#like her face is an OPEN WOUND. there is BLOOD dripping from her mask | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

firingstars · 13 days ago

Text

faded, but not forgotten

wintersoldier!bucky x blackwidow!reader

summary: chosen for a special hybrid program between the red room and hydra, you find yourself being trained by the winter soldier himself. you continue to watch as the numbers dwindle around you while the soldier seeks you out for help.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, violence, blood, death, descriptions of injuries and wounds, survivor's guilt, language, reader lowk got that red room depression, angst, no use of y/n

word count: 10.2k

masterlist

Droplets as deep as rose petals trailed down the hall.

You looked down both ends of the hall, trying to find a soul in sight. There was no one that you could see, no one that was injured or hurt. You had no idea where the blood started, but you saw where it ended.

Slowly, you moved. Your footsteps no longer made a sound. Your breath didn’t dare stir with the wind. Your clothes didn’t rustle with your movement. The years you spent in these halls had conditioned you better than that. No, by this point, you were close to graduation. If you couldn’t mask your presence, you would’ve been dead long ago.

In fact, you were one of the twenty girls chosen in your batch for a special group.

Just six months ago, you and twenty other girls had been brought for examination. You were injected with some sort of medicine, something that you weren’t allowed to question.

Your instructors barely gave any of you any warning. Simply told you that the serum would make you stronger, better fighters, give you a higher chance to be Black Widows.

Five of you died that night.

You didn’t doubt the numbers when you were brought back to your bed. You thought you were going to die, too.

You wanted to separate the skin from your muscles, to remove the muscles from your veins, and drain the serum from your system. You’d never felt pain like that in your life before, and you had spent over two decades of your life being broken and rebuilt within these walls.

There was no anesthesia given to you. Nothing to help with the pain. There never was. This place was cruel. You are either killed, or you kill. A place to train young girls to be assassins, spies, and much worse.

The pain was an initiation. If you could survive through the night, survive the change your body was going through, then you were chosen. Blessed to see another day. It was never truly a blessing.

Death was the true blessing.

You pushed open the door of the gym, eyes falling on the man who stood at the front. A puddle of blood was dripping from his arm as he stared at the wall.

Your newest instructor, who appeared not long after you and the other girls underwent your ‘transformation.’

They called him the Winter Soldier.

You’ve met plenty of domineering figures in your time in the Red Room, but he was the first to make your heart stop. The mere force of his presence makes you shiver.

You’ve never seen his face— not fully. He’s always worn a mask over his nose and mouth. You could never bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you know his eyes are piercing. Dark, guarded. His hair is long, and covers the rest of his face in shadows that just adds to your terror.

He replaced your previous combat instructor, and he came with a handler. He was there for more hand to hand combat, unlike your other teacher who taught you formations and tactics. You all would watch as he fought with each girl daily. At first, you didn’t understand why the handler was necessary— didn’t understand why the handler always had the loaded gun pointed at him at all costs.

Then, on the third day, fifteen girls became fourteen with a snap of a neck under the grip of his metal hand. He didn’t even need to try. You had to fight back the gasp of horror that threatened to escape your lips.

The girl beside you wasn’t so controlled. She let out a scream, and his target changed. In just a few moments, her head was bashed into the wall right next to you. The side of your face was warm with the splatter of her blood. You forced yourself to remain stoic, to keep your eyes trained in front of you, to ignore the scene unfolding beside you. To pretend that fourteen did not just become thirteen.

The handler had the Winter Soldier on his knees, electrified and subdued before he could go after the rest of you. You watched him fall to his knees in front of you, watched as whatever killing intent reset in his brain, and he stood once more.

Class was dismissed early that day, as your headmaster needed to revise the plan for your special program.

You didn’t even get the chance to fight him one on one before the classes shifted into the girls sparring with each other, and him observing instead. If he found something he disliked, he would correct it. Not by speaking, but by punishment.

Punishment wasn’t uncommon. It was how the other teachers trained you all. He would repeat the same actions he disliked to the Widow in training, and make her fix it until she found a way he liked.

When he walked away, it meant he was satisfied.

And now, he was bleeding. All over the floor.

Your eyes flickered up towards the clock on the wall. You were over an hour earlier than you needed to be. You finished your chores and tasks, and you were simply roaming the halls during your free time before class. You didn’t mean to be found out— much less run into him of all instructors.

The Soldier was staring at you. You couldn’t just turn around. Turning your back to him would be a death sentence. The handler wasn’t here. You’ve watched him snap a girl's neck. Watched him inflict punishment on other girls without his handlers intervention since that was the Soldier’s job here.

You took in a slow breath, and straightened your spine.

“You’re hurt,” you whispered, and your voice carried across the room, bouncing off of the walls.

He doesn’t react. There’s not a hint of recognition in his eyes that lets you know that he even heard you. You don’t dare to take a step in fear of activating some sort of kill switch within him. You’re not even sure what makes him tick.

“Can I… We’re taught how to treat wounds,” you said slowly. “Can I fix you?”

Silence continued to fill the gym, and you wait. There’s no yes, but there isn’t a no either. You decide to take your chances.

“I’m going to get supplies,” you informed him, stepping backwards towards the door. “Just… stay here. Don’t move.”

A nod. For a moment, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you. But it was unmistakable. You know what you saw. The Winter Soldier nodded at you. It was only one; small slight tilt of his head, but he acknowledged your words.

You shuffled out of the gym, and floated towards the nearest first aid kit that you knew to find. On your way back, you quickly cleaned up the traces of the Soldier’s blood so no one would be able to see.

You shouldn’t care to do any of this. You chalk it up to fear. You’ve seen him fight your batchmates. You’ve seen him deal out punishments. You’ve been lucky to avoid all the disgruntled gaze he throws at the other girls.

Moreover, you wonder if his handler might shoot you, too. You saw the asset injured. No one is to know that the Winter Soldier is closer to man than he is machine. He’s supposed to be an unstoppable force, which is what he’s training you and the other girls to be. It’s why you got that serum— to make you a lesser version of him.

You slink back into the gym, finding the Soldier right where you left him. Blood is still dripping down onto the wooden floor from his flesh arm, and the pool of blood is growing larger. You vaguely wonder how this man is still standing in front of you.

You approach him carefully, like he’s a rabid animal in the middle of the woods. For the first time, your eyes connect with his, and you notice the color.

His eyes are blue. Not like the sky. They don’t resemble the ocean, either. The color is closer to a storm about to crash over your body in thick pelts. It’s dangerous, yet breathtaking all at the same time.

Now, you’re right in front of him. The scent of metallic blood is stronger, mixed with the heavy scent of gunpowder and smoke. His eyes are still on you. You can’t look away. You’re not sure if you can.

“Can you take off your sleeve?” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him, then cautiously allow your gaze to drop down to his gear to look him over. There’s a cut in the upper part of his bicep, but you can’t see how bad the wound is without inspecting him closer. His sleeve is connected to his vest, it seems. There’s a series of straps and belts that you’d have to undo to get to his arm, where you think he’s bleeding from the most.

You clenched your jaw, weighing your options.

You didn’t have the time to wait for his response. If the handler came back to find the two of you like this— you stopped yourself from thinking further. You don’t know what or how the Soldier came to be in this kind of state, but you didn’t need to be blamed for it.

“I’m going to take the gear off of you,” you told him, eyes flickering up to meet his once more.

He was already staring at you. He was staring at you the entire time, while you were stuck in your thoughts.

And once again, he nodded. Just one nod to show he heard you.

Very carefully, you placed the first aid kit down on the ground to free both of your hands. When you straightened, you moved slowly. Gave him the chance to back away, to anticipate your movements as you reached for the straps on his chest and began to undo them.

The Soldier did not flinch as you undid his gear and peeled the Kevlar from his body. However, you couldn’t mask the horror that came into your face when his skin was revealed to you.

Your eyes didn’t know where to look— several fresh bruises and cuts were all along his chest and abdomen. These could not have been from a mission or training. These were inflicted by torture. These were too precise. Surgical, even. The blade was too thin. The cuts were shallow enough to not leave any lasting scars.

Your hands were shaking. Your body was trembling.

Even after everything you’ve witnessed, everything you endured, things like this weren’t easy for you to swallow down. Perhaps this is why you stuck your neck out for the asset. Offered to ‘fix him up’ when you saw him bleeding.

A cold hand closed around one of yours. Your eyes shot up to meet his, and he looked down towards his right shoulder. You followed his gaze— fuck.

He was bleeding, horribly so. There was a thick puncture wound. The Soldier had been stabbed into his muscle, then the blade was dragged down slightly before being pulled out. You cringed at the mental image of it all.

“Sit down against the wall so I can stitch you up,” you murmured weakly.

The Soldier let go of your hand, and moved as soon as the words left your mouth.

Realization hits you as you watch him slump against the wall. It fills you with a strange sort of pity and sadness. He doesn’t respond to your questions. He only follows orders.

You grab the first aid kit and settle beside him, kneeling. You make quick work of his shoulder, following the routine and instructions that you’ve learned in your other classes. You glance at his face every once in a while, or just his eyes, you guess. The rest of his face is still covered.

You’ve had to patch yourself up more than a handful of times over the years, and you still had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from making noise. The Soldier didn’t even blink. He stared at the floor in front of him. His muscles didn’t betray his stoicism, either.

His entire body was stone throughout everything, even when you passed the needle through his skin to close his wound up.

The Soldier was pliant in your hands like this. Almost like a doll. When you moved his arm or body in a way that you needed to accommodate you, he simply shifted and stayed until you moved him back. You wrapped his shoulder in gauze and bandage, then reached for his gear.

You could feel his eyes on you as you quickly scrubbed the inside of the sleeve and vest, tossing aside the bloodstained gauze and wipes before dressing him back up. You strapped and buckled him back into place, as if you’d never touched him to begin with.

“Just be careful,” you muttered as your hands finally left him, “Don’t tear the stitches.”

You saw his eyebrows furrow, just slightly. Confusion just briefly flickered through the storm of his eyes before fading away, and you turned away, closing the kit.

Your eyes caught the pool of blood, a soft curse exiting your lips. You quickly cleaned it up, thankful that it didn’t stain the wood. You checked the time on the clock next— you had five minutes. Enough time to return the kit back to where it came from, wash your hands of the blood, and come back for class.

You spared the soldier one more glance before you got up, and turned your back to him, going for the door.

You had many downsides to being picked for the special program. One of them was that you consciously decided not to get to know any of the girls that you were training with.

The chances of becoming a Widow in general was one in twenty. Putting names to faces would only give you more pain in the long run, you believed. You spent most of your time with these girls. Forming long term connections with them when either you or them could die within the next few seconds would be counterintuitive.

It was a self inflicted downside, but one that you instilled on yourself nonetheless.

Another downside was your instructors. Not just the Winter Soldier, but all of them. Since receiving that special vial of something, your classes were longer. Harder. The curriculum had been increased by tenfold because they were convinced that you could take it.

Your head could barely keep up with the strategic information they were shoving into your head. Your body was exhausted from combat training, weapons training, acrobatics, gymnastics, ballet— all of it. The added mental fatigue wasn’t helping.

You couldn’t fall behind. You wouldn’t let your marks fall below what was acceptable, and what was acceptable was perfect.

By the end of the third strategic exam, thirteen became ten. You and your batchmates had to ignore the gunshots in the room. You still had to force your body not to flinch when you heard the bodies hit the floor.

Your special program received one benefit— private rooms. You no longer had to sleep in the prison style hall room all the other girls slept in. You were no longer monitored at night by an instructor that slowly walked up and down the aisle with a cattle prod in hand to strike a girl that they thought was faking their sleep.

It was a privilege that you earned, the headmaster told you as you brought the few belongings you had into the small, rectangular room that held a tiny twin bed and a desk with a lamp and journal. At the foot of the bed was a clothes rack with your uniforms— combat training, ballet and acrobatics, your formal attire for meetings, and your nightgown. The smallest of windows was on the wall, just enough to allow light to seep through. Thick metal bars framed it, reminding you of your place in the world.

You no longer were cuffed to the bedframe at night, like the other girls in the regular Black Widow program. Your door, however, was locked from the outside. You would have to wait every morning to be let out. At the end of the day, this was another prison cell— just private.

You were still stuck within these walls without a way out. They wouldn’t give you a chance to escape. Your only chance of escaping was to graduate from the program or to succumb to death itself.

If your time in the program taught you anything, it was to be a light sleeper. To sense anything in your sleep, even the faintest of movements.

Your eyes snapped open as adrenaline coursed through your veins. You sat up quickly, feeling disturbed. Your hands instinctively reached for your waist, then a curse ripped through your throat when your hands touched the silk of your nightgown.

You had no weapons in your room. It was a rule. A stupid fucking rule that made no sense— weapons were not allowed where the Widows in training slept. It was to eliminate the possibility of the girls attacking each other in their most vulnerable states. However, when you train young girls to be assassins, you would expect them to feel safer with a gun in their hand as they slept.

Your eyes trained on the figure standing right at your door, shrouded by the shadows of your room. Your heartbeat was accelerated, your chest rising and falling in uneven motions.

“Soldier?” you whispered, terror running through you.

Wordlessly, he held up a box towards your direction. You blinked at it, forcing your eyes to focus in the darkness of your room— another first aid kit. You stared for a few moments, lips parted.

What?

“Are you… hurt?” you asked slowly.

His arm fell back down to his side, bringing the kit with him. He didn’t answer you— of course he didn’t. He responded to orders, and you always asked him questions.

Slowly, you moved your feet to the edge of the bed and stood. You smoothed your hair out as you carefully approached the Soldier, reaching behind him to turn on the fluorescent overhead light.

You couldn’t see any visible injuries on him from your first glance. Then again, he wore thick, padded gear. You couldn’t even see the last entry point from when you patched him up last time.

You carefully took the first aid kit from his hands, and set it onto your desk. The Soldier allowed you to do so, watching your every move. You pulled the chair from the desk, and gestured to it.

“Can you sit down for me?” you asked.

He didn’t. He just stared at you, and you stared right back. You inhaled slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. You released the breath, and swallowed thickly.

“Sit,” you said. A one word, simple command.

The Soldier responded in kind.

He was rigid against the wooden chair. His spine was eerily straight, eyes trained on the wall in front of him. His hands were resting on his thighs, pinkies brushing against the weapons holstered there— ready for any threat to appear.

You pushed the thought away.

Slowly, you shifted onto your knees. You pulled your nightgown up your thighs to avoid them from scraping against the floor, to avoid any indication during inspection later in the morning that you were doing this.

Just like before, the Soldier did not move when you reached to take his gear off. Unlike training, he wasn’t rough. He was soft in your hands, allowing you to mold him in ways that were easiest for you to take care of him.

This injury was different— a few bullets that were embedded into his skin that weren’t able to fully penetrate from the layers of his gear. Still, they punctured through, and he was bleeding.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath. “This… It doesn’t hurt?”

You knew he wouldn’t respond, but you asked anyway. You could feel his eyes on your every move as you reached for the first aid kit, and started to work on him.

From this point forth, the Soldier sought you out every time he had an injury.

When he would appear in your room, he would simply wait until you woke up from the pressure he brought— the fear of being watched in your sleep. He would sit when you told him to, remain still as you mended his wounds, and let you dress him back up.

Afterwards, he would take back the first aid kit with him, and lock your door as he left. You weren’t sure how he got the key to your room. You didn’t even know if he had the clearance for that. Then again, you were pretty certain that he wouldn’t need a key to get in and out of places.

It wasn’t just limited to your room, either.

You started to see him out of the corner of your eye in the halls. Like some kind of fucking creep.

You’d be exiting one of your classes, and see him in the back somewhere, eyes fixed on you. You’d have to take a quick glance at the clock before locating the nearest kit, and rush over to him with steps no one could hear. Each time, the Soldier would allow you to pull him into an enclosed, quiet space to undress him so you could assess the damage on his body.

You lost track of the amount of times you patched him up. The amount of stitches you pulled through his body. The times you undressed him, and redressed him. The injuries were always different. You always looked over the previous injuries, too. Checked to make sure they healed right, muttered to him about how he needed to be careful if they weren’t, looked at him with suspicion when they healed too fast. You removed the old stitches, too.

You weren’t sure why you were doing all of this.

Guilt, if you really thought about it. You don’t know how many other girls you’d lured to their deaths for tests so you could move on to the next grade. You had countless amounts of bodies under your belt, and you haven't graduated yet. Girls that you had killed otherwise they would have killed you, but there were other girls you could have helped. Girls you could have pulled into a room like you did for the Soldier, and patched them up before the instructors saw.

You never did. You didn’t want to. All of your batchmates were your competition, your rival, your enemy until you graduated with or without them. If they died from their own foolishness, from being unable to tend to their own wounds, it wasn’t your problem.

It’s what you told yourself to try to sleep easier at night.

But the Soldier was not competition. He was your instructor. He corrected your class with brutal techniques that made you cringe, and want to look away. You never did. You couldn’t. Eyes were always watching, and you knew you would be the next target if you showed weakness.

An enemy, maybe, but not in times like this. You could trick yourself to thinking that you were good if you kept doing this for him. If you kept helping a man that wasn’t that great himself, a man that didn’t trust you fully, but still kept coming to you to fix the wounds that he wouldn’t tend to himself.

The Soldier’s eyes never softened. They were always sharp, as if he was waiting for the moment you would turn on him— for the needle in your hands to stab instead of stitch. His fingers always rested on the side of his belt, ready to pull a dagger faster than you could blink.

You never asked why he didn’t go back to his handler. You didn’t think he would answer you even if you asked. Then again, during classes, you saw the way the handler looked at him. Saw how the handler treated him. Guns are always drawn and pointed. Taunting the Soldier.

The Soldier was a toy. Not a man, not a machine. He was an object to be played with.

Just like you were.

“All done,” you murmured to him, adjusting the last strap on his vest. You lifted your eyes to meet his. As always, he was already looking at you.

He stood. Not abruptly, not haphazardly. Methodically. He collected the first aid kit, and went for your door. This time, he didn’t lock it behind him. No, he didn’t even close it. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at the opened door. After a few moments, you pushed yourself up to your feet, and reached for the handle, pulling it the rest of the way open to peer your head out.

The Soldier stood at the end of the hall, his back turned to you. However, he was looking at you from over his shoulder. Quietly waiting.

“Do you want me to follow you?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying down the hallway.

The Soldier turned his gaze forward, and started walking.

You don’t know why. You should’ve closed the door, and tucked yourself back under the covers. Then, you thought about the fact your door wasn’t locked, and only the Soldier could lock it right now.

You shoved your feet into your slippers, and quickly took down the hall after him, heart thundering in your chest. He’d already disappeared. You didn’t hear where he went. Then again, you never could hear him when he approached— only felt him when it was too late, when he was already too close.

You turned the corner, your adrenaline spiking as you came into contact with another body. A cold hand clasped over your mouth gently, while a metal hand closed around your shoulders to steady you before you stumbled backwards.

The Soldier towered over you, eyes piercing into yours, his long, dark hair brushing against your skin. A warning was in his eyes. To be quiet.

With his hand still over your face, you nodded. Small, only once, but you acknowledged him.

Satisfied, he released you.

You continued down the hallway, trailing behind him. Neither of you made a noise. You both were better than that. If the Soldier heard an instructor coming by, doing their nighty hall rotations, he would stop in his place. A hand would come out from his side to signal you as well. Both of you would blend into the walls, the corner, the shadows– anything that you could to hide the fact that you were not supposed to be out of your room.

Your confusion only seemed to grow even more. The Soldier knew that you had a curfew. You were supposed to be locked away, and yet he was leading you somewhere else.

When the coast was clear, he would keep moving. Every once in a while, he would take a look over his shoulder to ensure that you weren’t falling too far behind. If you were, he would stop until you were at a distance that he preferred before moving forward again.

The two of you made your way to the stairwell. You stood behind him as the Soldier carefully picked the lock, ensuring that his movements were silent enough so no one would be alerted. It must’ve been how he got into your room every single time he was injured.

You followed him up the stairs– you’d never been through this area before. You had no idea where he was leading you. At the very top was another door, and a warm breeze hit your face almost instantly.

Fresh air.

Your lips parted as the Soldier walked outside to the rooftop– you hadn’t been outside in years. You weren’t allowed. None of you were. The last time you were allowed to be outside was during an outside exercise, and a girl had tried to bolt. You had all gotten the privilege revoked from you after they gunned her down.

Cautiously, you took a few steps out onto the roof, joining the Soldier where he stood at the edge of the building. You couldn’t see anything for miles. You were surrounded by dense woods. There were no city lights. No other form of civilization that you could see in the darkness of the night. But if you were to look up, you were comforted by the night sky.

Twinkling lights cascaded your eyes, caressing your mind and promising you good dreams. You could almost cry at the sight. You had no idea when you had last seen the sky so clear, so unguarded and bright.

The Soldier wasn’t looking at the sky. You could feel his eyes on you.

Unlike all other times, when his presence was too overbearing for you to even breathe– it seemed like he felt different. There was no hostility in his eyes tonight as he looked at you. No suspicion or weariness.

“Why did you bring me out here?” you whispered. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. “To thank me for helping you all those times?”

For the first time, he answered your question. Not verbally.

Just a nod. A single nod, to let you know that you had guessed right.

And you smiled– a ghost of a smile, something that you thought you’d forgotten how to do long ago. You let out a small laugh a few seconds later as you shook your head before looking back up at the sky.

“Thank you for showing me the stars,” you told him. “I couldn’t remember how beautiful they were.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the Soldier slowly tilted his head back. He also looked up to see what you were talking about. Together, the two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, taking in the twinkling orbs of the universe.

You stood in front of your headmaster, Dreykov, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind your back. Your shoulders were squared off, chin held high. You were called into a meeting, several of your instructors sitting around the conference table as well.

“We’re impressed by your recent marks,” your headmaster started off, “and it seems that the Winter Soldier has taken an interest in your skills during combat training.”

You keep your expression trained, but your pulse quickens in your neck.

Shit.

You tried to tell him to ignore you. To tell him to focus on the other girls, to stop hovering around you during class, but the stubborn fucking soldier wouldn’t listen to you.

Since the night on the rooftop, he didn’t come to you for just his injuries now. He came to you when he wanted company. When he didn’t want to be alone. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t like it– you didn’t want to be alone either.

The two of you went out onto the rooftop every once in a while like you did that first night. You trailed behind him down the halls, like you two were ghosts on a mission. You both would sit out there for hours at a time. He would return you to your room before sunrise, lock the door, and your secret would be safe.

You also would spend time with him in your room. The two of you would sit in silence. He would sit in your desk chair while you sat at your bed. The two of you would just look at each other. It was never weird or strange, for some reason. Your eyes would trail over his body. You would take stock of how strong his body looked, despite everything. You would take notice of how the light would watch the silver of his arm, and how his eyes were striking against the black shadow of his gear.

You don’t know what he was thinking when he was staring at you, but you knew that he was taking in all of you. His eyes seemed to rest on every single part of you when he looked. You would be dressed down in your nightgown in your room, as per instruction, and your hair would be down as per regulation.

At one point, he reached for you. Touched your hair a few times. He seemed curious. During classes, your hair was braided up and out of the way. It was just how it was supposed to be. After he crossed that threshold, the Soldier started sitting closer to you. Started touching you more.

You allowed him to. His touches started moving from your hair to your neck. He reached for your hands, flipping them over to trace the slight calluses on your palms from handling weapons all day. His fingertips were light against your arms as they danced up them, going all the way back up to your shoulders and to your collarbones. His touches were innocent enough. You didn’t mind it. You enjoyed his touch. It seemed as if he was exploring– trying to see what about you was fascinating to him. Why he kept coming back here.

You were wondering why, too.

But it was starting to translate into classes.

He was pushing harder during combat training. Not in a way that was hurting you– he was pushing you past your limits because he knew you could take it. He knew what you were capable of. He had been watching you closer. He hadn’t inflicted any punishments on you like he had the other girls, but he was fixing the tells that you had without others finding out.

In combat training, if his eyes didn’t linger for too long, then his hands did. When he walked you through a sequence, his hand would rest on the small of your back for a beat too long, and others were beginning to notice. He picked you out against the other girls to demonstrate harder techniques when he knew that there were others that were better than you, that could’ve done it better– but fuck. You had no idea why he was doing any of this.

And now, you were in this fucked meeting.

“We’ll start transitioning into Phase Two of the program,” Dreykov continued. “We’re choosing you as our Widow.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” you responded, offering a pretty, trained smile. You knew better than to ask any questions.

“And the other girls?” your tactician's instructor asked.

“Get rid of them,” Dreykov waved a dismissive hand. “They failed.”

A collective sigh of disappointment is released around the room. You locked eyes with the headmaster, who watched your expression. You didn’t give any indication of discomfort or pain. You can’t afford to let your fear show. Not when you’ve come this far. He looks pleased with your lack of reaction.

You were dismissed shortly after, told to retire for the night early as you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You left them to discuss the rest of your training for the special program. You couldn’t breathe. You don’t know if he did it on purpose– you had no idea if the Soldier saved your life on purpose. You had no idea if he knew that him showing interest in your skills would result in this outcome, but it made you sick all the same. The guilt of surviving was gnawing in your gut, but you couldn’t help but be grateful.

As you made it down to the hall towards your room, you heard the gunshots ricocheting off the walls as you met the Soldier’s eyes. He was standing right outside your door. You saw his shoulders relax, just slightly as he saw you.

Just like that, ten became one.

Before the assistants could come out of the rooms with the girls in body bags, the Soldier crossed the hallway, and pulled you into your room. He shut the door behind him, allowing you the sanctuary, and space for you to fall apart without anyone pulling the trigger on you for being human.

You stay still. You wait until you don’t hear shuffling in the hallway anymore, until you don’t hear the voices of the assistants talking about bringing the girls' bodies’ to the incinerators to burn. Once it falls completely silent outside, you crumble. You release the breath you’d been holding since you heard the gunshots, and you can’t fill your lungs with air.

You reach for the Soldier. Every single part of him. You’re grabbing onto his arms, his shoulders, his chest. Your fingers get caught onto the straps and belts of his vest. Your nails dig into his gear as you attempt to ground yourself.

In just one moment, you were the cause of the death of ten girls, and you didn’t even realize it. You shouldn’t be this bothered. You’d killed others with your own bare hands. You’d pulled the trigger yourself. You’d had your hands smeared with their blood after slicing throats before.

Maybe it was because you didn’t know. Maybe not knowing made it much worse. You didn’t have the time to prepare.

You slowly sunk to your knees in front of the Soldier, and he followed you down, supporting you so you didn’t just slam onto your kneecaps. Then, you felt his hands on your shoulders. Your breathing hitched, just slightly– shocked by his touch. Then, his hands moved to your face. He angled your head to look at him.

As always, he was already looking at you. Except, his gaze wasn’t piercing this time. It was softer. His presence was calming. He was trying to comfort you.

“Did you know they would die?” you asked. “Did you know they were going to die when you kept helping me?”

The Soldier nodded to you. You searched his eyes. There was no regret in them. You shattered, just slightly, but he kept you in his hands. You hooked your hands on his wrists, closing your eyes tight to try to stop the familiar feeling of tears coming.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice breaking with the single word.

“You were not their first choice.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his again. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips parted. Your soldier spoke– he spoke to you.

“What?” you muttered, swallowing thickly.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he murmured, thumbs brushing the tops of your cheeks as a tear escaped from the corner of your eye.

His voice was hoarse, deep, and gravelly. It was as if he hadn’t spoken in years. It sent shivers down your spine, and made goosebumps rise along your skin. Every sense in your body was awakened just from listening to him talk.

You tugged on his hands, pulling them down and away from your face. You let out a shaky breath, and slowly reached for him. You gave him the chance, the option to move away from you. He didn’t. Instead, he lowered his eyes. Almost as if he was submitting to what you wanted to do.

You removed the mask off of him, revealing his face to you for the first time in the entire time that you had known him as your instructor.

The Soldier was beautiful. Strikingly beautiful. You had no idea why they covered his face. You set the mask aside, and touched his face. You traced the slope of his nose. Your thumb gently went over the shape of his lips. Your palm rested on the stubble of his jaw.

“What is the second phase?” you asked him, fear lacing your voice.

“Another serum,” he said. “The first one you got was barely anything at all.”

Dread filled your stomach. “Another one?”

“The first one was to slow your aging, boost your healing factor,” he said, meeting your eyes. “This next one will make you a weapon.”

Your hand dropped from his face, resting onto your thigh. You felt numb. You couldn’t feel anything at all. A weapon? Isn’t that what you already were? Isn’t that what you had been training to become?

“Is that all we are?” you asked, a dry laugh escaping your lips. “Just a weapon?”

The Soldier didn’t answer you. You didn’t blame him. You didn’t have an answer, either.

You stared at him for a few moments. You searched his face, taking in a slow, deep breath.

“What’s your name?” you whispered. “I can’t just keep calling you ‘Soldier” since you’re talking to me now.”

A look of pain flashed through his features. His lips parted, and his eyebrows furrowed. He blinked a few times, and his fists clenched against his thighs.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

“You don’t… know?” you repeated slowly.

The Soldier shook his head at you. You watched him slowly, eyes going tracing over his features and body. He wasn’t lying to you. There was nothing in his body that showed that he was withholding the truth from you. If anything, he looked like he wanted to tell you.

“That’s okay,” you said, and his eyes met yours again. Confusion was behind the storm. You gave him a small smile. “When you remember, just make sure to tell me.”

The Soldier stared at you for a few moments before he reached for you once again. Just like he always did, he touched your hair. He took out of the regulation braids that you were required to wear outside of your bedroom. Carefully, he smoothed out the locks until they were no longer in plaits. You watched him as he focused on his task.

Slowly, his hands shifted, resting on either side of your neck. His fingers were on your pulse points, feeling your heartbeat under his fingertips. Gently, his fingers trailed lower, down to the first button of your formal attire that you wore for the meeting you had for the instructors and undid it.

He was exploring, like he always did. You didn’t shy away from his touch, didn’t hide from his wandering gaze. You’ve explored him, too. Even though you didn’t mean to, you had undressed him and your hands had been all over him without him ever making a noise of complaint. You’ve memorized him, and could draw him with your eyes closed. The two of you had been intimate and vulnerable with each other in ways that you wouldn’t dare to be with others.

Your shirt was undone, and you were left with your bra exposed before him. His fingers traced down your sternum, ghosting the mound above your heart.

The Soldier shifted slightly, now completely on his knees in front of you, between your own knees. His hands lifted to rest on either side of your neck once more, fingers cradling the sides of your jaw. And he moved closer. You watched quietly as he did, as he gave you the opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t.

You could feel his breath against your face as his forehead rested on yours. Your eyes locked with his. He looked conflicted, almost pained. He took in a slow, shaking breath as if he didn’t know if he should close the remainder of the distance or not.

“It’s okay,” you muttered to him.

It was all that he needed to hear before he moved.

His lips were on yours for the release you both needed, and it wasn’t hungry or needy. It was cautious. Both of you were scared. Terrified of what this meant on both of your ends. You rested your hands on his shoulders, to touch him in return.

You moved slowly against each other. His hands moved from your face down to your sides, resting on the dip of your waist, and lifting you as if you weighed nothing to him. He pulled you against his body to distinguish the space between you. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight.

For the first time, his touch wasn’t cold. It was achingly hot. You were on fire. His hands went under the unbuttoned formal shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders, discarding it to the ground. He was desperate to touch your skin– to feel you against him. You wanted nothing more in return.

You arched your torso away from him, just slightly, to allow your hands space to work on his vest as his tongue swiped at your lips. You allowed him entry, careful to keep your voice quiet as you tasted him in your mouth.

Just like always, he allowed you to undress him. Except this time was different. There was no injury. There was no first aid kit that you were rifling through, and there were no stitches that you were going to pull out of his skin.

And it wasn’t purely lust, either. You knew it wasn’t from him, either. You could tell, in the way he was holding you. His touch wasn’t harsh. It was almost reverent, as if he was afraid that he would break you like all the other things did within this building.

After you managed to shove the gear off of his torso, he stood, with you in his arms. He transferred you to the bed, laying you down beneath him. Your breaths mingled for a few moments as you stared at each other, in silent conversation as you contemplated your actions– if you were really going to do this right now.

You nodded at him, just once. And he responded in kind.

He lowered himself back onto you, catching your lips as his hands went for the side zipper of your skirt, pulling it down your legs along with the regulated tights you were supposed to wear with them. He tossed them somewhere to the side, hands roaming all over your bare skin as a sot, guttural noise escapes his mouth.

You swallowed the noise with your kisses.

You’d spent more than enough time observing him to know each and every single detail of his uniform. You didn’t need to look at him. Your hands knew what to do. You made work of the belt around his waist, then reached for the holsters on his thighs, undoing the hooks to help shove down his cargos.

He helped you the rest of the way, undressing where you couldn’t reach. While he did, you took off the remainder of your underwear. The two of you didn’t spend too much time apart before he was back over you, curtaining your body with his warmth.

You’d learned seduction in your tactician classes. It was one of the many topics that you were taught to master. This wasn’t seduction though. This wasn’t even desperation or pleasure.

This was release. Freedom.

The Soldier was gentle with you, even as he slid in. Pain prickled through your entire body as he pushed his length in, shocked by the foreign sensation of something so large and hard– and he pressed his lips against the corners of your eyes as tears began to form.

Even though you could see it, the desire for him to desperately want to move, he didn’t. He clenched his jaw, and waited patiently for you to adjust to his size. You watched as he controlled his breathing, though it was shallow. He didn’t allow for his hands to leave your body. It gave you something to focus on– the rough texture of his palms trailing over the mounds of flesh on your chest as he kneaded them softly.

You need to touch him. Needed to connect with him more– even though he was already so deep inside of you, but you needed him to know how much you appreciated him. So, you reached for his face. Pulled him back down to you for an open mouthed kiss, and whispered for more against his lips.

The Soldier answered your plea, slowly rolling his hips to meet yours once more. You swore you saw the night sky behind your eyes with that first thrust. You were floating, and you never wanted to come back down to Earth ever again.

Then, the Soldier moaned your name in your ear. Low, soft, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. A sense of pride shot down your body, and heat built up in your core as his breathing grew heavier.

His hips stuttered when your walls clamped down around him, and as your nails dug into his shoulders. His fingers dug into your waist in warning, silently telling you to calm down. You could only whimper in response, and he let out a soft groan in your ear to let you know that he heard you.

You couldn’t help it. Not when he was being more vocal with you– when his moans were spurring you on, when his thrusts were directing his length to hit you right where you wanted him to– it was all too much.

You didn’t even have a chance to tell him that you were about to cum, but he felt it. His mouth covered yours in an instant, swallowing your moans down his throat as your body seized beneath his. His thrusts never stopped, and he kept his hips moving through it– fucking you through the pleasure that wrecked your body as his hands held on tight to your waist to keep you in place.

He was chasing his own release, and he was close– so desperately close, brought on by the sound and feel of you reaching your own nirvana. Seeing you fall apart beneath him from the pleasure that he brought you was all he needed.

Unfamiliar warmth filled you as the Soldier shuddered above you, his mouth parting in a soft, broken moan as his hips stuttered against yours. His breathing stopped for just a moment, but God, he was so handsome. There was a light sheen of sweat that had accumulated over his body, and glistened slightly against the moonlight that filtered in through the tiny window of your room. You could see those eyes– the beautiful eyes of storm that you wanted to be lost in– full of pleasure and adoration as he looked down at you, bare, and full of his release.

When he regained control of himself, he lowered himself onto you once more. Your hands reached for him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him to another kiss. The Soldier kisses you back, and you melt under him.

“When… When do I receive the next serum?” you whispered to him, lips brushing against his. You slowly open your eyes to look at his face as he pulls back. You watch as his eyes open as well, looking down at you.

“Tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, and the freedom, the joy– all of it goes away within an instant. You see his freedom vanish as well. You stared at him, searching his face for a few moments, clenching your jaw.

Tomorrow, you were going to face another serum. You would have to go through hours of torture and pain, and you didn’t even know if you would survive. Hell, you barely survived the first serum that they pumped through your veins. You weren’t even the first option– you weren’t the strongest of your batch.

You weren’t going to survive.

You wouldn’t be able to see the Soldier again. You wouldn’t be able to help him, patch him up. There would never be another time where he would seek you out for the two of you just to sit in silence for hours on end, staring at each other. His hands would never reach for you, just so he could touch you– so he could make sure that you were truly in front of him. This would be the only time that you would be beneath him, raw, free, and in your most vulnerable, beautiful state.

Fuck all of that.

“Soldier,” you said softly as you took a slow breath. “Do you want to run with me?”

The fluorescent lights overhead were blending into one dizzying view. Your eyes couldn’t focus, and your feet were being dragged under you. Guards were on either side of you, holding you by your arms as you desperately tried to put yourself back on your feet to walk, to run– you couldn’t. You were drugged, you think. This felt like a drug. Some kind of sedative that made you hallucinate slightly.

This hallway was pure white. Almost like a science lab. This wasn’t the Red Room. You were somewhere else, somewhere far away.

You and the Soldier almost got away.

You were caught.

You thought you had been careful enough.

In the distance, you thought you could hear the sounds of screaming. Muffled screaming as you got further down the hall. It was piercing, almost as if it was breaking the sound barrier. Your eyebrows furrowed– you’d never heard something like this before. It was worse than when the girls received punishment. This was as if cattle were being tortured for sport.

The doors to the lab were opened, and your senses were cleared within an instant. You were in the rafters, looking down below at the scene before you.

Strapped down to a metal chair, with a helmet over his head, the Soldier sat connected to wires and a machine. He had a mouthguard between his teeth that did little to silence his cries of utter pain and terror. From where you stood, you could see electricity being fed through the helmet and straight into his head.

You fought against your guards to get to him. You almost won. You had the knowledge, had the experience– the Winter Soldier personally fucking trained you.

Your sudden burst of energy caught them off guard. You stole a gun out of their belt, shooting one of them in the kneecap to disarm, then going for the temple. Your elbow slammed into the second guard’s nose before you aimed at their chest. You shot at the scientists in the room– took down two of the four before your body was seized by electricity as well.

“You and the Winter Soldier are so fucking stubborn,” the familiar voice of your headmaster said from behind you as he walked into the lab.

Your body collapsed to the ground, twitching from the shock of the electricity.

Dreykov kicked the gun away as you glared at him, and he gave you a smile.

“Be grateful we didn’t kill you. It was going to be you in that chair, but when we told the Asset that, he killed half of the operatives, and wouldn’t listen to commands to shut down,” he sighed, nodding towards the Soldier. “He only stopped when we said we would shift the punishment onto him instead.”

Your eyes widened, and you weakly forced yourself up onto your hands to look at the Soldier– who was still screaming in pain. His chest was heaving as he attempted to breathe between his shouts. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even if you wanted to.

He put himself in that chair for you?

The headmaster knelt down beside you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to force your gaze to be on him.

“What did you do to the Winter Soldier?” he demanded. “He is programmed to listen to commands, not to a little girl that is about to graduate from the Black Widow Program.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you spat at him. “Even if I did, why the fuck would I tell you? You kill little girls for fun.”

“I train spies. Big difference,” he scoffed at you, then threw your head back down onto the rafters. He stood up, and let out a deep breath. Dreykov nodded to someone near the doors, and you could hear footsteps coming towards you.

Momentarily, the screaming stopped. You lifted your head weakly towards the Soldier– and you saw his eyes. Fearful. Pained. He was looking at you as you were being scooped off the ground. Then, you saw as he fought against his restraints as you were being dragged out the door. You watched as he shoved the mouthguard out of his mouth with his tongue– and heard your name leave his lips.

It came out broken, hoarse, raw, from all his screaming. Your chest lurched as you stared at him. You couldn’t say a single word in response. You didn’t know what to say to him. You put him in that chair– you did. Because you asked him to run with you. And yet, he was still sitting there, trying to fight his way out because he was worried for you?

You were going to be fucking sick.

“I hope you enjoy the cold,” Dreykov told you. “You’ll have a long, long nap.”

Every muscle in your body ached.

You could barely breathe at first. It felt like you hadn’t breathed in years, like your lungs had been out of commission, and you needed to relearn how to breathe. You forced your eyes open, eyes trained on the tube that you were in.

You pressed your weak hands onto the glass, giving it an experimental push. There was no give. No give at all. You couldn’t stay here. You needed to get out– to find the Soldier and leave.

You rammed your fist into the glass once, twice– a hairline crack formed. You tried your elbow. On the third hit, it shattered, and your body tumbled with it.

The facility around you was abandoned. Desolate. Cobwebs littered the corners of the ceiling, and the sound of scurrying mice filled your ears in the corners of the hallways. Even the tech was rusting.

Slowly, you made your way through. You found no one. There wasn’t a single soul in the entire facility. You had no lead on your soldier or where he could be. They must have transported him elsewhere, you thought. You had no idea how long you had been shoved into cryostasis, but it had to have been long enough for the generators in this H.Y.D.R.A. facility to have failed.

After making your exit, and stealing a car off of an unsuspecting civilian that was too kind to stop for a woman on the side of a desert road, you went to the nearest town.

It took you a week to come to terms with the fact forty years had passed. It took you another month to get to New York City, and another week to locate your soldier on the streets with his group.

His hair was shorter. His eyes were softer. He had a smile on his face now. He spoke. Full sentences. He responded to others' questions and concerns. He gave other people questions. His arm was no longer silver with a red star, but black and gold.

Your soldier was no longer a soldier, but was hailed as a hero.

You spent a long time watching him. You learned everything there was to know about this new era in life, everything that you missed during your time asleep. You learned everything about him that you missed.

You learned that he defected. That he successfully ran away from H.Y.D.R.A.. He cleared his name– he found his name. He was pardoned for crimes that he did not do under his own volition. His friends helped him argue that he was a machine, a weapon, not a man.

And you were part of his past as a machine.

You watched him one last time. You sat at a bar, listening to him laugh with the group known as the Avengers. The name still makes you smile when you think about it too hard. A group of superheroes known to save the world, to avenge those that need avenging. There are two other Black Widows in that same group, too. You wonder if they know about you, if you were talked about during their training.

You keep your head down at the bar, watching as Iron Man– Tony Stark– takes the crowd’s attention once more. Everyone laughs, but you’re not staring at him. You’re staring at your soldier. The man who made you feel real during your time as a weapon.

You flag down the bartender, and slide over a bill as well as a napkin that you wrote on. “Can you send over whiskey to that man with the black button down?”

“Certainly,” he hummed, and took your money and napkin.

You smiled, and collected your things. You take one last glance to watch one of the servers bring over the napkin, and the drink over– and you see him shaking his head and giving a polite smile. You take the chance to push the door open, and head out into the street. You didn’t need to see his reaction. Didn’t need to know if he remembered you.

You knew his name now. It was the only thing you’d ever asked from him.

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet

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meadowfics · 2 months ago

Text

dreaming in greyscale

cho hyun ju x f!reader

you left the games, but the games haven't left you

warnings: mature content below. reader discretion advised! PTSD! suicidal ideation. angst. mentions of violence and all of the canon warnings. injury to the body. hospitalization. depression. happy/not depressing ending!

all you smelled was the metallic tang of blood and the faint burn of exhaust as the limousine screeched to a halt in front of the university hospital.

your vision blurred at the edges, the world tilting as your body screamed in protest behind the blindfold mask. however, pain still radiated from the stab wound in your torso.

it is a reminder of the final game’s brutality that happened maybe five hours before this moment. a tight clothing material, aka a ripped shirt, now slick with blood clung to your skin. it is doing little to slow the warm drip seeping through your fingers and down your hips.

beside you, hyun ju staggered, her breaths ragged. the woman's large hands trembling as she clutched a sleek black credit card...one that matched the one you’d choked out from your throat seconds ago.

the weight of billions of won in both of your palms.

you let out a bitter, wheezing laugh, the irony cutting sharper than the wound.

“a hospital,” you rasped, voice barely above a whisper as you ripped off the blindfold after untying your hands painfully, “they dump us at a damn hospital.”

hyun ju’s eyes, wild with panic, flicked to you. the ex-marine's face was pale, streaked with dirt and dried blood, but her jaw was set.

“don’t talk,” she snapped, her voice shaking but firm, “save your strength.”

your legs buckled as you tried to stand, the pavement cold and unforgiving beneath you. the credit card slipped from your fingers, clattering to the ground.

you didn’t have the energy to pick the card up, so hyunju picked yours up for you. the world spun, your pulse hammering in your ears with each beat a reminder of the blood you were losing.

“no, no, no... stay with me!” hyun ju’s voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside you, her hands hovering over your wound before pressing down hard.

you gasped, pain searing through you like a lightning bolt, “you’re not dying here, you hear me?” she said, her voice fierce but trembling.

“not after you survived all of that!”

you wanted to tell her you were trying, that you didn’t want to die either, but the words stuck in your throat, drowned by the coppery taste of blood.

your body felt heavy, like it was sinking into the ground.

hyun ju didn’t wait. with barely any effort, she looped your arm over her shoulder and hauled you up, half-dragging, half-carrying you toward the hospital’s glowing entrance.

“someone help!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the sterile quiet of the emergency room as the automatic doors hissed open, “she’s bleeding out!”

everyone's heads turned...nurses, doctors, patients in the waiting area...but it all blurred into a haze for you.

the fluorescent lights overhead burned your eyes, and the pain in your torso pulsed with every step.

hyun ju’s grip was bruising, desperate, as she pulled you forward.

“stay awake,” she pleaded, her voice softer now, meant only for you, “please, just stay awake.”

a nurse rushed over, her face a mask of professional calm, but her eyes widened when she saw the blood soaking through your shirt.

“get a gurney!” she called, waving over more staff.

“what happened?”

“stab wound,” hyun ju said, her voice urgent, “she’s lost a lot of blood. please, hurry.”

you were lifted onto a gurney, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through you. you bit back a scream, your hand instinctively grabbing for hyun ju’s.

your girlfriend's fingers closed around yours, tight and unyielding, an anchor in the chaos.

“i’m right here,” she said, her voice breaking as she jogged alongside the gurney, “i’m not going anywhere.”

the emergency room was a whirlwind of shouted orders and beeping monitors. you caught fragments of “prep for surgery,” and “type her blood,” also “pressure’s dropping” but it all felt distant, like you were underwater.

hyun ju’s face was the only thing that stayed in focus, her dark eyes wide with fear but hopeful that you will be okay.

“you’re gonna be okay,” she said, leaning close as they wheeled you toward the operating room, “you’re strong. stronger than anyone.”

you wanted to believe her, but the cold was creeping in, numbing the edges of your pain, your thoughts.

“hyun ju,” you managed, your voice barely audible, “don’t… don’t let go of our card.”

hyunju's expression faltered, a flicker of confusion crossing her face before she nodded, clutching the credit card tighter in her free hand.

“i won’t,” she promised, “but you focus on fighting, okay? the money will still be here for us... we won.”

the doors to the operating room swung open, and a nurse gently pried hyun ju’s hand from yours.

“you have to wait here,” the nurse said, her tone firm but kind. hyun ju shook her head, her grip tightening for a moment before she was forced to let go.

“i’ll be here,” she called after you, her voice thick with unshed tears, “i’m not leaving!”

the doors closed, cutting her off, and the world faded to black.

hyun ju sat in the waiting room, her hands clasped tightly around your credit card, the edges digging into her palms. the hospital was too quiet, the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional murmur of voices doing nothing to drown out the memories of the games from twelve hours before.

she stared at the floor, your blood still staining her hands. its all dried and cracking like a grim reminder of how close she’d come to losing you.

so many hours dragged by and she didn’t move, didn’t eat, or didn’t sleep. every time a doctor passed, her head snapped up, her heart lurching with hope and dread.

three surgeries, they’d told her.

three times they’d had to crack you open to keep you alive.

she didn’t know how you’d survived it, but the thought of you fighting in there, alone, made her chest ache.

when they finally let her see you, you were a ghost of yourself...pale, hooked up to machines, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

hyun ju sank into the chair beside your bed, your credit card still in her hand.

“you made it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “you’re here.”

recovery throughout the next couple of months was slow, and brutal. the physical wounds healed...stitches, bandages, the slow knitting of flesh...but the games had carved deeper scars.

nightmares woke you in the dead of night, gasping, clawing at the sheets as memories of blood and death flooded back.

hyun ju was always there, her hand finding yours in the dark, her voice soft but steady.

“it’s over,” she’d murmur, “you’re safe now.”

you weren’t, not really, you didn't feel safe. the weight of the games clung to you, a shadow that followed you into the daylight.

the credit card, with its promise of wealth, felt like a joke when you could barely get out of bed some days and actually have a nice meal. breakfast was not something you were used to pre-games.

in a way, your mind was trapped in a loop of fear and guilt. hyun ju saw it too...the way your eyes went distant after treating yourself to something nice, and also the way you flinched at sudden noises.

she didn’t push, didn’t pry, but she stayed.

hyunju held your hand through the panic attacks, sat with you in silence when words felt too heavy.

“we survived,” she said one night, her voice quiet as you sat together in your hospital room, the city lights flickering outside the window, “but it doesn’t feel like winning, does it?”

you shook your head, your throat tight, “it feels like we’re still playing.”

hyun ju’s jaw tightened, her fingers brushing against the credit card on the bedside table.

“we’ll get through this,” she said, her voice fierce despite the exhaustion in her eyes, “together.”

the new apartment smelled of fresh paint but it felt hollow, like a stage set waiting for a play that might never begin.

bare walls loomed around you, their whiteness swallowing the dim light filtering through the windows. the hardwood floors were cold under your bare feet as you stood in the middle of the empty living room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself.

small boxes sat piled in the corner, their edges falling apart, and the contents inside were untouched because neither you nor hyun ju had the strength to unpack.

the billions of won loaded onto those sleek black credit cards should’ve been a lifeline, a glittering promise of a new start after the games.

all you felt was the weight of your own inadequacy, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

hyun ju was in the kitchen, her silhouette sharp against the fading glow of the city outside. she moved with a purpose you envied... every step deliberate. you could tell that she used to be a first-class sergeant in the marines.

you’d met her in that grimy homeless shelter, two lost souls finding solace in each other’s quiet presence. you remember her bed being only five feet beside yours. she was quiet, yet spoke to you so kindly.

back then, you’d been broken by abuse, your financial life in ruins, your spirit battered. hyun ju had been your strength, a beacon in the dark.

now, in this pristine apartment, she was still your strength, but the games had changed the both of you.

they were supposed to be your rebirth, a chance to escape the past that had left you penniless and adrift. instead, they’d carved out pieces of you, leaving you hollow, a stranger in your own skin.

you sank to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest, the scar on your torso throbbing like a cruel heartbeat. the games were over, but they lived in your head...every scream, every betrayal, every moment of terror replayed in vivid detail.

player 124’s face haunted you, his eyes burned into your memory, the glint of his knife flashing before it sank into your flesh. you could still feel the shock of it, the way your body folded, the way hyun ju’s scream had pierced the loud noises in the room.

you’d survived, one of five left standing, but the victory felt like a curse.

sometimes, in the suffocating silence of the night, you wished that knife from 124 had gone a centimeter deeper.

the doctor’s words echoed in your mind: a centimeter more, and it would’ve hit your spinal cord, ended you right there. no more pain. no more fear. no more waking up gasping, clawing at the sheets as nightmares dragged you back to that blood-soaked arena.

you glanced at hyun ju, her back to you as she rummaged through a box from the fancy cabinet for something to eat. hyunju's silky black hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face, and even in her exhaustion, she carried a strength you could never match.

she’d carried you into that hospital, her hands slick with your blood, her voice fierce as she demanded they save you.

she’d stayed through three painful surgeries, through every agonizing step of recovery, never once wavering.

and you? you couldn’t name a single thing about yourself worth loving. hyun ju would disagree with that...she always did.

she’d call you caring, creative, loving, her voice soft but certain as she listed traits you couldn’t see. to you, you couldn't see what she meant. you felt like a shadow, a fraud, and someone who’d dragged hyunju into the games and nearly gotten her killed.

your fingers traced the scar through your thin black shirt, the raised tissue a map of your failure. the nightmares were relentless...player 124’s cold eyes, the blood pooling around you, the moment you thought you’d lost hyun ju forever.

your mind was slipping, unraveling, and the worst part was the quiet voice that whispered maybe it would’ve been better if you hadn’t survived.

maybe then you wouldn’t be this broken thing, dragging hyun ju down with you.

she deserved someone whole, someone whose hands didn’t shake at the sound of a slamming door, someone who could sleep through the night without screaming.

you thought that it could've been someone who wasn’t you.

right now the apartment was too quiet, the kind of silence that amplified every thought, every doubt.

you stared at the bare walls, their emptiness mirroring the hollowness in your chest. you sat on the floor since you and hyunju didn't buy a couch yet.

you’d fought so hard to survive, to escape the abuse of your past, the shelter’s despair, the games’ brutality. yet here you were, sitting on the floor of a beautiful apartment, feeling like you’d never even left that blood-soaked arena.

hyun ju’s voice broke the silence, soft but carrying that unshakable strength.

“found some instant noodles,” she said, holding up a crumpled packet with a faint smile, “not exactly gourmet, but it’s a start.”

you tried to return the smile, but it felt like a grimace, your lips heavy with the weight of your thoughts.

“sounds perfect,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

she crossed the room, her footsteps steady, and crouched in front of you on the floor.

hyunju's eyes searched yours, and you hated how easily she could see through you.

“hey,” she said gently, her hand resting on your knee, “talk to me.”

you shook your head, the words caught in your throat. how could you explain the darkness swallowing you whole? how could you tell her that you felt like an imposter in this life, in this love?

“i’m fine,” you lied, the words tasting like shit.

hyunju brow furrowed, her grip tightening slightly.

“you’re not fine,” she said, her voice firm but laced with worry, “and you don’t have to be. not yet, but you don’t get to shut me out, okay?”

you wanted to argue, to tell her she was better off without you, but the concern in her eyes stopped you.

she’d seen you at your worst...bleeding out, broken, terrified...and she’d stayed. she was still here, kneeling on the cold floor of an empty apartment, fighting for you when you couldn’t fight for yourself.

“i don’t deserve this,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “i don’t deserve you.”

hyun ju’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“don’t say that,” she said, her voice low yet intense, “you don’t get to decide what we deserve, i’m here because i love you and because you’re worth it.”

your girlfriend's words should’ve been a comfort, but they only deepened the ache in your chest. you wanted to believe her, but the voice in your head told you she was wrong.

you were a burden, a liability, someone who’d never be whole again.

“i’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking, “i’m scared i’ll never be okay. that i’ll always be… this.”

hyun ju’s hand moved to your face, her thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized you’d shed.

“you don’t have to be okay right now,” she said softly, “but you’re not alone. we’ll figure this out, and you will be okay someday.”

you nodded, but the doubt lingered.

the nightmares came again that night, relentless and suffocating. you woke with a gasp, your heart pounding, the image of player 124’s knife flashing in your mind, the pain in your torso as real as it had been in the games.

the apartment was dark, the city’s hum a faint drone beyond the windows. beside you, hyun ju slept, her breathing steady, her presence a feeling you didn’t feel worthy of.

the clock read 2:17 a.m., the red digits glaring in the quiet.

you couldn’t do it anymore.

the endless cycle of fear, the weight of your own brokenness. it was too much.

you slipped out of bed, your bare feet silent on the cold hardwood. the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, the lock sliding into place with a soft thud.

in the mirror, your reflection was a stranger. your hollow eyes, cold skin, the scar on your torso peeking out from under your pajama shirt.

you opened the medicine cabinet, your hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of painkillers left over from your surgeries.

you didn’t know how many it would take, but the thought of silence, of peace, was a siren call. your fingers fumbled with the cap, tears blurring your vision as you poured a handful into your palm.

“y/n?” hyun ju’s voice, sharp with panic, cut through the door. the handle rattled, “y/n, open the door. now.”

you froze, the pills heavy in your hand. hyunju's voice was a lifeline, but it also felt like a cage. you didn’t want her to see you like this, didn’t want her to know how far you’d fallen.

“i’m fine,” you lied, your voice cracking.

“you’re not fine!” she shouted, her fist pounding against the wood, “open the door, or i swear i’ll break it down.”

the pills slipped from your hand, scattering across the sink. your chest heaved, sobs breaking free as you sank to the floor, the cold tiles biting into your skin.

you fumbled with the lock, your fingers shaking, and the door flew open. hyun ju was there in an instant, dropping to her knees beside you, her arms pulling you into her chest.

“what were you doing?” she whispered, her voice thick with fear and tears. her hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“y/n, please, talk to me.”

you couldn’t hold it in anymore. the words spilled out, raw and in a stutter, “i can’t do it anymore, hyun ju. the nightmares, the pain it’s too much. i’m too much. you shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

hyunju's arms tightened around you, her own tears falling freely now.

“don’t you dare say that,” she said, her voice fierce despite the tremble, “you’re not too much. you’re in pain, and that’s okay. you're going to get help!"

you clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder, the pills forgotten in the sink.

“what did i do to deserve you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “you’re so kind, so good, and i’m… i’m nothing.”

hyun ju pulled back, her hands framing your face, her eyes burning with conviction.

“you’re not nothing,” she said, her voice steady now, “you’re gentle, y/n. you’re kind. you love me so freely, even when the world couldn't love me for who I was. you’re hurting and you’re in pain right now, but that doesn’t make you less than anybody else who isn't hurting or doesn't know what we went through. it just means you need help, and so do i.”

you cried together that night, curled up on the bathroom floor, the weight of your shared trauma a heavy but unifying force. hyun ju held you until the sobs subsided, until the dawn began to creep through the window, painting the tiles in soft gray light.

when you were too exhausted to cry anymore, she helped you to your feet, her arm around your waist as she led you back to bed.

“don't lay down, we're getting our sweaters on and we’re going to the hospital,” she said quietly, her tone leaving no room for argument, “because we need help. both of us.”

you nodded, too tired to protest, too grateful for her to refuse.

the hospital visit was a blur of forms and quiet conversations with a psychiatrist who spoke in calm, measured tones. you were diagnosed with ptsd, no surprise there, and hyun ju admitted she was struggling too, though her marine training had armored her against the worst of it.

the doctor prescribed therapy group sessions for both of you, and just individual sessions for you. you'll start medication to help with the nightmares.

it wasn’t a fix, not a magical cure, it was a start.

to you, it was a small flicker of hope in the dark.

back at the apartment, hyun ju took charge, her military discipline kicking in.

you didn’t believe in your healing at first, but hyunju was relentless. she dragged you to therapy, sat with you through the awkward silences of group sessions where survivors like you shared their stories.

it was painful, hearing echoes of your own trauma in their voices, but it was also a reminder that you weren’t alone.

hyun ju shared too, her voice steady but her eyes distant as she talked about the games, her transitioning, and how everybody in her past life cut her off because of that. she talked about watching you bleed out and feeling helpless.

it was the first time you realized how deeply she was hurting, how her strength was a shield for her own pain.

to fill the empty hours, you both started small hobbies, tentative steps toward reclaiming your lives.

hyun ju found a pottery class at a community center, her hands steady as she shaped clay into bowls and mugs.

“it’s grounding and helps me stay focused on something thats not in my head,” she said one evening, showing you a lopsided vase she’d made, her smile shy but proud.

you watched her, marveling at how she could find beauty in something so simple, and it stirred something in you.

you tried painting, something you’d loved as a child but abandoned when life got too heavy and too much to have small hobbies.

the first strokes were clumsy, the canvas a mess of colors, but there was a freedom in it, a way to pour out the chaos in your head.

hyun ju hung your first painting...a jagged abstract of greens and pink...on the living room wall. she called it a masterpiece that even picasso couldn't make.

you laughed, the sound foreign but warm. for the first time in months, it didn’t feel forced.

furnishing the apartment became another fun project, a way to make the space the both of yours.

hyun ju was practical, picking out a sturdy couch and a dining table that could double as a workspace. you, on the other hand, got lost in the details...soft throw blankets, mismatched cushions, a rug with bold geometric patterns that made the room feel less sterile.

you spent a weekend at a flea market, hyun ju haggling with vendors while you ran your fingers over chipped teacups and vintage lamps.

“this one’s got character,” you said, holding up a lamp with a cracked shade.

hyun ju rolled her eyes playfully and smiled, adding it to the pile.

each piece you brought home felt like a small victory, a reclaiming of the life you thought you’d lost. the apartment started to feel like a home, not just a shell.

you hung fairy lights over the windows, their soft glow a contrast to the harsh fluorescents of the hospital. hyun ju built a bookshelf, her hands steady with a screwdriver, and you filled it with secondhand novels and art books, their pages worn but loved.

the nightmares didn’t stop, but they came less often.

therapy helped, the medication dulled the edges, and hyun ju’s presence was a constant reminder that you weren’t fighting alone.

one night, after a particularly bad dream, you woke to find her already awake, her hand finding yours in the dark.

“i’ve got you,” she whispered, her voice a balm as her lips ghosted over your temple in comfort. you didn’t cry that time, just cuddled her, letting her warmth consume you.

you started cooking together, simple meals at first like ramen with extra vegetables, and stir-fries that filled the apartment with savory smells.

hyun ju was hopeless with spices, always adding too much chili, but you laughed as you choked down her experiments.

you taught her how to make your grandmother’s favorite recipe. your hands moving together to fold the dough, the rhythm soothing in its familiarity.

��we’re getting better at this,” hyun ju said one evening, her mouth full of dumplings she made, her eyes bright with something like hope.

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. it was true...you were. not fixed, not whole, but better.

the apartment was no longer a hollow space but another space of your shared efforts, filled with color and warmth.

in group therapy a former teacher talked about planting a garden to feel grounded.

inspired, you and hyun ju bought a few potted plant herbs for the kitchen, and a stubborn cactus that refused to die.

you named it something close to your name... a private joke that made you and hyunjun both laugh, since you came so close to death many times but still lived.

the sounds of your laughter echoed in the now-cozy living room.

the credit cards, once a symbol of your guilt, became tools for healing.

you both used your combined 22.8 billion won (16.5 million USD) money to fund therapy, to buy art supplies, and to take a weekend trip to jeju island.

the ocean was vast and wild, its waves crashing against the shore, and you stood together, hyun ju’s arm around your waist, feeling small but not insignificant.

later after getting back to seoul one evening, as you sat on the couch, hyun ju’s head in your lap, you looked around the apartment...the plants, the paintings, the mismatched furniture...and felt a shift.

your old life had taken so much, but they hadn’t taken everything.

you had hyun ju, you had this home, you had a future you were building, piece by piece. the pain was still there, the scars both physical and mental, but it wasn’t all you were anymore.

“i love you,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, the words no longer heavy with doubt.

hyun ju looked up at you, her smile soft and real.

“i love you too,” she said, “and we’re going to be okay.”

for the first time, you believed her.

masterlist

#cho hyun ju #cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyunju #cho hyunju x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #player 120 #player 120 x reader

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venusinthesun · 4 months ago

Text

I love dangerous women <3 (nsft)

Fem! Capitano, fem! Dottore, Columbina x reader

┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈

This is part one of what will probably be three parts of doing little smutshots for the harbingers! I will not be doing Pierro or Pulcinella as they are bit…too old for my tastes to even write about personally X_X next part will probably be arlecchino, scaramouche and Sandrone, third part will be La signora, Pantalone, Childe :D

Does anybody read these? I hope they do because fair warning!! I have not played ANY of natlan nor do I know what’s going on soo capitano is based off what I’ve heard. Also dottore’s takes place after the reader replaces Krupp after Krupp gets murked (rip)

Capitano

Cw: praise kink, size difference, feminine reader, girlcock

“Thank you, dear , for trying to make me feel better.” Capitano’s hands grasp your hips gently, pulling you downward on her cock just enough so that your snuggly against her.

Your sprawled out on the bed, gripping the bedsheets tightly as you try your best to adjust to her size. You knew your captain was big—I mean just looking at her you could have guessed—but you didn’t realize how big. Not only she is towering over you, her body blocking out some of the light from the lamp above, but her cock felt like it was stretching you wide open.

“So good for me…” you hear her mutter out above you, her voice breathy. You couldn’t exactly see her face, but you like to imagine it’s just as red as yours right now.

“o..of course c-captain-“ A small thrust from Capitano causes you to interrupt yourself with your own gasp, throwing your head back against the pillow. You can feel her start to move slowly, clearly trying to be at least a little bit careful with you while you’re still getting used to her. It’s adorable, your little mewls and whimpers.

“Such a strong solider, you can take it right?”

Her hand removes itself from its position on your hips, moving upward to grasp your chin gently. She pulls your face to look towards her, forcing you to stare into the blackness of her mask.

“I said you’re going to be good for me right?”

“Y-yes Captain..!”

“Good girl.”

Dottore (omega segment)

Cw: rough sex, cunniligus, omega segment, degradation, dottore has a pussy, gn reader

“You’re far better than krupp ever was.”

Dottore has her hand buried in your hair, keeping you against her cunt as she looked down on you. If it wasn’t for the light dusting of blush on her cheeks, you would have thought dottore didn’t feel anything at all.

“I’m glad Beta chose you to take up Krupp’s failures, you’re not a stumbling fool.” Her words come out in a sneer, her grip tightening on your hair. A small whimper escapes your lips, but if Dottore heard it, she clearly didn’t care. All your noises are muffled by your mouth being pressed against her pussy anyway.

“And now whenever I have to visit, I get to enjoy myself a little, even if prime doesn’t enjoy my slacking.”

Her slick drips down your chin, however your tongue still laps up her essence dutifully despite the messiness of it. It’s always a treat when dottore stops by, making sure to spoil you just a bit while you’re not needed to run the arena. It makes dealing with Beta a bit less annoying when you know you’ll get rewarded later.

“You’re so eager to please, what a little slut.” Dottore suddenly pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at her. You can’t see her eyes through the mask, but you’re sure they are staring into your soul. “But that’s why I like you better.”

Columbina

Cw: injured reader, biting kink, blood kink, groping, Columbina crazy but we love for her it <3 fem reader

Columbina doesn’t react when she hears another pained hiss escape your lips, continuing to kiss at your wounds.

To come back to the motherland after being away for so long due to injury was truly not something you ever wanted to happen, but as you lay before Columbina, it’s something you just going to have to accept. It’s not that Columbina minds—having her fascination home sooner to her is all she could truly care about.

“You should let me take care of you,” Columbina pulls away from the scar on your stomach, moving herself up from her position. “They say kisses make things better.” She’s straddling you now, her hands traveling up your sides until they reach your chest.

This time she quietly shushes you when you whimper at the coldness of her hands as they start to play with your breasts, kneading and exploring them. “Still as wonderful as ever, my love.” She hums, her fingers finding your nipple to tweak it slightly.

You watch as she leans down, her head resting itself in the crook of your neck while she listens to your pants. You can feel her smile into your neck, but the peace only lasts shortly before her teeth bite down.

She holds herself there for a few more moments, relishing in the taste of your blood before slightly pulling her head away.

“Now you have a gift from me too.” As she presses a kiss to her bleeding bite-mark.

Thank you for reading! If you thought it was shit that’s because I didn’t read back anything I wrote :) have fun gooning ALSO LOOK I DID SOME FANCY TEXT THING (I’m so cool)

#genshin smut #genshin impact nsft #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin capitano #genshin dottore #genshin columbina #columbina x reader #dottore x reader #capitano x reader #dottore x you #Dottore smut #capitano smut #capitano x you #Columbina smut

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thetxtdevil · 2 months ago

Text

General Surgeon *TXT's Anatomy*

Doctor!Huening Kai x Doctor!Reader

summary: After having a rough day at work, you suggest to help Kai relax.

content: smut, hospital setting (if you don't like anything correlating to blood and anything medical don't read), descriptions of surgery, mentions of alcohol, female reader, perv.reader, perv.kai, kai has some stubble, p in v, shower/wall sex, fingering, titty sucking, raw

word count: 3.3k

Time flies when saving lives or when you’re standing still, astonished by what lies beneath the skin and muscle of your patient. The surgical operating room was quiet except for the soft hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Dr. Huening stood over an open abdomen, brows furrowed beneath his surgical cap. Kai had performed numerous colon resections in his career. Scheduled cases like this one were meant to be routine. Predictable. Safe. However, the segment of colon they had planned to remove was not to be expected. The normally pink organ was necrotic, and rotting black flesh had spread well beyond the imaging estimates.

He paused, his gloved hands suspended for a moment. Then he sighs, “We need to do a total colectomy,” he said to the team. “Her colon’s not viable.”

The usual light-hearted happy man was in his negative state, making the whole room feel different. There were no arguments. No hesitation. There couldn’t be; they didn’t want to feel the wrath of Negative Kai. The surgical team moved quickly, changing instruments and meds. Kai worked with steady hands, but in the back of his mind, he was already thinking about what this would mean for the patient.

When the patient woke up in the recovery room, it took her a moment to understand where she was. Her eyes squint against the soft overhead light. Her hand instinctively went to her abdomen. Kai was already standing nearby, uncomfortable heat filled his chest, knowing the reaction he was going to get. His surgical cap now removed, his dark hair was damp with sweat from hours of operating. The patient’s breath hitched, and fingertips met the plastic of a colostomy bag. Taking a dry gulp, Kai stepped forward, ready to explain to the heartbroken patient the unplanned surgery and her new lifestyle.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want this for you. But I’ll make sure you have the support you need. You won’t go through this alone.” Kai watches the tears fall from the patient’s face. When his phone goes off, he quickly looks at the message alerting him of a trauma. Looking back at the devastated woman, he knows that there is nothing else he can do for her at the moment.

Kai rushes out of the room, looking back at the bold letters, TRAUMA CODE RED – GSW ABDOMEN – OR 2 IMMEDIATE. Sprinting towards the operating rooms, white coat billowing behind him, turning the heads of the people of the hospital.

Flying through the door, coming up to the scrub sink, he tore off his coat, frantically tying his cap and mask on before scrubbing in. Adrenaline peaking is observed while watching the inside, OR rushing to situate materials, hooking the patient onto the monitor, and injecting every medication in the book into the patient.

“Thirty-year-old male, gunshot wound to the lower abdomen, hypotensive, and unconscious on arrival,” the trauma resident informed Kai as he entered, tugging on gloves. Not wanting to waste another breath, he stepped to the table, taking command.

“Let’s open him up now.” The first scalpel stroke cut through skin and tissue with practiced precision. Liquid crimson of blood overflows, too much, too fast. Kai’s hands were in, looking for the source.

“Pack it. Suction here. I’ve got a major bleeder likely iliac,” he said. Tension filled the room, sweat drips from Kai’s forehead as he works quickly. Red chaos bright under the surgical lights motivates Kai to work with more intensity.

“He’s bradying!” the anesthesiologist warned.

Kai didn’t look up. “More suction and more blood to compensate. We are not losing him.”

He exposed the source of the bleed, a shredded loop of small bowel and a nicked iliac branch. He clamped it, “Bleeding controlled. Let’s assess the bowel. Lap pads and suction.”

%%%

Kai pushes through the door away from the surgical rooms, he advances like a zombie as he tears away his light purple cap, falling onto the closest seat he can find. Exhaustion engulfs him, the consequences of the day catching up. Moments after, you burst through the same doors, however, you were as cool as a cucumber. A sigh of relief and another surgery, well done, leads you to the desks. Typing away, charting post-op, your peripheral vision spots a familiar man. You take a few glances at the surgeon passed out on the chair, eyes tracing Kai’s form, the bump of his Adam’s apple, tense broad shoulders, and his muscular pecs peaking through his scrubs.

Crack Snap

Instantly rolling your eyes, you knew the sounds of your scrub nurse’s infamous bubble gum chewing habit. Whipping your head to the source of getting you out of your trance, you see Yeonjun.

He shakes his head, “I see you giving him the sex eyes, just talk to him.”

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes once more, staring back at the surgeon.

Memories of your intern year flash back, when you first met Kai, first day. He was so innocent, willing to learn everything and anything. The look in his big brown eyes he had when he saw an open body cavity for the first time. Part of you thought he wasn’t meant to be a surgeon because of his kind, angel-like aura. However, another part of you thought that he would be a great asset to the surgical field. A natural, not only in general surgery, but also in studies and trials, succeeding in almost every ground-breaking experiment the hospital was working on.

It was mostly due to his good eye for detail, little did you know that he mostly had his eyes on you. For all of his internship years, Kai had a crush on you. Holding himself back, of course, because he knew you were headstrong in your work, so was he, so he stayed back and just admired you from afar.

However, his small crush on you stayed put since you two and Taehyun became roommates. Till this day, he doesn’t know if being roommates with you was a good idea. With less money to spend on rent, carpooling was efficient, and being close to people who understand surgical life, it was great. That is, until he hears your sweet melody hum drown out the silence of the house, your act of service with a perfectly made coffee. Then witnesses you walking unapologetically around in your underwear, the scent of your body wash, while he takes a shower in your shared bathroom. And don’t get him started on your confidence with walking in while he’s using the shower. He was tired, not by the weight of heroism people give doctors, but tired of having to see your slutty ass fucking his friends.

His bright eyes were now sunken in from lack of sleep. Clean-cut hair and a face prepared for good impressions were now grown-out wavy locks and stubble, covering his permanent half smile. These past few years have not been kind to him. He is still a great surgeon, better than you thought, but Kai is surely burnt out.

A small smile creeps onto your lips as you think of Kai; he’s been so sweet to you and patient. You walk over to the man, standing in front of him, receiving no response. Moments of continuously staring at Kai, you shake your head at his lack of awareness, pinching his shoulder to wake him up.

“Ow!” he grimaces now fully awake, rubbing his shoulder where your fingers grabbed.

"You look like shit," you spat at him, coming closer and rubbing his pinched spot as an apology.

"Yeah, I feel like it," Kai says, tilting his head back, putting the surgical cap on his face.

A few seconds away from falling back to sleep, he hears the voice he’s always been drawn to, "Can I do anything to make you feel better?"

A smirk twitches on Kai’s lips, moving his cap a bit so his eye peaks out, "In a doctor way or in a get drunk and do stuff way?"

You perk up, bouncing on your toes, “Wanna go to the bar?”

“I’d rather go home, I’ve had a long day.” He sighs with a pitiful pout.

You’re quick to grab both of Kai’s arms using all your strength to bring him up to his feet. He complies but slouches over you, arm over one of your shoulders, and the other arm around your waist. Both of you bid your goodbyes to Yeonjun as you pass by.

The drive home was quiet, you felt the familiar tension of a tough day radiating off of Kai. You didn’t want to push him to talk, not right now at least, knowing sometimes it's better to let it sink in silence.

Walking up to the front door, quickly unlocking it to scream, “Taehyun, we’re home!” You received no response, stepping into the kitchen to look at the chore chart that turned into a schedule chart of the three of you guys, to see that Tae is working tonight. Turning around to the cabinet of alcohol beverages, ready to start mixing drinks and get drunk off your ass, you watch as Kai waddles past the kitchen to the bathroom. You pout, No drinks?

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, contemplating what to do for your poor friend. A quick shot of tequila, you strut towards the bathroom door. You knock on the door and let yourself into the bathroom. “Do you want to vent?” You ask softly, and Kai grumbles.

You sigh at his answer, moving closer to the shower door to open it. He was standing there, his back faced to you, drowning himself in the waterfall.

“Well, if you’re not going to get better in the drunk way, how about we do stuff?”

Kai chuckles, looking back, “Do you realize what I was implying?”

He looked back to see your face, and reality struck him. You’re standing there with a quirked eyebrow, looking at him fully naked. If your dark gaze didn’t give you away, it would be the dark blush on your cheeks. “Oh!” he gasps, turning fully towards you, revealing all of him.

“Your ass is nice but your dick is also very nice.” You say with a smirk.

“D-did you start drinking without me?” Kai asked, blush engulfing his whole body.

You shut the door and disappear for a second, Kai stands there confused until the opening of the shower door reveals your now naked body. You step in, literally testing the waters, then step closer to the man. Watching his jaw clench, biting his lip, Kai was holding himself back like he always did. Holding back from a confession, holding back what he wants, holding back his need to hold you.

Kai was jolted out of his thoughts when soft fingertips touched him. Your hand smooths up his chest up to the nape of his neck, scratching his damp scalp. He falls back, eyes closing at the soothing feeling, so close to losing himself. Once you leaned in to the point your perky nipples smooshed into his pecs, there was no holding back. Kai opens his eyes, and his hands find their way to your hips.

“y/n…” He says sternly. You stood there, eyes locked to his. “I-uh, I want you.” Kai finally admits.

You smile, the long-lasting crush has never faded, and the circular rubs of his thumbs on your hips felt more than nice.

“Anything specific you want from me?” You quirk a brow, trying to keep a calm facade.

Kai’s dark brown eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips. His gaze slowly turns dark, letting himself drift lower from your lips. You blush watching the man sigh when he looks at your breasts, smooshed into his chest. He relished in the moment, trying to capture the feeling of you against his skin. Caught in the moment, he doesn’t realize your hand coming up to grab his jaw.

Your grip was tight, Kai’s five o'clock shadow digging into your fingers, his plush lips pouting. He was so cute, even though you could feel his member getting hard. You dove in, capturing his lips with yours. Your hands move to tug at the wet strands on his head, causing the man to groan. He kissed you like he’d waited years for this—because he had.

His grip on your hips tightens, making you move and grind against his erection. The heat of your breath, in addition to the steaming water beside you, was overwhelming, but there was no way Kai was letting you go. Long fingers of his move between your bodies, dipping them into your folds. His vision goes blurry, feeling just how wet you are. Something inside him felt like it was going to combust; he had to do something.

In an instant, you feel the weight of gravity pushing you against the glass wall of the shower. Kai’s hand grabs your hand, slamming it against the glass, holding it tightly. Lips unlocked from each other, Kai trails kiss down your neck as his other hand rubs your aching clit. The stimulation brings sparks in your belly, firing moans rolling out of your throat. It echoes in the bathroom along with gushing wet noises.

Careless marks were being made down your neck and onto your tits. You felt Kai getting closer to your sensitive nipple. You gasp, feeling his soft, wet tongue licking the bud before his lips capture it. Your body was on fire, you felt your cunt clamping onto the man’s fingers, stomach tightening as you jolt your tits deeper into Kai’s mouth.

Your hand still in his, you squeeze it as you whine, “Kai, please, fuck me.”

You begin to worry that the splashing of the shower and lust overpowered your words. Kai’s fingers thrust into your warmth faster, pushing on that gummy spot that had you begging through moans. Kai lifts his head, pecking your lips before asking, “Do you want me to stop?”

You pant, trying to collect words that beg him not to stop, but all you could do was shake your head desperately. Kai experatly pushes the heel of his palm into your clit, fingers still thrusting. You grip his other hand hard, head falling into his shoulder as you cum on his fingers.

Kai tilts his head, trying to see your fucked out expression. He chuckles, “That was cute.”

You weakly place your fist on his shoulder, a meek way to show intimidation. Your held hands were lazily swinging by your sides, his thumb once again lovingly rubbing your skin.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?” Kai says, voice groggy with lust, “Hearing rumors of you fucking Yeonjun and Soobin in the on-call rooms, playing with Beomgyu in the supply closet, and don’t get me started with catching you sleeping comfortably with Taehyun.”

You whine, embarrassed by how your sex life went around the hospital. You didn’t care what people thought of you, but knowing that Kai knows made you feel ashamed.

“Kai I-” There were no words to say, you didn’t feel sorry, but you also didn’t want him to feel like the last kid picked on a team.

The man quickly shuts down your thoughts and kisses you, “Will you let me have you now?” You look into those dark onyx eyes, pitiful, how desperate he was. You can’t help but sense some possessiveness in those eyes and voice.

You two stood there, letting the water trickle down your bodies. A shiver runs up your spine, whether it was from the hot shower turning lukewarm or that reality has hit you now, your best friend of the past few years stands naked before you, wanting you. “Yes.” You finally answer him.

He leaned in, closing the space, a kiss turned into something more certain, slow, hungry, loving. His hands slid down your back down to outline the plush of your ass. Gripping your legs to lift you, anchoring you as the moment deepened. The world melted into steam and skin, water and desire. All that existed was the two of you, wrapped in heat and passion that went far beyond lust.

Kai reaches down to line up his member to your weeping hole. The fat tip sends an electric shock up your spine, arching your back, trying to make the man fit in. Light kisses and coos were given to soothe you, eventually relaxing your body, giving Kai the go-ahead and sink all the way into you. Kai stays still, trying his hardest to keep his load from combusting at that moment. Head in the crook of your neck, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly as you groan at the feel of him.

“Kai, baby-” You whisper into his ear, resulting in him moving his hips.

Fat cock splitting you open, yet creating the most delicious drag you’ve ever felt. His thrusts were slow at first, letting you get used to him even more. You admired his self-control; however, you could tell he was slipping from the stay every stutter of his movements and the tightening grip he had on your legs.

You brush strands of hair out of Kai’s face before cupping it. Pushing his focus away from between your bodies to your face. “Baby, you can go faster.”

His eyes widen, “Really? Are you ready?”

You giggle, smiling as you nod. Shortly after that moment, you feel like the wind was knocked out of you. His thrusts sped up, hitting deep into the point you thought he was hitting your cervix. The man’s lips were all over the place, kissing your shoulders, up to your lips, sucking on your ear. Repeating “I love yous” over again. Your mind was in a daze, being filled up and loved was great, but what made it better was that you knew this was what Kai needed.

He felt himself close to cumming. He didn’t care if it was too soon; he knew he had you all night. The way your cunt clamped onto his dick and your moans mixed with his grunts let you both know that you were about to come undone.

“Can I cum inside?” Kai moans into your ear.

It was at that moment that you forgot that he didn’t put a condom on. Looking into Kai’s watery eyes on his fucked out face, you didn’t care. “Yes, Kai, cum inside.”

At that moment, the man’s eyebrows scrunch up, eyes closed in pure ecstasy, and swollen lips open, letting a growl from within out. You feel your insides become warmer than ever, the sight of him and the feeling of being filled made you cum on the spot.

You both were frozen in time, leaning against the shower wall as cold water poured onto your bodies. You couldn’t feel your legs as Kai pulls himself out of you. Your weak limbs drag down, feet trying to meet the ground. Reaching for the faucet knob to try to save your water bill, you could feel Kai’s soft kisses on your skin. The rough texture of his face scratches you.

“You need to shave your face.” You say, bringing his face back up to your line of sight.

The man pouts, “No, let’s get out of the shower, after I clean you up, and those drinks you were excited to have.”

You chuckle, not going to deny his plan, it did sound nice. “Ok, but tell me about your day.”

Kai sighs, backing away from the first time all shower to grab a wash cloth. Turning the water back on, he starts explaining his hectic day, and you reassure him and give pecks on his lips.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🩺

taglist: @blue-moon-514, @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme

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dovveri · 11 months ago

Text

matching wounds

synopsis: 2 victors are brought back as mentors for the 58th hunger games. you don’t understand how your fellow victor nayeon seems so okay after everything that happened in the arena.

warnings: angst! sleep issues, trauma, death, killings, blood, weapons, mentions of sex trafficking, suggestive at times, all the trigger warnings that come w the hunger games ig…

w/c: 13.3k

a/n: got this idea post conan concert listening to the exit and being thrown back to this one hunger games edit to the exit and this was born! its mostly just them dealing w their trauma and talking and being there for each other </3

»┼)➝

the train ride to the capitol is it's usual flamboyant, boastful lie. you scowl, looking out the window as you pass the countryside at rapid speed. a year was not nearly enough to recover from the trauma of winning the infamous hunger games. you still remember very clearly, the absolute dread you felt sitting on this train a year ago, praying to all the deities and gods you had never bothered learning the names of in your limited education in district 9.

your attention is drawn over to the carriage door when it slides open. your accompaniment, the only other victor alive in district 9, walks in briskly. she doesn't seem to take notice of you slinking around in the corner of the carriage. im nayeon was something else. she was your mentor when you were in the games last year. she had won her games not too long before you, reaped at the very young age of 14 for the 49th hunger games. you guessed you could consider yourself lucky in that sense. your name was picked out last year when you were already 18, so you already had the build and experience from working out in the fields all day to help you win. nayeon's games didn't make too big of a splash because the next year was the quarter quell and haymitch abernathy from district 12 stole the win to the surprise of much of the capitol and the districts. he was all everyone could talk about and people easily forgot the winner of the games the year before his.

you don't remember watching her games on television either, you were only 10 at the time, and your family was too poor to afford something as luxurious as a screen. you saw no sense in watching the games when you could be out working the fields to bring home food for your family instead, that was the first year you were trusted with heavier tasks after all.

as a mentor, nayeon was surprisingly bright and enthusiastic. she was a little awkward when she first met you, but when she found out you actually had potential, she poured her all into preparing you for your games. and with that bright charm she enticed capitol citizens easily, getting you sponsors left and right despite coming from such a poor district. your male counterpart was a little less lucky, he was killed in the initial bloodbath at the cornucopia, it was a shame but everyone expected it. you think he was one of the ones in your district that was worse off, he looked skinny as a stick, and when you sparred during training you had him flat on his face within seconds.

you'll never forget the face nayeon made when you came out of that arena, bloodied and barely conscious after killing the other final contestant, but nayeon was the first face you recognised. she hovered over you, eyebrows creased, hand over her mouth, tears falling uncontrollably, dripping onto your face.

you were the only other victor district 9 produced. it must have meant a lot to her that you survived after she sent kids off each year knowing they'll most likely die. it was the first time you had seen her break, the first time she wasn't putting on a mask for the kids she lead to their deaths.

because your district didn't have a male victor, you were asked to come back as a mentor this year instead. the kids reaped were scrawnier than ever, you had asked the staff to instruct them to take a shower first before meeting you and nayeon. you remember when you were escorted onto the lavish train for the first time you felt so disgusted with your grime and dust you felt too bad to eat all of the food that would be laid out, thinking you were much less than presentable, especially in front of nayeon.

you continue sulking in your chair, watching nayeon move around the room effortlessly. although you had moved yourself and your whole family into the victor's village, you still didn't see much of the older woman despite practically being neighbours.

you got to know her mom and her sister a little better but found out her dad was killed in a small uprising when she was only a little girl. not long after, her younger sister was born and she had to practically raise her while her mom was out trying to find as much work as she could to support all of them. nayeon grew up to be strong-willed and caring, winning her games with her cunning and natural ability to draw people into her and make them trust her. back home though, she spent most of her time away from home, no one, not even her family knows where she goes.

the carriage door slides open a second time, and this time the tributes for this year walk in shyly.

nayeon turns immediately with a smile, the same one she presented to you when you first walked in.

"hi! come in! please help yourself to all of the food here. it's a fairly long train ride into the capitol so it's important to bulk you guys up as much as we can before the games start."

the contestants flinch at the reminder of the games, looking at each other in uncertainty.

you step up then, "it's okay. everything's safe to eat. i had the same worry last year because i heard the story of that boy winning one of the early games by poisoning everyone on the train on the way to the capitol so all the other tributes were already dead or weakened by the time they stepped into the arena. security has upped considerably since the early games so it's safe to eat. you should eat, it'll help you get strong before you go in."

nayeon's gaze flicks over to you when you step out of the shadows, a curious look settling over her face.

the male contestant lurches forward at the reassurance, immediately stuffing his face with all he can reach, never having seen this much food in his life.

the girl also steps forward watching her counterpart, gingerly picking up a scone and biting in, her eyes light up at the texture.

you smile, moving towards them, "here. add this, it's called jam. it'll make it taste even better." you grab a scone for yourself and show her how to apply the jam, watching her take a bite and grin, mumbling her thanks around a mouthful of food.

nayeon slides in next to you, sitting across from the contestants with a kind smile.

"good right? after only eating plain bread and wheat for so long it's almost otherworldly."

the contestants hum and nod, still more focused on the food than the two of you.

"what were your names again?"

the boy finishes his mouthful of scrambled eggs, "julian. my family mainly works in transportation of wheat. so i've had a little experience hauling heavy things and lugging them around."

nayeon nods, "that can come in useful. there are always weapons that are included for heavyweights like you." she turns to the girl next, prompting her to reply.

"adeline. i don't have a lot of experience doing much of anything." she replies shyly.

you speak up, "that's okay! i'm sure we'll be able to find something once training starts."

you don't ask any further questions, nayeon and you in mutual silent agreement to let them eat until they were full. you send them off to explore the rest of the train and have a look outside, getting accustomed to the rapid change of pace from grueling farming work under the hot sun everyday, to air-conditioned velvet cushions and endless food and drink.

nayeon excuses herself as well, saying she was going to ask the train conductors exactly how long it would take to get there.

you wave goodbye, the permanent smile etched onto her face unnerved you.

when she was your mentor, you just thought she was encouraging. but now… now you know how she feels to be the last one standing in the arena. and you don’t understand how she can possibly smile or act as if everything was okay, not when the people you killed and betrayed haunt you in your nightmares every night, not when your senses are constantly on alert, terrified someone would jump out from around a corner to try and kill you, not when you felt like you had never left the arena.

it felt like you and nayeon had matching wounds, but yours were still black and bruised, and hers were perfectly fine. leaving the arena and trying to live life after the trauma it put on you, and being forcefully reminded of it every year afterwards, it was like you buried something that never died. how could she live with herself?

you spend the rest of the day moping around, wallowing in despair and wondering just how you were going to survive the next few weeks.

»┼)➝

a jolt of the train wakes you up. not that you could ever sleep well anyway. the first few nights after the arena you barely slept an hour a day. if you weren’t paranoid someone would attack you in your sleep, you’d be woken by the voices of the ones you killed.

you sigh, sliding out of bed and stepping outside your room. you wouldn’t be able to sleep for any longer so may as well rise early.

you pad down the hallways lightly, rubbing your eyes and wandering around aimlessly. you had gotten used to waking up at ungodly hours and usually chose to be productive when you were awake, cleaning, gardening, knitting, learning whatever you couldn't learn when you were living in poverty and didn't have the opportunity to learn. anything to get your mind off the ghosts that haunted you.

you find yourself at the back of the train, in the last carriage where half the carriage's ceiling and back wall is practically clear, allowing you to see the terrain the train was passing through.

what you don't expect is another figure, curled up at the end of the carriage sitting on the ledge and looking out at the landscape. nayeon.

she's got one knee up on the ledge, the other stretched out dangling over the edge, arms perched on her knee, head rested on her arms. you approach slowly, unsure if she was awake or not.

it seems her senses never really dulled at all either though. she noticed you when she walked into the food carriage earlier in the day, she just chose to let you think and brood, she noticed you now as you tread towards her slowly. this time she turns her head to not scare you, letting you know she was awake. her eyes are crinkled in a softer smile, heavy and tired.

"hey y/n."

you reach her quietly, she gestures for you to sit opposite her on the ledge, shuffling around so you have the space to sit up and lean back against the window.

"hi... did you sleep?"

nayeon hums, "a little."

it's silent for a few minutes, the churn of the train and the soft breaths the two of you let out are the only sounds you can hear. you look out towards the horizon as well, the fields and forests the train rapidly passes blur into mixes of brown and dark green. it's getting brighter, slowly but surely, the sun was lazily making its way up, signifying another day you were alive.

your eyes eventually drift over to nayeon. (they always do.) she was like a mystery someone would dedicate their life to uncovering. you trace over the lines on her face, noticing the little mole under her left eyebrow for the first time, the small array of freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her heart-shaped lips full and-

you catch yourself, eyes flicking up to hers again to make sure she wasn't watching you. you breathe out a sigh of relief, she was still entranced by the slowly rising sun.

"are you always up this early?" she speaks up at last, breaking the silence that settled over you calmly, although it wasn't an unwelcome break, like a raindrop disturbing the peace of a still lake.

"sometimes. i haven't really slept well ever since i left the arena." you realise this is the first time you're speaking about your experience in the arena with her. the first time speaking about your experience period. you had closed the memories off, pushing them down deep inside you so they could only haunt you in your unguarded sleep. and your family knew better than to ask, they saw what you went through on the big screens, there was no need to remind you of the trauma more than you already were reminded of it everyday.

nayeon lets out a dry chuckle, "that never changes."

your eyebrow raises, you knew close to nothing about the older woman. she never talked about herself or her games, when she was your mentor she was solely focused on helping you survive. and you had never asked.

"... you always seem so... fine though. i don't know how you do it to be honest."

she looks at you then, a sarcastic sort of glint in her eye, "is that what you think of me?"

you gulp, suddenly nervous for whatever reason, "i think that's what most people think of you. i didn't think much of it until i stepped out of that arena too. most people think we can just leave it all behind, enjoy the riches, bringing our families out of poverty, not having to live on scraps of grain everyday, they'd think we'd all look like you. but i'm not."

"i'm not either y'know. i have to put on this face. so that my family doesn't ask how i am. so that the kids i send to die every year think they have a chance of getting out and being as happy as i look."

"even faking it though... it must take so much. i can barely look at the kids without being thrown right back into that arena."

"you never get used to it. y'know the first year after i won, i was so optimistic. i thought, if i could do it, there's no reason anyone else can't do it from our district. and i thought that year they had better chances than me. i was only 15 y'know, when i first started mentoring, not to mention it was the quarter quell so there were twice the tributes i was in charge of. the tributes that year were all 16 or 17, i thought they were older than me, fitter than me, they could win, they really stood a chance. and then i watched them all be cut down in the first few seconds of the cornucopia bloodbath. four people. just like that. dead."

"...i'm sorry."

"don't be. that's just the world we live in right? the only way to survive is to think like the people in the capitol. when you view them as objects, as items of entertainment instead of real, tangible lives, it's a hell of a lot easier to watch them die." there's a somber pause, your mind racing, sorting all this new information you're getting out of her, "not you though." and then your mind's quiet, senses hyperfocused on what nayeon says next.

she sighs, looking back out at the soft orange and yellow hues that start to fill the early morning sky, "i couldn't do it. i couldn't look at you like that. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't- i don't know. you were different. eight years sending 18 kids to die, but you came back."

"i couldn't have done it without you."

her lips turn upwards, just a little, but you catch it, "no. you brought it out of me. turns out when you actually care about who's in the arena instead of treating them like your next poker piece, you work a little harder to make sure they survive."

"but then what if they don't?"

her smile drops again, "i think you'll answer that for yourself after this year's games."

she sighs, standing up, about to leave, but you catch her hand, not even sure what compelled you to grab it. the contact makes both your eyes widen, looking down at where you're touching.

"wait..."

she waits. cocks her head, hand closing around yours in reciprocation.

you struggle to form the thoughts in your mind, too much information for your cognitive load to handle, but eventually one thing comes to the forefront.

"i care about you too."

nayeon smiles, a real smile this time, you can tell because her eyes crinkle, her nose scrunches, cheeks blush, perfect teeth show. you suddenly pull a memory from the depths of your brain, the first time you saw her, when her name was called out at her reaping. she was a small little thing, obviously young and frail, but her smile was just as practiced. except back then she had two large front teeth, it gave the appearance of a freshly born rabbit. you don't question where they've gone, her time in the capitol right before her games likely had her stylists 'fix' her teeth so she was objectively prettier and would attract more sponsors on screen. like cleaning the pigs before sending them to the slaughterhouse. what a broken world you lived in.

»┼)➝

you spend the next few days on the train leading up to the capitol getting to know julian and adeline better, trying to tease out parts of their personality that could be used to appeal to the public, as well as putting them on a basic exercise and meal regime to get them fitter and healthier for the games.

you also spent a lot more time with nayeon, working together to come up with the best plans and routines to put the tributes into, staying up late and studying all you can know about the other contestants that would be in the games, coming up with strategies that could be used once they were in the arena.

the outlandish extravagance of the capitol will never cease to amaze you. and judging by the look on nayeon’s face as you pull in, it seems no matter how many times you return, you will always be reminded of their power and riches over the districts.

you’ve been getting to learn nayeon’s expressions. right now, she’s sporting her fakest, most exaggerated smile for the capitol viewers. you know better though, the anger and disgust in her eyes only able to be interpreted by someone who came from the districts.

she turns to you then, and you blush, feeling caught staring, but she doesn't comment on it, instead brushing her hand past yours lightly, behind the peacekeepers stationed out front for your protection (or to keep you in line), and interlock your fingers where no one else can see. she squeezes gently in reassurance, leaning in to whisper into your ear, "smile y/n. you're the most recent victor, the one they'll remember best, the one they'll be most curious about since her games ended, their attention on you can help bring attention to our tributes who would never normally get this much of a crowd."

she was right. you didn't have time to wallow in the self-pity and hate you held for the capitol when you remember your two mentees from back home, likely terrified and completely overstimulated from their first sight of the capitol, the people coming to welcome them not even looking like they belonged to the same species, all dressed up in absurd colours and materials people in the districts probably slaved days away to manufacture.

you squeeze her hand in return, looking out to the crowd and smiling.

"look for the red dots. those are signs that cameras are currently recording for the rest of the capitol to see."

you follow nayeon's instructions, spotting the small blinking dots and smiling directly at them, waving and trying your best to remove yourself from your body, going into autopilot to not feel the utter abhorrence at being paraded around like a circus monkey.

the crowd becomes impossibly louder at your actions. when you can tell everyone's eyes are on you, you point to your tributes who are standing next to you, looking like newborn foals learning to walk, redirecting their attention.

nayeon gives you a little nod of approval, her hand not leaving yours while you slowly step off the train and follow the peacekeepers towards your transport to the training facilities while making your way through the welcome crowd.

by the time you finally arrive, it's already sundown and you can feel the exhaustion of having put on a face for so long. the tributes are taken away from you to meet their stylists for the first time. you're too tired to offer them any advice but nayeon steps in, still as energetic as she was when the day started.

"do everything the stylists tell you to do. it's gonna feel weird at first and they may even want you to do some things that you won't be comfortable with, but it's all gonna be for your benefit. just remember that they're on your side. they want to make you look like the best version of yourself for the rest of the capitol, and beauty sells. trust me i know."

they nod, thanking you both and being led off by peacekeepers.

you and nayeon are led to your floor where you'll be staying for the remainder of the games. as soon as you're inside you slump down onto the couch, waving off the avoxes that look at each other a little concerned.

"she's okay. just tired. you guys can leave us, we'll call you if we need anything." nayeon offers a polite smile, sitting down much more elegantly next to you.

the avoxes nod their acknowledgement and wander off. poor things.

when you hear that they're gone, you roll over to look at nayeon who's finally taken off her smile, folding her jacket neatly and placing it off to the side.

"you're really good at that."

she looks at you, tilts her head in question.

"you fooled me too. the whole happy polite princess thing you have going on. and you know you're way around. this is my first time back to the capitol since the games. i never thought i'd be back here."

something comes over her eyes, but she brushes it off, smiling at you, a little pained, but before she can reply, one of the avoxes comes back and whispers something into nayeon's ear. her face darkens, and she nods, standing back up.

"i have to go y/n. rest well." it's curt, she doesn't even look you in the eyes, and then she's gone.

you’re left blinking after her, confused at what just happened. did you say something wrong?

»┼)➝

nayeon isn't back even by dinner time. neither are your tributes, although they probably wouldn't be back until the next day, or even the day after. you remember the amount of procedures you'd gone through when you'd arrived. the preparations for the opening ceremony were extremely important for first impressions and they didn't have that much time to fix all the issues you'd grown up with. major plastic surgery was normally the way to go.

so you push the abundance of food around on your plate, thinking about how at home the amount of food you're eating could feed a family of 10. it sickens you. it's the first time since you'd left home that you were really alone. not counting the avoxes positioned behind you that had to attend to your every need. it was almost like you missed nayeon. she was always able to brighten your moods, playing around, even when things were serious she'd make sure nothing ever got too overwhelming for you or for the tributes. she was a veteran.

you sigh, pushing your food away, apetite gone. with nothing else to do, you retire to bed after a shower. maybe the soft mattresses and expensive fabrics designed particularly for sleep would finally grant you a night of good sleep.

it did the exact opposite. the fabric rubs your skin the wrong way, and you're tossing and turning in bed, playing around with the different settings of the window, shuffling your pillows around. you just couldn't find peace.

you yawn, giving up and sliding out of bed. you pad outside your room, intending to get some fresh air. on the train you didn't have that luxury, but you could still see the countryside while it passed. at least now you had a balcony in the main living room. it was caged off in case any of the tributes tried to commit suicide before the actual games, but it was still fresh air.

the cool tiles of the floor feel foreign on the skin of your feet. before you make it to the balcony door, you hear the front door clicking open.

your heart stops, sweat immediately building up on your brow, your body being thrown back into the arena, terrified someone was here to kill you.

your movements are quick, crouching and scrambling towards the couch in silence, grabbing the closest thing you can, the couch blanket. you'd learnt anything can be fashioned into a weapon with the right mindset. the blanket could be used to choke the intruder if it really came to it.

you peek to the side of the couch, holding your breath as soft footsteps pad towards the living room, the only light available is the one in the entry way, overcasting a shadow moving its way closer and closer.

but as soon as it's about to turn the corner, it stops.

you curse internally. did they notice you?

you don't get to form a second thought before a pin is whizzing your way, impaling itself into the couch. you barely have enough time to scramble backwards, the cushion of the couch saving you, but the person is leaping forwards, pushing you down into the floor. you react automatically, struggling against the figure, using the blanket you're clutching onto to latch onto a leg, yanking so they lose their balance, toppling over. you take the opportunity to quickly clamber over them, pulling the blanket to wrap around their neck.

their hands come up immediately, trying to create space between the fabric pulled tight at their throat, gasping in effort.

you finally can assess the intruder. she's wearing a short dress, pale skin exposed, hair pinned up in a clean updo with the same pins that she must have used to throw at you once she noticed your presence. and then suddenly, with horror you realise it's nayeon.

you quickly let her go, scrambling back until your back hits the couch, staring at her as she coughs, trying to catch her breath.

"nayeon!"

she groans, turning, eyes adjusting to the dark, "y/n?"

"oh fuck i'm so sorry i didn't- i thought there was an intruder-"

she massages her throat, letting out a little chuckle when she realises what's happened, "it's okay y/n. i thought the same. sorry for almost impaling you with a hairpin."

you stare at her, still in shock. "what- where have you been- jesus i almost killed you-"

"don't get cocky now. i could've gotten out of that."

you roll your eyes, "i'm serious nayeon. what are you wearing? i'm sorry too." your words are flying out, too many thoughts coming up too fast, but mainly, you're just glad it wasn't some assassin sent to kill you.

she looks down at herself, like she was just remembering she was dressed up. "ugh never mind that. are you okay? you're not hurt are you?"

you shake your head, "you?"

"i'm good don't worry your pretty little self. anyway i'm gonna go take a shower. you should go back to sleep y/n."

you tilt your head, standing up when she does, "but where have you been?"

she starts towards the bedrooms, turning on the hallway light so you can finally see each other, "out." she doesn't look at you when she replies, pulling her dress down so it covers more of herself. you catch a glimpse of the scar on her right thigh right before she covers it, the one she got in her games when someone had slashed her leg. her face is made up, but you notice the mascara running down her face in tear streaks. it's such a surprise it stops you in your tracks. you hadn't seen nayeon cry since that time you were barely conscious and just out of the arena.

"nayeon..."

she pauses, but doesn't turn back to look at you, "what is it?"

"i... you... are you okay?"

nayeon lets out a dry laugh, "i'm fine y/n. you aren't that strong. i just feel really gross and i need to shower. i'll see you in the morning."

before you can stop her she's stepping into her room and closing the door. you frown, she was obviously lying, something had happened while she was out and she wasn't telling you. it was fine if she didn't want to tell you, you just... you cared about her. you owe your life to her. you want to do anything you can to repay her.

so you sit outside her room, it's not like you were going to be able to get any sleep anyway, you'd wait for her to finish her shower and talk to you.

»┼)➝

it's almost an hour before she leaves her room. you sit fiddling your thumbs, thinking up scenarios of what could have possibly happened. nayeon was too good at hiding herself. you wished she'd open herself up. if not to her family, to you, someone who understood what it feels like to be in her position. you were one of a kind, there weren't going to be many district 9 victors after you, there certainly weren't any before her.

when she finally opens her door you scramble up.

she looks down at you surprised, her hands wringing out her hair in a towel, face bare. you're reminded of just how young she was. despite her experience and knowledge of everything, you remember she was just a girl.

she smiles. you're practiced enough that you can tell it's fake.

"what are you doing here y/n?"

"waiting for you."

"i told you to go to sleep."

"i couldn't sleep anyway."

her smile stays as she steps past you, you follow quietly. she turns the kitchen lights on, rummaging around in the fridge for something to eat.

"have you not eaten yet?"

her hands stop moving for a second, "no. not yet."

"where were you?"

she sighs, taking out a takeaway box and moving to the microwave. "i was out y/n. i told you. please stop asking me."

"but why can't you tell me?"

"it's classified."

"what?"

"i can't tell anyone."

"but why?"

"i can't tell you that."

the microwave rings.

"do you not trust me?"

"it's not that."

"then why?"

she sighs again, ripping off the lid of her takeaway box a little roughly, "i just can't tell you y/n. you'll probably find out after this year's games end anyway."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

she whips around then, eyes red, eyebrows furrowed, she's raw and genuine for the first time, too tired to keep concealing herself. "you're not stupid y/n. you're an attractive victor. what do you think happens to attractive victors? where do you think i go when we're back home and i have to leave? i'm certainly not out farming or doing all the regular jobs people back home do."

that takes you back, the pure hurt in her eyes, the way she cowers into herself in just her thin sleeping clothes and bare face. she's so much younger, so much more human without all the flashy smiles and outfits she wears for the capitol.

"i- i don't- i just thought-"

"no. you weren't thinking. you're naïve y/n. you think we have to live with just our traumas from the games. you think there's an end to it all. that once you get over what happened in the arena you'll be able to live a normal life. the life. the life they promised us when they said we'd win the games. well i'm sure living it!" she chuckles darkly, arms flailing out and raising her voice to the ceiling.

"it never ends y/n. all they do is take and take until we're as bare and barren as the farms we take care of."

you blink stupidly, the reality of what she's saying settling in.

"you admire me for how well i lie." she spits the word out, mouth dripping venom and eyes furious, "i lie to survive. everyone does. the capitol lies to us, promising us riches and glory for winning the games. that's why districts like 1 and 2 exist right? why careers fight to volunteer to kill other kids in the arena? i wonder if they'd go back in time and do the same thing once they realise what winning actually means. we're not real to them y/n. we're not humans. we're products. expensive, dolled up, murderers they have on a leash."

she sighs heavily, both hands coming to rake her hair backwards. "i'm sorry. i was meant to be your mentor. i was meant to prepare you for all of this." her voice cracks, you stare at her, mouth agape, processing all this new information, "but i couldn't. i just couldn't. i was so happy when you won. i thought i could protect you from it all."

"w-what do you mean protect me?"

she slumps, her posture giving out, you've never seen her so broken. "they wanted to start you off last year. because you were already 18 when you won." she scoffs, "not that it stopped them from starting me when i was 15. i convinced them to give you a year. i wanted you to know what it felt like to win. to be free of it all, to have your belly full, to be with your family, to be able to live without the fear of not waking up the next day."

you gawk at her in horror, "what did you do nayeon?"

she chuckles darkly again, "i said i'd take your customers. until your year was over."

"you- what?!"

she wipes at her eyes angrily, picking up a spoon and stabbing it into her food, "it's fine y/n. it's not a big deal."

"wha- nayeon- it is a big deal! this- you can't- i'll kill-"

suddenly she's got a hand clamped over your mouth, so close you can see the redness of her eyes, the small freckles that dot her skin. "don't say something you'll regret. they have ears everywhere."

you gulp, nodding, wide-eyed as she lets you go.

"w-what about what you said?"

"i didn't say anything explicit. and you were going to find out soon anyway. your year is almost up."

"what- why haven't you fought back? why have you gone along with this for so long?"

she laughs thickly, "careful. that's rebellion you're talking about."

"but it's not fair! the deal was once we won we won! the only thing we should have to do is become mentors! and even doing that is cruel enough being forced to relive the games each year!"

"there are no limits to how cruel humans can be y/n."

"i- but- but still!"

"i have family. so do you. what do you think happens to them if you say no?"

that makes you pause, thinking back to your parents who worked so hard to bring you and your siblings up. who kept you alive until you were 18. lots of kids weren't that fortunate. many died from starvation, or of the unhygienic circumstances back home.

you collect yourself, taking a breath, nayeon was still inches away from you, studying your reactions. "do they know?" you ask softly.

she sighs, shaking her head, "my mother went through enough when my dad died. even more when i was reaped for the games. she thinks my trips away are just meeting people in the capitol for business ventures or whatever. it makes sense because i always bring back large sums of money. and my sister... i never want her to find out how cruel this world is. it's enough she still has to be entered into the reapings at least once a year, but that'll stop soon when she turns 18. and then i hope to just give her a normal life. she'll never have to worry over me again."

"nayeon..."

she sniffles, "it's fine y/n. worry about yourself. i can't look after you anymore. i'm sorry."

"are you kidding?! nayeon please... i don't- do you not understand what you mean to me? i owe you my life. and now i find out you've been doing this for me for the past year. you don't have to protect me. i can protect myself. i won my games didn't i?" you try for a smile, she gives you a teary one back.

"i just- i never knew nayeon i'm sorry. i'm sorry i didn't know you were going through all this on your own. i wished you'd told me. i wished you wouldn't shoulder all this on your own. we know you're strong. we all saw your games, we know you're capable of survivng. you don't have to keep proving that. you can rely on others every once in a while."

"others like you?" she jokes, smiling up at you.

"yeah. like me. i'm the only other one that can relate. that can understand. i want to be there for you. i told you, i owe you my life, my family's lives. that's a debt i'll never be able to repay. i want to do as much as i can in this lifetime to be there for you."

"you don't have to do that y/n-"

"yes. yes i do. you've been there for me this entire time, without me even knowing. when will you let me do the same for you?"

that gives her pause, she hides under wisps of hair that have fallen down over her forehead.

you ache to brush them away, to cup her cheeks, to see those eyes again.

your wish is granted when she looks up after a second, pupils glassy. and then without another word she's burying herself in the crevice of your neck, arms coming up to wrap around you, taking a shaky inhale. you react just like you had when she had thrown that pin at you, immediately reciprocating, pushing your cheek against hers and circling your arms around her waist.

you stay there for an immeasurable amount of time. unsaid words drifting between you, sharing emotions, pain. nayeon finally feels like she's not alone for the first time since she'd won her games 9 years ago. and you finally feel at peace in her arms, the ghosts that haunted you gone for the moment.

the both of you wound up in nayeon's bed that night. it wasn't awkward, the complete opposite. you naturally gravitated towards her after she finishes eating, and she lets you cling to her. when you fall asleep, limbs entangled and hearts beating in tandem, you'll realise in the morning, it's the first time the both of you will have had a full night's rest without any of your regrets invading your dreams.

»┼)➝

the horn sounds. you grip nayeon's hand as the competitors rush forwards, you try taking in as much of the arena as you could, as if you were standing on the platforms in the arena for the first time again. you were lucky in your games to have been granted fields of tall grass. it obstructed all of the other competitors’ vision and would prove very difficult to hide in, but you were practiced in moving around between blades of wheat that grew up to 2m tall back home without making a sound. this year it seems they took a more traditional approach, the cornucopia is in the middle of the arena as always, plain desert and beating sun the only thing visible. you can make out sand dunes on the far right of the arena. it would be hard to find a water source. your eyes lock onto your tributes, praying they make it through the initial bloodbath. they're not placed in a position they can see each other, in this scenario, you and nayeon had instructed them to run for it. don't bother with the initial bloodbath, the first thing they'd need to find was water.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see adeline do exactly that. she makes for the dunes you spotted earlier, leaving behind the chaos of the first few minutes. but then the camera pans to julian, seemingly frozen on his platform, completely petrified as he watches the girl from district 8 fall to her knees after someone launches a javelin at her.

"move!" you're extremely tense watching the scene, trying to maintain your composure as you knew you were still in public, the opening of the games was always a big spectacle, all the mentors were situated up in viewing boxes while the capitol watched along on massive screens.

nayeon grips your hand tighter, a warning not to be too loud, to keep on that mask.

you spare a glance at her, her features are tight in concentration, eyes glued to the little figures on the screen.

your head whips back when the crowd suddenly howls. it seems the career pack has formed and has just taken down both the tributes from district 12. it disgusts you how these people can cheer over the deaths of children.

julian has finally started moving though. he leaps off the platform and runs forward.

no. no no no. he needs to run away from the cornucopia. you grit your teeth, he must have seen the deaths of the district 12 tributes and thought the careers would be distracted.

the camera follows as he crouches and dips past ongoing fights, he manages to grab a sword, but that's where his luck ends. the girl from district four is wielding a nasty trident, charging straight for him. he tries to fend her off with his sword, catching it in one of the prongs of the trident, but then with horror, his feet catch on the sand. he hasn't gotten used to the terrain yet. he must have known running on sand was much more difficult than running on regular ground or the concrete of the training grounds. the girl takes the opportunity to yank her trident back, and then jabs it straight into him, all three prongs go through his chest and out the other side. you can see him cough up blood in shock, hands coming up to rest on the handle of the trident, she pushes him down and steps on his stomach to yank her weapon back out, already on the lookout for her next victim.

you can't believe what just happened. you had knew him. you had spoken to him. you had just seen and touched him this morning before he was flown off to the arena. it's completely unreal. the crowd roars with glee.

your mind can't keep up with your eyes. there's no way he was dead. the sounds, senses of the crowd drown out, you stare blankly at the main screen, watching other kids be cut down left and right, kids smaller than your youngest siblings, all while people dressed up in nauseating colours and patterns placed bets and had their children play fight with toy swords and weapons imitating real life people that died for their entertainment.

"y/n- y/n... y/n!" nayeon's shaking you out of your stupor, you blink, looking down at your intertwined hands, her concerned look that's quickly masked with a smile.

"the announcer was just asking you for some comments about the opening." you can see straight through her smile, you've spent much more time together over the past couple weeks while you were preparing your tributes for the games. you didn't explicitly talk about it, but you'd always end up in her bed each night, cuddled up and talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep. it was the only way you could sleep these days, and you knew it was the same for her.

you look past her shoulder to see a short man with bright green hair and a matching moustache. he smiles expectantly, teeth all white and glowing, holding out a microphone to you.

nayeon squeezes your hand again, hidden under the tresses of your gowns.

you clear your throat, awkwardly leaning forward and looking into the camera panned towards you, "r-right. um well it's pretty standard from what we can see. my arena last year must have made it difficult to see all the... fighting so it seems they've gone with something a lot more open this year." you try for a joke, earning a boisterous laugh from the man with green hair and from some in the audience who were looking on where your face was projected on one of the smaller screens next to the main livestream.

"we can definitely see all the juicy bits more clearly can't we!"

juicy bits?! is he trying to remind us of the bloody insides of all the kids being slashed open?! what kind of sick joke is it to use those words?! nayeon saves you the outburst, speaking up with a smile and a voice you know she's only ever used when talking to capitol media.

"definitely! and i must say wilbur your moustache is fantastic this year!"

he blushes, twirling the green hair on his upper lip, "thank you nayeon. you're as beautiful as always. and i'm glad to see you're finally accompanied by another victor your age! it must have been very lonely these last few years on your own."

nayeon's hand tightens against you. you want to punch this man in the face.

"yes i'm very glad to have y/n here. we make a fine team don't you think?" she grins. you notice the angrier she is, the more absurd her acting is, almost as if she's testing the limits of just how far she can go before people finally realise she's been sarcastic the entire time.

"of course! 2 fine ladies such as yourselves, you're both a hit in the capitol! i'm sure lots of fellas in the crowd tonight would love to see you two team up another time."

there's an uproar in the crowd, obviously male voices hollering and agreeing with laughter.

you're absolutely revolted at the implication. so you can't stop yourself when the next words fall out of your mouth, "i'm sure you'd know a lot about teaming up wouldn't you wilbur? how many fellas do you have twirled around that moustache of yours?"

nayeon is barely able to conceal a scoff, hiding it as a cough into your shoulder. you smile daringly, all teeth as wilbur stares at you aghast.

he clears his throat, "i'm not quite sure i know what you mean by that y/n."

"oh nothing. just wondering how many balls you have to play with when you do that team sport out here... i don't quite recall the name, it must be something that is only really fashionable out here in the capitol."

"r-right. sports. ahaha! you must have gotten me mixed up with someone else y/n! yes that must be it. everyone here will know i'm not really one for sports." he tries to steer the subject off, his face burning up bright red, with his green hair he looks like a mishappen christmas tree. he moves on quickly after that, going to interview less problematic mentors.

"you shouldn't always let them get away with shit like that nayeon." you frown when the attention is off you again, whispering into her ear.

she shakes her head, "sometimes it's better to let it go than to bring it up. more trouble than it's worth. you did very well though. are you okay? you zoned out a bit back there."

you sigh, running your thumb over hers gently, "yeah. just... wasn't prepared i guess. adeline is still in it though, she's got a decent chance if she manages to find water."

"you can never prepare for this. i'm sorry."

"there's nothing to apologise for. you warned me on the train, about what it's like. nothing compares to the real thing though."

"i know. i'm here for you though okay? i couldn't physically help you in the arena but i can now."

"stop that nayeon. you did more than enough for me in the arena. i told you. i owe you my life."

she smiles. you're taken aback by the genuinity of it. the slightly dimmed lighting, her makeup not too over the top like some of the people you've seen walking around the capitol, but accentuating her already flawless features even better. you knew she was attractive, you'd have to be blind not to. and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of nayeon as something more. you pushed it down though. people like you and nayeon didn't have the luxury of feelings like love.

you quickly break away from her gaze and those perfectly heart-shaped lips, looking back to the aftermath of the opening minutes. but even the grim bloodied bodies littering the floor that you can barely comprehend are real, do little for the blush that dusts your cheeks and the fluttering in your stomach.

»┼)➝

you can tell from the way she's breathing nayeon’s not asleep yet either. one of her arms is draped over your midriff, her breaths lightly hitting the back of your neck, legs entangled with your own.

"you're still awake." you whisper out into the quiet of her bedroom walls.

"so are you."

you don't dare turn to face her, knowing your faces would be centimetres apart, breaths hitting each other's lips, noses almost touching.

"i can't get it out my head. the way the trident just went through him. like he was made of clay."

her voice is soft, careful, "i’ll never forget any of them. not any of my kills.”

“he wasn’t your kill nayeon. the tributes you mentored aren’t your kills.”

“they may as well be. as a mentor, surely i can do something. but every year is the same. i don’t learn. i can’t do anything for them.”

“you helped me survive.”

she sighs, breath tickling the back of your neck, her arms wrap around you just a little tighter. “i told you. you’re different.”

“how?”

“you just are. i don’t know how to explain it.”

“you don’t have to. i… nevermind. still, i don’t think you should think of the tributes we mentor as people we’ve killed. it’s the capitol, everything’s them, that’s the big enemy remember?” your voice is hushed, paranoid they’re listening in somehow but also desperate to soothe nayeon’s worries.

“it doesn’t change what i did. all victors are murderers. we lost our innocence the day our names were pulled out of that bowl.”

“you’re right. we have to live with that. but at least we’re not alone now.” you decide to risk it, turning and shuffling around the bed until your nose to nose. you can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks already, wisps of her hair tickling your face, her eyes shining in the dark.

she stares at you for a little, eyes darting around your face. "you're right. we're not alone now." she speaks in a whisper, breath gently kissing your lips with her words.

you can't help but look down at her slightly parted, heart-shaped lips, her breaths coming in and out softly, luring you in. you're magnetised. the tension between you two is undeniable, thick enough to make you feel almost drowsy, eyes drooping and lidded, only focused on tracing the shape of her lips.

nayeon's the one to break it.

she leans in closer, hand tightening around your waist, closing her eyes and pressing your lips together. it's not sparks or lightning, it's just two mouths moving against one another, finding comfort in one another, it's soft and pure and everything the capitol robbed the two of you of when they turned you into murderers.

but then it's not. there's a salty tinge to her, the taste of tears. you open your eyes slowly, breaking away from her, she takes the opportunity to inhale shakily.

"nayeon?" you frown, immediately concerned you've overstepped.

she hides her face in your neck, squeezing herself against you.

"hey... what happened? what's wrong?"

"we- w-we can't." her voice is wobbly, there are still tears dripping down her face.

your heart sinks, "we can't?"

"i'm- i can't- i'm a product y/n. you'll become one too. i can't- i can't lose you too."

"but- you won't lose me."

"you don't know that y/n. you don't know what the capitol is capable of. if they find out we're- if they find out we care for each other like that they'll tear us apart. we can never have what normal people have."

"but that won't stop me from caring for you! and i know that's not going to stop you either."

"but when- i don’t- when they start selling you off i don’t know how i’ll be able to- to not kill them all."

you bring a hand up to her cheek, forcing her to look at you, thumb swiping across the skin under her eye, wiping off her tears, "i know. i don't know how i'll be able to do it either. but you're worth it. i haven't felt- i haven't felt this understood, i've spent so long thinking i'm alone, that i'll have to spend the rest of my life like this, but you make me feel happy. after all we've been through don't you think we deserve that?"

"but- but- they can't know y/n- they can't take you away from me."

"and they won't. i promise. do you trust me?"

nayeon stares up at you, her eyes shining, lip wobbly. she bites down into it after a second, breathing out a small "yes."

"i trust you too. anything they throw at us, we'll take it together. okay?"

she sighs, nodding, bringing a shaky hand up to feel you, just to make sure you were real, that she wasn't conjuring all this up to cope with her trauma. you lean into her touch, hand coming up to grip her wrist and squeeze, leaning in and touching your nose against hers, feeling safer than you've ever felt in your entire life.

»┼)➝

the next day is more of the same. at least this time you're not in a display box so you can have genuine reactions and you can be close to nayeon in the privacy of your own floor, finding comfort in her arms and words.

you spend the morning cuddled up, choosing to eat breakfast on the couch while the livestream of the arena plays. when there's nothing interesting going on they have live coverage of news anchors and commentators reacting to replays and talking about what happened during the night that the audience may have missed while they were asleep. adeline hasn't been seen on screen much but you know she's still alive and has found a small alcove in the desert with cacti that she can cut open to drink water from. still, you know it won't last her and nayeon and you plan on going out during lunch when most of the capitol citizens will be out and about to start finding sponsors to send water or food to adeline in the arena.

by the time you're in the city you come to realise just how good nayeon is at networking. you trail behind her like a lost puppy while she greets extravagantly overdressed citizens of the upper circle with a bright smile, compliments, and sparkling eyes. she seems to understand that you're much newer at this so she brings you along as a prop of sorts, convincing new and old sponsors to sponsor district 9 once again, after all, the most recent victor did come from district 9, and adeline was tutored by you with the most recent experience winning which made her someone to look out for in the later days of the games.

there are lots more people that recognise than you think, colours and materials you've never seen or felt before invading your senses, fake voices and compliments trying to get on your good side, you can simply smile and try your best to keep up.

eventually, you're seperated from nayeon when a short man engages you in a conversation about hair products and how you got yours to be so shiny and natural, you only nod along while he talks your ear off about different products and chemicals he's tried on his orange mess of a flat top, you can only provide clueless agreements and your simple hair routine back home. but you manage to steer the conversation back to the games and actually manage to get him to donate something as long as he gets the name of the random shampoo brand you use back home.

once you wave him off, you excitedly look around for nayeon, eager to tell her about your first donation that you managed all on your own. but as you scan the square, you can’t seem to catch sight of her.

you frown, wandering around a little until you spot her, hidden away in the shadows behind a few pillars. your eyes light up, almost skipping over to her until you realise she’s with someone else.

“stop- no i don’t want to-“

“c’mon you want sponsors don’t you? i’ll give you double what your highest donation is if you come now-“

“no! i’m not rostered on right now you can’t just- you can’t approach me in public like this-“

“no one saw us sweetheart c’monnn if we go now we can leave quietly. besides i saw your other victor and she’s doing alright on her own, she won’t even notice you’re gone.”

the man she’s with is gripping nayeon’s forearm harshly, when he starts pulling her away you step in, clearing your throat, eyes flaring up. “i did notice she was gone actually.”

nayeon whips her head around to you, but you can barely see her, your gaze is fixed on the way he still has his fingers wrapped around her, squeezing so tight her skin is white around his fingers.

your eyes trail up to his face when he laughs, not letting go of nayeon, “oh! y/n right? don’t worry nayeon and i are good friends. i’m just gonna borrow her for a bit yeah?”

you step forward, an arm sliding around nayeon’s waist protectively, glaring up into his blue eyes and perfectly sculpted nose, “is that true nayeon?” you don’t back down from his sleazy gaze while you direct the question to the older woman.

his eyes flick over to her, a warning in his eyes.

“i-it’s okay y/n i can handle this just go back to the square.”

you frown, unwilling to let her go, “no.”

the man raises an eyebrow, “you two a package deal now or something?”

nayeon bristles then, yanking her arm away from him, “don’t fucking touch her.”

the man backs up, surprised, “woah! calm down bunny i was just joking around.”

nayeon flushes at the nickname, “whatever josh. i told you i’m not rostered right now. book me in for when i’m actually available.”

“and her?” he smirks, nodding his head to you.

she grits her teeth, “take it up with your agent. don’t contact me outside again or i’ll make sure you won’t be able to buy any one of us.”

she doesn’t wait for him to respond, pulling you away and back into the main area.

you’re quiet, processing the information you just learnt. she doesn’t look at you, eyebrows furrowed, hand tight against yours.

“… was that one of your customers?”

she sighs, “yeah. one of my pushier ones.”

“i’m sorry.”

“what for? he pays well.” she spits out, storming back to your accommodation, deciding socialising for the day is done, she had collected enough donations today.

“i’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

“it’s not your fault.” she says simply, pulling you into the elevator and punching in your floor number.

you ascend silently, fiddling with your fingers, unsure of what else to say.

when you arrive, your fingers are still interlaced with hers, but she relaxes as soon as you step in, letting her mask drop.

“you did really well today.”

she smiles at you then, “thank you. i saw you grab that last donation too. adeline will be happy.”

you step closer to her, tentative and shy, her eyes crinkle at the sight. “thank you.”

“what for?”

you step closer again, swinging your intertwined hands slightly, “protecting me all that time.”

her hand tightens against yours.

“can you actually do that? stop him from using your… services?”

she snorts, “no. but he doesn’t know that. all he thinks about is his dick anyway, any danger to that and he’ll back off.”

“do they ever hurt you?”

her eyes soften, looking into yours, searching. “sometimes. sometimes it gives them pleasure. other times they like to take out their anger on us. maybe they’ve had a bad day or they’ve had a fight with their spouse at home or whatever else. they don’t need an excuse to treat us however they like.”

“that’s terrible.”

“it’s the world we live in.”

“what if we… what if we were a package deal?”

she raises an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“if they had to book us together. it’d make me feel better, if i could protect you somehow while we’re in there. that you have someone else there in case anything extreme happens. and…” you blush, thinking over your next words, “i know i have to… share you, but at least this way i can see what others do to you, so i still have some semblance of control over the situation.”

nayeon hums, pulling you in by the waist so you're no longer awkwardly hovering around her trying to think of how to get closer to her, "i can ask. that's a good idea y/n. and i'm sure lots of people would love to see two pretty girls getting it on." she jokes.

you blush, looping your arms around her neck loosely, playing with the hair at the back of her neck that has come out of her updo, "i don't- i've never- y'know..."

there's a hint of a smirk on her face, you're avoiding her gaze, "you've never...?"

you whine, knowing she's teasing you on purpose, pushing her away from you but she laughs, pulling you back into her and pecking you gently, "do you want to? there's no rush. i'm worried we may be taking things a bit fast but as long as you're comfortable i'm okay with whatever."

you look at her determinedly, "i don't think we can move too fast. i think we should take whatever we can get while things are good before the capitol tries to break us apart. i want to be with you, all of you, for as long as you'll let me."

nayeon smiles, leaning her forehead against yours, "i want to be with you for as long as you'll let me as well."

you reciprocate her smile, leaning in and pressing your lips against hers, hesitant, but loving. she responds immediately, one hand remaining at your waist and another coming up to rest on the crevice of your neck. you move easily against each other, it's comfortable, safe, you're both on the same wavelength, and nayeon treats you with utmost respect and adoration, ensuring you felt just as loved as she felt, keeping you grounded and at-home in her arms.

»┼)➝

it's another few days before something big happens. nayeon and you spend every minute wrapped up in one another, basking in the comfort and excitement of something new yet reminiscent of innocent, purer times.

that shatters completely when it gets to day 6 of the games.

adeline has managed to survive this long without coming into real contact with any of the other surviving tributes. nayeon has done most of the brunt work in receiving sponsorships and donations which you use strategically to lead adeline towards water sources or away from enemy tributes that may be nearing her location.

however, it seems the gamemakers had had enough of her cat and mouse game by the time there are only 5 tributes left, adeline, the boy from district 1, the two from district 2, and the girl from district 11 who managed to create her own water and food source in the barely repairable soil, turning it into her own farm using knowledge from her home district.

it was nearing the finale, and everyone in the audience knew it. the anticipation would put pressure on the gamemakers to bring out their final tricks, to lure all the tributes into one location to fight it out to the end.

that trick turned out to be a sandstorm in the night, blinding all the tributes, throwing off coordinates, destroying the girl from 11's farm, and forcing all the contestants to stumble blindly in the dark while the storm whipped around them harshly, sand cutting into skin and drying up lips while the cold chill of the desert night only made it even more difficult to find one's senses.

the girl from district 2 was smart, she used the sandstorm and her teammates' confusion to her advantage, taking the chance to stab the boy from 1, making him think it was the boy from 2, and letting them fight it out while she ran off, abandoning the career alliance that was inevitably going to break down towards the end of the games anyway. the boy from 2 ends up being able to defend himself well enough to deliver the finishing blow on the boy from 1, but he sustained fatal injuries in the process and died slowly and painfully in the storm while the sand lapped at his open wounds and his mouth gasped for water through mouthfuls of sand, wishing he was the one who was killed first.

when the storm finally dies down, the audience can see the carnage it has wrecked on the arena, three girls left, all within a 20 minute radius of one another. if it wasn't clear this was the endgame, it was definitely clear now.

the entire topography has been shifted, everything is now covered in sand. there would be no food, no water, the girls would either starve or thirst to death first in which case it would be a test of endurance, or find each other first and win the games to end their own form of suffering in living in this unlivable arena.

the girl from 11 seemed to want to take the former approach, burrowing herself under dunes of sand, digging for her farm and hoping the desert heat and lack of water would mirage her location into regular sand dunes while she hid until the final 2. the girl from 2 is set on the latter, going on the prowl immediately to find the remaining two contestants and claim her victory.

unfortunately for adeline, because the girl from 11 hid herself so well, it meant she came into contact with the girl from 2 first.

she puts up a good fight. everyone in the capitol is on the edge of their seats. as soon as the storm had cleared, nayeon and you had immediately sent adeline some supplies, water, a basic first-aid kit to tend to the wounds she had received earlier in the games, anything to let her know you were both still watching and keeping an eye on her, that she wasn't alone despite the immense loneliness and hopelessness she must have felt living in the desert for the last 6 days.

but even that wasn't enough to deal with the mental pressure of being in that situation for so long, thinking you actually have a chance of winning, of going home, she let her guard down, openly gulping down water while the girl from 2 crept up behind her.

adeline reacts just in time, throwing her bottle away and picking up the sword she had retrieved off a dead tribute's body earlier on in the game, swiping blindly in order to create some distance.

she manages to find her footing, standing on both legs, eyes zeroing in on her opponent who has already started lunging forward with her next attack. her weapon is longer, able to reach further, but adeline is tall and gifted with long limbs, able to maneuver herself out of the way before getting impaled by the pointy end of a spear, whipping around quickly to slice a deep cut in the girl's arm while it's still outstretched holding the spear.

the girl yelps out in pain, but quickly recovers, switching the spear to her non-dominant hand, jabbing forward without missing a beat, gritting her teeth in effort.

the crowd in the captiol is cheering, throwing popcorn, placing last minute bets, rowdier than ever after they couldn't clearly see the fight between the boys from districts 1 and 2 because the sandstorm had lowered visibility on the cameras. now, they could see every parry, every stab, every drop of blood that’s splattered onto hot, golden sand. the pure bloodlust is nonsensical.

adeline manages to block off each advance, but there's simply nowhere left to run or hide, everything that could be used has been covered by sand, there's only acres and acres of desert. so it makes sense when she loses her footing on the loose grains, falling onto her back and losing grip of her sword. the girl from 2 is quick to kick it away and out of reach, and adeline is tired, thirsty, and near delusional from being in the heat and arena for so long, that the ripping squelch that sounds out on speakers across the country as the girl from 2 shoves the end of her spear into adeline's chest, comes almost as a blessing, ending her pain at last.

the gamemakers are able to lure the girl from two to the girl from 11's hiding spot after that, and the final battle ensues, the girl from 2 rising up on top, bloodied and battered but grinning with the glee and pride only those in the career districts could have after killing and coming out on top over 23 other children.

you barely have time to mourn adeline's death, you and nayeon are both thrusted into interviews immediately, forced to watch replays and close-ups of the killing, to watch the life drain out of adeline’s eyes over and over again, asked for comments and messages to send back home, to congratulate the winner on becoming one of you, a murderer.

and even worse, when the day’s finally over and you can retire to your safe space in your apartment for your last night there, nayeon is called out for a premium customer, someone paying triple the normal fare to spend one more night with her before she goes back to her district. so you're left alone, watching repeated news coverage of the hunger games from start to finish, dolled up 'scientists' and gamemakers being brought on for interviews and time to analyse kills and strategies the tributes used, milking every drop of profit and entertainment out of the deaths of children not their own.

you'd watch something else but every channel on capitol television is talking about the end of the games, you switch every time your face, or your post-games interview comes up, cringing at the way you looked and spoke, feeling as if you betrayed your district for dishonouring adeline and julian's deaths by dragging them out for the enjoyment of people who never cared for them, wanting desperately to go home and find their parents and offer your condolences, and maybe sneak some of your victor rations to their families so they at least didn't have to worry about another death. you were determined to take care of all of your mentee's families, you know it's what you would've wanted if you had died in that arena.

by the time nayeon comes back, you've already settled in her bed, cuddled up on her side and taking in the scent she's left behind, the tv still playing in her room at a low volume.

you sit up immediately when you hear her come into the room, closing the door softly behind her. she looks at you and smiles defeatedly. "you look cute."

you blush, burrowing into her sheets more which only serves to widen the smile on her face, "are you okay?" you ask.

"i need a shower."

she doesn't say anything else. you remember the last time she came home this late, not having eaten anything and only wanting to get rid of the feeling of another person's hands on her body off of her. you nod, shy, letting her walk around collecting clothes and heading into the bathroom.

she doesn't bother closing the door. you appreciate the gesture. it's a dramatic change from the first time she had locked you outside her room unknowingly, to think she trusts you enough to leave the door unlocked in her most vulnerable state warms your heart. you hate the capitol for what they've done to her, what they'll continue to do to her. at least this was the last time she would have to do it alone, she had talked to higher ups in the capitol and gotten president snow himself to agree to your proposition, you'd hope your presence would at least ease some of the tension she felt during those sessions.

you hear the shower turn on, and you hesitate, thinking over your next moves carefully.

after some deliberation, you quietly move off her bed, padding to the bathroom and stripping off the pyjamas you had already put on when you were getting ready for bed.

you stand outside the fogged up door for a second, admiring her silhouette, but soon grow cold, opening the door gently and announcing your presence to not frighten her.

she turns, surprised, bar of soap in her hand, hair wet and squinting at you without her glasses or contacts on. she's adorable.

"y/n?"

"hi... is it okay if i join you?" your arms bracket your chest, suddenly shy even though she's seen all of you already.

she smiles, pulling you in under the stream of hot water, "of course. i'm sorry i'm not really feeling up to doing anything today-"

"no! i didn't- no i didn't come in with that intention i just... wanted to help you get clean."

she blinks up at you, water still running over her face and hair, and then she pulls you down into a wet kiss, arms still holding onto yours as you kiss her back sweetly.

you break away first, smiling and nudging your nose against hers, "turn around, i'll do your back first."

she follows, bending her neck down so the water doesn't get in her eyes, handing you the bar of soap she was holding.

you lather her back up, caressing the small scars and moles you had memorised. you had asked the story of each one, and nayeon had told you. your heart broke with each scar, most of them from her games, but some of them from rougher times with clients, others from when she was even younger, working the fields and factories back home. there were more from when she was young, but most of them were surgically removed or fixed when she was first fitted for her games, her stylists wanted her to look as young and as pure as her age suggested, hoping to entice sponsors either out of pity or admiration.

you rub her shoulders, work the knots in her back while you wash her, feel her relax under your touch.

when you get to her right thigh, you're extremely careful, and nayeon takes notice.

"it's okay. it doesn't hurt anymore."

you frown, rubbing gently over the largest scar on her body, the one she covered up most often and got in her finale fight in the games. "i know. i still want to be careful though."

she smiles, pecking your cheek while you concentrate on cleaning her to the best of your ability. she had opened up about how disgusted she would feel in her own body after she would come back from sessions with her clients, often spending an hour or more scrubbing away at her skin until it was red and irritated and hurt to continue before she finally felt clean. you were determined to make her feel loved, feel safe in her own skin, and do so without hurting her.

when you finally come out of the shower, you're quick to wrap her up in a towel first, patting the rest of her down dry and sitting her down on a stool, grabbing the hair dryer and brush.

she scolds you in the process, telling you you'll catch a cold if you don't dry yourself off first. you pout but do as she says, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your pyjamas again.

then your hands are back at her hair, combing through gently with your fingers first, before turning on the hair dryer.

she watches you with a smile, her eyes crinkling upwards at the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, drying each part of her head with meticulous attention.

when it's just slightly damp you turn it off, placing it back down and start to brush through her hair, wincing and apologising with each knot you work through. nayeon giggles, constantly reassuring you it was fine with each apology, but her reassurances do little to quell your concern.

it's quiet, peaceful in the bathroom, just the two of you.

"my mother used to do this for me when i was young."

"mine too."

"it feels nice."

"i'm glad."

"are you ready to go back?"

"as long as i have you."

"you'll always have me."

you meet her eyes in the mirror, "will your mother be okay with this?"

"you brushing my hair?" she jokes.

you whine, "you know what i meant. us."

she smiles, "yes. both my mother and my sister only want to see me happy. they know how much the games affected me, they're just glad i'm still alive."

"mine too." you repeat.

"…even if they weren't, you know i wouldn't stop wanting to be with you right?"

you blush again, easily affected by her, "i know."

she nods, satisfied, the both of you falling into an easy silence again.

you think this isn't too bad. living out the rest of your life with nayeon like this. she helped you forget all the bad stuff, but also reminded you of all the things you've been through together, you healed each other. in no other universe, no other situation, no other time, would you be able to find this kind of love with nayeon, and that little special thing the both of you share, it makes everything you've gone through and will go through a little more bearable.

#nayeon #im nayeon #twice nayeon #nayeon x reader #twice nayeon x reader #im nayeon x reader #nayeon angst #twice x reader #twice imagines #nayeon imagines #dovveri

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skeletonxface · 8 days ago

Text

♡ Short drabble where Simon and you battle both the undead and your feelings for each other (zombie apocalypse style). ♡

⤷ x Gn!reader; hurt comfort with a happy ending. ⤷ 5.1k word count. ⤷ Reader is described without specific pronouns but is briefly described as wearing their hair in a ponytail.

content warnings—heavy descriptions of blood and violence; minor character death; UK inaccuracies; mild angst; discussions about loss and death;

Humidity clings to your flesh like a second skin layer, and grime streaks across your face.

You march underneath the scorching sun, heat throbbing along your soles. Simon follows at your heels, his enormous shadow dwarfing yours.

His fist grips a Beretta M9, which he keeps lowered at his side, and sunlight blanches his black balaclava.

How he can stand to wear the mask in this heat—you haven’t the foggiest.

Ahead of the dirt road, a charred Taurus buries its nose in the ditch. Exhaust still chugs from the cracks in its corrugated hood; smoke ropes twisting into the sky. The rear wheels, suspended in the air, spin at a residual speed. Simon holds a hand out, and tension strings through your muscles, tightening your spine.

Daisy-chained shoe laces feed through the belt hoops on your slim-fit jeans to wrap around a machete handle, strapping the knife to your waist. And you loosen the knot with practiced fingers to unsheathe the weapon.

Your palms glide against the hand-guard.

“I’ll check it out,” you spoke above a whisper. “Save the bullets.”

Moisture clings to your hairline. You sweep your machete through the air, and make a conscious effort to avoid loose dirt and pebbles in the road.

Filth paints the Taurus’s windows—a thick, brown dust layer streaking the glass—and you circle the hood, seeking a view inside. The passenger door hangs open. Zombie, wounded, hostile—your mind races through possible altercations, but you steel your shoulders, and swing around to face the doorway.

Blood amasses in the driver’s seat, clots and dense streaks dragged over the console. The trail leads through the passenger side and spills down the door railing, dripping onto the long grass. The earth stains a murky brown.

“What is it?” Simon asked, and wariness cauterized his voice. “Do you need help?”

“It’s empty. Lots of blood.”

“Hell.”

His tall frame rapidly eats the distance between you. His eyes track the blood stains to the forest lip, where something pink and fleshy peeks from underneath brushwood.

You squint, and the darkness behind your eyelids narrows your focus. A gnarled, sinewy torn limb lays on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he grunted.

“Agreed.”

A disembodied hiss whispers in the wind. The noise sputters then—it eeks and warbles, hitching into a guttural growl. A shadow flinches to your far right, and you jerk your machete into a defensive position.

You band around the Taurus, an urgency guiding you into a slow jog, and swing left toward a branching road, onto the familiar path toward Bruton. A cobbled bridge looms ahead.

The pale sky blinks between English Oaks, and the gaps widen until the vast countryside envelopes you.

“Simon—”

“I see it.”

Simon and you fling into action, operating like a well-oiled machine. Your back presses against his, and you swivel in turn with each other, scouting in circles around the clearing. He flicks the safety off his hand-gun. Despite the unease itching through you, and the adrenaline spiking your veins, his presence brings a calmness to the chaos.

The road stretches and blurs underneath the heatwaves. A figure staggers through the tree-line and emerges into the daylight. Its limbs contort at odd angles. Its head bobs and twitches. Although it has a woman's face and body, experience promises you she isn’t one. Her crimson scleras seek out prey.

Her expression twists into an apoplectic sneer, and her shriveled, veiny lips recede across her face to reveal blood stained teeth. She bolts forward and grapples up the ditch. Her torn and gnarled fingers claw the dirt, and the ferocity never seeps from her system. She staggers onto her feet, tunneling toward you.

“You got this?” Simon asked, calm and collected. He steadies his arms and aims the Beretta on the off-chance you tell him no.

You loosen a breath from your lungs. “Piece of cake.”

The undead woman cuts the distance between you with a lunge.

You flex your grip on the machete, twist your arm, and swing into her soft papery abdomen. A ghastly scream strangles the air; vermillion sprays across the tan dirt. Your frenzied lacerations hack into the stretch of muscle between her neck and shoulder next.

When her torso collapses to the ground with a dull thump, you drop the machete and double-over.

Suffocating heat beats on you, and nausea funnels through your stomach, girding your insides. Sweat spawns an itchiness across your scalp.

A calloused hand wraps around your bicep. “What’s wrong?” Simon asked.

“The heat— sorry,” you gasped. “I think it’s getting to me.”

You feel him grab onto your trail pack, and Simon digs around the contents.

Your fingernails bite into your thighs, and flyaway hair strands loosened from your ponytail dangle in your face. The zombie’s emaciated corpse rests at your feet. Festering scabs, red-beaded scratches, and post mortem bruises perforate every inch of exposed skin. A rotten, foul odor punches your nose.

You scramble to the side, dry-heaving saliva. Your knees and hands drop to the hard soil, with rocks cratering into your palms. Heavy, retching noises suffer through your parched mouth and break the countryside’s resonating quiet.

Simon’s boots cross into your vision. Black combat pants wrangle his meaty legs.

He lowers onto his haunches and unscrews the lid on your canteen. “'Ave some,” he said.

Squeezing your eyelids shut, you slump onto your ass. “Can’t afford to— drank too much this morning.”

Compared to Simon, you're a gross, uncoordinated mess. Dirt slicks your body. It stains your singlet and speckles to your collarbones. Each hairline scrape and minor bruise on your flesh sores. And the blisters on your feet throb against the leather enclosing around them.

“If you run out later, you can 'ave mine. Yeah?” Simon holds the bottle’s neck near your mouth.

You swallow, and a stickiness glues your throat. “No,” you said. “I’m not doing it.”

“It’ll be more difficult for me if you pass out and I 'ave to carry your ass to Bruton. Drink.”

The canteen nudges your chapped lips, and you cave, wrapping your bandaged fingers around the bottle. Its woven wrap sands your palms, and you take enough sips to ease the cottony sensation in your mouth. Twisting the cap on, you return the container to his hands, and Simon zips it inside your pack.

When you stand, he steadies your teetering weight with a hand on your midriff.

“So happy I found you,” you sighed, pressing your wrist to your forehead. “You’re like a knight in shining armor, Si.”

His finger-pads press harder into your hip. “I’m nothin' like that.”

“You’ve saved my life countless times.”

“And you’ve returned the favor plenty.”

You drag yourself over toward where your machete lies tossed in the dirt. The blinding sun winks in its serrated blade. “Just take the compliment,” you huffed, blowing hair strands from your face.

The nausea ebbs from your chest, and you resume where you left off on the trail. You cross a short distance before your trained ears note the quiet— too quiet —and you whirl around to find Simon rooted in his spot. He flicks the safety on his hand-gun and holsters it into the leather strap around his waist.

You hesitate to call out to him: “Si?”

He stalks closer, and his shoulders broaden with visible tension. When he stops toe-to-toe with you, his shadow casts across your face. Black grease smears around his eyes, making them appear more sunken and sleep-bruised than they already are. The tendon in his temple flexes and his jaw shifts underneath the mask.

“I think we should talk ‘bout what you said.”

“OK?” Your confusion branches across your tone and infiltrates your expression. Your eyebrows drag toward your hairline, rippling the grime smeared over your forehead.

“The agreement we 'ave works for me— neither of us 'ave to constantly watch our backs, we can trade in sleep-shifts and get some rest once in a while, and it’s not bad 'aving an extra pair of 'ands near for when trouble arises— but that’s all this is.” His baritone grates like gravel against your eardrums. “We’re not friends. Understand?”

He angles his chin higher in a controlled sort of defiance.

You stiffen. His words sink in like the throbbing pain following a punch, and you resist a wince.

“Lighten the fuck up,” you grunted. “Great. I try to thank you and I get lectured for it.”

“Just remindin' you 'ow it is.”

“Thanks but I don’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. The word’s plastered to your forehead.”

You pivot and plow toward the bridge.

It’s not the first time Simon and you have butt heads, and you doubt it’ll be the last, but goddamn—can’t you enjoy the fact that you’re not alone anymore? A groan herds against your teeth, but you swallow it. You stress your fists, and yearn for a wall, zombie, or Simon’s sorry face to hit.

You pass the sign signaling your entry into Bruton and take it as a divine message sent from above, telling you to get the fuck over him and focus.

Memory pilots your trek along an eroded tar street. Masonry structures stack into view, and sparse, withered bodies pepper the downtown area. You count the landmarks: the Versa plowed into an antique store’s front-of-shop, the repentant God forgive us spray-painted across the halfway house, the blood-stained baby sock melted to the tar, and the police station’s charred remains. Eventually, you round into a convenience store parking lot.

Entering the interior, a familiar scene plays out before you. Eye-hook shelving knocked to the vinyl floor and packaged products spilled in a rainbow near your shoes. The electrical wiring has long since frayed, and blue shadows paint the commercial space.

Sliding your heavy pack off your shoulder, you unzip a small side-pocket and unfold a wide grocery tote. You comb through the food, checking the expiration dates, and stuffing whatever goods you didn’t have space to grab last time into the bag. Simon moves into the equipment section, nabbing lighter-fluid, a hammer, match-boxes, and more.

You slip into the manager’s office and dredge for any undead. Simon scopes-out the bathrooms, and then you reunite in the central room.

“It’s too quiet. Bet you’re happy I’m not talking,” you said, grabbing a dropped Pepsi bottle with excessive force. “That means I should talk more to annoy you.”

His boots squeak on the floor and the sound annoys you. Scratch that—his presence in the building heats your skin and sours your mood.

You snatch a cracker box, knowing they're stale but beggars can’t be choosers .

His wide back faces you, clothed in a comfortable-looking hoodie. “You can if you want,” he dead-panned.

You sigh, extracting a bone-deep exhaustion from your muscles. “I get it. You don’t like to get close to people. Probably have seen some fucked-up shit, but— news flash— you’re not the only one.”

You crawl on your haunches toward a take-out container. You inspect the plastic lid and, despite a vague hope, find a maggot infested breakfast sandwich inside. Chucking it into a random corner, you continue your complaint: “you have your boundaries, and I’m fine with that. Just don’t be a dick about it.”

As infuriating as he is, Simon protects you, like it's second nature to him.

During the last scavenging trip to Bruton, you encountered the first person besides Simon that you’d seen in half a year. A leather-draped survivor who, after he'd planted his hands underneath your shirt, ended the introduction with a loss. The survivor lost his blood, and Simon lost his combat knife when the man's body tumbled into a ravine.

“Maybe you don’t appreciate it, but I’m happy to have you around,” you mumbled, your voice quiet enough that you doubt he’ll hear. “I’m not like you. I don’t like being alone.”

“You’re too soft,” he pushed-out. His hand balls and the color irons from his knuckles. Prominent veins indent the skin on the back of his palm.

Your mouth corners twitch. “That a bad thing?”

“It gets you killed.”

“Yeah, well. I think all the soft parts of me have survived fine so far.”

You hope he feels the same about you.

If Simon is anything, it’s strength. He’s tall, and built like a weightlifter, rather than a bodybuilder. A stature likely to earn him the schoolyard tag big guy .

At first, he terrified you. After all, trusting in this new world doesn’t come easy. And six-foot-something, masked muscle, doesn't exactly scream friendly.

You met when he rescued you from a small horde, and once the adrenaline and fear bled out, a desperate yearning for safety crashed through you. And you just clung to him, because that’s what Simon provides: security, protection, and oddly enough, comfort.

“And for what it’s worth— which is probably very little— I think you could be softer,” you hummed.

His eyebrows raise, disappearing underneath his mask. “Is that so?”

“Sure. This is going to sound corny as hell, but to me the risk of losing people is worth letting them into your life.” You shrug. “Say you die tomorrow, I’d rather be able to miss you because I’m thinking about how much of a pain in the ass you were— than have gone on without ever experiencing your unique ability to drive me bat-shit. And, considering the grim fucking state of the world, connecting with people feels more important than ever. At least, that’s how it seems to me.”

Simon crosses his arms, shielding himself from you. “I appreciate the pep-talk, but we need to leave before the sun sets.”

“'Old on,” he snapped, and the tension in his voice pistons across your spine.

You glance out a store-front window, and a predawn glow halos the station, sunlight winking in the glass. Bokeh spots shine, blocking the street from view.

Leaning over, you wrestle your arms through your pack straps.

He darts in a crouch behind the check-out counter and angles his face near a window. But the downtown area remains empty, except for tossed plastic bottles and newspaper sheets tumble-weeding across the tar.

You ferry your machete and hide next to Simon. “Shit,” you cursed.

A muffled revving sounds somewhere in the distance. The noise hitches and skirts, and grows louder.

An Odyssey plunges onto the street. Its wheels burn rubber. Its nose bobs and weaves.

The hatchback pitches and loses control, throttling toward the convenience store.

You bolt into the alleyway when noise explodes over the din: tires squeal, metal crumples, and shattered glass roars through the village. The sound vibrates inside your eardrums, and a pressure funnels through your skull, followed by a high-pitched ringing.

Simon grips the woven handle on your pack and wrangles you onto your feet. You stumble into his side, before breaking into a sprint. He pushes open the Emergency exit and its alarm screams bloody murder.

Flames erupt across the station and the heat licks at your spine.

You blink, shaking your head, but your cheek drags against something firm sheeted in soft cotton. Sweat, musk, and nicotine invade your senses, and a warmth sinks deep into your flesh until it soothes your weary bones. Your arms loop around someone’s midsection, and their hand cradles the back of your head. A forearm drags around your lower waist, folding you against their chest.

“Simon?” You asked, and shock weakens your voice.

You nod, struggling to gather your senses. You aren’t fast enough—Simon snatches your wrist and tugs you toward the alley mouth. But your dominant hand feels suspiciously weightless. Digging your heels into the gravel, you attempt to wrench your limb from his iron grip.

He unravels himself from you, and his glare seems to soak-up the day’s last light. “We need to leave. Now,” he ordered.

“What are you—”

“My machete. I dropped it when—”

An animalistic shriek pierces the air and ignites a chorus of screams. The noise scrapes into a blood-curdling pitch and echoes through the air, frightening birds from their perches on rooftops and telephone wires.

“We don’t 'ave time,” he spoke with a clenched jaw.

Simon lurches forward again. You don’t protest this time, rag-dolling after him at a pace which ignites a burn within your shorter, less muscular legs. After ducking against a red-brick structure, he peeks around the corner.

“'Ave to go another way. The crash attracted the dead.”

The screeching resonates closer. You glance over your shoulder to see staggering bodies funneling into the alley’s opposite end.

“Simon—” Fear etches into your voice. This is bad. Real fucking shit.

“Come on.”

You keep your heads bowed and crouch against a Neon parked on the sidewalk. Brutalist and rococo buildings fan the curved streets, and their quaint dispositions seem to mock the situation’s severity—the horror wreaking havoc on the world. The undead cannibalism; blunt teeth and nails that grasp, and pull, and shred until your skin tears and your ligaments sever.

The panic curdling inside your stomach has you yearning for Simon’s embrace, but you settle for fisting his sweatshirt. The pale bandages wrapped around your fingers starkly contrast the black fabric.

You wind your way around abandoned vehicles, rusty bikes, fire hydrants, and hide underneath shadowed awnings. Distance builds between you two and the accumulating horde. Now, tucked under a dismantled fire-escape, you flinch into the shadows.

“I wish I had my machete,” you whispered. “I feel naked without it.”

“We still 'ave the Beretta.”

“It’s a last resort, though.”

A disembodied snarl cuts into the alley. Your head swivels, gaze darting over your shoulder, where an undead emerges. He bites the air, and the flesh around his mouth has decayed. Soiled, tattered fabric hangs in strips off his skeletal frame, and his snapped ankle drags at an excruciating angle across the ground.

You turn your head to alert Simon, but he hooks his arm around your waist and heaves you over the fire-escape’s rail guard. Your clumsy feet clang onto the stairs.

“Go, go, go!” He whisper-yelled.

Simon grips the banister. He hooks a leg over its top and throws his body weight upwards. Your eyes balloon, and you latch onto his sleeve, tugging with all your strength. He rolls over the edge and onto his feet.

The undead’s blubbering fits rupture into a chortled growl. He breaks into a sprint, wailing at the height of his lungs.

His busted fingers poke through the grate.

A bullet whizzes past your ear, and blood splatters in streaks over the broken glass. The grip on your head slackens.

You dart along the staircase and deep metal whangs. For several flights, you clamor toward the roof, until a fist shoves through an above window.

Gray fingers latch onto your hair, stabbing pain across your scalp.

Your bleary gaze seeks out Simon, who turns and aims the Beretta down the staircase.

Flying at the speed of light, the undead man chases after you, frothing at the mouth. Then, he stops. His shoulders jerk backward when crimson geysers from his forehead. His limp body folds over the rail and plummets to the ground, splattering against a steel dumpster.

A handful more zombies fountain from the street, drawn-in by the commotion. They jam-pack against the fire-escape, mowing over fallen undead, while their desperate hands claw the air.

“We’re fucked,” you gasped. Your heart hammers into your ribcage until a sharp ache forms.

Simon aims and takes-out the first three undead to climb onto the grate.

“Keep goin',” he said, swinging around to face you.

His hand falls to your shoulder and he nudges you into action. You take the steps two at a time, and when you reach the rooftop, you slump over your knees.

To your right, a rooftop door etches the floor with a chain and lock strung through the handle, and to your left is an air vent with connecting pipeage. A few timber boards lay in a pile next to the pony wall. Simon hauls one into his arms and dust flurries around him.

He slides the plank over the parapet and connects an end to the neighboring roof. He wobbles it, testing its likelihood to collapse.

Dry, shaky pants explode past your lips. “I’m going to slow you,” you choked-out, and the realization sinks through you in a gelid wave. A cold sweat breaks across your spine.

Simon marches toward you, and with a hand between your shoulder-blades, shoves you toward the make-shift bridge.

“Simon—” His name comes out in a strangled plea.

You can’t be responsible for someone else dying.

Not him.

Not fucking him.

“Stop that—” he grunted. “I’m not givin' up, so get over onto that board right fuckin' now.”

His bulky frame prevents your retreat, and Simon angles his pistol at the fire-escape’s head, waiting.

A sentry.

In a conversation meant to pass a sleepless night, Simon told you he was in the service—for Queen and country—and he was on furlough when the pandemic broke. He kept the details to a minimum—his past guarded under lock-and-key—but you can guess a portion: blood, guts, gore. Tragedy, loss, heartbreak.

It’s difficult to imagine the cold, stoic man you know regarding anyone highly, but he had to have someone once, before the world went to shit. Family, friends, co-workers. Right?

You wonder what happened to make him more ghost than human. Now, you might never find out.

You inch your toes onto the board and feel the warped wood tremble underneath the slight weight. A gunshot startles you—it’s do or die.

“You got it.” Simon’s voice drapes over you like a blanket. How a hulking beast of a man could provide you so much comfort, you have no fucking clue. He just does.

You want to live long enough to get to know him. To learn about his past, his losses, his regrets, his hopes (if he has any). You want to curl against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. To fall asleep knowing you’ll wake beside him—protected, secure, safe .

Straightening your posture, you gather your courage and shuffle across the plank. It bobs, quakes, and teeters, but you bury your concerns and shove forward. The flimsy board’s weight limit appears dangerously low, and Simon can’t follow until you reach the other side.

Another shot crackles through the air, and your shoulders jolt against your neck. Two more sounds, and you rush the rest of the distance, dancing across the board and jumping onto the neighboring rooftop. Whirling around, you seek out Simon, who edges closer to the bridge.

“Simon!” You pleaded and your voice pitched into a panicked whine. “Hurry!”

He fires at another undead hurtling over the parapet.

Your lungs seize when he attempts the balancing act. The wood bows underneath his boots—his muscular shape weighing him down like rocks. You clamp your hands onto the plank butt to steady the trembling surface.

Undead overflow the rooftop. They frantically gesticulate, clawing and shoving each other like predators warring over dinner. Pock-marked, maggot infested, bloodied, and pus frothed bodies push against the pony wall.

“Simon!” You cried.

The swarm climbs after him. Their blind groping knocks the plank out from underneath his feet.

Simon hurtles himself forward and his elbow corrals the parapet. You rope your arm around his, throwing your weight backward at the same time he siphons his strength to hoist himself over the edge. The tendons in your neck strain, and you clench your jaw, pain ebbing through your teeth. You fall against concrete and his heavy weight crumples atop you, knocking the air from your lungs.

He rolls off you and hooks the balaclava over his mouth. “You alright?” He asked between gasps for air.

“I don’t think I can keep going,” you grunted, curling onto your side. Fatigue canals into your limbs.

“Knock it off with that shit. You just saved my life.”

You snort weakly. “That was not my strength doing the work there.”

Simon drags himself onto his knees and his large hands plant onto his thighs. He glances over the rooftop, and a low chuckle reverberates in his throat. “Bloody hell,” he grumbled, but an underlying incredulity brightens his tone.

He slides a hand underneath your back and eases your torso upward.

The undead haul their bodies over the parapet and catapult in the air. Their blackened nails scrape the ledge before gravity nooses their ankle, their blood saturating the pavement below.

A broken laugh escapes you. “Christ,” you mumbled, dumbfounded.

With your last scrap of energy, you hook your ankle over his. “Are we waiting out the night here?” You asked.

The sky ashens overhead and darkness fans over Bruton. You dislodge your pack and wilt against a brick chimney. Simon joins you, and your legs sprawl out on the concrete.

He angles his head closer to you.

“Yeah— we should see if the numbers 'ave thinned by mornin' time. I can take first watch.” This close, his voice vibrates against your skin, and a ribbon of want threads through you.

You wag your head. “I have a question.” Your eyes search his. Sweat smears the kohl peeking out from underneath his mask and fair skin comes through in patches.

Sifting through your tired, fragmented thoughts, you choose your words carefully: “if you’re so focused on survival, how come you didn’t leave me behind to— I don’t know— save yourself?”

He sighs—a hard, grieving sound that raises the hair along your neck. “It’s easier not to care 'bout other people,” he said. Matter-of-fact. “Doesn’t mean I can control when I do.”

An ache spawns inside your abdomen and surges to your chest.

“What you said on the road? Did you mean it, or were you protecting yourself?” You’re pushing your luck. You don’t care. Your pulse throbs in your veins, the adrenaline draining from your system.

“It's not a good idea— we should keep things between us as is.”

“But do you want to?” You asked.

He wrangles his balaclava back down, and his eyelids slide shut when he answers: “what you want isn’t always good for you.”

Simon bends one knee and rests his forearm atop it. His mask’s bottom half remains flipped, allowing you the chance to study his cut jawline and mouth. A butterfly bandage tucks underneath his chin from where he cut himself shaving.

The muscle in his cheek ticks.

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I know.”

Simon’s other hand splays against the hard floor–and it’s bold, but you reach for him. Your lithe touch drags his inner wrist, vein ridges and cicatrized skin bumping your fingertips, until he pulls his limb away.

Heat tingles across your face. “It’s not because you’re the only living man I know.”

“Not like that for me, either.”

“Don’t—” you said. “Don’t close yourself off one minute and open up the next.”

The sudden need for space has you curling your knees toward your torso and folding your arms on top. You press your cheek against your elbow crook. Funny how, a moment ago, all you wanted was to fall over and sleep, but now your mind feels wide awake. It sharpens. Your senses fine-tune onto Simon, hypervigilant of the oxygen easing his lungs and the way his body heat swells next to yours.

Deep indigo paints a moonless view, and white stars speckle in the distance. You search for the big dipper.

Melancholy splices through your chest cavity. “I lost people, too.” You spoke above a whisper. “My parents, friends, ex-boyfriends. I don’t think there’s a person alive who hasn’t had someone ripped away from them.”

“My family—” Simon pauses, as if to question if he wants to follow through with this. If he can . “I lost 'em before the sickness.”

He reaches underneath his collar and twists his fingers into a beaded chain.

“After, I s'pose you could say I found another family. Not a new one. A different kind.” He adjusts in his seat, inclining his head against the chimney. White skin stretches between his hoodie and bunched balaclava. “We were on a task force together, but got separated when the world fell apart.”

He glides the necklace over his head, then takes your hand. Your fingers unfurl and cold metal coils onto your palm. Dog-tags.

“By a dumb stroke of luck, or maybe fate— who fuckin' knows— I met up with one of 'em durin' the early days. Back when everyone still thought this shit would blow over.”

Rust crowds the engraved text.

John Mactvish

Soap

2073251

Blood Type: O

TF 141

“He’d shacked-up with a small group of survivors, and we happened upon each other durin' a supply run. But he’s dead now.”

Your teeth dig into your lower lip. With cautious, gentle movements, you fold his fist around Soap’s tags.

Simon looks at you. Harsh, furious pain cauterizes his glare.

“Is that what you wanted from me?” He asked, but there’s no bite to his tone. He sounds empty inside. Frayed at the edges.

“I wanted whatever you were willing to give me, Simon,” you said. The heartbreak you feel for him fragments your voice. “I never wanted you to force yourself—”

“I didn’t. I just—” He loops the chain around his neck and tucks it underneath his sweatshirt. “I 'aven’t spoken 'bout it before.”

Simon lifts his arm and you take the opportunity to slot your body against his. He’s solid and comfortable.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you squeeze his waist to make-up for all the hard years he went without ever receiving a hug. And he slides his hand over your tailbone.

“What are you doin'?” He asked.

Emotion threatens to overwhelm you.

“I care about you, too,” you mumbled. Then you slide your body over his like a weighted blanket, until your legs tangle and your cheek mushes against his chest.

“Pressure has a calming effect. I read it once. But I can move if you want?”

His arms wrap around your waist, cementing you to him. You tuck your hands over his lower spine and your thumb strokes the exposed skin where his hoodie rides up his back.

“Si?”

“Yeah?”

“I know this doesn’t erase any of the pain. I’m gonna say it anyway though, because you deserve to hear it— none of what happened was your fault. That might sound cheap coming from me. But if there’s one thing I know: it’s that this fucked up world will fuck you up,” you said. “I didn’t deserve to lose the people I cared about and neither did you.”

“Despite all the horror, though, I’m glad I found you.”

Simon's fingers curl into your singlet, and his voice hollows into a ghost of itself: “me too, love.”

notes—this was cross-posted onto AO3.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod angst #cod fic #call of duty x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley imagine

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siriusly-yoongi · 2 months ago

Text

She wants to be saved chapter 1

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, bad writing, likely inaccurate medical information, injuries, blood, abuse, stabbing, mute reader, POV changes, brief suicidal thoughts

Word count: 2145

It's not written very well, I haven't written in years so bare with me while I get back into it. I promise it'll get better😭

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They we're a complete pack, made up of seven alphas, all mates. They had everything they could've needed. At least they thought they did.

They have a large house and a tight bond. That's all they needed really. Namjoon is a doctor at the local hospital, Jin is a police officer, and Jimin is a paramedic. That was enough to support the 7 of them so the rest didn't have to work. However most of them chose to, to fill their time.

Yoongi made music when he had time, he had a decent following as well. Hoseok ran a little flower shop, Taehyung worked part time at a small café downtown, and jungkook was a personal trainer.

Everything was good.

Until it wasn't.

It was a just a regular old Tuesday, it's early April, the spring air still a bit chilly. Jimin was in the back of his ambulance trying to slow the bleeding from a chest wound on a little omega. It's not everyday he gets what appear to be stab wounds, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. Jimin is so focused on controlling the bleeding that he doesn't have time to really notice much else about the omega.

Once they arrive at the hospital, Jimin hands her over to the doctors and goes about his day, heading off to help whoever needed it next. He didn't think much about her, she wasn't anything special, just another patient.

Namjoon sees the same omega, working to slow the bleeding and stitch up the wound. She has a stab wound to the chest, it just barely missed her heart or any major arteries.

Once she's stable and patched up, Namjoon has a chance to properly look at her. She's tiny, her ribs poking out underneath her skin. He notices bruises on her arms and neck, they're faded, old injuries that hadn't fully healed yet. She's short too, tiny in all aspects of the word. He couldn't smell her, she must be wearing scent blockers. He was too, working in a hospital he had to. She has beautiful long hair, but it's a mess of tangles and blood.

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YOU

You groan softly as your eyes flutter open, wincing as the bright light hurts your eyes. It takes you a few minutes to remember what happened, you broke up with your alpha and he didn't take it well.

"You're leaving me because I 'hurt' you?" He made air quotes around the word hurt, like he hadn't been putting his hands on you for months

"I'll show you how I can hurt you"

He didn't give you a chance to respond before he was lunging at you. You didn't realize what was happening at first. The adrenaline masked what should've been agonizing pain.

You stumble back, looking down to see blood quickly seeping into your shirt and dripping down your chest and stomach.

He shoves you out the door, telling you not to come back. Only then did you actually feel the pain. You screamed, clutching your chest as tears roll down your cheeks. A neighbor heard and called 911. You don't remember much after that

The back of your neck itches, you sigh and reach up to pull off the little patch. Your ex always made you wear scent blockers, saying your scent was too strong, too disgusting. You believed him now, after all he'd been telling you for over a 2 years now. But right now you can't bring yourself to care, the adhesive made you itchy and with the pain radiating from your chest right now, the last thing you needed was to be itchy as well.

A doctor walks in with a smile on his face, dressed in a white coat, no scent, like all doctors. He's tall, pretty good looking you'd say if you weren't in so much pain

"Hello, it's great to see you're awake. I'm Dr. K-" He cuts off mid sentence, freezing as his eyes snap up to meet yours.

You quickly look down. You knew better than to look an alpha in the eyes, you assume he's an alpha, most doctors are. Nurses are often betas, though not always, it was a safe guess.

The doctor is silent for a few moments, but he quickly recovers

"Sorry about that, I'm Dr. Kim. We didn't find any ID on you, could you tell us your name" his voice was calming, making you smile a little.

The smile quickly fades though. For some reason the thought of speaking sends a wave of anxiety and panic through your body. You try to ignore it, opening your mouth to try and state your name, but you can't get any sound to come out. You shake your head after a few seconds, opting to just stay quiet. It had been drilled into your brain to keep quiet, so you barely spoke as it was. It was safer to stay silent.

Dr.Kim frowns, "Would you like a pen and paper?"

You nod and he leaves, coming back a few minutes later with a notebook and a pen. He hands them to you and you write your name down on the paper

Y/N

You turn the notebook around and show him

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JIMIN

I'd just finished my shift and I knew Namjoon would be finishing soon so I walked into the hospital and decided to wait for him.

I find him pacing back and forth in an empty hallway

"Joon?" I call out to him, quickly making my way over, my voice laced with concern.

His head snaps up and he pulls me into a tight hug. As much as I loved affection from my pack alpha, he wasn't the type to do this at his place of work, he always stayed professional. Something's wrong.

I pull away and before I can speak, Namjoon does.

"We have another mate" he almost whispers, and I feel myself freeze.

"What?" I heard him, I'm just not sure i believe him.

He pushes me along with him as he starts walking, his hand on my lower back "I know," he mumbles.

He leads me to a room and knocks on the door before entering. I freeze as I step into the room, my heart racing as her scent hits me. She smells like cookie dough, and like home. All mates smell like home. What that means to each person is a little different, but the meaning is all the same.

I don't get much time to look at her before Namjoon pulls me back out of the room. A low growl is pulled from my chest, but I'm quickly silenced with a stern look from the pack alpha.

"You can't just pull me away after finding our mate I need t-"

"She doesn't know" he cuts me off.

"Wait what"

He sighs "She just got out of a bad situation, she wouldn't tell me much but considering her ex stabbed her, it wasn't good"

I grumble, quietly seething at the thought of my mate being hurt by some prick. If I ever find this guy, he's dead. I'm gonna rip out his t-

"Minnie," Joon breaks me out of my thoughts "Don't go there Jimin" he gives me a knowing look. My temper has gotten me in trouble more than a few times

"But she looks so fragile, how could someone do that to her. To anyone!" I was angry, and thank God for scent blockers otherwise this whole place would smell like smoke, thick black smoke.

"She's terrified, babe. She won't speak, she flinches any time someone gets close, and she about has a panic attack any time somebody tries to touch her"

"So don't touch her!" I shout, not meaning to. I'm just so angry

"Babe. You know we have to. We have to do our jobs" he tries to reason with me, and I sigh, doing my best to calm down as I take a few deep breaths.

"I know i just... we have an omega... and someone hurt her" I'm sure I look and sound pathetic, whining up at my pack alpha while leaning against his side like a child. At least I'm not hurting anyone, okay.

"Have you told the rest of the pack" I ask, he shakes his head.

"I'll tell them in a little while, first we have to talk to her"

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Once I've calmed down, Namjoon takes off my scent blocker and tells me to go back into her room. We're gonna let her realize it herself.

As soon as I walk in her head snaps up, she was doodling in the notebook Namjoon had given her. Cute.

Her eyes go wide and she just stares at me. I don't approach her, ignoring the pull I feel to run over and pull her into my arms. I want to fix this, I need to fix this. Someone hurt my mate and there's no one there to hold her and make it better. But Joon told me to keep my distance unless she tells me to come closer, so i stay away.

Her cookie dough scent quickly turns into very strong burnt cookies.

And before I can react, she's gone.

Shit.

"NAMJOON!"

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YOU

Your head snaps up, eyes wide and heart pounding in your chest. Mate. Mate, mate, mate. Your brain is screaming at you. You should be happy, elated. But you're not. Your blood runs cold and all you feel is complete and utter terror.

You don't know this man, he's gonna want you to come home with him and what if he's like your ex. What if he's like your parents. No, no, no this can't be happening. He's gonna think he has some sort of claim over you and you can't have that.

You're on your feet and bolting past him before you even realize what you're doing. You ignore the burning pain in your chest as your feet carry you through the halls. You come to a door and rush through it. It brings you out onto a large open balcony type place. There's a few chairs and tables spread out, no one else is out here.

You hear footsteps quickly approaching the door and ignoring your inability to take a breath without pain, you run again. Only you have nowhere to go. You stop at the edge, there's a railing there, keeping anyone from falling down onto the street below. You look over the edge, its dark outside now, how long were you knocked out? Doesn't matter.

It's pretty, you'd enjoy the lights and the view of the city if it were under different circumstances. The door slams open and Dr. Kim and that other guy run out onto the balcony.

They shout something toward you but you don't process the words. You just stare down at the ground below the ledge. You're up really high. You could always climb over the railing. It would keep you from getting hurt again.

Just do it, that little voice in the back of your head chants at you. It's your only way out, you can't run back to the door and you don't want to deal with whatshisface and Dr.Kim.

You go to lift yourself over the railing, but before you can even get both hands on the rails arms wrap around you and pull you back against someone's chest.

You're surrounded by a crackling campfire. Whatshisface.

"Don't you dare!" His voice shakes, he sounds scared. Why is he scared?

You thrash and struggle in his hold but it's useless, he's much bigger and stronger than you are.

All the movement causes a few of your stitches to break open and blood starts to drip down your body once again.

"Joon! She's bleeding!" He sounds just as panicked as you feel.

You zone out, blocking out your surroundings as you're carried back to your room. Dr. Kim tries to talk to you but it sounds fuzzy and distant.

He gives up after a while.

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The next thing you remember is whatshisface coming back into your room and light filtering in through the windows. Wait when did the sun come up? Shit, you've been disassociating for hours.

"Y/N" he tries, tone cautious as he sits down by the window.

When you don't try and run again he smiles a little "I'm Jimin. I won't hurt you i promise. We're mates." He says this like it's meant to reassure you. It doesn't.

You nod anyway. Being submissive and obedient always works out better in the long run. So you do.

"Namjoon- or, Dr.Kim sorry, is also our mate.." he says this nervously, like he expects you to run again. You feel your heart stop and bile rise in your throat, but you don't run.

"There are 7 of us" he continues. You sit frozen, body rigid. This can't be real.

You don't want this.

#bts #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #bts omegaverse #bts fic #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff

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st6rrrs · 1 year ago

Note

Could you please maybe do a Theodore Nott fic where he’s ghost face?

DONT MAKE A NOISE || GHOST FACE THEODORE X FEM READER

summary: there has been murders around Hogwarts recently, People say they have seen a person in a ghost mask, you would have never expected the person behind it al.

warnings: smut 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon?, blood, murder, violence, hair yanking, cursing, oral sex(m receiving), etc..

a/n: this is my first time writing something like this, im sorry if this is bad. short! rushed

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"Theo what if this ghostface person comes after you or me?" you sigh "im scared."

people have reported seeing a person in all black wearing a ghost mask. This person has already killed 4 people and you were scared that you and your best friend theo would be next.

"Dont worry i wont let anyone hurt you, ever."

you asked theo if he could sleep in your dorm room tonight because your roommate was with her boyfriend and you didn't want to sleep alone. You and theo were cuddling on your bed but you fell asleep..

you awaken due to the loud thunder storms and rain outside you look over to check on theo but hes gone?

"theo?" you immediately get up to see if he's still here but it was to dark. You get up to turn on the lights but they wouldn't turn on, maybe the power was out due to the storm.

you go to grab your phone on the nightstand and check the time 2:58am.

you were about to text theo but you see his phone on the nightstand also so decide your gonna go look for him because this isn't like him.

you go to the flash on your phone and turn it on

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"theo! are you out here?"

you been out here for a while looking for him, you were just about to turn back around and go back to your dorm but thats when u heard something, you get goosebumps.

you turn the corner and you immediately go pale. You see a dead boy on the floor with blood all over him and stab wounds, above him was that ghostface mask staring at you. the boy on the ground didn't look like theo thank god

you drop your phone and run as fast as you can to your dorm. right when your at your door you get pushed inside and hit your head on the wall. you groan out in pain and you feel something dripping down your head you go to touch it and its red.

you hear the door lock and suddenly you feel the ghostface grab you by your hair forcing you too your knees.

"please dont hurt me" you sobbed

he didn't respond all he did was unbuckle his pants that had blood all over them and pulled them down. You could see his hard on thru his boxers, you sobbed even more knowing what was bound to happen.

he released himself from his boxers his cock hitting your cheek. he then put a knife to your throat pushing it into your skin making you whine.

he opened your mouth with his fingers and forced his cock into your mouth moving your head back and forth stretching your mouth out.

you repeatedly gag on his cock, tears running down your cheeks. You drooled in the corner of your lips. His fingers raked through your hair Pulling at it as he thrusted into your mouth hitting the back of your throat. you feel him twitch in your mouth knowing he's close.

he releases in your mouth with a loud groan. He takes his cock out your mouth and covers your mouth with your hand and squeezes your nose shut so he can make sure you swallow.

you ended up swallowing because you couldn't breath. he grabbed your wrist and pushed you onto the bed and he gets on top of you the mask staring you in the face.

you feel weak from the amount of blood you lost when u hit that wall

your barely awake when u feel him take your shorts off and then pull your panties down your legs. He then rubs his cock through your folds and pushes himself into you and all you could do was lay there and take it.

"no stop" you moaned out trying to push him off but he just grabs your wrist together and pins them above your head slowly thrusting into you, he groans while speeding up.

hes thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace now, Your eyes were shut tight

"dont close your eyes on me now" he whispers in your ear while pounding into you, you realize that's the first thing he said to you all night.

"your taking my cock so well" he groans in your ear "so fucking tight"

He sounds familiar?

you feel that pit in your stomach that you shouldn't be having but your body betrays you.

your body tensing and toes curling as you come undone around him

he pulls himself back once more slamming himself inside of you while his dick twitches inside of you. you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

before he had a chance to stop you, you grab a hold of his mask and you pull it off...

this was rushed.

taglist

@bbsxsaa @xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @drewstarkeyslut @stvrkey @blondbrat @sevenwivesofrafecameron @tracymbcm

#smut #slytherin boys #theodore nott #ghostface smut #theodore x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #ghostface x y/n

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orbweaverspidergirl · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: but i am in the twilight

summary: Orbweaver, Gotham's one and only spidergirl. A hero for only a year, she's easily recognizable from her brown spider suit, and six-eyed mask. But, without the mask, she's Nicole Lawson, the "unwanted" daughter of Bruce Wayne. She didn't mind it, not too much, but after the death of her mother and the exposure of her identity, her life is in shambles.

tw: descriptions of blood, someone being stabbed, and someone on the brink of death.

Chapter 1

You felt like a ballerina when up in the air. The sky was your floor, and the webs your wings. It was fun, being able to fly in the air. You often wondered if Superman took glee in it like you. It seemed nice, at least on TV, you’ve never really met him in person. You’ve seen him though, when you had patrol in the day. You wondered if he ever noticed you, that would be cool. Orbweaver, noticed by the most famous hero in the city, Superman!

You snort, a girl could dream.

You land on an old warehouse roof. It rattles, but you jump off the roof, landing a backflip onto the pavement, right in front of the door. Your hood falls down when you land, but you let it be and begin to walk the streets of Gotham. You weren’t particularly looking for a specific crime tonight, you’d prefer if there was none at all, but that’s rarely ever the case.

You crinkle your nose in disgust when you smell blood. You hear someone yelling, and you pick up your pace into a run. You hear it from a nearby alley and make a sharp turn right. A woman stands there, slouched against the wall of the apartment building. A knife is stuck in her abdomen, and you see a man standing over her, a shocked look on his face. He sees you, and his face turns into one of fear. You quickly web his feet, now frozen in place, you tackle him. Your knee goes up against his neck, and you zap the web onto his hands. He struggles, but there’s not much he can do other than that.

“I promise, I promise I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t-” You web his mouth close and then look at the woman before you. She can’t be older than twenty, you think, as you assess the damage. Sweat drips down her face, and she tries to pull the knife out. You stop her, resting your hand on hers.

“Don’t. You’ll cause more damage to the wound. Where’s your phone?” You say, words rushing out of your mouth. Even after a year, you still get nervous about open wounds.

“In,” she lets out a ragged breath, “in my pocket.” You reach for it, quickly dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” You recognize the lady’s voice behind the phone. She’s often the one who picks up your 911 calls.

“It’s Orbweaver, I got a civilian with a knife wound, the knife is still in. The perpetrator is webbed down. 819 Dixon Road.”

“Understood, police and medics are on the way. Keep the person away the best you can Orbweaver, and please, stay on call.”

You look at the lady and sweat pools around her head. You put the phone on speaker and start to ask her questions. “What’s your name?”

Tears start to form in her eyes, but she answers, voice quaky, “Josselyn.” You know a girl in class named Josselyn. You didn’t think it was a real common name, but you guess you stand corrected.

“That’s a pretty name, I know a girl named Josselyn in class. She’s cool.” Her eyelids flutter, and you’re tempted to force them open, but you just gently shake the dark-skinned woman. “What happened Josselyn? Can you tell me? Speak as loud as you can for the agent on the phone.”

“I, uh, was walking to my, uh, my apartment.” She begins to hack up blood, and your nose twitches at the now iron filled air. “Oh fuck...” She says, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“It’ll be alright, Josselyn. The medics will be here soon. Please continue.” She just nods, grimacing.

“He just, he, uh, came out of nowhere. Asked for money…” Her eyelashes bat against her cheeks, and you shake her once more. She looks at you, but her eyes are distant, “Told him I didn’t have any, then he threatened me. Told him to fuck off, and uh, he, uh, pulled out a knife.”

You can hear clicks on the other side of the phone. No doubt the agent is typing in the information told. “You did well, Josselyn, thank you. It’s almost over, I promise.” You get up, making your way over to the poor excuse of a robber. The man is passed out, so you pull back the webbing from his mouth. You didn’t mean to suffocate him, but it’s less work for you, and it isn’t like he’s dead. You think.

You hear him before you see him, Nightwing. You don’t know why he’s here, usually he’s in Bludhaven, doing God knows what. You were close with him, as close as one could be in this type of work. He looks down at you from the roof, and you see him smile.

“You alright down there, Spidey?” He asks, before backflipping off the building.

“Show off,” you snort. “But yeah, I’m okay. Her on the other hand,” you glance at the lady, and the 911 agent speaks up from the phone.

“The medics are on your street, Orbweaver.”

“Heard.” She cancels the call before you can, and you pick up the woman, holding her to your chest. She startles, but you’d rather her be startled then dead.

Nightwing walks behind you, picking up the man from the ground. “How has Bludhaven been?”

He picks up the pace, now standing beside you. “It’s been nice. I came to visit some family today. We had to go to some school event.” You raise an eyebrow, that’s awfully familiar.

“Really? What school did–”

Before you can finish, a loud “WEEE WOOO, WEEEE WOOO,” fills the air. You both stand aside waiting for the medics, and you make sure to check Josselyn one more time before giving her to them. Eventually, the robber is handed off as well, and you let out a sigh of relief when the situation is over.

Nightwing notices, and he reassuringly pats your head. “You’re doing good, Spidey. Keep it up.” You roll your eyes, not like he can see, and shove his hand away.

“How kind of you, birdy!” You say in a mocking tone, before shooting your webs on the buildings. You swing through the air, and you hear Nightwing struggling to catch up.

“Hey, kid, wait! I forgot you could do that!” He whines, and it makes you laugh out loud.

“It was nice to see you again, Nightwing. Have a good night and tell your family Orbweaver said hi!” You yell, prancing off into the night, leaving the hero to his lonesome.

A/N: Inbox/requests are open!!

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girlystories · 2 years ago

Text

Two sides on the same coin

— pairings: Joseph Descamps x ex-rebellious reader

summary: you get expelled from your all girls school after an incident you get yourself into. cutting all ties with your troublesome friends, your parents send you to voltaire lycée in hopes you change your ways. an annoying prick, though, gets in the way of that, making you constantly on the verge of breaking your promise to your parents.

additional warnings: underage smoking, usage of foul language, mention of boobs ig?

authors note: very creative chapter title, ik. also really sorry for this late update, but i honestly don't haven't any excuse. it's finally here so I hope you enjoy. also i added a character from another movie cuz i can.

words: 3.9k

Chapter 1: The bastard with the dumb glasses

[Name] [Last Name] certainly wasn't expecting her first day to occur like this.

She fell down on her knees next to the wounded boy, who held on his left eye. He was whimpering in pain, making it obvious the punch he took to the face was serious.

Placing a hand on his back, she tried to receive any attention from him. She called out his name but didn't get an answer. Blood was dripping from between his fingers and his groaning increased before she was pulled away from him.

...

Lumière Lycée was nothing but a memory now, all what happened there only for the driven girl to want go remember, whenever she even wanted to. If she wanted to. She couldn't lie to herself and say it was a good time. On the contrary, it was a living hell for her. It wasn't a catholic school, but it was somehow aiming towards it.

She'd gotten in trouble one, two, three, or more times. Times she couldn't even keep track of.

Not that it even mattered now. No one would know of her past, her previous troublesome and somewhat rebellious nature in a place for her old school and only herself. It was a year ago from now, certainly she'd have changed from then. Or, in better words, she wanted to mask it deep inside. She promised it to her parents.

Moving schools meant moving overall, but she was sure she'd get used to the new environment sooner or later. Voltaire Lycée, the only academy daring to take things further and expand into a mixed school containing both boys and girls. Such a big change, things were seemingly passing so fast. It was the only thing the newspapers and radio were discussing about all day long for the past three days.

She was now brushing her hair, styling it while in her bathrobe. She added a small touch of makeup on her lashes, in a effort not to seem as tired from sleeping late the earlier day. Her anxiety forbid her from it. To bring some sort of color to her lips, she applied some chapstick. She didn't want to impress anybody, but didn't want to stand out by appearing like some sort of messy girl. That'd make a horrible impression. She opted to blend in with everybody else, which wasn't as easy since she was expected as one of the other few new girls. She'd stand out either way. How many girls would even attend that school anyway?

Either way, she hoped for a change. From having more than fifty absences, five to nine out of twelve marks, constantly snapping at her other classmates and breaking into fights, to becoming a lady with a future ahead of her.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, "[Name]," a soft voice called from behind it, "are you ready yet? Your father could give you a ride to school."

"No, it's okay," she got up from her chair, giving a last look at herself from her mirror. "I'd lather walk on my first day."

Her mother nodded and left without a word, leaving her to finish in getting ready.

[Name] opened her wardrobe, inspecting her clothes and in the end decided upon a matching set of a top and short skirt that she tried out the day before. Before leaving her room she wore her pair of Mary-Jane's.

She headed to her kitchen, where her parents were already awake, eating their breakfast before work. She took a seat and took a sip of her prepared coffe. "Good morning," she said.

Her father swallowed his own coffe before speaking, "Good morning. How do you feel about your new school?"

"Rather anxious."

"No wonder," her mother said. "A mixed school? It's a much troublesome shift from what we're used too. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Her dad finished his coffe, placing his mug down. "Well, we do what we can do. If only you would behave, [Name]."

"[Father name], " her mother glanced at him with knotted brows. "Don't start again."

He ignored her warnings, "Now make sure to get your shit together or else things will be really complicated. I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart."

"I know," [Name] simply said.

Her mother still kept an eye on her husband and sighed, turning her attention at her daughter. "Now you have a nice day, okay? Be home right after school or if you want stop by the bakery."

[Name] finished her butter bread, taking her bag as she got up and went to the front door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she got interrupted. Internally groaning, she went back and kissed her parents on the cheek.

"Alright, bye," she finally said and left.

Since it was still early, she stopped at her neighborhood supermarket to buy herself a pack of Gauloises, thanking the owner and lighting one while on her way. Just then she realized she didn't know the way.

Minutes later she regretted not accepting her parents' offer to drive her to school. Cursing under her breath at her possibility of being late on her first day, she kept her fast pase as she took a turn on the street she thought the school was located.

To her utter luck, she was right. When she noticed the front gate inspector closing the door she jogged there yelling for him stop. He rose his head towards her, earning his attention.

He threw his cigarette, chuckling softly. "Lucky for you, it's your first day, miss, otherwise I'd have left you locked outside," he said and opened the gate for her.

"Sorry, it won't happen again..." she breathed out.

"Well, they haven't made their way inside. Mr. Belanger is giving a speech."

"Thanks," she said and walked hurrily where everyone stood.

On top of the building's stairs stood the school staff, the students surprisingly listening from bellow. She shoved herself between the crowd to catch a word he was saying.

"-Gentlemen, I expect you to...to be as polite, respectful, magnanimous and dignified as I know you can...when on your best behavior."

"Who is that?" she asked herself.

"The school's Dean," she wasn't really expecting an answer, yet a guy replied from beside her.

She nodded at him, staying silent for a moment before talking again. "Damn, I don't even know in what class I am."

"Don't worry. They'll call your name anyway."

Just then, a woman walked forward, holding a sheet or paper. "I'll now be calling the first-year's, then proceed the second year's due to the addition of female students."

"Just like that," he smirked and Mr. Bluebeard began reading the paper.

[Name] breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I was afraid of almost getting detention from being late."

He let out a laugh, "On your first day? There's no way a person could achieve that record. Not even me. I can assure you I've tried. I don't think you get detention from being late."

"No," she said. "I said almost. Wait, what do you mean y-"

The call of her name interrupted her question.

"That's your name, right? Seems like you're in class 1B."

"Oh, yeah," she said looking as some other students walked up the starts when their names were called. "See you."

She took a seat behind two girls, and as she did so smiled at them when they seemed to acknowledged her. Little by little everyone gathered in class, each taking their seats.

The woman that was calling out the students from before walked in. "I am Mrs. Giraud, your homeroom teacher."

Then, a girl with blonde hair entered the class, eyeing the empty seats anxiously. She had her hair styled with a headband that matched her dress which was beautifully complimenting her figure. It was no surprise everyone was looking at her with either admiration or a tint of desire.

She took a seat at a desk in the front, and [Name] felt somehow disappointed she didn't choose to sit next to her instead.

Mrs. Giraud noticed her gesture. "What's your name miss?"

She got up from her seat, holding her hands together politely. "Annick Sabiani."

"Where do you think you are, miss Sabiani?"

She didn't get enough time to respond at her question.

"Do you think it's okay to sit next to a boy?" she asked sternly. "Get your things."

She began doing so, but Mrs. Giraud interrupted her again. "No. You," she pointed towards the boy next to her. He looked at her for a moment and she continued, "Get up. Go sit in the back."

"But I can't see from there."

"Back row, now," she then looked at [Name], realizing she failed in noticing her presence before. "And what's your name, miss?"

She got up, awkwardly looking around the class and trying to ignore the stares. "[Name] [Last name]."

"You sit in the front."

She gathered her bag and did as she was told, still feeling the stares accompanied with whistling sounds and whispers. The boy tried to do the same, but someone put his foot in the way. That made him trip and almost fall, the group of boys laughing and making pig noises. "It's not your day, piggy."

The teacher did nothing about it, only complaining about being interrupted. "Quiet! As I was saying... Mrs. Giraud, with a "D" as in "discipline.""

[Name] wasn't listening what she was saying anymore, glancing at the person who was at fault of tripping the poor guy. He was grinning at his friend beside him, finding it wholehearted hilarious, like it was comedy gold. He fixed his glasses before he pretending he was paying attention to Mrs. Giraud. Instead he wrote a note and showed it next to him, the duo starting cackling quietly.

Next period was Latin, where she was met with Mr. Douillard. She ultimately ended up not having a really good idea about him, earning already a bad impression by him ignoring the girls when they raised their hand. She grew more and more annoyed when he pretended not to noticed her and she just stopped trying. Sabiani did not back down, though. Still, Mr. Douillard picked the only guy that had raised his hand.

"I think she raised her hand," the same guy with the glasses pointed out in a snarky tone. He pressed his lips together to hold himself from laughing.

Much to the teachers dismay of having to pick a girl student, he side-eyed Sabiani. "Indeed. So?"

She pushed her chair back, fixing her dress. "The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."

"The Romans "cheer" Horatio," he corrected, obviously not wanting to lower to the level of ever praising a girl, wanting to dismiss their existence entirely. "Can you conjugate the verb "ovare"?"

As Sabiani was answering, [Name] noticed the guy from before writing something on a paper, giving it to the person next to him and whispering something. The note was passed down until the teacher noticed.

"Give me that," he ordered, interrupting Sabiani.

The poor guy sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. From where [Name] sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

The unlucky person sighed and stood up walking up to the teacher and handing the note. [Name] knew of him. He was Alain Laubrac, a guy who happened to be in the same gang she used to hang out last year. She stopped hanging out with them after her expulsion, when she was grounded all summer, cutting all ties with them thankfully. She hadn't spoke to him since like the rest. From where she sat she couldn't see anything but by the expression of Mr. Douillard she could tell it wasn't good.

"Think this is funny?"

"It wasn't me."

"Who is responsible for this masterpiece?"

No answer. The guy who drew it pretended he didn't know a thing, placing his pen under his bottom lip.

"Your name?"

"It wasn't me," Alain repeated.

"'It wasn't me'," Mr. Douillard sighed, "All culprits have the same name. They must be related. Okay, Mr. 'It wasn't me'...'"

"My name is Laubrac," he corrected.

"Are you the boy from the foster care?"

The whole class chuckled at that.

"Some nobody's son's trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system? I won't let a bastard disrupt my class. Get out."

"But he didn't do anything!" a girl with blond pigtails protested.

"Nobody taught you to raise your hand in your girls' school, Miss Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the Dean," the teacher mocked, hitting the paper on his palm. "Escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention too."

They both left the room with their heads low, the class filled with silence.

[Name] bit the inside of her mouth, raising a hand.

"Yes, miss?" the teacher complained.

"With all due respect, sir, but you're being really unfair," she said. Mr. Douillard was taked aback and she continued before he interrupted. "It was Picasso over there who did it," she eyed the glasses-guy from the back.

The smile he wore dissappeared, now glaring at her and preparing to argue something back.

"You've got a nerve talking to me like that, miss [Last Name]," the teacher said. "Don't think I haven't been informed of your performance in your past school. I'm not afraid to get you expelled here too."

The class suddenly filled with murmurs.

"Unless you want detention as well I advice you to sit back down."

She looked down and without having anything else to say she sat on her chair. Her grip on her pen tightened when she looked back and seeing the guy still stare at her, slowly forming a winning smirk.

Bastard, she thought.

Finally lunch came, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she stood up from her seat, an instant need to stretch her body overtaking her. She only wanted to smoke as soon as possible, the necessity of nicotine calling out to her from not being present for a while. She closed her notebook and walked out the classroom as soon as there was space for her to walk through the students.

She walked down the big row of starts, avoiding in pushing the boy in front of her, but still having trouble keeping her patience.

Just as she was about to turn a corner she felt her face being hit with a flat surface, being jolted back.

"Woah, what's the rush?" she felt an arm on her shoulder and was met with a silly smile. It was the guy from earlier in the morning.

"Sorry," she said, feeling embarrassed. She allowed herself to groan, feeling free from expressing her feelings. Even in front of this guy she just met. "I just couldn't stay in that room anymore."

"I didn't know class 1B was that far off," he joked.

"You know anyone from there?"

"Certainly. I could name quite a few if you ask me."

"Ugh, then I'm sure you know. Speaking of, in what class did you end up?"

He placed a hand in his pocket. "2B," he smiled. "If my last name was different we could've been in the same class. Maybe then the school year wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah, talk about luck," she played along his playful attitude. She didn't know where he was getting at, but he was at least tolerable. "Oh, hey, we haven't met properly before."

"You're right," he extended his palm, smiling at her. "Mick Travis."

She replied with her name, shaking his hand. "Mick Travis? Is that French or..."

"I'm originally from Britain, but I've moved here for a while. I don't know for how long but I'll do what I can in the meantime. Second year in this school and I can't wait to get out of here."

"Did something happen last year?"

"It's a long story," he said simply, changing the subject. "So, where are you headed?"

In the end they sat at a bench, under a tree to avoid the bright sun from blinding their eyes and having to constantly squint at each other. Travis sat sideways, his one leg crossed while the other was extended freely, his head resting on his palm, the other holding his cigarette.

[Name] lazily looked up at the tree as the wind moved it's leafs, making her almost fall asleep. "Are they gotta tell us something for not going to eat?"

"Hell no, I'm sure they know how ass the food is anyway. We're just saving our lives at the moment."

She hummed, putting out her finished cigarette.

"So," he adjusted his head, in a way to look at her. "What do you think of this school?"

"I don't know. But I hope this year passes quickly. Last year was the worst year of my life."

This peacked his interest. "How so?"

"Long story," she laughed when she realized he responded the same way before. "Maybe I'll tell you if I skip a class."

"Fine."

Break ended too quickly for [Name] to enjoy and she dragged her feet to class, with Travis having to sometimes push her while she groaned in annoyance.

She walked inside, making eyecontact with Sabiani and giving her a look of "I can't stand being here already." The poor girl only giving her a sympathetic smile in response.

She was about to sleep on her desk, when a commotion made her raise her head to see what was going on. Descamps and his friends – whatever their names were, she didn't even bother to know – were making a fuss over something, and she noticed quickly a bucket filled with water behind the door. Descamps grabbed it and attempted to place it on top of the door, ordering one of his friends to keep watch from outside in the process.

The class did nothing, and so did [Name]. It took her a while to realize that a prank was happening, so whoever were to walk in would get drenched in that dirty bucket water. She rose from her seat, throwing her chair back and scaring Sabiani from beside her. She did promise not to act out, in hopes of not getting unwanted attention from the teachers, but she had enough from that Latin teacher anyway. She wouldn't let anyone stop her now.

She walked up to him, pushing him and making him almost spill the water. He narrowed his eyes at her, before he flashed her a cocky smile. "What's that? Didn't you learn your lesson from getting expelled from your last school? Are you planning on doing the same thing here?"

She clenched her jaw at the nerve he had. He didn't even know of her, yet acted better than her. "I'll get expelled for this? You're the one putting a bucket on top of the damn door."

She felt a hand grabbing her wrist and she turned around. "Don't get involved, just continue sleeping on your desk like you were before," it was one of Descamps friends.

She snatched her hand away, "Don't touch me." Turning her attention back at the vile glasses-wearing guy, she attempted to take the bucket away from him, only for him to raise it over her head, mocking her in the process. She would've been intimidated by his height, but she was already used to scarier guys from last year. Descamps laughed at her unsuccessful attempts, then motioned something to his friend. He got the memo and held back [Name] by restraining her.

"Let me down!" she yelled, but they ignored her, finally Descamps putting the damn bucket where he planned from the beginning. She looked at the rest of the class, everyone doing nothing about the whole thing and staying silent in their seats. She made eyecontact with Laubrac, her eyes seeking for his help. He only looked away, hiding his shame.

The victim of the prank was Magnan, as the water completely covered her from head to toe. Her braids were starting to fall apart from her cute style. Her frozen body left in shock as she looked around the class, everyone watching her without reaction. [Name] felt shame when she realized the water made the fabric on her chest area visible, being stuck on her skin.

Descamps and his friends were the only ones breaking the silence in the room, chuckling to themselves and breaking out laughing, [Name] being no longer being held back.

Suddenly he swallowed hard and composed himself at the sight of Mrs. Couret. He looked at her nervously and placed both his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Couret was in shock at first, but acted quickly, taking of her jacket and putting it around Magnan. She ordered [Name] and Sabiani to look over the class, but they knew that with both of them combined they couldn't control Descamps and his dumb crew. Moments later, they exited the classroom, headed to the nurses office.

If that wasn't enough, Descamps even drew on the chalkboard, being a picture of who she assumed was Magnan, her chest area being the most prominent. [Name] was about to go off again, but Sabiani grabbed her wrist instead, shaking her head at her to tell her to stop. After a bit of contemplating she backed down. Before she could even sigh in disappointment, a senior barged inside the classroom.

He pushed a guy from his way and swing at one of the guys that indulged in the "prank". Sabiani yelled at them to stop but it escalated even worse. Descamps went to defend him, and this lead to him being hit. In the eye area. Next thing she knew, he was kneeled to the ground. Everything had happened so fast, [Name] was frozen in place.

Without thinking she fell next to him, trying to get a look at his injury. It was pretty hard to do so, as he pressed onto his left eye, his back slouching more and more as he couldn't contain his pain anymore. His groans made him so he couldn't hear the girl from beside him, but the warm touch on his shaking body comforted him even for a bit.

[Name] felt herself suddenly being pushed back, and she calmed herself when she realized it was the Dean.

"Let me see," he said, crouching to Descamps' level.

"My eye...! I can't see..."

"Don't touch it okay? Can you stand up?" when he nodded, he helped him get up. He then ordered Pichon to get the nurse, but she was already there.

"He's got some glass in his eye," Mr. Belanger said softly at his wife, as she placed a hand on his back and led him outside, mentioning something about taking him to the hospital.

"Get back to your class!" he yelled at the students that were watching from outside the door. "Dupin, take your seat. Jean-Pierre, my office. You two, put the chairs back. You wipe that off. And you, clean that now!" he looked at the rest of the class, his piercing look sending shivers down [Name]'s spine. "Everyone else, take your seats!" he ordered and the tone of his voice made everyone do so without question. "Quietly!"

He sighed, "I'll leave you to it, Miss Couret," he said, giving a last look to the teacher that had just arrived before storming off.

The rest of the day seemed to pass way slower that before.

tagging: @kpoploverxx-12 @puchosdementa @tropicalheart13 @luvmacyyyy @aiuragf @idontlikemonday @helchronicles @bubblegum-bitchhhhhhhhh @visndcaitswhore @blueberryblood11 @remusmuse @pookayyyyy @blvckdress @lirominissss @issoais-blog @murxhavia @b3l1z8 @nikkoiiii @beau-min

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #joseph descamps #[🌸]#mixte1963 #joseph descamps x reader #mixte #mixte 1963

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meadowfics · 6 months ago

Text

happy birthday

cho sang-woo x f!reader

due to the squid games, you forgot that it is your birthday

warnings: established relationship, age gap (reader is in her mid-twenties), death, s*icide, angst, I do not suggest that minors should read this. I am not responsible for the content you choose to read after clicking, "keep reading"

the games have stretched on for days

you’ve long lost the ability to track time in the games since you did not have a single device with you.

every moment is just filled with a whirlwind of blood, screams, and desperate breaths you are grateful to take.

you haven’t thought about anything beyond surviving, eating only enough to function, sleeping with one eye open.

you haven’t even thought about what day it is, let alone the fact that it’s your birthday.

the person you were before the games feels like a distant, unreachable memory.

sang woo has always been the thinker, and the planner in the relationship.

you relied on his mind to guide you through the chaos that this game brought you.

while you carried out plans, while you ran and fought, he was the one ensuring you both had a chance.

he told you what you needed to do in order to survive each game, and you admired him for it.

now, with just the two of you left, that strength has become a devastating burden.

the man who kept you alive is now the one you must kill

...or be killed by.

the final game takes place in a desolate, open field.

the rain pours relentlessly, soaking you to the bone, making the sand beneath your feet slippery.

it’s too quiet, save for the patter of rain and your own shaky breaths.

you’re standing twenty feet apart, both in the same dark suits, drenched, eyes meeting through the haze of water.

the masked overseers watch silently in the background, unmoving, as if savoring the grim show about to unfold.

everyone there, the guards, the frontman watching.. the knew about the love between the two of you.

that is what made this sight more amusing to them..

“sang woo, i can’t…”

your voice cracks as you stare at him, your hands trembling at your sides.

you’ve already thrown the knife they gave you to the ground. you couldn’t do it.

“please, just do it. i—I can’t hurt you. i won’t.”

sang woo's expression is unreadable at first, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, the rain dripping down his face like tears.

he’s been your anchor through this nightmare, but now, as the end looms, his silence feels like a dagger in your chest.

“please don’t make me do this.”

his voice is low, trembling.

this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard him.

“don’t ask me to kill you. i can’t live with that. i can’t…”

he steps closer, his hand tightening around something at his side. you think it’s the knife.

is he going to kill you?

you drop to your knees, the rain pooling around you.

you scream, sobbing openly now.

“it’s okay! i’ll be okay, sang woo! just do it. take the money. take care of your mom. she needs you!”

your chest heaves, your heart feels like it’s ripping apart.

“i can’t live with myself if i kill you, but you...you’ll be okay! you’re a strong man, love. please…”

“no? you think i can live with myself without you?”

he finally chokes out, his voice raw.

the older man's eyes are glassy, filled with an emotion you’ve never seen from him before.

love. regret. anguish.

when he moves, it’s not towards you.

he pulls the knife and presses it to his throat in one fluid motion.

your stomach drops as realization sets in, but it’s too late.

he’s faster.

“no! sang woo, stop!”

you scream, bolting towards him as he sinks the blade in.

you reach him just as his knees buckle.

his blood gushes out, staining your hands as you cradle him.

“why? why would you do this?”

your voice is shrill, hysterical, as you press your hands against the wound, trying to stop the inevitable.

there is no help here, he is a lost cause.

sang woo reaches up weakly, his bloodied hand brushing against your cheek.

the man's voice is barely a whisper,

“because… i know you’ll take care of her… my mom. you’ll… make sure she’s okay.”

his breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, but then they open one last time, locking onto yours with a bittersweet smile.

“happy birthday, by the way. I love you.”

the words shatter you.

of course sang woo would never forget his favorite day of the year

even in this hellhole..

you scream his name, shaking him as if you can bring him back.

your lover's blood seeps into the sand below, mingling with the rain, as the weight of his sacrifice crashes down on you.

you can’t stop crying, holding his lifeless body, feeling the warmth of him slip away.

the games end. you are declared the winner.

the frontman teases that you are the first woman to have ever won, and the first person to win on their birthday..

45.6 billion won is yours, but it feels hollow, meaningless.

you didn't want any of this money no more.

every time you close your eyes, you see sang woo’s face, hear his voice, feel his blood on your hands.

an hour after the guards threw you back out in the streets of seoul.. you look at your phone.

you see the date: your birthday.

the day you should have been celebrating is now the day you’ll mourn for the rest of your life.

you won, but at what cost?

the weight of your soulmates sacrifice will haunt you forever.

masterlist

#cho sang woo #cho sang woo x reader #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #multifandom account #squid game fanfic #gi hun #meadowfics #sang woo #player 218

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liliesdiary · 3 months ago

Text

You ran as swiftly as you could, your legs quaking beneath you as you reached the final stall. You stumbled with your heels while climbing onto the closed toilet lid, striving to remain silent as you covered your mouth. His footsteps echoed softly as they approached the bathroom, each step deliberate, as if he were savoring the thrill of the hunt. He would relish the moment of having you in his grasp once more, ready to tear you apart.

“Come here little dove..”

His deep, menacing voice echoed as he drew nearer to the tall stalls, taunting you with each step. You trembled, striving to remain silent while the blood from your open wound seeped steadily. He could see your blood dripping from your stall, smirking as he wanted to torment his little bird more.

Suddenly, you heard him methodically kicking the door of each stall, striking it with all his might to instill fear. You were so fucked. You were shaking like a scared little bird, trying to keep quiet as you heard him coming closer, and closer.

“You're going to pay for stabbing me, you little bitch.”

He kicked down the door next to your stall, your trembling body jumping as you feared for your life. His heart flutters as he imagined the fucked up things he was going to do to you next.

He was at the last stall, your stall. He could see the dripping from your wound, the sweet wound he inflicted on you. His obsession with your wound only grew more and more as you tried to escape from him. You won't escape this time.

Knock Knock.

“Is my little angel in there?”

Your heart stops as you hear his dark voice, he knocks once more.

Knock Knock.

“My little angel, come out.”

Your legs tremble as you see his boots in front of your bathroom stall. Then you could see him slowly bending over, your aching heart stops as you see his mask staring right into your petrified face.

“I found you.”

A terrified cry escapes from your pretty lips as you try to climb out of the stall, but he prevents you from escaping once more. You tried to fight him back, your arms attempting to push him away as he tried to pin you down. You looked like a pathetic little bird trying to escape her cage. His possessive hands trembled with desire as he purposely stabbed your wound again, drawing a sweet scream from your mouth that made his heart flutter.

“You should have listened, little dove."

He repeatedly plunged the knife into you, his sweet little angel, overwhelmed with a twisted sense of love as he extinguished your life. The smirk on his face grew ever wider as the light faded from your once bright eyes. Your desperate screams only urged him to drive the knife deeper into your heart. Your bruised knees crumpled to the blood-soaked floor of the bathroom. It was a scene of carnage, and he reveled in it. "You look perfect like this, a little bird devoid of life. You should have kept running.” He loved as life slowly faded from your eyes, loving the way you fit your role so well. His little dead dove.

"Go back, little dove."

「 Go Back. 」

#જ⁀➴ ᴘᴇʀᴠᴇʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ

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lincolndjarin · 2 years ago

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty seven : the apostate

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ☆ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 6.0k

summary : judgement day. (din's version)

warnings: language, angst, violence, gore, blood, torture, murder, death, ro makes things up about infection bc they're too scared to google it (what if there's gross pics??), din is morally grey at times, pregnancy

a/n: worked a ten hour shift, got home, made an iced coffee, hammered away at my anvil until this was written and edited. now it's bed time lol

Silence.

That’s all there is in his brain.

It’s hard enough as is for him to hear. It doesn’t help when he’s been beaten half to death. All it had taken was a few firm punches to the side of the head and any remaining hearing in that ear was lost.

It’s not looking great. Or sounding great, all he can hear is ringing as he hits the ground, hard. He knows someone is yelling at him but how the fuck is he supposed to know what they’re saying when he can feel a thin bead if blood dripping from his ear canal.

He never manages to figure out what they’re saying but he gets the gist of it when his armor is ripped from his body. He puts up as much of a fight as he can manage, his efforts skyrocketing when they yank his helmet off, leaving him bare before a couple of guards.

For the first time in his life he knows what it's like to have that choice taken away from him.

And he cannot hide the fear and discomfort that come with losing his helmet behind a mask any longer. Thankfully he isn’t exposed for very long, per Kodo’s orders his face is to remain covered. Of course they go with the most humiliating option, a fabric bag thrown over his head. It’s somehow worse than being exposed, now he can’t hear or see.

So there’s no warning for the beating that immediately follows his imprisonment.

He’s been in countless fights through the course of his life but nothing like this. He’s never been unable to fight back. They restrain him and beat him senseless, and he can’t so much as hold his hands up in defense.

And then they leave.

He has no way to tell the time. So he simply sits and waits in the emptiness that is his life now.

Until someone new comes in to beat the shit out of him.

It’s a horrific existence, to sit in the cold darkness, unable to hear an approaching threat until they’re actively upon you. He doesn’t know when it happens but at one point he loses all feeling in one of his legs, he knows he was cut there but he has no idea how bad it is. He spends his time trying to assess his wounds, he stretches out what parts of himself he can as he does his best to keep his blood flowing.

And the entire time all he can think of is you.

He knows nothing of what’s become of you. He did everything in his power to ensure that you would be blameless but he has no idea if it worked, that itself is a worse torture than any of this. He’s in agony wondering if you’re down here in a cell receiving the same treatment as he is.

☆

He didn’t think things could possibly get worse.

Until the day when the footsteps stopped before his cell and the door to Elaine’s swung open instead.

He heard most of it.

Every wet, gory sound.

He took his time with her, laughing all the while and when he was finally done Din called out to her.

All he got in response was the faint, distant sounds of her agony.

The next day he feared they had returned to finish her off when he heard the ear piercing screech of her door opening but Elaine’s screams turned to soft whines. After a while his own door shrieked open, it took him a while to realize who it was but after she repeated herself a few times he was able to make out the word Lysa and was able to relax briefly. She tried to feed him but he told her he was fine, despite the twisting pain in his stomach, he’d lost too much.

His face is all he has left. It’s all he can cling to now.

She tries every day despite his protests but he doesn’t mind. He likes having someone to talk to, it helps his hearing when he can focus on one person speaking at a time.

Then came the day where he felt hands on his chest and he tensed in anticipation of a hit that never came.

It took a while to register and for a moment he thought it was a trick but he recognized the smell of you, and the familiar, gentle nature of your touches.

You were an angel.

Feeding him, being with him, loving him.

He would have done almost anything for five more minutes with you when Lysa told you it was time to leave but he knew you couldn’t be caught down here, it just wasn’t safe, so he let you go.

And he found peace in the knowledge that you were unharmed.

From that point forward he endured for you.

Not in hopes that you would find some way to get him out, or that he might find his way back to you. He endured simply for you. For the idea that he might get to look upon your face one last time before he goes.

He had just about accepted his fate when Lysa came to him, unlocking his cuffs.

“I messed with the shift schedule.” She speaks in a hushed whisper directly into his ear so he can hear her.

“What?”

“I messed with the schedule, for the next two hours there will be no guards, one empty window. I’m taking Elaine, gonna get her off planet.”

“Nevarro.” They’ll be safe there, maybe someday he’ll bring you to visit them.

“Where is that?”

“It’s an outer rim territory, go there, find Greef Karga and tell him Din Djarin sent you.”

“I will.” She presses the key into his palm. “You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” It isn’t said with cruelty, it’s a fact.

That’s okay, he’s doing this for you as well.

And just like that she’s gone, when he takes the bag off his head he’s alone. Immediately he gets to his feet, nearly screaming in pain as he tries to figure out what his next move is.

“Don’t waste this.”

She’s right.

He won’t get another chance, he can’t mess this up.

If he leaves Naboo he knows he’ll never get you back. They will lock you away, you’ll be hidden in some tower making heirs for that monster, never allowed back in the public eye while the “dangerous” Mandalorian is free.

That’s his reasoning. He tries not to think too hard about the other aspect of running away.

That you might think he left you.

Finding you and taking you with him sounds like a good option but when he really thinks about it he realizes the risks are simply too high.

If they realize he’s gone and you’re gone before you can get on a ship they’ll close every port on Naboo, you’ll be trapped on this wretched planet and hunted like animals.

It wouldn’t matter much anyway, getting that far would require him being able to run. With the condition he’s in he isn’t even sure he can walk. It takes some work, and a lot of biting his own fist to silence himself but he manages to stumble across his cell.

So running isn’t an option.

And he can’t leave you.

He promised himself he would never leave you again, he stayed when you told him to go, he stayed those four days of waiting, and he’ll stay now.

But he has to be smart, and he has to be lucky.

So he sits back against the wall, sliding his wrists back into the cuffs, leaving them unlocked.

And he waits.

☆

He can’t make out much of what the man is saying but he recognizes the low, gravely timber. It’s the same man who’s tormented him several times but more importantly it’s the man who hurt Elaine.

The bag is ripped off of him and he can’t help but light up at the sight of only one man.

He can handle one man.

He’s weaker than usual, and he isn’t expecting it when his mouth is forced open, a knife slicing into his tongue.

It’s more difficult than it ever has been to fight, every muscle and injury screams for him to stop but he still manages to get the man on his back, from there all he has to do is slam his head into the stone.

It’s been a long time since he had to kill someone.

He thought it would feel worse, he’d be lying if he said that being around you hasn’t softened him up. But he feels fine, almost accomplished. He’s one step closer to you. He drags the body to an open cell a few down from his, taking the man’s uniform he dresses himself and takes his own clothes, tossing them back into his cell as he moves as fast as he can with a barely working leg.

The guard's uniform fits but the man's skin is significantly paler than Din’s, he’ll never pass as him.

“You won’t get a second chance.”

Walk and think.

Think of a plan on your way to it.

He marches out of the dungeons, every step is agony, and his mouth continues to bleed as he tries to think of people he wouldn’t mind killing who wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

The answer comes to him while he’s rubbing the raw skin of his wrists.

He’s known since he started working here just how shitty the security is. Even in his current state it’s rather easy for him to sneak into the guards station at the front entrance of the castle. It’s even easier for him to search through their bracelet database and find out exactly where the bastard is.

He wasn’t sure why he planted the bracelet on him that day in the market, a small part of him always did want to go back and find him, maybe teach him some manners. It was easy to slip the tracker into his bag, he even truly considered killing him at one point just to send a message to any one else who might try to touch you but you wouldn’t have wanted that, so he let it be.

He hopes you won’t be too mad.

He simply finds the tracker labeled ‘Mandalorian - LOST’ and memorizes the location, thankfully it appears to be in a residential area just outside the castle. He takes one extra moment to search through a few extra files, when he finds the staff lists he’s met with three blank spaces.

He fills in one of them.

Every step is blistering pain but he breathes heavily through his mouth, continuing to push through as he descends the steps towards his goal. He can’t help but wonder if he even has the strength to do any of this but what else is there to do? He has to get back to you.

Whatever it takes.

Later on, when he tells you what happened on this night he makes up a story, simple and believable, because in all honesty he doesn’t even know how he did any of it. His own strength in that moment frightens him a bit, all he knows is that he was looking for the man who accosted you in the markets all those moons ago and the next thing he knew he was standing in a halo of broken glass in the man's home.

He knows you probably wouldn’t approve but he had wanted to kill him the first time he had grabbed you in the market, after the second time he wanted to make it hurt. The dungeons are a mercy compared to what Din would do to him.

He’s running out of time so he has to improvise, he knocks the man out when he finds him in his bedroom, tearing the welding goggles off the nameless man's head. He cuts his hair with a shard of glass from the window, trying and failing to make it resemble his own.

It’ll have to do.

He tells himself before dragging the body in through the back servant's entrance he’s used several times to sneak in and out of the castle with you.

He’s slick with sweat, at least his leg doesn’t hurt anymore, by the time he gets to the bottom of the steps there's barely any feeling in it at all.

It’s one hell of a task, getting the nameless man into the cell and chained to the wall unnoticed but by some stroke of luck he does it, finishing his task by removing the man's tongue in one swift motion with a knife. Silencing the only witness to his escape.

He looks over everything, making sure it’s all in its perfect place before adding the finishing touch, a bag over his head. Once it’s done he rushes towards the dungeon's entrance.

He should move, get out of there and fast but he can’t help himself. Not after what they did to Elaine.

So he checks the shift schedule, he waits until the last possible moment, when the next shift of guards arrives he hands them the tongue, trying not to wince at the undisturbed look on their faces, and he tells them that he’s going to do one last sweep before they switch. They all seem more than happy to have someone else doing the rounds. And he takes his time, slowly and methodically checking every cell until he gets to Elaine’s, and even then he waits just a little longer, giving them as much time as possible to get on a ship and far away from here.

Even if it’s just a few extra seconds.

Then he yells.

His words make no sense and are garbled because of the state of his tongue but he gets the message across just fine.

He yells that there’s been an escape, that a prisoner is missing and in the commotion of it all he slips away. On his way back to you.

He’s so focused on seeing you again it never even crosses his mind just how many people have now seen him without his helmet.

☆

“You won’t get a second chance. Don’t waste this.”

Lysa’s words continue to echo through his head.

He has to do this exactly right. Or he’ll lose you all over again.

He has to get into the castle. The quickest way to you is going to be being a staff member, but first he has to make himself presentable. So he goes to the cabin. Surprisingly untouched, Kodo must not have cared enough to have it vacated.

He’s barely standing when he stumbles in through the door, heading straight to the fresher and peeling back the boards that hide his bacta stash.

He is so fucked up when he finally looks in the mirror. He's practically a wild animal as he scrambles to get a vial of bacta open.

It’s unbelievable that no one asked him if he was okay, his face is mangled. Large gashes originate at his mouth and move up and down his face. A deep cut runs across the bridge of his nose, coincidentally directly over a scar he already had.

He makes quick work of it. Lathering a thick layer of bacta onto each wound before opening his mouth. Thankfully his tongue is still attached in some places, it’s easy to coat in the healing ointment but it’s difficult to keep it from bleeding, but he manages. The real challenge is his leg. He limps out to the kitchen with a bottle of bacta between his teeth. Grabbing himself a knife from the drawer as he sits at the kitchen table, propping his leg up on a chair with a groan.

Fuck.

He’s seen enough battle injuries to know just how bad it is. Dark lines that he knows mean infection run along his calf.

“Fuck.” He verbalizes his distress as he peels back more of his pants.

Okay.

The infection doesn’t go past his knee.

Okay.

He doesn’t have time to be in denial over how bad it is.

He has the credits to cover a prosthetic but he doesn’t have the time. He’ll be in recovery for ages and that simply isn’t an option now. He can fight off the infection for a few more weeks but after that there’s no way he’ll be able to keep his leg.

He can’t leave you alone in that castle with Kodo.

So he steels himself, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter to bite down on as he cautiously cuts away any decaying flesh as well as chunks of meat where the infection is worst. He’s lightheaded when he fumbles through one of his drawers for his cauterizer, sealing each wound with an unsettling sizzling sound.

He feels half dead when he finishes, haphazardly pouring the contents of the bacta bottle onto his leg before passing out on the kitchen floor.

☆

As eager as he is to get back into the castle he knows he needs at least one more day to recover. So he tends to his wounds, and tries to teach himself how to walk all over again.

He takes no breaks, keeping himself in a constant state of motion until the next day. He dresses in the provided clothes from the cabin, a wave of self consciousness washes over him as he walks up the palace steps in broad daylight, face on display for all.

He gives the name he had put into the files at the door.

Written on a slip of paper.

Din Djarin

His tongue is still healing, when he tries to speak all he can manage is a few incoherent syllables so he doesn’t bother.

He barely holds it together when he’s face to face with Kodo, he can’t believe that he’s directly dealing with servants until he begins explaining to them that they are to report any and all strange behavior from the queen back to him.

And then he’s taken into a room.

And he gets to see you for the first time in weeks.

He doesn’t even get to feel a fleeting sense of joy because there is something terribly wrong with you.

That’s the first thought that crosses his mind when he’s finally brought before you.

It’s the scariest thing he’s ever done, to stand before you, face bare. His good leg shakes like all hell and he can’t figure out what to do with his hands. Being found out isn’t even a concern at this point; he just hopes you’re okay because it’s more than clear to him that you aren’t well.

Your face looks hollow and his immediate worry is that you haven’t been eating. Your eyes have gone dull, his heart aches as he realizes the fire that he fell for is gone.

He yearns to step forward and fix it. To reignite what’s burned out but you won’t even look at him.

He so badly wishes you would just look, maybe, somehow you’d know.

But you never do.

You just leave, locking yourself away once more and he’s stuck with a week of staff training before he gets to see you again.

☆

You aren’t the same after the execution.

He had tried to warn you, to give you some kind of sign that you weren’t alone, but you’d thrown the daisies into a wall and he couldn’t do a thing to help you. He wanted so badly to say something, anything, to let you know it was him but he was only just starting to get singular words out and he just couldn’t keep up when you ran, his leg getting worse by the day.

You just wouldn’t look at him.

He had managed to purchase a hearing aid for his still working ear so he was able to hear the rumors the other servants said about you.

They were all mostly the same.

That you’d lost it.

That Kodo had driven you mad and you were going to snap.

He kept a closer eye on you after that, he had even tried leaving a different flower, blue lilies, like the ones you had back home, but they received the same treatment as the daisies.

It was the day he started talking again that you snapped.

After two weeks of bacta treatments he had regained feeling in his tongue completely and could speak, it was late at night when he’d finally done it and he wasted no time going to find you. Instead he found your room empty, when he knocked the guards told him you’d left.

So he searched for you.

As quickly as someone with a barely working leg could.

He caught sight of you just as you started making your way up the tower steps, Kodo’s hand in yours. The sight made his stomach drop but he followed you regardless. To say that he was in anguish was an understatement. He had been avoiding stairs for a while now and suddenly he had to climb an entire tower's worth.

He was slow moving, making progress at a snail's pace until he heard your screams. High above him he heard raw and pained cries and suddenly it was like he had no limp at all, as he ran the rest of the way to you.

When he found you he couldn’t stand upright any longer, he collapsed on the floor and pulled you to him, his hands shook as he got to feel your warmth for the first time in ages.

Any pain he was in temporarily fizzled out when you held him back.

He made it back to you.

☆

You can’t stop looking at him.

You’re aware of the circumstances, you should act first, look later but he’s here. Actually, really here. You aren’t imagining it, you can feel him under your trembling palms, he’s real.

Your Din.

You don’t even know where to start.

How did you miss all this?

The hawkish nose you’ve felt against your skin countless times. Plush lips, thick eyelashes, and dark eyes you’ve only ever dreamed about. It’s hard in the darkness but you can see just how pretty he is. Your pretty boy.

“We should run. No more wasting time, no more excuses. Just you and me on a ship.” His voice becomes urgent and you know he’s right but you can’t get on a ship, they’ll never let you leave the grounds.

“They’ll never stop looking for us. Maybe before I killed Kodo we could have gotten away with some cunning escape, but now? I just committed regicide. They won’t let us go.” Your voice is starting to go shrill as your panic rises.

“What other choice do we have?”

Kriff.

Can’t stay, can’t leave.

Your mind races as you close your eyes to think, letting the pieces fall together until you have a coherent plan.

“What if there was a way no one would ever come looking for us?” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. “We wouldn’t have to hide. No more secrets, just us. We live here and no one objects.”

“Cyare, that just isn’t a possibility.”

But it is.

“I’ve been reading a lot, when I lost you, I read a lot. And not just romance books, every book I could get my hands on, I learned a little about this planet's history. According to Naboo royalty traditions, I take Kodo’s place as the reigning monarch.”

“I thought it passed to the closest living male relative.” He gives you a skeptical look.

Not if they think you’re carrying the last king's child.

“No… it goes to me.” You mumble, thinking over everything else. You have to think fast and you have to think smart. He doesn’t dare interrupt as you focus.

You’ve covered everything on your mental checklist when a dark thought crosses your mind.

“Would you think less of me if I did something out of spite?” You whisper, holding him tighter. “If I wanted to do something terrible?”

“I would kill a man for looking at you if you asked me to.”

You don’t doubt that.

“Do you trust me?” You start to stand, taking his hands as you help him to his feet.

“Always.”

“Then I need you to get Leo for me.” He frowns the moment you say his name.

“You’re sure?” You nod, pressing your face into his neck.

“I need you to do it, I can’t.” He knows you aren’t just asking him to bring Leo here, you’re asking him to end this.

“Of course.” He murmurs. “One last terrible thing.”

One last terrible thing.

Then you’re done.

“Bring him here, then I need you to follow my lead from there, there’s no more time to deliberate. We have to act, now.” You both know you’ve spent too much time planning, you pull him close, hugging him tightly before letting him rush back down the stairs. Your brow furrows when you see just how hard walking seems to be for him.

You spend the few minutes that he is away trying to steady your breathing. Your mind is having a hard time deciding what to focus on. All you want to think about is Din but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that once the two of you are safe.

It doesn’t take long, eventually you see Leo making his way up the stairs, Din isn’t far behind.

You consider for the briefest moment, just forgiving him.

For the longest time you considered Leo to be nothing more than someone who could be a bit annoying, you never thought of him as downright cruel.

But then you see his expression.

He looks at you as if he’s owed something and all your resistance snaps. You know he can’t see Kodo’s body in the darkness so you let him walk to you.

“My queen…” He approaches skeptically as Din blocks the entrance.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Mandalorian.” You clear your throat and he immediately frowns.

“I do not think that is wise.”

“Did you know him, at all?” This has nothing to do with your plan, you just need to know.

“I only interacted with him in brief instances.” You nod slowly.

“And you knew how much he meant to me when you handed him that death sentence, right?” At this moment it doesn’t matter that Din is alive and well. You don’t care about that. You care about the days of agony he was put through, the pain Elaine had inflicted upon her when she got caught in the crossfire.

“There’s no reason for us to have this conversation.” He almost turns to leave but you speak again.

“I love him.”

“Loved.” He snaps back quickly, as if this entire ordeal is exhausting to him.

Your jaw twitches.

“Do you think he suffered down there?”

“Not at all, he was given a swift death, I’d consider him lucky.”

“What about Elaine?” You’re surprised when Din speaks, Leo seems just as taken aback as you are.

“She got what she deserved for witnessing an act of treason and doing nothing about it.”

That’s the final straw for both of you.

“You know what, I think you are deserving of a reward, Leo. Din?” You look just over Leodall’s shoulder where Din’s eyes have gone nearly black.

“Turn around and cover your ears.” The voice that speaks is one you didn’t think you’d ever hear again, it isn’t Din, it’s darker, deadlier. The Mandalorian is speaking now and you do exactly as you’re told. You turn, squeezing your eyes shut, you put your hands over your ears but even that cannot keep out the sounds of the carnage behind you.

He takes his time.

At first you aren’t sure how he kept him so quiet but when Din turns you around to face him you see how. It would be hard to call for help with a broken jaw, especially after your own tongue was shoved down your throat.

You squint, searching over the damage to his body and see where Din carefully wrapped Leo’s stiff fingers around the vibroblade.

“Are you okay?” He’s covered in gore when he asks and you simply nod, a few stray tears in your lash line.

“I’m going to finish this.” You mumble, giving him one last look of reassurance before you do the thing you’ve been doing quite a lot of lately.

You scream.

You shriek, holding yourself closely to Din. It’s mostly an act, your wails of terror that echo through the halls. But a small part of you truly wonders if you’ll ever recover from the things you’ve done tonight.

After a few nerve wracking minutes you’ve got dozens of guards taking in the sight of your mess.

You both play your parts perfectly.

You cling to Din like a lifeline as you tell the head guard what happened.

“Kodo and I, we- we were walking around the castle, he wanted to show me the view from the tower.” With a quivering finger you point to the window you know has the best view of the castle grounds. “We were celebrating. We were so happy we didn’t even see Leo following us.” You hide your face in Din’s tunic, letting out a shuddering exhale to imitate a sob. “I had just told him I was with child when Leodall attacked me.” You make a real spectacle of yourself as you weep against Din’s shirt, Din who notably goes rigid. “Kodo tried to protect me, he wanted to protect his heir but Leo just- he-” You whimper, earning yourself a room full of sympathetic gazes. “I screamed for help and thankfully this servant was here, he saved my life.”

That’s all they need to be convinced, after all, who wouldn’t believe the queen.

At one point you’re asked why Leo would ever do such a thing.

You tell them he hated Kodo.

Because he refused to make him a lord.

And you speak loud enough for every guard in the room to hear you when you tell them that Elaine was innocent, that Leo falsely accused her.

There were never any follow up questions. All of it made sense to them and even though it came from a terrible thing you’re free. You’re more than free. According to the way the monarchy on Naboo is structured you’re technically queen regent until your child comes of age.

Kodo gets to die a hero.

The king who sacrificed his life for his unborn child. (That bothers you for quite some time.)

But he dies nonetheless.

And you can live with that because at the end of the day they’re putting him in the ground and you’re up here, with Din. You’ll have to wait an appropriate amount of mourning time before you take his hand in public, but he’s yours now. No one can tell you otherwise, what kind of person tells a widowed queen what she can and can’t do?

When the room clears you take him to your chambers, dismissing the guards who stand watch.

“Kodo’s dead, leave me be.” Is all you say as you push past them with Din, you hear a brief worried discussion outside your door before they leave in a hurry. Din looks around the destruction of your room with a look of concern before his eyes settle on you. “Sorry, I- uh, didn’t handle things well when I thought you were- well.” You mumble apologetically but his look of worry is no longer focused on your room, it’s on your stomach as he makes his way over to you, carefully stepping over the mess.

“Are you- are you really…?”

“Yeah.” You smile at him but his reaction isn’t exactly what you were expecting.

He cups your face in his hands, searching your eyes for any signs of distress but you know he won’t find any. Right now it doesn’t matter that you’ve done unimaginable things. It doesn’t matter that you’ve killed. Because somehow, despite it all, Din is okay.

“I’m so sorry. If I had known I would have killed him long before you did.” He murmurs.

“Hmm?” You hum softly, unable to tear your eyes away from his intense gaze. In the light you can see a little scar across the bridge of his nose, you want to reach out and touch it.

“It doesn’t matter to me. We can do whatever you want, I’ll raise them as my own. I am more than willing to love this piece of you.” There’s a painful sincerity in his face and you become hyper aware of the fact that he assumes your baby really is Kodo’s.

“Din-” Almost immediately he interrupts you; he drags his hands down your body, resting them on your stomach.

“And we can live in the cabin. I’ll build a nursery the moment everything settles down, I will be the only father they ever know.”

“Din.” You say a bit more stern, trying to snap him out of his rambling.

“Sarad’ika.” His thumb rubs a small circle against the fabric of your nightie.

“It isn’t Kodo’s.” You give him a reassuring smile as he freezes in place.

And you get to see it all.

Every emotion you never got to enjoy when he was hidden behind steel.

You get to watch as his concern melts away into a brief confusion that is quickly replaced with shock and processing. You get to see the way his eyes soften, and his lips part ever so slightly as he inhales a shuddering breath. If you had known just how expressive he was you never would have let him wear the helmet in the first place. He chews on his bottom lip briefly as he stares at you. Swallowing loudly.

“It’s mine?” The single sentence is shaky and breathless as you nod.

“All yours.” You whisper back.

His arms cage you in as he pulls your body flush with his, nearly lifting you off the ground.

“How is that- we were so careful…” He turns his head, pressing a series of kisses into your hair. You give him a skeptical look as you laugh.

“Were we?”

“I guess not.” He shrugs, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at you.

“It’s really mine?” He leans down to kiss you before you can even answer, making you laugh against his lips.

“It’s really yours, and I already picked out a name.” Your heart flutters as his eyes light up, you just want to stare at him all day, partially because a part of you is worried he’ll disappear from your life all over again.

“Without me?” He sounds genuinely hurt, you lean up to kiss him again, hoping to soothe him.

“I think you’ll like it.” You mumble against his mouth after a moment.

“How do you know it’s going to suit them, it’s too early.” He chuckles.

“I just know.” You really do. A part of you had always had a vision of them, a little carbon copy of Din. A baby boy with his dark eyes and hair, you can feel it. “Can we go to the cabin? I don’t think I can stomach another night in here. The next few days I’m gonna have to deal with everything I did tonight, and I just want to spend tonight with you.” He nods, pulling you into one more embrace, unable to keep his hands off of you as he smiles. As much as you adore finally being able to look at him you suddenly worry that he might not be comfortable. “I have your helmet, if you want it.” You turn to fetch it but he keeps you pinned to him.

“Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure? What about the creed?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile softens.

“You’re my creed. Everything I have, everything I am, it’s all for you. For both of you.”

“You know you don’t have to be so poetic with me, I’m already yours, you’ve already wooed me.” You tease.

“Then let’s go home.” He whispers. You smile as you leave your room, sneaking out the back entrance until the two of you are walking hand in hand across the courtyard and into the trees.

a/n : did a classic bks all nighter for this and im so tired, the edit was done through weary eyes lmao, feel free to lmk if there's any glaring issues

i no longer have a tag list!! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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bookishcarmela · 5 months ago

Text

Dark Desires

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

Warning: mild violence

Word Count: 6.5k

Chapter 5: the trial

The air in the court feels thick with tension, like something is about to snap. You're standing behind Rhaenyra, Jace at your side, Luke just behind him. You notice Bella, standing apart from everyone, dressed in Velaryon blue instead of the usual Targaryen red. It's strange, seeing her so different from her sisters. What’s she thinking?

At the front of the room, Otto Hightower sits on the Iron Throne, his presence suffocating. The King is absent, and the absence of his authority weighs heavily on the room. Otto speaks, his voice steady, though you can almost hear the hidden ambition in every word.

“Although we all hope Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto says, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. And as Hand, I speak with the King’s voice. All that matters now is the crown’s will. Now, we will hear the petitions regarding House Velaryon.”

You try to ignore the knot in your stomach. Despite Otto’s words, you know they can't deny Luke. There's no way they could.

Vaemond Velaryon steps forward, his voice rising with pride as he speaks. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell, we were the last of our kind. Our forebears came to this new land knowing that failure would mean the end of their bloodlines. I have spent my life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s true blood—the unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Before he can continue, Rhaenyra cuts him off, her voice sharp as steel. “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you care so much about your house’s bloodline, you would not be so bold as to plant the rights of your nephews.”

Otto gives Rhaenyra a pointed look but says nothing, letting her speak. “You’ll have your chance, Princess Rhaenyra,” he says, almost too calmly.

Vaemond turns back to Rhaenyra, his eyes flashing. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house—not yours.”

You watch Luke, feeling your heart ache at the fear in his eyes. You squeeze Jace's hand, silently reassuring him, and he squeezes back, his grip tight. His anger is palpable, but he remains silent, his focus entirely on the confrontation.

Otto cuts through the tension. “Enough,” he says, his voice unyielding. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. Lord Vaemond, you may continue.”

Vaemond presses on, his voice dripping with pride. “I humbly put myself before you as the rightful successor to my brother’s seat.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his use of ‘humbly.’ You lean toward Jace, whispering, “He’s anything but humble.”

Jace nods in agreement, though his jaw is tight. He’s pissed, but doesn’t say a word.

Otto nods curtly. “Thank you, Lord Vaemond.”

“And now, Princess Rhaenyra, you may speak on behalf of your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra rises, poised, but before she can even speak, the doors to the throne room suddenly crash open. A collective gasp fills the room as the King himself, who was bedridden just days ago, stumbles into the court.

You’re stunned. The last time you saw him, he looked frail, sickly, a shadow of the man he once was. But now, he’s standing before everyone, barely holding onto the staff he’s leaning on. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, and the mask he wears only adds to his fragile appearance. He’s barely able to make it to the throne, and when he does, he stumbles, his crown slipping off.

Before anyone can react, Daemon rushes to his brother’s side, placing the crown back on his head with careful hands.

The room is still in shock. You feel your heart race as your father returns to his seat, taking his place beside you.

“I do not know why petitions are being heard over a settled succession,” the King says, his voice rough but commanding. “As to Lord Corlys’s wishes, those closest to me know my desires. Princess Rhaenys, you may speak for him on this matter.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her voice steady, unwavering. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through to his true-born son, To Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.”

A smile forms on your lips as the court falls silent, waiting for the next move. Your heart swells with a strange sense of relief. Rhaenys’s words are a confirmation of everything you’ve known to be true, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride for Luke.

Then Rhaenys drops a bombshell. “As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to my granddaughters, Y/n and Rhaena.”

Your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but grin, your face lighting up. You turn to look at Jace, whose smile mirrors your own.

But as you smile, something catches your eye—Aemond’s stare. It’s icy, piercing, like he’s trying to burn a hole through you. Your stomach drops as memories of the other night come rushing back. You force yourself to look away, not wanting to think about it any more than you have to.

Rhaenyra’s proposal is met with murmurs of agreement, and the King stands, his voice ringing out. “I hereby reaffirm Lucerys Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, and he shall take the Driftwood Throne as the next Lord of Tides.”

But then Vaemond steps forward again, his voice filled with fury. “You break centuries of tradition to install your daughters as heirs,” he says, shaking with rage. “You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?”

“I will not allow this!” he shouts. “Those are no true Velaryons! Those children—” He points at Luke and Jace. “—are no nephews of mine!”

You feel your heart stop for a moment, the words like a slap. You look at Luke, his face stricken with disbelief. But Jace’s anger is palpable.

Then, Vaemond’s fury explodes. “They are bastards!” he screams. “And she,” he points at Rhaenyra, “is a whore!”

The room goes silent. The King, who had been standing, suddenly moves forward. His voice is cold as he barks, “Bring me his tongue.”

In a heartbeat, your father is no longer beside you. You watch, almost detached, as Daemon swings his sword, and Vaemond’s head is severed from his body.

For a moment, the entire throne room is silent. Vaemond’s headless body sways before crumpling to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His head lands just feet away, his mouth still open, as if the words he never got to finish are frozen on his lips.

Daemon wipes his blade clean with an eerie calm, then steps over the corpse, glancing down at the severed head before smirking.

“He can keep his tongue.”

You watch it all unfold, completely detached from the scene before you. The reactions around you are sharp, visceral—gasps, shouts, the rustling of movement as the courtiers shrink back in horror.

Jace stiffens beside you, his hand still gripped tightly in yours. You feel the way his entire body tenses, his anger rolling off him in waves. But you feel nothing.

You don’t even process that Vaemond is dead. Not really. He was talking, and now he’s not. He was standing, and now he’s not. That’s all.

You didn’t like him anyway.

Your gaze drifts downward, lingering on the severed head for a moment. It doesn’t seem real. It’s just… there. Detached from the body that once carried it.

Then something makes you look up.

Across the throne room, beyond the sea of stunned nobles and shaken courtiers, Aemond is staring at you.

His gaze is intense, locked onto you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no shock on his face, no horror. Just something dark. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels unnatural.

You swallow thickly, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. The weight of his stare, the way it feels like it’s reaching inside you, makes you dizzy. You grip the fabric of your dress, willing yourself to breathe.

Court is dismissed.

The King begins to cough, a wet, sickly sound that fills the throne room. He’s pale, weaker than before, and even Otto looks concerned as he moves to his side. People are murmuring, shifting, trying to recover from what they’ve just witnessed.

You press a hand to your stomach. “I feel sick.”

Jace turns to you, concerned. “Y/n, do you need—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off quickly. “I just— I just need a moment.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you say, a little too fast. You force a small smile, stepping back. “Stay with Luke. Stay with your mother. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

Jace hesitates, but eventually nods.

You turn and leave before anyone else can stop you, slipping out of the throne room, trying to push down the nausea clawing its way up your throat.

You don’t even hear him coming.

One moment, you’re walking toward your chambers, pulse still racing from the chaos in the throne room. The next, you’re slammed against the cold stone wall, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your head spins.

Before you can even process what’s happening, fingers curl around your arms, tight, unyielding.

Your vision clears just enough to see who it is.

Aemond.

Your stomach drops.

He’s close, his grip like iron, his breathing uneven. And his eye—gods, his eye—burns into you with a fury so raw, so blistering, it sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You’ve never seen him like this.

“What the fuck—” you choke out, trying to push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“How long?” he hisses, voice razor-sharp.

You blink. “What?”

His fingers dig into your skin. “How long have you been lying to me?”

Your mind reels, scrambling for some understanding, some explanation for why he’s doing this. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—”

“You said you weren’t getting married.” His voice is lethal, low and vibrating with barely contained rage. “You sat there, at dinner, and told me you had no prospects.” His grip tightens. “And yet, today, in court, you stood there and smiled as it was announced you’re to wed Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Your stomach twists violently.

Oh.

That’s what this is about.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “You’re angry because I’m betrothed to Jace?”

His jaw clenches. “I’m angry because you fucking lied to me.”

A cold, sharp silence stretches between you.

And then it clicks.

“You—” You exhale sharply, trying to steady your breath. “You figured it out… after the announcement.”

His eye darkens.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

It clicks into place—the way his gaze burned into you in the throne room, the tension radiating off him the moment your betrothal was spoken aloud. That was when he pieced it together. When he realized that night, you had been sneaking away from Jace’s chambers.

“That’s why you’re so mad,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

Aemond exhales harshly, his grip twitching. “I saw you,” he says, voice sharp, brittle. “You were coming from his chambers. And yet you stood there, looked me in the fucking eye, and told me there was nothing.”

“There was nothing,” you snap, though you’re not even sure why you feel the need to defend yourself.

His lips curl into something bitter. “Really? And I’m supposed to believe that, when you went from sneaking around in the night to standing at his side today like you fucking belong there?”

You glare at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s not your concern who I marry.”

His fingers twitch again.

And then, suddenly, he shifts.

Before you can react, his hand moves from your arm to your face, fingers pressing into your jaw, tilting your head up—forcing you to meet his eye.

Your breath catches.

For a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Your body tenses, heart hammering against your ribs as his grip tightens just enough to make it clear that he’s in control—that you aren’t moving unless he allows it. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and your stomach twists with something you don’t understand, something that makes you want to shove him away and pull him closer all at once.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his expression hardens, and with a sharp exhale, he shoves you back against the wall, his fingers finally releasing you.

You stumble slightly, breath uneven, head spinning.

Aemond steps back, his face unreadable.

“Bisa isnt toliot byka zaldrīzes” (this isnt over little dragon) he murmurs, voice rough with something you can’t quite place.

And then he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving you breathless, shaken, and burning with something you can’t begin to name.

The door to your chambers slams behind you, the heavy wood muffling the noise of the castle, but doing nothing to quiet the storm within your chest. Your breaths come fast, shallow—your heart racing as if trying to break free of your ribcage. You press your back to the door, trembling fingers clutching at your sides as you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s voice still echoes in your ears, his grip still sears your skin. And beneath the fear, the anger, the guilt—there’s something else. Something you don’t want to name. Something that makes your stomach twist and burn.

You clutch at your chest as though you can physically tear the feeling out of you. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. The walls are closing in.

Get out. You need to get out.

Your hands shake as you hastily pull on your riding leathers, the familiarity of the worn fabric grounding you, if only for a moment. You shove open the door and make your way toward the dragonpit, each step stiff and hurried, as if trying to outrun your own thoughts. By the time you reach the entrance, you’re still trembling, your heart still racing.

"Silverwing," you say, voice tight as you speak to the dragonkeepers. "Ready her for flight. Now."

They nod quickly and move to obey, but before you can retreat further into your thoughts, a familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Where are you running off to in such a hurry?" Daemon’s tone is light, but his eyes are sharp—too sharp.

Your father steps out from the shadows, his gaze sweeping over you with the scrutiny of a man who misses nothing. You freeze, trying to summon calm, but you know it’s already too late. He knows you too well.

"Just needed some air," you mutter, keeping your gaze averted.

"Air?" He arches a brow. "You fled the throne room like you were being chased by the Stranger himself. That wasn’t about Vaemond, was it? You’ve seen worse than that."

You swallow hard, but your throat is tight. You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... I hate this place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home."

There’s a long pause before he steps closer, his voice dropping to something softer. "Look at me."

You do—reluctantly—and you see the concern in his eyes, the warmth beneath his cool exterior. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, and before you can stop yourself, you lean into him, arms wrapping around his middle. His hand rests gently on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

"I know," he murmurs. "I hate it here too. This place is full of vipers and fools. But we only have to endure one more night. Then we’ll go home."

You nod against his chest, but the tears won’t stop. One slips free, trailing down your cheek. You try to wipe it away, but his thumb is faster, catching it before it falls.

He tilts your chin up, his touch gentle, though his eyes glimmer with that familiar steel. "You are a dragon, my little dragon. And dragons do not cry. Not over matters such as these. Tears are for those who are weak of spirit. You are not weak. You are of my blood."

You blink up at him, his words settling deep in your chest—both a comfort and a command. You nod again, this time with more resolve, though your eyes are still glassy.

"Come," he says, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder before letting go. "I was going to fly with Caraxes anyway. Let’s go together. Clear your head."

The offer surprises you, but you don’t hesitate to accept it. He knows you need this. He always knows.

Together, you mount your dragons, the familiar rush of wind and cold air hitting your face as you ascend into the sky. The world below becomes distant, the tension in your chest loosening with every beat of Silverwing’s wings. You glance over at your father, flying beside you on Caraxes, his expression relaxed for the first time in days.

Up here, you are free. Up here, you can breathe.

And for the first time since you arrived at King’s Landing, you feel like yourself again.

The Kingswood welcomes you with open arms, its ancient trees standing sentinel over a clearing that seems untouched by time. A gentle river winds its way through the heart of it, the water glinting like liquid silver beneath the sun's soft gaze. The air smells of pine and damp earth, and a breeze carries the rustling whispers of the forest.

Silverwing and Caraxes land with grace, their talons sinking into the soft soil. The dragons linger only briefly, exchanging a glance before taking to the skies again. Their sinuous forms twist and coil in the air, playing or perhaps dancing—a rare display of something so close to joy. You watch them for a moment, finding a strange comfort in their freedom.

You dismount, your boots meeting the ground with a soft thud. Daemon joins you, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the ease of a man who has spent his life both embracing and defying the wild. Together, you move toward the riverbank, settling beside the gentle stream.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are the water’s hushed song and the distant calls of your dragons above. You lean your head on your father’s shoulder, his warmth grounding you as the weight in your chest begins to ease.

He is the first to break the silence.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Your eyes stay on the water. “Everything,” you whisper. “Everything is wrong. My whole world is wrong.”

Daemon tilts his head slightly, his silver hair catching the light. His voice is softer than most would expect from him. “You’ve never been one to speak in riddles, my little dragon. Tell me plainly.”

Tears well up, but you blink them away. He notices, of course—he always notices. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb gently beneath your eye. “Dragons do not shed tears over little matters, my little dragon. We are made of fire. Fire does not weep.”

Your lips twitch, but it is not quite a smile. “I know.”

He gives you a moment before pressing further. “Did someone hurt you?”

You hesitate. It is such a father’s question—protective, direct. For a brief second, you consider saying yes. You can see it so clearly: your father storming back to the Keep, his sword in hand, ready to spill blood without hesitation. But the thought passes as quickly as it had come.

“No,” you say quietly. “Not… physically.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Good.” He pauses, then, with a knowing look: “Would this have anything to do with a certain one-eyed prince who could not keep his eye off you today?”

You freeze. Your entire body stiffens, and that is all the answer he needs.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “That.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Daemon leans back against a tree, his gaze steady and calculating. “I won’t ask what happened,” he says. “But whatever it is—it needs to stop. He is dangerous. And he is a Green.” His voice lowers, rough with disdain. “You know what I think of their lot.”

You nod, but your mind is tangled. You want to say it isn’t like that—not exactly. But you can’t find the words.

Daemon sighs. “I cannot help you if you don’t speak to me.”

Your voice cracks. “It’s not that simple.”

He gives you a long look. “It never is.”

You exhale, your eyes on the water. “There’s… something there. And it frightens me. He frightens me. But it’s more than that. He makes me feel something and I hate it. I don’t understand it.”

Daemon’s expression darkens briefly before softening into something that resembles understanding. He had been young once. He had known desire, confusion, and the dangerous blend of both.

“You love Jace,” he states.

“I do. I’ve loved him my whole life.”

“But something has shifted between you.”

You flinch but nod.

Daemon is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You are not the first Targaryen to find their desires pulling them in opposite directions. Marriage is duty. But desire… desire is something else. What matters is how you wield it.”

You look up at him, unsure. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying this: If you do not love Jace in that way, there is no shame in that. You will marry him because it is expected. That does not mean your entire life must be bound to him. Targaryens have always kept their secrets, and you are entitled to yours. But Aemond Targaryen cannot be one of them.”

You swallow. “Why?”

His eyes narrow. “Because he will destroy you. Men like him—men like me—we do not let go of what we want. And we do not handle rejection well. You are playing with wildfire, my little dragon. And you are too precious to burn.”

Tears threaten again. “I just want to go home. I hate this place.”

Daemon wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in. “One more night. Then we go home.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in—the scent of smoke, leather, and something uniquely him. It steadies you.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You are my little dragon. You always will be. And no matter what happens—whatever choices you make—you will always have me.”

You nod into his shoulder.

After a while, he stands. "Come. We should head back to the Red Keep. We'll fly over the Kingswood on our way."

You manage a smile—small, but real. “Race you?”

Daemon smirks. “You’ll lose.”

You both take to the skies, the cold air biting at your face, but it doesn’t matter. Up there, above the world, you can breathe again. You love flying—you always have. And with your father beside you, you feel safe.

That evening, dread coils in your stomach as you prepare for dinner. You spend the day in your chambers, reading a book on High Valyria that you found on your bedside table. You are certain you left it in the library, and someone has clearly been reading it—pages marked, passages underlined. The thought unsettles you, but you push it aside.

Dressed in Targaryen red with gold and black accents, your gown is off the shoulder, pushing your chest up slightly—modest by your standards but likely scandalous to the Queen. You wear your hair down, braided back in places, with a delicate gold chain across your forehead. As a knight escorts you to dinner, you remind yourself: one more night, then home.

The dining hall is heavy with tension as you enter. You offer a polite hello to everyone, your eyes briefly meeting Daemon’s. He gives you a small, knowing look—it comforts you more than you’d like to admit.

You sit beside Jace. He leans in. “Are you feeling better?”

You smile. “Yeah, I think I was just a little sick earlier. I’m fine now.”

“Good,” he says softly.

But you feel eyes on you—Aemond’s gaze, sharp and unrelenting. You refuse to look at him, keeping your focus on Jace.

The King is carried in. Everyone stands until he is seated. The King’s voice is weak but hopeful. “How good it is to see you all together.”

Alicent offers a prayer; you and your family endure it, exchanging glances. Daemon smirks, and you stifle a laugh.

The King toasts your betrothal to Jace. You squeeze his hand, finding comfort there, despite everything.

The dining hall is heavy with tension the moment you step inside. The long table is set with gold-trimmed plates and goblets of rich red wine. Candles flicker along the length of the table, their soft glow doing little to warm the atmosphere. You offer a polite, measured greeting to the room. “Good evening,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach.

Your father, Daemon, sits at the head of the table, his gaze meeting yours briefly. There is an unspoken understanding in his eyes—a silent exchange that eases you, even if only slightly. You glance over and see Jace. He stands as you approach, concern written on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice soft, careful.

You nod. “Yes, I think I was just a little sick earlier, but I feel fine now.”

He exhales in relief. “Good. I was worried.”

Before you can respond, you feel it—the weight of a gaze. Aemond. His eye is on you, burning, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You keep your attention on Jace, your fingers brushing his briefly as you both take your seats.

Soon, the King is brought in, carried upon his chair, his body frail and sunken into the cushions. Everyone rises. You stand with the rest, watching as Viserys is lowered into place at the center of the table. Alicent sits to his left, Rhaenyra to his right. At Daemon’s side is Rhaena, then Lucerys, Baela, you, and Jace. Opposite, Aemond presides over the other end, with Aegon and Helaena beside him. Otto Hightower sits close to Alicent, his calculating eyes ever watchful.

Once the King is settled, the room lowers back into their chairs. Silence blankets the hall, so thick it nearly chokes you. Viserys begins to wheeze, his labored breathing cutting through the quiet. You can barely stand to look at him—he appears as though the very act of sitting upright is agony.

“It is good to see you all tonight, together,” the King finally manages, his voice weak but determined.

Alicent glances at him with concern before speaking. “A prayer before we begin,” she suggests softly.

Viserys nods, and the Queen lowers her head. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Ser Vaemond Velaryon—may the Gods give him rest.”

You struggle to keep your expression neutral. The words feel hollow, almost ridiculous. You chance a glance across the table at your father. His lips twitch with barely concealed amusement, and you mirror his smirk, the brief moment of shared irreverence lightening your heart.

When the prayer concludes, Viserys raises his goblet with a trembling hand. “This is an occasion for celebration. It seems my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Y/n and Rhaena… strengthening the bond between our houses.”

You look to Jace, and he to you. He squeezes your hand under the table, a gentle affirmation. You smile at each other, the brief warmth between you a rare comfort.

Daemon raises his cup. “Here, here.”

Others follow, lifting their glasses. You sip your wine, though the sensation of Aemond’s gaze continues to burn into you. You do not look his way.

As the cups lower, Aegon leans toward Jace, his voice low but not so low that you cannot hear. “Well done, Jace. You finally get to lie with a woman.”

Jace stiffens, his jaw clenching as he sets his goblet down with an audible clink. Your eyes narrow, shooting Aegon a glare sharp enough to pierce armor. He meets your gaze with a lazy smirk, clearly amused by his own crudeness.

Viserys speaks again, his voice strained but resolute. “Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Here, here,” you echo, raising your glass once more.

Rhaena smiles at Luke, offering gentle encouragement. “You will be great.”

The tension simmers beneath the surface, but for this fleeting moment, there is unity—however fragile.

You sit beside Jace, your hand resting lightly on his leg, trying to soothe the anger still simmering from Aegon's earlier taunts.

Aegon leans in once more, voice low and slurred. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? Or is my dear nephew still in need of a tutor?” He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jace stiffens beside you, his grip tightening on his goblet. You sense the fury bubbling beneath his composed exterior. Before he can react, you give his leg a firm squeeze, a silent plea for restraint.

You turn your gaze to Aegon with a forced smile, voice laced with subtle sarcasm. “Oh, is that your way of asking if Jace knows what to do? How thoughtful, my prince. We all appreciate your concern for our marital success.”

Aegon blinks, caught off guard by your tone. He huffs a laugh but looks away, momentarily subdued.

Jace seizes the opportunity. “You may play the jester if you wish, Aegon, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon eyes him with a lazy smirk, unimpressed. “Oh, very serious,” he mutters, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to his wine.

The King shifts in his seat, struggling to stand with his cane. Conversation halts as all eyes turn toward him. With effort, he begins to speak. “It gladdens me… to see you all together.” His voice is frail, wheezing, and his face, half-masked in gold, appears more ghastly than ever. When he removes the mask, revealing the decayed side of his face, you suppress a shudder.

“You are all dear to me,” the King continues. “I wish you to see yourselves as I see you—as one family. United.”

Rhaenyra rises, goblet in hand. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

You exchange a glance with your father across the table, both suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. The tension between your families cannot be so easily soothed with pretty words. Still, you sip your wine dutifully.

Alicent stands, visibly moved. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Polite applause follows. You join in but feel detached from the moment. You are merely playing your part.

Wine flows freely, and music swells in the background. For a brief while, the atmosphere lightens. But then Aegon stands again, his third cup drained. He moves toward the wine pitcher but pauses by your side, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

“I regret to disappoint, but you are to soon suffer. However… if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you need do is ask.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but anger. Jace catches the murmur and is on his feet before you can stop him, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The room falls into an uneasy silence as eyes snap toward you.

Aegon smirks, sauntering back to his seat as though nothing had happened. Jace exhales sharply, swallowing his anger, and raises his goblet. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. I hope we may be friends and allies. Good health, dear uncles.”

You grasp his hand beneath the table, squeezing it gently. He looks at you and exhales, his smile small but genuine. The moment is not perfect, but you are proud of him.

Unexpectedly, Helaena stands, her voice soft but clear. “To Y/n and Rhaena. They will be married soon… It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Laughter ripples across the table, though Aegon turns crimson with humiliation. You raise your cup. “Thank you, dear cousin. Here, here.”

Otto Hightower claps along with you, though his eyes narrow at his grandson’s shame.

As the music resumes, Aemond breaks his silence, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “It is rare to see you smile, cousin. I was beginning to think you found none of our company agreeable.”

You meet his gaze, steeling yourself. “I smile when I have reason to.”

Baela chimes in, her tone sharp. “And it seems tonight offers plenty of reasons, unlike some of our past gatherings.”

Aemond’s eye narrows, but you sense his amusement. “Perhaps the future holds more agreeable company then.”

Jace interjects, unable to hold his tongue. “If you are referring to yourself, cousin, I would not count on it.”

Aemond smirks. “Careful, Jace. We would not want you to lose your composure. You would not wish to follow in your father’s footsteps in that regard.”

You sense Jace bristle beside you. "And you would not wish to stumble and lose more than just an eye, cousin," he snaps back.

The tension is thick, but you speak up before it can escalate further. “Enough. Let us not ruin the King’s table with petty quarrels.”

Aemond tilts his head, considering you. “As you wish, cousin.”

The conversation shifts, drifting to less dangerous topics, but the undercurrent remains. You exchange brief, knowing looks with Jace, Baela, and Rhaena throughout the evening—silent assurances that you stand together. Whatever the future holds, you will face it united.

For now, you endure.

With the music starting to play, everyone’s mood begins to lighten. Jace looks to you, giving your hand a quick kiss, and says, “Excuse me,” which confuses you. He gets out of his seat and goes over to ask Helaena if she would like to dance, to which she agrees. They start dancing, and Aegon looks put off, his expression clearly reading, “What the fuck?” Aemond doesn’t look any happier.

You don’t care much, though—you’re just happy to see Helaena having a good time. You hold her dear to your heart, and seeing her smile warms you. You’re watching them dance when you suddenly see Aemond get up. “What the hell is he doing?” you think. He walks straight up to you, extending his hand. Your heart drops. “Fuck my life,” you think, but you know that refusing him would cause a scene. So, you take his hand.

As you rise, you shoot a pleading look to your father across the table. Daemon meets your gaze, his eyes full of knowing amusement. He can tell you want out of this, but he only gives you a small smirk. Jace notices as well, his expression shifting to one of concern as he catches your eyes while you move toward the dance floor.

Aemond’s grip is iron-like as he leads you into the dance. He holds you tight—too tight—pulling you close. It’s almost improper, the way his hand lingers on your waist and the way your bodies brush together.

“You seemed quite comfortable in his company,” Aemond says, his tone low and sharp.

“I wasn’t aware you were keeping such close tabs on me,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “I keep my eyes on what’s mine.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not yours,” you say firmly.

Aemond leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusion suits you.”

He laughs under his breath, clearly enjoying your resistance. “You’ll come around, Byka zaldrīzes. You’ll see.”

“You wish,” you snap.

The song ends, and you pull away quickly, but not before Aemond leans in one final time, whispering into your ear, “When you tire of boys who barely know what to do with you, you’ll know where to find me.”

Your cheeks flush red with anger and embarrassment as you return to your seat. Jace notices immediately.

“What did he say?” Jace asks, his voice low with concern.

“Nothing,” you mutter, though your face betrays you.

Dinner continues with laughter, wine, and conversation—until Viserys begins to groan in pain. The mood shifts. The king is taken away, his condition clearly worsening. Everyone stands, unsure of what to do.

As the servants bring out a roasted pig, it is placed in front of Aemond. Luke can’t help but stifle a giggle, recalling the childhood prank involving the Pink Dread. Aemond slams his fist onto the table, causing the room to fall silent.

“A final tribute,” he says, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

Your heart stops. The word hangs in the air like a curse. You know what he’s implying.

Jace rises in anger. “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond feigns innocence. “Why? It was only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Luke stands, as does Aegon, ready to escalate the fight. Jace throws a punch, landing squarely on Aemond’s jaw. Chaos erupts.

You start to rise to defend Jace and Luke, but before you can intervene, Daemon is there. He grips your arm gently but firmly, pulling you back.

“Stay out of it,” he mutters.

“They can’t just—” you begin to protest, but he leans in close to your ear.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Go to bed, little dragon.”

You freeze. The nickname and his tone are laced with both affection and authority. You glance over his shoulder and see Aemond staring at you with that same intense gaze. Daemon notices this too, and his smirk returns. The tension between them is palpable—a silent challenge—but while Aemond seems to take it seriously, your father remains cool, amused even.

Jace, now at your side, grabs your hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

You hesitate for a moment, but Daemon gives you a knowing look. You nod and follow Jace, leaving the chaos of the dining hall behind. As you walk away, you hear Alicent’s voice raised in anger, scolding Aemond. The night ends with the echoes of clashing tempers and unspoken threats lingering in your mind.

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