you can see him in your peripheral vision. he doesn’t look like he normally does. he doesn’t look angry.

dean is torn between teasing you and kissing you. you sound mad about the fact that you have feelings for him, like you wish you didn’t. ‘more than a stupid, fucking friend’ is a real funny way to phrase things, if he’s honest with himself. the question is, does he say that to you, or does he look for something better to say? he’s not good with ‘better things to say,’ whatever that might be.

“a little aggressive for a love confession, no?” his voice isn’t even that teasing. it’s sort of gentle. he wants to slap his hand over his mouth for saying that godforsaken four letter word. you had said ‘like.’ it’s freudian slip, he supposes, since he loves you.

“this isn’t funny, dean,” you murmur, voice sort of defeated. and yet, you hear it. it’s not funny to him either. he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to feel. he was trying to say at least something, because he was having trouble coming up with anything else.

“i know,” he relents. he draws in a deep breath. “will you look at me?” your lips part, then close. you blink a few times. you turn your head and look at him. god, he loves you back. he’s got to, or there’s no other way to explain how he looks at you.

and there’s definitely no other way to explain him kissing you. he looks you right in the eyes and he leans in until his lips are touching yours. 

his eyes flutter closed, yours follow. you kiss him back, he kisses harder. the language of love isn’t dead. all you had to do was say something.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Yeti's Cave

Yandere Male Yeti x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, pleasurable sex, oil like precum, size difference, rut, language barrier, kidnapping, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1.1k (Took a tiny break from comms to give you guys a winter fic that I hope you will all enjoy. Not my best work, but I hope it will feed you. I am sorry I have been writing so slow lately.)

It was winter in the town of Whelm. Not too unpleasant. Rather cozy, to be perfectly honest. Curled up by the fire. But Whelm was in the valley. Winter in the northern mountains was a frigid hell that few would venture into.

But you had to. A week before cold weather had hit there was a messenger from the village on the other side of the treacherous mountains. A sickness had taken hold, they had urgent need of medicines that could only be crafted from ingredients found around the valley. But it took time to gather and collect such supplies when they were needed at such scale.

You were the apprentice to the wizened old apothecary. A seemingly ancient man who had taught you as much as he could about collecting medicinal herbs, preparing them, and administering them. Seeing as he was so old, only you could make the trip and treat the villagers past the mountain.

You managed to make it there in time. But while you were on your way back home winter kissed the region.

Caught in a flurry of stinging wind and violent snow you barely managed to make it into the relative safety of an odd smelling cave. You wrapped your coat tightly around you. Was this how you were going to go out? Trapped in a cave with limited supplies? Slowly fading into the cold in a weird smelling cave?

As it happened, no.

There was a loud rumbling growl from deep within the cave. Your eyes widened, but you told yourself it was just the wind entering the deeper reaches of your makeshift shelter and making weird noises. But then you heard it again, louder this time.

From the depths emerged a fearsome beast the likes of which you had only heard rumors of. A hulking form, rippling muscles apparent even under thick white fur, a human-like face with sharp teeth and icy blue eyes, and two curled horns atop a shaggy mane of long white hair.

Despite the cold, that got your blood flowing and your heart flowing, you were out and in the snow immediately. A possible death in the cold mountains was better than a certain death by that man-like beast.

Ikkan, the yeti who you had run from, was worried. You were an odd thing that he had never encountered before. But you clearly had no proper fur except what was on your head, and your artificial covering didn’t seem all that effective. You’d freeze out there!

And thus he made it his mission to go and retrieve you.

And he succeeded. Expeditiously.

He dragged you back, kicking and screaming, into his cave. Deeper into it. He held you down on his fur-lined bed with the hope it would warm you up. He also cuddled close, though you still struggled despite his good intentions.

Ikkan decided he would take care of you and you could be his tiny mate. He was lonely, in rut, and you’d definitely die without him to care for you during this harsh time of year. Besides, some part of you clearly wanted him to be your husband. You had entered his den that very clearly smelled of him, after all.

In an effort to calm you down he tried to communicate with you, but each harsh guttural word sounded like a threat to your ears. You were convinced he had saved you to eat you later.

He moved on to offering you food and water but you wouldn’t give up your resistance.

Maybe you were having trouble understanding that he wasn’t intending to hurt you? That he just wanted to be the best he could be for his small mate. How could he get his intent through to you? The answer was clear! He just had to give you some high quality sex! Yeti cum would keep you cozy and you’d know exactly what he wanted to do with you.

You kicked and squirmed as the large furry thing held you down and removed your clothing. His huge cock had come out of its sheath, making his plan for you exceedingly clear. You tried to kick him away but he held you still and patiently applied precum to your hole and massaged it in to lubricate your tight entrance.

Since you were so much smaller than he was he knew you’d need some special attention before slipping into you.

He added his thick saliva to the mix and eventually got to the point where he could easily slip in several fingers into your twitching little hole, making you gasp when he wiggled them around inside of you.

Ikkan knew his little human was ready. He sat on his large bed of furs and pulled you close, planting you firmly on his cock while nestling your shivering body into his warm chest. It really felt amazing. Inside and out. He was surprisingly soft and his touch warmed you quickly.

At the same time, his cock continuously exuded warm oily precum that heated you up from the inside out. He fucked away your resolve in record time. It was clear to you now that he was in no way trying to injure you. Unless you counted having your senses fucked out of you. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled into his cozy chest. You even began bouncing on his big cock, desperately trying to get it deeper inside you despite your earlier protests.

The yeti smirked, he knew you’d love his dick.

Ikkan was overjoyed to give his human what they wanted. He quickened the pace and went a bit harder, holding your sides as he began really fucking into you. Blush crept across your face as the two of you came together. The pair of you shivered not from cold, but from pure pleasure.

He cuddled you as you leaned on him with his slowly softening cock still in you before eventually pulling out and laying you on his bed of furs. Strangely, your body seemed to have somehow absorbed the cum and it kept you well heated without the need for your clothing.

For the moment, your brain was overstimulated and you had not fully processed what had happened. But that didn’t matter much to Ikkan, he would take the opportunity to get some food and water in you and if he noticed you becoming bratty again he would just give you some more top tier yeti cock.

You didn’t know when spring would usher in better weather. And it didn’t really matter, because no matter what happened, you would never be leaving.

[chancloud8]

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

Pairing: OT8 x reader

Word Count: 3,9k

Tags: Intro, bodyguard!ot8, idol!reader

Summary: Meeting your new bodyguards doesn't go as smoothly as everyone hoped..

‘I don’t need a group of bodyguards,’ you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. 

Your manager Yoona doesn’t even look at you anymore and you fight the urge to stamp your feet like a little child to get her attention. You won’t stoop that low though, so instead you place your hands on your hips and glare at the woman who’s been by your side since you debuted about two years ago. 

‘We’re not having this discussion again, y/n,’ Yoona says, her eyes still fixed on her phone screen. ‘Your popularity is growing by the day, you’ve received multiple death threats in the last few months and in case you forgot, last week someone tried to break into your home.’ 

Your shoulders deflate and your hands fall down beside your body. You can’t really argue with that, but you’ve grown so accustomed to having Faris at your side as your one and only bodyguard, that the thought of eight men taking his place makes you shiver. Who the hell needed eight freaking bodyguards? You weren’t a princess for fuck’s sake. 

Yoona finally looks at you then. ‘It’s very important to us to keep you safe, darling. I know it will be an adjustment, but you’ll get used to it.’ 

‘But eight?’ you argue, trying once more. ‘Do I really need eight men following my every move?’ 

‘That’s why we’re placing some of them around you with other jobs as well, kind of like undercover bodyguards,’ Yoona smiles at you like that makes it any better. 

You slump down in the chair across from Yoona and frown at her. What could bodyguards possibly go undercover as in your team? Woman, sure, no problem, but a muscled man? They’d stand out immediately. 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask carefully, not sure if you even want to know. 

‘They all have multiple skill sets, but we decided on adding three of them as your dancers and one will probably step in as a personal assistant of sorts,’ Yoona explains, her eyes once more on her phone screen. 

‘Why?’ you blurt out. ‘I don’t even need new dancers? We’re not firing anyone are we?’ 

You were perfectly happy with your team as it was and it would kill you to let any of them go because Yoona decided you needed eight freaking men to watch you. 

Yoona sighed and put down her phone. ‘We’re not firing anyone, but Dohyun is still recovering from his injury and Ju-won has asked for a few months off to visit his family. As for why, it will allow them to be around you more casually.’ 

Damnit. That actually made sense. 

‘And you’re sure they can dance?’ you ask, already knowing the answer. Yoona would never suggest something like this if they couldn’t. 

‘Yes, y/n, they can dance. I think you’ll be impressed actually.’ 

That makes you curious. Yoona isn’t easily impressed, so if she thinks you’ll approve, they must be good. Maybe you should give them a chance, or just be such a brat they run away screaming. 

‘Fine,’ you sigh. ‘When will I meet them?’ 

Yoona looks at her watch and your eyes widen at the movement. She wouldn’t do this to you, would she? 

‘They’ll be here in an hour to meet you,’ Yoona says and you let out a relieved breath. ‘You better be back here by then or I will let one of them drag you here by your ear.’ 

‘Bossy much,’ you whisper, but you don’t really mean it. You luckily have a very good relationship with your manager and even though she drives you up a wall sometimes, you know she has your best interest at heart. 

Yoona rolls her eyes at you and waves her hand at the door. ‘Go be bratty somewhere else, I’ll see you in an hour.’ 

You bark out a laugh and jump up from the chair. ‘As you wish, my Queen,’ you say, doing a little courtesy. 

Your current bodyguard Faris is waiting for you in the hallway, a smile on his handsome face as he spots you. 

‘Good talk?’ he asks, following one step behind you. 

‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ you ask, glaring at him over your shoulder. 

‘I’m the one who recommended them actually,’ Faris says and only his quick reflexes stop him from walking straight into your back as you stop walking immediately at his words. 

‘What?’ you turn around to frown at him. ‘Why would you do that to me?’ 

Faris raises his eyebrows and stares down at you with a knowing look, his arms crossing over his chest. 

‘Fine,’ you roll your eyes at him. ‘I know why, Yoona was so kind to remind me, but I still don’t get why it has to be eight.’ 

‘It might seem excessive to you Nabi,’ Faris says, addressing you with your stage name which he knows usually softens you. ‘But you don’t see all that we see and trust me when I say that once you’re on tour, you’ll be happy to have them by your side. It gets crazy out there.’ 

‘I know that, but undercover bodyguards?’ you make a face. ‘I’m not royalty.’ 

Faris chuckles and with a gentle push on your shoulder, he guides you further through the hallway and towards the studio you were working at before Yoona called you to her office. It was one of the things you really liked about your agency. Nearly everything you needed was in the same building. 

‘You may as well be and I trust Chan and his guys to keep you safe,’ Faris says as he holds a door open for you. 

‘So you really know them?’ you ask, sitting down at the desk you were working at before. Your laptop is still open on the editing program you work with and there are multiple notebooks, paper coffee cups and empty candy wrappers spread all around it. ‘Did you work with them before?’ 

‘I trained 3RACHA actually,’ Faris nods. ‘Chan and I had multiple gigs together after that and I’ve only heard good things about the others as well. I’m confident I’m leaving you in good hands.’ 

‘You shouldn’t be leaving me at all,’ you groan, throwing your head back against your chair. ‘But I understand and I hope that when I have a husband one day, he'll do the same for me.’ 

Faris just smiles at that and gets comfortable on the couch facing the door. He knows better than to get into this conversation with you again. Last time you ended up facetiming his wife in tears and he ended up having to calm down two crying women. 

‘Wait, did you just say sriracha?’ you sit up in your chair when your brain suddenly realizes what he had just said. ‘As in the hot sauce?’

‘No, I said 3RACHA, that’s what they called themselves back then,’ Faris replies, glancing at you. ‘I think they made music together in their free time, before they started their own company.’ 

Huh. Interesting. Why on earth would they go from making music together to becoming bodyguards? 

‘So all eight of them made music together?’ you ask curiously. 

‘No, just Chan, Jisung and Changbin. I think they mostly rapped, but if you’re interested in knowing more, you can always ask. It could break the ice when you meet them,’ Faris suggests, winking at you. 

‘I’ll pass, I don’t want them to think I’m happy about this arrangement,’ you murmur, turning your chair so your back is to Faris. ‘Will you tell me when it’s time to go?’ 

‘Don’t I always?’ he chuckles. 

You flip him off without looking and put on your headphones. Time to edit some more music. 

****

You’re so engrossed in your music, that it takes Faris multiple tries to get you to put down your headphones. He even goes as far as opening the blinds to let the light in, making you whimper and flinch by the intrusion of it. 

‘Alright, alright,’ you yell, your eyes scrunched close. ‘I beg for mercy, I’ll come with you.’ 

Faris laughs and closes the blinds, once again developing the room in darkness, just how you like it. He has scolded you many times before about how bad it is for your eyes to squint at your screen in a dark room, but you rarely listen to him about it. 

‘If you think about telling my new watch dogs this trick of yours, I’ll haunt you,’ you warn Faris when the two of you walk towards Yoona’s office. 

Faris makes a movement with his hands as if he’s zipping his lips closed and you nod happily at him, trusting him to keep his word. 

‘How late are we?’ you ask, having forgotten your phone in the studio when Faris basically dragged you out by your arm. 

‘About five minutes too early,’ he smiles proudly. 

Of fucking course. He’s been working with you for two years so he knows all your annoying traits by now, including having a habit of being late because you simply forget the time when you’re working. 

‘What will I do without you,’ you pout at him, ignoring the nervous butterflies in your stomach as you near Yoona’s office. 

‘You’ll be just fine, Nabi,’ Faris says and you’re not sure if he means it as a reply to what you just said or as a reassurance before meeting your new team of bodyguards. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn towards Faris. ‘How do I look?’ 

‘I thought you didn’t care?’ he grins, but he reaches out to flatten a few wild strands of your hair. 

You blow him a kiss, put on a straight face and turn around to knock on the door before pushing it open. The first thing you’re greeted with is the silhouette of 4 men standing with their back to you. Each of them have broad muscular shoulders that are clearly visible under the black suit jacket they’re wearing, the fabric straining like they’re wearing a size too small. 

The man on the right turns around when you enter and you nearly gasp at his beauty. His hair is styled to show a little v of his forehead and the black strands nearly reach his eyes. Jesus. He could be a model if he wanted too. He raises his eyebrows at you when you just stare at him for a moment, before he nudges the man next to him. 

‘Are you fucking kidding me,’ you mutter under your breathe when the other man turns around and piercing eyes meet yours. 

Of course he’s beautiful as well. What the hell was Yoona thinking? 

‘Ah, Y/N, there you are,’ Yoona says when she notices you. ‘On time, even.’ 

You roll your eyes and stroll forward to her desk, ignoring the four men as you make your way around them. In that little moment you forget there’s supposed to be more of them and when you turn to stand next to Yoona and see the chairs in front of her desk filled with four more gorgeous men, you nearly stumble. 

Yoona grins at you and you narrow your eyes at the woman. 

‘You think this is funny, don’t you?’ you grumble at her. ‘Where did you even find them? heaven?’ 

One of the men snorts before trying to cover it up with a cough. 

‘Don’t mind her gentleman, she’s in a mood today,’ Yoona smiles. 

‘I wonder why,’ you mutter, sending a fake smile in the direction of the bodyguards. 

‘That’s alright, it must be a lot to take in,’ one of them says with such a deep voice that your eyes widen. 

It must look comical, cause the same man that snorted earlier, lets out a giggle. ‘Don’t worry, Miss, it’s how everyone reacts to first hearing Felix’s voice,’ 

You want to focus on him calling you Miss, but the urge to see which face belongs to the deep voice is stronger.

‘Who’s Felix?’ you ask, your eyes searching the men in front of you. 

‘I am,’ the only blonde man of the group says, lifting his hand to show you where he is. He’s absolutely stunning with freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks. 

‘Holy shit, is that your real voice?’ you ask without thinking, slapping your hand in front of your mouth as soon as the words come out. 

He laughs and a few of the other men chuckle as well. 

‘It is, sometimes it gets even deeper,’ he says. 

‘Yeah, Lix actually has like three different voices,’ the man who called you Miss grins. 

It’s getting annoying not to know his name, but you don’t want to ask and seem interested. Luckily one of the men at the back seems to read your mind somehow. 

‘Why don’t we all introduce ourselves, my name is Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan. I’m the leader and head of your security team as of now. So if you experience any problems with our service in any way, I’m the one you can come to.’ 

‘Noted,’ you mumble, ignoring Yoona’s glare at your rudeness. 

So that’s Chan. Faris forgot to mention how beautiful his trainee was and you were so going to punch his arm for that later. 

‘I’m Lee Minho,’ the one with the piercing stare says. ‘I’ll be joining your dance team.’ 

Fuck. Of course he is. 

‘So will I,’ Felix smiles. ‘Lee Felix.’

‘And me, Hwang Hyunjin,’ the man closest to you winks. 

Great. They were absolutely going to kill you. In more ways than one. 

Biting your lip you wait for the last four to introduce themselves and pray to all the gods that Miss guy is going to be your assistant. He already feels like the most easy going out of all eight and if you need to work with one of them closely, you’d rather it be him than anyone else. 

‘Kim Seungmin, I’ll be one of your bodyguards’ the one who noticed you first says, his eyes flicking up and down your body as if he’s calculating how much of a flight risk you are. 

Oh just you wait and see buddy. 

‘I’m Yang Jeongin, but you can call me Innie or Ayen,’ the very cute man in front of Seungmin smiles and you nearly smile back at him. 

Finally the man you’ve been waiting for speaks up. ‘I’m Han Jisung, your new assistant.’ 

You cheer in your head, keeping a straight face as you look at the last man. He’s definitely the most buff of them all, his biceps really testing the fabric of his suit jacket. 

‘And I’m Seo Changbin, also part of your daily bodyguard squad.’ 

‘You’re all way too beautiful to be bodyguards,’ you say, crossing your arms with a frown while tapping your foot on the ground. 

Yoona makes a noise beside you and you don’t dare to look at her. She’ll definitely lecture you later, but this is all on her anyways. 

‘Worried your fans will fawn over us?’ Jisung jokes, winking at you. 

Your lips tip up in a tiny smile, but you quickly straighten your face. It was going to be hard to be a brat to them, but you were nothing if you weren’t stubborn. You’re not going to just warm up to them because they were hot and funny. Nope. Not going to happen. 

‘More like you’d be too busy worrying about your good looks to protect me,’ you say, raising your eyebrows at them. 

‘Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,’ Minho grumbles, placing his hand on Jisung’s shoulder as if to comfort him. ‘You won’t have to worry about that, looking this good doesn’t cost us much.’

You open your mouth to reply, but Yoona gets up and goes to stand next to you. 

‘That’s enough Y/N,’ she hisses before smiling her million dollar smile to the men. ‘As you can see Y/N hasn’t really warmed up to the idea of having this many eyes on her all the time.’ 

‘Don’t you have that all the time though,’ Seungmin says directly to you. 

You glare at him. ‘That’s not the same. 

He just shrugs. ‘We don’t want anything from you like your fans or stalkers. We’re not here to be your friends, we’re just here to keep you safe. That’s all that should matter.’ 

His words hit you harder than they should and you can’t help but flinch. The idol life isn't great for maintaining friendships and since you weren’t in a group, the only people you really had around you to talk to were your bodyguard Faris, Yoona and your dancers. You didn’t have a best friend, or even really friends in general, not since high school ended. 

‘Min!’ Chan calls out, glaring at the man. 

You square your shoulders and tilt your head, putting another fake smile on your face. ‘It’s fine, he’s right isn’t he.’ 

‘No, he’s not,’ Chan shakes his head. ‘Listen-’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you repeat, interrupting him. ‘How about I’ll show Jisung his office and we can go over the schedule for next week?’ 

Chan frowns down at you, sharing a look with Jisung and Yoona, but then he nods. You give him a nod back in thanks and without looking at any of the other guys you make a beeline for the door, hoping Jisung will follow you. 

‘Well, that went great,’ you hear someone say before you step outside. 

Faris frowns when he sees the look on your face, but he doesn’t say anything and falls into step behind you like he always does. It’s one of the things you love about him, he always knows when to not ask questions. You can hear him and Jisung quietly talking behind you, but you don’t mind, they know each other after all. 

‘Well, here we are,’ you say, opening the door of the small office area next to the studio you usually work at. ‘You can arrange everything how you like and if you need anything you can ask Yoona.’ 

‘I wasn’t expecting an office,’ Jisung smiles at you, stepping inside the room to take a look. 

It’s not much. Just a desk with a comfortable chair and a computer, a two person couch and in the corner there’s a bookcase that so far only houses a cactus, your first three albums and a box with documents your last assistant left behind. 

‘Of course you get an office, can’t have you shacking up with me in the studio,’ you say, trying to joke with him. 

‘Hey, about what Seungmin said,’ Jisung starts, sitting down in his desk chair and twirling around. ‘He’s just very serious about his job, he didn’t really mean the part about us not being your friends.’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you shrug. ‘You’re not really meant to be my friends anyways, you’re hired to protect me.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t look too happy about that. Why is that?’ Jisung asks and he sounds genuinely curious. ‘I mean, sure we’re a whole lot, but isn’t it nice to know you’ll be safe?’ 

‘Safe? Yes. Watched by eight, I repeat, eight men? No thank you, I don’t need that.’ 

Jisung tilts his head and purses his lips in thought, like he’s actually trying to see this from your side. ‘I get it, I do, I’ve lived with most of them for the last few years and like I said, we can be a lot.’ 

‘But?’ you ask, falling down on the couch in front of Jisung’s new desk. ‘I feel there’s a but there.’ 

‘You really have no idea, do you?’ Jisung leans his chin on his palm as he looks at you. ‘We’ve seen the threats Y/N, we’ve seen the video’s of handsy fans, we’ve seen the footage of that dude trying to break into your house. It’s a miracle really that nothing has happened to you so far with only Faris by your side.’ 

‘He’s right, Nabi,’ Faris says from his spot by the door. 

‘Okay, maybe more than one bodyguard would be better,’ you say slowly. ‘But eight? I still think it’s a bit much, especially the undercover bit.’ 

Jisung shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. ‘Maybe so, but at least you’ll know you will be safe.’ 

‘I guess,’ you mumble. 

‘Wanna go over the schedule for next week with me?’ Jisung asks. ‘Get your mind off all this for a bit?’ 

You jump up from the couch immediately and walk around the desk to stand next to him while he starts up the computer. 

****

About half an hour later you’re fairly confident Jisung will make a good assistant. He’s written down your interviews and gigs for the coming month and made a list of all the things he wanted to take care of before that. It was cute how he wanted to do it right. 

‘Knock, knock,’ a voice called out from the door and when you looked up you saw Chan and Changbin hugging Faris. 

‘How’s it going here?’ Chan smiles at you as he walks inside, his hands in his pocket. He probably tried to come off less intimidating like that, but it didn’t really work. 

‘Fine,’ you say, looking at the computer screen again. 

If you kept your eyes on him you’d probably drool all over your favorite studio outfit. That man was way too fine. 

‘It’s going great, Channie,’ Jisung says. ‘We’ve been getting along perfectly without the ice kings here.’ 

‘Don’t let them hear you call them that,’ Chan chuckles, moving to sit on the couch. ‘I hope we’ll be able to make this work, Y/N. I take great pride in my work and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel comfortable around us.’ 

Ugh. Why did he have to be so kind too? 

‘Thank you,’ you mutter, your eyes still on the screen. 

‘We’ll promise not to impose your privacy too much when we move in, but–’ 

Your head snaps up to look at him then and from the corner of your eyes you notice Jisung covering his face with his hands. 

‘What did you just say?’ you ask, standing up. ‘Please tell me I didn’t just hear you say the words moving in?’ 

‘Uhm,’ Chan tilts his head in confusion. ‘I thought you knew?’ 

‘Knew. What?’ you growl, your fingers balling up in fists. 

‘Oh boy,’ Jisung whispers and you turn to glare at him. 

‘You knew about this?’ 

‘Uhm, we all did? And we figured so would you,’ he shrugs, looking at you with big innocent eyes. 

You close your eyes, not at all immune to those brown doe eyes. If you keep looking at him you will stop being angry and you can’t do that. Not now. 

‘If somebody doesn’t tell me very soon what exactly this thing I’m supposed to know is, I will scream,’ you clench your jaw and take a shaky breath. 

This can’t be happening. They are not moving into your house with you. Yoona won’t do that to you, not after your talk this morning. Right? You close your eyes in frustration, already knowing the answer to your own question. She will. 

‘Such a drama queen,’ a new voice speaks up from the door and when you turn your head, already seeing red, you see Minho smirking at you. 

Changbin and Faris look concerned and when you look back at Chan, he actually looks like he’s pitying you. Fuck. 

‘Just say it already.’

‘Well, we’re supposed to move into your new house with you,’ Chan says, confirming it. 

Oh hell no. 

a/n: eeeeeeekkk I'm so excited for this series you have no idea!! I wasn't going to upload till tomorrow, but @staylovesmiley made me flip a coin and here I am at midnight, feeding you the first chapter.

Please let me know your thoughts <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @eastjonowhere @stellmeiv @bookishcaptain @flylis @deadpool15 @0325ale @thatgirlangelb @iknow-uknow-leeknow @nchhuhi @shycreationdreamland @readr1221 @beewilko

[yazzwrites6962]

Please more niragi

Warmth ♡ Suguru Niragi

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: Smut

Summary: After surviving a brutal game, you and Niragi take shelter in an abandoned building on a cold night. Light banter and teasing leads to more intimate moments between you two.

Word Count: 2170

Warnings: OOC Niragi, language, mentions of death, sexual content, penetration, biting, name calling, masochism, degradation, fingering, praise, begging, and some hair pulling.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It wasn't meant to turn out this way. You and Niragi had barely made it out of the game alive. Now, instead of driving back to the Beach in victory, you were journeying through the empty city on foot because, of course the keys had been left on a dead player and were too risky to retrieve.

"Remind me again, why I let you talk me into switching to your group?" You grumbled, glancing at Niragi as you trekked through the dimly lit streets.

"Because you're hopeless without me." He shot back, smirking despite the exhaustion in his steps. You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on the backpack slung over your shoulder.

"Right, because you're the poster child for good decisions." You two had been walking for what felt like hours. The cold night air danced against your skin and your muscled ached from the demanding game earlier.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep going. Niragi didn't seem too thrilled at the thought of continuing all the way back to the Beach either, although he would never admit it outright.

Eventually, you spotted an old, abandoned building up ahead. Unlike many other buildings, it seemed mostly intact. It looked like it must've been a shop or cafe, but now it was just another hollow shell in the Borderlands.

"Hey, that looks good enough." You say, motioning towards the building. "We can stop and rest there for tonight." You began making your way to your safe haven of the night without waiting for a response.

"Fine." Niragi sighed, catching up to you. For once, he didn't argue. He was definitely tired too. "Don't go falling asleep. There's not a chance I'm taking first watch."

Inside the building wasn't much different from the outside. It was dusty, cold, and lit only by the moonlight filtering through broken windows. Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly through the city at night. You found a pile of old blankets folded neatly on the counter. They were probably left by someone who had been camping there before.

"Toss me one." Niragi hollered to you, sitting against the wall with a grunt. Instead of gently handing it over, like a normal person, you balled up a blanket and threw it at his head.

"What the hell?!" He let out a muffled yell as the blanket hit him square in the face. He yanked it off, glaring at you with an irritated expression.

"Oops." You said, innocently, trying to hide the grin playing at your lips. "Sorry. My aim is shit when I'm feeling so tired." You picked up a blanket for yourself, wrapping it around your shoulders as you approached him.

"Your ass is lucky I'm too tired to get up and strangle you right now." He muttered, with no real threat in his voice. You sat down against the wall beside him. The air was freezing, and even with the added layer, you could feel the chill seeping in.

Glancing at Niragi, you notice him shivering slightly, despite his attempts to look unbothered. Without a word, you shuffled closer, throwing half your blanket over him.

"What are you doing?" He stiffened immediately, giving you a suspicious look.

"Relax. I'm not gonna bite. Not unless you want me to." You teased. "You just look like you're about to turn into an icicle or something." He stared at you incredulously.

"You... You're annoying. You know that?" He said, ultimately deciding not to push you away. His body relaxed as he shifted slightly closer to you. You raise an eyebrow, grinning at him. "Relax. I just don't feel like freezing tonight, okay?"

You hum in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence fills the air between you. The shared warmth made the cold of the night slightly more bearable. Every so often, you would catch Niragi glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" He asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual. You turned your head to look at him, slightly surprised by the question.

"I dunno." You answer honestly. It's true, you aren't scared of him, despite everything. "I mean, I know you're just as bad as everyone says, but not to me. Do I personally got a reason to be afraid of you? Should I sleep with an eye open tonight?"

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it with a thoughtful expression. You wonder what he was going to say before he stopped himself.

"You're really annoying." He muttered after a moment. You chuckle, leaning your head against the wall. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn you saw a soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." You scoff. "We both know you'd be painfully bored without me." You scoot closer to him, your body searching for warmth.

"You keep acting like you know me so well." He murmured. "You're not scared of what I could do?" There's practically no space between you, and it's almost like he's whispering in your ear.

"I just don't think you'd do anything to hurt me." You reply, your eyes meeting his.

"So, you've either got crazy guts, or you're just unbelievably stupid." You could feel his warm breath hitting your face, and you couldn't help but crave more of his heat.

"Maybe both." You leaned closer, your heart racing as you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. "I guess that makes us a pretty good match, huh?"

Wordlessly, his hand reached up, brushing against your cheek in a way that was surprisingly gentle for someone like him. You shivered at his touch.

You weren't quite sure who moved first, but before you could overthink it, you found yourselves closing the distance. Your lips met in a rough, but strangely tender kiss.

His hand shift to your scalp, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth. You can feel the warmth building in your chest as his other hands reaches for the hem of your shirt.

He bites down lightly on your lower lip, earning a yelp to escape from your throat. He chuckled, pulling back for a moment to look at your face. There is a flash of possessiveness in his eyes as he crawls on top of you, carefully laying you beneath him.

Fortunately, the blankets are large enough to still cover both of your bodies. Yet, it somehow didn't matter. You already felt warm enough with his right hand acting as a cushion between your head and the ground, and his left hand snaking up your shirt.

"Cozy?" He asked with a grin. You'd heard the rumors of how rough Niragi could be. However, it felt as though you were seeing a slightly different side of him. Beneath it all, he cared about you. He cared about your comfort and your warmth.

You nod, a similar smile on your face. Niragi lowered his face to yours, peppering kisses along your jawline before reaching your neck. He wanted to mark you. He wanted everyone on the Beach to see you covered in hickies and bruises belonging to him. So, he did exactly that.

He kissed and licked at your neck and collarbone. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging it slightly as if begging to feel more of his body.

"Are you really so cold, princess?" He teased as he pinched at one of your nipples. You let out a gasp, and he began to pull your shirt higher and higher until your chest was exposed to him.

In his left hand, ne began kneading at your breast while his mouth worked on the other. You felt your arousal growing, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. He growled, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

"Fuck..." He whispered, pulling his mouth off you. You shivered; your cold wet skin exposed to the chilly air. "You're intoxicating." He grumbled, reaching for the hem of your pants. You quickly assisted him in removing your clothes, your heart racing with anticipation.

Niragi shifted his weight to one side, lifting two fingers to your lips expectantly. You opened your mouth, allowing him to push his fingers against your tongue.

"Suck, like a good girl." He commanded; his voice low with desire. You did exactly as you were told, sucking and likcing his fingers until they were properly lubricated. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, lowering them to the wet warmth between your legs.

"Please..." You whimpered, the word slipping from your lips. He paused, shutting his eyes and biting his lip as if trying to control himself.

"Fuck. Do you even know how hard you've made me?" He groans, shoving his fingers inside you. You yelp as they immediately curl against your sweet spot. "All the fucking time, with all your teasing. Fuck. You make me want you so bad."

His fingers pump in and out of you, stretching you out as his lips reattach to yours. Your whimpers and moans are silenced in his mouth. You grow lightheaded, and you can tell Niragi's composure is slowly eroding away.

Your hands reach down to his belt and you unbuckle it, pulling it from his pants. His breath hitches and he pulls away from your passionate kiss. A string of saliva still connects the two of you.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He growls, his fingers still curling inside you. You bite your lip, suppressing your sounds of pleasure for a moment.

"Oh, I'll m-make sure you finish." You tease, stuttering your way through your words. He huffs, pulling his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

He works his way through his own clothing as you strip your remaining garments and toss them aside. In a matter of seconds, you are both completely bare and vulnerable in front of each other.

He grips at your thigh, leaving nail marks in it as he hoists your leg over his shoulder. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock already leaking precum.

With the quick motion of his hips, he begins pushing into you, making you feel fuller than ever before. He bottoms out, suppressing a moan behind his thinly shut lips.

"Please, Niragi." You whine, rolling your hips. He inhales sharply, squeezing his nails so roughly against your skin that you believe it may bleed. "...Move."

"Yeah?" He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as he pulls back, then thrusts forward. You squeak with pleasure as he repeats the action. "You want me to move? Alright, slut. I'll give you exactly what you're asking for."

The way he pounds into you is animalistic. Possessive. It's impossible to contain the moans flowing from your lips as you take him. Your nails dig into his back, leaving scratch marks which will remain in his skin for several days.

"You squeeze around m-me so good. F-Fuck." His voice quakes in your ear. "Like y-you're sucking me in. Such a fucking whore. So desperate f-for my cock."

His sweat drips onto you, but you couldn't care less. Your mind is swirling from the pleasure, and you're locked in on the sounds of your wet skin slapping against his. The warmth and passion are overwhelming.

"Niragi!" You whimper, breathlessly. "P-Please- I'm so close!" You beg as he drops your leg off his shoulder, allowing him to press his chest against yours. You lock your legs around his hips, as if pleading for him to keep going.

"Shit." He gasps, wrapping his arms around you. "Me too, princess." His thrusts grow sloppy and his breaths shorter. "Beg for it, my good girl."

"P-Please!" You can feel the pressure building as you beg for your release. "Fuck- Please Niragi! Please let me cum- Please! I n-need to c-cum, please!"

"A-Ah-" His thrusts stutter as he twitches inside you. "Fuck- Cum for me, baby." He huffs before pressing his lips against yours.

He continues messily thrusting into you as you both ride out your highs, his seed spilling inside you. He moans in your mouth, pulling away from the kiss as he pulls out of you, combined liquids spilling out of your body.

His trembling body slumped beside you. Never before had you seen Niragi so drained of energy. Slowly, your heart calmed, and your breathing slowed back to normal.

You rested against his side, enveloped up in the warmth of shared blankets and lingering closeness. Niragi didn't have much to say, but he wrapped his arm firmly around you, holding you in an oddly comforting way.

"You're still annoying." He exhaled, but there was no malice in his tone. Only exhaustion and playful teasing. You chuckle, nestling closer to him.

"You're still pretending like you don't like me." You shoot back, but the comment falls on deaf ears. Niragi has already drifted into a rare, but peaceful sleep.

Maybe the Borderlands was cold and cruel, but at least you had found some warmth in each other.

[shelbygraces]

i wanna thank everyone who came to my subathon, and all my friends that raided or came to chat! the support was insane and i’m so so grateful. with my recent and sudden move, this was so helpful and brought me so much peace, because i didn’t move under the greatest of circumstances.

it was in a matter of days that i found a new home, hired movers and packed up all my things. and it was because someone, who got my address from the people who had doxxed me, got into my building and came up to my apartment.

so obviously it was not safe for me to stay. i spoke against the behaviors of people sending death threats and doxxing online several times but unfortunately my voice alone isn’t enough to stop every horrible person from doing a horrible thing.

i’m so thankful to my friends who offered me a place to sleep and who made sure i felt safe again. things haven’t been exactly easy, but they’ve been getting tremendously better. i have a beautiful new home that’s everything i could have dreamed of. there’s more space for me and my cat. i’m safe, i’m loved, i’m cared for.

i wasn’t sure i would share that this happened at all because i didn’t want anyone to feel like they “won” by forcing me to move. but the truth is i left behind a place where i experienced a lot of pain, and that was something i needed. now i’m somewhere new and my soul feels so at peace. and i’m really excited for things moving forward!

i just want to continue encouraging kindness from others. meeting each other with a little more compassion and understanding. and to know it is never ok for anyone to take away a persons safety in this way ❤️

[brittle-biscuits]

To Be a Grade A Student… (Fundamental Paper Education)

I love Fundamental Paper Education so much.

With the looming threat of a brutal death being thrust amongst the students, it didn’t require much more incentive for you to start studying up and passing your exams.

The only problem with this is catching the eye of your three teachers. Miss Circle, Bloomie, and Thavel.

There was other students who pass their exams, but there was something with how you took your education seriously that the three couldn’t help but find commendable~

Miss Circle was the most blunt of the three, making an example about you on what a proper student in her class should strive to be. She can always count on you to be one of her shining stars in the class amidst the specks of disappointment and anger the FAILURES bring her.

Miss Circle was quite the clingy type too. She can’t stop you from excelling in Bloomie’s and Thavel’s classes, but only she’s allowed to hug you close to her! The other two can go kick rocks if they interfere with Miss Circle properly cherishing her grade A student.

Miss Thavel, you wanted to say that she was more reserved. To which, she was, but she still makes her favoritism towards you clear. Always having a smug smile when you get called on and getting right any of the language pronunciations she asks you to do.

She never raises her voice at you or even give you a glare like she does with the class, her presence being more soft and gentle as she comes to your desk. You felt bad for your peers, but Miss Thavel would advise you to not be. After all, a top student like you shouldn’t associate with possible failures…

Miss Bloomie’s class required a lot more studying on your behalf with all the formulas you needed to learn and she knew this, making her day all the more better when she sees you pass the next exam with flying colors. You were some kind of superstar to her…

Miss Circle may be clingy, but Miss Bloomie can get downright possessive of her superstar student, often butting heads with Miss Circle over where you got to do to your afterschool study sessions in whose classroom. These tussles can get VIOLENT if no intervention arrives, may the heavens above have mercy on any scholar that gets in the middle of that…

With how vicious the three can be towards any student who fails, take your peer Claire for example, a part of you wonders how bad it could get when the three have a student they actually favor, you.

Things can only go crazy from here in Paper School…