#i don't know if i will polish this up but

[zorilleerrant]

"You consider me your priestess?" the girl - the old woman, now, but you can still see her rosy cheeks the first time she came to visit you - asks you. It's hard to determine her tone of voice. She doesn't sound offended, at least, although she also doesn't sound like she believes you're a god. That, at least, is expected.

You wave your hand vaguely. You didn't get the gesture quite right, but humans always change their body language, and it's been too long since you needed to be human for anything. "It's not that you are. But you're the closest I've had in generations, and I would mark you one, if you want me to." You sit, casually, on a bench that wasn't there a moment before, hoping she'll do the same.

The old woman eyes it suspiciously. She's been here for every birthday since she found the place, and many informal days besides, and she knows there was never a bench here. Still, with a weary sigh, she sits beside you. "I'd like that, I think. I never had the test scores to join any of the big priesthoods. Get one over on them, a little bit." She laughs, and her teen years, writing scathing takedowns of theological papers, come back into view for a moment.

You touch her hand. There's a spark of magic. You don't need to, you never used to, but humans are more skeptical these days, and even your most devoted follower doesn't remember the old ways.

For a moment fleeting even by her standards, you wonder if she might have brought them back. But the fishing town isn't what it once was, and no one much makes the hike up here anymore, save curious children and nostalgic adults.

"Do you want me to do anything?" your priestess asks you, a wry smiling wrinkling the still plump curve of her cheeks. "Carry a sign, maybe? Rush into the town and curse their names for not giving you your due respect? I can do a mean scolding these days."

You laugh, hand still resting over hers. "If you like." The idea of her running among the fishmongers, giving over amulets with every sale, making rude gestures when they're refused, is incomparable. The only thing she really needs is The Book, though. You fold open your altar, the way she's done so many times, and bring out the box she admired enough to start polishing gently when she came to visit, telling you about her travels and her art.

"Oh, you again," your priestess says, in delight, laying a delicate hand on the smooth wood. "I learned woodworking and inlay because of you, you little scamp." When she draws her fingers down the sides, this time, the box opens, with a click she can barely hear. Her ears aren't what they once were. Her gasp is the same as it ever was, though, and she taps The Book reverently.

"I never had many rules, even back in the beginning," you tell her, opening the cover so she knows it's safe. "What ones I had don't matter so much, I think - although I'd ask you to be careful where you summon storms, if you try it." You don't know if she has the power for that, anymore. She delved deep into magic in her mid-life crisis, but you've rarely seen her use it since, and you don't know if hers has waned or blossomed in her twilight years.

She looks over the spells. She can read the annotations, still, at least. "It's a lot of power for one person." She flexes her fingers, summoning wisps of what might be the core of some major working, if she concentrated a little harder. "Would you mind if I taught these to people? Not to join your priesthood, mind, just so there could be a little more magic in the world."

You pause. You should have considered that. Many of your siblings have left their words and their magics to the world as their respect faded away, and even more have begun recovery as lost arts. You didn't know your priestess was a teacher. You knew she'd taught a few times, when the calling struck her, but never that she felt the need in her heart. "Of course," you say. The spells are mostly weak now, you think. The time for hiding them is long past. If there's something in there that can help, so be it.

She grins at you. Her teeth are still hardy, and the candlelight flashes pleasingly against them. "Of course you'd mind, or of course you wouldn't? Don't give me any loopholes, now, Your Divinity," she laughs at her own joke, the way she started doing when she broke free of childish attempts at maturity, but still, she waits for your answer, taking your hand in hers again.

"Share them however you'd like," you tell her, knowing that it means she'll record it down to scans and recreations, "the knowledge within is yours." It's clear she'll get years of delight out of it. You don't know how much she might change the world of the handful of enthusiasts she chooses to work with her. It's a nice bookend for a life full of adventure, you think, a discovery like that.

She kisses the book, gently, on the gilded cover. Then, almost as an afterthought, she kisses your cheek as well. "Thank you," she says. Then she opens it again, absorbed in the pages, well past when the evening grows dark. You keep the candles burning higher for her, so she never has to stop her perusal. It's soothing, to watch a priestess once again hard at work. She looks up. "Is this the gift?"

"What?" you ask, caught off guard. Even through all your disciples, you never managed to learn which times connect to each other in the mind of a human. You'd thought that question long forgotten, and hadn't planned on answering right now.

"The gift you said you wanted to give me. Is The Book the gift?" she asks, in confusion. Books are wonderful, powerful things, of course, but they aren't secret. Hidden, often, and protected, and sometimes held to only the most intimate of worshipers, but they're nothing unexpected, not for a deity to give.

You lean back on the bench you never rose from, and wonder if you should bring in desks for those she plans to teach. "No. I was going to offer you your choice of afterlife, when the time comes." You watch her as she frowns. You wonder if she already has an answer in mind. You wonder if she knew since she was knee high with a scraped arm, or since she was a teenager bent on escaping her classmates, or since she was learning to grow and just choosing her passion. She just looks at you, not answering.

Then, weary minutes later - weary for her, where each night brings aches the day didn't; you're happy to wait - she asks, almost rudely, "not soon, I hope?" Her chin juts out as it used to.

"Not so soon for you," you say, thoughtfully, "although too soon for me, I must admit."

She nods, still cradling The Book carefully. "I thought, once you'd made me your priestess, I'd end up going where all your servants go," she says, sounding, of all thing, patient about it. You don't know how much she knows about your afterlife. You've never discussed it with her. Even when you were popular, once, that was never much of the details that caught people's eye.

"Normally only monks go there," you say, not that you'd discourage her, if she wanted to stay always by your side. "It's a place for quiet contemplation, mostly. Even of my priesthood, only the ones who valued their silence ever stayed." You can see her, in a long gown, roaming the halls in a circle, thinking. You can't see her enjoying it for more than a short time.

"You'd have to send me away," she says, ruefully. Then she pauses to think. "You won't pick for me? I can pick?"

Still, you think, she might have you picking her home, anyway. So many of yours did. Even the ones who earned the highest honors left everything in your hands, and here she is a priestess of moments only, ready to upset everything. Or nothing, if you ask her not to. You close her hands around The Book again.

"Think on it," you say, and wait for next year.

While other god's shrines are magnificent, yours is a bit too humbling. And yet a little girl visits you every year after stumbling upon it, never missing a year even as she grows old. Deeply moved, you decide to give her a parting gift greater than what any other God would dare to give.

[creamecafe]

Fate by "Design" | Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: While doing art in a subway, the Salesman offers you to play Ddakji, a chance to win money. But you wanted his number, when you win your acquaintance with the salesman becomes much more.

Pairing: Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, allusions to smut/sex, but not explicit

Word Count:

Author's Note: This was requested by Crazy4herluv on my Wattpad book Squid Game Imagines/One-Shots. This is also my first Salesman work, so I hope you enjoy!

*Icon used for this header above that I made in PicsArt is from Pinterest. Divider is from @cafekitsune in this post*

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

The sounds of the almost isolated subway and people walking is the highlight of your daily routine. You had moved to Korea to work for a art company and you do sketches by hand.

It paid very good money but in your free time you liked to be in the subway and do art for others like New York. People would walk and stop to see what you possibly could be doing.

A lot of the time, couples, parents with their kids or even old people would ask for a drawing each day and you get paid at least $130-200 at the end of the day.

Your art simply consisted of charcoal sketches of the person who requested for the art as semi-realistic as possible with a watercolor splash in the back if they ask.

Sometimes you notice while you're drawing or sketching away looking for people to draw, you would see a man in a black suit.

He had black hair and was always carrying a suitcase with him. He was also very handsome, you thought. When you took the time to actually analyze him or look at him, not in a creepy way you thought, you noticed that he would throw something on the ground and slap people.

This guy must be insane, you thought. Slapping people everyday, but it didn't stop you wondering who he really was. You thought of going up to him and asking if he would like his own portrai. But you were nervous of asking such a good looking guy and you are an artist in the subway, so he was way out of your league.

Today felt like any other day. Until one person, the guy in the black suit came up to you. You were going to pack up for the day when you accidentally dropped pencils and other supplies on the floor, then rolled around. As you were on the ground picking up the supplies, you saw polished black shoes stop and turn in front of you.

You look up and see him. The guy in the black suit looks down at you while you're trying to pick up your stuff.

"Good evening ma'am. I have a question for you."

You got up from the floor and brushed off the germs from yourself from the subway ground.

"Hello sir. I finished my hours for the day drawing so I can't accept any art requests right now I'm sorry. You could always come back tomorrow if you like."

"I'm not asking for a drawing. I'm asking if you would like to play a game."

A game? Is this guy Billy the puppet you thought?"

"What game?" You asked?

"It's called Ddakji. Have you heard of it before?"

Ddakji. It should sound familiar but you felt like you don't know it.

"I don't think so. What is it?"

"It's very simple. You fold two pieces of paper, usually of bright colors as it's a children's game like an envelope and the goal is to throw down the paper as hard as you can so the other person's paper flips over."

"What's the point of playing the game?"

"If you win, I'll give you money. A hundred thousand won."

Your eyes widened at what he said. A hundred thousand won? That amount of money to get while doing art in a subway could take a year or two. Yet here's this handsome well kept money offering to you.

"And if I lose?"

"Well usually I slap people until they win or just give up." That explains why you see this man in the subway grounds slapping people and throwing stuff down.

"But seeing how creative you are. How about a portrait of me? Use all your creativity and imagination you can and give me something."

"Ok. I'll play. But I can change something?"

"What is it?" He turns his head to express curiosity. It's rare that people would ask for a change of things while playing, conducting he's the one in charge.

"If I win, I get to have your number."

The salesman is surprised at your boldness to ask him out.

"My number? You could walk out with a hundred thousand won. What could my number offer to you?"

"Well I might see a better prize than money. I see a real piece of art right here." You raised your eyebrow smirking

He smirks at you. This was going to be interesting he thought.

"We have an agreement then?"

You nodded. "I lose, you get a portrait. But if I win..."

"You get my number." The salesman nods smiling. "Five in a row you have to win." He then pulls out two colored orgami tiles of red and blue from his suit jacket.

"What color would you like?"

"Red/blue" you said.

"Alright then. Ladies first."

You look at him and then the ground. 10 in a row you can do this. You took a deep breath and slammed the envelope on the ground. The guy then slams his envelope on the ground flipping yours around.

It created a loud slapping sound and echoed that it startled you. You look up scared he was lying to his word and might actually slap you. You close your eyes and prepare for it.

"What are you doing?" The salesman asks

"Aren't you going to slap me?"

"You don't have to worry. I wouldn't slap a pretty face like yours. I only want a drawing."

Opening your eyes you took a deep breath. At least you wouldn't be slapped.

"1-0" The guys says. You assumed that was his keeping score

You pick up your envelope and roll up your sleeve. You threw it down but it didn't flip the salesmans. He picked his up and slammed it down flipping yours again.

"2-0". Now the chances of getting this guys number seems low and you might look like a fool. You were weren't to give up just yet. You relied on your skills of carrying an easel and so many supplies per day to the game.

Taking a deep breath, you slam down the card and it flipped the guys. You were smiled wanting to jump for joy.

"2-1" You put up 2 fingers with one hand and 1 finger to the guys face.

He said nothing but smirked. Talking wasn't his thing, you noticed. Probably why you found him attractive.

The salesman picks up his card and slams it and your flips over. It was a continuous picking up and flipping cards. You were getting better as the points were getting higher.

Now the score was "7-8". You were becoming tired and kinda wish you were home right now, sleeping. But

The salesman threw down his card and flipped yours. Now it was 8-8. A tie. Just two more and you get his number. You threw yours down and it flipped over. 8-9. Another slam from the guy and it was 9-9.

This was it. You weren't sure you would have enough energy to draw that portrait of his that he wanted. But you needed enough energy to finish this game.

You slammed it down and saw it flipped over. I won, you thought to yourself. Did I actually win? You thought.

"Congratulations. You won ma'am." The salesman smiled.

Those words felt unreal. "Yes! Yes!" You jumped around happy.

"Now, you asked for my number. I suppose you wouldn't have a piece of paper to write down my number, would you?"

What kind of question was that? You were a artist. Blank papers is all you carry. You grab your sketchbook from your bag and a pen to give to him.

He took it from your hands and wrote down his number fast. He gave it back to you and you saw it.

"What do you plan to do with that number, Miss?"

"I was wondering maybe you want to go out?"

"We can do that. Can I pick the place?"

It was the least you could let him do as he offered you money and kept true to his word to give you his money.

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm available. I might see you here too. Who knows?"

He nodded your response smiling.

"You have a good day madam"

"You too" God how you loved how formal he was and calling you madam and ma'am, even though you weren't really that old.

When you went home, you were exhausted but still smiling and excited that you got the guy's number. You texted your name so he could have yours saved as well. You went to bed, wondering what it could lead to. Possibly just one date or even more.

The next day, was the same thing. Wake up, eat breakfast, pack your things and head to the subway. You kept fixing yourself up for the salesman, wondering if he would come by.

He always comes by, you thought. He just has to. You scanned around the subway to see where he is as you didn't want to move your spot. After an hour had passed, it looked like he hadn't been around.

Maybe asking for his number was a bad idea, that he was avoiding to talk to you, you thought. A man walked by and dropped something not that far from you. It looked like money. Seeing this you get up, pick up the bill and try to call out for the man. But it looked like he was already gone. It was

Written in a black permanent marker, it says “Look at your phone ma’am”. Without thinking you check your phone and see a message. Meet me at the park at 4:30 PM. No need to dress so fancy but wear something you feel pretty in.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t believe what’s in front of you, more likely what’s on your phone. He’s actually texting you. The weird quiet but handsome black suit guy is texting you. You packed your things and went home and went to get ready to meet him in the park.

It was nothing special that you wore. Just a simple sundress/pantsuit but it was still one of the nicest outfits you had in your wardrobe. You kept wondering just what the man in plan for you. Walking around the park, you see the man still in his suit, hands in front looking around, possibly waiting for you, you thought.

Smiling, you walk up to him. When he sees you, he smiles with no teeth but still showing joy. He reaches out a hand. Looking at it hesitantly, you took his hand. The salesman then took your hand, bowed a little and kissed the back of your hand gently. You felt your heart skipped a beat when he did that.

“Hello ma’am. We meet again.”

“Hi. Were you the person that gave me the bill?”

“Maybe, a beautiful woman like you deserves more.”

Was this a dream? Were you dreaming or is this real. This man seemed to good to be true. You two walked to what would be your first date. The place he picked out for the first date was an art museum. It displayed the finest arts across the worlds and many different paintings. The salesman would ask about each piece and how did it make you feel. You responded to many of his questions but kept looking around. You guys kept talking and asking each other questions to get more acquainted with each other.

After the museum, he took you a some place to eat. Then you guys went to get ice cream. He paid for everything and asked if there’s anywhere else you would like to go. If you tried to pull out your card or even cash to pay for your own things, he would refuse so and said he got everything and that anything you wanted he’ll get for you. It had been late, so he dropped you off home and asked how was everything and if you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t thank him enough for the wonderful day you had comparison to just drawing in a subway for hours. Before you left his car, there was a slight tension between you guys that it could be cut with a knife. The man wanted to say something else but couldn’t stop looking at your lips. Looking at him, you see his hands reach towards your face and cup it as his lips softly touches yours.

His lips were so baby smooth and his cologne was so sharp from his neck, it felt like a gas hyptonixjg you. You cup his face, grazing it with your thumb. He pulls away, still looking at you with such yearning. Your thumb still on his face grazed his lips as you said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ever since that night, you two have been dating. He would take you on dates to other places. Mostly just walks in the park or art related stuff that you like. Your small kisses would turn into small makeouts into something more. He would sometimes, well mostly go over to your place and sleep over. In the mornings he would make breakfast in his underwear. You wish you could draw him right then and there.

He loves to pose for your art or whatever reference you need for your assignment in class. Once a month, he'll take you out to the art store to get whatever supplies you need. Your messy clothing consisted of paint or oil pastel stains is opposite of his clean, ironed and steamed suit. But he loves it either way.

The only time that he was out of the suit was when he was in bed with you. But other than that, you wanted him to be a bit more fun. You wanted to him have more color. Seeing those videos of online of couples doing painting of each others to see both of your art skills.

You begged the salesman to do wit you and he finally agrees. Squealing you get everything ready, canvas, paints, brushes, water and paper towels. You had 10 minutes to try to get each other’s features as accurate as possible

Time passes and both of you guys are done. You show your art of him and it’s him in his suit, pretty accurate and semi realistic but some details were missing. He nods and says it’s impressive of how much you can get done in less than hour.

You ask for his painting and he turns his Canva around and you see you in an almost renaissance like painting. Your mouth dropped and all felt like years of your art skills go away to just 10 minutes.

“What! How’s that even possible? Why didn’t you tell me you were good at art?”

“Well two people can’t be the artists in a relationship. One has to be a muse, to inspire the other.”

You scoffed at his bullshit. He just didn’t want to brag. An idea came in your mind. You grab a paintbrush and leave a stroke of red paint on his face.

“If you want to be a muse, why don’t you have some color on you?”

Smirking, the salesman takes this as a challenge and grabs his paint brush and paints across your face too.

Now you guys were having a paint battle. You tried to paint him more but he lightly grabs your arm and stops you. He leads you the floor, where he’s now on top of you. Seeing this as an opportunity, you grab a bottle of paint that’s open and smeared on his white shirt. He laughs at this and rolls you over where you’re now on top of him, straddling him.

Nothing was said between you both as you kept looking at each other. Like that night of your first date when you guys first kissed. Putting your head down you kiss him and he put his arms around on your back. The paint on your guys’ face mixed with each other. Breath was running out so you decided to stop. Your heart was beating so much just as he was trying to catch his breath too.

Now you’re forever grateful you asked for his number then taking the money. It’s a better reward than what the salesman had to offer you, as you got him, yourself. It felt like a dream come true. Even if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. Everything of being with him was like straight art. Maybe it was meant to be. That day you accidentally dropped your pencils and he came up to you. It could be called fate by others. Fate by design you like to call it.

He was right, one has to be the muse in a relationship and the other an artist. But to him, it was the thing he was missing the most. An new reason to be in the subway that fateful day.

Taglist:

@deffreal, @cocofia143, @sorry-meme, @elizabeth-hatake, @nini-0808, @hobinistaworld, @ineedsmootching, @alittlebitofeverything , @happyfrog7681 , @tiuhiatus, @goofiestgoober27, @jayyyourbabe, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy , @vampiregirlxoxo, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @l4venderia, @anthea1239, @iidontwannadiealone,

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[charmedimsure]

Hi i like to make an request for an Nam-gyu x fem player oneshot or headcanons whatever works better with you to write with - for reader join their team cause she was once a background dancer during one of thanos shows and is loyal to him but falling for the more brutal (cinnamon roll!) Nam-gyu slowly during the games?

Shadow of Loyalty

pairing: Nam-gyu x f!reader

summary: You get dragged onto the team of a rapper you used to dance for, but you can't complain when another team member keeps giving you that cute smile.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: guns, death, drugs, blood, squid game stuff

A/N: i've been wanting to write for nam-gyu but couldn't think of anything so ty 🙏 if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

"Hey," a voice says behind you. You turn, seeing a girl with short hair standing there. She wears a choker, as well as a nose ring and lip ring. "Do you have a team yet?"

You smile at her, shaking your head. "No."

"We should team up," she says. "I'm Se-mi. What's your name?"

As you're about to tell her, you see a familiar head of purple hair in the crowd. The same head you've been avoiding for the past day.

You lower your face, bringing your hand up to shield yourself. "Oh, crap."

"Señorita, excuse me."

Se-mi turns around, as she hears the voice, staring at Thanos.

"Let's play the game together."

You shrink a bit, positioning yourself so Se-mi is blocking you from Thanos' view.

"Well, why should I?"

"Don't you know who he is?" one of the boys at his side asks. "He's Thanos, the rapper. I'm gonna kill half of humanity with my raps."

You turn your back to them, trying as hard as you can to keep the rapper from noticing you.

The other boy speaks up. "Hang on, a girl? We don't know what the game is."

"I, Thanos the great, will protect you."

Se-mi breathes out a laugh. "Right, Thanos. So have you got all the infinity stones?"

"Of course." You roll your eyes, knowing he's showing off his dumb nail polish. "I'm going to destroy anyone who gets in my way. Just stick with me and you'll be safe. Okay?"

"But I already asked someone to join me," Se-mi says. Your heart picks up.

"No problem. Who is it?"

Se-mi moves to the side and you turn, giving the rapper a tight-lipped smile and small wave.

"No way," Thanos says, a wide smile on his face. He comes up to you, throwing his arms around you. "Señorita! I can't believe you're here!"

"Woah!" the boy to the right of Thanos says, eyes wide. "You were one of his dancers, right?"

You nod, not quite making eye contact with the boy. You look up at the other one and find that he's staring at you, mouth parted slightly.

Both of Thanos' hands grab onto your shoulders, squeezing them. "This is gonna be awesome."

You look at Se-mi, seeing her give you an apologetic look. You just shrug. At least you have a team.

<>

"Please decide players for each mini-game."

You lean forward, looking at your team on both sides from your spot in the middle of the line. "I can do Jegi. I was good at it as a kid."

"I'm doing Jegi," Thanos says. "You do Spinning Top."

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath. "I'm not good at Spinning Top."

"I can do Spinning Top," the boy between you and Thanos says.

You nod at him, a silent thank you. "I'll do Gong-gi."

"I can do Flying Stones," Se-mi says.

You nod and look past her to the boy sitting on the end. "Are you alright doing Ddakji?"

He nods, a smile on his face. "I was going to volunteer for it anyway."

You smile. "Great. We got this, guys."

<>

"The following players have been eliminated. Players 016, 045, 178, 189, 198, 254, 286, 341, 396, and 416."

A man on the other side of the room stands up. "We should have left! We're all going to die now! We're all going to die because of those who voted to continue!"

Another man stands. "What are you going to do now?! You think you can survive?! Look at them!"

You feel movement to the left of you and turn to see the boy next to you leaning toward Thanos.

"Can you... can you please give me one of those?"

Thanos eyes him up. "'Those'?"

"The thing you took. You're keeping them inside your cross."

You sigh. You're well aware of what Thanos keeps in his cross. He's tried to get you to take them a few times while you were working together. Thankfully, you always said no, not letting him persuade you into anything.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"If I get nervous and lose the game, we'll all die," The boy's voice shakes. "My hands are shaking like crazy."

Thanos sighs. "Nam-su."

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right. Nam-gyu." Thanos unzips his jacket, taking out his cross. "Do you know what this is?"

You lean closer, curious. Thanos never told you what they were, part of the reason you turned them down every time.

"Ecstasy? Ketamine?"

Thanos shakes his head. "It's a new kind. It's fucking crazy, man. You can't handle it."

"Hey." Nam-gyu rolls up his sleeve, showing Thanos the inside of his elbow. "I did all kinds of stuff when I was working at the club. I even brought you some when you came to the club."

Thanos opens his cross, taking out one of his pills. "You junkie." He hands it to Nam-gyu, who quickly pops it in his mouth. Thanos looks over Nam-gyu's shoulder, seeing you watching them. "Want one, Señorita?"

You shake your head. "I'll pass."

Nam-gyu looks at you, face falling as you give him a look of disapproval.

<>

The rounds kept going until it was your turn. The boy on the end, who you found out is named Gyeong-su, was able to flip the Ddakji on his second try, and Se-mi hit the stone perfectly on her first attempt.

You walk to the next mini-game, the one you're doing. You take the pieces off the table, crouching as the guard puts the table on the floor. You scatter the pieces onto the table.

Blue. Green. Yellow. Red. Purple. Good.

Purple. Yellow and green. Red and blue...

You deflate as the blue piece falls out of your grasp and onto the track.

"Seriously?!" Thanos yells. "Pick it up and do it right this time!"

You shoot a glare at him. He might not realize it, but his demeaning comments are certainly not helping.

Nam-gyu picks up the fallen piece, handing it to you. "You were so close, you can do it."

You take the piece and nod, once again focusing back on the game.

Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. Good.

Green. Yellow and blue. Red and purple. Good.

Yellow. Red, blue, purple. Green. Good.

Purple. Green, blue, red, yellow. Good.

Back of hand. Good.

You take a deep breath before tossing the pieces up, quickly grabbing them out of the air.

The pink guard puts their arms up in a circle.

"Pass."

You smile as Nam-gyu shakes you in happiness. The guard takes the small table away from you and you advance to the next mini-game.

The pink guard hands Nam-gyu the top and the string. You watch as he wraps the string. You had been nervous when he took Thanos' pill, but you have to give it to him, his control over the string is flawless.

He pulls his hand back and throws it. You smile as it spins in front of you.

"Pass."

You all celebrate before moving to the final mini-game. Thanos takes the Jegi, pushing the guard out of the way. He throws it into the air.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks.

The Jegi falls to the ground.

You huff as Thanos picks it up and throws it again.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks.

The toy hits the ground once again.

You can't help but roll your eyes. You would have gotten it by now had he let you play Jegi. Your high score as a kid was 27 kicks in a row. You look at the clock. You still have a minute left. Good.

Thanos lets out a yell of frustration, picking up the Jegi and throwing it.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks. Five kicks.

"Pass."

Your team jumps up and down in celebration before regaining composure. You cross the finish line with 29 seconds to spare.

You and Se-mi turn to each other, hugging as you all celebrate. You turn to Nam-gyu, who is already smiling down at you. You smile back and high-five him. At the end of the line, Thanos jumps up and down, nearly knocking you all over.

You put your arms out to steady Nam-gyu and he thanks you as the guards come over to remove the bindings from your ankles.

<>

You watch as five more people walk into the room.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you and turn to see Nam-gyu. "How many do you think are left?"

You take a quick look around. "Maybe 200?"

"Shit," he sighs. "That's way too many."

You shrug. "I like that there's more people here." Nam-gyu gives you a confused look. "There's safety in numbers."

Thanos raises both of his arms. "Stop talking." He points at you. "How old are you again?"

You roll your eyes. "28."

"So you were born in 1996," he turns to Gyeong-su. "How old are you?"

"Born in 1998."

He turns to Se-mi. "You?"

"Born in 1996."

He thinks for a moment. "It's settled. Gyeong-su is the youngest, and the girls are the oldest." He turns to Nam-gyu. "Nam-su, you were born in 1997, right?"

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right, Nam-gyu. Is that right?"

Nam-gyu nods.

Thanos points at you while still looking at Nam-gyu. "Hey, call her noona since she's older."

Nam-gyu chuckles. You feel a small smile pull on your lips at the sound.

Soon, the pink guards come into the room, announcing that 110 players had been eliminated in the second game. They bring out the machine for voting and everyone moves to the center.

"You're voting to stay, right noona?" Nam-gyu asks you.

You breathe out a laugh. "Yeah, but this is probably the last time." You smile at him, lightly hitting his shoulder. "And don't call me noona. I'm younger than you, just don't tell Thanos, Nam-su."

He frowns when you call him the wrong name, opening his mouth to correct you but stopping when he sees the teasing smirk on your face. He chuckles again, nodding his head.

<>

Nam-gyu watches as Thanos opens his cross, taking out a pill and popping it into his mouth. He takes a step in his direction, about to ask for one. He stops when he sees you out of the corner of his eye talking to Se-mi, laughing at something the girl is saying. With a sigh, Nam-gyu turns away from Thanos, instead moving to Gyeong-su.

You're all brought into a new room. There are doors lining the walls and a big platform in the middle of the room that looks like a carousel without any horses.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

"Hey," Thanos says, clearly high off his ass. He turns to your group. "We'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?"

You all get onto the platform and it begins spinning, a children's song playing over the speakers. The first round is ten, and you find another group of five players, getting into the room safely with ten seconds to spare.

You come out again, once again getting onto the platform. The music stops and the voice calls out four.

Thanos looks between you, Se-mi, and Gyeong-su before stopping on the last one.

"Please," the boy pleads.

"Gyeong-su, you're out!" Thanos kicks the boy to the ground. "Let's go!"

Nam-gyu stands there for a moment staring at Gyeong-su before he feels someone grab a hold of his sleeve, tugging him along after the group. He gets in the room and the door locks, you letting go of him. Nam-gyu tries to look out the slot for Gyeong-su but you pull him away. It's best if he doesn't see it.

"Wait!" Thanos holds his arms up. He points toward all of you. "Where did you leave my boy Gyeong-su?"

You give him an incredulous look, jumping when the sounds of gunfire starts.

Thanos brings his hands to his head before running towards the door and looking out the slot. "Fuck! Gyeong-su!"

You and Se-mi look at each other, both of you thinking the same thing. Thanos would have done that to any of you. He can't be trusted. Especially when he's high.

You're released and you go back to the platform. When the music stops this time, the voice announces three people to a room.

Thanos stands and looks between you and Se-mi. "Who should we take? Rock, paper, scissors!"

Se-mi turns to you, holding her hand out. "Come with me."

You nod, taking her hand. "We'll find one more, you guys do the same."

Nam-gyu nods, grabbing Thanos by his jacket and pulling him along.

Se-mi and you manage to find one more person and get into a room on time. When you come out, you look around for the boys. You see the familiar head of purple hair and smile when you spot Nam-gyu next to him.

They run up to you. You smile at Nam-gyu. "Glad you made it."

He smiles back. "Me too."

The next round is six, so you find two other players and make it to a room. When you're let out, it is announced that this will be the final round.

"Two."

Se-mi goes to reach for you, but she's pulled away by Thanos as he sprints toward one of the rooms. Nam-gyu watches as Thanos runs away, a look of betrayal adorning his face.

You quickly turn, grabbing Nam-gyu's hand and taking off toward a green door. You're able to get there before anyone else and close the door behind you, pushing your weight against it to keep anyone else from getting in.

The lock clicks and you sigh in relief, moving away from the door. You turn to Nam-gyu. "Are you alright?"

"He left me," he says, a faraway look on his face. "I've been nothing but loyal to him, and he just left me there."

You sigh, walking to him and rubbing his arm. "Nam-gyu, Thanos isn't a good person. He can't even remember your name. A person like that doesn't deserve the loyalty you're showing him."

He keeps looking at the door as the gunshots go off. He turns to you, looking at you for a few moments before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. "Thank you. Thank you for not leaving me."

You hug him back. "I'm not gonna leave you, Nam-gyu."

He sniffles. "I won't leave you either."

You pull back and see his smile. You can't help but think it's kind of cute, making you smile back at the boy, a warm feeling in your face.

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[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 2 - Fractured Authority

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary, Reader disrupts Natasha’s rigid training routine, introducing her to small acts of rebellion while hinting at the dangers of being Dreykov’s favored.

W/c: 5k

A/N: It only gets rougher from here

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Mornings were for intensive training. A rigid schedule kept the girls in line. It wasn’t like the mornings back in Ohio, where cartoons blared at full volume and Yelena sang along to every theme song, her voice bright and off-key. Here, the only sound is the low buzz of chatter, conversations Natasha couldn’t bring herself to join. No Yelena, no music, just the restless shuffle of girls preparing for the day. She hadn’t seen her sister in months.

Natasha sat on her bunk, head down, wrapping her hands with sharp, practiced movements. The gauze bit into her fingers, the tension grounding her. She wasn’t focused on anything in particular. Couldn’t keep her mind from going every which way. It was just one of those days. 

“I would like to fight y/n,”  A girl by the wall stood out, leaning with her arms crossed and a smirk that’s too sure of itself.

Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. The girl’s voice was sharp, cocky, the kind of bravado that gets broken quickly here. Natasha tugged the wrap tighter around her hands and tested her fist. No mistakes. Not today.

"Not a chance, she's Dreykov's girl. Have you seen her fight? That's too dangerous," A second voice replied, belonging to the girl Natasha knew as Lorna.

Natasha had heard the rumor about you and your fighting style. The other girls' whispers and snide comments were more unbelievable than the last.

"I heard y/n's parents are in prison; war criminals. The authorities don't know what to do with her, so they put her here," The pixie girl said. "She's the only one of us whose parents have a known place, and they still don’t want her."

"Really? I heard her dad died in a freak accident when she was a kid, and now her mom is sick or something. I don't know. Y/n barely speaks. Do you think they're trying to fix her here? Make her into the perfect weapon."

"Whatever, I just know if I'm fighting anyone, I want to fight her."

Just then, the door swung open, and a stern-faced trainer stepped inside, his presence commanding immediate silence. “All recruits to the evaluation room,” he barked, his voice echoing off the cold, sterile walls. “Now.”

The girls scrambled to their feet, and the atmosphere was suddenly tense. Natasha stood, her heart racing as she glanced at her bed. It could be the last time she saw it.

She followed the other girls along the hallway and into the observation room. As Natasha stepped into the room, the sterile smell of antiseptic and sweat hit her, a familiar scent that had become synonymous with the Red Room. Rows of hard plastic chairs lined the walls. Recruits whispered among themselves, but Natasha’s gaze was immediately drawn to you, standing amongst another group of girls.

Your posture was confident, though Natasha could see the tension in your shoulders. You stood tall, facing the front, your hair framing your face as you watched Madam B. approach the center of the room. The older woman radiated authority, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she strode forward.

“Welcome, recruits,” Madam B began, her voice smooth but chilling. “Today, we’ll be evaluating your progress and pushing your limits. In the Red Room, we teach you to fight and prepare you to survive. You will learn to harness your skills, not just for the mission, but for the kill.”

A shiver ran down Natasha’s spine at the coldness of Madam B's words. She’d heard this speech before, the hollow promises of strength cloaked in a veneer of empowerment. But beneath it all lied the stark reality of what they were being trained to do.

Madam B. scanned the room, her gaze sharp and calculating. “Today, I need a demonstration of what you’ve learned. Y/N!” she called, her tone suddenly commanding.

Natasha’s heart dropped as you stepped forward. “Yes, Madam B?” You replied, your voice steady.

“You will demonstrate your fighting technique against one of our newer recruits. Let’s see if you can handle the pressure.” Madam B. gestured toward a girl Natasha recognized from the dorm, one of the less experienced recruits who hadn’t had much training yet.

A ripple of surprise flew through the group of recruits, and Natasha could see the uncertainty on your face. But you didn’t hesitate, and within seconds, you were both standing in the middle of the room, squaring off against each other. Natasha's mind raced, and she felt her palms beginning to sweat as she watched the scene unfold.

Madam B. stood to the side, observing the two of you closely. The recruit lunged, and you ducked and weaved, the two of you falling into a natural rhythm. Something was mesmerizing about how you moved, your movements precise and controlled, as if you were dancing rather than fighting.

Suddenly, the recruit landed a blow to your abdomen. You stumbled but regained your composure quickly and retaliated with a swift kick to her leg, knocking her off balance. As the fight progressed, you gained the upper hand, landing blow after blow until the recruit was backed against the wall, defenseless.

Your fist flew forward and landed squarely on the girl’s jaw, and the sound of bone crunching echoed in the small room. The girl crumpled to the ground, and Madam B. ambled forward, her expression unreadable.

There was a sudden, intense pressure in Natasha’s chest, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something felt wrong. It all felt wrong. 

"Kill her," Madam B. demanded from you.

"What?" You asked.

"You heard me. Kill her. That's an order."

There was silence, and then the recruit let out a strangled cry. Her hand reached up, blood dripping from her mouth. "Help me, please!" she whimpered. It was a mistake allowing her to fight you. 

For the slightest second, you hesitated. Your hand tightened around the knife tucked into your belt, but the movement was barely perceptible. "No," you finally replied, your voice steady. "I won't."

The room eruptd into surprised mutters and gasps, and Natasha watched in horror as Madam B. struck you across the face for your defiance. "Disobedience will not be tolerated!" she shouted, her voice raw with anger. "You've been spoiled. You think your place here is valuable."

She’d struck you again and your lip split. Your only confirmation was the taste of copper coating your tongue. 

Natasha's eyes never left you as Madam B's next strike was more brutal. She couldn’t look away, even as the room filled with the sickening sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Almost like it was personal. 

Finally, the blows stopped, and the room fell silent again. Your harsh breathing unsettled them. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

Madam B. turned toward the rest of the group. "Widows," she said, her voice dangerously low, yet commanding. She was a leader. "We must be ruthless in our pursuit of perfection. Only those who can handle the pressure are fit to serve the Red Room. Anyone who falters will be eliminated."

The meaning of Madam B's words were clear: those who can't survive will kill or be killed. 

Madam B. towered over you, her heels clicking as she circled like a vulture. Her voice was sharp and clipped, cutting through the tension in the room. “Y/N, you have failed to meet the expectations of the Red Room. Do you even comprehend what that means?”

"That's enough," A voice with chilling authority caused every head to turn.

You sat on your knees, staring at the floor, your breath ragged. Blood dripped steadily from your chin, pooling on the hardwood. The ache in your body made it hard to hold yourself upright, but you refused to fall. Not here. Not in front of her.

The weight of her words hung in the air until the door creaked open.

Silence fell.

His presence filled the room before anyone even dared to look. The sound of measured footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate, like a ticking clock counting down.

Dreykov didn’t say a word as he approached, but every girl instinctively straightened, their eyes dropping to the floor. He stopped just in front of you, his polished shoes catching the faint light.

Your gaze flickered up, only for a moment. A dark suit, pressed to perfection. Rings glinted on his fingers, gold and heavy. His face was expressionless, but his eyes... they pinned you down, dissecting you like a specimen under a microscope.

He knelt slowly, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb smearing the blood there as if studying it.

"Stand," he said finally, the single word low and heavy.

Madam B. stiffened beside him, stepping back as if to blend into the shadows. You rose to your feet, your knees trembling, the iron in his voice giving you no choice but to obey.

Dreykov adjusted his cuffs, his movements precise and unhurried, before turning to the rest of the room. He didn’t need to raise his voice. His silence was command enough.

"She's my best girl. She deserves a second chance," He stated.

"With all due respect, General, I believe she is a liability. Her disobedience is a threat to the program."

The General didn’t flinch. "Let me worry about that," He said. His tone was firm, but there was a hint of something else—an underlying anger impossible to miss. "I've already given my orders. Y/n is a valuable asset. She's not going anywhere."

Madam B's expression remained unchanged, but there was a subtle shift in the room's energy. She gave a curt nod, her displeasure evident.

"Yes, sir," She replied, her tone clipped. She watched as Dreykov’s fingers pressed into your chin, tilting your face up to scrutinize you. His gaze flickered over your expression, but your eyes remained carefully blank, giving nothing away. Natasha watched for a brief, disorienting moment, wondering if he was almost…fussing over you. 

There was something in the silence that made Natasha feel like she could finally breathe again.

"As for the rest of you," The General continued. "This is your first and final warning. Don't disappoint me."

With those words, he turned and left, his footsteps echoing through the silent room.

Madam B. snapped back into action the moment he was gone, barking orders and arranging the next fight. Natasha couldn’t help but look at you again. She went to reach out and help, but something held her back. You were a liability.

And for some reason, Natasha didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

***

It was late, the moon hanging low in the night sky. The next time Natasha saw you, you had bandages on your cheek. She didn’t dare to talk to you. Instead, she kept her distance, watching from afar as you walked through the cafeteria, her curiosity piqued.

But Natasha wasn’t the only one keeping tabs on you. Everywhere you went, you were watched. Rumors flew, and the older girls made their distaste known, casting you looks full of venom. You didn’t notice. The bandages on your cheek starkly contrast your skin, a physical reminder of the earlier evaluations that had gone wrong. You sat alone at a table, your gaze fixed on your untouched plate of food.

As the seconds passed, Natasha’s worry deepend. You brought a fork to your lips, but your hand trembled slightly, and the fork slipped, clattering against the plate. You winced at the sound, your shoulders tensing as if the noise was a reminder of the eyes on you. Glancing around, you caught a few older girls snickering, their whispers loaded with disgust and malice. The venom in their gazes fet like a physical blow, and Natasha saw your posture shift, the slightest crumple of your resolve.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain composure, but Natasha saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes as you stared at your food, willing yourself to eat. Your appetite has vanished, replaced by the gnawing anxiety from being at the center of whispered rumors. You pushed your food around the plate; the motions were mechanical and lifeless. 

 She shouldn't have cared so much. She knew you could not be friends.

But still, Natasha did.

She wanted to know your story. She wanted to know you.

*******

The training room was a different beast than the evaluation. The stakes were higher than ever, and after that day you battled, the competition was fierce.

Natasha sat on the bench, wrapping her wrists again. As the fabric covered her knuckles, her attention shifted to you.It seemed like you were everywhere.

You were standing by the punching bags, practicing your technique. You were quick. Powerful. Precise. Natasha watched as you hit the bag repeatedly, your movements fluid. 

She was about to approach you when ‘pixie-cut girl’ beat her to it.

"Hey," Pixie cut girl said, her voice smug. "Nice work out there."

You paused, glancing over at her, your expression unfazed. "Thanks," you replied, a hint of skepticism lacing your voice.

"But seriously," the pixie-cut girl continued, stepping closer with a challenging glint in her eye. "How do you get away with so much? Dreykov's favorite and all that. Must be nice to have special treatment, huh?"

Natasha held her breath, unsure how you’d respond. 

You straightened your back, the confidence radiating from you. “It’s not about getting away with anything,” you said, your voice steady and assertive. “I’ve just learned to make the most of what I have. This place tries to break you, but I refuse to let it.”

The pixie-cut girl raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Is that so? Sounds a little naïve, don’t you think?”

Natasha bit her lip. She wanted to see how you would handle this situation. 

"Maybe," you replied, an edge to your voice. "But I'm not the one making excuses for my poor performance."

A ripple of murmurs echoed through the gym, and the pixie-cut girl's cheeks flushed pink. She stared at you, her jaw clenched, the tension between you building. Natasha felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, a chill running down her spine.

She'd seen this scenario play out before. It was a precursor to disaster, a ticking time bomb.

"You're right," the pixie-cut girl said, her tone dangerously calm. "I haven't been giving it my all. But maybe I should." She stepped forward, her fists clenched. "You wanna spar? Let's go."

Your gaze shifted from her face to her hands. "I don't need to prove myself," you stated, your voice calm and confident.

"Oh, I think you do." Her grin was cruel, her eyes flashing with a dangerous gleam. "We saw what happened with your last match. You're not a widow."

The jab hit you hard, and Natasha could see the briefest glimpse of pain on your face before you schooled your features, the mask of indifference returning. "No, but I am a recruit. And I know how to fight."

"Well, then, let's put it to the test. Unless you're scared."

The challenge hung in the air, and the other girls waited with bated breath.

"You don't want to do this," You shook your head. "Whatever hangups you have about me. Put them to rest."

"Don't tell me what I want."

You gave her a hard stare, then sighed, rolling your shoulders and flexing your hands. "Fine," you muttered.

“Tatyana,” One of the usual girls she’s with called to her. 

“No, it’s time someone puts her in her place.” Tatyana said. 

The two of you stepped forward, squaring against each other, the tension crackling between you. The older girl moved first, throwing a punch which you dodged easily. It's then you got angry. Not necessarily at Tatyana. But at the system. At the fact that you had to fight every single day of your life. 

You struck, aiming for the older girl's face, the force of the blow sending her reeling backward. Tatyana staggered, catching herself, then charged again, her shoulder colliding with yours, her momentum carrying the two of you to the ground. You were a blur of movement, both grappling for the upper hand.

Natasha watched, her pulse racing. The older girl landed a few blows, but you were relentless, throwing punches and kicks as fast as possible. You were on the offensive, fighting with a ferocity and determination Natasha had never seen before.

She was captivated.

The sound of a blow landing drew her focus, and Natasha watched as the older girl stumbled back, her lip bleeding. "You'll pay for that," Tatyana growled, her expression feral.

"I'd like to see you try." You threw another punch, and Tatyana blocked, countering with a kick to your leg.

The two of you were locked in a stalemate, neither willing to give ground. You were a whirlwind of fists and fury, the older girl's movements growing more desperate.

Suddenly, Tatyana threw a wide punch, her arm flying past your face, the momentum unbalancing her. A fatal mistake.

Your hand snaked out, grasping the older girl's wrist, and you twist, bringing her to the ground. Within seconds, you're on top of her, pinning her down.

"This isn't worth it," You muttered, your voice low and menacing. You know what you have to do now. You know what they want from you. “Whatever you have against me throw it away. If you know what’s good for you.”

"Get off me," Tatyana spit, struggling under your weight.

"I'm trying to save your life," you replied, your grip tightening.

The older girl glared up at you. She knew she was cornered. She knew what happened next.

"You have a choice," you continued, your tone cold and uncompromising. "Survive or die."

Your words hung in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone in the room. The choice was clear. You know that if Dreykov or Madam B. Caught wind of this,you would suffer. The guards on one side of the room seemed to ignore all this happening. But the other side. The girls in the other corner were watching.

Tatyana hesitated, then nodded her defeat.

"Good." You released your hold, rising to your feet. “Next time, I won’t be so merciful.” 

The older girl scrambled up, glaring daggers at you. She brushed off her uniform, her gaze never leaving yours.

Natasha stared at you, her heart pounding, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

You're the one to beat.

Tatyana sulked, her glare lingering but her steps faltering as she retreated to the other side of the room. The watching girls averted their eyes, murmuring amongst themselves. Natasha didn’t move, frozen in place, her mind racing as she tried to process what she’d just seen. 

“You did not have to do that to her,” Someone challenged. Another girl from your class. 

“Это всё,” A woman’s voice said in Russian, her tone icy and final. That’s over.

The words cut through the air like a whip. The watching girls froze for a split second before breaking apart like scattered birds. No one lingered; no one dared. The crowd thinned as they slunk back to their stations, their whispered chatter fading into the background. Even Tatyana, still seething, shot you one last glare before disappearing into the throng.

The room seemed to exhale, the buzz of drills and muted conversations resuming, but Nora’s focus never wavered. Her gaze fixed on you, cold and unrelenting.

“You,” she said, her voice sharp enough to make you flinch. “Come.”

The command was curt, absolute. Without hesitation, the remaining girls stepped aside, parting like water to make way as Nora turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

You glanced at Natasha out of the corner of your eye. She stared back, her face pale, her expression unreadable. You didn’t have time to dwell on it. Nora didn’t wait for you to follow—she didn’t need to.

As you trailed after her, the murmurs behind you faded into nothing, swallowed by the sterile hallways of the Red Room.

You didn’t say anything as she led you into the empty room. The silence between you was thick. You couldn’t escape that antiseptic smell. You sat on the bed, back straight, arms folded across your chest, eyes following the motion of her lab coat as it swayed with every movement.

She moved efficiently, methodically, gathering supplies without sparing you a glance. Her hands were quick, but steady, like someone who had done this a thousand times before.

“This is my second time patching you up this week,” Nora commented casually, her voice holding a hint of frustration but not quite pity. She turned to face you, her hazel eyes meeting yours for the first time since the confrontation. Her expression was unreadable, a practiced mask of professionalism.

You stayed silent, your lips pressed together in a thin line.

Nora shook her head slightly, as if disappointed, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she set down the bandages she’d been holding and picked up a sterile wipe, her fingers moving with precision as she began cleaning the gash on your cheek. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, but there was a sense of reluctant admiration in her voice.

You couldn’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh. “Reckless?” you echoed. “Isn’t that what they want from me?”

Nora didn’t answer right away. She worked in silence, her brow furrowed as she focused on her task. Finally, she spoke, her tone softer this time. “Not like this.”

You glanced up at her, caught off guard by the slight change in her demeanor. “What does that mean?”

She paused, meeting your gaze once more, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker in her eyes—something human, something more than just the cold, professional persona she wore so well. A look she usually reserved for you. 

“Don’t make it easy for them,” she said quietly, almost as if she was speaking to herself more than to you. "You’re worth more than that."

You didn’t respond. There was no need to. You knew exactly what she meant.

"You're not my mother." You swiped her hand away from your face, the motion sharp and angry, but it didn’t seem to faze her.

She didn’t argue, didn’t react with anger or defense. Instead, her eyes softened, a brief flicker of something almost tender in them. She dropped her hand to her side, giving you space to breathe, space to cool off.

"No," Nora’s voice was quiet, almost sad. "I'm not."

The silence hung between you, thick with the weight of unspoken words. She didn’t press, didn’t try to make you talk, and for a moment, you almost felt a flicker of gratitude.

But you quickly buried it.

"Just... just do what you need to do," you muttered, turning your head away from her, focusing on the dull flicker of light overhead. Anything to avoid looking at her.

You weren’t sure what kind of words you wanted from her—maybe none at all. Maybe you just wanted to be left alone.

****

You were cocky, but she knew it was just a mask. She’d seen those rare cracks in your composure, moments when the swagger faded and something more vulnerable flickered beneath the surface. The other girls didn’t like you, and Natasha understood why. You were fast, smooth, and relentless in training; you never faltered in evaluations. No one could beat you.

But you were distant, never lingering with the others. Natasha often saw you slipping away, and she knew where you went. Dreykov kept you close.

It was another week she'd survived in the Red Room. The atmosphere in the evaluation circle was tense and charged with anticipation as the girls surround the mat, their eyes focused on the center. Natasha stood with her heart pounding, a cocktail of fear and adrenaline surging through her veins. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath as she watched the trainers move among the group, assessing each girl with a critical eye.

“Next up,” a trainer barked, breaking the silence. “Romanoff versus Mikhailova.”

Mikhailova, the girl she’s up against, strode confidently to the center. Natasha knew her by reputation: fierce and unyielding, a girl who thrived on intimidation. The two of them stood face to face, both about the same size; Mikhailova was only an inch taller and a year older.

Natasha took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation, but she knew the fight was inevitable.

Mikhailova smirked, her gaze sharp and calculating. Natasha braced herself, waiting for the attack. Mikhailova stepped forward, her confidence radiating from her as she smoothed her hair, a bright red ribbon tied neatly at the back of her head. They were both just girls, barely teenagers, yet here they are, pitted against each other in a brutal test of strength and skill.

And it came. Mikhailova struck first, a blow to Natasha's abdomen. The pain was immediate, but Natasha pushed it down, and her determination to survive pushed her forward.

The fight escalated quickly, both girls throwing punches and kicks, their movements fluid and instinctive. Mikhailova was a skilled opponent, but Natasha was quick, and her reflexes were sharp and precise. The two of them were well matched, the battle raging on for what seemed like hours, but both girls were determined to win.

Mikhailova threw a punch, and Natasha ducked, countering with a swift kick to the older girl's shin. The older girl faltered, and Natasha seized the opportunity, slamming her elbow into the older girl's chest.

A flash of pain crossed Mikhailova's face, but she recovered quickly, grabbing Natasha by the throat and pinning her to the ground. Natasha's eyes widened as the older girl's fingers tightened around her neck, cutting off her air supply.

As the seconds passed, Natasha's vision blurred, the edges fading to black. Her lungs burned, her chest heaving, the struggle to breathe growing more desperate with each passing second. She fought, trying to free herself, but Mikhailova's grip was too firm. In a final attempt, Natasha made a move that made the older girl loosen her grip just enough for her to slip free.

Natasha gasped, taking a deep breath, her lungs burning. She was on the ground, her heart racing, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She had to do something that she couldn’t come back from.

Her hand closed around a knife that's been tossed aside. Without a second thought, she drove it into Mikhailova's leg.

The older girl screamed, collapsing to the ground, her blood pooling on the floor.

The room was silent, the shock of the attack reverberating.

Mikhailova glareed at Natasha, her eyes full of hatred and pain. They know what happened next. Natasha's hand didn’t even shake. She quickly removed the knife from Mikhailova's leg, and the older girl let out a muffled cry, clutching at the wound.

"Put her out of her misery," One of the trainers demanded.

Mikhailova looked up at Natasha, her expression a mixture of fear and defiance. "Do it," She growled, her voice thick with anger and pain. "End this."

Natasha paused, her mind racing. The knife felt heavy in her hand. This was where you and Natasha differed. For her, if she said no, there would be no one to save her. You had the General. She had nothing.

So she did.

She plunged the knife into Mikhailova's heart.

The older girl gasped, her eyes widening as the life drained from her body.

Natasha stared down at her body, the realization of what she'd done sinking in. The blood rushed to her ears as she forced herself to remain upright. Her first kill. She'd done it.

"Congratulations, Natalia," Madam B's voice cut through the silence.She sounded almost proud. "You've proven yourself."

The older woman's words sent a chill down Natasha's spine.

Natasha looked up, her eyes locking with Madam B's, the older woman's gaze cold and calculating. "Don't get too comfortable," Madam B. continued.

Natasha didn’t respond. She looked down at Mikhailova's lifeless body again. Dedicated her face to memory. She had freckles.

The thought was fleeting but enough to bring her back to reality. She knew she's just won an important battle. But the war was far from over.

"Clean up," Madam B commanded.

Natasha's gaze snapped up, and she nodded, the movement mechanical and robotic.

She sknew she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, the consequences would be devastating.

********

In the shower, Natasha cried quietly to herself. She couldn’t stop thinking about Mikhailova. About the look in her eyes as she died. She'd been trained for this. She was a widow in training. This is what they do.

But it didn’t feel any better.

Minutes passed, she wiped away the tears and straightened her shoulders, her resolve firming. She couldn’t afford to break. She dressed quietly, ignoring the girls stepping in and out of the shared shower room.

Her mind was numb as she walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared.

"Y/n," Natasha whispered.

"Natasha," you replied, your tone equally soft.

"How are you?"

You hesitated, a flicker of emotion crossing your face. "Fine," you stated, your expression guarded. "You?"

"Same," Natasha answered, a lump forming in her throat.

You both paused, an awkward silence filling the space between you.

"I should go," Natasha said, her voice quiet.

"Wait," you replied.

Natasha's eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension faded.

"You did great," You continue, a hint of pride in your voice. "Dreykov is pleased."

"Thanks," Natasha replied, her cheeks flushing.

"You deserve it," You added.  Before she could walk away you turned to her. "It's always hard. Your first kill." You elaborated.

"Is it?" Natasha asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.

"No," you replied, your tone somber. "I've found that the second one is worse. One time is an order. The second time is a choice."

"Oh."

The weight of your words hung in the air, the truth sinking in.

"Be careful," You added. "It will only get harder from here."

"I will," Natasha answered.

You give her a curt nod and turn, disappearing down the hall.

[almostfoxglove]

ALI FAKHSDJGKH okay it's taken me 100 years to reblog this but I WANTED TO QUOTE SO MANY PARTS IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO NARROW THEM DOWN. holy shit. this was??? EVERYTHING. like, this is the canon I needed - redemption for what could have been with Helena and fulfillment of every delusion I've ever had about this man. it felt so true to the world of the show and to javi I'm actually announcing this as Canon. sorry folks!! I don't make the rules!!

gonna pop some favorite bits under the cut :,) AH

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

lord help me I would not survive this I am NOT god's strongest warrior I am a puddle on the FLOOR this is him holding the secretary's finger and complimenting her nail polish all over again DSDKFHJK

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

this is SO HEARTBREAKING ALI like what the FUCK oh my god. I feel like I can hear her and see her scared face and I'm going to cRY ABOUT IT

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys. “Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

OHHHHH, to take javier pena apart with a massage!! HOW I YEAAARRRN

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

I love them so much. she's so charming and brings out the CRINKLY EYES and I would die for them both ok ANY DAY ANY TIME

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.

this is so !!!!! JAVI. saying it without saying it, ya know? that he sees her. I'm gonna cry brb

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently. “There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

MY HEART POUNDED SO HARD AT THIS PART I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely. Tell me where he touched you.

*screams heard in the distance* *more wailing* *barking* *hollering*

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

THE URGENT IN THE MOMENT NOT THINKING "BABY"??? MY PERSONAL KRYPTONITE?? ALI THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

oh my god the pain of this realization fucking SLAPPED ME I just!! was there!! feeling her fear!! my chest is so TIGHT the angst is so GOOD

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special. A code, a message. A lifeline.

this was such a perfect ending. hopeful and soft but also still so javi!! and I'm obsessed with it. I've read this three times, oops. AND WILL DO IT AGAIN <3 all the ways you wove in the moodboard (THEIR LITTLE CODE PHRASE AHHHHH) are so fucking perfect and seamless. ugh. so good. thank you soso much for joining the challenge and sharing this fucking masterpiece with us, WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. you are a talent and a gem and I adore you <3

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.

author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending

word count — 10k

The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.

“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.

And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart. 

Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.

You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.

It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.

You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.

When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.

The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction. 

“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”

“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt. 

He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”

“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.

Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.

“How often do they come in here?”

“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”

He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.

At this hour, it was only you and him.

You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee. 

“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.

You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.

Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.

Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.

You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.

“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”

You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.

Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.

“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”

“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”

You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”

“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”

“I can try, but—”

“I’ll pay.”

Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.

And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.

You nod quietly.

-

His order changes depending on his mood.

He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.

Nothing less, nothing more.

And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.

“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.

It’s a nice sound.

“One is married, two kids.” 

You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”

Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.

“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.

Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.

“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”

The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.

A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.

They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.

Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.

One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration. 

Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become. 

One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.

You should have known better, you should have spoken up.

Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.

There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.

You needed solace.

Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body. 

“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”

“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.

That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.

“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”

You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”

There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”

He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance. 

“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”

“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”

You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”

“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”

“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”

“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.

“Yeah—yeah, why—”

“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.

“This is gonna cost, Javier.”

“Name your price, hermosa.”

–

Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.

“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”

You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you. 

“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”

“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.

“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”

He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.

The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”

Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.

“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”

The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves. 

–

It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.

You thought they would choose something less…obvious.

But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in. 

You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.

“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”

You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”

“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”

“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”

It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code. 

“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”

Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.

“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”

You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.

You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.

“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”

“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”

“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”

You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.

–

Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.

“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”

Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.

“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.

You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.

He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur. 

“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.

You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”

“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.

“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”

“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.

Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”

His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.

His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine. 

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”

Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.

He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.

“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”

“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.

He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.

“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”

“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.

“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”

“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”

Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.

When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.

You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.

A willing participant, a body, convenience. 

Deep down, you know. 

But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.

Regardless, you both ignore it.

–

Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it. 

The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.

He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.

Got a lead. Money is for last night.

You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.

We should do it again sometime, chiquita. 

You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.

He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional. 

There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.

Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing. 

Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.

He was only doing his job.

–

A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.

It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.

You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.

Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.

“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”

His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.

My couch, the sex.

“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”

“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”

As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”

The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later. 

–

Javier is efficient, you learn.

What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief. 

It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.

You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.

He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.

When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.

He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.

And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes. 

He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.

But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.

You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.

He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.

“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”

He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.

Benny. Benny…Benito?

He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”

“The gala, yeah.”

He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose. 

The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.

He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.

“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.

“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.

“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”

It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.

Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.

“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.

“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”

Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.

He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.

Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely. 

“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”

His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”

Always one step ahead.

–

The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.

Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell. 

You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.

Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.

“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”

Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.

“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.

“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.

“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”

He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”

Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately. 

The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.

When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.

Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.

You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.

You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.

You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.

“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”

The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.

“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.

“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.

You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.

There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.

Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.

You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.

–

Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.

But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.

Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.

He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.

Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.

“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”

He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.

He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person. 

He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.

And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.

You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.

Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.

“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.

“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”

“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.

“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”

He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.

“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”

You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”

“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.

It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.

Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.

You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”

“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him. 

It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.

“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.

The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made. 

He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

–

Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about. 

“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.

Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”

“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”

You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.

“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”

“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”

You could handle the way it was eating at you.

“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”

His face hardens at the mention of his father.

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.

Tell me where he touched you.

“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”

Was he scared of you?

Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.

“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”

The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.

I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”

His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.

You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”

“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.

Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.

“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.

“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”

It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.

It was a mess, both of you were.

He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him. 

And you know he needs, wants, without saying.

He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.

“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”

He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.

“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”

You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.

“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.

“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”

Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”

Tonight was good enough, for now.

–

The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.

White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.

“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.

When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.

They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.

“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.

“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”

“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”

“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”

The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”

“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”

Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.

You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.

“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”

You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”

You know what they want, what they need.

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.

The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.

–

You wished you could warn him.

One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.

You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.

The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood. 

You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.

You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

Out?

You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.

“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”

You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.

“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”

“Here? What—what do you mean?”

–

Here meant Colombia.

Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific. 

Javier had a place close to home. His family.

And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.

His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son. 

They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling. 

Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.

“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”

“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”

It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”

Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.

“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”

You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”

You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver. 

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”

It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.

A code, a message. A lifeline.

Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore. 

It was beyond him, out of his control.

And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.

“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely. 

“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”

On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times. 

He was done, he wanted out.

-

"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.

"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?

"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.

[thewitchblue]

You eyed the family suspiciously. They are dressed too nicely. They don't even dress up this nicely for galas. Why do they look like they were in a fight but somehow appear so polished? As if they got into a fight, then went on a date.

Tim looked pretty normal, at least. It seems like Jason and Dick were able to gang up on him and capture him without much force.

You had been wedding planning with Tim in your apartment until he had to leave for patrol. He left your home with a kiss only for Dick and Jason to immediately kidnap him the second he was out of your window.

Apparently, Dick was feeling petty and wanted a surprise wedding since the engagement "wasn't a big deal."

Dick was petty the entire time. From the cheers to the toast to the vows he altered when he broke into Tim's room and your apartment, everything was very passive-aggressive.

It was a small and private wedding, and it was beautiful. He must have stolen your shared wedding plan that Tim insisted on writing down. Tim had said he needed all the details to refer back to when you both go to each place.

Bruce must have been in on it, as he told you to wear your wedding attire to check for tailoring needs at the manor, but you didn't expect the wedding to happen.

Nobody in the manor said anything despite your rapid questions until you had to walk down the aisle. Not even Alfred revealed what was going to happen.

Everything started clicking when you walked through the manor and saw all the decorations. You looked for Tim, who was squirming at the end of the aisle, his hands tied with a constrictor knot and a gag Jason happened to have mixed in his Red Hood gear (nobody asked questions). Jason had an iron grasp on his shoulders and had him lifted into the air, so he made no progress in running to you.

You shared a look with Tim as if to ask if he wants to continue the wedding. Tim looked flustered, but he stopped squirming long enough to nod. He's fine with getting married now, but he was incredibly anxious being unable to walk alongside you. He felt silly, but he wanted to be at your side, and he was willing to fight for it.

You, unsurprisingly, had Alfred walking you down the aisle. How did Dick manage to swear all the guests into secrecy? You know nothing was a coincidence.

Alfred had to borderline chase after you as you sped over to Tim with a grin. You'd have to applaud Dick for his efforts. Everything was perfect. It was exactly as you planned with Tim.

You laughed when you noticed the ring bearer was actually holding two painite rocks instead of rings. That was definitely Tim's idea. He has grown attached to rocks. He even told you he's going to make you a rock garden for your anniversary. He's already thinking about his future with you.

Tim calmed down significantly when you were at his side. Jason finally let him go, untied him, and stepped back into the background as if nothing had happened.

Tim gasped for air as he yanked off the gag. His glare promised a fight later, and Jason's answering smile felt like a challenge. You sighed. You can already imagine the photos of Tim dangling like a squirming puppy. You shouldn't have expected a normal wedding. It was really idealistic to think you could ever have a normal wedding in this family.

Your eyes turned to the gems with a fondness as you remember all the rocks you've given him through the years. All those memories will be immortalised. You remember every rock given and your thought process when you picked them up.

You both were handed your respective rocks, then your rings after trading rocks. You took a deep breath before saying,

"Tim, I give you yet another rock to love and cherish. I promise to keep giving you rocks until my last breath. You will always remember getting beat by your big brothers every time you look at the pair of gems, but one day, you will look at them like the best beat down you've ever experienced."

Tim gave a shrug and said he rated it,

"7/10. I could have fought more if my laptop wasn't my main priority."

Dick and Jason looked offended, but everybody else laughed.

"Tim, I promise my love for you will be as immortal as these stones and as fierce as an otter."

Tim laughed. He loved your little speech for him. You gave him a kiss to seal your vows, and he begins his,

"I told you rocks were for proposals when you gave me my now ring, and I'm happy to be here to tell you I was correct. I'm correct again in choosing you to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tim sounded incredibly amused. You laughed and hugged the gem closer. He twisted his wedding ring nervously as he continued,

"My love for you will be as permanent as the rocks you've given me. This rock rock isn't a diamond, but it's become more precious than any diamond in the world. You are my rock and my love."

Tim gave you a kiss to end his vows. He's never looked happier as he looked at you. You were his everything.

"I didn't realise this was a rock rock."

You teased. Jason called you both weird but he had too soft of an expression for the words to have any bite behind them.

Dick handed you both the paperwork and patted Tim on the back. Tim didn't trust him for one second and read the certificate to make sure Dick isn't legally binding him to anything besides you.

You also read the papers before signing anything. You love Tim, but you don't trust his brothers when they feel petty or slighted.

"'You are from now on required to inform Dick Grayson first about any future big commitments such as any potential future children.' Dick, are you serious?"

Tim sounded offended as he read the words outloud while you chuckled. Dick was still mad. You shook your head and asked him,

"How would we even hide a kid?"

Dick immediately said,

"The same way you hid your engagement."

Tim was irritated now as he said,

"We were engaged for an hour until you found out. Let it go."

Dick didn't let it go. He brought it up at any chance he could. Jason snapped first.

"Suck it up and shut up, Dickhead. I was right there and you weren't. Deal with it."

Jason then proceeded to chug his cup of vodka to calm his urge to punch Dick. You both left when the two brothers started to bicker with each other over Jason's drinking. Jason will forever be the little 10 year old kid to Dick.

"You're officially stuck with me now."

You said as you took his ringed hand in yours. He looked at your conjoined hands with a fond expression.

"I'm not stuck with you. I love you."

You tugged his tie lightly and dragged him into a kiss. You vaguely heard the drunken wolf whistles and cheers, but you didn't care. He's yours forever. That's all that matters to you at that moment.

This is a part two @hearts4mica requested. I may have had too much fun with it.

[yoredoesmore]

The Life of A Married Couple | Soshiro Hoshina | IDMCWBM

a/n: “I Drink My Coffee With Blueberry Milk” is my new mini series featuring a stoic and always serious reader and her funny and teasing husband (Soshiro)! “IDMCWBM” is a long acronym but we will live 

(I'm not dead guys, exam season is almost over please bear with me! > <)

Husband Soshiro who has multiple folders dedicated to different pictures of you. One is for funny pictures, one is for candid pictures, one for professionally taken images and so many more the list goes on!

You who pretends to not be affected by the fact that you haven't seen your husband in 12 hours but the second someone mentions his name you melt internally 

Husband Soshiro who leaves his office door unlocked at night because he knows that you like to take a nap in there. You act like its no big deal when he catches you but he absolutely loves it

You who once tried to make his favorite dish for him but you ended up creating something so gruesome and terrible that Hoshina lost his appetite that day and has ever since claimed a new dish as his new favorite (don't mention the old dish, he will get war flashbacks)

Husband Soshiro who buys you a cup of flan every month and places it in the exact same spot in the fridge every time, because during your first date you mentioned your love for flan. (You actually prefer pudding over flan but he got it mixed up but that is a secret you will take to the grave)

You who personally tends to his blades, fixes them up and polishes them whenever necessary, since you are the only person Soshiro trusts them with.

Husband Soshiro who once overheard a cadet make an inappropriate comment about you and later that day completely demolished him during the combat training session. He walked away smiling, not even bothering to help him up, which earned him many suspicious looks from the others. (Especially Kafka found himself freaked out by the Captain's roughness)

You who goes lengths to ease up your husbands work life. “Oh, these folders are supposed to be inspected by the Vice Captain? No worries, I will handle them myself.” No matter how much needs to be done in your own office, you will do anything so that Soshiro can rest a little more.

Husband Soshiro who agreed to a “no display of intimacy/PDA in public and especially not at work” rule but he can't help himself but pull you into an empty training room every now and then and show you just how much he needs you. You pretend to be upset but not so deep down you need this just as much as he does (you end up initiating round two)

a/n: I could write these for hours :>. To everyone who has send in a request, please bear with me I'm working on them !! > < for the time being please accept my crumbs

[rispwr]

Hate you - chapter 9 - J.JK

Pairings : ex! Jungkook x ex! Reader

Notes : i just finished the entire story like all chapters omg? but this one is short hihi wdbjhabhd. i wanted to make this chapter focusing on what happened to jungkook and honestly i feel so bad. there's more to his backstory than to this and hopefully it'll make it to the cut lmao. should i post the drafts? the scenes that didn't make the fic?

Genre : Ex2L, angst, slow burn, fake dating, slice of life, fluff, e2l, corporate rivals, smau, smut

Sypnosis : ‘You were always told that hating someone is the only way it doesn’t hurt but what if you can’t hate him? No matter how hard you try your heart will always find it’s way to his’

2 years after breaking up with your boyfriend of 2 years you were finally on your way to become the ceo of your family’s company your rival turns out to be your ex.

Contents/warnings for this chapt :

violence, threatening, i hate rose we all say in unison

series masterlist - crossposted to wattpad with the same name and username!

2 weeks before the break up

The dining room was quiet except for the gentle clink of utensils against the plates. Jungkook sat with his stepmom and his dad, the silence between them punctuated by polite conversation.

Then, a maid appeared in the doorway, her expression hesitant. "Sir, someone's at the door," she said, her voice breaking the calm.

Before anyone could react, Jungkook stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'll get it," he said quickly, already heading toward the door. "It might be Y/N."

But when he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.

"Mom..." he whispered, his eyes wide as he took in the figure standing before him.

Before he could say another word, she shoved her way inside, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.

"Mom, no!" he said, rushing after her. "Don't- don't go in there," he pleaded, his voice tense and panicked.

She spun to face him, her expression sharp and unyielding. "Why? You don't want me to know that your dad's cheating on me with some gold digger?" she snapped, her voice rising enough to echo through the house.

The words carried through the hallway, and Jungkook's dad appeared a moment later, his expression tight and controlled. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge.

The moment his eyes landed on her, he faltered. "Rose..." he said, his tone shifting to warning. "Get out."

"And why should I?" his mom scoffed, crossing her arms.

"You're ruining my family," his dad said, his voice low and deliberate as he pointed toward the door.

"Me ruining my own family?" she shot back, her tone dripping with derision.

Jungkook's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling as the argument unfolded in front of him. The scene felt eerily familiar. 

His stepmom, who had clearly overheard the commotion, entered the hallway cautiously. But before she could say anything, Jungkook's mom lunged at her, grabbing her hair with both hands.

Screams erupted as the two women struggled, the chaos shattering the fragile calm of the house. His dad rushed forward, trying to pull them apart, his voice booming as he demanded they stop.

Jungkook stood frozen, his legs refusing to move. The sight before him blurred into memories of his childhood. the sound of his mother's voice raised in anger, the sharp crashes of objects breaking, the way she had torn his toys apart in front of him during her fits of rage.

He was no longer standing in the hallway as a grown man. He was that same little boy again, powerless and scared, unable to speak or act as his world fell apart around him.

The sound of yelling grew louder, but it all felt distant, like he was underwater. His dad's frantic voice mixed with his stepmom's cries and his mom's shrill accusations, but Jungkook couldn't make sense of the words.

He wished he could move. He wished he could say something, do something..... or anything. But his body refused to listen. He was stuck, a statue in the middle of the chaos, his heart pounding as he watched the scene unfold.

A child raised for the company by his mother.

A child who had his innocence stolen. 

A child whose childhood was taken advantage of.

As his stepmom cried out in pain, as his dad struggled to drag his mom away, Jungkook felt the weight of everything crash down on him again.

He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to steady his breathing. But no matter how hard he tried, the helplessness of that little boy refused to let him go.

-----

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as the city lights blurred past him.

When he finally reached his apartment, he parked the car with trembling hands and stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned against it, his head falling back as he closed his eyes, willing his racing heart to slow down.

His phone was in his hand before he realized it, the screen lighting up with his step moms name.

“Mom? Are you guys okay? Did she leave already?” he asked the moment she picked up, his voice frantic and uneven.

“Yes, dear,” her gentle voice replied, soothing in its familiarity. “She’s gone. Your father’s with me right now. Everything’s fine here.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank God. I—”

His stepmom cut him off softly. “I’ll go now. Your father and I have a lot to talk about, okay?”

“Wait—” Jungkook started, but the line went dead before he could finish.

He stared at his phone, his mind reeling. Her calm tone should’ve comforted him, but instead, it left him feeling hollow.

Sliding down to the floor, Jungkook pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to stave off the oncoming headache. He stayed there for a long time, the quiet of his apartment amplifying the noise in his head.

A few days passed, and on the surface, things seemed to settle. His stepmom didn’t bring up the incident, his dad returned to his usual stoic self, and Jungkook tried to convince himself that it was over.

But deep down, he knew better.

The confirmation came when Rose, called him out of the blue, her tone deceptively sweet.

“Meet me at the cafe,” she had said. It wasn’t a request.

He almost didn’t go, but something in her voice told him he wouldn’t have a choice either way.

At the cafe, the air was heavy with unease. Rose sat across from him, impeccably dressed as always, her expression calm but her eyes sharp and calculating.

“Here,” she said, sliding a brown envelope across the table with a casualness that made Jungkook’s stomach churn.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice wary as he reached for it.

“Open it,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her smile almost smug.

With hesitant hands, Jungkook opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of documents. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the pages.

It was everything.

Information about you, your family, your company, even the smallest details about your life that no one should have access to, And mixed in were details about his own family. his dad, his stepmom, their financials, their connections.

He looked up at her, his face pale. “What is this?”

“It’s leverage,” she said simply, her tone so casual it made his skin crawl.

“Leverage for what?” he snapped, his voice rising.

Rose smirked, tilting her head as if she were talking to a naive child. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your poor girlfriend to suffer, would you, Jungkook?”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the papers so hard his knuckles turned white. “Rose—”

“Oh, is that what you call your mother now?” she interrupted with a bitter laugh, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Mom…” he tried again, his voice strained. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” she echoed, her smile vanishing as her eyes hardened. “Because I’m your mother, and you owe me. Do you know what it was like to be cast aside? To watch your father replace me with your precious step mom?”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think I’ll just sit back and let him take everything from me? Let her take everything from me?”

“You’re ruining lives, Mom,” Jungkook said through gritted teeth, his emotions teetering on the edge. “You’re ruining my life. everyones life!”

“Am I?” she said with a mocking tilt of her head. “Or am I giving you a choice?”

Jungkook froze as her words sank in.

“Either you stay with me in the States,” she said, her voice cold and calculating, “and your girlfriend will be… fine.” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “Or you stay here, and I’ll make both of your lives a living hell.”

“You wouldn’t…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Oh, I would,” she said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “And you know I can. Your girlfriend, your father, your precious stepmom, they’re all within my reach.”

Jungkook’s mind raced, panic and despair clawing at his chest. “Why are you doing this?” he asked again, his voice breaking.

“Because i don't like being replaced” she said simply. “And i'm your mother, jungkook.”

She stood, smoothing out her designer coat as if this were just another business meeting. “I’ll give you three days,” she said, her voice calm and final. “Three days to decide. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving Jungkook alone at the table, his world crumbling around him.

That night, Jungkook sat in his car outside your apartment, staring up at the window where the light from your room glowed softly. His phone sat in his lap, the screen illuminated with a single name: Rose.

His hands trembled as he picked it up, his finger hovering over the call button. Every fiber of his being screamed at him not to do it, but he couldn’t see another way out.

With a shaky breath, he pressed the button and brought the phone to his ear.

“I—I’m coming,” he said, his voice barely audible as tears welled in his eyes.

The line went dead, and Jungkook sat there in the silence, his chest heaving as the first tear slid down his cheek.

He wiped at his face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He thought of your smile, your laugh, the way you looked at him like he was your whole world. And now, he was about to shatter that world.

Eventually, he forced himself out of the car and into your apartment. When he stepped into your bedroom, you were asleep, your figure peaceful and serene under the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Jungkook’s throat tightened as he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before settling against him.

He held you tighter than ever, his face buried in your hair as silent tears streamed down his face.

It felt like goodbye.

And Jungkook didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself for it.

[wchswift]

HABZHSBAH HIII LINAAA (it's me again 😭) gosh i don't want to appear as a desperate but it seems that you're the only who opens your request for leopold 😔😭

just a small request :3 from a prompt that i encountered "... sorry, i talked too much" "no no no not at all, keep talking. i love listening to you."

well, we all know what a gentleman leopold is HABSUSBSH (I NEED HIM SO BAD MY BABY), i don't have any plot in mind so maybe you could create yours based on the prompt?? thank you!! (i love your writings)

Every Word You Say

Pairing: Leopold Mountbatten x Reader Content: strangers to friends to lovers (kind of), yapping, fluff, reader is a bookworm, Leopold is head over heels, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 2.6k (maybe I got a little excited) a/n: HIII ZAYN BESTIE!! I'm so happy you're sending me requests yayy, thanks to you I could write to Leopold my baby again (pls keep going)! okay I have to admit that I loved this prompt and maybe I got a little carried away about the plot... Maybe I've strayed a little from what you wanted (I hope not), but I really hope you like it cause I really enjoyed writing it <3

It was a good afternoon. The store was quiet, as usual, with only a few customers coming and going and not much activity. Afternoons like that were nice—there wasn't much work to do, but sales were enough to keep the place from feeling forgotten. This allowed some time to relax behind the counter and arrange books on the shelves.

The faint jingling of the brass bell above the door broke the comforting silence of the shop. The sound made her look up from the stack of books on the counter, brushing a stray hair from her face as she spotted the man who had just entered.

He was tall and impeccably dressed, with an air of calm that seemed at odds with the frenetic city outside. His coat was neatly buttoned, his shoes polished, and he carried himself with a poise that made her pause. New Yorkers weren’t usually this... composed. It was weird. But most importantly, he was so beautiful.

“Hi, good afternoon,” she greeted, flashing him a polite smile. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

The man hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes scanning the shelves. “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, the kind of voice that made even the most mundane words sound elegant.

She went back to organizing her stack of books, sneaking a glance now and then as he browsed. He moved slowly, as though savoring the sight of each title, his fingers brushing over the spines like they were relics. Finally, he stopped at the classics section and pulled out a leather-bound book.

He turned to her, holding the book aloft. “This edition of The Odyssey... it’s rather splendid. Do you recommend it?”

She blinked, surprised at his formality. “Oh, definitely. It’s one of my favorites. That edition has some great commentary in the back, too. Though, fair warning, if you get me started on books, I might not shut up.” She confessed, her tone amusing but gentle.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you, I regret nothing. Please, continue.”

She smiled genuinely at him, feeling a small flutter of surprise at his response. Most people gave a polite nod or chuckle when she rambled, but this man seemed really interested. Encouraged, she leaned against the counter, her hands gesturing animatedly as she began talking.

“You can’t go wrong with The Odyssey,” she said. “I mean, it’s a classic for a reason, right? Epic journeys, gods meddling in human affairs, monsters… And don’t get me started on Odysseus himself. Brilliant, but also kind of an idiot, if you ask me.” She laughed, then quickly added, “Oh, but you know... I mean that in the best way, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Hm, Is that so? Fascinating perspective. You find fault with his decisions?”

“Oh, plenty,” she replied, warming to the topic. “Some of his problems are his own fault—like the whole Cyclops thing? That could’ve been avoided if he’d just kept his mouth shut. But that’s what makes him interesting. He’s flawed. Human. It makes the story feel timeless, even though it’s thousands of years old.”

As the words tumbled out of her, she noticed his expression soften. His gaze didn’t waver, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as though he were cataloging every word she said.

So she just kept talking, completely oblivious to him or how he was mesmerized watching her, the excitement and ease with which she lost herself in the topic. After a moment like that, it was like something hit her, realizing how much she’d been talking, she stopped abruptly, her cheeks heating. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. You came for the books and probably weren’t expecting an impromptu lecture on Greek mythology.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “Not at all. Your enthusiasm is... refreshing. Please, go on.”

Her lips twitched in a smile of her own. “You’re dangerous, you know that? Most people try to shut me up, but not you. You’re encouraging me.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would wish you to stop,” he replied earnestly.

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She licked her lips, momentarily speechless and lost in him. After that, she just knew she would want to keep him in her life for as long as possible.

After that, it didn’t take long for him to return.

As she rearranged a display near the window the next afternoon, the bell above the door jingled again. She glanced up, half-expecting the usual flow of customers, only to see the same man from the day before.

He greeted her with the same polite nod and reserved smile, his gaze sweeping over the shop like he was committing every detail to memory.

“Back so soon?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He stopped near the counter, his posture impeccably straight. “I enjoyed our conversation yesterday. And I have a fondness for bookshops.”

“Well, then you’ve come to the right place,” she said, gesturing to the shelves around them. “Find anything interesting today?”

He paused, his gaze flicking to the classics section before returning to her. “Not yet, but I have no doubt you will recommend something.”

“Challenge accepted,” she said, already scanning the shelves in her mind for the perfect book. "Oh, sorry. What's your name again?"

As the days passed, Leopold's visits became routine. He would step into the shop with that same calm air, and they would talk—about books, history, the city, and whatever topic struck her fancy. He never seemed to mind when she rambled, always listening with the kind of focus that made her feel like the most fascinating person in the room. Something she wasn't even a little bit used to, by the way.

Their interaction was so easy and natural. When she talked to him, was always exciting and gave her a feeling of comfort. So it wasn't exactly a surprise when she quickly grew accustomed to his presence. It was strange how easily he fit into the rhythm of her days, even though she knew so little about him.

Each time he came in, she found herself lighting up in ways she hadn’t expected. She would recommend books, tease him about his formal speech, and talk about whatever was on her mind, and he never failed to listen with unwavering attention. She never, not once, felt uncomfortable or unseen in his presence. He was like a prince in a fairy tale.

One rainy afternoon, as she stacked a new shipment of books behind the counter, the man who wouldn't leave her thoughts walked in with droplets clinging to his coat and hair. She glanced up, smiling automatically.

“Caught in the rain, huh?” she asked, setting down the stack.

“Indeed,” he said, brushing water from his sleeves. “Though I find it a small price to pay for the solace this shop provides.” He complimented, in his usual formal way.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You always know how to make the place sound fancier than it is. It’s just a bookshop, you know.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile gracing his lips. “To you, perhaps. To me, it is quite extraordinary.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice made her breath catch for a moment. She quickly looked away, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve.

“Well,” she said, her tone lighter, “if you’re going to keep flattering the place, I should at least give you a tour of the neighborhood. There are some other spots I think you’d like—if you’re interested.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, as though the suggestion surprised him. “I would be delighted,” he said, feeling his heart race.

This finally happened two days later.

The city bustled around them, cars honking and voices blending into a constant hum, but she took him down quieter streets, pointing out her favorite spots.

“This café has the best pastries,” she said, gesturing to a small storefront with a faded awning. “And the park a few blocks down is great if you need to get away from all this.”

He listened attentively, nodding at her words but occasionally glancing around with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of his surroundings.

When they reached a crosswalk she stepped forward without thinking, only to realize he hadn’t moved. She turned back to see him standing on the curb, watching the cars zip by with a look of mild apprehension.

“Hey, you coming?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Is it always this... chaotic?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Pretty much. You just have to commit to it.” She grabbed his arm lightly, tugging him forward as the light changed. “Come on—don’t think, just go.”

He followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath, “This city has no regard for decorum—or the sanctity of life.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I swear you'll get used to it. Well, eventually.”

As they walked through the park, the noise of the streets faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of joggers. She led him to a bench near a small fountain, sitting down and patting the spot next to her.

“See? Not so bad, right?” she said, leaning back with a contented sigh.

He settled beside her, his posture as upright as ever. “It is... quieter than I expected,” he admitted. “Rather pleasant, in fact.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she said, smiling. “You know, You're not as hard to please as you seem.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “Oh, I imagine this is good?”

She laughed softly, and for a moment they sat in comfortable silence, watching the fountain's water ripple in the breeze. They enjoyed being at peace, simply appreciating each other's company.

That evening, he returned to the bookshop. The streets were quieter now, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor as she tidied up before closing.

He lingered by the counter as she talked, her words spilling out in an excited stream as she recounted a childhood memory sparked by a book she’d come across earlier that day.

“So when I was ten, I had this phase where I was obsessed with The Secret Garden,” she said, gesturing as she spoke. “I even convinced my dad to help me plant this tiny garden in our backyard. Except, I was an awful gardener—I kept forgetting to water it, and half the flowers were just weeds I thought looked cool.”

She laughed, shaking her head at the memory. “But I’d still sit out there for hours, waiting for my own magical door to appear. My dad always called it my ‘weed palace.’”

Leopold chuckled softly, his smile warm. “A ‘weed palace,’ you say? Peculiar, but at the same time charming.”

“Well, maybe to you,” she replied, grinning. “To everyone else, it was probably an eyesore.”

She paused, glancing at the clock and suddenly realizing how long she’d been talking. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced at him.

“Oh God... I’m sorry, I talked too much. I really need to learn when to stop.”

Leopold, who has been utterly captivated, loses the humor in his eyes, his expression shifting to something quieter, warmer as he tries to reassure her.

“No, no, not at all. Keep talking. I love listening to you.” he said softly.

Her breath caught at the earnestness in his voice, the way his gaze held hers as though he truly meant every word. For a few seconds, she could only stare, her usual quick wit failing her.

“Thanks,” she murmured finally, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

The warmth in his eyes didn’t waver, and in that quiet moment, the bustling world outside seemed to fade away entirely.

A comfortable silence settled in for a few minutes. Leaving them there, just staring at each other, observing each other. For a moment, she didn't know what else to say. People didn’t usually look at her the way he was now—like every word she said was worth hearing. It was flattering, a little unnerving, but mostly... nice. She blinked a few times, adjusting her posture while lightly playing with her hair, hoping to dispel the warmth creeping into her cheeks.

The quiet between them was the kind of silence that felt full, warm, and fascinating. She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, glancing at him as he remained by the counter, looking as though he had something more to say.

Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, her voice soft. “You know, you’re a pretty good listener. Most people get bored with my stories halfway through.”

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint, knowing smile she was beginning to adore. “I find your stories enchanting. They are... a window into a world I often feel I’m only just discovering.”

Her brow furrowed at the odd phrasing, but before she could question it, he stepped a little closer, his hands gently resting on the counter. His gaze softened, the usual formality in his expression giving way to something more vulnerable.

“It’s rare,” he continued, his voice low, “to find someone who speaks with such passion. Most people... say so little of consequence. But you—your words, your thoughts—they breathe life into even the most mundane things.”

Her heart gave a tiny flutter, and she felt warmth creep up her neck again. “That’s... really sweet of you to say,” she murmured, looking down at her hands.

For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered across his face. He took a deep breath, then, with a soft, deliberate motion, tilted his head to meet her eyes. The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable as he declared, “I speak only the truth.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a spark of something unnameable through her chest, and she met his gaze, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Well,” she said lightly, trying to steady her voice, “if you keep flattering me like that, I might start to think you enjoy my company.”

His smile deepened, feeling more real, with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I should hope that has been apparent for some time.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re kind of a mystery, you know that? But... I think I like that about you.”

“And you,” he said, his tone softening again, “are an open book. A rare and beautiful one.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. The faint glow of the shop’s dim lighting reflected in his eyes, and the quiet hum of the world outside seemed to fade entirely. She momentarily dropped her gaze to his lips before his voice brought her back.

“Would you,” he began, his voice careful, almost hesitant, “permit me the honor of accompanying you on another of your walks? Perhaps tomorrow?”

She bit her lip, her heart racing in a way that felt new and thrilling, together with the urge to jump into his arms. “I think I’d like that,” she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

He straightened slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction crossing his face. “Then it’s settled.”

As the bell above the door jingled softly, signaling his departure, she stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the night. She closed her eyes as a painful smile appeared on her face, she quickly did a happy dance before lightly resting her hands on the counter.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty! feel free to join the tag list ☆

[the-inkwell-variable]

author ask tag

thank you so much for the tag, @the-golden-comet! ooh this is gonna be fun!

i'm going to focus on my current wip, Why Should I Be Careful? I'm Going To Die Anyway! because it's still very much in the planning stages (despite how much I'm writing for it) and I have Thoughts

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I'll be honest, I haven't really thought that far ahead. I suppose, if there is a lesson to take from WSIBC?IGTDA!, it might be that you should always chase your goals and desires, and screw what other people think. Maybe put a little more thought and planning into yours than Aura does hers, though. I mean, she almost dies due to her recklessness. Don't be like Aura.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

Well, it's a zombie book - I love zombies, in case you can't tell - so the world is an amalgamation of zombie stuff I love. The zombies are based off of the Train to Busan zombies. This is a self-insert mess, so I'm using the town and people I know in the town as location and characters. Little tropes here and there that I love in movies and books alike. It's just a big chimera of stuff that I grab from stuff I remember and shove into it. It definitely needs polish when it's done, but I'm having a blast so far, so I'm'a keep doing it :3

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

Uhhhhhh this is a tough question. Right now, Aura is trying to make it to Roger's Grocery Mart to save her girlfriend, but most of the time, she's just trying to have a good time in the zombie apocalypse and hopefully not die. She does eventually grow into a character that (mostly) thinks things through and takes other people's situations into account, so I suppose the lesson is "the world doesn't revolve around you - be kind and helpful to others"?

As for what I'm trying to achieve... mostly, to be honest, I just want people to pick up my book and have a good time reading it. I want to write a zombie book because it's my passion and because there aren't enough zombie books out there. I guess I'm trying to inspire others? To show them that you can survive an impossible situation if you work hard and think things through?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

The only time I've written a full-length book (sorry, the only two times, forgot about Zero: ALPHA), it had about twenty-odd chapters. Z:A had...uh...thirty? That was a long time ago and I sadly no longer have that draft. This one is going to go until it's done. Hopefully more than thirty though!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content! I have no idea where I'm going to post it. I'm torn between Draft2Digital (originally Smashwords) or Substack. Thing is, I'm really bad at marketing and keywords and all that technical stuff that goes into publicizing, so I'm really hesitant to share it at all. I'm the type of person that gets absolutely morally devastated if my own self-inflicted goals aren't met, and I'm not sure if I can handle that kind of crushing heartbreak with this one lol

So yeah. Might publish, might not. Unsure right now.

When did you start writing?

My dad set up a Windows 95 computer for me in his office, his old one, and taught me the basics of using it. I was five, about to turn six. I immediately sat down and wrote a story about unicorns. I've been writing ever since.

I didn't start writing fanfiction until I was thirteen and had just binge-watched Lord of the Rings for the first time. We don't talk about those works. They were awful.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Write it. Oh it's cringe? Who cares? Write it. Oh, it's a rare pair? Write it. You're worried people will hate it? Fuck the haters. Write it. Writing is about having fun. Writing is about pouring your soul onto the page. Writing is about getting those ideas out of your head so they don't drive you insane. It's about reaching that one person that finds your work and loves it. Even if no one reads it - you still accomplished something. You still wrote it. And no one can take that from you.

I have so many writers in my follow list. Uhh. I have no idea how many are still active, so I'm just going to tag who I know and hope for the best lol

@idyllicocean, @keeping-writing-frosty, @bloodtiesnovel, @asher-writes, @kitswrite, @theink-stainedfolk, @karkkidoeswriting, @lavender-gloom, @orphanheirs, @aquixoticwrites, @alinacapellabooks, @marlowethelibrarian, @flock-from-the-void, @dyrewrites, @storycraftcafe, @writer-imagination, @toragay-writing, @inseasofgreen, @stephtuckerauthor, @thatndginger, @finickyfelix, @eternalwritingstudent, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally, @the-golden-comet, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @watermeezer, @goldfinchwrites, @winterandwords, @badscientist, @clairelsonao3, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @leahpardo-pa-potato, @mjparkerwriting, @rowanwriting, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @emelkae, @rita-rae-siller, @rebelxwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @stesierra, @francineiswriting, @sunset-a-story, @chauceryfairytales, @hollyannewrites, @jaydenswaywrites, @captain-kraken, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @romy-thewriter, @pure-solomon, @writingmaidenwarrior, @koiwrites

go, go follow them. they're all so good and make my timeline glow.

[vanilladollette]

More of jae-jun pls! 🥹🤍

Silent Confessions || Jeon Jae-Joon x reader ||

Summary: Jeon Jae-Joon, who secretly had a crush on you in high school, sees you years later in his store, only to learn you're now engaged. Heartbroken but hiding his feelings, he regrets never confessing his love as you leave, realizing it’s too late now.

A/n: Jae-Joon may have been too ooc. I don't know. I didn't occur to me if you wanted headcanons or not but here is more Jae-Joon.

If someone had ask Jae-joon if he has any regrets, he'll say no but deep down, he does. One. It was him not confessing his feelings for you. He had fallen in love with you back in High school. He was madly in love with you. However, he never confessed his feelings for you. Not once. He never knew why he didn't confess his feelings for you. Maybe he felt you deserved better or feared you would turn him down.

Whatever the reason it was, Jae-Joon didn't confess to you. It was the only regret he had. The only regret that ate him up at night.

Jae-joon told himself that if he ever got the chance to see you one more time, he would confess his feelings for you.

It was until one day, Jae-Joon sees a familiar figure walked through the door of his store. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized you immediately.

You had changed in subtle ways—your hair was a little longer, your style more polished—but your presence still held the same warmth that had once captivated him. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you browse through the store, his mind racing with memories of the days when he had admired you from afar in high school.

Jae-joon watched you as you moved through the store, his heart heavy with emotions he’d buried long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the changes—the way you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, the soft smile that still seemed to reach your eyes, and the faint glow of happiness surrounding you. Despite the years that had passed, you were still the person he had secretly fallen for in high school, and now, here you were, standing in front of him again.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. It was hard to think clearly with the rush of feelings flooding his mind. Gathering all the courage he could muster, he took a few steps forward and greeted you, his voice betraying just a hint of nervousness. "Hey, it's been a long time."

You turned toward him with a smile, your eyes lighting up with recognition. "Jae-joon!" you said warmly, the sound of your voice like a familiar melody to him. "Wow, I didn’t expect to run into you here. How’ve you been?"

He managed a small smile, though it felt forced. "Good, good. Been keeping busy," he replied, unsure of what to say next. The words he had rehearsed in his mind for so long—everything he had wanted to confess to you—felt distant now.

You started to chat, casually catching up as if no time had passed, but Jae-joon couldn’t focus on the words. All he could think about was how he had never told you what had been in his heart all those years ago. It hurt to hear the easy, light conversation knowing that you were no longer the person he could claim as his own, that you had moved on to someone else.

Then, as you paused in your conversation, you did something that nearly broke him. You lifted your hand, revealing the engagement ring on your finger. His gaze immediately shifted to it, and his heart sank.

"Oh, wow," Jae-joon managed, his voice suddenly distant, though he tried his best to mask the hurt. "I didn’t know you were engaged."

You smiled brightly, a soft, contented look on your face. "Yeah, I’m really happy. It’s been a long journey, but I’ve found someone I want to spend my life with."

The words stung, but he nodded, forcing a smile. "Congratulations. I’m really happy for you," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he still felt, how much he regretted never confessing, how much he wished things had turned out differently.

You chatted for a little longer, but it felt like an eternity to Jae-joon. Every word, every glance from you reminded him of the silent love he had kept hidden for so long. And with every passing moment, the reality that it was too late hit him harder.

"I should get going," you said after a while, breaking him from his thoughts. "I’m meeting my fiancé soon. It was so nice seeing you again, Jae-joon."

You waved and turned to leave, and Jae-joon stood frozen for a moment, watching you walk away. The sound of the door’s bell as you left the store echoed in his ears, leaving a painful silence behind.

In that moment, all the regret he had kept locked inside came rushing back. He should have told you. He should have confessed. But now, it was too late. You were gone, and so were his chances. All he had left were the ghosts of the what-ifs that would never be answered.

As he stood there, the empty store around him seemed to echo the one regret that had haunted him all these years. It was a regret that would never fade, no matter how much time passed. He had missed his chance, and now you were someone else’s.

[kcwriter-blog]

I finally started playing Baldur's Gate 3. I know I'm slow. Many people told me I wouldn't like it. The reasons why were varied - turn based combat, unvoiced protagonist, characters not as in depth as they are in Dragon Age. And I listened.

What changed? Frustration with Veilguard.

And I liked BG3. A lot. Enough to hyperfixate on it? No, but it is a game I want to play again. Something I don't want to do with Veilguard. I got the ending I wanted but it was kind of a slog to get there and I don't want to do it again.

Which brings me to why I created this post. BG3 reminds me of what I loved about the previous three DA games and what I found lacking in Veilguard. To start I will just say that Veilguard was not for me and that is fine. It works for others and I am happy for them.

BG3 has characters that feel like real people. They have likes and dislikes. They get along with other party members or they don't. They don't really like or trust your character at first. You have to get to know them but they also have to get to know and trust you. They don't always agree with you. They make their own decisions based on how you have helped change them. For example. I can tell Shadowheart what she should do about the Nightsong, but ultimately it is up to her. I can try to persuade her but its a pretty high check if she doesn't really like me.

You get to decide what kind of person your Tav/Durge is. And there are consequences for the kind of person you choose to be. The world reacts to your character and not always pleasantly. So I felt a sense of accomplishment when a character became friendly or made a choice based on what my character did.

DA games used to do that to one extent or another. Even in DAI some of your characters could leave you. Others just hated you. It was realistic.

The story was cohesive. It had themes and those themes were dealt with well.

I understand that DATV was a result of its development cycle and that we got a game at all, much less one that was polished and had a mostly satisfying ending is great so I'm not overly critical. It is what it is but it isn't for me.

So this Solavellan blog will be looking a little different going forward. There will be more posts about other games. I need to step away from DA for a bit.

I suspect it will still lean heavily toward Solas and Solavellan. That is my hyperfixation after all, but I want to post pictures of my other games and don't feel like creating another blog dedicated to those other games (yes, I'm lazy).

So everyone that follows me for Solavellan content be warned.

[judesmoonbeauty]

felt bad that i couldn't reach the epilogue in jude's party event...could u summarize what happened in the epilogue?

Hi Anon! Sure, I'm happy to summarize. If you're referring to his BD party event epilogue, I did translate that here.

If you're referring to the party event for his placing #1 in the 2024 JP elections, then see below. There wasn't an epilogue for this event, just the six chapters, so I'll just share a brief summary chapter since I don't know how much of the story you obtained.

Please note: that I've not translated this as accurately as I can yet, so some details can't be guaranteed. I'm planning to start translation of the event soon.

Chapter 1: Morning Time (Kate POV)

Jude returns to his room just before dawn and finds Kate asleep on his bed. He sits down and touches her cheek wondering about she could be dreaming about. He falls asleep next to her and when Kate wakes up she finds Jude is still sleeping and snuggling with her. When Jude wakes up and comments on her bedhead he tells her not to show her bedhead to anyone else. He calls her cute. The exchange "good morning" greetings.

Chapter 2: Lunch Time (Kate POV)

Kate is hard at work at Raven Co and she would like a break soon and just then Jude appears with more work, but when Kate puffs her cheeks and says that maybe Jude should treat his hardworking girlfriend, he takes her to lunch. Kate eats the fatty part of Jude's dish because he's health conscious, and he and Kate banter. Ellis is there and says they look like they're having fun, and both of them deny it simultaneously....(liars.)

Chapter 3: Business Meeting (Ellis POV)

Jude and Ellis are attending a business meeting with a Jeweler that Jude wants to partner with. As Jude is examining the jewelry, he comes across a beautiful moonstone necklace that has not been fully polished. Ellis notices that Jude's face instantly softens when he looks at it, and he know it's because he's thinking of Kate. Jude tends to look a bit kinder since dating. Ellis thinks that Jude isn't even aware of changes, so until Jude does notice it himself, Ellis decides that he won't say anything about it.

Chapter 4: A House Raid that Evening (Jude's POV)

Jude's beating the crap out of some nobleman to whom he'd lent money and broke his contract with Jude. Jude thinks to himself that seeking revenge and punishing those who broke their agreements with him isn't as refreshing to him anymore. He doesn't understand why until he touches the jewelry box in his pocket and realizes it's because of Kate. Jude leaves the mansion and returns to Raven Co where he finds her busy working. When she notices Jude, she smiles brightly and welcomes him back. Her cheerful voice is like something that removes poison from him. They return home.

Chapter 5: A Moonlit Room (Kate POV)

It's smexy time.....but only a little bit. They were supposed to just have dinner and chat before bed, but Kate said that she wanted to win at least once against Jude which struck his sadist chord. So they play a game. They banter with each other a bit, but Jude stops the game and then puts the necklace on her. When she asks the name of the stone and he tells her it's a moonstone, Kate thinks about his promise about the moon and how it's a curse to him. Struggling to move forward and being torn between keeping his promise and the reality that he can't reach it. Kate surrenders the game and tells him to be as gentle as possible. He gently pushes her on the bed and tells her that he'll take good care of her.

Chapter 6: Smexxxy Time For Real (Jude POV)

It's smut. Due to my blog's Ask Policy, I will not be discussing in detail what this entails. Kate's passed out from their fun time, and he thinks about a lot of things, like how it's more fun bullying Kate than it is harming nobles, how he'll never forgive her if someone else hurts her besides him, and how she is like the warm, glowing moonlight that guides him in darkness. He admits how if they never met, then he never would go to moon and would've simply died as he's destined to....and that the day of his death might have come sooner. He hold's Kate tight in his arms and tells her that he will never let go of her, so when she does leave him then she should make sure to kill him. To his surprise, she tells him not to let go ever. He tells her to go to sleep and she does so. The moon is still annoyingly far away, but there's no way he's giving up.

[melancholyfool]

Lonely Star (I)

Pairings: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: At Oxford University, you and Regulus navigate love, family, friendships, and the inevitable chaos of your 20s. With tangled relationships and uncertain futures, what could possibly go wrong?

Warning: Lot's of smoking

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: This story is set in the modern world, 1990's. This is my first story, and I hope to continue writing many more chapters in the future! Reader and Regulus are English Literature Majors, with a minor in French and History. P.S I have recently joined the fandom, and so I don't know much of their backstories, however, I hope you all enjoy and are not too critical of my knowledge (or lack there of!). P.P.S this story is a slow burn with the plot and everything! You are joining these characters on their journey.

The cobblestones of Oxford glistened faintly under the pale glow of street lamps, their edges dusted with frost as you and Regulus walked hand in hand through the stillness of the early morning. The chill of winter nipped at your cheeks, your breath visible in soft clouds as the two of you made your way toward your first lecture in classic literature. The sun had yet to rise, the world wrapped in an ethereal darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the lamps and the soft shuffle of your shoes. Regulus’ fingers tightened around yours, a silent gesture of warmth and reassurance against the cold. The ancient stone buildings loomed around you, their ivy-clad facades a timeless backdrop to this quiet moment.

The frost-crisped air seemed quieter than usual. You glanced up at Regulus, his dark curls tucked into the collar of his dark wool coat, his outfit striking against the pure fallen snow. “Regulus,” you asked, breaking the silence, “do you think Achilles was truly selfish, or was it his grief that made him seem that way?”

You and Regulus had re-read the Iliad together in preparation for your first lecture on Homer.

He looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his gray eyes remained thoughtful. “Grief can do strange things to a person,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I think Achilles was consumed by it—grief for Patroclus, yes, but also grief for the part of himself he’d lost in the war. His anger was… complicated.”

You nodded, turning his words over in your mind as the grand facade of the university came into view. The tall doors creaked slightly as you pushed them open together, the chill outside giving way to the warm, familiar scent of old books and polished wood.

The two of you walked in step down the hall, your breath no longer visible but your heart still beating with the quiet anticipation of the first day. When you reached the lecture hall, the faint hum of early arrivals greeted you. Regulus held the door open, his hand brushing yours as you passed. The room was filled with rows of desks and an imposing chalkboard, the name “Homer” written in sweeping white letters across it.

“Achilles wasn’t selfish,” Regulus murmured as the two of you found seats near the middle. “I think, deep down, he just wanted someone to understand him.” He glanced sideways at you, a flicker of something unspoken in his expression, before settling into his seat, ready for the lecture to begin.

The professor strode into the lecture hall with a commanding presence, his brown tweed blazer and wire-rimmed glasses lending him the air of a classic scholar. He set a leather satchel on the desk at the front of the room and scanned the class with an inviting smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began, his deep voice resonating in the stillness of the room. “I’m Professor Hammond, and I’ll be guiding you through the works of Homer this semester—namely, The Iliad and The Odyssey. These texts have shaped storytelling as we know it, and they continue to challenge and inspire readers thousands of years after they were first told.”

He paused to adjust his glasses before continuing, “To begin, I’ve assigned a paper on The Iliad. It will focus on one of the epic’s central themes—be it heroism, fate, or mortality. You’ll have one week to complete it. Further details will be on the papers here at the front of the class, you can all grab one on the way out.”

The steady scratch of pens on notebooks filled the air as Professor Hammond began outlining the course. Beside you, Regulus shifted slightly, his elbow brushing yours. You glanced over to see him leaning closer, his dark hair catching the soft overhead light, his expression unreadable.

“Remus, Sirius, and James wanna hang out after our classes finish,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “They’re planning to grab coffee and head to James’ place.”

You looked at him, his features calm but his eyes flickering with something thoughtful, as though he were weighing the decision even as he spoke. “But,” he added after a pause, “Barty and Evan said they want to stop by our apartment tonight. They mentioned bringing wine. I thought…maybe we could stay in, just us four.”

His words hung in the air between you, carrying on the quiet rhythm of the lecture hall. The idea of spending the evening with Barty and Evan, their easy laughter and shared connection, warmed you against the early chill of the day. You could already picture the four of you in the apartment, tangled in conversation, the comfort of familiarity replacing the bustle of campus life.

You leaned closer, your voice just above a whisper. “It’s the first day of second term,” you said. “Let’s hang out with Barty and Evan tonight. I’ll catch up with the others another time.”

Regulus’ lips curved in a faint, almost imperceptible smile, and he nodded, leaning back in his seat. His hand brushed against yours briefly, a touch as fleeting as the frost that had covered the cobblestones that morning. The professor’s voice droned on about Homeric epithets and dactylic hexameter, but your thoughts had already drifted to the quiet evening ahead, the anticipation settling comfortably in your chest.

<3

After finishing your history class, the short hour-long break seemed to vanish in a flurry of shared notes and black coffee sipped quickly against the cold. Now, you and Regulus were weaving through the hallways of the modern languages building, heading to your French class. The classroom came into view, its fluorescent lights spilling out into the corridor. As you stepped inside, your gaze scanned the room until you spotted two familiar figures near the back.

Evan and Barty were already seated, their jackets slung over the backs of their chairs. Evan leaned back lazily, staring at the ceiling, while Barty was flipping idly through his notebook. Both of them looked up at the same time and, catching sight of you and Regulus, waved you both over.

“Are they seriously here this early?” you muttered to Regulus, a note of amused disbelief in your voice.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s practically a miracle,” he murmured, taking your hand in his. “Come on.”

The warmth of his fingers in yours guided you down the narrow rows of desks to the back of the class, where Evan and Barty greeted you with matching smirks.

“Darling,” Barty drawled, his voice full of playful affection as he leaned forward. Evan gave a small wave, his gaze flickering between you and Regulus with a knowing grin.

“Hey,” you said, settling into the seat beside Barty as Regulus took the one to your right. You leaned over, whispering, “It’s weird seeing you two here so early. Did you lose a bet or something?”

Evan chuckled. “I’ll have you know we’re very punctual when it matters.”

“Sure,” Regulus said dryly, settling into his seat and pulling out his notebook.

Before long, the conversation shifted to your plans for the evening. Barty leaned closer, his elbow on the desk as he grinned. “So, are we still on for tonight?”

Regulus nodded, a calm confidence in his tone. “Still on. Sirius invited us for coffee earlier—well, mostly her.” He tilted his head toward you. “But I think it was just “politeness” extending to me.”

Barty let out a sharp laugh, and Evan smirked. “Coffee with the Golden Trio? Doesn’t sound like your scene,” Evan teased.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Barty pressed a light, teasing kiss to your cheek, the warmth of his lips a small gesture that said ‘thank you for ditching your other friends for us’. A rush of heat bloomed in your face, and you instinctively turned toward Regulus, hiding your blushing cheeks in the crook of his neck.

Regulus smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. His arm draped along the back of your chair as he drew you a little closer. Leaning in, his lips brushed against your temple as he murmured in French, "Don’t shy away, love."

The soft cadence of his words made your blush deepen, but you didn’t shy away this time. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not shying away,” you replied smoothly in French, your voice warm and steady despite the faint flush still lingering on your cheeks.

His smirk softened, turning into something gentler as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers grazing your hand on the desk. “Good,” he murmured, this time in English, his gray eyes holding yours as if sealing some unspoken promise.

Beside you, Barty let out a chuckle, his tone dripping with mock exasperation. “Honestly, you two are something else,” he teased, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with a grin.

Evan leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, shaking his head with a bemused look. “The way you two flirt, it’s a wonder anyone else can keep their food down when we’re out.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Says the one who once recited a sonnet in the middle of a pub,” you shot back, your smile widening as Evan grinned unapologetically.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate,” Barty recited in his best Evan impression, turning to the boy and placing a wet kiss onto his cheek.

The conversation faded as the professor entered the classroom. As he began to review verb conjugations and passages from a random text, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of Regulus’ soft breathing beside you and the memory of his words lingering like a gentle hum in the back of your mind.

<3

The apartment welcomed the four of you back like an old friend, the scent of wood smoke, aged paper, and faint traces of candle wax filling the air. The open door let in a sharp bite of evening cold, mingling with the lingering warmth of the hearth. Regulus shut it behind him, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of the Victorian sofa, its faded fabric still plush despite years of use.

Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling along the walls, their contents spilling over onto the dark wooden floors in precarious stacks, some balanced carefully, others leaning as if held together by sheer determination. Papers scrawled with messy cursive were scattered across every surface—the writing desk by the window, the small table in the corner, even the fridge bore evidence of hurried note-taking. In the center of it all, the fireplace glowed faintly, its mantle adorned with old photographs and candles that cast flickering shadows across the room. Above it hung a dark, stormy painting of a ship caught in the chaos of a gale, its turbulent energy echoing the moody ambiance of the space.

Regulus leaned casually against the fireplace, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of his silver lighter. He took a slow drag before crossing the room to where you stood tying an apron around your waist. He stopped in front of you, holding the cigarette out. His gray eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.

“Here,” he murmured.

You took the cigarette, inhaled deeply, then leaned forward, exhaling a soft plume of smoke over his face. His lips curled into a smirk as his gaze lingered on yours. “Don’t let dinner burn,” he teased softly, pecking your lips, his voice low enough to send a ripple of warmth through the chill.

Evan, meanwhile, had wandered to the corner where the record player stood, his fingers flipping through a stack of records until he found one he liked. A soft crackle filled the room as he set the needle down, and soon the sweeping strings of a classical melody began to fill the apartment.

“It’s freezing in here, are you trying to kill us?” Barty muttered, crouching by the fireplace to stoke the embers back to life. The flames caught, sending a warm glow dancing across the rich, wine-coloured rugs that dotted the dark wooden floors.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Regulus rolled his eyes, his tone light but laced with a smirk as he pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it and handing it to Barty.

Barty took it with a small grin before nodding to the chessboard he’d set up on the table by the sofa. “Your move, Reg.”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. His attention was on you, moving between the kitchen counter and the stove, the faint scent of garlic and olive oil already beginning to fill the air. He finally sank into the armchair across from Barty, cigarette balanced between his fingers as he blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

Evan crossed the room, his steps unhurried, and reached for your hand. “Come on, Y/n,” he said, his tone playful as he tugged you gently away from the counter.

You laughed softly. “Evan! Dinner won’t cook itself, you know.”

“It can wait,” he insisted, pulling you toward the open space near the sofa. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you draped yours over his shoulders, letting him sway you to the music.

Regulus’ eyes flicked to the two of you. He leaned back in his chair, cigarette burning lazily in his hand, and blew smoke out the corner of his lips as he watched you.

Barty looked over at the two of you dancing, and then back at his chess mate. He snapped his fingers in front of Regulus’ face, “You’ll move eventually, won’t you?” Barty said, raising an eyebrow.

Regulus tore his gaze away just long enough to push a chess piece forward. “Patience Junior,” he replied smoothly, reaching for his wine glass.

You threw your head back and laughed. You parted from Evan to check on the food.

The room was alive with the quiet chaos that only the four of you could create. Smoke curled lazily through the air, mingling with the scent of cooking pasta. The music swelled, the fire crackled, and the golden light from the lamps and candles softened the sharp edges of the evening.

<3

The evening had settled into a comfortable silence after dinner, the soft clink of glasses and plates replaced by the faint hum of conversation and the sound of a record spinning lazily in the background. The dishes had been cleared, the table wiped down, and now, the apartment was quieter, the warmth of the fire and soft light from the candles casting long shadows across the room.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan had taken care of the cleanup, their movements synchronized and efficient as they scrubbed the last of the dishes. You leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, your arms folded casually, watching them with a smile of appreciation.

“Thanks, boys,” you called out softly as Regulus finished washing the last dish.

Regulus didn’t respond verbally but gave you a small nod, wiping his hands on a dishtowel before turning toward you. You slid behind him, slipping your hand into the pocket of his trousers and taking the familiar pack of cigarettes that rested there.

Without a word, you walked over to the window, cracking it just a smidge to let in the cool evening air. You lit the cigarette, taking a deep inhale and savoring the familiar burn as the smoke filled your lungs. You blew it out slowly, watching as the smoke curled upward toward the ceiling.

“So, how did the rest of your classes go?” you asked, turning toward Evan and Barty.

Barty was the first to finish his chores, striding across the room with an easy, confident gait. He threw himself into the chair opposite you, his legs sprawled across the armrest as he leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head.

Evan joined him, though instead of sitting, he sprawled out across the floor, making himself comfortable as he rested his head on the rug. “It was decent. Philosophy’s always a drag, but the history part was fine,” he said, his voice muffled by the ground. "We went over the political implications of Augustus’ reign. Pretty basic stuff."

“Mm, I’d say the same,” Barty added with a slight smile. “Not much new, but still enjoyable. French, though…” He let out a small groan, looking at you. “Honestly, translating Shakespeare into another language is a nightmare.”

You laughed softly and took another drag of your cigarette. “I’m sure you’re both thrilled about it.”

Barty grinned. “It’s the worst. But I suppose it’s not as bad as King Lear,” he teased, glancing at Regulus, who had finally made his way over to the couch.

Regulus smirked in response, but before he could say anything, he took the cigarette from your fingers, pressing it to his lips. He inhaled deeply, and you leaned into him. The warmth of his body and the soft scent of his cologne wrapped around you as he took a slow drag, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling it lazily into the air.

“I think we’re all in for a rough semester,” Regulus said, his voice low as he handed the cigarette back to you, and then grabbed the unfinished chessboard from the nearby table, setting it on the coffee table. “Chess with Barty, Shakespeare with you.”

Barty chuckled, moving a piece on the board. “You’ll have fun with King Lear, I’m sure of it.”

Evan, on the other hand, was flipping through his copy of Macbeth, the pages rustling as he scribbled in his notes with a pen. “I’m not worried. It’s just about finding the rhythm of it in French,” he mused aloud, glancing at you and Regulus. “At least we get to pick our plays. Could’ve been worse.”

You smiled and took another drag from your cigarette, swirling the smoke around your lips. “I’ve got Romeo and Juliet. No complaints there.”

Regulus shifted next to you, focusing intently on his chess match with Barty. His eyes flicked over the board as he made a move, his expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he leaned forward. You shifted in closer, your fingers gently brushing the edge of his thigh as you leaned against him. He glanced down at you, his lips curling into a soft smile before he pulled you closer, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you fully onto his lap.

The sound of the crackling fire mingled with the soft rustle of pages and the occasional clink of a wine glass. You settled more comfortably against Regulus, your body fitting naturally against his as he absently toyed with your hair. Barty and Evan were still engaged in their own conversation, but you could feel Regulus’ focus on you, the heat of his gaze like a quiet current between you both.

“So, what’s your take on Macbeth?” you asked, trying to draw everyone into a single conversation. His pen tapped thoughtfully against the page as he looked up, pausing for a moment before responding.

“It’s a mess,” he said, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “There’s something about power in it, right? The way it corrupts, twists everything. Like, it’s not just ambition—it’s the way ambition turns inward, eats away at everything.” He glanced down at his notes, tapping the paper again. “There’s this rawness about it. It feels different from the others. King Lear, for instance, is about family, about power’s destructive nature within relationships.”

You nodded slowly, flicking the ash off your cigarette and blowing out. “It’s interesting, the way those themes come out differently in each play. And yet, they all have the same core—people striving for something bigger than themselves, but destroying everything in the process.”

Barty, who had been silent for a moment, snorted softly. “You two sound like you’re writing an essay already.” He leaned back further in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “But yeah, I get it. Julius Caesar is all about betrayal, right? The idea that trust can be shattered so easily. It’s like there’s a constant reminder that people will stab you in the back when you least expect it.”

Regulus chuckled quietly from behind you, his arms tightening around your waist as he took another drag from your cigarette. “Betrayal,” he echoed, his voice a touch colder, darker. “It’s something I know all too well.”

You tilted your head to glance at him, curious at the shift in his tone. “You always bring that up, you know,” you teased softly, tracing the lines of his hand with your finger. “Isn’t it a bit much?”

He met your gaze, his eyes intense but with a glimmer of amusement. “Maybe. But it’s always there, isn’t it? Waiting in the background. People want things, and they’ll do anything to get them.”

Evan looked up from his notes, raising an eyebrow as he watched Regulus. “You’ve got a point. That’s kind of why I like Macbeth. It’s not just the power-hungry people, it’s how they get to that point, how desperation shapes them.”

“Desperation… That’s a good word for it,” Barty murmured. “And you could say the same about Julius Caesar—the whole world of politics, of trust, is built on desperation.”

You leaned back into Regulus’ arms, letting the conversation wash over you. “It’s funny, how literature just… pulls you in. Makes you think about things you’d never really consider on your own.”

Regulus’ thumb gently traced the curve of your waist as he turned his attention back to the chessboard. “It’s meant to. But sometimes,” he added, glancing down at you, his voice lowering again, “it’s not just the story that makes you think. It’s the people around you.”

You felt the weight of his words settle between you, something unspoken hanging in the air as he looked down at you with that same smirk playing on his lips.

“Don't tell me you're getting all sentimental now Black,” Barty teased, his gaze flicking between you and Regulus.

“Not sentimental,” Regulus replied smoothly, reaching for his wine glass. “Just reflective.”

Evan grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Reflective? In an academic kind of way, I’m assuming?”

“Of course,” Regulus answered without missing a beat, his voice dripping with irony. “Though I prefer to reflect with a bit more style than most.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, Regulus. I think you’re giving yourself too much credit.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his wine. “Oh, I don't know about that,” he said, glancing at you as if to punctuate the statement. His voice dropped into a more teasing tone. “You always seem to appreciate my style.”

The soft hum of the conversation continued in the background as the room settled into a comfortable, almost lazy rhythm. The faint scratch of Evan’s pen, the rustling of Barty’s chess pieces, the gentle crackle of the fire—all blending into the slow, easy moments that made up their evening. And for now, that was all everyone needed.

<3

As the chess game came to a close, Barty’s victorious chuckle filled the air. The match had been a good one—strategic, intense—but Barty ultimately had the upper hand by the end. Evan stretched his limbs across the floor, his laughter blending into the easy warmth of the room. The wine had been poured freely. Everyone had slowly settled into the comfort of exhaustion, limbs sprawled across various pieces of furniture as the night stretched on.

Regulus had a possessive arm draped around you, but you slowly began to wiggle out of his embrace, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you shifted. His voice, low and lazy, stopped you. “Where do you think you're going?” he asked, still half-lost in the haze of relaxation. His eyes followed you, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows on his face.

“I'm going to change into my nightclothes,” you said softly, turning back to meet his gaze.

He didn’t say anything at first, his arms still open as if inviting you to stay, but eventually, he nodded. “I'll wait for you,” he murmured, sinking back into the couch.

You walked toward the bedroom, the wood floor cool under your bare feet. The bedroom was dim, lit only by a few scattered candles and the soft glow of the fire from the other room. You passed the canopy bed, the fabric of the curtains swaying gently in the draft from the window. Reaching the wooden drawer, you pulled out one of Regulus’ black shirts, the fabric soft against your fingertips. As you stripped down to change, you heard the door creak open behind you. Before you could turn around, Regulus’ arms were around your bare body, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his warmth, his breath against your neck as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

He murmured into your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m tired,” he said softly, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

You turned in his arms, your own lips finding his as you kissed him slowly. You could taste the remnants of the wine, the lingering smoke on his breath, and it was all somehow comforting, grounding you. When you finally pulled back, you replied, “We can go to bed now.”

You slipped out of his embrace, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you put the shirt on and made your way back to the living room. Evan and Barty were already asleep on the couch, tangled together. You smiled softly, your heart warmed by the sight of them. You draped a blanket gently over their bodies, pressing a soft kiss to each of their cheeks. The room felt peaceful, familiar, like everything was right in this little corner of the world.

Heading back to the bedroom, you saw Regulus sitting on the edge of the bed. He was holding a letter, the dark green wax seal unmistakable with the Black family crest stamped firmly in the center. His expression was unreadable at first, but as soon as he saw you, his eyes softened, a trace of sadness in them.

You walked over to him, your heart aching slightly at the sight of him like this. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, the simple touch offering comfort in a way words never could. “Do you wanna open it now?” you asked softly, your voice quiet, knowing how much this letter probably meant to him.

Regulus glanced down at the letter in his hands, his fingers lightly tracing the seal. For a moment, it seemed as though he was contemplating something, weighing the decision. Finally, he sighed. “I should open it now,” he said, his voice heavy.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “S’okay, I'll read it.”

He broke the seal, pulling the letter out carefully, and as he read, the silence in the room grew, heavy and thick. The letter was from his parents, a summons for him to return home for the weekend. You could see his jaw tighten slightly as he read, the words clearly affecting him more than he let on.

You reached for his hand, gently squeezing it. “Are you okay, baby?” you asked softly, concern lacing your voice.

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, it was with a quiet, almost resigned tone. “They always do this,” he muttered, his eyes lingering on the letter. “They want me back home, but for what? To sit through another weekend, pretending everything’s fine?”

You could hear the bitterness in his voice, the frustration that he’d clearly been carrying with him for far too long. You could only imagine the tension that existed between him and his family.

After a long moment, Regulus finally set the letter down on the bed, looking at you. “I don't think I'll go,” he said quietly, his gaze intense. “Not this time.”

You nodded, not needing to say anything more. You slid into bed next to him, curling into his side, and he wrapped his arms around you, the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

As you settled into bed, Regulus’ arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close. The warmth of his body against yours contrasted with the coldness that seemed to radiate from the unopened letter lying on the nightstand. You tilted your head up, brushing a soft kiss to his jaw, and whispered, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Regulus sighed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. “I don’t know if there’s anything new to say,” he murmured. “It’s always the same. Expectations, appearances, rules about who we can see, who we’re allowed to care about. They act like they own every part of us—like I don’t even belong to myself.”

You rested your head on his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “You belong to yourself, Reg,” you said firmly. “You’re more than their rules, their obsession with… all of that.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Am I, though? I’ve spent so long playing the part, doing what they expect. I didn’t rebel like Sirius. I stayed. I followed the rules.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward you. His gray eyes, stormy and distant, softened as they met yours. “You’re not your family, Regulus. Just because you followed their rules doesn’t mean you agree with them. You’re allowed to question it. You’re allowed to want something different.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze searching yours. “It’s easier for Sirius,” he said finally. “He doesn’t care about the consequences. He left without looking back, and maybe he’s better for it. But me? I still care. About them. About what they think. And that makes me weak.”

“You’re not weak,” you said softly. “You’re human. And caring isn't weakness, even if they make it feel that way.” You paused, brushing a strand of his hair from his eyes. “And besides…you stayed for a reason. Maybe not the reason they wanted, but you stayed because you believed you could find a way to survive it without losing yourself.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile at your words. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve already lost myself,” he admitted.

You shook your head, your voice gentle but unwavering. “You haven’t. I see you, Regulus. The real you, the one who’s kind, thoughtful, and so much more than they’ll ever let themselves see. And I think they like me so much because they think I make you ‘respectable’. But they don’t realize you don’t need me—or anyone—to be that. You’re already enough.”

He swallowed hard, his hand brushing against your cheek. “They’ve always liked you,” he said, a slight smirk creeping onto his face. “Probably because you’re everything they want—wealthy, poised, connected. They’d throw a parade if I married you tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Oh? Marriage, is it? Didn’t know you were in such a rush to make an honest woman out of me, Black.”

He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush coloured his cheeks. “I’m not the one bringing it up. That was purely hypothetical.”

You grinned, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him better. “Hypothetical, huh? Sounds like someone’s been thinking about it. Should I start planning my dress now? Or maybe you’ve already got it picked out.”

Regulus groaned, covering his face with his hand, though you didn’t miss the twitch of a smile on his lips. "You’re insufferable," he muttered.

“Admit it,” you teased, leaning closer, “you’ve already pictured it. Me walking down the aisle, you standing there all broody and handsome. What colour flowers, Reg? Do tell.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, finally giving in to a smirk. “White lilies,” he said. “Very traditional. And maybe a veil long enough to trip you before you even get to the altar.”

You gasped in mock offense, lightly smacking his chest. “You’d trip your own bride? That’s how you’d start our marriage?”

He caught your wrist with a laugh, pulling you back down beside him. “Only if you keep teasing me like this. Consider it fair retribution.”

“Retribution?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes playfully. “You’re the one who brought it up! Now I’m curious—are we talking about a grand wedding at the Black family estate, or something small and scandalous they’d hate?”

Regulus snorted. “Small and scandalous, obviously. Can you imagine the look on my mother’s face if we eloped? It’d be worth it just for that.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’d really risk her wrath for me?”

“Always,” he said softly, his teasing tone slipping into something more genuine. “Though I might make you deal with her after. You’re the only person alive who can charm her into silence.”

You smiled, reaching up to trace his jaw with your fingertips. “Lucky for you, I’m good at handling the Blacks.”

“Very lucky,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a murmur as he leaned in. “Though, I should warn you, darling—marrying me comes with a lifetime of chaos. Still interested?”

“Chaos, brooding, and a bad habit of stealing my cigarettes?” you teased, your lips brushing his. “How could I say no?”

He chuckled, pulling you even closer. “Then I guess it’s settled. I’ll order the lilies.”

<3

The morning light spilled gently into the apartment, painting the dark wooden floors with golden streaks. Regulus lay still in bed, his breathing steady and deep, lost in the quiet refuge of sleep. You slipped out of the covers, careful not to wake him, and quickly pulled on your shorts before tiptoeing to the bathroom.

After brushing your teeth, you padded out into the living room, where the remnants of last night’s laughter lingered in the air. Evan and Barty were still sprawled on the couch, limbs tangled together in a way that seemed oddly harmonious. The blanket had slipped to the floor, and soft snores escaped from Barty as the sunlight peeked through the heavy curtains.

Smiling to yourself, you made your way to the kitchen, setting the coffee pot to brew. As the rich aroma began to fill the apartment, you glanced back at the couch, a playful idea forming. Quietly, you walked over and stood above Barty, brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

He stirred, his brows furrowing slightly before he groaned and grabbed your wrist, pulling you down onto him. “Mmm, morning already?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You squealed, laughing as his arms wrapped around you. “Barty, let me go! The coffee’s not even ready yet!”

He smirked lazily, holding you tighter. “Coffee can wait. This is better.”

You laughed until Evan groaned dramatically beside you. “Could you two stop?” he muttered, his eyes still closed. He shoved at Barty with just enough force to send both of you tumbling off the couch and onto the floor in a heap.

Barty groaned as he hit the ground, laughing as he tried to untangle himself. Before you could protest, a new voice cut through the chaos.

“Be careful with my lover,” Regulus said, leaning casually against the doorway, his hair a tousled mess, and his sharp eyes fixed on you all.

Barty looked up, grinning mischievously. “Relax, Black. She’s in good hands—mine.” Without warning, he started tickling you, sending you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“Regulus!” you gasped between giggles. “Save me!”

Regulus sighed, rolling his eyes as he crossed the room. He pulled you away from Barty with a smirk, wrapping an arm protectively around your waist. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You hugged him tightly, pressing your lips to his in quick, playful kisses. Evan groaned again, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Coffee,” he grumbled. “I need it now.”

With a laugh, you let Regulus go, heading to the kitchen to grab the mugs. By the time you returned, Regulus was seated in the armchair, his legs crossed as he sipped his coffee. “What time do your classes start today?” he asked the boys.

“Ten,” Barty replied, stretching lazily. “Only one philosophy lecture. We’re done by eleven-twenty.”

Evan took a sip of his coffee and looked over at Regulus. “What’s the plan for today, then?”

Right on cue, you walked back in with the last mug. “We’re going to James’ apartment,” you announced brightly, setting the coffee down on the table.

Regulus groaned, tipping his head back against the chair. “No, we’re not.”

You plopped down between Barty and Evan, pouting dramatically. “But James invited us for lunch! I didn’t see them yesterday!”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his tone flat. “I’m sure they’ll survive another day without us.”

“Don’t be such a bore, Reg,” Barty teased. “You’re not scared of James, are you?”

Evan smirked, leaning back. “Or is it Sirius you’re avoiding?”

Regulus shot them a glare but didn’t respond, sipping his coffee instead.

When the mugs were empty, Barty and Evan stood, gathering their things. “Well, we’ll leave you two lovebirds to argue about your plans,” Barty said, kissing your cheek before slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Try not to have too much fun without us,” Evan added with a grin, ruffling your hair before they left.

“You don’t have to stay long,” you said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke and tapping ash into the tray. “But if you really don’t want to go, you can ditch. I’ll cover for you.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug in one hand. He watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And leave you alone with James, Remus, and Sirius?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Not a chance.”

You chuckled, taking another drag from your cigarette. “They’re not that bad.”

Regulus snorted. “Not that bad? James talks our ears off, and Sirius—” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Sirius just loves to push my buttons.”

You blew smoke toward the ceiling, your voice teasing. “Maybe they wouldn’t push so hard if you didn’t make it so easy.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, obviously.” You walked over to him, leaning against the armrest of his chair. “But if I’m being honest, I think they do it because they care. Even Sirius. He wouldn’t try so hard if he didn’t miss you.”

Regulus stared down at his coffee, his expression softening, though a shadow of doubt lingered. “Maybe,” he muttered. “It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so…unpredictable.”

You reached out, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “He’s still your brother. That counts for something.”

Regulus sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “And what about you? Why do you want to go so badly?”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Because I like them! And, okay, maybe I want to drag you out of your brooding corner for once.”

“I don’t brood,” he retorted, though his smirk betrayed him.

You gave him a pointed look, putting out your cigarette into the ashtray. “You brood. But I love you for it.”

He reached out, catching your hand and pulling you closer until you were perched on the edge of his chair. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And yet, you keep me around.”

Regulus sighed dramatically, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Fine. I’ll go. But if Sirius starts anything, I’m leaving.”

“Deal,” you said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Now finish your coffee, or we’ll never make it in time for lunch.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, sipping his coffee as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured.

“And don’t you forget it,” you replied with a wink.

[greenerteacups]

Question 14: Bellatrix Lestrange

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Okay, hot take: I don't think Bellatrix digs fashion, like, at all. I think she is all about workable, elegant clothes that she can fight and do torture in. She's still rich as hell, so she's going to be well-dressed, because signifying class is important in her social circles for Power reasons. But I'm thinking, like, dressage outfits. Victorian or contemporary, either one. Black on black on black, with those polished leather boots and pristine cuffs.

Plus also, I think her fashion trends toward military chic: double-breasted wool overcoats like an officer's, hair pulled back tightly, belted coats with leather gloves, minimal jewelry except a signet. Because I headcanon her hair as quite large and unruly, I think she'd let it loose only when she's having leisure time. I know this all cuts super against the sickass "chaotic Dark witch" look we got from the movies, but I'm gonna say this is before she gets locked up in Wizarding solitary for like, a decade.

[kazxraval]

Kaz answered with a soft grunt. Yet another thing saved for later, would he even remember half of this trip? This mix of lows with a few euphoric peaks. These facets of Emre cut and polished in front of him that Kaz wanted to retreat with into a grotto or dorm and hold to the light. Study them all, peer through every geometric pattern, every sparkle. An impossibility and yet Kaz wanted to spend the time trying. His ruby, no wonder he thought to swallow the ones given to him long ago.

It made him forget much of what happened. Beatings, blood. A fear totally unknown, until today. That he might've lost Emre.

He huffed, a little amused. "What you want with my mates?" Kaz's fingers weaved tight with Emre's. "Carmen, Fiona. They probably got out before all this shit went down. You're right, don't want anyone I cared about here." Seattle overrun, what other places were like this? "Fuck, we gotta be better off." They both referred to the island as home. A first for Kaz.

Kaz would prefer to talk about anything else. Not on the boat anyway, not in the middle of a mess. "Punished? Nah. I wasn't. I'm punished now with the worst headache of my life." The heel of his head pressed above gashes and swelling close to a temple. The topography of the worst parts of the trip all over his face and body.

I've only felt things for you, that I'd never felt for anyone else. So unexpected, or was it? The 'cheers' at the end, the settling back into their forced forward momentum made him question the involuntary smile on his face. Thick spears of pain pierced his head, neck, shoulders, chest-- damn near everywhere else. All made it difficult to comprehend much. Perception skewed, maybe Kaz didn't know what to make of anything at the moment.

As long as he was understood. "Georgie was a drop of rain." The steady rainfall had grown heavier, not the usual thin mist. All Kaz had to do was open a hand, and a fat bead of water splattered on his skin, like a little explosion. "Me and you, we're the ocean." Probably sounded cheesy as fuck, but through what he assumed at that point was a concussion he suffered, it needed to be said.

Those words, my humanity, my goals. People kept as memories (Omar, Urmilla, Ajit). All a succinct barbed wire string of moving images cinched around his heart for Emre. Kaz stood quiet for a moment.

His hand unlatched from Emre's to cradle a face he'd not tired of examining, at great distances as well as up close, with eyes shut to dreams or rubbing the sleep away in the morning. Kaz kissed him. Not near as long as he'd like, but he lingered as much as possible in the soft heat, while bobbed around on the waves. When he broke away, Kaz said, "When we were on the water, you asked me if you were the most beautiful." They were interrupted by that fuckwit Feroze. "I said you were a beautiful thing. And you're the most beautiful too."

Kaz felt he'd spilled so much of himself, like the insides of the bodies they needed to dump. Unforgivably obvious, as slippery and bright red across the deck as the blood at their feet. Then, he was smiling again. "Don't think you were an ass. I liked it. You don't sing anymore. Guess you woo'ed me and were done with the songs, yeah?" A tease, of course.

There they were, sucked through some existential bilge pump and spit back out into a very cold and bitter sea. Surreal to hear Georgina, of all people, inform them of the state of the family Raval. The facts (lies? very probably from Georgie to throw at least a few in) were sorted as he might have back in his days as a journalist. All block lettered in sharply drawn columns, hints with sketches to accompany. To place in a dead file, bury, or use when something missing called to him.

Kaz didn't spring to life again until Georgie claimed he was needy. "Are you joking?" A poisonous laugh burst from his throat, despite the knowledge she made every attempt to wind him up. "Holy shit-- you were THE neediest person I'd ever me!" So many examples to choose from. "Was it the 3rd time we fucked that you said you were pregnant? Just to trap me? Stop lying Georgie. All you did was try to run off my friends. If you thought I was meeting up with someone you didn't like, you'd call me back saying someone was stalking you. Or your brother beat you up, remember that one? For five fucking minutes of your life. Stop."

Georgie scoffed, seemingly unable to counter what Kaz threw at her. You know Ali's on this boat? Her eyes flitted over to meet Emre's. A long pause, what Georgie clearly envisioned to be dramatic. A visual check-mate, before she simpered, 'I do believe you know the answer.'

Outside in the cold wind, Emre seemed more serious than before. Not that Kaz wasn't. But he still reeled from Georgie's insanity, and fought the desire to crash in the captain's unmade bed.

"We're a few hours out from Seattle. I say we dump Georgie and head to Victoria, but doubt we'd have the gas for it. Maybe we can make it to the coast at least. Emre, you're thinking about something, I can tell. Is it Georgie? What is it?" We know the rules, luv.

When Ali was confronted by the news-- your brother's dead --he snapped his wrist out of Emre's grip and covered it with his other hand. Big brown eyes went even wider and tears welled, which made Ali seem even more fragile. After a long pause, his mouth knotted up. Tears spilled, first from the right eye and then both.

His anger burned a hole through Emre. 'You're lying.' A pause, then a shout. 'You're LYING!' A swift leg whipped out to kick Emre's shin. Then, small hands gave Emre a shove to the stomach before balled fists lashed out.

'Where is my brother!' Ali whirled around to face Kaz, like an adolescent kitten's attempt to intimidate the two adult alleycats that cornered him. His lower lip began to quiver and his voice rose higher. 'Feroze! I found them, those two DICKS,' said like a proud 12 year old cursing for the first time, which wasn't far from the truth for Ali. Then, blurted as he reached for the first thing he could: an empty bucket on deck, that he threw at Kaz's chest.

Kaz managed to dodge the bucket and held his hands up. "Hey, it's true. You know your brother was involved in some shady shit. But." A quick glance at Emre. "This guy wants to help you, okay. So stop shouting! I know it's not how it's supposed to be. We didn't want this either." As Kaz went on, Ali's eyes landed on a thin trail of blood on the deck, and began to follow it visually as it widened into a pool. As dark as it was out, the moon seemed to highlight the violence. As well as the ghostly unmoving arm on deck, a hint of the Captain's speargunned body around the corner.

Kaz dropped a hand to Ali's shivering shoulder, the truth shaking Ali's whole frame. "Feroze isn't coming! He's gone. You gotta suck it up. You gotta keep going. So, let us help you get the hell out of here in one piece."

Kaz blinked. Thought he did, anyway. When his eyes opened, he was still hunched over little Ali, fingers cupped at the kid's shoulder.

But they weren't on the boat anymore.

Kaz slowly straightened up. They stood under an umbrella of light from a street lamp. Evergreen trees soared and peeks of a snowy mountain popped through the green from far away. They were at the corner of a neighborhood street lined with older single family homes. One car garages and small but fairly neat lawns. Not sprawling or anything fancy, built for practical living rather than to impress.

Ali asked the reasonable question of where are we, and Kaz whispered back equally as stunned that he wasn't certain. Except. It was way too familiar...

Two kids around Ali's age sat on bikes in a nearby driveway. A boy and a girl. Siblings. Maybe even twins. They stared silently at Kaz and Ali. Oddly in observation.

Ali waved, and Kaz grabbed his hand to force down. He called out. "Reyansh? Ani?"

The kids made no sound between them. Their eyes said more, the girl confused and the boy protective. They circled their bikes out of the driveway to pedal away. The girl in particular cast a look over her shoulder as they took off in the opposite direction.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Ahhh." He looked around. "Emre! We gotta find Emre. EM! WHERE ARE YOU??"

"He's only a little," Emre sighed, not bothering to hold back his sentimentality. Kaz wouldn't deride him for feeling things, not like Emre's old mates. And Kaz didn't follow up, leaving Emre to believe perhaps Kaz allowed a bit of softening too; if not for his sake, or Ali's sake, but for Emre's. The power of influence, and love. Emre had used love before to manipulate Iyaz, for Iyaz's own good (so Emre convinced himself). With Kaz, though? It felt...so clean, so honest. Emre couldn't help a beaming little smile, incongruous to their surroundings.

Still picking at a carcass. Trust Kaz to point out the hard, dire reality. "Are we the lucky ones? Got my mum, running for her life. Here's your Seattle, caught up in this mad-max survival. I'd wondered if we'd run into your mates here, but maybe...it's better we don't find out what happened to them. Kaz.." Emre wanted to reach out, say he was sorry. But it sounded trite, stupid. He just held Kaz's hand instead, fingers pressing into Kaz's sturdy palm.

Shaking his head, Emre knew he wouldn't figure out the map-word mystery. Maybe it didn't even matter. As Kaz implied: they didn't belong in this world, not anymore. And Kaz caressed and pinched, and looked at Emre like they were the only things that did matter. It wouldn't be the first time everything around them was cut away, leaving only Kaz to fill Emre's entire gaze. All-encompassing - those terms of endearment tumbling so naturally from Kaz's mouth, like little diamonds.

Emre held Kaz's hand in place and murmured, plaintively, "I could lie in your little unmade bed for a million years. I want to go home." Home. The island. A place of relative safety and privilege. A place to not think about anything else but Kaz. Selfish, indulgent, and perhaps even lucky.

In this old fishing boat throughway, Kaz unlocked more recollections of himself and Georgie. Love. It was love, though Kaz wouldn't say it. And Georgina knew it and broke Kaz's heart. "So you knew what it felt like. And you were punished for it anyway."

Emre marveled at this little gem of information, unsure how to parse it just yet. He was exhausted, Kaz even moreso, he imagined. Yet Emre still continued, "I've only felt things for you, that I'd never felt for anyone else. Not even Melz." Emre smiled, guessing Kaz might ask. "Not sure what to make of all this right now, if I'm honest. But. Cheers for telling me, yeah. I mean it."

Emre hummed at Kaz's query. "Loads of things. Seemed only thing I did manage to let go of though, was bits of myself, innit. My humanity. My - my goals and dreams and hopes and that. If I lost anymore people though, who would I have left? I couldn't let go of them, nah. Not even as memories. I replayed memories a million times in my head."

Singing in the rock. New, bright memories flooded in. Emre kissed his teeth, lightly butting his head against Kaz's shoulder. "Fucking hell, of course you'd hold onto my most embarrassing moments. Precious memories is me making an arse of myself, is that it?" A low, amused chuckle, fully adoring and in complete contrast of their dire surroundings. But currently, it truly was just him and Kaz right now, nothing and no one else.

The world couldn't stay dammed-up for long though. It returned in big, forceful chunks around Emre's periphery, and here they were stood, completely knackered and filthy and bloody and stuck in a tin can on the water of a nightmare city.

Back with Georgie, who was looking a bit worse for the wear. Did she feel it? She mocked them, but still gave up the gossip anyway. Something to do, something to manipulate Kaz with, she likely hoped. Dad in prison, brother...somewhere. Mum divorced. That was surprising to Emre. "Priya didn't follow Edward as well. And look what she made of herself, staying in Seattle. Pairing up with you." His lip curled at Georgina.

Georgie's glare remained on Kaz, though. "On a beach. And you paired up too? With him?" She tried a flippant toss of her grey-gold hair. "Kazzy could never stay alone for long. He's soooo needy."

Kaz, the most self-sufficient man that Emre had ever known. The very definition of 'lone wolf'. He actually could imagine a younger Kaz, duped by this woman and the ideals of love, deciding to reject everything to do with love entirely. The Raval's had done a good job scrubbing that concept raw; then Georgina came along and made it worse, an infection for Kaz to rid himself of completely.

Emre did his best not to look directly at Kaz. Because Kaz would read everything in Emre's eyes, he knew; and Georgina would see that. Her childish retort, and Emre silently prompted her with the map. She decided on one port: Fermé. Emre thinned his eyes.

"You know Ali's on this boat?" His tone was ominously quiet. Was Frank the captain supposed to encounter them mid-sail? Did Georgina somehow plan all of - no. That was impossible. Georgina couldn't have masterminded how this all fell out. She hadn't expected Emre to even make it out of that operating table back on Whidbey.

And as if on cue, Ali started up his caterwauling. Fucking hell, Emre hated coincidences.

At Kaz's beckon, Emre followed him back outside. Emre stared hard at the dark water and moonlit islands around them. Not many other lights to guide them. Not even any lighthouses, no blinking buoys to warn them off rocky juts in the water. It was dangerous, sailing like this. They needed land, or they needed teleporting out of there.

"Even if we land there, what then? We just...wait up to five days? Let Georgina go? How far are we from Seattle, now?" Take Ali back to their island? Emre blinked in surprise at Kaz. "We know the rules, luv. We can't risk breaking them with a child..." Could they? Save Ali or get him killed - were those their only two choices?

The little sod had impeccable timing. Emre chastized Kaz with a look for stomping on the hatch - he opened it, and hauled Ali out by his shirt collar. Emre let him stand, but held onto Ali's thin wrist.

"Run if you like but there's no where to go, I'm afraid." And then bluntly, "Your brother's dead. He knew the sort of life he got - got you both into, didn't he. Now he's dead for it. You're all alone, now. You was in this hatch when we found you, reckon Captain Frank would trade you for parts, yeah?" Emre held Ali's tattooed wrist to see. "Feroze every told you what he actually did then? Working for Georgina? She's in there, if you want to go to her."