#ill try to get the next chapters out tonight

[moonlitsmile]

burning desire 3

꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑/ 𝟑 : after mingle they go back to their beds. About a day after that, the chaos broke out, the war starting. y/n stuck in the middle of it going with in-ho to find gi-hun and Jung-bae. But little did she know in-ho was behind it all.

꣑୧- lil warning but not for much. aggressive angry in-ho but getting gentler. crying, dacryphillia, making out, thigh riding, risk of getting caught, nsfw, mentions of blood, guns, and just mean in-ho. lmk if I missed anything ❣︎ oh and plus it’s a long ahh chapter

Reader sat in her bunk, her bread still untouched laying in her lap, the unions milk carton beside it. She stared down at it, still a little shooken up from the mingle game. Shooken up from young-ill. And he noticed it, he decided not to say much. Leave her as that, not wanting to bother her and decided to give her some space. Part of him felt a bit bad doing it in front of her, but another part of him mainly thought she was just pathetic. Cmon, he had to do it. What else could he have done?

She had to understand that. And she somewhat did, but it still was just a little crazy. Sitting in the bottom bunk a little away from the rest of the group, her food layed still wrapped up in front of her, not bothering to touch it. She didn’t really feel like it, but also didn’t have the appetite after seeing all those people dead and dying in front of her eyes a minute ago. It was around evening time now, maybe 8. Not too long before lights out. She was a bit scared, what if something happen tonight? But nothing ever did the other nights. She sat there for a couple more minutes fiddling with the end of her jacket sleeves.

Seeing the dried blood. Still feeling chills. She was zoned out for a moment before she heard his voice. Young-ill. Her eyes softened, almost as if she could still see the cold look in his eyes from earlier when he snapped that man’s neck. “Why aren’t you eating?” He asked lightly. Deciding it was time to talk to her now. He wanted her to talk to him. Not ignore him. He hated when people ignored him. He gently sat down on the matress next to her. “I’m not hungry..” she mumbled quietly. She knew she was. She just didn’t have the appetite to eat.

Looking down at the bread still fresh in the plastic package. His eyes watched her intently. “yes you are.” He said gently. She slowly glanced up at him. Not saying much. He huffed lightly. “Cmon you gotta eat something.” He said. His voice was softer, gentler. Trying to somewhat comfort her, manipulate her into being okay. Make her go back to normal and not see him for the cold and harsh person he was earlier. Even though that’s who he was, he was a bad person.

She couldn’t know that, not yet. Well she already somewhat did, but that wasn’t anything compared to who he really was. He watched as she looked back down. His eyes were still on her. “look at me.. please.” He said. His voice was quiet, light. Almost as a gentle command. He wanted her to listen to him, to stop being dramatic. But part of him loved seeing her like this. She sighed, looking back up at him. Her soft eyes looking into his. “Eat.. just a little yeah?” Taking the bread gently from her lap as he opened it. “It’s good.. try it.” He said gently. Handing it to her. She decided to just take it, so he would stop. But part of her didn’t want him to stop.

She wanted to keep talking to him.. “okay..” she said quietly. Gently taking a bite of the bread. He smiled lightly. His eyes still watching her, god how sweet she looked. How nice she looked doing anything. “see.. good hm?” He said. His voice still gentle, barely above a whisper. They were towards the corner. Some other empty beds around them, no one really paying attention to them. “yeah..” she said gently. Glancing up at him softly before back down at her bread. Gentle lullaby music beginning to lightly play on the speakers. “Players, lights out in 30 minutes.” The woman’s voice on the speaker spoke. She sighed quietly.

“Now tell me why you look so sad.. I hate seeing you like that.” He said gently. Fake act of pity in his deep voice. He was lying, he loved seeing her like this. So vulnerable and weak. All sad and pathetic. He couldn’t stand it. Knowing that it was all his fault making it even better.

She hesitated for a moment, playing with the edge of her bread wrapper. "I just... I've never seen someone die like that before," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes remained fixed on her lap, unable to meet his gaze.

"It's part of the game," he replied smoothly, reaching out to touch her arm gently. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do to survive." His voice was honey-sweet, masking the darkness that lurked beneath. He watched as she visibly tensed at his touch, but didn't pull away.

"I know that," she said, finally looking up at him. "But it doesn't make it any easier to watch." Her eyes held a mix of fear and something else – a hint of curiosity, perhaps even attraction, that she couldn't quite suppress despite what she'd witnessed.

Young-ill leaned in closer, his presence both comforting and threatening at once. "yeah.. but it gets better eventually," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "We’ll all have to do it eventually." His fingers traced small circles on her soft arm, a gesture that seemed caring but held an underlying possessiveness that made her shiver. By doing it.. did he mean killing someone..?

She wanted to believe his gentle facade, wanted to trust in the softness of his voice and the warmth of his touch. But the memory of his cold eyes as he took that man's life kept flashing in her mind, a stark reminder of what he was capable of. Still, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame that would surely burn her.

"you okay now?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked onto hers. The words sent a chill down her spine – not entirely from fear. “mhm..” she hummed softly. Her eyes locked onto his now.. hypnotized by him again. He knew what he was doing, he smiled gently. The innocent fake smile. His hand moved to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear, thumb brushing softly against her skin.

She found herself leaning into his touch despite her better judgment. Deciding if she should even say it, but it was too late now. “How can you be so gentle now, after..." she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The contrast between his tenderness and his capacity for violence was dizzying.

Young-ill's expression darkened slightly, though his touch remained soft. "Everything I do, I do for a reason," he said, voice low and gentle. "You understand that, don't you?" His eyes searched hers, seeking not just understanding but acceptance. Acceptance of who he was, of what he could do. Warming her up a bit, just for what was gonna happen tomorrow.

She swallowed hard, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to move closer. "I understand," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she truly did. Or if she even wanted to. The bread lay forgotten in her lap as she sat there, trapped in the magnetic pull of his presence.

His lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. It was the kind of smile that made her wonder if she'd just given him exactly what he wanted – though what that was, she couldn't be sure.

The lights dimmed gradually until the room was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. As darkness settled in for lights out, she remained motionless, aware of Young-ill's presence beside her. His body radiated warmth in the small space between them, his steady breathing matching the rhythm of her quickening heartbeat. Their faces were mere inches apart, close enough that she could feel the gentle whisper of his breath against her skin. The tension built like electricity in the air until he could no longer resist the magnetic pull between them.

His lips found hers in the darkness, gentle at first. She released a shaky, quiet sigh that seemed to echo in the stillness, her body melting into the kiss as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As she responded to his touch, he carefully guided her back onto the mattress, making sure her head rested comfortably against the pillow. Her delicate hands found their way to him instinctively - one settling on his broad shoulder while the other pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.

A low, quiet groan escaped him as he deepened the kiss, his movements becoming more insistent but still carefully controlled. They remained hidden in their corner of the room, shrouded in shadows and relative privacy. Though anxiety flickered at the edges of her consciousness about being discovered, Young-ill seemed to sense her unease. Drawing back slightly, he gazed down at her, his features softened by the dim blue circle light that cast everything in an otherworldly glow.

"Stop that... you're okay," he whispered, his voice impossibly gentle yet commanding, wanting her to forget everything except this moment, except him. His words washed over her like a spell, trying to ease away her concerns about discovery and draw her completely into his world.

He pressed his lips back onto hers, a quiet soft whimper escaping from between her parted lips at the gentle contact. He pulled back immediately, his dark eyes meeting hers with gentle warning. "shh," he shushed tenderly, reminding her of the need for discretion in their hidden corner. The last thing they needed was to draw unwanted attention. His lips found their way to the delicate curve of her neck, causing her eyes to flutter closed at the sensation. She fought to contain a sigh that threatened to escape as he traced featherlight kisses along her sensitive skin, deliberately careful not to mark her. At least not yet, he thought to himself.

Her fingers curled into his shoulders, applying gentle pressure that increased and decreased with each tender kiss. His hands moved with practiced care - one splayed across her chest while the other cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her soft hair. The intoxicating feel of her beneath his touch was overwhelming; he couldn't seem to get enough. A breathless sigh escaped him as he gradually guided her to sit up, following her movement to maintain their intimate connection.

She crawled toward him instinctively, closing what little distance remained between them as her lips sought his once more. His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric as he guided her onto his lap until she straddled him.

Her palms came to rest against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath them, while his hands explored the curve of her waist before trailing down to the small of her back. In one fluid motion, his fingers moved up to her jacket, carefully slipping it from her shoulders to reveal the white T-shirt beneath, her assigned number stark against the fabric. His eyes caught on the faint remnants of dried blood still visible on the material, a harsh reminder of their reality even in this tender moment.

But he pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of her body against his. His hands slid up her sides, fingers ghosting along the thin material of her shirt as he drew her closer. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"hm" he hummed against her skin. His hands continued their gentle exploration, one moving to cup the back of her neck while the other remained firmly at her waist. She melted into his touch, her head falling back slightly to give him better access.

The soft blue glow of the circle light cast shadows across their faces as they moved together in the darkness. His lips traced a path down her neck, each kiss more insistent than the last, though still carefully controlled. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Young-ill pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. There was something dangerous in that gaze, something that should have made her want to run. Instead, she found herself drawn closer, like a moth to a flame, knowing she might get burned but unable to resist.

Her eyes softly looked into his. His eyes were dark, filled with lust but affection. His hand reached to gently move her hair off her shoulder. “mm you’re so pretty.” He whispered quietly. Leaving no room for talking before pressing his lips back onto hers. Her cheeks were flushed, hands pressed against his chest before moving to his shoulders once more. Getting needier and needier by the second, and he could tell. He slightly shifted his thigh, lips pressing onto hers as his tongue slipped into her soft warm mouth, causing a quiet whimper to escape her lips.

His larger, rough, but gentle hands on her hips as he shifted them. Positioning her so her sweet spot pressed deliberately onto his thigh. Her eyes squeezing slightly. Lips parting from his for a second, her lips all swollen and dark pink from the intense kisses. Her eyes locked onto his nervously, but full of want just like him. His lips pressing back against her neck. “cmon now…” he mumbled quietly against her soft skin he couldn’t get enough of. Hands on her hips as he began to gently move her, a light gentle rocking movement against his leg.

His lips trailed up to her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "good girl.." he praised quietly, voice barely above a whisper. His hands guided her movements, keeping her steady as she rocked against him. She buried her face in his neck to muffle the soft sounds threatening to escape her lips, her breathing becoming more ragged with each movement.

Young-ill's grip tightened slightly on her hips, controlling her pace as she moved against him. Her fingers clutched his shoulders tighter, her body trembling slightly. He could feel her getting closer, her movements becoming more desperate. "that's it.." he whispered, one hand moving to tangle in her hair, gently pulling her head back so he could see her face.

Her eyes met his, glazed with desire, lips parted slightly as she tried to control her breathing. He pressed his lips to hers again, swallowing the quiet whimper that escaped her as she reached her peak. Her body shuddered against him as waves of pleasure washed over her, his hands holding her steady as she came down from her high.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Young-ill pressed gentle kisses along her jaw, up to her ear. "such a good girl for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. She melted against him, completely under his spell, exactly where he wanted her.

-

The next morning she awoke once again, the light music playing on the speakers welcoming a new day. Laying back in her own bed. She sat up, yawning softly, she slept well last night. Sitting in bed for a moment, looking down at her lap. Her cheeks turning a faint hue of pink as she smiled to herself, remembering last night with young-ill. Their group was already up sitting down and eating their breakbeats.

She made her way over to the group, her eyes immediately scanning for Young-ill. He was already there, casually eating his breakfast while chatting with others. Their eyes met briefly, and she caught the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips before he turned back to his conversation.

The food today was simple - not a big variety. She picked at it absently, her mind still clouded with memories from the night before. The way his hands had felt, his whispered words, the intensity in his dark eyes...

"Hey, you okay?" dae-ho asked beside her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "You're barely touching your food."

"Oh, yeah," she replied quickly, forcing herself to take a bite. "Just... didn't sleep well." The lie felt clumsy on her tongue, especially when she caught Young-ill's knowing glance.

-

Later that evening it was another round of voting. But this time it was tied between the X’s and O’s. Reader sighed in belief. As long it was tied, not the o’s winning again. She couldn’t wait to get out of this hell hole, she believed she would. Later on the dinner was gave out. they gave out some simple kimbap, the group ate. They all sat together. Reader was sitting next to Jung-bae at the end.

Across from her sitting was young-ill. Looking down at her food as she used the metal fork to pick a piece of kimbap up and eat it. “You know, young-ill” dae-ho began. His mouth stuff with food before swallowing it. “I thought you might vote in favor, like on day one.” He said. “I was so nervous i couldn’t watch” he said once more. This time young-Ill voted X to go home. But last time he voted yes. She still wondered why he did, but now he seemed nice. Teaming up with the X to go home.

Later that evening, the atmosphere was thick with tension as the group prepared for yet another round of voting. This time, however, the results were far from clear-cut; they found themselves in a deadlock, with the votes split evenly between the X’s and O’s. Reader let out a deep sigh, a mixture of frustration and resignation washing over her. At least the situation was relatively stable for now, and she was relieved that the O's weren't winning again—at least not yet.

The oppressive feeling of being trapped in this hellhole began to weigh heavily on her, but she clung to the hope that one day she would find a way to escape. As the evening wore on, the group was served dinner, a simple yet comforting meal of kimbap, reader found herself sitting next to Jung-bae, who had quietly observed the unfolding drama, while directly across from her was Young-ill, his expression low as he focused on his food.

She glanced down at her own plate, using a metal fork to pick up a piece of kimbap, its flavors a welcome distraction. Suddenly, Dae-ho broke the silence, his mouth half-full as he spoke, “You know, Young-ill,” he began, pausing to swallow his bite before continuing, “I thought you might vote in favor, just like you did on day one.” His voice was a mix of curiosity and disbelief, as if he couldn't quite wrap his head around Young-ill's shift in stance. “I was so nervous I couldn’t watch,” he added, his tone lightening a bit,

but reader could sense the underlying tension in his words. It struck her as peculiar that Young-ill, who had voted in favor of the O's last time, had now switched to casting his lot with the X’s, yearning for a way out. She couldn't help but wonder the reasons behind his change of heart, yet she also noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor; he seemed more calm now, as if teaming up with the X’s had softened his edges.

-

After the chaos between the X’s and O’s stopped, it was bathroom time. People heading to the bathroom while the others who didn’t have to stayed back in the room. Reader sat on one of the mattresses. Talking with 222. About how she wanted to get out of here. But not once did she mention anything about young-ill and what they did last night. She liked him.. a lot. Young-ill was sitting with gi-hun and the others.

A couple minutes passed before she heard the speaker come on. Everybody glancing in confusion. “The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of list” reader gasped softly. All of those people dead.. now? It must’ve been the X’s and O’s fighting in the bathroom. But thank goodness young-ill didn’t go in there, or any of the others. But knowing young-ill, if he was in there he’d survive.

She sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The reality of their situation hit her harder than ever - people were dying, and they were dying fast. Her eyes drifted to Young-ill across the room, watching as he spoke quietly with the others. Despite everything happening around them, she felt a strange sense of safety when he was near.

222 noticed her distraction and followed her gaze. "You okay?" she asked softly, genuine concern in her voice. Reader nodded quickly, forcing her attention back to their conversation. But her mind kept wandering to the bathroom, to the violence that must have unfolded there. Five more people gone, just like that.

The sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention as the survivors from the bathroom began filtering back into the room. Their faces were grim, some spattered with blood, others looking haunted by what they'd witnessed. Nobody spoke about what happened - they didn't need to. The empty spaces where five players should have been told the story clearly enough.

Young-ill's eyes met hers across the room, and she could see the tension in his jaw, the calculating look in his dark eyes as he assessed the situation. He gave her a subtle nod, a silent reassurance that seemed to say "stay close, stay safe." She returned the gesture, grateful for his presence, even from afar.

-

Chaos is what it was. What was happening was straight chaos and mayhem. Who in their right mind came up with the idea? Oh... it was Gi-hun. Their group had fought back the guards and stolen the guns. So now what? They were going to find the control room to find the Front Man. Reader had gone with them, staying with In-ho and the others while Gi-hun and Jung-bae went off to the control room. In-ho had insisted she stay back... but she persisted. He couldn't help but get slightly frustrated—she'd distract him from his plan.

But he couldn't let her get in the way, even if that meant she found out he was the Front Man. The sounds of the guns blaring made reader flinch, shaking as her breath grew heavy and shaky. Why did she do this? But she had to be tough. She knew how to somewhat use a gun, so she was helping out some, until the ammo ran out. The light clicking sound of the empty gun. She stared down at the gun, blood splattered on her jacket and shirt. The others must've been running out of ammo too, and Gi-hun and Jung-bae were taking too long at the control room.

"This isn't getting us anywhere! Let's follow them to the upper level!" the man yelled, gun in his hand. She was crouched behind the pink wall as all the guards were on the other side of the large room with staircases and rooms. In-ho glared intensely at the man before replying, "We might get surrounded if we move together without a plan."

Reader shakily huffed. She was out of ammo, and the last thing they could do was follow them to the control room while someone else went to fetch more ammo from the pockets of the dead guards. "Let's—let's just go! There's nothing else we can do," reader said, her voice yelling over the gunshots.

"No," he said, glancing at her before turning to shoot at the guards once again before quickly hiding behind the wall. "Let's wait until they find the control room," he said, his breathing shaky but concentrated. Suddenly gunshots grew closer, and one of their teammates was shot right in front of their eyes. She gasped. Two guards came around the corner shooting before quickly getting shot by 246 and 120. He saw reader crouched there vulnerably. No ammo. He huffed—why did she come along?

"Get over here," he said firmly. He needed to protect her, make sure she'd stay safe. She quickly crawled over to where he was, sitting beside him, her knees bunched up to her chest.

"Don't move," he said strictly, going back to shoot at the guards.

"Everyone! Check your magazines!" 120 said, everybody quickly checking their ammo.

“I’m down to half.” 246 said. “I’ve got less than half” “Same!” The other players yelled over the gunshots, “I’ve for two-thirds left!” Player 15 yelled. “I’m almost out!” Another said. “Mine is empty!” Dae-ho said shakily. His voice was filled with fear. Glad to know she wasn’t the onto one out.. but she was freaking out as much as dae-ho. Feeling somewhat safe next to young-il. “I’m almost out too!” Young-ill said. Her eyes glanced up at him nervously. Seeing him so concentrated, the dried blood on his clothes and some on his neck.

It gave her flashbacks from earlier mingle game, his eyes filled with coldness and despair. “Young-il, Dae-ho can you hear me!” Jung-baes voice ringing out on the walkie talkie. “Go ahead.” “I think we’re right below the control room, but we need backup and more ammo” “we’re running out of ammo too!” “There should be spare magazines in the soldiers pockets in our quarters. Go get them!” Gi-hun said frantically over the mic. “Got it.” In-ho said. Reader looked at him, her gaze with with anticipation and still fear. “Did you hear that? They need backup.” In-ho said to the others. “Three of us will go, and the rest of us stay.” He said. “Who wants to go with me?” “I’ll go!” “Me too” 2 of the players said. Reader glanced at young-ill. “M-me too” she said. Her voice was filled with emotion. She didn’t want to be left behind. She had no ammo, what was any good being here. “No you stay here.” He said firmly to her. His cold eyes looking down at her.

She shook her head frantically. “I’m going.” She said, she needed to. She needed to be with young-il. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to try and reason with her so he agreed. “Fine.. let’s go.” He said firmly to her and the others. Quickly scurrying out the space and to the stairs.

-

They made their way cautiously down a dimly lit purple hallway, with Reader staying closely behind Young-il, her trembling hand resting gently against his back. Though there was no real risk of losing him in the narrow corridor, she found herself drawn to maintain that physical connection, seeking whatever small comfort it could provide in their dire situation. Her nerves were clearly visible in the slight tremor of her fingers and the way she startled at every echo of their footsteps, though Young-il appeared unfazed by her proximity. His mind seemed elsewhere, focused intently on whatever plan was forming behind those calculating eyes.

As they ascended the stairwell, the harsh glare of a security camera caught their attention from its perch in the corner. The rest of their group moved ahead, but Reader remained steadfast in her position behind Young-il, who paused briefly to study the camera before continuing their advance. There was something almost familiar in the way he navigated these corridors, Reader noticed, as if he'd walked them a hundred times before. She quickly dismissed the thought as paranoia born from stress.

Rounding the next corner, they encountered Gi-hun and Jung-bae positioned strategically against the wall. "Gi-hun! Did you find the control room?" Young-il called out in a hushed but urgent tone. "I think it's right up there but we can't go this way. I want you to find another way," Gi-hun responded, gesturing upward. Reader listened intently, unconsciously pressing closer to Young-il as she absorbed every detail of their exchange.

"I did a quick scan of the layout here. I'm sure there's a way to go around them. I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We'll hit them from behind," Young-il explained, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone used to giving orders. "Okay... wait. Here take this. You're gonna need it," Gi-hun offered, extending extra ammunition. "Are you sure?" Young-il questioned. "Dae-ho will be back with more," came the confident reply.

While Gi-hun and Jung-bae created a diversion, engaging the guards with sustained fire from their position, Young-il seized the opportunity to lead their small group past the danger zone. Reader stayed right on his heels, her breathing coming in short, shallow gasps that she struggled to keep silent.

Sensing her distress, Young-il turned to her with an unexpected gentleness in his voice. "It's okay. You'll be okay," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with an enigmatic mix of emotions - there was softness there, but also something darker, more intense, like barely contained hunger mingled with unwavering focus. She managed a small nod in response, continuing to follow his lead through the treacherous facility.

-

They had finally reached the other side of the hallway, their footsteps carefully measured as they ascended the steps in formation behind Young-il. With practiced precision, they positioned themselves against the two walls before continuing up the dimly lit corridor. Reader found herself positioned beside In-ho, her heart pounding in her chest. The absence of a weapon left her feeling particularly vulnerable, and she couldn't help but cast anxious glances at her companion standing tall beside her.

"Gi-hun, we found it . Start attacking and draw their attention, then we'll hit from behind," Young-il spoke into the walkie-talkie, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying unmistakable authority. "Okay got it!" came Gi-hun's determined reply through the static. Within moments, the hallway erupted with the deafening sound of gunfire as Gi-hun and Jung-bae engaged the guards, who remained oblivious to the threat lurking behind them.

Young-il gestured silently to the two team members who had accompanied them, directing them to advance and attack the guards from behind while he maintained his position. Reader observed his unusual hesitation, her brow furrowing with concern. "Why aren't you moving forward with them?" she whispered, searching his face for answers. But Young-il remained silent, his expression unreadable as he deliberately ignored her question, instead slowly ascending the stairs behind his teammates.

What happened next occurred with devastating swiftness - just as their teammates prepared to engage the guards, Young-il's weapon suddenly turned on them instead. The sound of his gunshots echoed through the space, and she couldn't suppress her horrified gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in shock and disbelief. "What is wrong with y-" she cried out, her voice breaking with raw emotion and terror. Her eyes began to sting with tears as the reality of what she'd witnessed sank in - he had murdered his own teammates in cold blood.

"Don't move." His command cut through the air like ice, his voice hard and unyielding, filled with a dangerous mixture of frustration and intense focus. He turned to face her, his weapon now trained directly on her trembling form at the bottom of the stairs. She flinched involuntarily, knowing she had no choice but to comply. Tears streamed down her face as she watched him methodically reload his weapon and fire additional shots into his fallen comrades, ensuring their deaths were certain. With chilling composure, he then used the walkie-talkie to fabricate a story of his own demise to Gi-hun.

The moment his back was turned, something in her snapped. She rushed up the stairs toward the fallen men, dropping to her knees beside them. Her hands shook violently as she tried to rouse them, though she knew it was futile. "I told you to stay there," he growled, his patience clearly wearing thin. But she couldn't stop herself, her grief overwhelming any sense of self-preservation. "How could you do this?" she sobbed, her voice trembling with betrayal and anguish. The trust she had carefully built with him lay shattered like glass at her feet.

"Step away from them." His voice had dropped to a dangerous low, his cold gaze boring into her as she continued to weep over the bodies. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible through her tears. His frustration manifested in a quiet huff. "Move away from them. Now." Each word was delivered with increasing menace, his tone brooking no argument.

She lifted her tear-stained face to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with fear and defiance. "You’re insufferable..." he muttered under his breath, and couldn’t help but chuckle. His eyes looking down at her as she cried and cried. God it was just so amazing to him. He loved seeing her like this, so vulnerable and alone. But at the same time he couldn’t stand it. So with a subtle nod of his head, he signaled to something - or someone - behind her. Before she could fully turn to look, darkness claimed her consciousness and the air was forcefully expelled from her lungs.

-

As consciousness slipped back in, clarity fought against the haze of confusion, snapping at her senses like the sharp edges of a memory she desperately wished to forget. She blinked into the dim light, slowly taking in her surroundings—an unfamiliar room that looked very modest. Black walls.. dim lighting and nice furniture. A soft blanket under her.. she was laying in a bed. Who’s bed? She was at these games.. not home. Until it all came rushing back to her. Getting knocked out, kneeling by a dead body, that young-ll killed.

Panic clawed at her throat as she sat up, the ache in her head shooting flashes of pain through her skull. Her hand instinctively reached for the bandage wrapped around her temple, remembering the betrayal that had knocked her into darkness.

And then she saw him.

A man Leaning against a wall, he wore all black clothing. And a black mask. Her eyes were filled with a hint of fear and confusion. Was this the frontman? The one gi-hun had told them about. He then slowly took the mask off. he looked both familiar and different. The man who once whispered sweet promises now bore the weight of quiet remorse on his features. His gaze met hers, an unspoken longing stretching between them, coated in memories she wasn't ready to relive. Her heart stopped. Young-il. Her young-il. Was behind all of this..

“You’re up.” he said, his voice thick with emotion, cutting through the silence like a knife.

She turned her head away, the churning of her heart conflicted. Love had flickered within her once, but now it was gone, in disbelief. “Why am I here?” she managed to ask, her voice steady despite the fear and sadness built up in her.

“Because I couldn’t let you go,” he replied, taking a step closer, the warmth of his presence both comforting and suffocating.

She shook her head, the very idea of his proximity igniting a spark of anger. “You don’t get to decide that for me.

He looked different. Not the same man who was saying sweet things to her and comforting her. His hair was still somewhat messy but also fixed more nicely now. And he was in different clothes. And a whole new person

His demeanor had shifted entirely - gone was the vulnerable soldier she'd known, replaced by someone who carried himself with an air of authority and control. The change was jarring, like looking at a photograph that had been altered just enough to feel wrong. His eyes, once filled with what she thought was warmth and protection, now held a calculated intensity that made her shiver. He looked different. Not the same man who was saying sweet things to her and comforting her. His hair was still somewhat messy but also fixed more nicely now. And he was in different clothes. And a whole new person

"You're afraid of me now," he stated matter-of-factly, taking another step closer. It wasn't a question. His movements were more deliberate now, almost predatory, lacking the hesitation she'd grown accustomed to during their time in the games.

"I trusted you," she whispered, her voice catching. "Everything... was it all just an act?"

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not everything," he replied, his voice softer than before, though still carrying that edge of authority. "My feelings for you... those were real. Are real. That's why you're here."

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all - how could he speak of feelings while standing there in his carefully pressed clothes, looking every bit the mastermind behind their suffering? The contrast between the man she thought she knew and the one before her now was too stark to reconcile.

Her eyes began tearing up once more, beginning to cry again. And a soft groan left his lips. "Oh, don't cry," he cooed, but his tone held a note of dark satisfaction. He moved closer, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with his thumb. The cool material of his black glove on her cheek made her shudder. "Though I must admit, you look absolutely breathtaking when you cry."

She jerked away from his touch, which only seemed to amuse him more. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of desire and cruel entertainment.

"You can hate me all you want," he continued, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "But we both know you're not going anywhere. And honestly..." He tilted his head, studying her tear-stained face with fascination. "The more you cry, the more I want to keep you here forever."

His words sent a chill down her spine, but there was something in his gaze that told her he meant every word. He was enjoying this - her fear, her tears, her helplessness. It was all part of some twisted game he was playing, and she was trapped in it.

"Such pretty tears," he murmured, reaching for her face again. “Stop” she said shakily as she pulled away from him.

He chuckled darkly at her resistance, seeming to draw satisfaction from it. "You know," he mused, his voice taking on a contemplative tone, "I've been watching you since the beginning. The way you moved, the way you trusted so easily..." His eyes darkened with something predatory. "It was almost too perfect."

She felt her stomach turn at his words. "You're sick," she spat, though her voice trembled. "All those people... they died because of you."

"They died because they chose to play," he corrected smoothly, settling himself on the edge of the bed. The casual way he invaded her space made her press herself further against the headboard. "But you... you're different. Special."

"I'm not special," she protested, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm just another player you manipulated."

His laugh was soft but cruel. "oh is it now?" he purred, reaching out to trail a gloved finger along her jaw despite her attempt to flinch away. "You have no idea how special you are. The way you wear your heart on your sleeve, the way you care so deeply for others..." His grip suddenly tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's intoxicating."

"Let me go," she whispered, tears continuing to fall. "Please."

"Now why would I do that?" he asked, his thumb wiping away her tears with mock tenderness. "When I've worked so hard to have you all to myself?" His eyes gleamed with dark possession. "No, You're exactly where you belong now."

The finality in his voice made her blood run cold. She realized with growing horror that this wasn't just a temporary captivity - this was his endgame all along. And as his possessive gaze bore into her, she understood that her nightmare was only beginning.

Her heart raced as he stood up from the bed, towering over her with that same predatory smile. "Get some rest," he said softly, almost tenderly, but the command in his voice was unmistakable. "We have all the time in the world now." With that, he turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

The sound of the lock clicking into place was deafening in the quiet room. She curled into herself, letting the tears fall freely now that she was alone. The reality of her situation crashed over her like a wave - she was trapped here, with a man who wore the face of someone she once trusted but harbored the soul of a monster. And the worst part? A small, traitorous part of her still remembered the gentle touches, the soft words, the moments when she thought she saw real humanity in his eyes. But now she understood - those moments were just another part of his calculated game, designed to draw her in, to make her trust him.

To make her his.

a/n- and with that it’s finished! FINALLY I know I know I’m sorry but maybe this will finally help me continue some other stories in my drafts. Tell me if you liked this, part 3 of this is lowk buns I’m so sorry I’m just so glad I got it done. But I have soccer and practices so that’s partly why too. SORRY I GOTCHU ILL DROP MORE TOMORROW (no I won’t)

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

-

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

-

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn’t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

-

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

-

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

-

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

edit: sorry i was wrong about july 30th. it's coming thoooo i promise

@whumpmasinjuly

[strawberrystepmom]

canon au. cult leader!geto x f!reader. | word count: 762, reading time: 3 minutes.

“Did I ever matter to you, Suguru?”

In a different life, the fact you’ve even asked would have crushed the man standing next to you. In this imaginary reality, he’d ask how he could show you differently that he cares. He would reaffirm that the attention you spent almost a year of your life extending to him was worth it and helped him through the worst times he has ever experienced, but in this one he knows better.  

It doesn’t matter if you did or not. His feelings won’t change the fact you will never be his, your noble choice to do good far more important to you than any lingering feelings you may have for him.

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

The words taste worse across his tongue than any curse he’s ever ingested. He’s a liar, damned to hell for more reasons than just dishonesty, but he has to finally let you go; to let you walk back into a crowded club with tears blurring your vision because his words cut to your core. You told him years ago you fear being forgettable, someone people can let go of without a second thought, and it’s the sharpest knife he can press into you in some ill guided attempt to get the last word.

“I’m glad to finally know.” 

A chance encounter in a club closes out a chapter in your life you thought you’d stay suspended in forever and your stomach turns, your hands idly resting at your sides while your thoughts race. From “does your boyfriend know you’re out dressed like that?” to turning your head with a grin that swiftly fell as you weaved through the thick crowd to end up out here. 

You sniffle and what’s left of his heart breaks, wondering for a moment if he can’t take it back. If he can’t replicate the grin of his former best friend, jovial and wide enough that you believe he’s joking. He could toss you a sardonic, bitter chuckle and you’d roll your eyes but who would it help? 

It’s not like you’re going to return to him, it’s not like he can undo this.

“Thank you for being honest,” you mutter quietly before turning on your heel to leave.

Words sit heavily in his mouth but they disappear with each step you take, putting distance between the two of you before you glance over your shoulder. He’ll try not to remember the look in your eyes while they dance over the entirety of his form as though they’re seeing who he really is for the first time. 

He’ll fail and it’s why he accepts that tonight you’ll return to Satoru, begging for affirmation that you aren’t as worthless as you feel and he’ll almost certainly give it to you, eager to please with sweet words and teases. Reassurances you aren’t nothing, that you’ve made a mark on his life he won’t soon be recovering from. The boy with the silver spoon has become the man with a gilded tongue, the one who always inevitably gets what he wants.

God knows Satoru has wanted you for long enough, since you first stumbled into his life at fifteen, it’s only right he gets to have you now despite Suguru’s selfish wishes that you stay affected by him forever.

He’ll fail and that’s why he knows he will return to the compound, a failed scouting mission in the city under his belt, but he’ll slide into someone’s bed regardless. There’s a woman who looks enough like you when the lights are low he can pretend, it’s the reason he recruited her in the first place, a poor imitation of the real deal. He can press his hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking pleasured babbles in a voice that doesn’t belong to you and he can close his eyes and pretend the smack of skin on skin is yours on his. He’ll ask her to flip over to her belly so he doesn’t have to look at her but he can imagine that the hair that’s a shade too dark to belong to you is still yours, looped around his fist while he fucks all of his angst into her, pretending he’s another man living another life.

Your retreating footsteps continue and his traitorous mouth opens, gasping quietly enough it doesn’t grab your attention over the sound of pouring rain and thrumming music behind the entrance to the club, and he closes it wordlessly, grateful he’ll never have to see you look at him like that again.

[buggs-and-beasts]

No Stone Unturned (p1)

Summary: The last thing she needs is the Winter Soldier crashing on her couch. It’s only a matter of time before someone tracks him down to her apartment, the only place he visits more than once. All she can do is hope Hydra doesn’t get their first, or if they do, that they kill her before they recognize her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female OC/Reader

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of canon typical violence and torture, descriptions of physical injuries, invasions of privacy, mind and memory reading reader, depictions of mental illness and flashbacks

Word Count: 2743

Note! - thank you to my lovely fiancée for helping name the story and the chapter, as well as being my wonderful beta reader to catch silly little mistakes (like when I imply Bucky only has one lung)

Look What the Cat Dragged in

She’s always liked taking walks in the rain.

There’s something so peaceful about the way the world slows down and the air gets crisper, something that just opening the windows to her apartment can’t fully capture. Down here, on the city streets, it’s so much stronger. That’s why she’d pulled on her soft blue, long sleeved dress and fleece lined leggings to brave the chilled early evening.

The streets were practically deserted by the time she stepped out of her apartment building and opened her black umbrella, but that only made it better. She might as well be the only person in the entire city, walking her familiar loop around closed storefronts and locked doors. Now, only 2 blocks away from finishing her loop with waves of comfort rushing through her, movement at the edge of an alleyway catches her attention.

Whatever moved was small, maybe a racoon or a stray dog or cat. The weather report she’d watched earlier rings through her head, it’s meant to freeze tonight. She’s quick to veer off her loop, stepping into the mouth of the alleyway and scanning it for life while chirping to get the animals attention.

“Come here sweetheart,” she calls. A sudden flash of mottled gray before her makes her yelp, then laugh as she takes in the dirty gray soaked fur of a ragdoll cat.

“Well hello there beautiful.” She smiles as the cat weaves between her legs, “What’re you doing out in this kind of weather?” The cat doesn’t stay with her for long, prancing further into the alleyway but pausing every couple of steps to check if she’s following. She does.

“Are there more of you back there?” She calls, scanning the area nearby for something she could carry the cat back to her place in, eyes landing on a damp cardboard box. She pulls it from a pile of trash, carefully keeping it under her umbrella as she follows the slender watercolor gray cat deeper into the dark alleyway. She’s trying not to trip on the uneven asphalt, watching as the drenched animal vanishes around a corner.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected to find. Probably a litter of kittens or a pile of trash turned into a small shelter.

The last thing she was expecting was to find a man there in the dark, his hulking frame sprawled out on the floor, bloody and rain-soaked. He’s in worn dark clothes, resting on his stomach, head facing away from her so his shoulder length dark brown hair blocks his face from her view. The cat stops at the man’s side, sitting expectantly with big eyes trained on the girl it’d led here.

She takes a single step forward, opening her mouth to call out to him but the syllables die on her tongue as she notices the knives and guns strapped to him. That sends her stumbling back, the umbrella and box dropping from her hands, her body pressing into the dirty alleyway wall.

She stays there a moment, watching and waiting for him to move. He doesn’t.

The puddle of rain surrounding him is dark, bloody. He’s obviously hurt, presumably unconscious. The cat is next to his head now, licking his cheek without response.

She should call the cops, and ambulance, help in general, but a nagging feeling tells her not to.

“Fuck.” She curses, taking slow careful steps closer to him before kneeling down beside him. He doesn’t look incredibly dangerous, famous last words, she knows, but what if he isn’t. What if he needs help.

There’s a way to know for sure.

Self loathing soaks into her alongside the rainwater. She hates that the idea even came to her, that something deep inside her would dare to recommend she use her disgusting ability. She didn’t need it. It wasn’t her, just a remnant of the worst experiences of her life.

She couldn’t let him die there, but if she was in his position she’d sooner die than risk detection in a hospital. What if he was running too?

One step away from the wall. Her worry for the man’s life is winning and she knows it. It’s dishonorable, sure, but is invading someone’s privacy worth it to save their life. She takes another step, then another, until she’s kneeling next to him.

The hem of her skirt is soaking up rainwater and blood, the liquids creeping up the fabric. She’s holding her breath, reaching out with her pointer finger but stopping before she can feel the soft skin of his bare and bloody cheek.

Just one touch, one unethical, invasive peak into someone else’s mind to decide where to go from here.

His skin is cold, but she only manages to feel that for a moment before its overtaken by a deep burning. Instantly her head is throbbing, her vision blurring from the pain. She can feel water filling up her lungs and electricity throbbing through her hands, her arms, her core. Everything aches and stings and glows white hot. Hands are grabbing and hitting her everywhere, bruising fingers and violent impacts making her dizzy. All she can see is a blur of harsh men and bright lights. There’s blood in her eyes, sticky thick liquid dripping and gliding down her face.

Just when she thinks it all might knock her unconscious a new, stronger cold soaks into her. It’s deep and throbbing, bringing a new burn alongside a painful numbness. She can’t feel her fingers, her toes. She can’t breathe or scream or cry out. She’s frozen. Completely and utterly.

The girl falls back with a gasp, panting as the images and feelings slowly vanish. She’s completely sitting on the ground now, desperately trying to adjust to a spinning brutal world. The feeling of soaked fur and chilled toe pads pull her back into the alleyway, the cat brushing past her shoulder then hopping up to stand on her bare thighs. The cat chirps at her, tail flicking gently behind it.

No hospitals. No police.

If she wanted to help him, and she did, she’d have to do it herself.

“I’m gonna need a bigger cardboard box.”

—

It only hits her a couple hours after she finally managed to drag him into her apartment just what she’s done.

The Winter Soldier, the fist of Hydra, is laying shirtless on her couch, his massive form making it seem comically little. He’s wanted by Hydra, every government worldwide, and the Avengers. The three groups she wants in her life the least are actively tracking down the guy she’d just stitched up like she was sewing a new skirt.

If her body wasn’t so exhausted she’d be terrified, but instead she’s just semi-panicking while half awake. It had taken 2 hours to pull Captain America’s right hand man 2 blocks, stopping only when the pain from his memories forced her to throw up or collapse into a wall. She’d tried to avoid touching his skin but it was nearly impossible to do while heaving him onto her shoulders or yanking him down the sidewalk. Her one saving grace was his left arm, thankfully the sleek metal didn’t conduct the inside of his mind like his skin did. Unfortunately that didn’t protect her from his memories when she’d handled his injuries.

It was nothing she couldn’t handle, just a stab and a couple gun shot wounds. She’d spent another hour tackling those with her handy sewing kit. It would’ve been so much quicker, but she needed 30 of those minutes to get herself to a point where she didn’t flinch and yelp with each brush of his skin. The end result wasn’t perfect or ideal, the unsteady stitches making her curse her once steady hands for their current tremors.

She can’t tell which has been more exhausting, heaving around a man twice her size or taking in the unbearable torture inside him.

With her guest handled she moves to care for the cat, wiping dirt and grime from its fur with a warm wet washcloth to reveal pure white. She trudges around the apartment, setting up a litter box alongside bowls of dry food and water on her living room floor.

Now, with everything and everyone handled, the newfound calm gives way to her own horrors.

She spent too long too close to him and now even across the room she can’t get his head out of hers. She’s a broken radio, stuck on his station at full volume. His memories are overwhelming, overloading every sense in her body. They’re blurring, blending into her own experiences, building into unstoppable flashbacks until she has no clue what sensations are hers. She stumbles back against the wall, sliding down it and setting her head into her hands. Bones are cracking and splintering, lungs are heaving, whimpers and screams are bubbling up into her throat.

It takes every grounding exercise in her toolkit to calm her body down and by then even crawling to her room is out of the question. Instead she leans back into the wall, shutting her eyes as the damp cat crawls into her lap. She’s out in minutes, free falling into the dark void of sleep with a strangled sigh.

—

His eyes snap open into a room he’s never seen before.

The couch he’s laying on is plush. A thick soft blanket wraps up from under him until it hugs around his shoulders, locking him into a comfortable cocoon, but otherwise he can’t feel any restraints. In front of the couch is a coffee table, strewn with bloodied medical and sewing supplies. Beyond that is a fireplace, the sparse glowing embers quietly crackling, and a chair piled up with dark thick fabric, metals, and plastics.

His hands shoot to his body, pulling away his cocoon and searching for his weapons in a panic. Not only are they missing, presumably within the pile on the chair, but so is his jacket, his shirt, even his shoes and socks have been removed leaving him semi-exposed in only dirt and blood cacked tactical pants and underwear.

He shoots up to a seat with a sharp wince from his strangely cleaned and bandaged core. Even the healing gash on his right forearm he got climbing a fence is wrapped up. He tries to push away the uneasiness of having been cared for while limp and unconscious, instead scanning the space. It’s an apartment, a modest living space broken between living room and kitchen with an island of countertops. What catches his eye the most is the vase of flowers, bright marigolds on the island.

Every movement he makes is careful, slow, cautious. The last thing he needs is to get the attention of whoever brought him here. He had no reason to think they want to harm him, he’s not bound, his stuff is right there on the chair only a couple feet away, still the idea of him being found and moved while he was so vulnerable makes him want to run. Run fast and far, and never look back.

Better to be gone than risk meeting his host.

He makes it a couple steps towards the chair, reaching out for the handgun still in a holster at the top of the pile before he hears it. A gentle… purring? It’s coming from behind the chair. His gaze moves downwards, peaking delicately over the top of the pile in search of the source of the sound.

His tired, gray-blue eyes land on vibrant icy ones. The pupils seem to grow at the sight of him, purring turning into chirping as a fluffy white ragdoll cat squirms out of the arms of a sleeping girl and prances over to him. It rubs it’s head against him, chirping louder and louder by the second.

“Shh.” He hushes but the cat doesn’t seem to care, now chattering and pacing back and forth against his legs. “You’ll wake her.” He whispers, watching the cat hop up onto the pile and carefully climb the exposed edges of the armchair. It’s first meow is enough to push him over the edge, his right hand rubbing a warm cloud onto its head. “Please.” The touch appears to placate the cat, returning meows and chatter and chirps to methodic purring.

Still petting the cat he dares for a moment to scan the girl behind the chair. The first thing he notices is that she isn’t really behind the chair, just in the triangular space between it and the wall because of its angle. The next thing he takes in is the girl herself, she’s softly breathing, curled up into a loose ball, eyes solidly shut. Asleep. He takes slow and deliberate steps around the chair to get a better look at her, the cat following his hand to the other side of it’s back. She doesn’t look much like a threat to him.

His heart races a little when he notices the blood stained all over her baby blue dress and gray leggings. Her hands are bloody too, stained and coated in cracking dried red without a source he can identify. He’s crouched beside her, having halfway convinced himself to pull her out of the corner for a proper injury assessment when he realizes where the red came from.

Him. It came from him.

He glances back at the coffee table, at the blood soaked needle and thread haphazardly thrown into a clear lidded tin to keep the cat from getting it, at the trashcan at the end of the island and the completely soaked bandage trapped just barely poking out of the lid. Had she really fixed him up?

He doesn’t get to grapple with the question for long before a gasp pulls him back to her. He stands again stepping back quickly to give her space, but she doesn’t stand. Her eyes don’t even open, but another gasp escapes her lips, this one accompanied by a panicked whine.

It’s a nightmare, he’s sure of it. He’d recognize the way her unconscious body squirms and twitches, the way her eyes dart around beneath her eyelids, the quiet breathy half-words anywhere. He should leave but he can’t. Instead his hands stretch out towards her, slow and wary. He doesn’t let his fingers meet with her soft skin, only grabbing onto her shoulders where the long sleeves of her dress cover her and shaking her frame softly.

“You’re okay.” It’s practically a whisper, every syllable hoarse and raw from disuse. It occurs to him in fleeting concern that this is the first thing he’s said since the airship. He tries again. “You’re okay. It’s just a dream.” Her chest is heaving more and more with each strangled breath.

“Ple-” there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way her numb lips stumble through only a fraction of a word. Her eyebrows knit together, face tensing up as her head lolls forwards. “No.”

“Fuck.” He can’t help but curse, releasing her left shoulder and pushing a strand of her from her face. “It’s just a dream.” She seems to settle a little, as if she can hear him through the mist of her own nightmares, but the fear builds up again into an agonizing whimper. He doesn’t think, he just acts, cupping her cheek into the palm of his hand. He can feel the warmth of her flushed face as he lifts it up.

“You’re okay.” He repeats for the last time, as firm and loud as his damaged voice can handle. “It’s just a dream.”

Her eyelashes flutter open, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, bright eyes boring a hole through his head. There’s something gorgeous about them, so vibrant and detailed he could search them for hours. That is, he could search them for hours if he could manage to ignore her flushed cheeks and plump, parted lips.

With a jolt he realizes just how hard he’s staring and the intimate way his fingertips are cupping her cheek, tilting her chin up towards his face almost as if….

He pulls his hands from her suddenly, blush creeping up his own face at an alarming pace. The silence between them might as well be another bullet forcing it’s way into his side. He screams at himself to say something, anything. Unfortunately part of him takes ‘anything’ a little too seriously and, instead of concocting something endearing or charming to say he can only force out a pathetic…

“Hi.”

[dreamingofep]

His First Bite: A Sinned Awakening Story 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's 1959 and Elvis has just been bitten. He doesn't know how to navigate his new life but a night on the town changed it all.

TW: Harem warning, mentions of blood/gore, SMUT, oral, dirty dirty feelings

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.5k

A/n: Well here it is... a dirty extra chapter I had locked in the vault for a year.🫣 When I started writing this, I totally chickened out and could not write such scenario but Vampire!E has been living in my head lately...begging to be let out.😏 I touched a bit on this scene in part 9 when I wanted to show more background of vampire!E and show why he is the way he is. Its just filth and couldn't post it til now so please enjoy this bad boy 😈🩸

♱

Paris 1959

The hungry pit in his stomach was relentless. Nothing could satiate him. Everything he ended up eating would be wasted a few moments later when he puked it up. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. It must have been whatever was left over from his illness. At least he was off for the next few days and didn’t have to think about anything Army-related. Some of the guys convinced him to go to Paris for a few days. 

It couldn’t be a bad idea, he hadn’t gotten out of Germany since he first arrived. He needed a break from Army life and the incessant pressure that they put on him in here. As much as he wanted to focus on what he was doing here, he couldn’t help but think of home. He missed his old life and the love that he had from his fans. He constantly worried if they would tolerate him and his music when he got out of here. He knew things could be over tomorrow and the next best thing would come along, making him lost and forgotten. He missed being on stage and engaging with the people who loved him so much. 

He straightened his suit as he stepped out of the car. He looks up at the old building with big sparkling letters “Moulin Rouge.” It was a well-known nightclub here in Paris. It was said the girls were divine and they were just the thing to make him distracted with how awful he’s been feeling. He just wanted someone’s attention. Make all this noise in his head disappear. With not being able to eat right, he also constantly heard this pounding in his head. It was relentless and he couldn’t drown it out. Every noise was too loud for him and it was driving him up the wall. Maybe he just needed a distraction and it would all go away. 

The club was told he was coming. They sectioned off a table in the front for him and a few other army buddies to sit at. They served them champagne and anything else they wanted. He wasn’t interested in any food tonight, he wanted to watch the girls on stage and drown in their presence. This nightclub should have been called what it really was; a strip tease club.

The girls started to come out would dance to whatever song the band was playing. Slowly, their clothes would come off piece by piece revealing their perfect bodies. The place erupted with cheers and whistles when there was nothing else left to the imagination. Every girl had a different routine and drove everyone in there insane. Even Elvis. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time and the slightest thing was making his cock hard. It pressed hotly down his thigh and he did everything in his power to not palm it through his pants. He did everything to try and ignore it but these girls were making him think horrible things. 

Toward the end of the night, he was becoming restless and the pounding in his head was worsening. He was starving but no food would help. He didn’t know what was happening but he might have to see a doctor if this carried on for much longer. Elvis stood up and leaned down to one of the guys, “Get the girls up to my room.”

“Which one?”

He thought for a moment and couldn’t decide.

“All of them.”

They were staying in the hotel next door and he figured it would be easy to sneak them upstairs. He was on the top floor and no one was bothering him thankfully. He took off his jacket and went to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Something was lacking in his eyes. There was no spark in him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was but he could see there was something wrong with him. He blamed it on his illness. Whatever he had nearly killed him. 

He heard footsteps coming to the door and the loudest thumping in his ears. He couldn’t figure out what it was but it was taking over his senses. He walked to the door and tried to gather himself before letting them in. The door opened and a dozen girls, either in their costumes or thin robes stood before him. 

“Please, come in,” he says warmly. They each walked in one by one and that thumping sound only increased. They all looked at him with lust, not believing they were in the same room with him and wanted to tear him apart. Some of them made themselves comfortable and sat on the bed or in a chair but all eyes were on him.

“You all were lovely tonight, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he says low. He takes a sharp breath in before speaking again and he can distinctly smell all of their perfume. Some wore a floral type and some wore something more natural. It was so strange to him to be able to pick up on all these scents and then something else hits him like a truck. He smelled something so sweet, so delicious, his mouth watered at the thought of it. He couldn’t figure out what it was but they all smelled the same way and he wanted them closer to him to find out what it was and lick it off of them. 

There was an empty chair behind him by the window and he sat down, spreading his legs out before him. He could hear them all take a sharp breath as they looked at him. He didn’t know how to get them closer other than inviting them to him. There was one girl with big blue eyes and red lipstick who didn’t stop looking at him from the moment she walked in. She was really beautiful and there was something about her he liked. 

“Come here,” he says gently with a smile. 

She happily walks over and steps to the side of him, wearing a sly smile. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it. 

“What’s your name darlin’?”

“Claire.”

“Oh, I love that name… you were so mesmerizing up there,” he coos as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her onto his lap. That warm, sweet scent flooded his senses once again and his whole body responded to it. It was a hunger and a lust that burned through him. He had trouble breathing with her this close. 

She sighs into his touch and plays with his shirt. 

“Thank you, we were happy you could make it. We heard you were in Europe and wondered if we’d ever get a kiss from the one and only,” she teased. 

“Is that what they’re saying about me?”

“I don’t know about everyone else, but us girls were quite interested,” she quips. 

He looked down at her lips and they were plump and inviting. His eyes continued to trail down her chest and the robe that she wore was practically see-through. Her hard nipples poked through and he couldn’t help but want to suck on them. She was warm in his lap, radiating with need with every second that went by. He places his hand on her face and takes another deep breath in. God that smell was electrifying. He needed that wherever he went. 

“All of you can kiss me for as long as you want,” he hums as he presses his lips to hers. 

They were soft and full and she let out a soft moan when his lips crashed into hers. She looks up at him dazed and shocked at how good it was. She went in for another kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. Another wave of her scent came hurling at Elvis and he groaned because of it. The way he was acting was strange even to himself. He had never been like this with any woman. 

Another girl walked to him and waited for her kiss. The girl in his lap didn’t get up as one by one, every girl in that room got kisses from him. They all groaned when they felt his lips on theirs, pure ecstasy pouring into them. It made his cock hard just the way they were reacting to him. He didn’t have to do much and these girls were dying for attention from him. 

The girl in his lap started to unbutton his shirt and slip her hand across his chest. Her skin was so soft and the pounding sound he heard in his head only got worse. He pulled her in closer and started to kiss her more feverishly. She loved it and let her robe fall off her shoulders. He slipped his hand along her waist and his mouth moved down her face. He covered her face in warm wet kisses and moved down to her neck. That pounding sound became crystal clear when his fingers touched the side of her neck where he could see her pulse. His hand slid down to the top of her breast and the sound he heard matched the feeling of her heart pounding away under his hand. 

I can hear their hearts… how is that possible…

Everything in him was telling him to put his mouth on those spots. He needed to feel it against his skin. His hand squeezes her breast and he brings her nipple to his mouth. He sucks and squeezes her, making her make this soft moan that makes his cock harder. He felt someone at his legs, rubbing their hands up and down his calves and their breathing ragged. 

Someone pulled his hand off of the girl and brought it to their own breast, making him squeeze her too. 

"Please touch me," she cries.

He pauses and looks at these women fawning over him. They were all so desperate for him and the sounds of their heartbeats nearly drove him mad. He had to focus on one at a time. 

His mouth was back on her nipples and sucked and teased them till they were red and swollen. He moved up her collarbone to her neck and groaned when he felt her galloping heart race against his lips. His mouth sucked on her neck harder and he felt this overwhelming power surge through him. She trembled against him and held onto him tighter.

The girl at his feet slowly started to slither her hands up his thighs and palm his length through his pants. He groans deeply and quickly looks down at her. It felt so good, he hadn’t had anyone touch him like this in so long. He watches her hands try to unbutton his pants and reach into them to pull his cock out. She looked up at him with innocent eyes and slowly pumped him in her hand. God, he could fuck her all night with the way she looked at him. He nodded his head at her to keep going and she happily obliged.

That mouthwatering scent continued to swirl in his head and almost became too distracting. He began to feel overwhelmed if he didn’t get what his body was craving. He started to breathe heavier as the girls around him took turns kissing on him. They kissed any part of him that they could get their hands on. It drove him wild and he started to kiss them more feverishly and nip at any exposed skin he could get his mouth on. They responded with moans and sighs from his touch and it made him feel intoxicated. A buzzing high started to take over and he wanted more from them. This hunger inside him couldn’t be suppressed.

He returned his attention to the girl on his lap and grabbed the back of her head forcefully.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

She takes a sharp breath in before reaching down and jerking his cock slowly, groaning when she feels the size of him. His eyes roll back and buries his face in her neck. That sweet smell was the best from there and he feels like he’s in a frenzy. He can’t control how much he wants to stay there and bask himself in her scent. 

He sucks and nips at her neck harder, feeling a pool of warmth reside under her skin. His jaw has this sharp pain that takes over his mouth but he tries to ignore it. He found it harder to breathe and all he could think about was wanting to nip at her neck a little harder… like that would be so satisfying for him and help this hunger inside him.

He lets that dark voice win and sinks his teeth into her neck. She screams out in pain but her blood pools in his mouth quickly and once his tongue tastes that perfect nectar, he’s unglued. It was the best-tasting thing he’s ever had in his mouth. It was rich and sweet and made the hunger inside him come more alive. He held onto her body tighter and started to suck harder and gulp mouthfuls of her pooling blood. He was in heaven. She scratched at this chest and continued to cry out in pain.

The other girls started to see the blood dripping from her neck and became frightened. They all quickly stepped away and gasped in horror. Elvis took his teeth out of her and felt so good but the moment he opened his eyes and saw what he had done, he was mortified. The girl’s face was scared beyond belief and scrambled to get off of him. She covered her neck and winced in pain. He didn’t know what he had done. He bit someone and he liked it far too much.

He stands up from the chair and begins to panic.

“Darlin’ I-I-I, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you-,” the stammers and they all cry out terrified and turn their faces away from him, like his very appearance is the most horrifying thing they’ve ever seen. The bathroom was directly to his right and he could see crystal clear, even from here, these bloodthirsty red eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening. In long strides, he rushed to get a closer look at himself. His eyes were terrifying and blood was smeared all over his mouth. 

“Oh my God,” he says shakily.

When he opens his mouth, he can see the razor-sharp fangs that descend from his normal incisors. He truly was terrifying and couldn’t understand what was happening.

He was a vampire.

That was the only thing he knew for sure. The hunger he’s had these last few days wasn’t for food but for blood. And that incessant pounding in his head wasn’t a headache, it was everyone’s heartbeat he could hear, calling out to him like a siren. It was fuzzy, but he remembers that night the army captain came to his bedside and promised to give him a gift, something to guarantee him making it out of Germany alive. He couldn’t believe it. He felt deceived and fearful. He didn’t know what this meant for his future. 

He heard the girls murmuring in the other room and he realized he needed to do something about them. He walks back into the bedroom and they all tremble looking at him. He felt helpless and just wanted them to forget what they’d seen.

“I’m sorry.. p-please forgive me,” he pleads. They all hold their breath and look away from him.

He takes another step forward and begs for them to listen.

“Please! I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forget what you’ve seen!” He pleads.

They all look at him and the fear washes away from their faces. They look at him with awe again and want to get closer to him. Elvis was relieved and breathed normally again.

He could make them forget whatever he needed them to. They wouldn’t remember how his eyes were monstrous and bloodthirsty. 

He had power.

His throat felt tight and that hunger he had earlier came back with a vengeance. He tried to calm himself so he wouldn’t scare them again was difficult but he had to try. He looked at them all in the eyes and licked his lips before speaking.

“Do you trust me?”

They nod their heads at them and look at him like they want to take a bite out of him.

“Good don’t be afraid of my eyes or my teeth, I’ll be gentle,” he breathes, “Do you want me?”

They nod their heads and whimper at the question. That made him feel disastrously weak and pull his shirt off his body and pulled his pants down. He got on the bed and sat up with the pillows behind his back, his legs spread and his cock at full attention.

“I want you too… I’ll try to please you all night, if that’s what you want.” He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, there were a lot of them and only one of him but he just wanted them close. He wanted to bask in their scent and fuck them til the sun came up. 

One of the brunettes came forward first and got between his legs, looking at his cock with anticipation. 

“Come closer,” he begged, “Get on top of me.”

He could hear how her heart pounded against her ribcage at the request. God, he couldn’t get enough of it and it excited him in the worst of ways. 

She straddles his hips and presses her wet cunt to his shaft. They both groan when they feel how needy they are. He pulls her close and starts to suck on her neck. She groans at the sensation and grinds herself against his length. He felt the bed shift in weight and more of the girls wanted to get closer to him, hoping they would get an ounce of his attention. Elvis had never felt so deprived of human touch but this searing thirst in his throat made it so much worse. His hands squeeze onto her hips and gently lifts her up and sinks her down on his aching cock. She squeezed tightly around him, not prepared for the size of his length. He momentarily lifts his head from her neck and looks her in the eyes, encouraging her to move. She groans helplessly and slowly bobs up and down on him. He curses how good her pussy feels. So warm and tight around him.

He looks to the right of him and another girl is trembling watching Elvis please the girl on top of him. He motions her to come closer to him with a flick of his finger. She kneels on the side of him and rubs his chest. He guides his fingers under her dress and to his pleasure, she’s wearing nothing underneath it and is soaking wet. He rubs his fingers back and forth through her folds until they are covered in her arousal. He then pushes two of his fingers at her entrance and slowly thrusts them in and out of her. She holds onto him tightly, overwhelmed with the feeling of him inside her, and cries out his name. Just watching these girl’s faces get off because of him made him want to cum.

Another girl to his left started to kiss on him and beg for his attention. He pulled her close and sucked on her breasts, making her groan prolifically. He couldn’t get enough of them. He had never done something like this but it had never felt so right. He began to thrust his hips harder into the girl on top of him and he could feel her walls flutter after every move he made. The hunger washed over him again and he wanted to make this beautiful girl cum all over him while he sunk his teeth into her neck.

He pulled her close and wasted no time. His hips drove into her, making her cry out his name and he sucked on where he wanted to take a bite. He felt this overwhelming instinct come over him and he gently sunk his teeth into her neck. She cried out but didn’t stop moving on him. He let the blood pool into his mouth before greedily sucking it out of her. It was the best feeling he could have imagined. He felt satisfied beyond belief. The sound of groans filled the room as some of them watched him make these girls come undone. His fingers still pumped in and out of the other girl and he could tell she was about to finish. She was grinding herself on his fingers begging for release.

He groans into the girl’s neck when he feels her walls pulse around him and squeeze his cock. He had to take his teeth out of her neck to make sure didn’t bite any harder as she rode him through her orgasm.

“That’s it baby, keep cumming. You feel so good,” he growls. She keeps her eyes closed and nods her head, grinding herself at the base of his cock. He turns his head to the side and watches the other girl cum on his finger, squeezing them for dear life. She drips down his knuckles and he nearly loses it at just the sight.

The girl on top of him slumps onto his chest, gasping for breath. Elvis takes the opportunity to lick the remaining blood that was leaking from her neck and give a satisfied groan.

“Please forget I bit you, I’m sorry for the pain,” he whispers in her ear. She hums in agreement and slowly gets off of him. He then slowly took his fingers out of the girl next to him who was also just as spent. He wanted a taste though. He wanted to see if a certain person’s blood tasted any different from another. He pulled her in and took a bite into her neck and reveled in the sweet taste of her blood. It all tasted good to him and he couldn’t waste a drop. 

After he was done feeding from her, the girls stared at him waiting to hear what he wanted next. He looked down at his hard cock that was begging for release. Another girl came forward, her heart racing uncontrollably when she looked at him. She crawled in between his legs and he stopped her from coming any further. He leaned over and caressed her face when he looked at her.

“Make me cum, please. I want you to use your mouth,” he instructs.

She whimpers at his instructions and takes his hard length in her hand, pumping it a few times before licking the tip of him. God, it felt good. He closed his eyes and enjoyed how her tongue worshipped him.

He wanted more blood, it clouded his whole mind. He didn’t know how to stop. This was all so new to him.  So he pulled the next girl in and attacked her breasts with kisses and nipping them softly. Her sweet moans only egged him to go further. He picked her up easily and had her straddle his face. He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her glistening cunt to his mouth. He eats her out in a fervor and enjoys the taste of her. Moans filled the whole room as he felt his release coming. He bucked his hips into the girl’s mouth and had her take more of him. She happily obliges and he hits the back of her throat, making his hips buck into her again and releasing his hot cum into her mouth. He groans heavily against the girl on top of him and makes her come undone too. 

They were all overcome with ecstasy and pleasure radiating through them. He gently lifted the girl off of him and took a bite into her breast, relishing in the sound of her galloping heartbeat so close to him. One by one, he tasted every single girl’s blood that night, barely able to get enough but he felt so much better. That hunger that he was dealing with the last few weeks subsided tremendously. It was well into the early morning that he discovered he didn’t grow tired. He had been trying to close his eyes while at the army base but never felt like he got an ounce of sleep. Now he knows why… vampires don’t sleep.

He also discovered not too late into the evening, he didn’t need rest from any activity. He was able to keep his cock hard all night even after finishing. He had never felt such pleasure like this and kept his promise of pleasing every girl in that room, some of them multiple times. By the time the sun was up, everyone was asleep well into the afternoon. Elvis had girls on top of him peacefully sleeping and not scared to death that a vampire fed from them all night long. He checked their necks and the spots his fangs pierced into their necks had completely healed. Some of them had slight bruises on their necks from his sucking a bit too hard but nothing too telling it was a vampire that did it. 

He manages to slip out of the bed and take a shower. He looked at his reflection and thankfully his eyes went back to their normal blue shade. His face was a smeared bloody mess and had to wash it off. He didn’t want the reminder that he was now a monster. A monster who craved blood so much he couldn’t function otherwise. The cool water felt good on his skin and he took his time there. There was so much he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything more about vampires other than what folktales have said for generations. All he knew was he craved blood and that made all the rest of his senses calm down. Everything felt so overwhelming if he didn’t have his teeth buried in someone’s neck. 

Elvis put on new clothes and the shrill sound of the phone rang in his ears. He tried to cover his ears with his hands but it was no use, everything was so loud to him. He quickly emerges from the bathroom and angrily picks up the receiver.

“What!?” He growls annoyed.

“Mr. Presley, This is Mr. Leonard, the owner of the Moulin Rouge. You need to get the girls back here for the first show of the evening,” he says sternly and very annoyed.

“Sure,” Elvis snaps and hangs up immediately.

The sound of a knock on the door ticks him off more and he quickly opens the door.

“What?” He snarls before looking to see who it is. It was one of his guys standing there, surprised by his tone of voice. 

“Hey… the owner isn’t very happy you took all of the girls last night…” he says carefully. He looks past Elvis’ shoulder and sees his bed full of naked women and more of them sleeping on the floor.

“What the hell happened last night?” He asks wide-eyed.

Elvis can’t help but chuckle softly, “you wouldn’t believe me even if I tried explaining,” he says slyly.

“But I can tell you this, I’ve never been better.”

*

*

*

Tagging:

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf@eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers

@dontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101@austinsmutler@kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11@that-hotdog

@louisejgy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114_@raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart @aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen @eapep @ladelinee

@iloveelvisss @ccab @buglass @its2amlol @peaceloveelvis

@theycametoconquertheearth53 @iloveelvis2 @rollerink @atleastpleasetelephone

[kel-lance]

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 1

Warnings:

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise:

Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 12 chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

Ch/gang guide: so basically in like 2026

You - 27

Rika: 25

Roymen: Zenin: Gojo:

- SUKUNA (39), TOJI (47), GOJO (37),

- Yuuji (24), Megumi (24), Utahime (39),

- Choso (30), Maki (25), Shoko (39),

- Kamo (27), Mai (25), Ijichii (35),

- Todo (27), Momo (26), Nanami (36),

- Yuki (34), Nobara (24), Yuta (25),

- Geto (36), Panda (25) Hakari (27),

- Mimiko (22), Miwa (26), Kirara (27),

- Nanako (22) Toge (26), Kokichi (25),

“No way I’m sleeping for dinner tonight.” You stuffed your hair in a beanie and threw your hood over your eyes. Your smaller frame makes you easier to be dismissed as teenager, people just thinking you’re just an emo on their occasional stroll through the city, it was the perfect excuse they made up for you. Running into them, “stupid brat”, or just swiftly taking something passing it off as youre asking for directions. That was when you were just practicing; right now, you had to use those skills again. The bustling city really tones itself down when the third clan moved in.

No one knows where they came from, but they’re worse than the Zenin Gang. The Gojo Gang was supposed to be there to even them out but with the Ryomen gang, everyone was so scare of them that half the population started to stay inside, that’s what it seemed.

“Lucky.” Some dumbass just entered your alley to take a phone call. Knowing your size you’d be apprehended immediately, but if it’s one person, you could quickly snatch something and you’d be living like a king once again (until the next poor soul comes across your path.) You just didn’t find the use in a job, being stuck in this world that would use you just for being born, you wanted to prove it wrong.

You toss your trash and start walking towards this figure, making it seem like you were just passing them. They ignore you and you smile because this is the perfect time to “Oof!”

You smack into the man in the alley and you get knocked on your ass. The man stands tall and barely moves. “Call me back in 5 minutes.”

The man hangs up his phone and looks down at you. “All this space in this alley and you run into me? Really? You don’t think it’s obvious what you’re trying to do kid?”

You’ve never had a confrontation like this before. What the hell, how did he stand so still, it was like running into a wall. “He’s got me figured out, guess i’ll just return his wallet while he still thinks i’m a kid.”

You reach into your jacket and he grabs your arm. “Are you trying to retrurn this to me?” He pulls out his wallet, you thought you grabbed that? Did he take it back at the last second? Did you never take it? “Or are you finding a weapon. Do you need it that badly that you’ll go up against me?”

“I don’t know you.” You answer. You want to run away but he couches down to you, making you face him. “I don’t blame you.” He grabs at your hat and hood, taking them off, along with your giant jacket.

“Oh? I wouldn’t have noticed you were a bitch.” He was being rough, or maybe it was gentle for him, but this was fucked, you had to leave, now. You try to get up but he grabs your shoulder, keeping you down with him.

“What do you want? Jut let me go.” He’s gotta have other plans if he didn’t want to be bothered.

He laughs like that was funny. “Let you go? You knocked into /me/. It was your whole idea to get involved.”

You didn’t know what do to, he was making shit up now. He tried to lean close but you moved back. I like that. He moves in again and you grit your teeth and try to hit him. He punches you in the stomach so hard you stop breathing for a second. It was awful, god what the fuck was he gonna kill you? That’s too far for stealing a wallet.

“Remember what Ive been saying?”

You heave over yourself.

“I’ll just train you better, your reaction is quite nice.“

His phone rings as you try to collect yourself.You could barely move, much less drag yourself to sit up against the wall. Every breath of life was agonizing.

“Yeah, perfect timing, yeah I was just teaching this bitch a lesson. Tried to steal my wallet just now. Ballsy.” He says while looking down at you.

Holy fucking shit you were in fear. Your legs couldn’t move if you tried. You just knew he was dangerous if this was normal for him.

You shrink down yourself down to minimize the pain barely anything came up but still you were heaving.

He comes over and stomps on you while listening in on the phone. His large boot putting pressure between your legs.

Were you enjoying this? The strange man just won’t stop grinding himself in the right spot, the pain subsided and you looked like a breathless messy pervert on the street.

“Hey are you paying attention?!” The person on the phone almost yelled out.

“Ill call you back.”

He stopped the pressure when you started to squirm and humor yourself into his boot. He lifts you up in with one arm.

He looks at you with cold eyes. “You’re fucked up.”

“You-you” You breathed through hungry breaths.

“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes and grabs at you. “Lets see if you can handle me then.”

“That’s not what i meant!” You tried to back yourself away from him when he grabs at your face and wipes it off, looking around for something. There’s a corner past the other end of the alley, and he drags you there, bending you over the wall.

“Is this all you want?” You spit out.

“You’re so nonchalant about this.”

“Being out here this long, it’s bound to happen.” Life on the street, this is the reason why you had to cover up you were a woman. It didn’t help that you looked smaller, easier if anything. It wasn’t anything new for survival.

“They told me I was great, couldn’t even last 2 minutes.“

“Then you shouldn’t be worried” He whips it out.

Your stomach dropped. “What the fuck wait-“

He spits on his tip only and angles it down, centering where your cervix may be. He thrusts in, tearing your walls apart, you scream out loud and he punches you in the back of the head, almost making you black out for a second.

“Shhhh oooh wow you are great,” He grunts as you still find space for him. “But can you survive me?”

Your head hurt, your legs hurt, you can’t do much but go limp and bear it. He was ruining you. His dick make your legs go numb, they just hit you so hard deep inside that you feel the shock in your face and toes with each assault.

All you could do was manage your breathing through this, holy shit this was something else. He grabs your neck with his forearm, choking you while pulling him closer to him, going even deeper, making you cry.

“Aw does this hurt?” He whispers in your ear.

“F-Fuck you.”

He chuckled. “You started squeezing me each time you hear my voice, are you that easy to train?”

You let out another cry and hit the wall with your fist, trying to redirect some of the pain. He stays in you and grinds into you, he’s just trying to make u cum to humiliate you.

He reaches around and kisses at your neck and drops you up and down on him. The rhythm is making you go insane and it feels like he has so many hands with he way he keeps everywhere occupied.

You cum so hard you actually squirt, wait did you? You’ve never done that before so truthfully it was as embarrassing as it was shocking. You couldn’t stop shaking from your core.

“Jesus, I’m gonna need new pants.” You cling to the wall, face tingling, you couldn’t even try out your legs, it was out of the question. You let yourself start to feel, shaking as a wave of emotions creep toward you as you hoped to be left alone in the alley, but he surprises you. “C’mon we’re going home.”

He grabs at you, picking your tired, half naked body up. You wanted to thrash and be freed, but if you risk kicking at his head, you might as well be begging to eat the curb. Before you know it you’re stuffed into a tinted out car in the barren street.

Avoiding eye contact, you sat still in the middle of the packed car. One of them had the decency to give you their jacket to cover yourself up with, but you couldn’t stop the smell, you smelled like and looked like sex. You were just happy it was over, though haven’t you heard this before, ‘Never let them bring you to a second location?” You were about to freak out again until the person next to you grabbed your arms and blindfolded you.

—————-

They drag you out the car and have you follow them for what felt like the longest few minutes of your life. You find your senses quickly, the blindfold was taken off and you were somewhat free again. “Here.” Your escorts pushed you into the room.

You’ve been brought to where it looked like these two girls were waiting to clean you up. Without saying much, they get to work.

At it for a good half hour, most of your injuries were treated. They keep you awake in case you have a concussion.

“You two leave.” Your captor entered the room.

“But her head-“

“I was the one who gave her the injury, I know how hard I hit her. Now leave before I decide to cut alliances with your father, and take you two along with this pitiful bitch.”

The girls hold their breath and take nothing with them, leaving you two alone. When you’re not in a u Jed away spot in the street together, he actually started to look larger by comparison. Do you really think you could’ve taken him on?

What was there to say? What was he going to do to you? Did that matter anymore? You hold onto your belly, tracing over the bruises he left, not being able to stomach another hit from him in your current condition. The large man walks over to your bed.

Towering over you, admiring his work, “I came back only because you didn’t satisfy me. I mean I make you a squirting mess and you mess up my pants? That doesn’t sound fair does it?”

“Who are you?” You don’t dare to move or the ache will start again. “How do you have all this power?”

He sounded amused. “You still haven’t figured it out yet? Or did I hit you too hard.” He flicks your forehead.

“Seriously!”

You’re sure of it, there’s no way someone like you would’ve ever met anyone from the top 3. You had no business with them, you stayed out of their business and locations. “My name is Sukuna.”

As the thoughts crossed your mind, he takes ur blanket off and sees you all cleaned up, of course, still bruised and swollen from just before.

Tearing off the blanket, immediately ripping apart the robes and cloths that covered you, he exposes you and keeps your legs spread. No warning, he just dives right in. You’re taken aback by the sudden collision. His tongue dances around your sex before he starts lapping you up. His flattened tongue grazing your clit then sucking at it had your whole body reacting.

He picked your legs up to get a better angle. His hot mouth felt like it was melting into you. It wasn’t long before he brought you to orgasm again, but just with his mouth. It wasn’t enough for him, he needed more.

Stuffing a few fingers into you, he doesn’t stop and continues working on your clit with his tongue again. Barely giving you time to recover from the sensitivity, you jolted more as he picked up his pacing, barely able to hold back screams.

Riding out your second orgasm into his hand, he looks down amused. “I needed to relieved some stress today, maybe the gods are finally listening to me. But was it luck? Fate? Hm…”

What is he talking about, weren’t you the one with semi brain damage?

The high leaves your body, though you could still feel it in you face. Sukuna takes his digits out of you and picks you up by the face. His other hand unsheatheding himself from his robes.

His erection was terrifying. Seeing it again made your body ache and you were screaming, at least you would if you found the strength but it was beat out of you, before, and now.

You couldnt stand for a second you thought his scar and tattooed decorated body was beautiful. That jawline, his dark features softened by his pink hair, and this distinguishing look in his eyes. Though cruel and harsh, scary like him, there was something else there. Not that you had time to look.

His cruelty brings you back. Shoving you full of his cock, rutting his hips in deeper every chance you think he’s done, he digs deeper. As he sits upright, he has gravity do most of the work. Putting his hands on the small of your back, using that to push you down further onto him. You were getting uncomfortable with this cock warming.

He was just digging holes into you now. Almost bored, watching your legs cringe at every grind. Your face contorting with pain and relief from moves only he’ll allow. He’s enjoying himself enough to almost forget that this was just a pit stop.

“Make me cum and I’ll go.” He says.

Through the pain, unable to ignore him, you ask, “What?”

“You heard me. If I’m late I can just skip my meetings and punish you for the rest of the day.” He threatened.

You pick yourself up with your thighs on top of his, the adjustment made it feel bigger, you were uncomfortable but you knew that it would be tighter from this angle. You’re trembling as your arms are weak yet they were pushing your body up onto his.

He looks down a bit amused. “Do you need some help?” Without waiting he puts his hands under your arms and pick you up, finally angling it right and dropping you down, his head hitting into your cervix.

“Mmm- Ahhh!” Youd cry out, wrapping your arms around his neck to better manage your weight. If you let go he’d break you, you held yourself up as much as you could but Sukuna doesn’t really like a clingy partner. He rips one arm off his neck and uses that hold to maneuver you above him.

“Hhhh! Hhhhahh….” Your short screams had become gasps and sighs, getting sweeter as he kept a rhythm. He grabs at your neck and face, pushing you to face him and you just kiss him violently back.

Pushing your chest onto his, feeling his blood rush as you can only manage to smother his face with sloppy kisses.

With this, he takes that as the go to and puts you back on your back, bending your knees up and makes your face go numb. Without a warning he slaps you so hard you almost rag doll. He laughs at you again, and pulls out, making a sloshing sound.

Almost embarrassed because of the noises you were making without him, he flips you over and shoves your face into the pillow. He slaps you ass hard, your scream silences as he pushes you further in the bed with his dick. He doesn’t stop, this feeling was deeper than you felt before, it was breaking you now.

“What’s my name bitch?” He’s gasping out.

“SUK-“ He slaps your ass. “SUH aH-“ He grabs stir, not letting you finish as he starts to relentlessly buck into you. “AHHH! SUKUNA!” You cry.

The pain and numbness; pleasure and confusion were all messing with your senses. Your cries were like melody to his ears, so much so he decided to choke you from behind. Your gasps and pathetic grunts desperately trying to get your brain some air, it drove him crazy.

He growls and grinds into you as he lays all his weight on you, like he claimed ownership. He’s so deep in you you couldn’t breathe and now you could feel it. He was twitching inside you, and something hot was spreading from inside. This was insane, with the weight, the asphyxiation, it was so much and oh-

Your body tensed up, toes curled and your fingers clenching onto whatever sheets and skin you could find at the moment. He dug his head and bit into your sweet spot. Sukuna’s arm that grabbed your neck, traveled to your womb, lifting you further into him as you came onto his still twitching cock.

“You didn’t do much this time,” He holds you on top of him still as he skewers through you, “but I can forgive you. Rest.” Sukuna stands up and lets you slip off of him, back into the bed weak as ever. He puts his robe back on and looks down at you from the bed. You couldn’t care, you’re just tired from the most unexpected few hours you’ve ever lived through. It wasn’t so much crazy as it was weird.

Dusting himself off, fixing the details of his new outfit, he stands up to leave. You watch as he carries himself with such a highly regard, you can’t help but rethink his status. He opens the door, to your surprise he speaks to someone.

“I told you I wouldn’t need long.” He says to the people outside. Were they there the whole time? What the hell was going on anymore. Was life as you knew it over? If you weren’t already, you were SO fucked.

“When the girls are done shopping tell them to clean her up, again.”

———————————

I hope this is good I’ll prob reread it and rewrite it but here take it TAKE IT// I’ll be working on movie night w the boys next 😈

[krethes]

A snippet? From ME?

This is from a companion fic for One More to Love, one of the More of Everything series. I started working on this literally in May of 2023, and as many of you know, I've been completely borked by mental health and various management meds to the point of not being able to create, which fucking sucks! But lately, I've been trying new methods of writing and I knew that if I could complete one of the dorms of WIPs in my drafts, I could get some momentum going. The OMTL readers (and @theresthesnitch, my #1 cheerleader with @r33sespieces ) have been the MOST patient, so while I'm still working on the next chapter of the main fic, this ficlet was like 80% complete when I stopped working on it before.

I came back to it, rewrote a huge chunk, and found the joy I'd been missing. So please, enjoy this little snippet from the upcoming More of Everything fic, Rage:

Lyall has a bloody tuft of grey fur from the night of the attack, ripped from the werewolf's body with a severing curse. It should have removed his entire fucking head, but werewolf pelts are curse resistant, and even Lyall's most powerful spell barely made a dent. But Greyback isn't in his werewolf state now. He's without that protective pelt, as vulnerable as any other human. But his blood is the same. And with his blood, Lyall can track him. He's always had a curiosity about dark, old magics, the ones locked away in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts and behind authorization charms at the Ministry. He wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing, after all. All knowledge is worth having, and so long as the actions he takes with that knowledge don't hurt anyone, what's the harm? His security clearance at the Ministry gives him access to just about anything he could think to ask for, and it's that privilege more than a passion for his job that keeps Lyall working there. He has a thirst for knowledge that has yet to be quenched, and magic that the Ministry has labeled "dark" is the most intriguing. Tonight, he uses a technique from one of the ancient Nordic tribes to extract the clotted blood from the fur into a mortar, followed by several drops of his own that he drips in to beat of a rhythmic chant spoken low in his throat. Poured over a panel of undyed acromantula silk, the blood bleeds through the fabric in the shape of a magical forest Lyall knows well, one the Muggles don't know about, that backs up against the steep cliffs of Dover.  He Apparates to the nearest wizarding town some twenty miles away and cuts through the sparse woods down to the coast. He’s unguided, he knows, searching for a phantom, a single man in all of the forest, which Greyback knows better than Lyall. He could be anywhere, lurking in the trees, waiting. But Lyall has damned good intuition. He may not be an Auror, but he knows how to follow clues and trusts his instinct that, the further he gets away from his family’s home, burns and burgeons back into that wildfire of rage he felt the night Remus was attacked.  By some benevolent gift of the universe (and his own unmatched skill), Lyall finds the monster. As he’d expected and hoped, Greyback had stuck to the more uninhabitable edge of the forest that faces the cliff’s edge, whether out of preference or because he was too feral to be close to humans. He's in a dilapidated cabin, barely held together by magic, and though it looks ramshackle and ill-defended, Lyall knows better than to underestimate Greyback. He's eluded the Aurors for years, but they have to follow the rules, have to use sanctioned means. Follow protocol. Lyall is not bound by such formalities. 

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - X

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more gif and pics from pinterest

he tastes like candy, he’s so beautiful -Awful, Hole 🤘

10. little bird

Wick says nothing more, just holds your gaze, and again you feel like the floor is going out from beneath you. You’ve become accustomed to your cooler body temperature, but now for the umpteenth time tonight you feel hot beneath the collar. 

“It’s…just a coincidence.” 

“Surely.” He smirks at you, laughing at you, deep down.

Asshole. 

One extremely fine, extremely dangerous, asshole. 

Glaring at the two of you eye-fucking eachother, Constantine clears his throat. “Are we trying to find don Juan or not? Otherwise, I should get to Midnite’s.” 

You look to John. Despite the energy you’d shared with him, he still has dark circles under his eyes, still seems just this side of fragile. You remember how much blood you had to take from him last time, to call up that much excess power, that it just felt like you were floating above your corporeal body. You’re not sure he can spare it, now. If you sent him to an early grave with blood loss you know you would walk yourself right out into the sun. 

On the other hand, there is Wick, robust, full of blood, and who you wouldn’t feel guilty at all about taking down a peg or two. His smile widens as he notices you assessing him like a piece of meat, his powerful body sprawled in the rickety old chair–maybe he wouldn’t be so smug, however, if he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“Depends,” you answer John. “Will you let me in, or are you going to keep stonewalling me?”

“I’m not exactly in the habit of leaving my aura hanging wide open. It leads to bad things in my business,” he grumbles. 

You suppose, considering his occupation, that’s understandable. But you also think he’s making excuses to shut you out.  

“Uh huh.” 

You cross the cracked linoleum floor to him. He’s so tall that you’re nearly eye to eye, even with him sitting, and even though you already fed once tonight, just looking at him like this kindles that insatiable hunger in your belly, a lick of desire that curls in you like smoke from an opium pipe. Heady. Wonderful. Addictive. Shields up or not, you know he feels it too in the bond between you, his lips parting with a gasp, his pupils dilating to turn his dark irises purest black.  

He takes your hand, and the energy that ignites between you as his long fingers slide into yours fills the dilapidated room with something bright and charged. It even makes Wick sit up straighter in his chair. It feels like sunshine on your face, when you were still human, and you cannot suppress a sigh of enjoyment. 

They both seem surprised when you hold out your other hand to Wick. “Come here.” The vampire hunter obeys, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as he approaches, his presence a solid line of warmth at your back.  

With an almost quizzical look, Wick takes your hand. His fingers are calloused, and strong, and his touch feels like a live wire gripped in your hands. Reincarnated sweethearts or not–your magic likes him, and you think you can work with that. 

Constantine’s frown as he watches this exchange is thunderously contemptuous.  “We gonna sing kumbaya now, baby?” he gripes at you. 

“No. We’re going to find don Juan, and Mr. Wick here is going to cut off his fucking head. Got a problem with that?”

You see the corner of his mouth tick for the barest second, his only indication of mirth before he throws himself wide open to you, and the mingled energies of these two powerful men rips through you like an electric shock. 

♰♰♰

Maybe John Constantine is ill, but you were a fool to think him weak. One mouthful of blood taken carefully from his wrist is so power-charged you practically see stars. It’s possible that adding Wick’s rich blood to the cocktail nearly renders you drunk, so giddy you think you might hover physically off the ground. But the two men on either side of you keep you anchored, vying even now in their holds upon you. 

It’s funny, maybe, that you thought it would keep things tame, drinking from the wrist. But there is an agonizing tension amidst the three of you, unsatisfied lust and painful longing. It all adds a particular spice to this conjuring you work as the focus between them, and you are able to rise with barely a thought this time.

It’s more familiar, this second time you wander through the minds of the city, and you are more careful as you sift through them like grains of rice, in search of that one poisoned seed. You think you are successful more than once, before realizing they are just don Juan’s awful progeny, but not the original root of that particular brand of evil. 

You are surprised, when in your wandering you encounter Angela, the detective John Constantine so secretly fancied. She is in her apartment, working at her laptop. There is a glow of such goodness about her that is rare to find in humans. Her aura is practically a halo, it shines so bright. She is warm, and smart, and strong, and it’s no wonder John likes her, you think to yourself sadly. 

You probe a little deeper, finding that at this moment she is thinking about John. She likes him too, though she’s puzzled as to why. That is a feeling you understand all too well. She must feel your presence, looking up as though there is something in the room with her, reaching out to put a hand on her service issue Glock on the desk next to her. She’s already had quite a scare after her first encounter with real demons, and guiltily you back off, not wanting to upset her.  

You are about to give up your search, feeling that you have stretched yourself to the limit, when at last you sense him. That seething, cloying dark energy that follows don Juan like a cloud. You are more cautious in your approach this time, keeping your distance as you observe him. It seems he retreated north into the mountains, to a chic but almost quaint little house tucked into the hillside. He sits beside a glittering swimming pool, smoking and brooding. The moment you sense him turning your way you retreat, returning to your body, too quickly perhaps. 

It’s disorienting, after being weightless, to wrangle with your flesh and bones, like it’s hard to get all the pieces of you to mesh back again. You would have fallen, if not for two pairs of strong hands steadying you. You lean back on a broad chest. Constantine is before you, you recognize, which makes the imposing wall behind you still Wick. You are either the luckiest girl in the world, or you are cursed. You still haven’t decided which yet. 

“Back off,” snarls Constantine to the dhampir, pulling you into his arms. 

Wick growls, and you can't help but feel like the bone between two cranky dogs. You really shouldn't be enjoying it so much.

“Are you alright?” 

You think you’re fine, but you’re tired. You didn’t travel that far, last time, or search with such purpose in mind. It took a lot more energy than you thought it would.

“He’s in Laurel Canyon,” you whisper against Constantine’s chest. “North end. A little cottage with stone facing, clay tile roof. There’s a bronze statue of horses out front.” You think back, and realize you even remember the house number. You manage to say it out loud before the room starts to spin. Are you going to be sick? “I don’t feel good.” 

“I warned you,” grouses Constantine, even while his hand sits protectively on the back of your head. 

“She did well,” defends Wick. “This will save me time.” 

Sitting back down, Constantine pulls you into his lap, away from the dhampir. You hate to admit how good it feels to curl into him like a child who’s had a nightmare, his arms around you.   

“Great,” he snarks to Wick. “Feel free to go.”

Wick snorts in answer, still looking down at you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Reluctantly you nod against Constantine’s collarbone, closing your eyes. “I’ll be fine. Will you be fine by yourself?”

Wick laughs lowly at this, but not unkindly. “No worries, ptichka, no more flying around for you. I will give don Juan your regards.” 

“Please, kick him in the nuts for me,” you grumble. The thought of that awful vampire finally getting his comeuppance is darkly satisfying. 

“Would you like me to bring you his head?” 

“Ew.” 

Wick laughs, and you hear his footfalls as he crosses the kitchen to the crumpled vampire in the corner. You’d almost forgotten about the poor bastard. “I will see you soon,” says the dhampir, winking at you before dragging the informant out by his ankles. 

A strange quiet settles over the apartment, without the ominous dark energy of John Wick filling the room. 

You should be scared of him–but you kind of miss him.

“Alone at last,” grouses Constantine, his hold on you tightening. 

You laugh a little, snuggling into the bend of his neck. You start to feel better, sitting like this with him. His hand drifts to your thigh, tracing the hem of his shirt absently. “Was this really the only thing you could come up with to wear?” 

“You don’t like it, John?” you tease sleepily. 

“I like it a lot. For my eyes only.”

“Hmm. I think that’s something only a boyfriend gets to say,” you dare ripost.

He snorts in answer. “If I was your boyfriend, would I get to tell you what to do?” 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He coughs, and only a beat later do you realize it was a laugh. 

 But then he can’t help but ruin the moment: 

“I thought the dhampir was your new boyfriend, Miss I’ll come visit you in New York,” he complains in an insulting falsetto.  

You, in turn, just roll your eyes. “Excuse you, but I saved you from getting your head lopped off. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Then, he has to go and turn serious on you. “Baby, when I’m gone–” You whine, hating hearing him say it aloud, but he talks over you. “It’s going to happen, y/n. You’ve got to accept that. And when it does, you cannot take up with him. He is bad news. Call it…my dying wish.” 

You’re smart enough to bite down on your first response, which is, ‘he doesn’t seem so bad.’  

It turns out you don’t have any reply at all, and he watches you with an intensity that makes you fear he can read your mind. You’re not sure why he takes mercy on you, saying more gently, “You can’t save him, sweetheart. Any more than you can save me.” 

You look down, because his laser-like gaze is too much, even for you. 

Part of the reason you want to get this thing solved so badly is because you hope you can save him. Maybe with the help of modern medicine, and your own combined magic…something might work out. Buy him some time, at least. He already seems better, after finally letting you into your bond earlier that night. 

Maybe he’s resigned, but you haven’t completely given up hope. 

“I just…want to get this thing resolved,” you admit. “So you can rest.”  

He lifts one of those angular dark brows, clearly thinking that the only rest waiting for him is the permanent kind. But he doesn’t insist again that you accept the inevitable truth of his demise. Sometimes, when you care about someone, you let them get away with those little lies that keep them sane through the day to day grind of life. Maybe he realizes that you need this, so that you don’t run down the street screaming at God and anyone else unfortunate enough to get in your path.  

“Sure, honey.” He surprises you again, when he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to put you to bed, and I have to go to Midnite’s.”

You know the kittenish sound that escapes your lips sounds ridiculous. “Let me go with you.”

“You’re wiped out. Stay here and rest.” 

“No.” You sit up, feeling a little better. Tired, but better. 

“Yes,” he insists, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“I’m just going to follow you, if you try to leave me here.” 

“For once, can you not be so stubborn when I’m trying to protect you?” 

Your lips dance as you try to suppress a smile, lifting an eyebrow. “I could ask the same thing of you?” 

Another exasperated growl escapes him, and your heart sings when he pulls you into another kiss, that golden rope between you pulsing with energy, singing with light. He pulls back to look at you, his pupils blown wide. You wonder if it occurs to him, that this could be his last chance to be with a woman, if things outside this crumbling apartment do not go well. Or maybe, just maybe, he finds you as irresistible as you find him. Either way, when he tangles his long fingers in your hair and kisses you again, you are all too ready to lean in. 

You’re not sure how it’s possible, that this man simultaneously breaks your heart, and puts you back together again. 

When he stands with you in his arms you give a sound of protest, worried about the extra exertion.

“I’m fine, y/n,” he tells you with a rare gentleness that to you is precious as any gemstone. “I’ve got you.”     

He carries you to the bed in the next room, and you are more than happy to let him have his way with you. 

______

*ptichka - little bird

[fleckficgirl]

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 12

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2093

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Arthur's Note (see what I did there?): Thanks every so so much for the kind words and encouragement. I didn't realize the new trailer was coming out today but I started writing this fic again about a week ago and I think I'm on a roll! I <3 Arthur Fleck so much and hope you enjoy!

Arthur had insisted on walking you home, had kissed you again at the front door of your apartment building and promised to call you the next morning; you both had the next day off and planned to see each other.

When he pressed his body into you. You could feel he was hard, but restraining himself. Arthur was nothing if not a gentleman. It only made you love him more.

“I'll call you in the morning,” he hummed into your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” you corrected him with a sly grin.

Arthur smiled, blushing. “First thing in the morning.”

You hated to pull yourself away from him. It was crazy: You'd never cared that much about sex, but for the first time in your life, you understood what it felt like to want to ask someone upstairs, what it felt like to actually want someone to spend the night in your bed. But of course, you had your parents to think about and they'd never go for it in a million years.

Arthur watched you get into the elevator. When the doors closed, you felt like you might cry. Reminding yourself you were gonna see him again in twelve hours was the only thing that put your longing heart at ease.

***

It was almost midnight, and your parents usually went to bed around ten, so you were surprised to find them both sitting up on the sofa in the living room, watching what had to be the last half hour of The Murray Franklin Show. They never watched Murray. They never even stayed up this late.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you locked the front door and hung your coat up.

“We’ve been worried sick!” your mother cried as your dad muted the television.

Oh boy. This was already off to a great start.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head to one side. “I mean, I know it’s almost midnight, but-”

“There’s been another killing on the subways,” she continued. “They think it’s related to what happened to those three Wayne boys a few days ago.”

“You’re kidding,” you sat down on the sofa to face them. “Who’d they kill?”

“A man,” your father answered. “But they don’t know anything else yet. You were out all night and didn’t hear anything about this?”

You shook your head. “No. But it’s getting crazier out there.”

“What exactly did you do tonight?” your father raised an eyebrow.

“Met up with friends,” you answered breezily. Technically you weren’t lying. Arthur was a friend. Sort of.

“That’s interesting,” he continued, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Because those so-called girlfriends of yours called here looking for you. Two different times in fact.”

“They did?”

You gulped, trying to scan your mother's face for some kind of hint to help you navigate the choppy waters of your father’s suspicions. But her “worried sick” face had morphed into her “I’m just gonna stay out of it and keep the peace” face.

Typically a bad sign.

“First Tina and then that other girl…” your father said. “The one with the silly name…”

He looked to your mother who shrugged in response.

“Chantelle,” he finally remembered. And Chantelle said she was calling to find out how your ‘hot date’ went tonight.”

Damn that Chantelle. You knew she had a champagne-and-dial addiction - it was why she was still hooking up with at least five of her ex-boyfriends - but you could still murder her ten times with a hatchet. She had no idea how crazy your dad was.

“I told your father it must have been some kind of practical joke,” your mother finally interjected. “You know, those telephone pranks kids these days like to play on one another?”

You could see she was trying to help you out. And for one crazy second, you considered telling them the truth:

Mom, Dad…I’m in love with a beautiful clown.

No, that wouldn’t go over well at all. They’d hit the roof. In fact, they'd go through the roof.

The less you said about Arthur the better. At least for the time being.

“I did go out with friends,” you explained in as even a tone as you could muster. “I don’t know what Chantelle’s talking about.”

“Which friends?” your mother asked.

“Just some friends…from…from…” you struggled to complete the sentence. You never went anywhere besides work these days, so where the hell would you meet any other friends?

“Some friends from GU?” your mother asked hopefully.

It was perfect. You could have kissed her right then and there. Saved by the mama.

“Yes!” you nodded. “Yes, some friends from college.”

“Honey, that's wonderful!” your mother smiled.

Your father nodded approvingly. “Those are the kinds of people you should be spending time with. People who are serious about their future…as opposed to a couple of strippers.”

“They’re not strippers, Dad!”

He smiled at his own dumb joke and you pursed your lips. Your father never approved of anyone if he didn’t deem them “serious about their future.” The problem was, most of the kids you’d met at Gotham University were entitled assholes from rich families who didn’t actually care about their futures: no matter how badly they fucked up, their privileged parents could afford to yank them out of hot water and they knew it. Your dad had it all wrong. But you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“How come you look so disheveled?” your father’s voice broke into your thoughts once more.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pointed at your rumpled clothes.

“Your outfit’s wrinkled, your hair’s a mess. And your makeup…”

“Did something happen tonight, honey?” your mother asked. You could sense the growing concern in both their voices, and it brought you right back to when you’d started having problems at GU. Your poor parents had to watch as their star student daughter - who’d never given them a lick of trouble - suddenly turned into someone they didn’t recognize. Someone they were afraid of.

“Sweetheart,” your mother prodded gently. “You didn’t happen to get into a…a fight or an altercation with anyone tonight, did you?”

You shook your head and laughed, trying your best to put them at ease. “Not that I can remember.”

It was a true enough answer. More true than they needed to know, anyway.

“You can tell us if you’re…struggling,” your father added. “We want to know if something’s going on.”

You shook your head again. “What happened was, the subway was totally jam packed. Maybe it had to do with the killing tonight, I dunno. Anyway, we were stuffed like sardines. I got all pushed around on the train. You know how the people in this city can be.”

“Fucking animals,” he muttered under his breath. You glanced up at the TV where a still-muted Murray seemed to be delivering his closing words. “You’re alright though, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” you assured them both. “Nothing a shower and some shampoo can’t fix.”

You breathed a concealed sigh of relief as you watched your parents breathe one of their own.

You popped up from the sofa and stretched.

“Gonna get ready for bed,” you announced. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your mom called out. “We love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You turned to go to your room and heard your dad unmute the TV, Murray Franklin’s voice ringing out over the orchestra as an organ struck up the groovy chords from his signature closing song:

“Goodnight, and always remember: That’s life!”

You laughed softly to yourself. “That’s life!” you whispered as you dance-glided down the hall and into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Life really was something, wasn’t it? Especially life in Gotham, a life like yours: one that now had a beautiful man named Arthur Fleck in it.

After the crazy night you’d had, the shower felt like a balm to your soul. You crawled under the cool covers of your bed, still giddy from your date with Arthur and the promise of seeing him tomorrow. As you drifted off to dreamland, you thought about even though your parents drove you up the wall, you loved them and would do anything for them. You hated the toll your problems at GU had had on them - how scared and defenseless they’d been, not knowing how to help you when the shit hit the fan. They didn’t have the resources and privileges of your ex-classmates’ parents, but they’d stood behind you when no one else had. You’d never forget that.

After the nightmare at Gotham U - after everything it’d put you and the people you loved through - you’d vowed to yourself that you’d never be powerless again.

Although you felt powerless to stop the freight train of emotions you felt for Arthur, you decided he was a worthy exception. Arthur also knew what powerlessness felt like. He wasn't like the rest of them. He was the salt of the earth, just like your parents. Just like you.

And as long as you and Arthur had each other’s backs, you told yourself as sleep enveloped your being, nothing could ever take either of your power away again.

Together, you were unstoppable.

***

The phone rang first thing in the morning, just as Arthur promised. Thank GOD your bedroom had its own phone line.

“Hey you!” you answered playfully on the first ring.

“There you are. We’ve been calling you, bitch!”

“Chantelle?” you paused, your breath hitching.

“And Tina’s here,” Chantelle said. “We’re at Ha-Ha’s. You didn’t call either of us back last night so we decided to ambush you first thing in the morning.”

“Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “And by the way, thanks a lot for telling my dad about my ‘hot date’ last night. He was real happy to confront me about that when I got home.”

“So you did come home last night!” Chantelle gasped.

“I told you a million times!” Tina’s annoyed voice rang out in the background. “She wasn’t gonna have sex with him on the first date.”

“So how was it?” Chantelle asked. “Tell us everything!”

“It was…great,” you answered. “He’s…wonderful.”

Chantelle squealed. “Y/N’s going out with a college boy!” She sang.

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Tina countered. “College boys are a dime a dozen. And most of ‘em wouldn’t know how to please a woman even if they majored in it. Gimme the phone, Chantelle.”

You heard the receiver scuffle on their end and Tina’s no-nonsense voice rang in your ear.

“How was the outfit, hair and makeup?” she demanded. “Any mishaps?”

You paused. It would take too long to explain the whole blacking out thing to them, you reasoned. And you didn’t want them to worry.

“Everything went fine,” you said. “You guys did a great job. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I have some very exciting ideas for the next date outfit,” Tina said. “When are you getting here? I’ll fill you in. We’ll try on some samples.”

“I’m off today!” you sang into the phone. “And I’m actually seeing him again this afternoon.”

“What? You slut!”

Chantelle grabbed the phone back. “You’re seeing him again? So soon? Oh my goodness, Y/N, I feel like you’re gonna marry this guy.”

You heard Tina groan in disgust behind Chantelle before snatching the phone back again.

“Then my outfit ideas will have to wait for your third date,” Tina said. “Assuming there is one. What were you planning on wearing today?”

“I dunno,” you glanced around your messy room helplessly. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Okay, listen to me, Y/N. You’re an autumn. That means warm skin tones. Understand?”

“Warm skin tones,” you repeated back, even though you had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

“I’m talking greens, I’m talking yellows…come to think of it: do you have anything in peach?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Black is fine. Accessorize with those gold hoop earrings. A full face of makeup just like we showed you. But go easy on the blusher, for the love of God.”

“Thanks, Tina.” You laughed.

“Shit. Hoyt’s coming,” Tina warned. “Call us immediately after today’s date ends. We need a detailed play by play so we can mastermind the plan for date number three.”

“I thought you said these college boys were a dime a dozen,” you countered.

“Mastermind your outfit for date number three,” Tina corrected herself. “If you’re gonna date a college douche, the least you can walk away with is a killer wardrobe.”

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[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 65 (Personal Lows)

cw: pregnancy loss (I'm so sorry I did not plan this.)

As well as life had been going for Heather and Conrad, reality came crashing down one Saturday when Ash was in the city with the Landgraabs. Both were spending the day at work, but Heather fell ill and called Conrad.

"Something's wrong. Can you meet me at St. Sims Hospital?"

Heather was admitted for tests, but Dr. Serra delivered the devastating news. "This happens more often than you might think this early on, but there's no heartbeat. I'm sorry."

"This is my fault," said Conrad. "My fear added stress you didn't need."

"This isn't your fault," said Heather staunchly. "Dr. Serra said this happens more often than you think. You didn't stress me out any more than the rest of our busy lives stressed me out. I've worn a glucose monitor since high school and I have to remind myself to slow down all the time. You make my life so much easier, Conrad. Not more stressful."

"This can be a difficult time for anyone," Dr. Serra said gently. "I'd like to refer you both to a colleague of mine, if you're open to it. Her name is Dr. Supriya Delgato, and she's a relationship and family therapist with a focus on grieving. I think you should talk to her when you're ready. She has an office upstairs and I can let her know she might hear from you."

"Yes please," said Heather. "Thank you, Dr. Serra."

Conrad was still apologetic when they returned home, trying to think of the right thing to say while an exhausted Heather changed into her pajamas. "I'm sorry. I should have been more supportive from the start."

"I'm glad you were honest with me, Conrad. For better or worse, knowing how you feel makes everything clearer for me."

"I do want a family with you. I want Ash to have a brother or sister, and I was looking forward to the parenting classes we were going to sign up for. I wish it hadn't turned out this way."

She embraced him. "Me too. But when I was about seven my mom had a miscarriage early, like me. She got through it, and she had Hazel a year later."

"Heather, I promise you, next time I'll be ready."

"I believe you. We don't need to think about that tonight, but I think we should schedule an appointment with Dr. Delgato like Dr. Serra suggested."

"I haven't spoken to a grief counselor since I was in high school," he admitted. "Back then I was too angry at the world to get anything from it."

She held him in a reassuring embrace. "I think this will be a good thing for both of us."

They went to bed that night feeling closer than ever, cuddling beneath the covers until they both fell asleep. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: This happened unexpectedly via the Heathcare Redux mod by adeepindigo and I was really sad about it. I'm sorry to anyone who hated this development especially after we all went through it with Conrad. I considered pretending it didn't happen since it happened SO early, but I appreciate the realistic storytelling supported by the mod nonetheless. And Conrad will be thrilled about the next one, because I'm literally sending him to grief counseling to justify me changing his trait to 'Would Love to Have a Child Right Now' without letting it flip over time. No chances taken, only plot! In all honesty Heather should have had therapy in high school so in some ways this is long overdue for them both, anyway.

NOTE 2: That last shot is the first time they autonomously cuddled (to sleep, my heart!) after the Lovestruck update. Honestly their level of flirty when they're together is usually sky high and blocks out most of their sad moodlets, hence the smiles despite this really sad installment. When it comes to Conrad, Heather isn't unflirty whatsoever.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 13.2 - Payback's A Dragon

Akira drags himself through the park and leans against a streetlamp, trying to get his bearings straight. He’s almost home. If he could scrape some magic together, he could simply teleport, but the fight scraped that barrel mostly dry.

Fuckin’ ambush. Cora was obviously more than pissed. She screwed him on purpose, sending him to take on a godsdamned dragon.

Literally, what the fuck?

The warmth from the lamp gives him a little relief. Gods, what he wouldn’t do for a fire. The fae were built for spring and summer—the nights when the breeze was warm, the days that left you sun-kissed. Fall was a headache. Winter was hell. How can anyone scrape together magic when they’re fuckin’ freezing?

He gets as far as the fountain before he slides to the ground, limbs loose. Sleep is not just nipping at his heels; it's enveloping his whole body. 

Minutes pass…hours? A foot nudges his bruised thigh. His eyes flash open to find Vladislaus standing over him. 

“You can’t possibly think sleeping out here is appropriate.” He tilts his head, gaze assessing. “What happened to you?” 

“I fought a dragon.”

“They exist?” Surprise flits across his face before he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Nevermind, of course they do. You exist. Did you win?”

Akira tries to snort, but it comes out as a wheeze. One of his lungs must be punctured. “Do I look like I won?”

Vlad shrugs. “You look like someone who took on a fight you were obviously ill-equipped for. I imagine dragons have a very scorched earth approach to physical altercations.”

“It was an ambush,” he feels inclined to point out. “And dragons are universally assholes.”

Vlad kneels and pokes at a sore spot on Akira’s chest. “And which dragon did this to you?” he asks softly.

Warmth starts at the base of his spine and spreads upward. “Sweet of you to worry,” Akira mumbles with a smile.

Sleep takes over again. Peace lasts a few minutes before Vlad—the fuckin’ psycho—hauls him up and over his shoulder. “Which of these neoclassical monstrosities is your house?” 

Ribs protesting, Akira points. And to his credit, Vlad takes him home. 

And chastises him about not locking his door.

And complains about the light that makes the buzzing sound that everyone acts like they can’t hear, but Akira can and it pisses him off. 

By the time Vlad gets to JJ’s sneakers in the hall, he is beside himself.

“It’s a tripping hazard,” he grumbles as he drops Akira onto his bed. 

“You coulda broke my fuckin’ ribs carrying me like that, and you’re concerned about a fall?”

Vlad frowns. “Your ribs aren’t broken. I can hear them mending.”

That was alarming. "What are you?" Akira rasps.

"Annoyed. I thought tonight was going to be sexier than this. I brought a sword."

Akira isn't sure if he laughs. It takes the tail-end of his magic to heal the worst of his internal injuries and then he's out cold again.

Time slips, and Vlad returns. He sets a glass of water on the bedside table, along with some aspirin. “The state of your medicine cabinet is atrocious, and you need to go food shopping.”

“I thought you was helping me,” Akira grunts as he sits up, “Not insulting my adulting.”

“I am being as helpful as I can stand to be at the moment. Now, does the dragon have a name I can pronounce, or is it better to write it down?”

It didn’t matter what Vlad was, Akira’s heart would not abide sending him into danger even if most times, Vlad probably was the danger. “I am not sending you after a dragon.” 

“Fine,” he doesn’t miss a beat, “Then who set you up?”

“No one you need to be concerned with.” Anticipating Vlad's next question, Akira reaches for something to make him sound like less of a cold-hearted bastard than he actually is. “I was a dick to them and they didn’t deserve it and yeah, I know, I should make amends.”

“Also, you can’t be hanging around here,” Akira tacks on. They haven’t discussed the fact that he works for Jacques, but Vlad isn’t stupid. 

He makes a disgusted sound and rolls his eyes. “I would love for someone to stop me. Are you a dick to everyone all the time or was this a one-off? I want Alice to feel safe with you. It’s important to her.”

Obviously. Hence Akira’s attempts to hide his most egregious failings, like the fact that the kind consideration of others was beyond his capabilities. “Is it important to you?”

Vlad looks perplexed. Then he laughs. “Why would it matter to me? You can’t hurt me. Look at you, you're in shambles."

"Okay, it's actually not that funny," Akira mutters over his howling laughter.

"Should I worry about you making me feel safe?" he cackles. “Hilarious.”

“Alright tough guy, I'm talking about emotional safety but whatever,” Akira snorts. “And to answer your question, I am generally a dick to everyone, always. But Alice is safe and so are you.” 

Vlad waits a beat and then heads for the door. “I don’t believe you. Goodnight.”

He’s leaving? Akira can’t quite haul himself out of bed. “Wait!” he cries. 

Vlad halts. “Yes?”

“I don’t give a shit about making amends, alright? I work with this sim and they are good at getting information and they might still be useful to me. But that doesn’t mean I would treat you or Alice like shit, okay? It’s just—”

“You care for who you care for.” Vlad finishes. He finally turns around, and there’s something hungry in his gaze that makes Akira feel like flashing his own teeth. “Now you’re making sense. If Alice agrees, then we can date.”

“If Alice agrees, we are in a relationship,” Akira corrects.

“So you won’t take us on dates?” 

“Brat. Of course, I'm taking you on dates. We’ll do whatever you two want.”

He nods. “Good. Alice and I do yoga on Saturday mornings. The class starts at 8:30 am. Apparently, you can’t bring weapons, so I suggest leaving those at home.”

Akira waits for the laughter but none comes, which tells him Vlad is deadly serious. And he can’t help but wonder what the hell kind of creature he is to think that “no weapons at yoga” was a strange rule. 

“I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Vlad smiles like the cat that got the cream. “That too.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 3 of 4)

[shipmistress9]

Blueberries & chocolate Chips - 04

AN: If this was another kind of story and I was another kind of writer, they would be fighting for longer, the angst and the drama would last for at least a couple of chapters. But as it is, I hate it when there's a misunderstanding between the characters and they're all angry/upset yet it could all be solved by one simple open conversation. Hence, no prolonged fighting.

Once again the biggest thanks to @theoppositequeens for talking me out of my little panic over this chapter. 🥰 You're the best!

. o O o .

Chat history with XR

Hi

(Today) I got my results. Are you free this afternoon?

A twisting feeling settled in Violet's guts as she read the message. His message. The first he'd sent after her initial short Hi three days ago. No apology. No explanation.

"What an ass," Rhi snorted as she glanced at where Violet held out her phone to her. "Does he really think you'll jump as soon as he snaps his fingers, just so he can shout at you some more?"

Violet grimaced. "He didn't really shout at me," she murmured, but Rhiannon wasn't listening.

"Honestly, you should let him stew and then reply tonight that you were busy. That asshole doesn't deserve even one more minute of your time after how he treated you at Dylan's."

Violet sighed but didn't even try to correct Rhiannon. Because she was right: Violet had given him no reason to get so angry at her out of nowhere, and he certainly had no right to accuse her of setting things up. If anything, he'd been the one to seduce her

But Rhi was also wrong, and so had Violet been. It hadn't been his fault that the whole pregnancy topic hadn't even crossed her mind when, of course, for most people that would be a valid thing to worry about with a broken condom. And she probably shouldn't have acted so defensive, either, could have told him right away why that wasn't an option. But, well… It wasn't as if she didn't know where her hesitation there had come from.

Fucking Halden…

"And why isn't he just texting you the results?" Rhi continued with her rant. "Why do you need to meet again for that? Unless he needs to pass on further instructions because he managed to infect himself with something nasty. Would serve him right, though, hopefully you didn't catch it then, either. I mean, that hole was pretty small." Yeah, Rhiannon was still pissed, even days later.

Violet let out another sigh, but couldn't even think of a good reply to that. Because even though Violet couldn't feel the same anger as Rhiannon— not anymore— she still wondered.

Why hadn't he texted her earlier? Why hadn't he at least apologised? And why would he want to meet now all of a sudden? No matter what his results stated, he could just tell her and be done with her once and for all. It wasn't as if there was anything else to say.

Not realistically…

A little wistfully, she thought back to the few minutes before she'd shown him that picture in the cafe. He'd seemed almost…happy to see her again. As if he'd been looking forward to it. As if he'd wanted to get back in contact with her.

But even if that had been the case, if he'd been interested in her beyond that one night…well, then their fight had certainly crushed any of those tendencies. Him not texting her earlier had made that clear.

Well, it couldn't be helped now. By now, she was just tired of all this nonsense and just wanted to get it all behind her. The last three days had been…not good. She'd felt empty, the good mood after that night with him having turned sour quickly. Maybe it hadn't been as bad as the weeks before, but it was close. Different in an odd way. Because it wasn't as if she'd broken up with someone again.

Either way… Hopefully, getting his results, getting whatever was still between them off their chests, and then forgetting it all happened would help her move on for good. And next year, she'd have to fake an illness or something for Liam's birthday.

Picking her phone back up and walking back to her room, Violet typed in a reply, ignoring Rhi's on-going rant behind her.

Chat history with XR

i can make that work. 4pm?

That's perfect. I'll meet you by the Dragons, if that's okay?

sure

She let herself fall onto her bed, her arms crossed over her eyes.

Whatever…

. o O o .

The Dragons were the priced centrepiece of Aretia's extensive park right next to Lake Sgaeyl. They were an impressive statue hewn from black and navy-blue marble, depicting two dragons entwined in what could be called an affectionate embrace. According to Liam, they were supposed to represent the unity of the lake and the mountains around them. Or something like that.

Given the location of the city, with the lake and the mountains around it, one would think that the founders of Aretia would have used the flat ground by the lake to build their houses there instead of going the costly and certainly more difficult route of building them into the mountain wall. But as it was, this park with its long winding walkways, the stream running through it, and the many benches, playgrounds, and other activity locations was certainly one of the things that made this city special.

Violet loved spending time here in the spotted shade beneath the tall trees, with birds chirping and bees humming all around, the lake nearby. Everything seemed lighter here, easier. So maybe meeting him here wasn't such a bad idea. She could go stare at the waves once it was over, until she felt better again.

As she approached the central area where the Dragons loomed over everything, she easily spotted him already waiting for her. In the light of the sun, his dark curls seemed like ink, black yet shiny, and his tattoos, on stark display beneath his sleeveless shirt, were even more striking than in the dim light of the club.

Shit, he looked good. Violet didn't want to think like that, not with how things between them would inevitably end in a couple of minutes, but she couldn't help it. That attraction that had been there right from the first moment she'd seen him? Yeah, it was still there, still going strong.

Bracing herself, she forced a neutral expression onto her face as he lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hey, Vi," he said, seemingly equally aiming for a civil tone out here in public. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

She nodded, forcing a smile. "I didn't have any pressing things to do, so it was no issue."

He nodded, and for the first time ever, the silence between them felt heavy. Awkward.

"Erm, so…" he began, with neither of them looking at the other. "Should we…walk a bit?"

Violet's lips twitched. Why didn't he just tell her what he had to say, whatever bad news his results had brought him, and then leave her in peace? But stupid as it was, she nodded. Nothing good could come from them continuing that fight from the cafe. And yet, she didn't want this to be over.

Pathetic.

They walked in silence. It couldn't have been long, just a minute or so, just until they weren't surrounded by other people anymore, but it felt like an eternity.

"So, erm," he eventually began, clearing his throat. "First things first. My results came in and I'm also clean. So you have nothing to worry about there."

Startled, Violet stopped in her tracks. "You are?" Somehow, this wasn't a scenario she'd allowed herself to hope for. Not just because she didn't want some infection, but also— "Why didn't you simply say so in your text?" Her heart was racing all of a sudden, her eyes flickering up to finally look at him.

He’dd stopped two steps ahead of her, and when he turned, his dark eyes were filled with regret.

"Because…I had to see you." He took a deep breath, his shoulders moving as if they carried a heavy weight. "I wanted to apologise for how awfully I reacted. It wasn't fair of me to pressure you into revealing that, to force you into that situation just because of my own problems."

Violet didn't know what to say. During the last three days, she'd thought of countless scenarios like this. Where Xaden wasn't the asshole he'd turned into at the cafe but was again the version she'd met before, the one she'd had in her bed. The one she'd thought she'd made up in her mind. But in none of those daydreams had she ever planned so far ahead that she needed to come up with a reply.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms in front of her and let her gaze wander around, through the trees to where the sun glittered on the waves in the distance. "Why didn't you text me earlier, then?" she eventually asked, her voice low. Fuck, he could have apologised at any moment during these last three days.

Xaden swallowed. "I…wasn't sure whether you'd even listen," he confessed. "Not after how much I hurt you."

"You didn't…hurt me," she sighed, her mouth tight as she looked at him again.

Xaden grimaced and shook his head. "I saw the pain on your face, Violet. You don't have to coddle me."

Now, her lips tugged into a small pained smile. "I'm not," she huffed, something of a disbelieving laugh mixing itself into her voice. Rhiannon would be horrified by her words. But he'd apologised. That was what she'd hoped for, all she'd wanted to hear. "I was hurt, yes. But not by you. Not directly. Your words…they just brought back some unpleasant memories."

"About your ex?" he guessed, and Violet nodded. "Then I'm sorry about that, too."

With another small smile, she nodded, accepting his apology. But she didn't feel like talking about Halden. Not when, somehow, this… this strange thing between her and Xaden seemed to work out better than she'd dared to hope.

"And I'm sorry, too. I probably could have reacted less evasively, too. Your sudden mood swing just threw me off. What was it that made you react like that?" she asked instead, her feet moving almost on their own as she kept walking down the path he'd chosen. "If…you don't mind me asking, that is."

From the corner of her eye, she saw how his jaw tightened. But a moment later, he scoffed a bitter laugh. "Well, you're not the only one with a shitty ex."

. o O o .

Xaden led her through a part of the park she'd never even know existed. Away from the well-known— and at this time of day somewhat over-crowded— walkways, narrow overgrown paths led to a less cultivated area. And to a tiny clearing right at the lake's bank. It only held a single lonely bench, the dark coat of pain cracked and peeling off, that faced out towards the water, the impressive peak of Mount Tairn in the distance.

Violet paused as she entered the clearing. It felt like she was intruding on private ground somehow, as if this place wasn't meant for just anyone. But when Xaden beckoned her over, she followed him without hesitation and sat down next to him.

Along the way, he'd bought ice cream for both of them— the fancy kind, large portions in a rolled up bubble waffle that came with all kinds of extras. He'd insisted since she didn't get the chance to eat her mini tart the other day, and when he returned with two big portions, with blueberries for her and dark chocolate chips for himself, she couldn't keep herself from smiling a little at the simple domestic gesture. Now, however, with the sudden proximity on that bench, Violet was twice as glad to have something to occupy her hands.

"So, about Cat," he began, but Violet interrupted him quickly.

"You really don't have to tell me," she said, and meant it. "If what she did made you react so strongly, it can't be pleasant to remember."

Xaden threw her a thoughtful look. "I know. And no, it's not. But…I feel like I should tell you. Nothing can excuse how I reacted, but…"

"…but it would still be an explanation?"

He nodded.

Violet took a deep breath and leaned back, waiting. She wasn't sure whether she even wanted to hear what this person had done to him, but she probably should.

"Cat and I got together a little over a year ago," he began, gazing out over the bright blue surface of the lake. "It was…one of those relationships that were bound to happen, if you know what I mean. We've been part of the same social groups for years, our families have been friends since before we were even born. Everyone expected that we'd get together, and eventually, that expectation became too heavy to resist. It wasn't bad, not at first. Comfortable, in a way, to be seen as 'taken' instead of being chased constantly."

Violet threw him a covert look. Yeah, she could understand how someone who looked like him would constantly be swarmed by admirers, even if they didn't know anything else about him. Fuck, had she been any better?

"But it was also clear that it wouldn't last, to me at least," he went on. "I had no feelings for her beyond the tentative comradeship that had developed over the years, and I thought she'd see it the same way. That it was just for the moment, just for convenience, just to appease those who constantly tried to set us up." He let out a harsh breath, almost a growl. "I should have paid better attention."

"I guess she didn't also cheat on you?" Violet hedged, a suspicion settling in her chest like lead.

Xaden huffed another bitter laugh. "No, she didn't. Though I kind of wish she had, that would've been less messy." He winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to devalue what he did to you."

"I know," Violet cut him off with a small smile. "It's not a competition."

He turned his head to throw her a strange look. "No, it's not." He let out a sigh and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his ice cream long since gone. "But no, she didn't cheat on me. Not in the classical way, at least. But she was way more comfortable with the arrangement between us than I was. And when I was thinking about how to break it off without drawing too much attention, without causing too much of a scandal—" He rolled his eyes."—she was aiming for the opposite."

"She faked a pregnancy?" Violet guessed, feeling sick at that thought.

But Xaden huffed another humourless laugh and shook his head. "No," he said, throwing her a strange look. "Faking a pregnancy wouldn't have given her what she wanted. After a couple of months at the latest, her ruse would have become obvious."

Violet's stomach sank even further.

"She knew that nothing but the real thing would let her keep me, or whatever her hopes were." He scoffed. "So she pulled every string she could to actually get pregnant, knowing that, with my history, I'd never leave her alone with a child."

At that, Violet frowned. Was she supposed to know his history? But another question seemed more pressing to her. "So she actually did nick your condoms?" That certainly would explain why he'd reacted so strongly.

With a heavy sigh, Xaden nodded. "Yeah, she did. Although, on the grand scale, that was by far not the worst she did." His expression turned hard again, angry. "She must have known that I didn't plan to keep our 'relationship' up for long, because she'd started her ruse right from the beginning. Having a timer on her phone to remind her every evening to take the pill when I now know they were only vitamins. Using whatever tricks she could to hide when she had her period and then faked having it at another time so I wouldn't be aware of her cycle. Including leaving the occasional used tampon in my bathroom bin."

Almost despite herself, Violet let out a whistle. "Well, that's dedication."

"You could say that," Xaden snorted. "And it's probably only luck she didn't succeed during the months we were together. And believe me, I made sure she wasn't pregnant after all before leaving her for good. But I only found out when I returned to her flat after just leaving because I'd forgotten my car keys and found her in the process of emptying the used condom from the night before into herself."

"Oh, fuck…" Violet was stunned. Xaden seemed to be a great guy, not counting the incident at the cafe. But that still seemed like an insane move to try and keep someone who clearly never wanted to be with them.

Xaden ducked his head, his knuckles standing out white from how tightly he wrung his own hands. "That about sums it up." He took a deep breath, and after a moment or two, his shoulders visibly relaxed again. "We had a bad fight, it wasn't pretty. I yelled at her and she threw more than just one vase at me. For leading her on and giving her hope only to throw her life into shambles, or something." Grimacing, he shook his head, absentmindedly brushing his thumb over a spot on his arm where a thin silver line was visible. "It's still hard to believe how I misjudged her all this time. And even harder to ignore it whenever I see her again now, acting like the same person she was before, friendly and helpful, generous even. Only to throw me hateful glares when nobody is looking anymore."

"You're still in contact?" Baffled, Violet stared at him. If someone would have played her like that, she'd make sure to stay away from them, as far as she could.

"Inevitably," Xaden shrugged. "Same social circles, remember?"

"And your friends just… accept what she did? And move on as if nothing happened?" How could he willingly spend time with people like that? Surely, Liam wasn't one of them, right? He would never stand for such behaviour.

But Xaden just chuckled, the first at least somewhat happy sound since he'd started his story. "Oh, my friends hate her with a passion. You better not mention her name to Liam, or he might go on a rampage." Yeah, that sounded more like him. "It's just other people, at work and stuff… Not many know or believe the full scope of what she did. Even less care."

"That…sounds absolutely horrible." Violet couldn't take her eyes off him. She felt the urge to place her hand on his arm, to comfort him in any way. But she didn't know where they stood anymore, floating in this weird state between a hook-up and a fight.

"It is how it is," he said, shrugging. Then he turned, the look in his eyes making her freeze with its intensity. "And by now, it's nothing but a bad memory. The biggest harm it did…was how it made me react the other day."

Violet swallowed, and it cost her real effort to take her next breath and tear her eyes away from him. "It really wasn't such a big deal."

"Big enough that you stormed out of the cafe. After I forced you to reveal highly sensitive personal information I had no right to demand from you. I'd say that counts as bad."

With something of a little smile on her face, Violet shook her head. "It wasn't the fact that you made me reveal my infertility that made me leave," she eventually explained in a low voice. "But more the way you reacted in general, how angry you became, that you accused me of setting it up like that. I didn't get how you could jump to such conclusions over something as simple as an accident, without any evidence. That me telling you I wasn't pregnant wouldn't be enough. But after what you just told me, I get it. I'd probably be more than just a little wary, too."

She hoped this explanation would help take the guilt from him. But when she looked back at him when he didn't reply, he just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, yes, I was hurt. But it was really more because of some things my ex said. The things he did, and why he said he did them. I've come to terms with the fact that I probably won't ever have children a long time ago."

"Whatever he said, he deserves to get punched in the face," he said matter-of-factly, and the image made Violet smirk. Just thinking about how Halden would probably go down at the first contact, howling in fear of his perfect face being damaged, seemed to heal some of the mental bruise his words had left in an instant.

"A long time ago, though? Since when have you known?" he asked, hesitant. "If…you don't mind me asking, that is."

Something like a smile spread across Violet's face at him repeating her own words from before. Was it by chance or was he really that observant? Either way, his thoughtfulness touched something inside her she wasn't sure what to make of.

"It's okay, I don't mind." She took a deep breath, her gaze wandering over the dancing waves. "I had appendicitis as a child, when I was eight or maybe nine years old. It took a while before my siblings brought me to the hospital, my parents had been too busy to notice, as always. But it all went well, and a little while later, I was back home with nothing but a little scar. Or so everyone thought."

"But the infection had spread?" Xaden asked in a low voice, and Violet nodded.

"Down to my Fallopian tubes. The scar tissue of that infection only got discovered when I went to my first check-up after getting my period. It's so severe that basically no egg cell or sperm will ever make it through."

Xaden nodded, as if he, too, had spent hours researching this topic. "That would still leave IVF as an option, though?"

A little puzzled, Violet threw him a quick glance. Did he have some medical degree he hadn't told her about, if he knew about things like blocked Fallopian tubes and in-vitro fertilisation?

The corner of Xaden's mouth lifted into a tiny smile. "Garrick's a gynaecologist, and we've all helped him through his occasional meltdowns when he had to learn for his exams."

Violet didn't remember much about the bear of a man she'd met only briefly in that club. All her attention had been on Xaden, after all. But gynaecologist had definitely not been on her mind. Might be worth keeping in mind, though, if she ever needed a second opinion.

Blinking, she shook her head. "Yeah, IVF would be possible. But…" She huffed a bitter laugh. "Let's be real here for a moment. I won’t ever be able to afford that. So it's a moot point."

She let out a sigh. Halden would have easily been able to pay for an IVF treatment with his father's money. But even when things between them had still been good she'd never even considered asking him about it. Maybe because she'd always known that he wasn't reliable enough. More likely because she'd given up on having children long ago.

When she looked at Xaden again, he had a strange expression on his face, a vertical line between his eyes and his lips parted, as if he was pondering something. But whatever it was, it got interrupted before he could tell her about it, her phone ringing with the buzzing of a bumble bee she'd programmed for Rhiannon.

Chat history with RhiBee

Hey, babe, how are you? Ridoc and I are having a picnic at our usual spot. So in case you need help getting rid of a body, we're at your disposal.

No need for that, I'm fine. I'll meet you there in a few.

Well, Rhi wouldn't be happy that she hadn't bitten Xaden's head off. That she'd let him off the hook at all, and so quickly. But Violet was glad about how it had all played out between them, happy even. At least she didn't need to feel bad about their encounter anymore.

"I've got to go now," she said, standing up from the bench and brushing dust and dried paint off her denims. "My friends are waiting for me."

She hesitated, pondering whether to look at him one last time. Something within her rebelled at the idea of leaving now, of never seeing him again. But that was stupid. They'd cleared up all misunderstandings between them, no need to feel guilty or angry anymore, but that was it.

"Bye, Xaden. It was…nice knowing you. And thanks for trusting me with all that. And for the ice waffle." She smiled at him, not daring to meet his eyes, then turned to leave.

But she barely made it two steps before freezing in place again. Because Xaden had reached for her hand, stopping her, and his touch sizzled through her like an electric charge.

"Violet, wait," he said in a strangely hesitant voice, and when she looked back at him, there was a hint of insecurity in his eyes.

"Yes?" Her heart was beating in her throat as it seemed, her head suddenly dizzy.

"May I…" He swallowed, his hand holding her twitching slightly. "May I text you again?"

Somehow, the sun seemed to come out from behind some clouds at that moment. Or that was how Violet felt, at least, all colours turning a bit brighter and the warmth on her face intensifying. She smiled, a true smile, and nodded. "I'd like that. Very much."

[hereyeswithoutaface]

A couple of fruits (part 4)

Bullet Train prequel fanfic! this is the fourth part, the others are on my page!!

notes: thank you for all the support on this project, it means so much! This chapter isn't the best, but there are some cute moments, especially the ending (; i hope you love it, i tried to make it as accurate to the British teenager experience as possible lolz, i also need to give toby/lemon more focus!!!!!!

TW: dissection, knives, alcohol, smoking and death mention, strong language as always, painfully bad fashion choices.

name reminder as always!

Toby- Lemon

Michael- Tangerine

It had been three weeks since Michael and Toby killing their own foster father had been seen by Ashley, and the small group of teenagers had become inseparable, constantly hanging out at any moment. It was fine and full of hysterical laughter whenever it was the whole trio, but when it was just Michael and Ashley, the air was always thick with unsaid words.

"Right, urm Ashley- you go with...Michael, maybe working with a more morbid student might help you actually do the dissection" Their biology teacher rattled on, pairing up students for the sheep's heart dissection; Ashley was well known in the school for one thing only, being the girl who tried to give a very dead rat CPR, earning her the nickname Rat girl, and even teens going as far as putting dead roadkill in her locker.

Michael perked up from trying to break the ink cartridge of his pen when he heard this, and he smiled to himself, he watched out the corner of his eye as she picked up her things and went to sit next to him.

"Hi." Michael said awkwardly, moving his things off of the other seat so that she could sit down easily.

"Hey." Ashley responded with a smile, placing her pencil case down beside his, well his was just a small pile of pens he had stuffed in his blazer and put on the desk, whilst hers was a light red fabric case with doodles all over it, including a little heart with an arrow. "Look, I don't think i can do the dissection-"

"Yeah i gathered that much- i'll just do it." He shrugged lightly, unbothered by the fact she wouldn't want to do anything, she was more happy about the fact he was getting to talk to her again.

Michael stood up, taking off his school blazer (which was already scuffed and marked, so it wouldn't really have made a difference if he had kept it on or not) and put on a pair of surgical gloves, throwing the other pair to Ashley.

He grabbed the scalpel, and began to cut almost scarily neat lines in the sheep's heart, whilst Ashley watched with wide eyes, slightly horrified and slightly amazed. She knew what he had done before, but this was weirdly precise.

Toby, who had been working with some random guy, noticed this and caught on quite quickly, coughing obnoxiously loud to try and make Michael realize how much of a serial killer he looked right now.

When Michael looked up, the two exchanged almost annoyed glances, before he realized what he was doing, and shot Ashley an apologetic smile. "Sorry-"

"No, it's fine honestly, I'm just glad i don't have to do it- and you're real at it good too, so that's a bonus!" She shook her head, looking at him.

The two locked eyes again, it was just like the interaction from the day prior, (probably less romantic due to the knife in his hand, and the fact she looked like she would be ill because of the dead animal lung) and Michael got the same feeling he had done last time, as if his heart was going to come out of his mouth, whereas this time they were both looking at each other, not just him at her. But just like last time, they got interrupted.

"Oi Mikey! You coming to mine tonight? Toby's coming- and you can bring rat girl if you want!" A voice called out, it belonged to Ted, one of the more well off kids in the school, who hung out with the twins sometimes, he was a bit rude though, and stunk of a fancy Lynx aftershave.

That snapped them both out of it, and they turned to look at the guy. Michael spoke up, slightly annoyed by the voice, "Yeah- yeah whatever i'll come, and she will too." After a moment, when Ted had turned back around, he muttered to himself and her. "Fucking prick."

Ashley laughed softly, and took the scalpel out of his hand, placing it back down onto the board. "You look like Patrick Bateman doing that." She commented, passing him the other knife to finish off quickly the practical.

"I'm way slicker than Patrick Bateman." He glanced at her, letting out a small scoff at his comment, "You are coming to this party, right? You don't have to-"

"I will, yeah- even if it's tosser Teddy hosting it." She laughed, and so did he at the name she referred to him as, she had lots of nicknames for people, it was almost a defense mechanism because of all of the bullying. She wouldn't admit this to him, but until recently, she had called him maladjusted Michael, because of his inability to fit in, which actually she couldn't either in all fairness.

"You don't hold back at all, you know that right?" Michael raised an eyebrow as he finished the dissection, cleaning up the tools with an eerily neat approach.

"She does not!" Toby called out from the other side of the room, laughing.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"So, what do people do at these things?" Ashley asked as the three walked down the street and out of their apartment building that evening, down the road to find Ted's house.

"Parties? Uhhh- get drunk and make out." Toby replied quite blatantly, signalling to the bag of spirits and vodka they were taking with them to the place.

"And smoke, and scream, and ruin the house- it's real fun, i swear- as long as it's not your own house." Michael added on, shaking the packet of cigarettes in his hand, none of them noticed the shadowy figure lurking a few metres behind them, they were all too loud anyway to have heard the footsteps, or the shutter of the camera as it flicked photos of the three.

"Just sounds like what i do on a daily basis- minus making out." Ashley commented, crossing her arms as the group continued to walk.

"Yeah, but the guy hosting the party is a fucking wanker." Michael shrugged as he spoke.

"And you're a fucking wanker too, Mikey" Toby jabbed and laughed, dodging a punch, they looked a very strange group, due to the fact that they were all dressed very differently:

Michael wore baggy black jeans, with a white shirt (the top few unbuttoned) and a thin black tie loosely around it, topped off with a few golden rings on his fingers

Toby had on a pair of beige cargo pants, with a red graphic tee for the band maroon 5, circular framed blue sunglasses, and checkered black and white muddy vans.

Finally, Ash wore a pink vest with a purple mesh tee over it, a grey skirt with a chunky belt, black tights, and patent leather shoes, with parts of her hair in small ponytails on the top of her head.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When they arrived at the house, Michael knocked on the door first, and was greeted by Ted, who looked them up and down, before half-hugging Michael and letting them all in.

The house was HUGE, the biggest either of three teens had been in, so probably not that impressive, but still big. There was plants- real ones, not the tacky decorative ones from Home Bargains, and their were professional family photos on the wall, Ash had to fight the urge to throw a smirnoff ice bottle at Ted's still face in them.

Further into the house, in the white pristine kitchen, was practically at least half of their year at school, all raving and shouting, some huddled in the corners with their partners, others lingering around the snack table (where a few bottles of fiji water sat), or singing badly along to the music that was playing through the speakers; it wasn't really where Ashley belonged, so she decided to take a large swig of the nearest glass of pure Vodka she could find, letting the alcohol rush to her head.

Toby seemed to be enjoying himself more, he had always been referred to as the class clown, and this did not end out of school hours, with him already making people laugh and messing about within five minutes of being here, after placing the plastic bag down on the table.

Michael, on the other hand, seemed fairly unsure of what to do, sure, he knew people, he was pretty cool too, but, he would've liked it more if he was reading Crime and Punishment at home right now, not having to deal with some rich kid's house party.

"This party is...interesting." Ashley stepped beside him, offering him a red solo cup of coca cola and vodka, to which he took and had a sip.

"It's shit." He corrected her and swallowed after he had had a sip, "You look nice though. Like Amy Winehouse or something."

"I don't think i'm that pretty" She laughed and shook her head, leaning on the counter with him stood beside her, both watching the party as they spoke.

"You are, really." He responded, as she took a sip.

"Well, you're not too bad either, you're like a young James Dean."

"Should i be complimented by that?"

"Yes."

"Then i'll take it," He smiled and turned to face her. "I really like hanging out with you, y'know. You're like, the coolest girl i've ever met- you're mysterious and a bit cold, like- Anna Karenina, and you are so beautiful too..."

"Jesus Christ- How much of that drink have you had?"

"I'm serious, Ash, You're really sweet." He spoke, and grabbed her hand with his free one, placing his drink down on the counter behind him, and then putting his hand on her cheek.

He kissed her, he actually kissed Ashley, the world seemed to stop, neither of them could focus on anything else that wasn't the person stood infront of them, she had never been kissed before, and awkwardly shifted to face him properly.

which to a bunch of 16 year olds, was big news, and they all suddenly stopped chatting and turned to stare at them after one chavy girl screamed,

"Michael's fucking kissing rat girl!!!"

Oh bloody hell.

[fillinforlater]

Blonde: Chapter III

Female Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 2500 words

Tags: angst/fluff, another bad day, losing your dignity, illness, someone who cares, there is a fever dream, Gaeul's relationship, struggling with your identity, we got a twist at the end

Inspiration: "Why Am I Like This?" by Orla Gartland

(A/N: Finally, another chapter to this slowly developing plot. I jope you enjoy it. @firagaarmor for obvious reasons)

"Didn't you say 108,000?"

"No, sir, it's 180,500 won."

"Oh, I see."

The old, fragile fingers of this confused, bald man creep back into his purse, trying to find another bill in what is probably a maze of money and plastic cards for him. You wouldn’t mind it one bit, you get paid either way and on usual nights, traffic is so little that barely anyone else gets inconvenienced. However, tonight is rather unusual. Apparently everyone forgot something and is now in a haste to buy said something. There is a long line of impatient stressed moms, annoyed teenagers and everything in between or beyond showing or voicing their disapproval.

It’s not you, you’re not the cause for their stress and discomfort, yet the customer’s toxicity still flies to you like you’re some kind of magnet. It all comes back to stab you, with passive-aggressive remarks or the glances up and down your small frame. Doesn’t really help that you only had cold ramen noodles, sweets and a little bit of bread in the past five days and that the ice cold showers make your nose itch with an impending cold. God, you must look pathetically miserable, even for your standards.

After the man finally gets his cash together, the checkouts are fast, heartless, and your heart aches for her to be at the end of the line. Gaeul—with her bright hair and even brighter smile to greet you when she is out buying drinks again—she could really save this evening. You yearn for her encouragement and presence more than for the next hot meal. Maybe even more than for the next two hot meals. 

But there is no blonde angel to save you tonight. With the last customer buying their groceries, the lights die one by one, leaving you in a mostly empty store, alone with thousands and thousands of tasty and not-so-tasty products you’d love to put into a pan and fry. The thuds of your sneakers on the floor almost drown out the grumble in your stomach or the sniffling of your nose as you walk into yet another cold night with nothing to look forward to. 

I fucking hate this shit. 

#

You want to vomit, throw yourself off your bed, tear every single strand of your dark hair out as you dial your mother's number again. You hope it’s over quickly, but one can never know with her, especially if she still stubbornly refuses to help you. Take deep breaths, try to keep your head straight though thinking has become more and more exhaustive with every calorie you’re missing. 

“What is it?” your mother groans, though you find her tone to be a lot more amused than last time. Someone is cheering and laughing in the background, drowning out even the loud TV. 

“The bills, mom. I still have no electricity, no hot water, no heater.”

“Oh right.”

A response colder than your room. You try to straighten your back to speak to her loud and clear, with at least some authority, but you feel yourself crumble when the clanking of bottles loudly booms through the speaker.

“Did… did your boss finally pay you?” you carefully ask, earning an immediate response.

“Yes, he did.”

“Then why didn’t you pay the bills?”

Silence, except for the crime drama running in the back, finding all the suspects and then the killer, as they always do. This case right here is totally clear, no one needs to investigate for more than five minutes to find out that she is at fault, yet it feels like you're on trial, awaiting your parole, which for some reason is still in the balance.

“You know, sweetheart,” your mother cheekily responds, her saliva loudly flopping around in her mouth, mixed with the disgusting flavor of cigarettes and beer. “I really worked hard for that money. It’s my money. In the end I can decide what happens with it.”

Oh God, don’t do that, please for the love of—and don’t call me sweetheart.

“You can’t be serious,” you barely chirp out, your heart throbbing, crumbling like your entire body as you can see your entire foundation, the fragile remains of your fake stability finally falter. You can never cover all of your expenses with this one job and you can’t quit school now, not after getting so close to finally finishing it. You need her money and she seems to finally use it against you.

“It’s just the truth,” she responds nonchalantly, her voice a lot lighter and higher in pitch than usual. You hear someone cackle in the background.

“Sweetheart.

Don’t call me that.

“How about you—

Don’t do this.

“—start begging for my money. C’mon! Get on your knees and beg for it! I’m tired of funding your lazy, incompetent lifestyle. You should be so grateful for my throwing money at you all these years. 

“I didn’t hear you! Get your lazy ass out of your bed now, and on your damn knees.

“Beg for it.”

Laughter from behind her. It's not the TV.

#

A hot shower, warm noodles, a cozy bed—they never felt so wrong, so disgusting. Even as your life objectively improves, it feels horrible, like you had to sell yourself and your soul for it to happen.

Your knees are still drawn to the floor. You might sit in a chair, listen to teachers all day or sit at the checkout, pulling items over the scanner, your knees still feel like they should get on the floor and beg.

Please let me pass.

Please give me more money.

Please leave me alone.

Please ignore my embarrassing existence.

"Hey."

"Uhhh, good evening, ma'a—Gaeul?"

Gaeul's dainty fingers catch your shoulders as you slump forward, against the checkout counter and almost fold over. Your body, devoid of energy, loses all tension.

“Hey, hey,” Gaeul calls out to you, and like the caring mother you never had, the warm palm of her hand cups your forehead. “Oh lord, you’re so hot! You’re definitely sick, what are you doing here?”

“I-I have to work,” you respond, a wave of something hot and heavy pressing down on your brain. This lava burns itself into you and makes every thought process excruciatingly hard. You haven’t even noticed it until now. “I’m not sick, every-thing is fine.”

Your smile is weak, dozy and fake, it cannot fool Gaeul a bit. Her beautiful face falls into deep wrinkles of worry as you can barely lift yourself out of her supporting arms. There is an awkward pause between the two of you, only interrupted by another customer clearing their throat. You try to get back to scanning, but one of Gaeul’s cans slips through your fingers a couple of times.

“I don’t think you should do this,” Gaeul says quietly, softly. “You don’t need to prove your toughness, it’s okay to be sick for a few days. I think your boss will understand.”

“Really, Gaeul, I’m okay.” The final can, straight into the blonde’s bag. Through your blurry eyes you can barely make out the color of her jacket, or sweater, or whatever it is—either way, it definitely suits her. “Thanks for worrying though.”

#

Why did I push her away like this? Why didn’t I listen to her? Why am I always like this?

Everything is hot and everything is cold. You need another jacket or the cold will get worse, but it simultaneously feels like you could die from overheating if you don’t start throwing away layer after layer of clothes. The way your body feels is close to how the inner mechanisms in your brain work in this fever haze. There is nothing, no thought, no conclusion, nothing that matters—yet everything is suddenly relevant.

Objects and details you’ve never actively released before come into focus of your decreasing sight, that one tile in the corner, just as dirty and unspecial as the rest, the second package of gum, purple and pink, the spooky hum when the door opens that never appears when it closes. So you stumble out of the store, tripping over your feet until the fever finally strikes you down.

The concrete, its gray color, is darker the colder it gets. It’s also harder, torturous to lay upon, scorching hot skin on freezing tarmac. Suddenly, brand new sneakers, black and white, small feet, about as small as your own, though they could be—

“Oh my God!”

—a bit bigger, judging by the length of the stockings covered legs that—

“Here, I’ll help you”

—disappear in a plaid skirt, above a combo of thick winter jacket and—

“I knew this was bad. Taxi!”

—a girl, whose hair is both silver and golden, a blonde close to whiteness, nonetheless it looks like a crown adorning and framing her perfectly formed features.

Gaeul.

#

You’re lost in a dream. A school full of students, their ages varying drastically and you do not recognize a single face. The teachers seem a lot more familiar, though they float through the room carelessly, gravity not applying to them. In fact, gravity only applies to you, as the rest of the students fly around the room with their chairs and desks.

A frame of an angel, her hands brushing your cheek, scorching hot, so she puts a wet towel on your face. That’s so nice of her, you must be sick. Sick or not, you cannot miss the day you go to the zoo with the floating class.

The zoo is filled with people, nothing but people. People that look at odd people. Those that have to stand on one leg, those that can’t talk properly, those who like weird things. You can hear your whole class laugh hysterically at all of them, so weird, so wrong, nothing better than to laugh at sickos and be glad that you’re not one of them.

“Uhm, hi.” A voice in the far background, damp, behind a shut door. “Care to explain why you have another girl in your bed?”

You feel like you have to explain yourself, but words are nothing more than concepts in your head, also the zoo is calling, you have to watch the lively corpses float through the water tanks. Luckily, someone speaks for you. The angel.

“She’s a friend and she is sick. That’s all there is to it, Yujin.”

"Oh, really?" The other voice is skeptical, eyebrows raised and she looks for a clever response. “I guess she got sick while laying in your bed? Gaeul, don’t lie to me, okay? Just be straightforward with me.”

“I—” the angel stutters and falls silent. You however found a new enclosure in this zoo which stretches in all directions. This one is rather empty and the enclosure is also no enclosure, just a mirror with a writing above it: ‘Sicko girls that like other girls’.

The reflection is you, of course, in all your—

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” The other voice, now a tall woman of incredible beauty, twirls a couple of golden strands of the angel and tugs them behind her ear with a weak—dishonest, you feel—smile. “The long hair suited you better. I really liked that.”

“I know, Yujin.”

The reflection is you, in all your fault and imperfection, far from perfection and any heavenly being. You are no angel, just a sicko girl that likes girls—and the whole class is laughing.

#

You open your eyes, but the aching, hot pain in your temple and a heavy, wet towel on top of it make actually seeing, realizing anything a pain in the ass. Just the outline of a small face looking down on you, very familiar, very pretty—oh, what a relief to have Gaeul be the first thing you see.

“Wh-where am I?” you ask past dry lips.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Gaeul turns around and quickly reaches for a bottle of water. “Here, drink this, your body needs a lot of water now. You’re in my—my friend's apartment.”

“Damn, then it must have been real fucking bad—”

You cover your mouth, realizing your loud curse in a foreign room, foreign bed, where are your manners, they might have foreign customs. Gaeul’s eyes fall shut when she begins to lightly chuckle. 

“Don’t worry, she’s not here right now,” Gaeul says. “You’re all good. B-but you can’t stay here forever. Just rest up and—you have somewhere to stay, right?”

You carefully remove the towel from your face, catching all the drops running down your forehead as you think about home, your home, finally warm because you threw away your dignity. You’d love to not go there, tear up the contract for rent and run away to something new—into independence.

“Yeah, yup, I—I have a place, don’t worry. Sorry for all the trouble, fuck, I don’t even remember what—I did it again.”

Now Gaeul is holding her stomach, laughing, hitting the blanket that covers your legs and you join her. Though you might sit upright, you feel like falling over, the dizziness, Gaeul’s laugh, they make you feel like you’re still in that dream with the angel. The angel, so ethereal, but made fragile by this voice. A woman.

Suddenly, yours and Gaeul’s face are almost touching, her arms are on your shoulders, yours on her side, her petite frame is in your palm. The laughs have faded, smiles remain but you feel your heart racing. The smile fades and you’re tense. Gaeul is right there and she is so, so pretty.

“You sure you’re alright?” Gaeul asks as she sees your blush. You blush even more and avert your eyes.

“Y-yeah, thank you. You helped a lot. But—

“—are you okay too, Gaeul?”

That’s a smile full of uncertainty, a hint of anger, a glow of hurt. Gaeul’s eyes sparkle and you’d love to blow some life into them. Even better, all the love you have for her, you want to pour it into her and give her power. But no, you have no idea nor any plan to do such a thing. So it’s Gaeul who helps you out of the bed and hands you one of her sweatshirts that isn’t drenched in sweat.

“You are the one with a fever, I’m as healthy as ever!” Gaeul is so bright and her smile shines like a star. In a different universe, she is already a celebrity with a perfect red carpet smile. Fake.

“I didn’t mean that.” In a surge of confidence and worry, you reach for Gaeul’s hand and everything's in slow motion. “I-I’m scared that you’re not happy, that something isn’t right, that—Gaeul, I heard you talk to your friend and she seemed—”

“Look, I—she isn’t my friend.”

Gaeul looks at you. 

“She is my girlfriend.”

Gaeul still looks at you. Now it’s your turn to fake a smile and get it over with.

...

(A/N2: Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more chapters, though it will take time until the next release)

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT 5½

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,475

WARNINGS: none!

SUMMARY: Robb's Queen falls ill and he is not quite sure how to handle it.

PART 1| PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 6

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: This is kind of short drabble-type chapter setting up the next two! Please send a message, comment, send an ask so i can hear from you! and hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏾 (Part 6 dropping tomorrow night –UK nighttime btw 🤭)

Robb has grown used to your company in recent weeks. He was surprised the first time you came to his study for no reason other than to talk, but he came away from that evening happy to have seen and spoken with you.

Eventually, those nightly visits became more of an expectation. Sometimes you’ll have a conversation over tea and cakes and other nights he’ll share a laugh with you over supper with a belly full of ale. Occasionally you watch him work while doing needlepoint or sewing up his trousers – because he always seems to rip the seams – providing a needed distraction whenever he gets too frustrated with the contents of his letters.

It is routine. One he quite enjoys, which is why when you don’t come to his study tonight, he’s not upset, he’s worried. He thinks to ignore it and continue on with his work, but he struggles to concentrate on any of it when his mind keeps wandering back to you.

He has enough after a few minutes and rises to his feet intending to find you and determine that everything is alright. As he walks around the Great Keep, not a single person he passes can tell him where you are. His casual stroll slowly morphs into a hurried walk as he begins heading towards your chambers. That is when he runs into someone.

Elyse.

He almost doesn’t realise it is her at first, so focused on where he is going that he brushes past her. It is only at the sound of her voice when she stops to curtsey that he recognises who it is. He spins back around as he already passed her a little, cocking his head to the side.

“Elyse,” he breathes as he approaches her slowly, “How are you?”

They have not spoken in some weeks now. It is awkward between them. It has never been awkward. He suspects that she has been avoiding him, but a part of him chooses to believe that only because he has in fact been avoiding her out of guilt.

She looks up at him, a thin yet soft smile on her lips. “I am well,” she says, though her pained eyes tell a different story.

Robb has the urge to pry her for more questions. The only reason he has stayed away from her is because things can never be as they were once. Not if he intends to honour his vows to you.

He doesn’t want her to feel as though he has simply cast her aside and forgotten her. But as soon as he’s about to raise a hand to take hers, he stops himself, remembering why he is here in this corridor in the first place. He is trying to find you.

“Have you seen…?” his voice trails off before he can say your name. He doesn’t know if that would be offensive or unnecessarily hurtful.

But it doesn’t need to be said because she knows who he refers to just by the look in his eyes.

“The Queen is in her chambers. With Maester Luwin.”

That means something is wrong, and though he wants to stay and ease Elyse’s hurt, he does not have the time for it.

“Thank you, Elyse,” he lingers for a moment, knowing there are still many things unsaid between them, before making his way to your chambers.

Just as he arrives at the door, Maester Luwin steps outside, jumping when he sees Robb.

“Your Grace,” he bows as best as he can while shutting the door, " Forgive me, I was not expecting you."

Robb frowns as he glances from the closed door to Maester Luwin, “Has something happened?”

The Maester shakes his head slowly, “Her Grace has fallen ill, but–”

“Why was I not made aware?"

"It was quite sudden," he explains, then places a hand on Robb's shoulder, "But it is nothing serious, you need not worry yourself."

Mester Luwin's voice is comforting, but Robb's heart remains unsettled. You are his responsibility now, and whatever pain befalls you – illness or injury – weighs on him. That is the only reason why he is concerned.

The only reason.

He looks at Maester Luwin and asks, "What ails her?"

Maester Luwin seems unsure of whether to answer at first, but then he lowers his voice and begins to speak, "You are aware that women pass bloods once every moon's turn?"

In fact Robb did not know that it happens every moon's turn. He thought it happened once when a girl becomes a woman. Nevertheless, he nods his head as if he did know before this very moment.

"Is that what this is?"

Maester Luwin nods, “It seems Her Grace passes her moonblood with great difficulty. But her pain and discomfort should fade in the coming days.”

Robb glances at the door yet again, debating whether or not he should go in.

“She is resting now,” Maester Luwin says, practically peering into Robb’s thoughts, “You should look in on her, put your mind at ease.”

His head snaps in the maester’s direction, “My mind is already at ease.” There is a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin bows before taking his leave to return to the rookery.

Alone with his own thoughts, Robb considers returning to his solar to continue working. He knows now that no great harm has befallen you and you will be just fine, but his heart is still unsatisfied. With little hesitation, he twists the handle and pushes the door open.

One week after your wedding, Robb began to notice that his chambers smelled different. It almost annoyed him how quickly the room adopted your scent. It clung to everything, the sheets, the pillows – even Robb's own clothes. But over time, he came to appreciate that earthy, yet sweet smell. It gave him comfort.

That is why the first thing he notices upon entering the room is how different it smells. The aroma of medicine hangs in the air, no doubt from whatever treatment Maester Luwin has provided.

You're lying on the bed when he enters, curled up into a ball. As soon as Robb closes the door, your eyes flutter open, following him as he approaches you wordlessly.

"Your Grace," you begin in the softest voice he's ever heard from your lips, "I would curtsey or sit up, but as you can see, I am in no state for such."

"I wouldn’t ask you to," he smiles as he sits on the bed right beside you. He glances at the cup sitting on your bedside table, "What are you drinking?"

You tilt your head slightly to see what Robb is looking at before returning your gaze to him. "Maester Luwin gave me something for the pain," you say, "I don't remember what is in it."

"You are in pain?"

Robb's concern increases when you nod.

"Where is the pain?" he asks.

"Here."

Robb looks down at where your hand is cradling your stomach. His eyes snap back up to you when he hears you wince, clutching your stomach tighter. He hates to see you in such terrible pain, and it is worse knowing he can do nothing to ease it.

"Will it be like this for you after every moon's turn?"

You shake your head, "Not every time. It was not like this during the last one – that is why you did not know it was happening."

Even after seeing you and speaking with you, Robb's worry does not dissipate. There is still a pit in his stomach. It dawns on him that he is not only concerned because you are his responsibility. He wants you to recover quickly because…well, it is you.

He raises his hands to your face, stopping when he sees the startled look on your face.

"Do you mind?" he asks, hands still hovering over you. He proceeds when you nod.

Gently, he presses his palms against your cheeks. You remain completely still under his touch, your heart racing. After a moment, he moves his hand to your forehead.

"What are you doing?"

He looks down, meeting your eyes which are staring up at him, before pulling back from you, "I'm checking for a fever."

You chuckle lightly, an infectious sound, "I'm not sure fevers are common with my particular ailment."

"It is better to be sure."

You smile softly before closing your eyes, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Robb sits there, listening to your breathing and waiting for you to fall asleep.

After a few minutes, your eyes open again.

"Don't let me keep you, you ought to rest," you whisper, "Your mother has prepared the guest chamber for you."

Robb is taken aback, "The guest chamber? Why should I stay there and not here as always?"

"Because you work from dawn to dusk and I will not have you lacking sleep simply because I am ill. Besides, your mother insisted."

Robb looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. Of course his mother would be the one to insist. But still, he does not want to bring you any further discomfort anyways, so he obliges yours and his mother's wishes.

"I will be sure to look in on you again tomorrow," he promises as he rises to his feet. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he finally says, "Sleep well, Y/N."

***

The next night, Robb is not happy when he finds the tray from your supper untouched. It lies discarded on the floor beside your bed, not even a grain of rice has been moved.

You're asleep when he enters the room, and even when he sits on the bed, you remain still. There is no snoring however, which lets Robb know that you are not sleeping soundly. Your forehead is creased and even in your sleep you're clutching something to your stomach.

This illness seems to have gotten worse, which only serves to make Robb feel more guilty for not coming to see you during the day. He leans down and presses the back of his hand to your clammy forehead, then his palms to your cheeks. Just to be sure again that there is no fever.

You wake while he is in the middle of doing this, momentarily shocked to see him practically on top of you. Robb instantly draws his hands back when he hears your gasp.

"I apologise, I was only checking–"

"Robb," you sigh heavily and slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, "There is no fever. I have told you, this will pass."

He nods even though his worry remains.

"I'm sorry that I did not come earlier."

You wave a hand and shake your head. "It is quite alright, I completely under–"

You're cut off by an intense and sharp pain in your lower stomach and back that makes you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Too distracted by the pain, you don't even realise when Robb takes your hand at first, but once his calloused fingers clasp around your hand, you give it a tight squeeze to help the pain pass.

"Are you alright?"

Your eyes open to meet Robb's staring back into them. His brows are drawn together and he is sitting close to you on the bed, both his hands now holding yours.

"Yes," you whisper as you pull your hand out of his grasp, licking your dry lips, "I'm fine."

He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he sits back, placing his hands back in his lap. You can see clearly that he is concerned about you, more than you expected him to be – likely because he does not understand what is happening.

In some way, it is comforting to know that he cares.

“Tell me what I can do to help you.”

Robb is not a man who enjoys feeling useless. Even more so in recent years, considering all the tragedy that has befallen his family. And seeing you this way, sickly and vulnerable – the complete opposite of how he’s always seen you – is deeply unsettling.

"Distract me from the pain," you say, offering him the smallest way to make you feel better, "Tell me about your day. What has kept you so occupied?"

He doesn’t know how talking about ledgers and reports would help you, but he does so anyway.

“I spent much of the day preparing for the arrival of some men from the front.”

“Who is coming?”

“Lord Umber is bringing back some of the men we captured,” he sighs, “Our cells down there are too crowded, and some of the men are workers whose surrenders I’ve accepted.”

You raise a skeptical brow, “You trust Lannister soldiers?”

Robb is surprised – and a little amused – that you’re questioning his decision. He’s not sure he minds, however. In fact, he appreciates your taking an interest.

“I don’t,” he chuckles, “But these are men from the Brotherhood Withou–“

He’s cut off when you grab his hand to squeeze as another cramp hits. Instantly he forgets what he was talking about and gently takes both your hands. When the pain passes, you reach over to the side table and take a sip from the cup sitting there.

You notice Robb's inquisitive stare and nod to the cup, "It's the same tea from last night," you mumble, your eyes feeling heavier, "Apparently, it is a weaker dosage of milk of the poppy."

"Milk of the poppy makes you drowsy, no?"

"That explains why I have slept most of the day," you smile weakly.

Robb chuckles and strokes the back of your hand as you lean back and shut your eyes, "I should not have woken you."

"Perhaps not."

"Shall I leave?" he asks.

"No," you answer in a light voice, barely above a whisper, "Stay."

And so he does. He watches over you even after you fall asleep. It is not until your light snores begin to fill the room, a sure sign that you are in a deep slumber, that he decides to leave. He gently places your hand over your stomach and pulls the blankets up to your chest to make sure that you stay warm through the night.

Before he leaves, he can't help but watch you for a moment, listening to your slow breathing. You appear so at peace, and the sight warms his heart. In that moment, he knows that he has let go of any residual resentment he may have had towards you.

"Do feel better soon, my Lady," he whispers, "I long for our evening chats."

*

Special thanks to these lovely people (and all the new people hiiii!😘 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):

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[sincerelyhecate]

you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze

Title: you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze (final chapter)

Pairing: Jason Grace/Percy Jackson

Length: 7.9k words

You can also read this on AO3.

∘◦ ☆ ◦∘

Six years later.

On a lovely Saturday morning, in the kitchen of Jason and Percy’s home, it isn’t strange for one to hear the screams of Piper McLean echoing throughout the cosy ambience of the place. Today the sound is shrill and delighted, whistle-like before devolving into banshee cackles, to the absolute indifference of everyone else in the vicinity. In her precarious clutch is a rumpled copy of the Daily Prophet hanging on for dear life, papers on the verge of falling apart from the way it’s shaken this way and that. Poring over the morning news next to her hysterical girlfriend (or rather, trying to), Annabeth makes a face, disturbed by the headline emblazoned on the front page.

Jason, who’s preoccupied with wardrobe preparations for the International Quidditch Gala this evening, which is to be hosted in London this year, cannot be bothered to investigate his best friend’s cause of hysteria. Piper hops on a mission to rupture her close friends’ eardrums at least three times a day, most of the time because of things as small as losing a game of Exploding Snaps, so the effort would’ve been for naught. You can even say it’s a regular phenomenon in his life. Non-indicative of anything in need of serious attention.

On the other hand, he’s dealing with a slightly bigger problem: everything for the gala should’ve been in order before noon, which is only thirty minutes away. His Percy, who is sweet and charming and would probably kill another man for him, has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate whenever he gets ready (“Can’t we snog for just another five minutes, babe? Please?”); another regular phenomenon in this household. And tardiness is simply out of the question today, when both of them will be the highlights of the event tonight.

Thalia, nursing a cup of tea for her hangover, walks around the kitchen island toward the girls to take a curious look. Jason jerks in surprise, barely managing to catch the bundle of robes falling out of his hold, when she all but shrieks, “JASON, WHAT HAS THAT TWAT DONE TO YOU?!”

Uh, oh.

When he gathers enough courage to glance her way, his sister has collapsed on a nearby chair. Her sharp face paints a perfect mixture of devastation and rage.

“My sweet, innocent baby brother!” she wails to the ceiling, like there’s an unknowable power above that could answer her woes. Her fingers clutch tufts of her black hair in anguish, like he’s about to be boiled inside a bubbling cauldron right before her eyes. “Debauched and corrupted by that filthy, foul beast!”

There’s an internal defensive system in Jason that’s set up for Percy, activating automatically whenever the man is spoken ill of. It doesn’t care for the offending person, whether they’re family, friend or foe.

“Excuse me?” he thus demands, incredulous by his sister’s exaggerated lament. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about. What’s even going on?”

“He’s what’s going on!” Thalia yells back, but it’s too late. Her words might as well be the passing wind by then. For Jason, a helpless romantic by default, has already found himself scatterbrained by the word he just uttered.

Fiancé.

Isn’t it so telling of his character that, even in the face of Thalia Grace’s unbridled rage, his heart still embarrassingly flips at the word for the nth time? It’s mad. It's invigorating at the same time. Every time he says it, it’s as if the word has been just newly minted into his vocabulary. Like the idea of it is just dawning on him for the very first time.

And really, can anyone blame his tongue when it tastes honeyed mead every time?

His trembling heart, when the man he’s engaged to is the one and only Percy Jackson?

The giddiness overwhelming his chest, when he’s due being wedded to the love of his life one day, the owner of his heart and soul?

Reality still hasn’t set in completely. One in which he’ll be tying the knot with his Hogwarts sweetheart. Promising a lifetime with him. Loving each other till death do them part, then reunite them in the afterlife. Everything feels like a dream still, rose-coloured and hazy, even when three months have already passed since he said yes.

Like second nature, his thumb finds the lovely band wrapped around his ring finger. A sweet reminder that follows him wherever he goes. Counting days, that seem longer the nearer the date of their happy end and new beginning.

Speaking of which, the date has been easy to decide. And Jason, on his part, thinks their choice is perfect. He knows Percy thinks the same too, so attuned with each other they are; two meshing gears in a well-oiled machine.

After all, what’s more romantic than to have your first kiss as a husband on the date you had as a boyfriend?

The story of their engagement day was an incredible one.

The talk of wizarding Britain for a month straight, it made the headline of the Prophet the very next day, dethroned the current It Witch Drew Tanaka in the cover of Witch Weekly the very next week (“The Wicked has fallen!” Piper had yelled), before making its home in the gossip column for at least three subsequent issues of any known wizarding publication.

Representing the UK, Jason had just sealed their victory against Peru in the World Cup finals that very fateful day. When he had presented the Snitch to Percy, as per their very own personal tradition, Percy had in turn knelt on the grass and stolen Jason’s heart once more. His adorably shaky fingers had unclasped the golden ball to reveal the most brilliant thing Jason had ever seen: a ring of rose gold etched in intricate waves, the head mounted with a sparkling aquamarine.

With the same solemnity, the exact sincerity, his voice held when he had first asked Jason to be his lover, Percy had said:

“Jason Grace, will you marry me?”

There was only one correct answer.

A photo, capturing the moment Jason had jumped into Percy’s arms before kissing him like his life depended on it, would make itself a permanent home on one of the walls of their hallway.

Later that night, with the warmth of afterglow still thrumming under his skin, and the sense of security taking form in the arms wrapped around him, he asked his would-be husband, “What would’ve happened if I’d lost the match?”

Percy made a show of humming in thought, complete with a contemplative frown. Apparently, via means Jason couldn’t even try to comprehend, he’d somehow colluded with the organisers to have the Snitch carry the engagement ring the whole game, with the goal of letting Jason unknowingly catch it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Percy decided, “because you didn’t lose.”

As his fingers drew shapeless patterns on Percy’s fuzzy chest, he mused, “I could have.”

“Nah,” Percy retorted, his voice taking on the stubborn edge that Jason was so intimately acquainted with. “I did my calculations, baby. I knew you’d win before you even got to the stadium.”

“Statistically, my darling, there’s always a possibility that I could,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “What would you've done, then?”

“My calculations were perfect, thank you very much,” Percy said, also matter-of-factly. “So, I still wouldn’t have known!”

“Have you already forgotten that time you’d lost a match against Hufflepuff? A team you had been one hundred percent confident you’d win against?”

“Oh,” Percy drawled. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, his eyes glinted like the rippling ocean under the moonlight. “I see how it is.” His lips, swollen from being kissed so much, bit back a smile. “Making your future spouse recall a traumatic experience now, aren’t you, Mr Jackson-Grace? Right after the best fucking sex we’ve ever had of all times? Shouldn’t you wait at least a month after the wedding to show your true colours?”

“Oh, Mr Grace-Jackson,” Jason replied sweetly, burying his nose into Percy’s sternum. He wanted to stay there forever. “You know I’d play all the cards in my hands whenever we argue.”

The throaty laugh escaping Percy’s lips was siren-like in its melody, stoking the fire within his chest brighter. He wished the sound could stay entrapped in his ear canals forever; he never wanted to stop listening to it.

“Well, if you wanna know so badly,” Percy relented. “In the almost impossible, purely hypothetical, higher-chance-Dumbledore-would-sooner-rise-from-his-grave scenario of you losing…I’d be thoroughly fucked!”

Their laughter twirled together in a dance above their heads.

“I’d probably have to steal the Snitch from the other team too,” Percy said amidst his giggles, “before they unknowingly take your ring across the ocean. Luckily for us,” he grinned, so beguilingly handsome. “I’m rather a prolific Seeker myself.”

His heart an ocean of bliss, Jason stifled a yawn and buried himself deeper into Percy’s embrace. How surreal it felt now, even after years of doing it; to lie in the arms of this beautiful man who wouldn’t just be his lover anymore. Who would also be his husband soon, his partner for life. A dream he didn’t have to wake up from, because it’s now the indubitable reality.

As he basked in such loveliness, a question formed itself in the back of his sleep-addled mind. “Darling.”

“Baby.”

“Should we go for the hyphen route, how do we decide the order of our surnames?”

“Let’s just draw lots tomorrow and call it a day,” Percy said.

“It won’t work with just the two of us, will it?”

“We’re hosting the get-together dinner with the Hogwarts lot, aren’t we?” Percy reminded him, finishing his words with a gigantic yawn. “Let’s do it with them, then.”

“Fantastic,” Jason mumbled. Despite the young night, sleepiness tugged at his eyelids. The rising and falling of Percy’s chest made it impossible to ignore. The cool sensation around his ring finger followed him into his dream, of an ethereal painting of rose petals on the sand and an altar by the beach.

The following day was an event in and of itself. After drawing lots five times in rapid succession, a couple of heated arguments between Thalia, Nico and Reyna that almost turned into a duel, and a chaotic coin toss that somebody had charmed into displaying heads on both sides, the decision was ultimately vetoed by the happy couple in the end.

And so, Jason was proud to announce that he would one day be known as a Mr Jackson-Grace.

“Jason! Jason!”

“Er, what?”

“Care to explain this?!” Thalia’s anguished voice pierces through Jason’s fond recounting of his most favourite memory. ”You’d never say stuff like this before! And to the press of all people? Are you out of your mind?!”

She snatches the newspaper from Piper before shoving the front page in his face. A huge moving photograph, of him smiling genially amidst the many blinding flashes of the camera, adorns half the page. In bold capitalised letters, the headline reads: 

GRACE’S SECRET TO PEERLESS FLYING: “I RIDE MY FIANCÉ EVERY NIGHT.”

His jaw drops against his will. Finding the sufficient words to describe the sheer absurdity is a struggle on its own. After a good ten seconds, however, amusement betrays him in the end. It’s hard not to join in on Piper’s shrill laughter, which has yet to cease after five solid minutes, when you also happen to be the reason.

Merlin. The press can be crazy at times, but he certainly didn’t expect it to be this insane.

“What are you laughing about?!” Thalia demands.

“Okay. In my defence,” he takes a deep breath to compose himself, his grin refusing to go away, “I distinctly remember saying to the reporters that I ride with Percy every night. On our broomsticks. Separately.”

“So that’s why people were giving me funny looks at Diagon Alley,” a voice, dear and familiar, says on his right, just as he feels an arm snakes around his waist.

“Percy!” He didn’t notice their fireplace going off when the man in question Floo-ed in.

“Hello, my sweet.” 

Jason sees his amused grin before his green eyes, still gleaming with the same kind of endearing boyishness from six years ago. As easy as breathing, Percy pulls him by the waist to plant a sweet kiss on the corner of his jaw, unbothered by the soot all over himself. As always, his black hair is a handsomely tousled mess, bangs draping over his lovely eyes gossamer-like. Jason waves the shopping bags away to fussily brush the dust off his fiancé.

“For the record, ladies,” Percy says, his eyes full of gratitude as he stares into Jason’s, “it’s actually every two to three nights.”

“Percy!” Jason admonishes, his reprimand ineffective by his own giggle.

“We should still sue the wankers, though! For all their worth,” Percy adds, serious yet unserious at the same time. He rests his forehead against Jason’s, and they share a fond, helpless grin.

“Merlin’s pants, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth chastises as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Could’ve gone peacefully without knowing that.” Exasperated, she snatches the offending newspaper back, before flipping to a presumably less crazier section.

“And I would’ve hexed your stupid arse to oblivion if Jason didn't love you as much as he does, Jackson,” Thalia supplies. It isn’t as threatening as usual. Her fondness for their display of affection must’ve mellowed her down.

“Love you too, Thals,” Percy throws a cheeky grin her way, chuckling as they watch her face fight off a smile behind her cup.

Jason’s heart squeezes happily. To see two of his most favourite people getting on is a blessing he won’t exchange for anything else.

Percy lets go of his waist, but not before nipping his lower lip affectionately. The spoils of his shopping float along as he crosses to the kitchen, arranging themselves into the arrays of cabinets and drawers and the large refrigerator.

As a half-blood, Percy has insisted on retaining a portion of his Muggle lifestyle. They purchased a home in a Muggle neighbourhood as a result, a quaint double-storey semi-detached house fondly dubbed as the Cabin, a callback from Percy’s favourite place back in his mum’s hometown in New York. It’s only a twenty-minute drive away from the Jackson-Blofis’, filled with everything you could find in a cosy Muggle household. The only recognizable magic consists of the private Floo connection and the Fidelius Charm, to keep the press and some deranged Quidditch fans away.

Over the hours, more of their friends come over. Grover and his girlfriend Juniper; Leo, Hazel and Frank; Nico, Will and Reyna; and Rachel, the last to arrive with her makeup supplies for Piper’s MUA duties. With every familiar face popping out of the fireplace, Jason can see the ever-present smile on Percy’s gorgeous face growing wider, his own heart soaring higher in return. 

Times like this, when their loved ones are close, are the ones they appreciate the most. With everyone present, the walls of the Cabin would illuminate with the glow of camaraderie. Grover, Percy and Leo would run the kitchen to prepare culinary masterpieces. The ladies, a tightly-knit group as ever, would drag Frank in on one of their shenanigans. Nico and Will would hog the TV to watch some 90s soap operas. 

Jason is content watching from the sidelines, often with a mug filled with hot cocoa in hand, occasionally joining whichever faction that wants him around. He feels happy and included in all of them; it feels like the bond they share transcends lifetimes and worlds over.

Jason probably has the best team of stylists ever. Granted, it’s a ragtag team of his friends who don’t style professionally, only as a hobby, but boy do they come through every time he needs to look good in front of the camera. Their teamwork is a spectacle on its own, working seamlessly like a well-oiled sewing machine whenever Jason Grace needs a look (“Lewk,” Piper would always correct him) worthy of the male celebrities’ section of Witch Weekly. 

The process is simple and well-rehearsed, divided according to each member’s talent. Rachel sketches and colours, Annabeth measures and sews, and Piper paints the face. Hazel and Reyna assist on the side, while Thalia sips a glass of firewhisky nearby, occasionally giving her grunts of approval. The men know to stay clear, though Nico and Will would sometimes chime in to provide helpful input.

The theme this time is robin egg blue. Their suits, tailored to match as always, quality rivalling those of Madam Malkin’s, are embroidered gorgeously in shimmering threads to detail patterns of clouds and waves, illustrating the horizon parting the crystalline skies and the tranquil seas. To distinguish the wearer, Percy’s suit is of a slimmer cut to fit his swimmer’s build, whilst Jason’s tapers at the waist to accommodate his own shape. Instead of flowing around the body like Jason’s does, the shine of Percy’s dress robe magically ripples downwards, to mimic merry waves hitting a summertime beach.

When Percy twirls around to showcase his outfit, Jason has never seen a lovelier picture. How is it fair for him to fall for the most beautiful man in the world? He’s not sure he can survive their first fitting in the future.

Then, it is time for makeup. Though he knew he shouldn’t be looking down on Piper’s skills (which are godly, by the way, despite her aversion to wearing any kind of cosmetics herself), it didn’t prevent his usual unfair presumption: nothing she attempts could ever hope to elevate the perfect canvas that is Percy’s face. Perfection cannot be improved, after all, and Percy’s natural features were painted by the Muses.

But once she’s done, and Percy turns to look at him, lo and behold: once again, she has achieved the impossible. Clever enough to leave the canvas as it is, she’s added subtle yet intricate engravings to its frame, tastefully complementing the existing work of art.

Hazel voices out his thoughts helpfully: “Wow. Makeup is really a whole other branch of magic.”

“Funny, because this collection is all Muggle-made,” Rachel says with a sprinkle of smugness.

When his eyes arrive at Percy’s countenance from their frantic travelling up his physique, whatever air that was left inside his lungs departs in a sharp outtake of breath.

A poet would find inspiration from the glitter that hung from the curve of Percy’s long, rich eyelashes; compose songs in the subtle turquoise blended into his eyelids. A painter could paint flowers of the prettiest pigment if they extract the rose of his lips; sandy beaches from the smooth brown of his flawless skin; and the seashells dotting the sand from the shadows of his stubble. His hair, untameable like the roughest of seas, is now subdued to a windswept look that weakens Jason’s knees.

He's no artist, but a strong urge to get a drawing quill and a roll of parchment suddenly overwhelms his chest. A subject like Percy would only allow masterpieces to exist, even if made by hands as untrained as his.

“Breathe, guys,” Leo pipes up.

Oh. Being deprived of air for quite some time, his lungs have long caught on fire. The adrenaline flowing through his veins is better than Quidditch itself.

When did Percy close the distance between them? He’s a few metres away just a second ago, and now Jason can smell the seaside tang of his breath, its warmth caressing his cheeks like sea breeze. Up close, his sea green irises, left untouched by the makeover, turn out the most beautiful. Bright, earnest and pure, just like how they were in the trophy room a million years ago.

“I would kiss you senseless right now,” Percy says, his grin widening into that of the Cheshire Cat’s, “but I can’t do that without ruining our lipsticks.”

Jason’s own makeover has been nothing special. A dash of glitter here, a few brushes of rouge there, over and out. “Frankly, Jason, Mum would probably be pissed if she ever sees me touching your face up,” Piper says, the meaning of her words escaping his understanding. The mirror seems to agree; he hardly sees a difference after she's done.

Not that it matters in the end. After all, he’s always been a poor judge of his own looks. Though judging from Percy’s reaction, she’s probably done an exquisite job. And he only really cares for Percy’s opinion.

“Er, should we leave?” Grover says. “Looks like they’re about to undress each other again.”

“Ew!” exclaims someone else, but Jason is too entranced at this point to know who.

“Alright, everyone out!” Percy announces with a clap that resounds in his head, kind enough to break him out of his silly reverie. “Thank you so much for pretty much everything, but we’re about to head out, and we don’t want to be greeted by a pile of rubble when we get back.”

“Can’t even trust your own friends with house-sitting?” Nico says.

“I’m gonna fuck him as soon as we walk through the door when we’re back,” Percy replies with a shrug, “and I wouldn’t care who’s there to—”

Half of them are out the door before Percy could finish his sentence.

“Works every time,” Percy said, as soon as Thalia, the last of their friends, Floo-ed away in an angry burst of green flames.

“You’re a walking menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

“And I love you for it.”

Jason walks backwards as he guides Percy by the hand towards the back door, not at all worried of running into anything by accident, every inch of the Cabin long mapped into the back of his mind. The evening breeze greets them as they step outside, its scent a little damp and woody. Their most favourite spot to Disapparate together is the backyard, a shrine filled with all kinds of paraphernalia, big or small, narrating tales of their loved ones. Sally’s beds of roses, Estelle’s mini playground, Paul’s tools for his home projects, Thalia’s archery targets; things to miss when they depart, and to look forward to seeing when they arrive home. He already misses all of them. 

Right at the threshold of the pathway leading to their private Quidditch pitch, Percy loosens his hold to lace their fingers together. Where they've always belonged.

“You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

There’s a hint of a whine in Percy’s next words. “Can’t wait to get home already.”

Jason smiles softly. “I’ll be there with you, won't I?

“Oh!” Percy mirrors his expression. “You’re right.”

Home is wherever they’re together, after all.

Before the swirling darkness of Disapparation takes over, Percy’s warm face, evoking all good feelings within those privileged enough to witness, is the last thing Jason sees.

***

Percy isn’t the most self-conscious person in the room, but they really do make quite the pair before the press.

And Merlin, is he not made to be press material.

“And joining us for the gala this beautiful evening is the thrice world champion, the hottest Seeker in the scene, Jason Grace! And his wonderful beau Percy Jackson!” Despite the Sonorus spell casted directly to his throat, the interviewer somehow finds it necessary to shout his announcement anyway, like it’s the only way to be heard above all the clicking noises of the press cameras. His face, in Percy’s honest opinion, looks exceptionally punchable.

All around the press wall, which bears the logos of the International Association of Quidditch and its various sponsors, white flashes assault Percy and Jason’s visions blind as they try for smiles that might as well be grimaces. The only solace is Jason’s fingers intertwining his, a sweet anchor in a sea of madness.

Right this second is Percy’s least favourite part of this whole semi-famous thing he has going on as Jason’s partner. Not that he has any place he’d rather be other than by Jason’s side. Not at all. It’s just that being the centre of attention isn’t very kind to his temperament, and the noise and the flashes and the heat only serve to make things worse.

Ever his hero in shining armor, Jason does his best to direct all the attention to himself, cutting through the questions quickly so they can move on. In the meantime, Percy tries his best to maintain his dwindling composure and stave off his rising nausea. His vision flies everywhere, in need of something easier on the eye to help. Predictably, Jason’s perfect side profile does the trick.

“Hello? Earth to Percy?” a ping of a voice intrudes his already wobbling mindscape. He barely suppresses the urge to growl like a territorial wolf.

“Er, yes?”

“Other than staring at your fiancé all evening, which is understandable,” the interviewer jokes, like he ever has the right to, “what are you most excited for in this event?”

Deep breaths. Remember your PR training. Make Frank proud.

“Going home, definitely,” Percy says, his next words accompanied with a wink. “Jason and I have our nightly riding to do.”

Jason laughs before playfully pinching his side. “He meant broomstick riding, by the way. No funny headlines tomorrow, folks.”

“Or our lawyer will keep in touch!” Percy adds with a cheeky grin. Jason laughs again as he waggles his index finger at the interviewer—a lighthearted warning of a not-so-lighthearted consequence.

“Cheeky as always!” the interviewer says cheerfully. His posture betrays otherwise, visibly unsettled by the threat lurking underneath their unassuming smiles. “Now, Jason, what do you think of the new faces for this upcoming—”

Despite his discomfort for interviews, Jason glows like the star he is, the perfect picture of a celebrity sportsman. The marvel of his glasses perching on the strong curve of his nose serves as Percy’s distraction for the next few minutes of press torture. Then, before he can give in to Disapparating back to the Cabin on the spot, they’re finally, finally being led towards the heart of the celebration.

As they walk through the grand double doors and into the gargantuan hall serving as the venue, Jason’s hand around his own tightens in a quick squeeze, as if to say, ‘Good job out there.’

It could also mean nothing, but he finds himself preening anyway.

Out of biased nostalgia, he’s inclined to believe that the Great Hall back in Hogwarts is the most magical place when it comes to hosting a grand event. Now that he’s here, this place certainly gives it a run for its Galleons. The ceiling is conceptually familiar, charmed in a way to showcase the astral magnificence above, but the interior design, boasting impressive Ancient Roman architecture, certainly exudes more pzazz. Every inch of it speaks of grandeur, dialled up to eleven, regaled by the marble floor and the pillars of gold, giving off the illusion of an ancient godly residence.

In celebration of Quidditch and the sportsmanship it brings out of every attendee, waiters zoom around on leisure broomsticks, handing out glasses of overpriced beverages to those desiring to drink the night away. Replicas of the Golden Snitch flit over people’s heads, dangling lucky prizes to whoever manages to catch them by hand (no brooms allowed). Tables topped with crystal covers, decorated with swaths of silk ribbons, boast fancy china plates of culinary specialties hailing from every member country of the Association. The aroma hanging over the dining area is enough to make anyone with working taste buds salivate. The festive air is so electric, Percy could almost feel its buzz within his bones.

Merlin, he thinks ruefully, it’s gonna be a long night.

An event like this, in which the majority of its attendees are world-class athletes, can only mean one thing: good-looking people frolicking around everywhere. People whose winks can make the average Quidditch fan blush in an instant, whose musculature can make anyone weak in the knees…for those who are looking, this place is a prime opportunity for a prospective relationship, serious or otherwise. More than once Percy could recognize people he’d seen countless times in magazines, some of them legends whose active years even preceded his time in Hogwarts.

Despite that, it’s funny how nobody holds a candle to Jason. Pale in comparison, pitifully eclipsed, reduced to the shadows, by the walking sun by his side.

Jason’s ensemble for the night seems to agree with him, billowing around his fit body like a cool superhero’s cape. The eye-catching robin egg blue perfectly complements his divine exterior, making every feature pop; his eyes bluer, his lips redder, his hair as if spun from pure gold. Matching robes was probably the best decision they’ve ever made as a celebrity couple. Percy loves how it tells everyone else who he belongs to, who he belongs with.

I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?

“I heard Albus has already started his first year at Hogwarts,” Jason says out of the blue, eyes casted towards a corner of the hall, unaware of how musical he sounds in Percy’s ears. “He’s grown so big already.”

Percy follows his gaze to see the Potters, who—sans their infamous eldest child—are lounging around a table at the VIP section. Despite drawing every eye in the vicinity to their general direction, they mostly keep to themselves, only making polite conversations with the starry-eyed passersby when necessary. The boy in question, a downright clone of his legendary dad, is particularly gloomy-looking.

“And little Lily! It feels like only yesterday since she’s this small,” Jason says adoringly, hands shaped as if holding an invisible Quaffle.

“You sound like you’re the one giving birth to her.”

“Half of the League players think they did,” Jason agrees. He then sighs, in a longing way that makes Percy’s heart clench. “Having kids must be so lovely.”

“Wait ‘til we get home, baby. I’ll put as many as you want inside you.”

Jason pauses, eyes widening in surprise, before a hopelessly infatuated grin cracks his face.

“Oh my wonderfully vulgar fiancé,” he whispers, chuckling amusedly as he closes the already small distance between them. The azure of his eyeliner sparkles as he blinks at Percy, wondrous, like his offhanded dirty talking is ever something to wonder about. He noses Percy’s cheek, affectionate, as if they’re not at the edge of the polychromatic dance floor about to headline a ball. “You’re lucky I’m beyond head over heels for you.”

Overhead, the emcee announces their presence and implores them to take the floor. They walk hand in hand as they do, soaking in the cheers all over. As the band begins to play the flowy tune of an idyllic waltz, Jason turns around, places his hand over his heart, and takes a bow before Percy. The fabric of his robe flows around him majestically, in tandem with his elegant gestures. 

Mine, Percy thinks.

“May I have this dance?” Jason extends his hand out, offering a beacon of happiness.

Percy takes that warm, solid grip into his own. Goosebumps run down every inch of him as he feels the callouses that have long etched themselves into his own skin. Everything else tunes itself out. It’s a wonderful feeling that never ages: as familiar as home, yet so novel every time.

With Jason Grace, everything is a never-ending loop of a brand new experience.  

Jason’s other hand touches the small of his back. With a slight push inwards, he brings their bodies flush together. Like they’re created so, their fingers connect seamlessly. In a flash, the surrounding banishes itself into non-existence, and they’re left all alone.

“I’m all yours,” Percy replies, right before he’s brought to a twirl for a night to remember.

Ah. Twelve years old Percy would probably cry at the sight of them dancing like this. Maybe wish he’d grow faster just to rush headlong into this moment.

Twenty-four years old Percy is rather simple; he’s the happiest he ever feels.

This happiness will certainly grow when Jason walks down the aisle towards him in the near future, ready to proclaim their sacred, eternal vows.

But now?

To dance in their private bubble of bliss, while the rest of the world ceases to exist?

Nothing could ever compare—past, present and future.

“Ow,” Jason says as Percy steps on his foot.

Way to ruin the moment. “Whoops.”

“Oh, darling.” Jason’s voice is hoarse and thick. “I’m so happy I could cry. Thank you for snapping me out of it.”

Percy decides against admitting that he’s three seconds away from bawling himself. Blinking the sting away, he resorts to giving Jason something better: his most charming, carefree grin yet. “Anytime.”

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?”

Jason yelps a little as Percy pushes him down to kiss him deep.

“Get over yourself,” he says against Jason’s lips. Cradled in his arm, Jason’s broad back is pliant and warm. “I am.”

And thus the dance floor transforms itself into clouds for good. Everywhere around them turns into the vast blue sky, unlimited. Jason mirrors his face, all luscious pink and pearly whites, woven and painted and carved from the finest stuff of dreams, before he takes him for the soaring of his lifetime.

They stumble upon the Potters on their way to sneak out, not even an hour into the gala. It’s one of their signature moves in any event, common knowledge to any organiser at this point. One that Percy finds to be a lot of fun. Accept the invitation, create a spectacle, then ditch the place before the celebration reaches its peak.

He didn’t expect the most famous wizard in the world would also do the same.

“Hello, my good chaps,” says the Boy Who Lived. “Off to escape too?”

“Oh!” Jason exclaims, reverting to an eleven-year-old meeting his hero for the first time. “Good evening, Mr Potter, Ginny.”

“Funny how you call my wife by her first name but not me,��� Harry Potter says amusedly. “Just call me Harry.”

Out of kindness, Percy does not point out the second flustered, “Oh!” coming out of Jason. “I’m so sorry. It’s the first time we ever talked, so I wasn’t sure if it’s proper.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jason,” Ginny says kindly. “A friend of mine is a friend of Harry’s.”

“Right,” Harry says.

“Right!” Jason says sheepishly. After a second of visibly collecting himself, he gestures towards Percy with a grand wave, like presenting a masterpiece. Always doing the most during introductions. “And this is my very lovely fiancé, Percy Jackson.”

Percy elbows him good-naturedly before giving the family a small wave. “Hi.”

“Go on, kids,” Harry says. “Introduce yourselves.”

Like Weasley-made firecrackers, so full of life: “Hi, I’m Lily! I’m a huge fan of yours, Mr Grace!”

The way Jason glows with adoration is one for the books. Percy almost feels jealous of a child. Almost.

“It’s an honour, Miss Potter. Please, call me Jason,” Jason says with a princely bow, rewarded with a giggle out of the youngest Potter.

From the other kid, an almost inaudible, “Hullo,” escapes. So faint, like the whisper of wind over the spindly branches of the Forbidden Forest. Percy has to strain his ears just to catch it. “Albus.”

“Hello!” Jason says. “I heard it’s your first year at Hogwarts, Albus. Having a good time over there?”

Wrong question. It doesn’t escape both of them the way Ginny whispers to herself, “Oh, dear.” Harry himself has gone stock still, exchanging a worried look with his wife.

When Albus says nothing and just toes the floor with one of his leather shoes, Jason takes the hint with stride and barely a crack to his charming demeanour. “Don’t worry if you aren’t. Hogwarts isn’t the end-all be-all of your life, and you’re barely starting! I’m sure you’ll get the hang of things soon enough.”

“School sucked for me most of the time too. ‘specially when I started,” Percy adds with a shrug. “You’ll be okay. Just find a cute kid to crush on secretly for five years like I did, and use that as motivation to survive your every day.”

“Percy!” Jason exclaims sheepishly, flustered.

“Fine. A best friend can work too!” He leans in so only Albus can hear. “Nerdy blond boys just worked better in my case.”

Oh, look. There’s a hint of a blush on those freckled cheeks now, barely hidden by the raised shoulders trying to cover equally pink ears. One way or another, his words have hit a mark within the boy. Mayhaps they’re kindred souls; he somehow knows their situations aren’t so dissimilar.

He pushes his luck just a tad further. “As long as they’re there, right?”

Though Albus is still adamant to not meet any of their gazes, a few seconds pass before he finally nods. The looks of relief shared between Harry and Ginny are palpable. Percy gives himself a mental pat on the back. Silently, he wishes the young boy all the best.

Maybe he can manage this whole parenting thing. In the far, unforeseeable future, perhaps.

“James didn’t come?” Jason asks the couple. His question is met with two pairs of rolling eyes.

“Oh, he was here. For all of five minutes,” Ginny explains with a hint of exasperation. “Off with his godbrother as soon as he got the chance.”

“I reckon he’s already home by now,” Harry adds. “Which is good, to be fair, because it’s way past their bedtimes. Well, then.” He gives a nod to each of them. “‘Till we meet again, gentlemen.”

“It’s nice meeting you lovely couple,” Ginny says as they all exchange their parting handshakes.

Lily gives them an enthusiastic wave in parting, and Albus finally works up the courage to look them in the eyes. Percy gives the kid what he dubs as his big brother smile, and is rewarded with another determined nod.

Once the Potters Disapparated in a deafening crack, Jason laces their fingers together. He sighs in fondness once more, blissfully unaware of its effect on Percy. “Kids are so lovely, aren’t they?”

And if that isn’t a blatant hint for what awaits him at home, Percy hasn’t a clue what is.

The moon is reminiscent of its shape during their escapade to the Astronomy Tower a millennium ago. 

There are no stakes this time, however. No risk of getting caught by professors or annoying caretakers and their tattling cats. No need to sneak around telescopes and globes while painstakingly covering their tracks. No sense of urgency of impending deadlines, of running out of time, or of counting days until one of them quit Quidditch for good. 

Because now, they have all the time in the world.

Percy and Jason’s private Quidditch pitch is located in a vast area enlarged by magic, its true form being a measly portion of their gated backyard. The spell, of course, was performed by the joint efforts of the brains of their gang, the pitch itself solely of Annabeth’s architectural prowess despite her supposed disinterest for Quidditch. The structure of the building is an almost one-to-one replica of the iconic pitch at Hogwarts, minus the colours of the four Houses found in the decor (which was replaced by their favourite shade of blue as per their personal wishes). Jason’s current team sometimes use it as their base, but most of the time, it is the only witness to Percy and Jason’s private, nightly riding.

Tonight, Jason has a little bit of a surprise for him.

“You still have that old thing?” Percy says amusedly, as Jason, in an impressive show of wandless magic, Vanishes the dust off a very familiar broomstick.

“It’s the broomstick I used when you beat me for the first time,” Jason says casually, slotting the handle between his legs, familiarising with the sensation of it underneath him. He’s never looked more at home. “You bet I’m gonna keep it forever.”

“And you think that’s gonna help you now?” Percy replies, making a show of looking unimpressed.

By today’s standards, the broomstick might as well be an ancient artefact. A far cry from Jason’s current beast reserved for tournaments, on which he would perform gravity defying moves like the god he is, a state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind flying machine handcrafted exclusively for him by the top broomstick makers in Japan.

“If I can’t use any kind of broomstick to beat an old retired school player,” Jason says innocently, “can I even call myself one of the top three Seekers in the world?”

Percy rolls his eyes, prompting an amused snort out of his fiancé. Saying ‘top three’ was just another instance of Jason’s unnecessary humility; he’s officially the no. 1 player, thus the no. 1 Seeker, in the world.

Not that Percy would ever go down without a fight. Especially against the best opponent he could ever have.

Kicking off the ground on one of Jason’s spare broomsticks, which has seen his victory in the World Cup finals four years ago, Percy taunts, “Well, this school player is about to end his retirement just to kick your arse tonight.”

“Fantastic.” Jason’s scar stretches as he grins, the curve of his mouth wide as a hungry wolf's. Despite riding the school standard broomstick, his takeoff is as seamless as ever, like an eagle taking flight. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, they’re flying in tandem with one another, still mostly dressed from the gala. With the robe out of the way, the waistcoat hugs Jason in such a sinful way that emphasises his tight waist.

Percy can’t wait to strip everything off him.

“Remember this other old friend?” Jason says, unveiling yet another surprise as he unclasps his fingers.

The dark does nothing to diminish the golden shine flitting out of his hand. While every single one of the little buggers looks the same to Percy most of the time, he can tell the significance of this particular Golden Snitch. From the way Jason looks at it with an exceptionally adoring gaze, it’s none other than the one that had witnessed the day they became fiancés.

“You know how some old couples would renew their vows?” Jason asks. Percy nods slowly, his heart in his throat. “I was thinking of us doing the same thing.”

His pulse picks up speed. “We’re not married yet.”

“We aren’t, but in our case, I’m not talking about wedding vows.” A deep breath. An earnest gaze. Then, “I’d like a chance to renew our proposal.”

Percy’s chest is a limitless world, of which his soul makes its oyster. “Oh?”

“I never had the chance to propose to you back,” Jason says, a little sheepishly. “Mostly because I never thought I’d be able to outdo yours—the singular most magical thing to ever happen to me.” At the sight of that smile turning a tad more smug, Percy’s poor mind goes into overdrive. “But that changes now.”

“Yeah?”

In a steady voice, Jason announces: “I challenge you to a Seeking game, Percy Jackson. The first to catch the Golden Snitch shall win the chance to propose the other once again.”

The night can’t get any better. “Bring it on, Jason Grace.”

In this game of their own design, the rules are rather simple. The beginning entails letting the Snitch wander off for five minutes, exploring the nook and cranny of the pitch to find the perfect hiding spot, before the Seeking begins. Then, whoever catches it first wins. Simple and, with Jason as his opponent, bloody fun. After playing this game for probably a couple thousand times, Percy is proud to say he’s not falling off too much behind the best Seeker in the world.

(He has a rising suspicion that Jason is secretly training him to play professionally, but that’s a topic for later.)

The measly five minute period is usually the time they’d have a quick chat about nothing or anything. Which, to him, means everything. Sometimes, they’d taunt each other good-naturedly, or playfully try to jostle the other off his broomstick. Most of the time, though, they just revel in the evening air in companionable silence, soaking in each other’s wonderful presence.

Tonight is a tiny bit different.

Almost coyly, yet very coquettish somehow, Jason flies closer to hold his hand and play with his fingers. Embarrassingly, despite everything they've done in bed together, Percy’s heart skips a beat. Their engagement rings are off for now, carried away by the tiny flying ball for this silly little game.

“You know, darling,” his beautiful fiancé says, “we should try for a baby tonight.”

This is bait, he knows that much. But at this point, after years in this perpetually sweet romance, he might as well be an unassuming fish.

Desire pours out of his lips in a rich tone, sultry and deep. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t mind a head start for one before we take our vows.” Jason’s face is so close, their noses are practically brushing against each other. His scent, of butterbeer and strawberries and clouds and invigorating musk, is downright divine. “Build our own little family as soon as possible.”

It's probably bad to have a stiffy while flying, isn't it? That day, Percy learns that wood against wood is rather an uncomfortable combination.

“I’d love that.”

“And you’re gonna make it so good for me tonight, aren’t you?”

Oh, he’ll make it so good for him, alright. So fucking good, Jason won’t be able to walk properly for days. In fact, if there’s even a sliver of possibility that he can, he’ll have Jason out of the game for nine months straight.

“I’ll rock your whole world, baby.”

Like a goddamn puppy, Jason whines needily, before locking their lips together in a searing kiss. Percy momentarily forgets everything. Even himself. “Mhm.”

When Jason pulls back, his face is lovelier than the full moon. His half-lidded gaze is the epitome of allure, his lips a promise to bliss. Percy dies, then comes back, all within a blink of an eye. 

Filthily needy, yet so wholeheartedly sincere, Jason whispers hotly against his mouth: 

“I love you, Percy.”

No paradise could be better than this.

“I love you more—OI!” 

Like a balloon, his reply inflates and bursts into surprised, almost indignant cackles, right after Jason leaves him in a burst of wind. It’s answered with Jason’s own melodic laughter, peals of it ringing into the night, diminishing the farther he zooms away.

Looks like the bloke has some Slytherin in him, after all. Not that it’s a surprise; Percy has poured more than enough inside him, in more ways than one.

Oh, well. While victory is exquisite, he doesn’t really mind losing this time. He has long won. He’s now just indulging the rewards to his endeavours. In fact, there’s little to lose when it comes to loving Jason Grace. His soul is but a measly price.

Letting out a whoop of sheer, unadulterated joy, he presses his torso closer to the handle, summons every bit of his Seeking skills within his body, and rockets after his beloved.

Barreling against the chilly night air, he thinks for the millionth time: what an incredible thing, this love is.

And the world simply agrees. It is pure as the pearlescent moonglow bathing over the pitch, exhilarating like the roaring wind around him. Astoundingly magnificent, like the keeper of his heart soaring over the clouds on a broomstick, unstoppable by none.

Years have passed by, yet Jason still remains the boy that never fails to set his heart ablaze. Everlastingly bright.

The end.