#moving a chair=changing fates
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Coruscant/20VSY/#7-Time log Wolffe: I can't recognize you anymore! Who are you? What have you done to my twin? To Fox? Fox: I'm still me, Wolffe. Wolffe: NO! You've changed! Fox:...I changed? Fox: you are so utterly wrong. This society shaped me. I didn't want this. My hands were tied due to our sickenly and sacred mortality... Battle of Geonosis/ 22BBY/ #10-Record log Wolffe: Fox? please....fox...don't do this..Tenten. CC-1010 very softly: You will realize one day that you were never the enforcer...but a normal living being trying their best to be satisfied at heart. Wolffe: fox?! what are you talking about? Fox...no..nonono...FOX! NOOOO!
sometimes you learn what it means to be the older brother.
you know the consequences, you will not run like last time.
#au#time travel#fix it? or is it really#commander fox#commander wolffe#heavy feelings#angst#star wars#clone wars#moving a chair=changing fates#hurt/comfort#but it's bittersweet#main character death#brotherly feels#follows up one post of mine about the fox that stopped running away.
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They Help You Practice
Task Force 141 asks you to be the bait for a secret assignment. So, they make you audition for the role. You end up getting gangbanged by the whole team and loving it!
TW: gangbang, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay sex, degradation, explicitly consensual, spit? please check AO3 link at bottom for full tag list
You let yourself into his office, shutting the door behind you, and stood before him at a sharp parade rest, waiting to be informed about your fate.Â
âSergeant, thank you for coming. There is no need for formalities. This is just a chat.â
You moved to a more relaxed rest and nodded.Â
Price continued,
âThis is going to be quite the ask. Would you be willing to perform duties which areâŠoutside of your current scope?â
âYes, sir,â you responded just as you should have, as you were trained to, but Price was hoping you would understand exactly what you would be getting yourself into.Â
âI need you to go undercover to a Konni restaurant cover in MinskâŠas bait. Am I making myself clear?â
A pause. But, to your credit, you didnât flinch. You did raise an eyebrow and ask a clarifying query,
âWhat kind of bait, sir?â
âOur next target, Dimitri Sokolov, will be at the Black Pearl bar in Minsk tomorrow, and we wonât get a better chance to lure him away from his bodyguards. He almost never makes public appearances, so he must be making an exception. Sokolov has,â he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, making general, suggestive motions over his own chest, âparticular tastes in his women. You just so happen to have the right profile for the job. Again, this is not an order, Sergeant. I need to know if youâre willing to accept.â
âYes, sir,â you tried to appear fully in control. You knew your breasts were large, but you had never been asked to use them as a weapon. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. You would do anything to help the team.
The captain loved your composure. He knew you would be perfect for the job.Â
âGood. Let's brief the team.â
Price walked with you down to the meeting room at the end of the hall and found Soap, Ghost, and Gaz sitting in the desk chairs every way except the way they were designed, lounging over the furniture like big cats, melting into the various surfaces they encountered. They fixed themselves when the captain walked in.Â
âGentlemen,â Price opened, âthis is our bait. Her code name is Rabbit. Rabbit, this is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.â
You nodded politely and resumed a semi-formal rest position.Â
The men had noticed you around the base but hadnât been formally introduced. You were a desk rider, but still, you were hard to miss. The baggy military clothing had almost managed to conceal a bounty of soft curves, but your lush body persisted beneath it, and the outlines of your feminine form made heinous suggestions in the fabric. Unfortunately for them, you didnât hang around the gym or the common area enough for them to have generated a fully accurate image of your enticing body, but they were certain it was delicious. They watched you like peckish wolves. Waiting hungrily, shifting in their seats in anticipation. For what, you werenât sure.
âRabbit is going undercover for us to take down Sokolov, Vladimir Makarovâs new shipping controller. He has a particular penchant for,â Price paused just long enough for anyone to understand his true meaning, âcertain types of women. Rabbit fits the mold, so all she needs is the gear and the training.â
Price cut open three large cardboard boxes to reveal slinky dresses and a number of questionable garments.Â
âIâll need to try them on,â you offered, âDo you want me to get changed, Captain?â
âSounds good. Come back in when youâre all set,â he smiled, enjoying the view as you left the room.Â
Ghost crossed his arms, clearly with quite a mouthful to share and but refusing to. Gaz stared down at the knife he was playing with, bashful. But Soap would not be cowed, and as soon as you left, he said,
âFeeding her to the sharks like bait, Captain? I dinnae ken any of us was so expendable.â
âSoap,â Price warned, âthe sergeant is more than capable of handling -â
âI wasnae askinâ about the lassieâs capabilities. Send her in to slit his throat with a knife in her hand, for all I care. But to send her in unguarded, unarmed? No. Itâs not right,â Soap crossed his arms.Â
âHeâs got a point, Captain. Why take the risk of losing an operative?â Ghost spoke coldly.Â
Price furrowed his brow at their short-sightedness,
âAnd do what, exactly? Have the Russians scurry back underground at the first hint of an assassination attempt? Weâve failed that mission three times, boys. Iâll not have this go south again.â
âIâm sure she is capable, Captain. But, is Rabbit committed to this plan?â Gaz asked.Â
âSure,â Price tried to sound reassuring, âwe spoke in my office. She agreed to come down here. Besides, sheâll have you three as backup. You wonât let anything happen to her.â
Gaz did not seem convinced. All three soldiers wore a scowl on their faces, and even though Ghostâs was obscured by his mask, his body language communicated his displeasure. Price carefully ashed his cigar to renew the glowing tip, taking a long drag while they waited for you to return.Â
You were back without too much of a delay, but when you walked in, your colleagues were visibly stunned. They didnât recognize you at first. A short black dress had replaced your camouflage fatigues, showing off miles and miles of smooth, shining skin. Your thick thighs stretched the silky fabric, and your ass threatened to escape from the edge of the dress with every step you took. Your new heels clacked sharply against the cold concrete, making your legs flex and tense, showing off your well-formed musculature. You did not miss squat day very often, apparently.
But, the assets you were trying to use for this particular mission were the real stars of the show. Your heavy breasts battled against the low dip of the dress, providing a deep display of cleavage, hinting at pink perky nipples hidden just below the line of the black silk. Your tits jiggled as you struck the floor with each careful step, making the room full of men breathe a little heavier at the sight.Â
Soapâs big mouth betrayed them all,
âChrist in Heaven. There you are, bonnie.â
Ghost backhanded him hard on the shoulder. Price glowered.
You had put on a little more makeup than might be socially acceptable in an office setting, making the suggestive outfit complete. Finally, as you stood at the head of the meeting table, you took out your task force regulation braid and pulled your fingers through your hair, breaking up your long waves as they spilled down your neck and back.Â
You smiled,
âWell, do I look the part?â
Price coughed, inhaling too much smoke on accident. Gaz hadnât moved since you walked in the room. He just stood there, dumbfounded, arms held at an odd angle as if frozen in time. Ghost cleared his throat to save them,
âYes, Rabbit. You clean up very nicely, donât you?â
âWell,â you sighed, âthis is sort of the raunchiest outfit I found in the box. I was going to go with something a bit more casual, but I thought Iâd better be noticeable if weâre going to nail this asshole.â
Gaz finally came out of his locked state, aghast,
âNoticeable? Sweetheart, this is more than noticeable. Goddamn.â
âYou think itâs too much? I donât really know what would get his attention,â you shrugged, looking shy as you confessed, âI donât get asked out very often.â
âYou could go out with me, lassie,â Soap edged his way closer to her, slinking around the table, âWeâd have a hell of a time, so we would.â
âDonât listen to Johnny,â Ghost stood in front of him a bit, snaking an arm around your cinched waist, âHe thinks takinâ his birds to the dog races is a good date idea.â
âWell, isnât it?â Soap protested.
Gaz grabbed your hand tenderly, examining your fingers like they were a precious work of art,
âMaybe you could come with me to Berlin next weekend, babes. Thereâs a killer music festival going on, and we could have a really good time. How does that sound?â
âBoys,â Price interrupted, âIâm sure she has plenty of work to finish here; canât just be galavanting off with you muppets. In fact, why donât you stop by my office after this mission, bunny rabbit, and we can work on your projected shipment dates together? You know, I used to be a logistics man, myself.â
Ghost rolled his eyes at the Captain,
âPlease, logistics? You drove a truck back and forth on base delivering food to the canteen twenty years ago. Iâve read your file.â
The men all started talking over each other, forgetting your presence in favor of coming out on top of the dog pile. You smiled to yourself, eager to push more of their buttons.Â
Slipping one skinny strap down your shoulder, you spoke through the din,
âYou know, this dress can be strapless. Do you think Sokolov wants it upâŠâ you locked eyes with Captain Price, seeing his throat swallow hard as he watched you in the silence you had created, âor down?â
The other soldiers were stunned, unable to look away as you slipped both straps off of your shoulders and tucked them into your dress. One strap was still partially visible, and Ghost slowly moved one gloved finger up your arm, tracing your skin lightly, and finished tucking it in for you. He lingered, caressing the side of your breast as he removed it.Â
âYou gonna be able to seduce this Russian bastard, Sergeant? Or, do you need some practice?â Price asked with a low, threatening tone.Â
The whole room held its breath waiting for your answer. The four men towered over your short frame, casting shadows over you like black spells, hoping you would relinquish your control over them. All of their eyes watched as you slowly, achingly lifted a hand and traced it up Gazâs canvas pant leg, stopping when you discovered the heavy head of his cock, hardening down toward his knee. With the back of your hand, you pet it like a skittish animal, reveling in its smoothness and warmth. Your eyes found his as they fluttered, blood rushing through his body in a panic,
âI think I could use some practice, Captain.â
You felt Gazâs rod leap at your answer. He bent down to kiss your mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against you.Â
Soap came up behind you, gripping your ass through the silk of your dress roughly,
âWeâll help you, lass. Weâll help you practice, wonât we, boys? Jesus, you smell so good,â he buried his face in your neck and sucked against your skin.Â
Ghost found your other hand and held it tightly, using it to steady you from Soap and Gazâs assault. Price moved Gaz out of the way, earning himself a glare, and peeled the dress off of you in one fell swoop, revealing the expanse of uncovered skin underneath.Â
âHoly shite,â the captain breathed, whispering his lament, âSergeant, where are your knickers?â
âI guess I forgot them, Captain,â you blushed, batting your eyes up at him, doing actual damage to his psyche. Â
He didnât have much time to savor the moment though because Ghost was shoving him out of the way to pick you up by the thighs to lay you on the table. The giant knelt between your legs, pulling you by the knees until your ass was hanging off of the low wooden planks. He lifted his mask just enough for you to see him lick his lips over sharp, white teeth before feasting on your wet folds, letting the cloth of the balaclava hide most of his efforts.Â
Ghost created a soothing, yet electrically wet warmth in your core which made you keen loudly, only to be muffled by Priceâs smoky kiss. You could taste the burned tobacco on his tongue and your skin was scraped by his thick mustache.Â
Gazâs voice got your attention. He had freed his cock from his pants and started to stroke it, standing by your side and playing with your breasts with his free hand as Price savaged your mouth. He tugged on your nipple and told you,
âYou know, Rabbit, youâre going to have to really put yourself out there tomorrow. Show him these gorgeous tits of yours. Make him think youâre hungry for his cock,â Gaz rubbed his head, hard and hungry for you, âCan you do that? Let us see how good you can be, princess. We need you to ace this missionâ
You felt Ghost dip his hard cock between your pussy lips, distracting you from Priceâs tongue in your mouth. You broke the kiss and looked up at Ghost, dazed, into his masked face,
âI promise, sir. Iâll be good,â you looked around at all four of the men, reaching out to grab Soapâs cock that he was stroking for you, âWill you show me how?â
You didnât give Soap time to answer. The Scot gasped as you devoured him, sucking him down into your throat, making yourself gag as he fucked your throat in and out in long thrusts. He tangled his fingers in your hair. Ghost matched his rhythm below you, pounding his cock into your wet hole. You thought you could feel something on his dick. Was he pierced? You could see your slick gleam on his lips and chin where his mask was still askew.Â
âYeah,â Ghost smiled haughtily, âyou like those piercings, donâtcha baby?â
You didnât have a chance to respond. Price pulled your head away from Soapâs dick, kissing your mouth lewdly again before giving you an order,
âOpen your mouth wide for me, love.â
You obeyed. Then, he spit onto your tongue, warm and bubbling, before shoving your face down onto his own fat rod. It made your lips burn with its cruel girth, even though it felt relatively soft, and you thought fleetingly that there was no way your poor little cunt was going to be able to take him, Ghost was big enough to be filling, but the captain was carrying around a true weapon.Â
He pulled your head off of him roughly, watching as the strings of drool connected your tongue to his cockhead, growling in short, lustful breaths.Â
âAlright, boys. Make sure sheâs good and ready for me. You know the drill,â Price barked, and then he was gone.Â
The drill? You looked for him, confused, and only found Gaz, who was now slapping his long dick on your cheek, knocking for entrance. He let you take his head into your mouth, having a much easier time than you did with your captain. You bobbed your head up and down dutifully, not realizing just how long his cock was until he tried to force it into your throat. He held you down for a moment, moaning shamelessly, before releasing you to let you breathe.Â
âYou alright, babes?â He laughed.
You nodded, moaning. Ghost took himself out of your wetness and pulled you off of the table. Soap hopped up to lay where you were, and you moved to ride him, making sure to get right to the edge with him to let Ghost back in. Youâd never taken two men at once, much less four, but there was a first time for anything, and you were a quick learner.Â
Spearing yourself onto Soap felt like someone had created a warm, custom, living dildo just for you. He was a perfect fit, and you both cried out in pleasure from the sensation. Ghost slapped your ass, hard, and you screamed, clenching around Soapâs cock. Soap moaned darkly.Â
âKeep suckinâ that big cock, baby. Need to teach you how to multitask,â Ghost threatened as he bent to eat your asshole, wiggling his tongue into the tight rim to gain entrance.
He started to fuck you with it, his long wet muscle moving in and out as Soap thrust himself up into you, hitting your g-spot every single time like magic. You took Gaz back into your mouth and tried your best to take him deeper into your throat. Every time you did, you would gag, and your muscles would involuntarily clench, and the whole room would moan. You started to come, feeling yourself flood around Soap, whose mouth had latched onto one of your nipples, suckling like he was trying to feed from you.Â
You could see Price out of the corner of your eye. He had lit another cigar and was smoking it, stroking himself, still not at his full capacity. You were scared of him. He looked like some sort of demon, breathing fire, as big around as your forearm. He wasnât as long as Gaz, nor as delightfully curved as Soap, but he made your legs shake without even touching you. When he did touch you, rising from his chair when he wanted to fondle you, pinching a nipple, pulling your hair, forcing your head down on Gaz, it lit you up like you were kerosene and he was the match.Â
Suddenly, Ghostâs tongue was gone, only to be replaced by his heavy head. He was going to fuck your ass, and there was nothing you could say to stop him. Youâd only done anal once or twice before, and you knew it might hurt. He went so slowly that you could feel each and every piercing as he popped them into you, one by one. Then, as he pulled back out, you felt them pop as each one went through you again, raking himself in and out gently, as careful with you as he could be. When you were more pliant, he began to throw his weight into each thrust, and Soap started to groan below you from the sensation.Â
âDonât you fuckinâ dare, Johnny boy,â Price threatened, his voice full of stern warning.Â
You werenât sure what he was warning him about until Soap pulled his cock out of you and came all over your stomach, Ghostâs thrusts making the fluid smear between you two, rubbing your bodies together. Ghost pulled out next, and you felt his hot, thick ropes spray onto your ass cheeks, melting down your thighs.Â
Gaz abandoned your mouth and took over for Soap, feeding himself inch by inch until he found your end, leaving some of his cock out in the cold. He fucked you faster than the others, not caring to move out of the way as Soap rolled off of the table, whining like a whore the whole time.Â
Captain Price came around to your face, holding your chin in his hand, looking down at you without pity,
âGarrickâs got a long cock, donât he, love? Youâre being so good for my men, such a good girl. Sweet little slut, hm? Youâre going to do so well on this mission. Those areholes wonât know what hit âem.â
He grabbed your hair fiercely, hurting your scalp, forcing you to turn and look back at Gaz. Price took a long puff from his cigar, blowing it past your face,Â
âBaby, he could fuck you for a hundred years. Heâs not gonna come until you scream his name.â
You heard Gaz moan louder at Priceâs suggestion, so you did. You screamed for him over and over, not caring who might have heard you, begging for him to come in you.Â
âHeâs not allowed to come in you, love,â Price kissed your open panting mouth, âBut, donât worry. Itâs about to be my turn, and youâll be feeling my fuckinâ come drip out of your cunt all night long.â
Priceâs voice made your blood run cold with fear. He wasnât making threats. Those were clearly promises. Predictions of the future. His cock was tucked back into the band of his pants, but it lay in wait there like a serpent, eager to strike.
Your heart pounded in your chest as Gaz pulled his long shaft all the way out of you, his come shooting onto your lips and ass, feeling him use his hand to rub it into your skin, making you sticky. Your captain gave him a warning look, and you realized they had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times before. As you watched Soap and Ghost comfort each other, breathing close together, touching themselves, you wondered if they ever fucked each other as well. Picturing the four of them rutting into each other made you hungry, deep in your belly, starving to witness such an act.Â
Finally, it was your captainâs turn. The look in his eyes made you tremble. You knew he wouldnât be cruel, not on purpose anyway. He wasnât a heartless man, but he wasnât one to hold himself back from what he wanted either. You knew that he would fuck you the way he wanted to, as hard as he wanted to, no matter how much complaining you might do about how his cock would stretch you out - even to the point of pain.Â
âOn your back, love. Legs up. Spread that pussy open for me,â he commanded.Â
You did as he told you, opening yourself up shamelessly, letting your folds spread wide.Â
He walked around the table to gaze upon your form, staring at your pink flesh like it was a hot meal, and he was starving. He moaned, rubbing his hand across your sticky mons,Â
âMm, thatâs my pretty little Rabbit. NowâŠâ he paused for effect, sinking three fingers into your hole roughly but ever so slowly, twisting his arm as he did, corkscrewing his knuckles into you, â...I want you to understand that thereâs a reason Iâm last in line, love.â
You cried out from the pressure of his huge hand. It felt like you were going to tear. Then, after a few hard thrusts, he released you. The emptiness you felt was heartbreaking. You looked for him, pleading with your eyes for him to return to you. He pulled his cock free from his waistband, unable to connect his finger to his thumb as he wrapped around it. You whined involuntarily, something animal in you recognizing its fate.Â
âShh, baby, I know,â he drug out his voice, âI knowâŠâ
He positioned the heavy shaft on top of your body, measuring himself from base to tip, reaching your navel. As he slapped it against you, it made a loud thudding noise, slamming into your muscles like a fist. Price was so heavy. Youâd never even imagined a man could feel like he was pure, warm, thick marble. Your pussy seemed to understand the panic you were feeling, flooding itself, preparing for the upcoming invasion.Â
âIâm so fuckinâ eager for you, love,â he slapped you again, quick taps right to your swollen clit.
Then, he put his head inside of you, squeezing himself in. He left it inside of you and started to pump himself with his hand. Between the vibration from his fist and the fact that it felt like you were sitting on the end of a steel bat, you couldnât hold back your keening, loud and high-pitched.Â
Price began the steady, slow march forward, swelling harder and harder by the moment, making your walls feel like they might break. It seemed as if all the blood in your body was rushing down your belly and up your legs, hurrying to your core.Â
Your eye were wild, full of your fear, tears forming at the corners of your eyes,
âI canât, please! I canât. Itâs too big, fuckâŠâ
Price didnât stop. He just kept feeding himself in and pulling himself back out, wetting his cockâs skin with your soaking hole.Â
âYou can, and you will, love,â the captain growled, âNow, shut that pretty mouth and take it.â
Your cheeks were wet and your eyes burned, he was so deep within you that it felt like he was thrusting into your throat. You couldnât breathe.
Suddenly, Soap grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, using his tongue to lick your skin,
âItâs alright, bonnie. Iâm here, lass. Breathe with me, lass.â
He bent down to kiss you, but he didnât quite connect, letting his lips graze yours featherlight. Soap breathed in and breathed out in steady, measured beats. You felt yourself begin to relax. It had such an immediate effect that you heard Price groan, able to slip himself a bit deeper than he had done.Â
It was like a chain reaction, the more relaxed you became, breathing with Soap, feeling him suck and lick your nipples softly, the more Price was able to squeeze himself in.Â
Finally, you felt his hair at the base of his cock, thick and curled, and as he sighed, he settled inside of you, impossibly pressing against your whole body, making a clear outline of himself in your lower belly. He rubbed it, almost fondly, and you felt every inch of him throb against your walls, his head bullying your womb.
You cried out again from the strain. Ghost and Gaz joined Soap. Gaz began to suckle from your breast on your left side, fondling himself as he did so, getting hard again. Ghost was at your head on the end of the table, and he bent to kiss you, upside down, his tongue running all the way down your throat, long and slippery against your own.Â
He pulled away, petting your cheek as Price began to grind himself into you,
âYou alright, Rabbit? You enjoying your captainâs cock, hm?â
âMm hm,â you whispered, whimpering through your tears.
Ghost smiled, and his straight, white teeth looked menacing as he did, sharp, wolf-like,
âI know you are, babe. Youâre doing so well. Look at him. You can see him inside of your cunt.â
He lifted your head by your hair, showing you the grotesque shadow of Priceâs heavy rod as it shoved itself into you. You reached your hands down to it, feeling it through your skin. It was so unique. His size wasnât like anything youâd ever experienced, and your body was sending confused signals of passion, your orgasms coming in shattered, broken waves. Feeling incomplete. Too powerful, and yet drawn out like the last note of a symphony.Â
As you touched him from the outside, Price moaned aloud for the first time. It shocked you. You looked up at him, managing to meet his eyes.
âFuck,â you moaned, âYou feel so good inside of me, Captain.â
âMm, yeah?â He replied, using his hands to press yours down onto his cock, making you gasp, âYou like it, baby? Iâm gonna make sure you never want anybody else.âÂ
Price reached down and grabbed you by the throat, scaring away Soap and Gaz. He lifted you up, making his dick fit inside of you that much tighter with the change of angle. Then, he began the true performance. He thrust himself in with fast, punishing strokes, slamming himself into you. You were sure you would bruise, and you felt dizzy, almost like youâd pass out.Â
Soap was at your side again, holding your hair away from your face,
âLook at you, lassie. Such a good girl for your captain. Takinâ that cock so damn well. Canât wait to be back inside you, girl.â
He kissed your cheek, palm massaging his dick which was back to full mast, eager again.Â
âAlright, Johnny,â Price grinned, âSince you asked so nicely.â
Without any strain whatsoever, Price lifted you up by your hips and held you in the air as he fucked you, bringing you around the table so that Soap could position himself at your asshole. Ghostâs earlier efforts had made it ready for him, and you could very acutely feel how much he was throbbing to be inside of you, pulsing as he fit against Price.Â
âUngh, fuck, lass,â Soap groaned as he began to thrust into you, pistoning with the captain, âHeâs got you so tight for me.â
âYeah? It feels so good. MmmâŠâ you whimpered, feeling more full than youâd ever been.Â
Johnny was holding your breasts as Price lifted you up, brutalizing your pussy. Every thrust felt like an electric pulse, making you cock-drunk and mindlessly pliant.Â
They worked in tandem for what felt like eons, pistoning in and out with each other. Eventually, after he had felt you come, Soap addressed his captain directly,
âSir, IâmâŠplease, sir, can I?â
âCan you what, soldier?â Price grunted through gritted teeth, testing his sergeant.
âCan I come, sir? Please, CapâŠâ
âYeah, Johnny. Câmon, mate. Let her feel it.â
âF-fuck! FuckâŠâ Soap groaned, pushing himself flush against your asshole, pumping his come into you.Â
He caught his breath while he was still in you, kissing the nape of your neck, and then he pulled away slowly. He helped Gaz replace him, holding your ass wide apart so his comrade could position himself inside. And just when you thought your poor pussy would have room to breathe, Gazâs incredibly long shaft was piercing your hole again.Â
You felt him sigh, his breath against your neck. He took over holding you up, and Price praised him,
âThatâs it, Garrick. Sheâs all yours. Take it.â
Gaz reacted to his words in a way that made you rethink their entire dynamic. Then, you remembered how he had come when you said his name. He seemed to get harder and harder the more Price praised him, and you wanted to give him that same validation.Â
âGaz,â you whispered, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, âItâs so big, baby. Itâs like I can feel you in my throat. Oh, Gaz. Gaz!â
âMm,â Price put his mouth to your neck, groaning, âThatâs it, love. Tell him how much you like that long cock.â
âSo much, Gaz. Itâs so good,â you added.Â
Then, Price took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Gazâs neck in a moment of surprising intimacy. As Price kissed the front of your throat, Gaz kissed your shoulder and nape. You felt like a peeled fruit being shared between them, a ripped rind, your juicy flesh being split in two; two halves of a ripe orange.Â
Gaz lasted longer than Soap had when he fucked your ass, but Priceâs attention seemed to spur him on. His movements were slippery, and you could feel the remnants of Soapâs come frothing around your entrance, easing his efforts.
âCaptain,â Gaz whined, desperate for more of that approval.Â
âCâmon, Kyle. Sheâs ready for you. Good lad.â
The use of his first name made Gaz thrust up into you with a feverish pace. He cried out as he came, hard, into you. Feeling him fall back out of you made you imagine the tendrils of a giant kraken, seeming to travel forever just to remove himself from your body, slithering out of you with a terrible squelching noise.Â
Gaz let Price hold you again, and you turned, expecting Ghost. Price laughed at you, chuckling softly,
âMissing your masked man already?â
You looked at Price, feeling raw and used, waiting for an explanation,
âHeâs a littleâŠpreoccupied.â
Price laid you back on the table, letting you turn your head to see Ghost, buried in Soapâs asshole up to the hilt, furiously jacking him off, slamming into him a little too roughly for your liking. It was violent, but Soap seemed to be enjoying himself beyond measure.Â
Your pussy, though, disagreed with your assessment, clenching around Priceâs cock while you watched Simon abuse his friendâs hole.Â
âMm,â the captain moaned, feeling your muscles react, âYou like that, love? You wanna be fucked rough like that?â
He didnât give you a chance to answer. Price wrapped your legs beneath his chest in a full mating press and wrecked you, pounding into your body like a giant fist. You felt your bones shudder beneath his behemoth form. Just when you thought you might puke from how overstimulated you were, you felt him pause. Then, your pussy felt like it was leaking, and it was. Priceâs come just kept milking its way out of you, his cock pulsing inside, making your walls throb.Â
When he finished, he kissed you on the mouth, almost lovingly, reverently. He started to slide out of you, being extremely careful, and youâd never felt so empty in your entire life. It was as if youâd never be full again. You found yourself whining, whimpering for Price to return.Â
âThatâs right, pretty girl,â Price smiled, âNever gonna want anybody else, are ya?â
You smiled, shocked and in considerable discomfort. Gaz scooped you up off of the table, cradling you, sitting down with you in his lap in a large chair. He reached down for some water and handed it to you, helping you recover.Â
Price was standing with his hands on his hips, panting from his exertion. Ghost and Soap were connected like two hounds, locked together, the Scot cock warming his tall lover, groaning on every exhale.Â
âWell, what do you think, lads? Do we have a winner?â Price asked.
âYeah, we fucking do, Cap,â Gaz pet your head, moving your sweaty hair out of your eyes.Â
âFuck yeah, mate,â Ghost growled, pawing at Johnny again, rabid for him.Â
âHear that, bonnie?â Soap managed to ask, still moaning in little breaths as he was being speared by Ghost, âGot yourself a new permanent assignment.â
Price walked over to you, grabbing you by the face and kissing you once more,
âYou belong to us now, love. Perfect little slut.â
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#call of duty fanfic#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod#call of duty#tf 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#tf 141#141 x reader#call of duty mwii#x female reader#x fem!reader#captain john price#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#the gang's all here
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Dangerous Game : ÌÌâ Oscar Piastri
summary: losing your independence whilst pregnant was tough, but when you try and be a little bit dangerous, oscar is far from impressed to see you do so
Panic struck you as soon as you heard the front door open, dropping the paintbrush down onto the floor as your feet scrambled to get you down the ladder that you were up. As Oscar called out through the house you shouted back, placing the lid back on the paint pot and hiding the brush underneath one of the cardboard boxes in the room.
As your eyes darted around you kept finding things to hide, moving bits around the room as the sound of Oscarâs footsteps got louder and louder towards the room. Â
Just as the door handle was pushed down, you sat yourself down on the rocking chair that was in the corner of the room, leaning back with a smile on your face as Oscar walked in with his suitcase just behind him.Â
âI didnât think Iâd find you in here,â he remarked, glancing around the room.Â
It had been a couple of weeks since Oscar had been home but straight away his eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. Something wasnât quite sitting right with him, taking a good look around the room as he remembered how things were when he left a short time ago.Â
âIt looks different in here,â Oscar commented, noticing your eyes looking a little more nervously at him then they usually did. âHave you made a few changes?âÂ
Your head nodded as you forced a smile onto your face, âIâve just been doing the odd little bit here and there, trying to make life easier for you so there was less to do when you got back.âÂ
Oscar nodded too as you spoke, walking further into the room. Your heart began to race as his eyes narrowed on something, walking over and picking up the paintbrush that you had tried your best to hide, quickly noticing that it was still covered in paint, as was the ladder where droplets had fallen.Â
âPlease tell me youâve not been up a ladder painting this nursery,â Oscar asked you, although he already knew the answer, unable to quite believe what you had been up to.Â
Oscar had left you under the promise that you would do everything possible to keep yourself as safe as you could without him there. He was reluctant to go, but he trusted you. The worried part of you couldnât keep that promise though, conscious of how much you had left to do and how little time you had before your baby arrived.Â
âWhat if youâd have fallen from the ladder Y/N? Are you actually out of your mind?âÂ
Your body tensed up at the harsh tone in Oscarâs voice. âNo, Iâm not. Iâm fed up of being treated like Iâm unable to do anything though, I was only a couple of steps up and I was completely in control of what I was doing Oscar.âÂ
âAnything could have happened Y/N.âÂ
It didnât exactly seem like the most dangerous job in the world to you, but to Oscar, it was almost as if you were tempting fate. He was happy for you to do a few jobs around the nursery, but the hardworking jobs, like painting and building, he wanted to do to make sure that you didnât run the risk of injuring yourself.Â
Oscar dropped the paintbrush back down, brushing his hands through his hair as he tried his best to stay calm. There was an anger in him that you hadnât seen for a long time, taking you by complete surprise.Â
âIâm not joking when I tell you not to do these things,â Oscar spoke, turning back to face you again. âItâs hard enough leaving you at the best of times, but especially so when youâre pregnant, and even more so when I know youâre not being safe.âÂ
âSurely Iâm the one who decides when Iâm being safe and not safe,â you argued. âEvery time you say youâll do something, something else comes along, we canât keep doing that forever Oscar.âÂ
Painting the nursery was one of those things that Oscar had insisted that he would do for quite some time, but nothing ever materialised. It was either work, or family, or the time when he came home and fell asleep instead because he was so tired, but Oscar seemed unbothered that time was running out.Â
âWeâre supposed to do these things together, as parents,â Oscar calmly reminded you.Â
âWe can, but youâre never here.âÂ
âIâm here right now,â he huffed, throwing his arms down by his sides. âI know that Iâm busy, and trust me, I wish that I wasnât, but the thought of something happening to you absolutely terrifies me love.âÂ
A soft sigh came from you, âI didnât realise that you were this worried about me.âÂ
Oscar took a step towards you, taking a hold of both of your hands. âEvery second Iâm worrying about you, nervous when the phone goes that itâll be someone to tell me that something has happened to you.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you whispered as Oscar gave your hands a squeeze. âI guess Iâm quite calm right now, I just assumed that you would be feeling the same.âÂ
To Oscar, you were far too calm for his liking, he couldnât believe how you just took pregnancy in your stride like it was nothing huge. He watched you carry on as if nothing was changing, with your big smile constantly still on your face.Â
He was well aware that you wanted very little to change, you still wanted to be you, to be independent, and to be organised, even if he didnât want you to be. Oscar wanted to step up though, your pregnancy was a chance for him to take control and take care of you, despite your protests.Â
âThe only person going up that ladder for the next three months is me,â Oscar told you, âbut I still want you to be involved and doing things as well.â Â
You nodded at Oscarâs suggestion, although you knew the ladder was pretty harmless, before you drove Oscar insane, you knew not going up it anymore was the best decision.Â
âWeâll get this done, together,â Oscar assured you.Â
âThatâs all Iâve ever wanted.âÂ
âHow about we make a start tonight?â He proposed. âLetâs order some food and plan out the jobs that we need to get done. Iâll get up the ladder and we can bring one of the chairs in from the dining room so that you can sit down and paint the lower parts of the walls. Does that sound like a plan?âÂ
Your smile turned up as soon as Oscar started speaking. âThat sounds like the perfect way to spend tonight. You donât have to do all of this though Oscar, the baby isnât going to be arriving tomorrow.âÂ
âIâve not done enough so far, Iâve got plenty of making up to do for all the jobs Iâve neglected,â he assured you.Â
Your hands slipped out of his and wrapped around Oscarâs neck. âIâm sorry for breaking your trust whilst you were away, I promise it wonât happen again.âÂ
âDonât be sorry, I get it. Weâve just got very different definitions of what safe activities are for pregnant women to do,â he couldnât help but joke.Â
âI only did it because I was bored without you around.âÂ
Oscar questionably glanced back at you, âI know for a fact youâd have been up that ladder anyway, but Iâll pretend to believe you. I love you, just promise youâll take care of you, of both of you, for me.âÂ
âI promise that weâre both safe, and healthy, and we will continue to be too,â you smiled, pressing a kiss against Oscarâs lips. âWelcome home by the way.âÂ
âIt seems like I got home just in time.âÂ
ïżœïżœËË đđđđđđđđđđ ! ÂŽËË
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x you#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri drabble#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fluff#formula x reader#formula one drabble#formula 1 drabble#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 drabble#f1 fluff#f1 x you#f1 fic
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⊠INVISIBLE STRING THEORY âăELLIE WILLIAMSăâ CHAPTER ONE
pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader
summary: the marines didnât ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though youâll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellieâs recovery?
warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.
⏶ previous chapter | next chapter â€
âThe fact that sheâs military is the only thing saving her ass right now.â
Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasnât hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long sheâd probably have an episode. Either that or sheâd throw up all over the sheriffâs office.
âBoss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that sheâs in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?â Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.
âTechnically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt heâs gonna go forward with any sortâa legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-â The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesseâs chair creak as he leaned forward. âHis damn tooth was knocked out.â The sheriff whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldnât look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.
Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans sheâd worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dinaâs for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.
A pack of beer. Thatâs what sheâd pummeled the boy over.
He couldnât have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldnât have stopped the meltdown even if sheâd wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.
Her therapist called them âPTSD episodesâ. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. Sheâd lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellieâs walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next sheâd be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.
She didnât want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.
âYeah, Iâm doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.â
âCome on, rambo. Letâs get you to bed.â Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.
Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldnât look at him. She couldnât thank him or- or anything.
But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.
Ellie didnât give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didnât want pity or thanks simply because she didnât deserve it.
âThank you for your service, Williams.â The sheriffâs voice reminded her of Joelâs. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.
Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.
âIt was my privilege.â It was a well rehearsed response. It didnât even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.
As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.
She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasnât just âlateâ anymore, but âmorningâ now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.
âFuck.â She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. Thereâs no way any of this was normal.
âHave you eaten?â Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.
Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasnât a very touchy person these days (and itâs not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.
âNot in a couple of hours.â Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldnât be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.
It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. Sheâd much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didnât work right anymore.
âHow about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dinaâs probably worried sick about the both of us. Letâs. . . letâs spend the day together. Yeah?â It sounded like he was pleading with her.
There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldnât stop pushing everyone away. Itâs almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didnât want anyone to see her like that.
âSheâs going to kill me.â Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.
Jesseâs lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. âNah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.â His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.
Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why sheâd been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and sheâd actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe thatâs why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.
Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldnât wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the femaleâs crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.
âDo you know what time it is?â Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.
Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. Sheâd lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? âA pack of beerâ, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckinâ beer.
Ellieâs mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since sheâd gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friendâs anger was better than Jesseâs pity. The sleeves of Ellieâs flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dinaâs posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.
âIâm getting better, D. Iâll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-â Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
What she was doing couldnât be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldnât be sure that sheâd be able to stop.
Jesse and Dinaâs shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJâs baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJâs highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.
Guilt and jealousy.
Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadnât ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.
âNo, youâre not.â Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. âEllie, look at me.â Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.
Ellieâs eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.
âYouâre not getting better.â She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.
Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?
âIâm getting better.â âI actually feel a bit better today.â âYou donât have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.â Ellie wasnât sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellieâs face crumpled.
âFuck.â Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.
Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellieâs chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldnât lose it. She couldnât let her shoulders sag, couldnât allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.
âI called Joel,â Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. âAnd he bought you a plane ticket. Youâre flying out tomorrow.â
âNo,â Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. âHow could you do this?â She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didnât fall out from under her. She didnât sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.
âYouâre flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually youâd level out,â Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. âBut youâre only getting worse.â
âIâm getting better.â The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.
âWhen was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you arenât eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.â Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didnât see them all herself.
A full stomach meant nausea.
âWhen was the last time you showered?â The dark haired girl questioned.
Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.
âWe know how this will end, Ellie. I donât care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.â Dinaâs voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.
Jesseâs arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.
âI canât breathe.â Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.
She was a failure. Sheâd failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldnât she just be normal again? Why couldnât she just fucking breathe.
Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldnât turn it off. Couldnât turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.
Sheâd killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.
âD, get the medication thatâs in the cabinet and a glass of water.â Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.
âSheâs ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.â Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.
JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.
Blood. So much blood. Itâs coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasnât I trained for this? Breathe. Sheâs not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?
âSwallow, Ellie.â Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.
âIt was my fault. I-I fucking,â She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. âI led them out there. Oh, fuck.â
Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellieâs mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellieâs lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.
âShould I call an ambulance?â Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.
âNo. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? Iâve got her.â Jesse told her, letting go of Ellieâs hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldnât stand up.
Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.
âJoel isnât going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?â She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.
Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joelâs too-big ranch home.
âOkay.â Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.
âOkay?â Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasnât entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.
âOkay.â
Grief was an uphill battle. One minute youâre laughing with your friends and then the next youâre laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.
You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldnât bring yourself to visit. Life doesnât stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.
So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.
Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.
For now, at least.
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)
first chapter >> last chapter
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You could just tell him.Â
You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.
He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear itâll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. Thereâs nothing to do now but move forward.
The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. Youâre weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.
Maybe thatâs just on your end.Â
Youâve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like heâs holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, youâve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. Thatâs what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesnât fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache.Â
You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one).Â
Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escapingânow where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some banditâs tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death?Â
You shudder to think of it.Â
In the days since John brought you home, you havenât seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. Itâs as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.
You shouldâve just waited them out. Itâs clear now, what you shouldâve done, but who can argue with the past? Youâre sick of telling yourself that there mightâve been another way. It doesnât change the way things are now.Â
Thereâs nothing to do now but move forward.
The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isnât looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.
Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away.Â
Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. Johnâs deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesnât belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.
The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it.Â
He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you canât excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, youâll have no choice but to belt it out.Â
The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of Johnâs deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and thereâs a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house.Â
Itâs a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.
âJohn?â you ask, uncertainly.Â
He doesnât answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line.Â
âJohn?â you repeat, more force behind your words this time. âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
âPassenger train up east is about to be robbed,â John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if itâs loaded. âSimon got word.â
âHowâd he know before it even happened?â you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids.Â
âInformant. Heâs got âem all over the county.â
Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has Johnâs other horse saddled up and ready to go.
âWhen will youââ You canât finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesnât answer you.Â
You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going.Â
John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. âYou stay here, you hear me?â
Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. âExcuse me?â
âI donât fancy havinâ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while Iâm gone.â
âWell, you just see here nowââ
âYou heard me, darlinâââ
âPrice,â Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. Heâs never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones.Â
John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.
âYou be good while Iâm gone,â John says, casting you one last parting glance.
You screw your lips into a scowl. âDonât you dare die out there.â
That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.
Johnâs horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them.Â
You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.
It dawns on you that John hadnât said goodbye either. That has to count for something.
Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.
You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood. Â
Kate comes over later that morning while youâre still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.
âMorning!â she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.
She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards.Â
âMorning,â you greet tentatively. âNot that I donât appreciate spending time with you, but donât you have a store to run?â
Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. âFolks chip in when they have toâIâve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, whatâs the point of owning a business if you canât take a day off every now and then?â
You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. âDid he tell you to come babysit me?âÂ
You donât specify who, but itâs obvious enough.
Her lips flatten. âI offered.â
All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. âThey seemed in a hurry to leave. Didnât think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.âÂ
âJohn didnât do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.â
âMy man,â you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. âSo he didnât ask you to come?â
Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. âNo, maâam. Thought Iâd just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.â
Your frown keeps getting deeper. âDonât maâam me, Kate. And I donât need your company if youâve just come to make fun of me.â
âHand to heartâI came only to make sure you were alright.â Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. âGive me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and Iâll be right back.â
You could almost kiss her for that though. Youâd been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you havenât felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kateâs presence takes some of that stress away.Â
Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You canât seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away.Â
You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.
Itâs well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. Youâd long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you.Â
And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.
âI suppose heâsââ Kate says, but you donât hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat.Â
When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill.Â
Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across Johnâs face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation heâd gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadnât even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home.Â
John smiles down at you. âWell, arenât you a sight for sore eyes.â
Thatâs almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadnât realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry thatâd been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees.Â
âAre you well?â you ask, throat tight.Â
He doesnât answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you.Â
Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.
âNever better,â he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.
You hear the door open again. âHi John,â Kate calls from the door.
âHi Laswell,â John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.
A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. Youâre not sure what to read into it, but readingâs never been your strong suit.Â
âIâll see myself out then,â Kate says. âLeave you two lovebirds to it.â Her words make you bristle, but even that isnât enough to pull your eyes off your husband.Â
âDonât look so put outâSoapâs just down the path waiting to take you home,â John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.
Kate rolls her eyes. âSo chivalryâs not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.â
You donât hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue.Â
The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. âYouâre hurt.â
He huffs. âJust a sore rib. Nothing worth fussinâ over.â
âIâll be the judge of that.â Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. âYour hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.â
John nods. âIâll put Chiron away and then come in.â
âChiron?â
âThis boy here.â His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mindâanother piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name youâll never be able to shake.Â
You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. Itâs how you track him from the window. Itâs too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now itâs quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds.Â
You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale.Â
He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesnât so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that mightâve gotten in. Heâs a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles.Â
âDo you want me to call the doctor in the morning?â you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room.Â
John shakes his head. âDonât bother. Wasnât anything too serious.â
You frown. âAre you sure? I donât want to risk it getting infectedââ
He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. Youâve felt them over every part of youâloose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim.Â
You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now.Â
âItâs not that bad, darlinâ,â he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. âYâdid a good job fixinâ me up. Youâre a good little nurse.â
âIâm no substitute for proper medical care,â you snip, still frowning.Â
âAh, if I die, I die.â
âThatâs not funny,â you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like thereâs something new writ large on your face.
Thereâs a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadnât noticed until now. Once you notice it, itâs impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away.Â
âNow whereâs this all coming from?â John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you.Â
His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except itâs dark now and thereâs not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. Youâd be a blubbery drunk anyway; youâve always been something of a sad sack.Â
âI thought you might come back hurt,â you whisper. âAnd you did.âÂ
His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. âIâm sorry to make you worry, darlinâ. I meant nothing by my words. Weâll go to the doctor tomorrow.â
The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. âWell, only if you want to.â
âDonât get smart with me, wifeââ
He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if itâs the first time heâs ever heard you laugh. Itâs not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden.Â
John sighs. âWeâve been making a right mess of things, havenât we?â
You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement.Â
Itâs in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that.Â
Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.
Thereâs love and then thereâs thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?
There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You donât yet know if thatâs possible for you, but youâre starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side.Â
Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection.Â
If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right.Â
So instead, you ask, âCan we just put it behind us and move on?â
John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.
When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. âAlready forgotten.âÂ
You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you.Â
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#price x reader#john price x reader#price/reader#john price/reader#captain john price
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ATEEZ comforting you after you have a rough week.
Ot8 x reader
Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of hugs, reader is overwhelmed in most of these, mentions of exams(scary ik), kinda corny tbh, also not proofread so there might be some mistakes.
A/n: i used most of my braincells 4 this đ« yea also this purely depended upon my mood so that's why some of them are just thoughts while the others are full blown conversations. will most likely rewrite this is in the future I think. Also I'm planning on opening taglists so if you want to be included just lmk!! (for ateez or any other group)
Words: 3.1k
Requested ⥠Ateez masterlist.
"When you feel like you're nowhere, Let it go 'cause I'll be there for you..."
âËàż Hongjoong
âą whenever things get a little too much, you'd usually suck it up
âą it wasn't healthy, you know that yet you couldn't afford to fall back now so you did it anyway
âą him, who's very sensitive to your every little changes in mood, of course, noticed it too
âą you tend to sort of shut down whenever you get overwhelmed, causing you to get moody and quiet, often leading to minor arguments with him
âą but he understands (being prone to overworking himself, he was never too fond of the after effects)
âą but that doesn't mean he's not going to do anything about it
âą âyou're taking a break.â âBut I need to finish this-â
âą he cut you off by closing your book, making sure to bookmark it before picking you up from the chair
âą âhave you looked at yourself yet? you're about to collapse.â
âą you fell silent at that, letting him carry you over to the bed, feeling your irritation dissolve at the stern tone, yet you could pick up on the hint of worry.
âą âbut I need to finish it, or else I won't catch up on my work. I'm already behind in-â
âą your worried ramblings was silenced by his lips pressing against yours for a brief moment
âą âi vaguely remember someone pulling me out of my studio, by my ear, when I was overworking myself.â
âą he muttered, sitting beside you once he put you down on the bed, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear
âą âyou should listen to your own advice, you know?â
âą you could feel the tears pricking your eyes at his words, making you feel helpless and frustrated
âą âthere's justâŠso much. i don't know if I'll ever finish itâŠwhat am I gonna do?â
âą you mumbled, your lips trembling as you tried to bite back your sobs
âą his expression softened at your words, pulling you into his embrace, stroking your hair
âą âi know. but exhausting yourself is only going to make it harder for you to catch up.â
âą âlet's take a break, okay? you need to rest, let your mind calm down first.â
âą you felt him pull away from you, his hand wiping your tears away
âą âhow about we go for a walk outside? some fresh air would help, i think.â
âą you thought for a bit before nodding. you definitely wouldn't be able to get anything done while you were in this state.
âą he finally let a small smile break free, standing up, moving to get your shoes for you
âAn ice cream could help too, i've heard. and there's a parlour that just opened up, down the street. i think it's fate.â
âËàż Seonghwa
âą "are you okay?"
âą he asked softly, worry lacing his tone as he watched your sullen figure drop down onto the couch.
âą "I'm okay."
âą your curt response came out as if it was clockwork, removing your bag before burying your face into the comforter
âą you obviously weren't. Well, it'd been like that for a while now
âą he sighed before coming over to you on the couch. He knelt down and reached out to take off your shoes which you forgot to
âą you tried to sit up, suddenly feeling guilty
âą "i got it...-" "Let me."
âą you paused before laying back down, feeling a bit nervous at his tone of voice. Was he mad?
âą "I'm sorry... it's just lately everything's been going downhill..."
âą you mumbled, tears pricking your eyes as you let your emotions of the past week finally weigh you down
âą "i c-can't seem to do anything right and...i can't muster up energy for anything...i.."
âą you sniffled, waiting for a response. He didnât reply, instead placing your shoes neatly to the side before standing up and sitting down next to you on the couch.
âą "Hwa..."
âą a tear rolled down your face as he wrapped his arms around you, resting your head beneath his chin.
âą it was incredible how the warmth of his embrace contrasted the gloominess you've been feeling all week.
âą "I'm not mad. Why would I be?"
âą he spoke quietly, his eyes shutting for a moment, his hand tracing patterns on your back
âą "and you know... people don't always have to be okay..."
âą "if that were the case then, i think we'd be superhumans..."
âą you let out a laugh at his words, feeling your heart lighten slightly
âą "i guess..."
âą he smiled at the pleasant sound, leaning back slightly to look at you, his hand moving to wipe your tears away.
âą "so don't put yourself down, i won't let you."
âą he whispered, his expression gentle yet firm before pulling you close again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
âą "I'm still gonna worry though. Because I'm a human, a human who happened to be really really really in love with you."
âą you chuckled, feeling exasperated yet so so light hearted
"Well, then...this human loves you too, a lot."
âËàż Yunho.
âą exams were coming up.
âą and with exams came all nighters.
âą you knew it wasn't healthy at all but your brain refused to listen to you, conjuring up various 'what ifs' each one, bleak.
âą yes, exam seasons usually had you stressed.
âą he knew it too.
âą don't get him wrong, he knew you'd do well (with you being one of the most hardworking people he knows, there was no doubt about that)
âą but he knew you couldn't help it. Despite all the assurances, a small part of you always doubted if your efforts were enough
âą and he was worried. Of course, he was but he couldn't push you to take breaks even when he knew you needed it
âą because he thought it'd be better to be distant than to have you completely shut him out
âą but he wasn't sure anymore.
âą even more so when he came upon you staring down at your books with teary eyes. You couldn't take it anymore.
âą "I'm just so tired"
âą you sobbed, burying your face into his chest. He had carried you to the bed from your desk, despite your protests but now you were glad that he did.
âą "i know, love."
âą he whispered, his hand rubbing your back soothingly, his heart clenching at the sound of your sobs. How could he have let it get this bad?
âą but one thing was sure, he wasn't about to let you go through this alone.
âą "Take a break, hm?" "But i...-"
âą "No buts."
âą he replied firmly, his expression showing his worry
âą "Baby, it's admirable, it really is...you work so hard and I'm so proud of you..."
âą "but I'm worried."
âą he mumbled, his voice soft and low, tightening his hold on you
âą your words faltered as you sensed the genuine concern in his voice, a twinge of guilt washing over you.
âą "You always seem so tired and i...i can't help but feel frustrated for not being able to do anything..."
âą his tone was soft, holding you close as if he feared losing you.
âą "i don't want anything to happen to you..."
âą you heart clenched at the tone of fear in his voice. you felt him lean back, taking your face into his hands carefully
âą âno matter how important it is, pushing yourself beyond the point of breaking will never do you any good.â
âąhe whispered, his voice quiet as he stroked your face gently
âąyou stayed silent for a moment, his words going through your mind. you could feel the toll these last few days had on your body. crashing out wouldn't be far at this point.
âąso you nodded, reluctantly agreeing, not wanting to worry him any longer and also because you knew you needed this.
âąhe smiled, seeing you agree (although reluctant) relief coursing through him finally.
âGood. Now, how about some tea? I'llâŠlet you get back to it after a break and this time, I'll help you.â
âËàż Yeosang.
âą something was wrong.
âą he wasn't used to seeing you so...pensive.
âą that slight slumping of your shoulders, the way you zone out mid-convos and the quiet sighs that escapes you whenever you think no one's looking
âą no, he definitely noticed. It was so unlike you and...he wasn't sure how to react.
âą would you be mad if he were to bring this up?
âą or would you pretend like there was
nothing wrong?
âą he knows that you value your independence very much, often preferring to deal with things on your own
âą he respects that and doesn't push in anyway, not wanting to make you uncomfortable
âą but he'd also feel a bit guilty (thought it was never his fault) feeling like he was failing as a boyfriend for just watching from the sidelines while you struggled
âą though initially, he'd be a bit hesitant and cautious when approaching the matter
âą he wouldn't directly confront you but lets you know that he's there for you
âą "I'm here, if you want to talk."
âą he'll also try to distract you with other activities, whether if it's like a walk in the park or a simply game
âą he'll try his best to keep the atmosphere quiet and positive so you'll be able to relax your mind even if it's just a little
âą and when you finally open up to him, he listens.
âą he doesn't really respond in between and just lets you rant while listening intently
âą and you know he is from the way his hand gently squeezes yours in assurance whenever you come to a pause, letting you know that whatever you were feeling was valid
âą he isn't that big on physical affection but won't hesitate to shower you in it if you were to ask
âą he's just a green flag over all
"I'll be here if you need me. I'll always be here."
âËàż San.
âą "come here."
âą you hesitantly glanced at him before immediately looking away once you met his eyes. How does he know you so well?
âą "choi y/n, come. here."
âą he repeated, his tone a bit more firm now, spreading his arms wide and looking at you expectantly
âą "what's with the choi?"
âą you sighed, half-laughing, but you walked towards him, your emotions bubbling up again.
âą "you own my heart, so you might as well take my last name too."
âą he said softly with a small smile as you finally stepped into his arms.
âą "seriously..."
âą you mumbled, your voice breaking towards the end as you pressed your face into his chest, tears starting to flow again
âą "there we go..."
âą he guided you to the couch before sitting beside you. He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into him and gently ran his fingers through your hair, whispering.
âą "you did a good job, hm? I'm so proud of you."
âą "it doesn't feel like that though..."
âą you laughed. his words, though comforting, stung a bit, reminding you of your failures yet again
âą he frowned, picking upon on the hint of self depreciation in your tone
âą "how dare you say that about the love of my life? Do you have any idea how much they mean to me?"
âą he spoke, leaning back slightly to look at you, his hand reaching up to pinch your cheeks
âą "what're you on about?"
âą you chuckled, avoiding his hand, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated at his sudden burst out
âą "I'm serious, my love's the best, the smartest, the kindest, the most hardworking, the prettiest...the list goes on..."
âą he continued, his voice firm as he made you face him, wiping your tears away
âą "but you know what i like the most about them?"
âą he asked, his expression softening considerably
âą "they never give up. no matter how hard it gets, no matter what anyone else says, they never give up, because they know that they can get through it..."
âą he stroked your face, his eyes never leaving yours, the genuineness in them halting your breath for a moment
âą "I know you can..."
âą you felt your heart tighten at his words, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. You hugged him again, tears forming again.
âą "why do you always have to be so nice? I hate you..."
âą you sobbed, though there was no real heat behind your words
âą he chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly
"It's okay, in return, I have lots of love to give you..."
âËàż Mingi.
âą he knew that things have been rough for you lately
âą while he was worried, he wasn't sure to how to bring it up without making you feel even worse
âą so he had hoped you'd come to him first
âą though nothing prepared him for the sight of you sobbing into your hands infront of him, when you did
âą initially he was at a loss as to what to do (it's that T in him)
âą but he could feel his heart breaking as he watched you desperately trying to wipe your tears away which seemed to be flowing endlessly at that moment
âą instantly he pulled you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you so tightly like he wanted to shield you from whatever that was hurting you
âą "I'm sorry..."
âą you weren't sure what he was apologising for and neither was he
âą though he wasn't good with words in this situation, he was there for you
âą and he hoped you'd know it too
"don't hold back your tears, just let it all out. I'm here."
âËàż Wooyoung
âą heâs been walking on eggshells the entire week and he wasn't sure how long he could he take it
âą your obvious avoidance of him, the curt texts, (hell, he'd prefer it more if you argued with him than this) it was all getting ridiculous
âą so, what was the next step? obviously, confronting you.
âą though it wasn't going like how he expected it to go.
âą âI'm sorry, i thought it'd be better to avoid you than to let you get affected tooâ
âą you mumbled, your voice a bit hoarse as you brought your blanket covering you, closer
âą your face was red, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead as you supported yourself on the wall.
âą these past few weeks had taken a toll on you, worse than you thought and before you knew it, you had a fever.
âą âAffect me-...are you serious?â
âą he spoke before he could stop himself. really? that's what you've been worried about?
âą âI've been worried sick! you think I'd care about some damn germs?â
âą you fell silent, feeling a bit guilty now.
âą he huffed as if he was in disbelief. he wanted to say more but paused, his eyes falling on your pale face
âą he sighed before stepping in, his hands reaching for your face.
âą âyou're burning upâŠâ
âą he muttered, worry lacing his tone as he supported you, making sure to close the door before leading you to your living room, sitting you down on the couch
âą you sniffled, rubbing your nose as you watched him bustle around your apartment
âą it was weird, seeing him so serious like this, different from his usual playful self
âą and it only made you more guilty for worrying him
âą âI'm sorryâŠâ
âą he paused, hearing your words, his movements slowing down as he closed the door to your shelf after retrieving the medicine
âą âyou know? these past few days, I was wondering whether I did something. I couldn't figure it out.â
âą he spoke up, returning to the couch, kneeling infront of you, placing a hand on your lap
âą âbesides, what if you were in your death bed? of course i need to be here.â
âą he added, a small smirk forming on his face
âą âHey!â
âą you countered, your eyes wide, hitting his shoulder making him laugh out a small âsorry!â, lightening the mood slightly
âą âno but seriously, you should've told me you were sick. i would've came running.â
âą âyou always take care of me when I'm sick. I want to do the sameâŠâ
âą he muttered, his playfulness dissolving into softness, his hand squeezing yours gently
âą you felt your heart melt at his words, warmth coursing through you, the pleasant kind this time.
âą âAlright then, can youâŠmake me your special chicken soup?â
âą you asked, a hopeful glint in your eyes. youâve been craving it actually.
âą his smile returned even more brightly as he stood up, turning to make his way to your kitchen
âI'll make you the damn best chicken soup you're gonna ever have! You won't even need medicine cause it's gonna heal you up right away.â
âËàż Jongho
âą he knew you were having a rough week
âą considering how moody you've seemed lately and you also didn't talk much
âą and you were usually the 'affectionate' one in your relationship so the lack of it made him pause
âą he was concerned, obviously, but didn't voice it directly or push you to open up
âą he trusted that you'd come to him if there was something
âą however, it seems like you finally reached your breaking point
âą he regretted not talking to you sooner when he came home to you crying one day
âą he immediately engulfs you into his embrace.
âą you seemed a bit surprised to see him, not expecting him to come back so early
âą and you felt bad to burden him with your emotions, surely he had a lot on his plate as well-
âą "stupid, you should be worrying about yourself."
âą he mumbled, his voice annoyed yet... concerned, pulling you closer when you tried to move away.
âą he won't respond with words when you start to pour your worries out
âą but you know he's listening with the gentle but assuring squeezes he gave your hand whenever you come to a pause
âą well, it wasn't like he really had to talk when his embrace spoke volumes more than any words ever could.
âDon't feel bad for feeling bad, you don't always have to be okay, it's completely normal.â
#ateez x reader#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez imagines#ateez drabbles#ateez oneshot#hongjoong x reader#seonghwa x reader#yunho x reader#kang yeosang x reader#choi san x reader#mingi x reader#wooyoung x reader#jongho x reader#ateez angst#ateez hurt/comfort#ateez headcanons#kpop#ateez scenarios#hongjoong fluff#seonghwa fluff#yunho angst#yeosang fluff#choi san imagines#mingi fluff#wooyoung angst#jongho fluff#mingoooossiiââââ#Spotify
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A Routine Check-Up (Kinktober #2)
Your phone buzzed. A message from Zayne showed on the display.
Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Can you come in this week?
A/N: *cough* I'm just gonna leave this here. Have fun!
Words: 2578 Warnings: you guessed itâsmut ;)
Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Please schedule an appointment with your primary physician as soon as possible.
Oh. Your heart skipped a beat when you read the message that popped up on your Hunterâs Watch. Damn it all, youâd rather fight a horde of Wanderers than put yourself through that. You were, of course, very well aware of how important these regular check-ups were. Under any circumstances, they wouldnât be a problem. But it wasnât just any doctor thatâ
Your phone buzzed and you pulled it out of your pocket. A message from Zayne showed on the display.
Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Can you come in this week?
Alright thenâŠthe sooner you made an appointment, the sooner you could get this over with. You werenât necessarily nervous about the exam itself; it was uncomfortable, sure but other than that⊠Ugh. It was the fact it was Dr. Zayneâyour Dr. Zayneâwho would be performing it. There was something youâd wanted to bring up. A little problem, so to speak.
Sure thing, Dr. Zayne! Iâll be off the clock tomorrow afternoon?
He read it. Mere seconds later, the three dots indicating he was typing a reply popped up at the bottom of your screen.
Come see me at my office at 5 PM then.
Right. Youâd do that. You glanced at your bathroom door. Perhaps you should get trimmed a little down there before that.
Thinking about anything other than that fateful exam in the evening, you spent the whole day whiling away. The pile of paperworkâreports on Wanderers you defeated and the Protocores youâd retrievedâdidnât grow any smaller.
Damn it, youâd feel more comfortable walking straight into the N109 zone rather than Zayneâs office. You hesitated when you finally stood before his door, your fist hovering mid-air. Youâd count to then and then youâd knock.
One, two, three, four, fiveâŠwith a start, the door opened, revealing Dr. Zayne in his usual medical attire. He was wearing his glasses and he looked a bit tired around the eyes. Perhaps he hadnât slept well either. Presumably, however, not for the same reasons as you.
You smiled. âHello, Dr. Zayne.â
âCome on in.â Reciprocating your smile, he stepped aside. Heâd already prepared the room. Normally, these types of exams were conducted in the treatment rooms but given you were a Hunter and Dr. Zayne was your primary care physician, no such arrangements had been necessary.
You took a deep breath, eyeing the gynaecological chair heâd set up.
âYou seem nervous. Are you alright?â
âMe? Nervous? N-no, why would I be?â
Zayne tilted his head. His scrutinising gaze was full of worryâit often was when you discussed your health with him. âIâve been doing your gynaecological health exams for many years now. You were never nervous before. What changed?â
Many years ago I wasnât in love with you yet, you thought. Besides, we still havenât talked about that kiss the other nightâŠ
âI guess Iâm just a little anxious,â you lied, âTara told me they found two cysts in one of her friendsâ ovaries once.â
Zayne frowned. It was the last thing you saw before you moved behind the makeshift medical curtain to undress. Your skirt came off, and your panties soon followed.
âHave you been experiencing any pain or abnormalities?â
âI havenât.â
âThen I donât see any reason for worry. Have you been tracking your menstruation?â
âI have.â Timidly, you reappeared from behind the curtain and tiptoed over to the chair in your socks.
âAnything out of the ordinary? Any bad cramps or other symptoms?â
You shook your head. âNo.â
âAlright then. Sit down on the chair for me so we can begin.â He was always so calm, so reassuring, soâŠcollected. Come to think of it, you had never seen him lose his temper. Even that one time he was so angry at you for dismissing yourself from the hospital early heâd been quietâalmost eerily so. It was a trait that drove you mad in the best ways possible.
Biting your lower lip, you climbed on the gynaecological chair and crossed your fingers over your belly, scooting forward until Zayne had you where he needed you. You watched him prepare a speculum and cover it in lube, his hands hidden by a pair of medical gloves.
Your heart was pounding when he moved between your legs. Knowing that this wasnât the first time he was seeing youâŠdown there and that there was nothing to worry about barely helped your situation.
It was different this time. You longed for his touch, longed for his presence. ButâŠyou took a deep breath when Zayne inserted the speculum into your opening slowly and carefully. But if he could stay professional, then so could you.
âIâm going to do your pap smear first. It might feel a little uncomfortable.â
You hummed by way of a response, bracing yourself. Zayne was so gentle you barely felt anything though. You almost closed your eyes. Almost.
âAlrightâŠâ he said when he was done. âEverything looks normal. No infections, no discolourationâŠâ You were pretty certain he was talking to himself and working through a protocol in his head. You nodded regardless, resisting the urge to flinch when his hand grazed your outer lips when he removed the speculum again.
âI am going to feel inside you now to check for any abnormalities. I need you to tell me if anything hurts.â
âO-Okay.â Shit, he was going to do what now? You bit your lower lip when he inserted to fingers into your warmth. They slid inside with ease due to the lube heâd used earlierâŠalthough at this point you werenât so sure anymore if it was just the lube that helped him.
Zayne pressed down gently on various parts of your lower body, supporting his movements by placing his palm on your abdomen.
âYouâre breathing heavily. Are you in pain?â
âNo. No, Iâm fine, Dr. Zayne!â
âHmmâŠâ He paused as if he couldnât decide whether he believed you or not. âAlright. Letâs do the ultrasound and then weâre almost done.â
You nodded yet again and pressed your lips together to a thin line.
You almost whined at the loss of his fingers inside of you. The ultrasound wand wrapped in a condom didnât feel nearly as nice when he inserted it, his gaze fixed on the little screen next to the chair.
âYour ovaries look healthyâŠI can see no cysts. Your bladder looks fine too and your uterusâŠyes. Everythingâs alright.â
He looked at you and blinked once, eliciting a shy smile from you. Good godâŠit was almost over.
Zayne removed the ultrasound wand and began to clean it up. âDo you have any questions for me? Or perhapsâŠâ He hesitated. âAre you planning on getting any birth control?â
âD-Do I have to run that by you if I do?â
âNot all birth control pills or other methods might be compatible with the medication you need for your Protocore Syndrome.â
âI seeâŠno, IâŠI donât think I need anythingâŠright now.â
âAlright. You can sit up. If youâd just remove your shirt for me so I can check your breasts for any knotsâŠâ
Your eyes widened. âOh yeah! O-of course.â
Shit. Youâd give anything to have Zayne caress your breasts under different circumstances. Embarrassment due to your obvious romantic affinity for him aside, you almost wishedâŠ
You sighed and did as you were told. Timidly, you lifted your shirt and kept your arms tucked in.
âThatâŠthat is not going to work, Iâll need to feel the side of your breasts too. Perhaps itâd be best if you remove it completely. I know itâs a little cool in my office, it wonât be for long.â
Itâs not about the cold, Dr. Zayne. Itâs not about the cold.
âS-Sure.â
You pulled your shirt over your head quickly. You hadnât bothered to wear a bra today knowing the exam was due, and it was just easier that way. You were left wearing only your skirt before him now, your nails digging into the soft leather of the gynaecological chair and almost tearing the protective cover on top of it.
Zayneâs expression remained stoic. After putting on a fresh pair of medical gloves, he examined your breasts one by one. Your chest was heaving.
âHave you noticed anything unusual?â
âWhat? Uh, no, no, nothing unusual.â
âGood.â He retreated. âThat concludes the exam. Are you sure you donât have any questions?â
Yes. No. God, you couldnât ask him whatâd been on your mind for the past monthsâŠcould you? Not anymore, not now that you and heâŠ
A shiver went through you when he said your nameâcalmly but sternly. âDo you remember when I asked you to always be honest with me, especially when it comes to your health?â
âI do butââ
âBut what?â
You felt your eyes heating up and sucked your lips between your teeth. âItâsâŠitâs embarrassing⊠Doctor Zayne, perhapsâŠperhaps I should be speaking to a female physician or a nurse aboutâŠthis?â
âSo there is something that troubles you.â He spoke your name yet again and damn it all, you wished he would stop being so considerate and caring for a moment. That would make things a lot easier for you right now. âEven if you do speak about this with a female physician, they are obligated to enter all accumulated data into your e-file. As your primary care physician, I have access to that file. Whenever something gets added, I am either the one who entered it or the first one to find out.â
âO-ohâŠâ
âTell me whatâs wrong.â He placed his hands on your bare knees, his gaze respectfully glued to your eyes rather than your exposed sex right before him. âThere is nothing you need to be ashamed of around me.â
âZayne, IâŠjustâŠIâve been having trouble, uhâŠwellâŠgetting there lately.â Oh god, this was so embarrassing. Where was this pit to swallow you whole that everyone always talked about? You felt like you were in some cheap porn movieâŠ
âGetting there?â He sounded genuine. Great. You had to spell it out.
âIâve been having troubleâŠreaching orgasm when IâŠyou know.â
Zayne remained quiet for a moment. Not a single emotion escaped his neutral expressionâyou did not, however, miss the slight twitching of his jaw.
âProlonged stress can impact the ability to relax enough for acceptance, for lack of a better word, of sexual stimulation,â he began matter-of-factly, âand ever since you finished training at the Hunterâs Academy, your stress levels have almost constantly been alarmingly high.â
âHow do you know that?â
âHeart rate variability analysis and regular hormonal testing during your monthly check-ups.â
âAhâŠButâŠa-are you sure itâs just that? IâveâŠIâve tried everything. I even boughtâŠâ A vibrator. You stopped yourself and bit your lower lip.
âIf you are worried about any physical causes, I can take a look. But, your Protocore Syndrome aside, you are healthy. It is highly unlikely you are affected by Anorgasmia or similar orgasmic dysfunctions that I have missed to diagnose. Have you always struggled? Or have you been able to bring yourself to climax before?â
You didnât need to see yourself in the mirror to know you were as red as a tomato at this point. âIâŠno, this did start a while after I passed my Hunterâs examâŠâ
Zayne nodded. âThere you have it. But if you want to be sure, I can go through a couple of tests with you.â
âT-tests?â
Another nod. âTo make sure there are no physical restrictions to your ability to feel pleasure.â
Your lips parted. YouâŠdidnât know youâd needed to hear the word pleasure out of Zayneâs mouth. But even soâŠthis annoying little problem had been on your mind for weeks. What if there was something wrong with you? Something new that neither Zayne nor you had yet discovered?
âThenâŠthen letâs do the tests. I want to be sure itâs nothing serious. How⊠How will you be doing that?â
âThe best way would be through direct stimulation of the erogenous zones. Weâll work from there.â
You nodded. âOkay.â
âSit back on the chair for me.â
You obliged and watched him mutely. Zayne applied some of the lube heâd used earlier to his thumb and moved back between your legs. You spread them wider hesitantly. With your heart in your mouth, you bit down hard on your lower lip when he pressed his thumb against your clit and began to caress it with slow and deliberate circular motions, his fingers cupping your pubic mound.
A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.
âYou are responding right away. That is a good sign.â
FuckâŠitâŠit did feel good. So good. Too good. So much better than when it was your fingers playing with your pussy. Perhaps it wasnât the stress after all. Perhaps it was the fact that you were longing. For him. Perhaps your thirst could not be quenched unless it wasâŠwith him?
ButâŠno! You couldnât possiblyâŠexploit him like thatâŠhe wasâŠgenuinely caring andâŠwantedâŠto make sure thatâŠfuckâŠ
Zayne applied a bit more pressure.
To make sure thatâŠyou were okayâŠheâŠheâŠ
There was no way to hold back a moan when he used his other hand to slide two fingers inside of you. He curled them just right, quickly finding what he was looking for. And as he started stimulating your g-spot, you realised that it indeed wasnât the lube that made you wet, receptive and responsive.
Zayne looked up, his lips slightly parted. Surprise reflected in his hazel green eyesâalmost as if he caught himselfâŠenjoying your reactions. CouldâŠcould that be?
He kept going nonetheless but his gaze now remained fixed on you, watching you intently.
âZ-ZayneâŠâ You knew what you wanted to tell him. You knew what was going to happen. He knew that too, it seemed.
âItâs alright. Let go.â
âIâŠohâŠoh GodâŠZayneâŠâ You couldnât have disobeyed the doctorâs orders even if you had wanted to. You came undone around his fingers, your tight walls clenching around him rhythmically as your orgasm washed over you. You arched your back, bucking your hips to meet his attentive touches. Zayne did not let up. He kept his hands on you to help you ride out every last wave of pleasure heâd bestowed on you.
Your eyes locked with his once you came down from your high, embarrassment crawling up your spine. But ZayneâŠhe was breathing heavily. His eyes were glazed as ifâŠhadâŠhad this aroused him too? You didnât dare look down for evidence.
âThere. Are you okay?â he asked gently.
âIâŠI am. IâŠâ
âItâs the stress that is keeping you from relaxing without a doubt. IâŠI believe I might have to describe more of this treatment to you just to be sure.â Wait, what? âEspecially given how the excessive release of endorphins during an orgasm can help reduce stress levels.â He chuckled. He actually chuckled!
âIâŠyouâŠweâŠâ It was no use. You were at a loss for words.
âYou were my last patient for today,â Zayne announced. âLet me drive you home.â
You nodded, still dazed from what had just happened. Your cheeks were flushed, your ears hot. Between your legs, there was a waterfall youâd have to bring back under control before you put your panties back on.
This evening was far from over. Because if there was one thing you knew despite both your twisted emotions and feelings for one another, this bi-annual gynaecological check-up had just moved your relationship to a new level.
#zayne lads imagine#zayne lads x reader#zayne lads smut#zayne lads x you#love and deepspace imagine#zayne#zayne imagine#zayne x you#zayne x reader#zayne smut#love and deepspace#lads#lads imagine#zayne love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace imagine#zayne love and deepspace x reader#kinktober
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Congrats on reaching the 2.7 K followers milestone!! If it's okay to ask why specifically 2.7 K?
anyways I heard you were taking requests so I'll request something to celebrate with you :-D
I was wondering if you could do one where Idia, Kalim, Azul, Riddle rejects Fem!reader but ends up falling for reader after that, how would they react when they need to reject her and when the realization of them liking her back hits? (I tried to come up with an og idea but idrk if this one is actually good enough writing material :'-D)
 â§âË⧠Waking up Too Late â§âËâ§
âł Realizing their feelings for fem!reader after rejecting youÂ
feat: Idia â Kalim â Azul â Riddle genre: slight hurt/comfort, open ending note: no pronouns were used but reader is written as a female in mind, reader can be interpreted as Yuu!reader,Â
Question: Why specifically 2.7K? Well... I wanted to do something when I reached 2k but by the time I finished my initial wave of requests and WIPs, it already reached 2.7K ^_^" There wasn't a real rhyme or reason... I was just really late to the game
extra note: the joke in the start of Azulâs section doesnât mean anything bad about him in general. Itâs just Azul reminds me too much of myself during my younger days and I wasn't the biggest fan of myself back then.
Also, if anyone is wondering... I haven't stopped writing. I was just unable to find time for myself during the last 3 months because my classes and work didn't leave me time to do much outside of that. Seriously, I had assignments due on weekdays AND weekends! If none of you know who I am or didn't even realize I was gone... ignore me and have a good day ^_^
2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023
The Big Ooff
Regardless of Idiaâs feelings before or after the confession, he rejected you in fear of change. He was content with the way things are, where he doesnât have to worry about things like romance and relationships.Â
Idia canât imagine being the main protagonist for anything. Heâs not the cool main hero or the handsome prince that gets the pretty girl. That's for the extroverts with high charm specs (a.k.a not him). Afterall, when does the NPC ever win?Â
So when you, his friend and confidant, his solace and only exception, told him that you held feelings more than friendshipâŠwell, his system short-circuited.Â
While the two of you said it wouldnât change your friendship, you still wanted time away from him to heal the hurt. Idia agreed that the risky emotional roll dealt some real backlash to both of you.
The Realization
Idia tried to deny it, but he started imagining an alternative universe where he did accept your confession that fateful day.Â
If he were to zone out during his level grinding sessions, he would vaguely envision himself in the same position, but perhaps with you lying next to him or even running your fingers through his flames. These daydreams would surprise him literally off the bed, his aforementioned flames burning a cute pinkish hue.
Some days when heâs browsing around online shops, he would occasionally encounter items that remind him of you.
Now, that in itself is not new but rather it was when he imagined how cute you would be if he got these items for you. Instead of your usual pleasantly surprised thank you, would you lovingly embrace him, maybe even kiss-!Â
Ortho was startled to see his brother suddenly falling off his gaming chair, with his hands suspiciously covering his face.Â
Crap, not only did he realize his feelings for you (which in hindsight probably was not surprising in the least), but he actually would like to be in a stupid lovey-dovey relationship with you.Â
His Next Moves?
Continues to deny everything. So what if he wants a relationship with you? He canât handle this new step even with these newly realized emotions. Plus, he was the one who blew his own shot by rejecting you the first time.Â
So, he falls to his coping mechanism which is to deny everything and that heâs perfectly fine the way things are.Â
When the two of you returned to your typical routine, he tried to keep things the way it used to be, as the same with you.Â
Except itâs not quite the same.Â
You werenât sure if you were being conscious or that itâs been a while since you two hung out, but you felt that Idia was slightly moreâŠattentive you could say?
He would give you first bids of the better controller before picking anything himself. If you seemed the slightest bit uncomfortable while sitting, the blue-flamed senior would offer you a comfier spot on his bed and a blanket if you wanted, before sputtering that he meant nothing weird about it.
He says heâs fine, but Idiaâs is in no way the usual closed-off, sometimes cocky genius you knew before. Heâs jittery, more prone to shriek and burst into pink flames to any of your gestures, and according to his little brother his heartbeat is slightly faster than usual.Â
Itâs weirdâŠitâs like he actually acknowledges you as a womanâŠ
Oh.
âAhh, I seriously chose the wrong choice option. The story pathâŠI wonder if I could still salvage a good endingâŠâ
The Big Ooff
Kalimâs overly friendly nature, while harmless, is somewhat misleading and confusing to those around him. I mean, if someone threw a grand luxurious party for you, itâs easy to assume that you were someone special. Unfortunately, Kalim is simply justâŠtoo friendly. He would do this and more for just about anyone, no matter how special they may or may not be.
Nonetheless, you still wanted to tell him your feelings. You wanted to tell him how his smile and laugh hastens your heartbeat as you smile back. That you feel butterflies every time he extends his hands to you, coaxing you to dance with the boisterous Housewarden of Scarabia.Â
To everyoneâs genuine surprise, the snow-haired student sincerely apologized to you, not able to return your feelings the same way. All of your friends and also Scarabia was so sure that their Housewarden thought differently of you, but news quickly spread that Kalim never thought about being more than friends with you.
The Realization
To clarify, Kalim never thought about being more than friends with anyone. Heâs happy to have so many friends, what more could he possibly want?
But your words did shake him mentally. He never realized that you would feel this way for him. On days when he canât keep track of the lessons at hand, his mind would doze off and wander back to your confession.Â
âHastening heartbeat, feelings of butterflies, always wanting to smile when you doâŠâ
The more he thinks about your love symptoms, heâs realizing how similar those feelings were to his own when heâs around you. It was why he would always try to find you in a crowd, or why he wanted to be your dance partner on any occasion. Sure, heâs happy to be around everyone, but he feels especially good when it's you.
The pieces are connecting, the clogs are aligning, and soonâŠ
âJAMIL, I THINK IâM IN LOVE TOO!âÂ
âIS YOUR LACK OF INTROSPECTION THIS BAD?!â
His Next Moves?
Man is now a fool in love. He has this goofy smile on his boyish face at the slightest mention of you. Everytime he thinks about you, he keeps attempting to buy one or two grand bouquets of flowers for you, each flower as beautiful as you, much to Jamilâs chagrin as the vice-Housewarden has to keep reminding him of a crucial fact.Â
âYou two arenât dating. Actually worse considering your prior actions.âÂ
Jamilâs brutal but accurate words brought Kalim back to harsh reality as he realized his mistake in not realizing his feelings soon enough. But not one to wallow in the past, Kalim sought to tell you his feelings just as you bravely did before.Â
Whether I personally think if thatâs a smart move is irrelevant
Whatever your response is to him, Kalim would fully respect your choice, prioritizing your comfort and feelings over his newly uncovered ones. Despite his well intentions and honest feelings before the realization, his carelessness hurt you and he needed to consider your healing process.Â
Kalim would still act like a love-sick fool, however. Buying beautiful trinkets because he thought of you but wonât push them onto you if you couldnât handle the heavy sentiment (thank Jamil for that).Â
Though a little more sheepishly, he would still extend his hand to you hoping for a dance, small little gestures to make you smile even the slightest bit brighterâŠall this and more because âI like youâ and nothing else.
Just because heâs slow in figuring things out, his feelings wonât change so easily. This special feeling of happiness, of love⊠heâs grateful that you taught him this whole new world.
"Iâm a little much? Haha, sorry. I get really happy when I see you...It feels nice being in love with you.â
The Big Ooff
Please reconsiderÂ
Ahem. Azul has grown accustomed to your presence. Perhaps even look forward to it throughout his daily routine, even assisting you in whatever trouble you always seem to get involved in. Some would accuse him of favoritism, but Azul argued that he was simply a gentleman treating a lady right.
Heâs too observant to not notice that these sentiments are somewhat mutual. He thought of you as too kind and generous as to spend your spare time helping him around the lounge or to keep him company when the Leech twins get a little much.Â
But he was surprised to learn that your feelings were deeper than he initially predicted. There was such sincerity in your voice as you confess your feelings that it shook Azul to his core and turned his human legs weak.Â
However, he still had so many aspirations he hasnât reached yet, opportunities he canât miss. He canât afford to split his time for something like romance, something that didn't register to him as urgent in the first place. Love is all well and good, but success is better and more tangible.
Heâs careful with his words, gratefully thanking you for your confession and complimenting you with a list of traits he admired about you.Â
But you should know Azul by now. Heâs hyping you up before ultimately giving you crushing news. Like a company recruiter telling you werenât chosen despite your apparent talents.Â
You knew this, but it still hurts to have your dynamic treated equivalent to that of a business relation.Â
The Realization
Azul understood you needed time away. Certain things were said that canât be taken back and itâll be a while before you two could feel comfortable around each other again.Â
During this time though, the Housewarden truly felt your absence. He feels it when someone else takes a seat in his office where you usually occupy, when his mealtime feels less fulfilling because you werenât there to enjoy it with him, when his headaches get worse from stress and you werenât there to lend a comforting hand.Â
This sense of void was like a stream of cold water slowly trickling into his body and mind until he felt heavy and almost drowning. What an odd sensation for a deep-sea merman.Â
His mind became cluttered. He canât focus on his work when all he could think about is where you might be and what you were doing.Â
He reached his limit when he realized that he couldnât even hide this internal conflict from Jade or Floyd when their keen eyes pick on every moment of his loss of focus, and they have an inkling as to the cause.Â
âŠDear Sevens, he might have made a great miscalculation on his own feelings.
His Next Moves?
First off, heâs going to spend some time in his pot. He needs some personal time reflecting over his own obliviousness and self-sabotage.Â
Once thatâs over, he now has to figure out how to remedy this. A plan to get back into your good graces after the blunder.Â
He is a greedy merman. If heâs going to do something, he wants the best outcome possible, which is you forgiving him and accepting him while forgetting the past even happened. Â
Heâs read through countless relationship books, advice found online, and personal intel that his schoolmates were forced to generous enough to offer under an NDA.Â
Heâll use the knowledge he remembered from your confession to his advantage, highlighting the parts of himself that he knew you liked about him. He shows off his good side in hopes to reignite what attracted you to him.Â
If thereâs anything to expose his intent with you, itâs the flush of his pale skin when you finally thanked him with that sweet smile he missed so much.
"Iâm not one to lose an opportunity when within my reach. However long it takes, Iâll earn back what Iâve foolishly lost.â
The Big Ooff
Riddle was, in all seriousness, taken aback by your confession.
The studious Housewarden of Heartslabyul is definitely smart, but heâs just slightly lacking in the people-reading department.Â
To him, you were simply a very loving person. He thought perhaps you were on the shyer side but always worrying about his well-being, making sure heâs taken breaks and to enjoy himself between his duties.
You were still a little rambunctious as lately you seem at odds with Ace as youâre quick to smack and silence the mischievous redhead who seems to snicker more often than usual as of late.Â
Frankly, you left him stunned, his face similar to a deer in headlights. No textbook or lecture has prepared him to reply back to your sincere confession.Â
In the end, he rejected you while giving his full honesty. Silly things like love and relationships were subjects he never thought to consider in depth, and he wasnât sure it was something he wanted at the moment.Â
He tried to explain the best he could, but you couldn't stop the aching feeling of your heart breaking.Â
The Realization
Your relationship with Riddle took a blow but it was not destroyed. Albeit some awkwardness here and there, life flows relentlessly as usual.Â
But that fateful day would occasionally sneak its way into Riddleâs mind during his spare moments to himself, recalling your determined face, coupled with his memories of your beautiful, clear eyes.
Nowadays, his heart would tighten, his throat would feel dry, and his breathing would be shallower whenever his thoughts sway towards you.Â
Spurred by these odd symptoms, he finally looked more into the topic of love. The more he delved into talks on relationships, seminars on emotional attraction, and even tropes from novels, the more it feels as though heâs going down a rabbit hole of new emotional discoveries.Â
For a while, the Heartslabyul dorm was on edge as they feared for their necks every time their terrifying Housewarden suddenly turned franticly scarlet out of nowhere.
Alone in Riddleâs room, surrounded by articles and books littered on his once pristine desk, Riddle found his conclusion; heâs in love too
His Next Moves?
Riddle isnât actually sure how to approach you anymore. This whole âin loveâ experience is all too new to him. He couldnât bring up this embarrassing topic with any of his peers, and much less with his mother (Sevens knows he doesnât exactly want to replicate a relationship like his parents).Â
But he couldnât handle the sudden sensations of nerves that occur every time heâs close to you. He canât keep up constantly chastising himself internally for flinching every time he passes a tart or a teacup to you during Unbirthday parties.Â
He can no longer focus during his study sessions with you as heâs now fighting with himself as he dreams to hold your free hand or to brush a stray lock of hair from your endearing face.Â
Was it as difficult to deal with as it was for you? Was this the reason you decided to confess to him? But the thought of speaking to you about something so intimate invokes nerves in him that he couldnât understand.
No, he should learn from your example. If the natural progression of his feelings should be clear communication between those involved, then he will face this challenge as confidently as he does with any other.Â
Prepare yourself, the stubborn Riddle has made a goal for himself.Â
âI admit my inexperience has hurt those I cherish. Next time, I will respond to your bravery in kind.âÂ
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#twst scenarios#twisted wonderland imagines#idia shroud#idia x reader#kalim al asim#kalim x reader#azul ashengrotto#azul ashengrotto x reader#twst azul x reader#riddle rosehearts#twst riddle x reader#2.7k followers event
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Hello, hello, sorry for bothering, it's the first time I've made an order (+18)đ«Ł, the idea came to me thanks to a bot, I was wondering if you could make one where Wandanat Dom! x passive reader!, Wandanat are mafia bosses and rivals (you can decide to make Wandanat g!p or not, no problem) and they are both having a loud argument in Natasha's office and the reader just walks in without knocking because he had to handing some papers or something to Natasha and Wanda doesn't take her eyes off the reader, which Natasha realizes and well, you could say they make an alliance to turn the reader into a babbling mess and leave him full of fluids. (only if you want and can, obviously no problem and I'm sorry if you don't understand some of the text, English is not my main language, thank you!.đ)
The Witch and the Widow. | WandaNat
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, fingering, rough Sex, Magic-Penis (đ« ), multiple orgasms, overstimulation
Word count: 1,6k
A/n: I change the Gender, because I don't write Male reader :) Hope thats okay!!
Natasha leaned against her desk, her eyes sharp as daggers. Opposite her stood Wanda Maximoff, alias the Scarlet Witch, her gaze equally unyielding. "You think you can just stroll into my territory and take what you want?" Natasha's voice was deep and dangerous, every syllable had a sharp edge.
Wanda smiled mockingly, her fingers drumming casually on the armrest of her chair. "I don't think, Natasha. I know. And if you have a problem with that, we can settle it here and now." Natasha's eyes flashed with anger. "You've always been so sure of yourself, haven't you? But your magic tricks won't save you from a bullet."
Wanda's smile widened, her eyes glowing slightly with power. "And your bullets won't save you from my magic. But let's be honest, Natasha, you won't really pull the trigger, will you?"
The room crackled with unspoken threats, neither woman willing to back down, the weight of their past encounters pressing upon them. Just as the tension seemed unbearable, the door flew open, and you walked in, unaware of the tense situation you had just stumbled into.
"Natasha, I need your signature on these-" You stopped abruptly, your eyes widening as you took in the scene before you. Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff in one room? You couldn't believe it.
Wanda's eyes didn't leave you, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. Natasha noticed the change immediately, her own gaze narrowing but her anger abating as she saw the Scarlet Witch's interest in her assistant.
"Interesting.." murmured Natasha, her voice taking on a new..seductive tone. She pushed off from the desk and moved towards you, who stood frozen in place. "It seems youâre a bit distracted. Do I see a hint of jealousy?"
Wanda's smile grew wider, her magic swirling around her fingers. "Perhaps. But I bet I could please her better than you ever could." Natasha's eyes narrowed, her competitive nature flaring up. "Is that a challenge, Maximoff?"
Wanda tilted her head, her smile a mix of mischief and challenge. "Absolutely. Let's see who can bring our little assistant here the most pleasure." Your heart raced, your eyes darting between the two powerful women. Before you could react, the door clicked shut behind you, sealing your fate. Wanda's magic shimmered, and in an instant, both women stood transformed, their intentions clear and undeniable.
Natasha moved first, her hands gliding over your shoulders, her touch firm yet gentle. "Relax, Y/n. Let's be hospitable to our guest, okay, Detka?" Wanda conjured a coin from thin air, her eyes sparkling. "Let's make it fair, Natasha. Heads or tails?" Natasha's eyes gleamed with challenge. "Heads."
Wanda tossed the coin, and it spun in the air before landing in her hand. "Tails. Looks like I go first." She approached you, her eyes burning with desire. Her magic caressed your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I've got you."
Wanda's touch was both gentle and demanding, her fingers gliding over your body, eliciting soft sighs and moans from you. Natasha watched, her own desire burning but also noting your every reaction, every quiver of pleasure.
Wanda leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel that? How my magic envelops you, making every touch feel like fire?" You could only whimper, your body arching into Wanda's touch. Wanda's fingers slid deeper, teasing the edges of your clothing before slipping underneath. Your breath hitched as Wanda's fingers found their target.
Natasha's eyes darkened with desire and frustration. "Time to raise the stakes." She came closer, her hands exploring your body alongside Wanda's. You were sandwiched between them, your mind reeling from the intensity of their combined touch.
Wanda's magic flowed, enveloping you and amplifying every sensation. Her touch became more insistent, driving you to the edge. The magic enhanced every one of her movements, her fingers exploring your most sensitive spots with unerring precision. Your body arched and writhed, your moans growing louder as Wanda pushed you closer to the edge. Her lips found your neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Do you like that?" Wanda whispered, her voice a husky purr. "Tell me how it feels."
"It..it f-feels.." Your voice was a breathless gasp, your words barely coherent. "So good..please.." Wanda's smile was triumphant as she continued her ministrations, her magic pulsing in time with your heartbeat. "That's it. Let go. Come for me."
As you came down from your climax, Wanda stepped back, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Your turn." Natasha's eyes burned with desire and determination. She positioned herself in front of you, her hands gliding over your flushed skin. "Let's see if Wanda's magic can match my skills, hm?"
Natasha's touch was expert, her hands and lips exploring every inch of your body with practiced ease. She knew exactly how to drive you to the edge, her competitive nature pushing her to outdo Wanda. Your body still trembled from your previous orgasm, and Natasha could feel the residual pleasure radiating from your skin.
"God, you're so sensitive.." Natasha murmured, her lips brushing your ear. Her fingers found their way to your core, her touch firm and insistent. Your breath hitched, your body arching into Natasha's hand. The other hand cupped your breast, her thumb teasing the sensitive nipple. Your moans grew louder, your body eagerly responding to Natasha's touch.
Wanda watched, her eyes dark with desire and a hint of jealousy again. She could see your pleasure building, and she didn't want Natasha to win so easily. With a wave of her hand, Wanda's magic slowed down every sensation for you.
Natasha noticed the change, her eyes narrowing. "Cheating, Wanda? I thought you were better than that." Natasha's touch became more insistent, her fingers moving in a rhythm that had you writhing and gasping. "Come for me, Y/n, let us show her." Natasha whispered, and your body tensed, your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and ecstasy. With one final, shuddering cry, you came again, your orgasm even more intense than the last. Natasha held you close, her touch gentle as you rode the waves of pleasure.
As your breath began to steady, Natasha slowly withdrew, her eyes meeting Wanda's with a mix of satisfaction and challenge. "Top that."
Wanda's magic shimmered again, and this time, she conjured a Dick for herself, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Natasha's eyes darkened with lust and competition. Wanda's magic pulsed once more, and Natasha also felt the transformation, a hard, throbbing length appearing between her legs. "You're welcome, Romanoff."
Your eyes widened, your body trembling with anticipation and a hint of fear. "W-Wait..! I n-need a break.." Wanda's hand caressed your cheek, her touch soothing. "Oh, but we're just getting started."
She positioned herself behind you, her hands firm on your hips. "Deep breaths, sweetheart." She eased in slowly, her length filling you inch by inch. You gasped, your body tensing at the sensation, "Relax.." Wanda murmured, her voice a soothing purr. "You can take it."
Natasha watched, her eyes dark with desire as she stroked herself, waiting for her turn again. Wanda began to move, her thrusts slow and measured, each one driving you closer to the edge. Your moans filled the room, your body responding eagerly to her movements.
"She's so tight," Wanda groaned, her pace quickening "feels so fucking good!" Natashas desire flared, and she moved closer, her hand joining Wandas on your body. "Hurry up, Wanda."
Wanda's thrusts became more urgent, her competitive spirit driving her to push you to new heights of pleasure. Your cries grew louder, your body writhing with each powerful movement. Her hands gripped your hips firmly, her nails digging into the soft flesh,
"C-Come on, sweetheart.." Wanda urged, "I want to feel you come around me.." Your breath hitched, your body teetering on the edge, "I can't..it's too much- o-oh my god!!"
Wanda's magic flared, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body. "You can do it. Just let go.." With a final, powerful thrust, Wanda sent you over the edge for the third time.. Your body convulsed, your cries echoing through the room as you were overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm.
As your breathing began to steady, Wanda slowly withdrew, her eyes meeting Natashas, "Ya chuvstvuyu sebya khorosho segodnya, davay porabotayem vmeste." (I feel good today, let's work together.)
You just notice how suddenly two more eyes are looking at you. "Let's see how you handle both of us."
Hours passed, and the two of them took turns over and over. The sensation was overwhelming, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Your cries grew louder, your body a trembling bundle of pleasure and ecstasy.
With one final, shuddering cry, you came again. Your body convulsing with the intensity of your orgasm. Wanda and Natasha moved in perfect harmony, their own pleasure building as they drove you to new heights.
As they reached their peak, Wanda and Natasha moaned together, their release mixing as they filled you with their fluids. Your body shuddered, your cries echoing through the room as you were pushed over the edge one last time.
Breathless and exhausted, Natasha and Wanda collapsed beside you, their rivalry temporarily forgotten in the face of their shared victory.
"We'll call it a draw.." murmured Natasha, her voice exhausted. Wanda nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. "For now." You lay between them, your body shaking from the aftereffects of the pleasure. You could barely speak, your mind overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience.
They both smiled, their hands gently caressing your flushed skin. "Just wait until next time.." Natasha whispered, her voice full of promise and Wanda's eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Next time there will be a clear winner."
#natasha x reader#natasha smut#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#dom!natasha x reader#natasha romanov x reader#nat x reader#natasha romonova#the avengers#natasha#natasha romanov smut#wanda smut#wanda x reader#wandanat smut
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Hi! I saw your requests were open, so I was wondering if you could write a yandere batfam where they kidnap the reader, but the reader is like, super chill about it, and the familyâs reaction to this. Tysm!
đȘŒ anon
A Gentle Place to Land (Yandere! Batfam x Accepting! GN Reader)
Content warning: yandere themes, obsession, mentions of mental illness, mentions of loss of personal anatomy and drugging. Etc.
A gentle breeze caresses you, the sunlight a gentle kiss.
Here, you could experience such a thing. A thing so close to tranquility you would almost dare to say it was. Most, if ever put in your situation, would be losing their minds. Panicking. Begging and pleading with all they could to try and change their fate. To escape.
You knew such a thing wasn't possible. You knew it from the night they had taken you. Looking into the shadowy eyes of the cowl, before the dart had punctured the tender place below your ear and the drugs entered your system, turning the world dark and dreamless.
You knew. If not the fates, they had decided and that was more than you could fight.
But it was a lot better than it had seemed.
At first, it was a ploy. Trick your captors into believing you're not going to do anything stupid and build repor to get them attached so that they won't do anything too bad to you. Hopefully, gaining their trust enough to plot an escape and succeed.
Just like those movies and true crime TV shows you've seen; comply and wait it out, wait for your chance at freedom.
Your feelings started getting mixed up really soon after. Had you forgotten about what Stockholm Syndrome was or had you been blind to the truth in the first place?
Maybe it really wasn't that bad...
· · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
An almost comically large sunhat place over top your head, feet propped up on the end of the chair and a cold drink in hand. You didn't even care for the sets of eyes lingering on you, you were used to strange people giving you strange looks as you went about your day in Gotham.
They know this isn't a normal person's reaction and they're worried, most waiting for this little peace to be completely discarded once the shock of the situation passes and you truly understand what has happened. Others are trying to pick apart your phycology to see if maybe, just maybe, something really is different up in that head of yours.
You? Well, you're just sipping on your cool drink before the heat makes the ice melt. You don't want Alfred's signature juice cocktail (non-alcoholic, of course, because you'll probably never be seeing a drop of that in your life again) to get watered down and ruined.
"Are we sure we didn't give then to much of thatâ um," Tim stalled for a moment, giving your impartial face a once over before deciding the trajectory of his sentence. "âsleeping medicine? Maybe it messed with their nervous system or something?"
"I hate to admit it but I think Drake is onto something here. I mean, who in their right mind would ever submit to this tomfoolery? Willingly being stuck with you all? Father and I, I can understand, butâ"
"I never thought you'd ever agree with Tim," Jason grinned, making Damian's face turn sour.
Dick moved behind your seat, leaning down and squishing your face between his hands.
"Nothing's wrong with them!"
You gave a bright, closed eye smile that only served to further concern the man watching from the nearby window.
His butler placed a hand on his shoulder when he gave an exhausted sigh. Although, the makings of a smile did seem to tug at the corners of his lips.
"I'll make another therapy appointment, Master Bruce."
Should he be concerned about your nonchalant appearance or was it just your nature? Has some trauma happened to you previously to make you this way? Was it a trick that he was just having trouble seeing through?
Or was he overthinking this all again? Instead of overthinking it and coming up with more safety measures and plans to keep all the way he envisioned, he should be out there with his kids.
Even if it was just all a trick, there was no way you could manage to outsmart or outrun all six of them.
Bruce shook his head, sitting his drink down on the counter and heading towards the door.
"Don't bother."
#yandere batfam#yandere#platonic yandere#platonic yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere x reader#batfam#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere damian wayne#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere x y/n#yandere dc#yandere batman
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Work Stressed | Y.Jh
Pairing: Jeonghan x reader
Genre: comedy, fluff
Summary: Working with your best friend is stressful and Jeonghan will tell you why.
"Where is she?!" Jeonghan slammed his fist onto the desk, eyes burning with frustration as he stared at the article on his screen. One of his artists, you, was now being implicated in a vandalism case in Hongdae. Your photoâblurry but unmistakableâwas plastered all over the page, showing you running with a group of culprits. How had this happened?
"She's on her way here, sir," his secretary said quietly, sensing his fury.
Jeonghan massaged his temples, trying to quell the growing headache. Just yesterday, a paparazzi had caught you napping on a park bench, forcing him to pay off a tabloid to kill the storyâespecially with your drama currently on air. Now this? Vandalism in Hongdae? The timing couldn't have been worse.
"She's going to be the death of me," he muttered under his breath.
Right on cue, you strolled into his office, a bright smile on your face as if nothing had happened. "Hello! I got you coffee," you chirped, holding up a cup like it was some kind of peace offering.
Jeonghanâs jaw tightened. He pointed sharply to the couch. "Sit."
You blinked but complied, casually dropping onto the plush seat as if you were here for a friendly chat. Jeonghan motioned for everyone to leave the roomâyour manager, his secretary, all of them filed out without a word, leaving the two of you alone.
"What's it this time?" you asked, unfazed, already knowing you were the problem child of the company. You leaned back, taking a slow sip of your coffee, like this was just another Tuesday.
Jeonghan didnât say anything at first. Instead, he slammed the printed article down in front of you. âRead.â
You glanced at it briefly, then back up at him with a shrug. "I was just jogging," you said, completely nonchalant.
Jeonghanâs eyes flashed with disbelief. "Jogging?! How is my PR team supposed to spin that? Do you think the public is going to believe you were just out for a jog when you're literally pictured running from the scene with a gang of vandals?"
You sighed, rolling your eyes as if he were the one being unreasonable. âI didnât do anything. Iâm not part of any gang. Itâs just a coincidence. Tell them that.â
Jeonghan gritted his teeth, trying to contain his frustration. "Itâs not that simple, darling. You donât just explain away an article like this. Your reputation is on the line."
Leaning forward, you met his gaze, unbothered. âDoesnât matter what I say. Iâm always going to be the villain anyway, even when Iâm telling the truth.â
That made him pause. As much as it frustrated him, you had a point. You were always honestâmaybe tood honestâbut no matter what you said, the media would find a way to twist it. They always did.
Jeonghan slumped back into his chair, exhaling heavily, his anger slowly deflating. "I'm sorry," he muttered, surprising even himself. "How are you, by the way? I heard you got injured during filming."
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of tone. You nodded, pulling up your sleeve to reveal a deep scratch on your left arm. "Yeah, Iâm fine. Just a cut."
Jeonghan winced. "Thatâs going to leave a scar."
You smiled, unfazed. "Well, lucky for me, youâve got plenty of money to fix that."
For the first time that morning, Jeonghan chuckled softly. "Yeah. Youâre not wrong."
It had been 15 years since that fateful day in high school when Jeonghan accidentally kicked a soccer ball straight into your forehead. You had been the new kid in school, standing on the sidelines of the field, and Jeonghan's errant kick had made sure you were noticed. While you were clutching your head in pain, Jeonghan had rushed over, apologizing profusely. That was the beginning of your unlikely friendship.
At the time, you had just moved to Seoul for your acting debut, and Jeonghan, with his easygoing charm, quickly became your first friend in the new school. He was the only one who didnât treat you differently because of your budding fame, and soon, the dynamic shifted from classmates to something more like colleagues. You were juggling school and early acting roles, while Jeonghan was focusing on his studiesâfirst as a regular student, but with a growing interest in business.
"Hey," Jeonghan had said one day after school, leaning against the lockers with that confident grin of his. "Iâm going to start a label in the future. Do you want to be my actor?"
You had laughed at the time, but without hesitation, you responded, "Sure."
It was a simple promise made between two teenagers who didnât quite know what the future held. You didnât expect it to come true, but years later, after Jeonghan graduated with a degree in business and you had built up a name for yourself in the industry, the promise came back.
"Remember when you said youâd be my actor?" Jeonghan had asked one evening over drinks, his tone light but his expression serious.
And just like that, the promise from high school had become reality. Jeonghan had become your managerâa great one, too. He knew how to navigate the industry, protect your image, and push you to take on more challenging roles as your career advanced. He wasnât just your managerâhe was someone who knew you, who had been there from the start.
But in recent years, things had gotten complicated. As your fame grew, so did the pressure. The roles werenât easy anymore, and neither were the scandals. Jeonghan spent more time putting out fires, like todayâs vandalism case, and less time just being your friend.
He watched you now, still sipping your coffee like nothing had happened. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, hidden behind that carefree exterior you always wore in public. And that made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had pushed you too far.
Breaking the silence, Jeonghan leaned forward. "Do you ever think about... slowing down? Taking a break?"
You gave him a long, hard look, as if weighing the question carefully. "Are you suggesting I quit?" you asked, a small smirk playing on your lips, but there was an edge to your voice.
Jeonghan shook his head. "No, not quit. Just... rest. You've been running non-stop for years. Youâve earned a break."
You leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "And what would I do with a break? Stay home? Watch dramas Iâm not in?"
"You could live," Jeonghan said softly, surprising even himself with how earnest he sounded. "You could live without the cameras, the articles, the public scrutinyâjust for a little while."
You looked at him, searching his face for something. After a moment, you sighed. "Maybe. But I don't think the world would let me rest, even if I wanted to."
Jeonghan frowned but didn't argue. He knew you were probably right. You were too much of a public figure now. People always had their eyes on you, waiting for your next move, your next mistake.
"Still," Jeonghan said, "if you ever decide to take that break, Iâll be right here."
You smiled, genuinely this time. "Thanks. But we both know I'm not going anywhere just yet."
Jeonghan returned the smile, though there was a trace of sadness in it. "Yeah. I know."
*
Jeonghan was jolted awake by the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing incessantly. Groggily, he glanced at the clockâ2 a.m. If this wasnât something urgent, someone was getting fired. He dragged himself out of bed, confused and annoyed, and checked the intercom. His brows furrowed when he saw your face on the screen. Without hesitation, he buzzed you in.
Opening the door, he found you standing there, still dressed in full makeup, looking disheveled and slightly off-kilter. At first glance, you appeared drunk. Your new manager was standing awkwardly behind you, wearing a tight, apologetic smile.
"She insisted on coming here," your manager explained, his tone strained.
Jeonghan waved him off. "Itâs okay, Iâll take it from here. You should go home and get some rest."
With a nod, the manager gratefully left, and Jeonghan turned his attention to you. He sighed, taking in your messy state. "Who did you get drunk with this time?" he asked, guiding you inside and sitting you down on the couch. He slipped off your jacket, his patience wearing thin.
But then you blinked, stretched out dramatically, and he noticed the telltale spark of mischief in your eyes. You weren't drunk at allâyou were acting.
"I knew it!" Jeonghan groaned, throwing your jacket back at you as he slumped down on the opposite end of the couch. "What are you doing, disturbing my sleep at 2 a.m.? I have work tomorrow."
You giggled softly, bending down to untie your shoes. "Let me crash here for a few days," you said casually, propping your legs up on the couch as if it were already decided.
Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Get up, Iâm driving you home." He reached out to pull your arm, trying to get you back on your feet.
"No!" You resisted, clinging to the couch. "I donât want to go home."
He crossed his arms, leaning back and studying you. "Did something happen?" His voice softened with concern.
You avoided his gaze, biting your lip as if debating whether to tell him. Finally, you mumbled, "I havenât been home in a week. Iâm scared... Let me stay here. Iâll sleep in the guest room, and I swear itâll be like Iâm not even here."
Jeonghanâs eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean, scared?" He grabbed your arm, gently pulling you back down when you tried to dash off to the guest room. "No, sit down and explain. Whatâs going on?"
You hesitated, your eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "I think someoneâs been in my house⊠for the past week."
Jeonghanâs frown deepened. "What? How do you know?"
You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. There was a pictureâof you, taken from inside your house. It was grainy, but clearly snapped from within the confines of your own home.
Jeonghanâs expression darkened as he studied the photo. "And youâre just telling me this now? Did they hurt you?"
You shook your head. "No, but... the last time I went there, I heard someone chasing me, and I fell down the stairs."
He immediately reached for your arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal the injury. "So this wasnât from shooting, was it?" You shook your head again, and his worry only grew.
Jeonghan cursed under his breath. "Thatâs dangerous. Why didnât you call the police?"
"I panicked," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I didnât know what to do. My new manager doesnât even know... He tried to take me home tonight, but when I saw the lights were on, I freaked out and asked him to bring me here instead."
Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could see how shaken you were, though you were trying to keep it together. "You shouldnât have kept this to yourself."
"I didnât want to cause more trouble," you muttered, biting your lip. "I already feel like Iâve been a mess lately..."
"Hey," Jeonghan interrupted, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, his voice firm yet reassuring. "Thatâs alright. You did the right thing by coming here."
You looked up at him, visibly relieved by his words, and he could see just how exhausted you wereâmentally and physically. He stood up, grabbing his phone from the table.
"Youâre sleeping in my room tonight," he said. "The guest roomâs full of my work stuff right now, and Iâm not letting you sleep alone when someoneâs been in your house."
Before you could protest, Jeonghan was already dialing the security company and setting up arrangements to keep you safe. You sat there, watching him take control of the situation, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe.
"Thank you," you whispered, as Jeonghan hung up the phone and turned back to you.
He smiled softly, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "Get some rest. Youâll be safe here."
And for the first time in days, you actually believed it.
*
"I didn't know you could cook," Jeonghan remarked, stepping into his home, greeted by the delicious aroma of a home-cooked meal. The sight of you casually moving around in his kitchen was something he never thought heâd witness. In his mind, you were always more of a 'princess treatment' kind of girl, not someone who could navigate a kitchen so confidently.
"Iâve lived alone since high school. Of course I know how to cook," you replied, brushing off the surprise in his voice. You ushered him to change out of his work clothes and join you for dinner.
A few minutes later, Jeonghan sat down at the table, taking the first bite of your meal. His eyes widened in genuine appreciation. "Thanks for the meal. This is really good."
You smiled at the compliment. As he ate, Jeonghanâs expression grew more serious. "The police are investigating the stalker case. Theyâve already found a few leads, so we should have more answers soon. As for the vandalism incident, weâve sued the media for spreading disinformation. Hopefully, thatâll keep them in check."
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "I just donât understand how anyone could believe Iâd do something like that. Do I really seem like the kind of person who would join a vandalism gang?"
Jeonghan laughed, shaking his head. "Not at all. Theyâre just looking for a story."
The two of you finished dinner, and Jeonghan insisted on doing the dishes while you moved to the living room, scrolling through the script your manager had sent over. It wasnât long before Jeonghan joined you, handing you a can of beer.
"Whatâs this one about?" he asked, gesturing to the script in your hands.
"A memorable one-night stand that ends up with the female lead discovering it was her boss," you replied, taking a sip from your can.
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "Koreans really love their one-night stand stories. Almost every drama seems to start like that these days."
You chuckled, shaking your head. "Yeah, but this oneâs different. The bossâthe male leadâhas actually been in love with her since high school. I know, it's a bit unrealistic, but the character development is solid."
Jeonghan smiled, understanding now why youâd taken the role. "Is that why you accepted the part?"
You nodded. "That, and letâs be honest, there are so many new rookies in the industry now. I canât afford to be picky." You laughed, but there was a hint of truth behind your words.
Jeonghan picked up the script and skimmed through it. "Let me help you with practice," he offered, settling in beside you. He took on the role of the male lead, reading his lines with a surprising amount of intensity.
"Just because Iâm your boss, doesnât mean I canât love you," Jeonghan read, his voice low and serious. "Iâm also human. I have feelings. And Iâve told you before, Iâve liked you since high school. That feeling... it never stopped. Itâs only grown, Y/N."
You blinked, startled by the sound of your own name coming from him. "Thatâs my name," you pointed out, half-joking but also feeling the odd shift in the air.
Jeonghan quickly cleared his throat, flustered. "IâI meant to say, Mina... the characterâs name." His face flushed as he tried to recover.
You watched him for a moment, feeling the tension building between you. Suddenly, the room felt too small, too intimate. You hastily grabbed the script from his hands. "Practice is over," you said, tossing it onto the coffee table.
The atmosphere was heavy, the lines between your characters and your real relationship beginning to blur. You stood up quickly, needing to break the awkwardness. "Do you want ice cream? Or dessert? Maybe I should order pizza?"
Jeonghan bit his lip, looking down as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had messed up, and he knew it. That one slip, saying your name instead of the characterâs, had crossed a line he wasnât sure he could uncross.
"Yeah, sure. Pizza sounds good," he muttered, watching you retreat to the kitchen, trying to put some distance between the moment that just passed. But the tension hung in the air, thick and undeniable. He wasnât sure if either of you could pretend it hadnât just happened.
*
"Are they following us?" Jeonghan's voice was tense, his eyes glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds. You followed his gaze and immediately recognized the car tailing you both since you left the company.
"It's them," you whispered, dread settling in your chest. It was the stalker that had been eluding the police for weeks now, making your life a constant state of unease.
Jeonghan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "They mustâve been waiting for you," he muttered, a sharp edge to his tone as he pressed down on the accelerator, increasing the speed. His jaw clenched, and his knuckles whitened as he kept glancing at you, noticing the panic on your face as you watched the car in the rearview mirror.
He let out a frustrated sigh before turning the car down an unexpected street. "Why are we turning left?" you asked, confusion lacing your voice.
Jeonghan shot you a determined look, the corner of his mouth curling slightly into a grin. "I'm giving them a little lesson," he said calmly, though there was a storm brewing behind his eyes.
Your stomach dropped. "No..." you began, shaking your head in protest. "This could be dangerous, Jeonghan."
He only smirked as he turned the car down a narrow, dark alleyway, taking sharp turns that would easily confuse the car behind. Within moments, Jeonghan had maneuvered them into a tight corner, effectively trapping the stalker's car.
The car came to a screeching halt, and you let out a deep sigh, anxiety still buzzing through your veins. "This isnât a good idea..." you whispered, but Jeonghan was already out of the car, his movements swift and purposeful.
You barely registered where the bat came from, but suddenly, Jeonghan had it gripped in his hand as he approached the stalkerâs vehicle. Without hesitation, he swung the bat at the carâs door, the sound of metal denting beneath his force echoing in the quiet alley.
"I said, get out, you motherfucker!" Jeonghanâs voice was cold, sharp enough to cut through the fear lingering in the air. You flinched at the sound, shocked by this side of him. He'd always been calm, composed, but tonight he was someone else entirelyâfierce and protective.
The driver, a man, finally opened the door, trembling as he faced Jeonghan, who towered over him with a dangerous look in his eyes.
"Is this the guy whoâs been following you, Y/n?" Jeonghan barked, his eyes flicking back to you for confirmation. You took a few steps forward, your breath catching in your throat as you recognized the manâs face, albeit obscured by the shadows. But you knew. It was him.
You nodded, pulling out your phone with trembling hands and dialing the police, your fingers moving on autopilot. Jeonghan didnât wait. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground as he growled into his face, "If you ever come near her again, I swear to Godâ"
The man whimpered, too scared to even respond. Before anything more could happen, the flashing lights of the police illuminated the alleyway, casting long shadows as officers arrived on the scene. They quickly apprehended the stalker, securing him in handcuffs as you gave your statement to one of the officers.
As the police car drove away, Jeonghan stood there, still clutching the bat. His shoulders finally relaxed, and he turned back to you, the fierceness in his eyes softening into something more familiar, something more... him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice now low, filled with concern.
You nodded, still shaken but relieved. "Thank you, Jeonghan," you whispered, unsure of what else to say. He walked over to you and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his earlier anger dissipating into tenderness.
"Donât worry," he said softly, "let's go home."
*
Despite everything that had happened recently, you refused to take a break. You continued cooperating with the ongoing investigation, all while managing to shoot your latest drama. With the media spotlight firmly fixed on your every move, you became the topic of discussion, whether it was for the stalking case, the vandalism rumors, or your work. It wasn't a surprise when some of your co-stars started showing subtle attitudesâjealousy or perhaps frustration, masked behind fake smiles.
One of them, a junior by two years, approached you between takes with a smug expression. She had once been part of the company before leaving two years ago. âMaybe you should give your company a break from all the scandals and trouble,â she said, her words dripping with passive aggression.
You didnât miss a beat, flashing her a sharp grin. âStill worried about your ex who takes care of me better than you ever did?" you shot back, referencing Jeonghan, whom she had dated before leaving the company. Your words hit their mark, her face briefly betraying the sting before she turned and walked away.
Jeonghanâs words echoed in your mind: "Be bold. Donât be nice to people who do you dirty." He had told you that during one of your darkest moments, when the pressure of rumors and whispers had almost broken you early in your career. Now, you carried that same attitude with youâwhile you were known as a bit scandalous, and people tried to paint you as a troublemaker, you had firm boundaries. And unlike some, you didnât allow people to step over them. You had no problem telling them to back off, which often led to even more shade and misinformation thrown your way.
But no matter how hard they tried to tear you down, the public loved you. Your acting was brilliant, your roles brought to life in a way that others could only admire. And while you were often the target of rumors, at the end of the day, people couldnât deny the fact that you were just a person trying to stay sane in the cutthroat world of entertainment.
âGood job, everyone!â the director called, signaling the end of the shoot. You thanked everyone on set as you wrapped up your work for the day. It was past 10 p.m., and exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. Fortunately, today's shoot had been made more enjoyable by a surprise food truck sent by your former co-star, Jeon Wonwoo. The gesture had lifted the spirits of the entire crew.
As you gathered your things and bid goodbye to the team, you noticed a familiar figure walking toward you with a tired smileâYoon Jeonghan.
âCEO Yoon!â people greeted him with respect as he approached, exchanging pleasantries with the crew. You overheard the director speaking with him.
âAre you here for Y/n?â the director asked, shaking hands with Jeonghan.
Jeonghan nodded, his expression warm but focused. âYes, is the shoot finished?â
You quickly grabbed your bag and approached the two of them. âThank you for today, director,â you said, bowing politely.
The director smiled, nodding in return. âYou did a great job today. Have a good evening, Y/n. You too, CEO Yoon.â
As the director walked away, Jeonghan turned to you with a soft smile. âReady to go?â
You nodded, grateful for his presence after such a long and draining day. Even after all these years, Jeonghanâs presence had a way of grounding youâreminding you that no matter how chaotic things got, you always had someone in your corner.
âHyejin talked to me today,â you said, breaking the comfortable silence as Jeonghan drove you home.
âShin Hyejin?â Jeonghan asked, glancing at you briefly.
You nodded. âYep, your âexâ who loves pampering me.â
Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. âSheâs not an ex. We just met a few times back in the day.â
Raising an eyebrow, you shot him a playful look. âBut she sure thought you two were dating.â
A heavy sigh escaped Jeonghan, followed by another chuckle. âIâm really sorry about that, then,â he said, amused at the absurdity of it all. âPeople see what they want to see, I guess.â
He changed the subject quickly, his voice light and teasing. âI noticed Jeon Wonwoo sent you a food truck today. Heâs such a sweetheart, isnât he?â
You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone. âWeâre just friends, Jeonghan.â
âI didnât say anything,â he quipped, clearly enjoying getting under your skin.
You sighed, leaning back in your seat. âHeâs a great person. Kind, thoughtful, and sweet... but you know my problem.â
Jeonghanâs teasing smile faded, replaced with quiet understanding as his hand moved to rest gently on yours. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. âItâs okay,â he said softly, referring to your struggle with avoidant attachment. âThereâs no rush. No need to worry. Youâve been through a lot, and you get to take your time.â
You appreciated the warmth in his words and the fact that he always seemed to know how to calm your anxieties. While people like Wonwoo were kind, it was Jeonghanâs constant presence and unwavering support that had always grounded you. You didnât need to explain yourself around him. He just got you.
As the car cruised through the quiet streets, you found yourself lost in thought, staring out the window while Jeonghanâs steady presence filled the space next to you. The city lights blurred by, and you suddenly wondered, When did this happen?
When had Jeonghan become such an integral part of your life? It wasnât just that he was your manager; it was the way he was always thereâat every high and low, quietly supporting you, guiding you through the mess of the industry. You didnât know when it had shifted, but at some point, he had surrounded your life fully. Every big decision, every major step, Jeonghan had been there, solid as ever.
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was focused on the road, his face calm and composed, just like always. But you couldnât help but feel a mix of awe and confusion. How had he managed to be so deeply woven into the fabric of your life without you even realizing it?
His dedication to his work was something that had always amazed you. He wasnât just a manager who worked the hours and did the minimum; Jeonghan breathed the industry. His passion was palpable, the way he fought for his artists, the way he handled crises with a cool head and quick thinking. Even when things were overwhelming, he never seemed to waver.
You had always admired that about him. It was part of why you never allowed yourself to rest, why you kept pushing yourself to be better. You wanted to prove to himâand maybe to yourselfâthat you were as passionate as he was, that you could match his fire. Sometimes you felt like you were chasing that, trying to live up to the standard he set, even if it wore you out.
But tonight, sitting next to him in the quiet hum of the car, you found yourself questioning more than just your career.
Was that all it was? Admiration? Dedication to your work?
Or was there something else? A deeper reason why you felt this way whenever you were around him. Why his opinion of you mattered so much. Why, when he placed his hand on yours earlier, you felt a sense of calm you hadnât felt in a long time.
You shifted in your seat, feeling a flutter of unease mixed with something you werenât sure you wanted to name just yet. What am I feeling for him?
Jeonghan had always been your constant, but lately, that constant presence felt heavier. More significant. And the more you questioned it, the more confusing it became. You didnât want to ruin things. Didnât want to blur the lines between the professional and whatever this was growing between you. But could you keep pretending you didnât feel it?
"Jeonghan?" you called softly, your voice almost uncertain.
He glanced at you, surprised by the tone in your voice. âYeah?â
You hesitated. What am I supposed to say? The words were on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you forced a smile and shook your head.
âNothing,â you mumbled, turning back to the window, your thoughts more tangled than ever.
Jeonghan didnât press, but the question lingered in your mind long after the car ride was over.
*
Jeonghan shouldnât have done that.
It was 9 a.m., and Jeonghan had his head buried in his hands at his desk, staring at the article that had just been published. Not just about youâbut about both of you. His face might have been blurred in the pictures, but anyone with half a brain could tell it was him. The caption was vague, but the implications were clear: rumors of a secret relationship between you and him were already spreading like wildfire.
Why did I kiss her last night?
Jeonghan replayed the events over and over in his head, the regret gnawing at him like a bad headache. After driving you to your new place, the drive had been oddly quiet. Something had felt off, so heâd asked if everything was okay, checking on you a few times. Youâd nodded, but your silence said otherwise.
When heâd parked and walked around to open the door for you, thatâs when it happened.
âJeonghan,â youâd called his name, standing in front of him with a look he couldnât quite place. âI donât like Wonwoo.â
Jeonghan had blinked, caught off guard. He wasnât sure what had prompted that, especially after teasing you about Wonwoo earlier. But what you said next stopped him cold.
âI think I like you.â
His breath had hitched. You... liked him? No, that couldnât be right. After all these years? He could hardly believe it, and neither, it seemed, could you.
You quickly corrected yourself, shaking your head as if trying to sort through your own confusion. âNo, I think itâs just admiration. But⊠I donât know. Admiration can lead to liking someone, right? But I honestly donât know.â
Jeonghan had stood frozen, staring into your eyes. He watched the way your expression shifted from uncertainty to something deeper, something vulnerable. And before he could stop himself, before he could think about the consequences, his gaze fell to your lips.
And he kissed you.
You werenât drunk. Neither was he. You were both fully aware of what you were doing, yet Jeonghan still couldnât fathom where heâd found the courage to close the gap between you after fifteen years of friendship. Why did you suddenly confess to him? Was it because youâd been living under his roof for the past few weeks? Had the proximity stirred something inside you?
Now, the aftermath was crashing down on him. He wasnât just your friendâhe was the CEO of a company with a reputation to uphold. He couldnât afford to be entangled in a scandal like this, not with you at the center of it.
Jeonghan was snapped out of his thoughts by his secretaryâs voice, pulling him back to reality.
âYou can be honest with me, sir. Are you two dating?â she pressed, clearly curious. She was one of the few people who knew about the close bond between the two of you, and she had probably been speculating for a while.
Jeonghan sighed, avoiding the question. Instead, he asked, âWhere is she?â
His voice softened instinctively when asking about you, something his secretary didnât miss. She checked her phone, scrolling through messages. âHer manager said she just woke up and hasnât seen any of this yet. Apparently, she left her phone somewhereâŠâ
She paused, smirking slightly. âSomewhere in your car.â
Jeonghan waved her off, feeling a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let out a deep sigh. He needed to figure out what to do nextâand fast.
An official statement would have to be released soon, but the bigger question remained: what was going to happen between the two of you now?
âLetâs just say weâre dating,â you blurted out, and Jeonghan immediately choked on nothing.
âWeâre not dating,â he stated flatly, eyes wide in disbelief.
You raised an eyebrow. âDo you want to date?â
The conversation had suddenly taken a sharp turn, the heat of the moment making it hard to think straight. Thankfully, no one was around to witness the embarrassment unfolding in Jeonghanâs office.
âDonât say that!â he exclaimed, panic lacing his voice.
âWhy not?â You tilted your head, smirking slightly. âAre you suddenly chickening out after kissing me last night? Or do you kiss all your artists, Yoon Jeonghan?â
Jeonghan scowled, thoroughly offended by your accusation. âIs that what you think of me? Wow.â
You shook your head, teasing him more than you probably should. âNo, but now I understand why Hyejin misunderstood things.â
Frustrated, Jeonghan threw his hands in the air. âMe and Hyejin were nothing, I told you.â
âOkay, but what about you and me?â you asked, voice softer, but your question hit harder than youâd intended.
Jeonghanâs heart pounded in his chest, suddenly at a loss for words. It wasnât that he didnât have anything to sayâit was that he was terrified. Scared that if he told you the truth, youâd run away from him.
I love you.
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration growing as he watched you grin in satisfaction. This woman...
âPlease, consider everything before you speak. What about your fans? The shippers for your drama?â Jeonghan was grasping for any reason to keep things under control, even though the situation was spiraling fast.
You shrugged, entirely too nonchalant for his liking. âI donât know. Letâs see their reaction then.â
Jeonghan crossed his arms and sighed, already feeling defeated. âAlright, fine. Letâs release a statement saying weâre datingâfor now. Weâll figure out the rest later.â
Your smile grew wider, head tilting as you gave him a look that made his heart race even faster.
âJeonghan,â you said softly, catching his attention.
âWhat?â
âI donât think I just like you.â
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, his breath catching in his throat.
âI think I love you.â
He bit his inner cheek, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. This woman is going to be the death of me.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic#seventeen angst#densworldđŒ#seventeen scenarios#seventeen series#seventeen drabbles#seventeen fanfiction#seventeen imagine#jeonghan smut#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan fic#yoon jeonghan#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan imagine#jeonghan oneshot
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â FORMAL GREETINGS. â
â FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU
ⶠSERIES MASTERLIST
CONTENT WARNINGS. flashbacks of being degraded and being called names (pig+whore+slut) + panic attacks.
NOTES. this was rushed. hoping it will be finally decent in the next chap. you can also comment/dm me to be untagged.
SYNOPSIS. after three years you're once facing again your tormentors. will you still be the same after that years or would it open new found feelings?
the light illuminating from your screen burns brightly that it almost affects your eyesight. your fingers almost turning into frigid from the lack of blood flow. you curl your fingers to stimulate before returning to punch the keys in your keyboard. drowning the sound of your coworkers chattering underneath their breath and the numerous phone ringing in your floor. deadline's approaching and you must finish this before your boss would chew you out. you can't break the streak yet, you're the employee whose in good terms with her boss and you won't allow a deadline to jeopardize it.
and then, click! you were finally done and you can finally sigh out of relief. turning in circles on your swivel chair before saving the finished report you were doing and then making a extra copy. you will never know what accident will happen and you don't want to redo all of your hard work. printing the documents, you clipped all of them. rechecking before putting it a folder and bringing it to your supervisor for them to check tomorrow.
you went back to your desk. cleaning the scraps in your desk and arranging the scattered files. you pressed the button of your monitor turning it off before placing your chair in its designated place and then you clocked out.
stepping outside, you take a look at building behind you. the younger you wouldn't dream of being here but fate played on you. part of you enjoyed it, part of you hated it. you guess you can't love something fully and it always made a reason to hate it.
the sun was setting in the horizon and it told you that you must need to be home soon and then you went to a nearest grocery store to pick the things you needed before going home.
unlocking the doors of your small apartment you rented, you placed your phone and keys at the countertop of your kitchen. storing the goods you have brought and you changed into something more of comfy. you opened your laptop, checking emails for tomorrow and finishing what's left of your workload.
yawning, you closed your laptop. it's time for bed and with that you drift into a dreamless sleep.
after dealing with the morning rush of your mode of transportation. you made your way inside the building. greeting your fellow employees with good mornings and catch up on the elevator and you were seated in your cubicle. doing your tasks for the day.
â(y/n).â your supervisor calls you. ushering you to their office and you left your cubicle to follow them. they handed you the report you had done yesterday. âyour report is excellent as always and although it's my job to give it to the superiors, i need you to deliver it. the ceo will be needing it for today.â they said exasperated. their sight glued to their monitor and you nodded. top floor it is and then you walked away and climbed up to the highest floor where the ceo's office is located.
the elevator dings before opening to your desired floor number and you were in awe from his spacious the hallway is unlike the lower floors including yours. you heard that it is only the ceo who resides here. walking, you clutch the folder in your hands as you slowly move to get to your destination. you sighed in relief in what you presume the ceo's secretary is stationed here. a desk and drawer and a swivel chair in which she furiously taps on her computer. the sound of the acrylic in her nails evident.
âuhm, hello. where should i leave this?â you asked her. showing her the folder compiled with the reports you had done yesterday. she hums, glancing at you before giving you her full attention. she gave a sickly sweet smile. showing her pearly white teeth and her blood red stained lips is giving you the impression that she works in a club rather than a corporate one. her blonde curls gave you the impression it was bouncing from the way it moves.
âi should take it but strict orders. you can place it on his desk. just go straight right there and you'll find a door. just open it and leave the folder in his desk and you're good.â her voice cheery as she instructs you. extending her arm to show you the way. you nod and you thank her before leaving.
it wasn't that hard to find but when you were holding the bars of the door. you suddenly felt sick. it was like you were back at the days you desperately wanted to forget and holding the handle of the door feels like you were holding the lid of pandora's box and opening it will wreck havoc.
you are delivering papers and then you'll leave after you put it. you said to yourself. gathering the courage to open the glass doors and you take a few deep breaths before opening it. you look at the room, finding it to be deserted without the ceo inside.
the office is vast. it was like half of the size of the whole floor in the building. there's a desk made of a high quality wood along with a expensive swivel chair. a private room in the corner and is littered with a huge book shelf containing various variations of book. there's a few frames mounted in the wall, probably the past CEOs. there's also a hint of personal touches. a aquarium in the corner as is that a cookie jar? and there's also a container full of different sweets. that's new. you think nothing of it before you approach the desk to put the file. there's no need to marvel at this place. you have no business here except for this and you're done. before you can turn around to leave. a familiar voice calls for you.
â(y/n)?â
swallowing, you turned around to meet him.
âthe only redeeming quality you have is this pussy of yours. without it you're nothing.â
âit's been bugging me for a long time. can you snort like a pig? of course, you can. come on, (y/n)-chan. oink. oink.....â
âyou're a huge slut. acting out after not being given attention. you attention whore.â
â(y/n)?â there is it again.
you flinched. a involuntarily movement and then you shaked your head. blinking rapidly and offering him a sweet smile. you didn't realize he was calling your name before you answered to his call.
âsir? i'm just here to drop it off. i'm on my way now.â you told him before making your way out but before you can fully leave, he grabs you by the arm.
âi know but (y/n) ââ
â...excuse me, sir. i really need to leave.â you cut him off and pulling your arm away from him. you alternate between half-walking/half-running making sure it was under the guise that you're running late and needed to make a run. not enough to raise suspicion you were avoiding him.
how many years was it? three? it's been long since he have last seen you and it didn't end in good terms. certainly, he didn't expect that he would see you here. in his office. looking so good and professional in that corporate attire of yours.
he can't believe it. he stares at your retreating figure until you disappeared from his sight. he needed to tell suguru all of this but before that he calls his assistant. wanting a full portfolio of yours. a background check of what happened to you after that night.
it was given to him. a file of yours containing all the details of your hundrum life. average and you were like all the regular daughter of regular parents. the before of your college life before you met them years ago and one point he searched for you after that night but there was nothing only a dead end. your parents are clueless of what happened to you and they treated you like you were dead. gone in a moment of where you're in the middle of reaching your dreams. he kept in contact at them. hoping or maybe miraculously that you would show again at their doorstep. he knows you also have a soft spot for your younger sibling. a brother whom you dearly loved. he also hoped that you will appear with fondness you have for your brother but you didn't.
the after is what he needed and all he got is the documents he have in his hand. he sat in his chair. making sure all his afternoon meetings are moved for him to know all of what happened to you in the last years after your disappearance that night and only finding of what briefly happened to your from shoko.
he found out you transferred to a another university. far from the reaches of him and suguru. continued your degree and been jumping from jobs after jobs trying to support yourself and it landed you here in his company. you were now an employee of his. working under him and satoru doesn't know what he'll do after finding this out.
he grabs his glasses before spinning it with his fingers. glancing at your picture pinned in your resumé. he traces it with his fingers. you didn't change. a small gentle smile in your face. how can he forget this face of yours when you're still the one who haunts his dreams.
he remembers your reaction earlier. you were so scared of him. masking it with a smile for your own good to avoid disappointing him. it was like a muscle memory for you. meeting you earlier and you looking so scared of him brings him back of memories of how both he and suguru were awful to you. he's much worse and it's new form him to feel this way. he didn't really care about the feelings of the people that surrounds him including you.
he needed a break and then he dials suguru's number.
the cafe where they usually frequents is where they decided to meet up and suguru takes the offer when satoru said he wanted to talk about something urgent. now he sit here with his friend. sulking and is rather stressed.
âshe's back, suguru.â
the tea he was swirling with spoon creates a vortex the moment he stops his mixing. putting his cup, he raises a brow at satoru. âwhat do you mean she's back, satoru?â a little bit confused of what his friend is saying. a crazy-ex, a fling or someone he had done a one night stand comes back? he doesn't know.
satoru pouts at him. â(y/n).â the name rings in his ear like bells. the now ceo of the gojo company greedily shoves the souffle pancakes to his mouth. he knows his friend was a glutton but he looks rather bothered from it.
he had not heard of your name since that talk with shoko. he sips on his tea before asking gojo. âwhat of her, satoru?â
âshe's working for my company. meaning she's my employee.â
âwhat of it?â
âi kind of talked to her but she left.â
gojo continues to ramble about what happened to you but he drowned it out. it's been years and you came back. he was close to giving up trying to find you and then like you always do came waltzing again in their lives once again. just like satoru he gathered all the information he can get his hands on but to no avail he didn't get your whereabouts despite the influence he have.
âi wanted to talk to her, ask what happened to her, suguru.â the man in front of him laments.
âyou can't force (y/n) about that satoru. she maybe starting fresh on her life and doesn't need us to remind her of what happened.â he reasons to him but deep inside he wanted your answers too. shed a light to what really happened to you that night and how you ended up in a hospital and later to disappear from them.
âsuguru, should i approach (y/n)-chan?â gojo asks him but he does not approve of the idea. âdefinitely not you idiot. you're going to scare her and don't exclude me you selfish prick.â
âfor now, let's plan something about it.â he suggested and satoru begrudgingly accepted it.
the white hair, the now square shaped glasses and that face sends you in a mini panic attack. you don't know what'll happen to you if caught a glimpse of that blue eyes of his. your heart beating rapidly as you went to lock yourself in the comfort room. bile rising down your throat before throwing up the contents of your stomach in the sink. tears swelling in the corner of your eyes as you heave before throwing up another batch of what kind of mix like your breakfast, spit and bile.
you thought it was gone that you were a new person and the mere presence of him won't affect but how wrong you were. it was like spiders crawling up to your skin and digging to your flesh to make a home from the feeling of him touching you.
turning the faucet on, you cupped your hands to catch the water before splashing it to your face was like a wake up call that you cannot be affected by such touch or look at him and it won't be long before they're standing in front of you. you're not the hopeless version of yourself. you told yourself that but it's not that easy.
you wipe the fog sticking in the mirror and you stared at your reflection. you were still a remnant of your past self. you were you. a girl that was given a new chance of life to start a new and yet, you're here. won't be too late to leave this and start again? you're here now. there's no chance of running back. you can't think straight. your hands trembling and you can't help but to pity yourself. you were still a slave to your past and, and, and.....
it's neverending.
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An Ode to... // Feitan, one shot - part of hhighkeyâs phantom troupe universe series
Rating: mature Story Contains: Stockholm syndrome, implied past kidnapping and stalking, emotional and physical violence, isolation, torture, feitan dense when it comes to feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, female reader, etc Note: wc just over 9k, updated for grammar, ao3 link: xxx
Feitan followed you for a year before kidnapping you. You'd caught his eye by surprise one day- technically Phinks pointed you out to him- but your fate was decided then and there. So he'd yearn for you during nights he struggled to sleep, which turned into a battle within him raging of emotions unlike any he'd felt day in and out. It was like his chest and heart swelled so much around you or at the thought of you- he was so full with a warm giddiness that he thought he'd burst. For some days he wondered if killing you would make his life easier, until he realized one night that the thought of you dying hurt even more than any injury.Â
For eight months you'd been his.Â
And time didn't seem to matter anymore as you spent it in a small attic turned bedroom with a small bathroom. A tiny round window, with metal bars, was your only door to the outside world. You'd watched the seasons change from summer to fall, and now to winter. A dusting of white snow had fallen on the ground and furthermore a cold draft had you shaking under a mountain of thin blankets.Â
The first month you never left the attic, Feitan wouldn't let you. You didn't see him either, just opening the door to place food inside then immediately locking it again. Screaming and crying until your voice was hoarse and you had no more tears to cry. Days on end curled into a ball as you stared devoid at a plank wall. The ceilings were low, meeting at a point in the center, thankful you were short to be able to move around easier. For a while you refused to be broken, trying to do small things to keep up fitness, but slowly the lack of signs of rescue froze everything. Like your mind and body shut down so matter how you yearned for your prior life. Slipping into your own world you began in your head, an alternate reality with your loved ones that did its best to comfort you.Â
But each day you awoke in that same room in the same bed. Chilling how Feitan took your own pillows and blankets, to provide you some comfort or familiarity. Your favorite outfits in the drawers across the room, the cloth baby doll you slept with every night- it made you realize just how long your captor had been watching.Â
Month two you realized things in the room were moved ever so lightly in the morning. At first you chalked it up to your poor mental state, that you had simply forgotten. Until you woke up one night, around 2AM to a pair of dark eyes watching you. Feitan. He was the one who pulled the chair to your bedside. He was the reason you woke up feeling vulnerable and gross. After you caught him, he didn't bother to hide anymore.Â
He started watching you do the most mundane tasks, primarily eating, worried you'd choke. Started asking you the food you preferred and when you scarfed it as fast as possible, he grasped your jaw and helped you chew. That was the first time he'd touched you and your eyes lit up in shock from the chills that went down your spine. He didn't come around much after that, as you started getting too bold. You'd yell and scream at him, try throwing whatever you got your hands on. He left you isolated for weeks.Â
Maybe it was your pathetic nature of wanting to please everyone, not being able to stand up for yourself that really drew Feitan in. Because never once did you try to escapeâ Especially not when the way Feitan walked around the house had your eyes glued to him with stars dizzying within them.
By month four he let out downstairs, let you sit in the kitchen as he cooked. Let you watch a movie as long as you sit on the couch with your hips just touching his. And you did it, because watching the reruns of that boring soap opera was the best thing to happen to you in far too long. It kept you from attempting to escape- asides from the fact there was no way out of the dingy attic, especially when Feitan left for weeks on end.Â
The basement was cold.Â
Your feet felt like they'd freeze off the first time he brought you down there. You realized, rather quickly, that you never wanted to be there again.
And it was in that basement that you understood who Feitan truly was, what he did for work and why he constantly disappeared. And why you needn't disobey.Â
Even when he opened the door to the basement for the first time and motioned, you followed. Because five months in you'd listen due to fear.Â
But your disobedience shown in the way your body froze when you reached the bottom of the stairs- whimpers escaping your lips as you tried to go back up. Feitan had just stood there, pushing you further.Â
"Sit," He said, pointing to an armchair set up towards the workstation, "want you see me work."Â
"W-work?" You swallowed hard. With hindsight you shouldn't have been surprised that someone as cold as Feitan, your kidnapper, was a murderer. A torturer who relished in pain, as not one did your depressed state bother him.
A man- beaten bloody was strapped to a table cranked forward so his head hung. He was in a loose shirt and shorts, ankles and wrists chained to the steel surface.Â
"No.." The tears began to fall thickly, "please let me go upstairs-"
"No." Feitan watched you, "Sit. Waiting too long. Want you to watch. Been five months."
So you had been with him for five months, a part of you felt it'd been years already. "I can't," You whimpered, "please," your stomach was churning, bile rising in your throat as an intense heat dizzied your body.Â
Feitan grabbed your wrist as if you were a doll, dragging you over and into the chair, "Stay." it was a threat. You could only nod as snot began to run down your nose and sweat beaded at your brow. Breathing became hard, the air dense and the smell of blood was sickening.Â
The man's screams.Â
Your ears ring trying to drown the screeches out.Â
You couldn't stop your blubbering no matter how many glares Feitan sent your way. Your shoulders shaking and stomach in knots as you were continuously forced to swallow your own vomit to not make a mess, or ensue Feitan's wrath. Because you'd dealt with his cold shoulder or an occasional sprained limb from how strong he was. Used to his harsh words and threats, and invading eyes watching your every move when not locked in the attic. But you didn't want to be on that table, no matter what.Â
The man was inconsolable as Feitan grabbed a pair of pliers, snapping them over and over as he crept closer. A heavy whirl of silence, of anticipation- the calm before the storm really before Feitan used the pliers to grasp the captive's fingernail. One after another. Scream after scream. Blood. A sickening ripping noise before tossing them to a palette.Â
Oh the man was a mess. Voice hoarse with tears and saliva dripping down the side of his face as he begged for an end. Begged to die compared to the start for a reprise.Â
"Please- just kill me "
Feitan's head cocked, eyes darkening, "talk."
"No."
Feitan doesn't like hearing no, you know that. You've felt his silent anger when you'd cry and shriek- because you weren't doing what he wanted. And in that basement watching a man's blood splatter about, you realized you were all out of his good graces he was willing to give. Like his self awareness that you needed time to adjust finally reached its end. Because a wild thump came down with the force of a thousand suns, and three fingers toppled to the ground with crimson red spurting like a wild rose.Â
"Who moved merchandise?" Feitan hissed as he grasped another gruesome looking tool with his thin fingers.Â
"Go to hell,"Â
Rage. A sharp crack sounded as a molar went flying with a clatter across the room. It enraged him, all the defiance this captive had, for your first showcase of his work. So maybe he was embarrassed as he seethed from his pores, muscles tensed as an iron poker bent from his sheer will. He could hear your cries. Pathetic.Â
As he turned to you- you were cowering in the chair, with your head in your hands. Rocking back and forth as you blubbered about.Â
You weren't watching.Â
The man wasn't cracking and Feitan's patience expired. With limbs now missing and blood soaking the floor surrounding them, he knew the man had been serious about dying rather than spilling information.Â
So his focus was on you.Â
With horror your head snapped up as a nasty crunching noise forced vomit up your dried throat, the man's neck snapping in half, head falling limp with a bouncy recoil.Â
"Oh," you whimpered, you shrunk back as humanly possible. Coated in red, with anger, Feitan stalked his way to you.Â
You stumbled from the chair, your flight kicking in for the first time since he'd brought you here. Crawling and kicking until your back hit the wall and the tears stream heavier than before, like you were smack dab in a horror movie. His grim eyes preying on you like you were nothing but a snack, a glimmering blade at his side that has you quaking. Terror as he stood over you.Â
"Not watching." He hissed.Â
"I'm sorry! N-ext time!" You cried, holding your hands up in a meek defense, "I'll be better,"
Feitan was high on adrenaline. Enraged by the lack of pleasure his torture session brought. Frustrated by your reaction. How scared you were of him when all he was trying to do was include you in his work, something he loved. Something he wanted you to watch with pride.
You shriek as he grabs hold of your legs, yanking you toward him. Preying on you like a monster as he crouched down to put weight on you, knife in hand. Such a sadistic look in his eyes as he ripped your shirt up enough to show him your rib cage. Legs flailing. Arms weakly hitting at him. But he didn't move. Feitan brought the tip of the knife down to your skin and you went limp with shock. No noise left your mouth after a few seconds until a throaty, airy cry sounded out with spasming of your eyes following. Blood trickled down your stomach as Feitan carved letter after letter against your pained jerks. Begging. Sobbing. You were a mess underneath him as your vision began to falter as terror and agony washed over you making you numb.Â
"Next time, tie you on chair to watch." Feitan said with a smirk, possessively tracing the bloody gash that spelled out his name on your delicate skin. All you could do was cry and wheeze in and out of consciousness.Â
And as you finally went limp, a heavy breath shuddered from Feitan's lips as the reality set in. He grimaced. It was pure adrenaline and anger that he acted on, and the aftermath was a sickening regret bubbling in his chest. Hurting you wasn't something he wanted to do again.. unless absolutely necessary.Â
-
The following months you grew familiar with the schedule of when Feitan brought his victims and wanted you to watch.Â
Perhaps you were too sensitive. Too much of an empath as each incision he made into a captive, you felt the carving of his name burn on your skin. Like a searing branding of understanding their pain, to an extent, that they went through. An understanding of being a victim like them, but you were luckier in a sick sense because you had Feitan's mercy of love. If you could call it that no matter how many times he insisted he took you for protection because you were his.Â
Life with Feitan could be like living with a bomb, never knowing when or why it set off. Somedays you didn't look at him enough, others you stared too long and when his cheeks turned pink and he grew vicious. Learning his habits or moods was hard, but slowly you became accustomed.
Feitan liked to touch your waist, specifically shoving his hands under your shirt to feel your skin. His fingers would grip and prod even if you flinched from a sudden pinch. His greatest show of care was patting your head. He started doing so after you convinced him to let you take over meals, reminding him you always cooked for yourself prior. In another life basically. Then out of the blue Feitan took your things from the attic and into his room. You'd panicked looking for your missing plushies you needed to sleep, your missing pillow and favorite blanket. The dresser and closet were empty. Your toiletries were gone. Oh. Your heart sank, Feitan had enough of you. You were going to die.Â
So you went back downstairs, ready for him to take you down to the basement and tie you up. You let your mind wander to what methods or tools he'd use. Maybe he'd be kind and make it quick.Â
Feitan quirked a brow up as he saw your dejected form pad into the living room. You sat with a glazed, far away look on your face and immediately he panics.Â
"Y/N?" To hear your name from his lips, made yours tremble.
"I'm sorry."
He was upon you within seconds, grasping at your arms to pull up your sleeves, "What's wrong? Hurt?"
"Are you going to kill me?"
A look of disgust flashed over his features, "No, never. You're mine."
"But my room?"
"Oh." Feitan's eyes immediately flit anywhere other than you, dropping your arms to rest on the couch. He was embarrassed and you're trying to figure out what's going on. "Moved into my room, figured you liked me more, things have been... nice."
Did you? Like him? Not particularly, right? Sure you liked the sound of his voice or when his eyes softened when you walked into the room. You thought the faces he made were cute asides from the maliciously crazy ones when he tortured somebody. And you were beginning to like feeling his touches, unsure advances that showed he was human in there somewhere. Because he wanted your approval, that much was apparent after all these months. Wanted you to watch him with pride and reassure he was touching you correctly, caring for you correctly. And perhaps you were flattered realizing how enthralled he was, how much he knew about you down to the most minor details. While you only knew he was a killer. So maybe you did like him in a twisted way, your brain fogging past details of cruelty and pushing up warm emotions instead. For your own good you needed to forget he forced you to watch others die, that he cut your own skin, that he might have killed your family. You bargained with yourself that perhaps him locking you in the attic was for your own good, that you needed to see Feitan in a better light and you only needed some time. Right?
"Oh!" Your relief is evident. And he looked happy to see that. "Oh my." You place your hand over your heart, breathing in and out.Â
Feitan slowly rested a hand on top of your head, "Should have told you sooner... sorry."
"S'okay, misunderstanding. I'm good."Â
Feitan nodded simply because he could feel your pulse begin to slow from its prior heightened pace, "Come."Â
You followed behind him like a lost puppy needing its owner to find its way. Your heart felt at the bottom of your stomach, nervous to what Feitan had in mind moving you to his bedroom. The realization hit that you'd be in bed with him as you entered. His room was bare, which didn't surprise you. The only hint of life were your colorful blankets and plushies set up on the large bed. Two dressers, loveseat, and two doors you assumed were a bathroom and closet. Secretly you felt relief as it didn't smell of blood and there wasn't any sign of death.
Feitan watched you as you took your time to look around the room. He said nothing as you opened drawers to find your things, while some had his. The closet had more of your clothes. The ensuite was clean as well. He liked seeing you nod an approval of the space you'd share with him, filled him with pride.Â
You sat on the bed.Â
You felt along your blankets and then his own he originally had. You rearranged your stuffed doll. Fluffed your pillow. Not having changed out of the clothes you slept in last night, you decided not to change because you weren't sure what Feitan was expecting of you. Embarrassment licked the edges of your neck as you felt your palms begin to sweat.Â
Terror coursed through your veins, your heart about to beat through your chest as you laid beside him. A few inches of space between the two of you. But it was suffocating as he joined you under the blanket.Â
"Relax. Won't hurt you."
You gripped the sheets tighter, "Okay."
"Don't believe me."
"I'm sorry." You immediately countered, tensing.
Feitan sighed, trying to remember advice Chrollo gave him: to be more understanding and soft, "Sorry for cutting you few months ago, wanted you to see what I enjoy and you seemed not to care. But I enjoy you more so, only come to basement if you want now. Free reign over inside when I'm gone, just no hurting yourself. No going outside unless I'm with you."
Huh? "I- can go out?"
"With me."
"Can we go out tomorrow? Will it rain? Can I run around on the grass?" You were like a child in a candy store, excitement dripping through your tone that has Feitan's lips turning up in the dark.Â
"If it rains tomorrow, go another time. Okay?"
"Yes. Perfect!" You were absolutely giddy, to the point personal space did not matter. You flung yourself across the bed to hug Feitan. Feeling his cold body you go still, filled you with horror realizing what you just did. "I'm sorry- I.."
Yet he wrapped an arm around you, ghosting along your skin like he was scared to scare you. He waited to see if you'd flinch away but you didn't.Â
"Don't apologize, like this." He hugged you taut.Â
There was nowhere to go but on him, really. You rested your head on his shoulder, forced to sprawl a leg across his own while your other wrenched beneath you. It felt like you may explode, a litany of conflicting emotions pulling you every which way. Hesitantly you placed your left hand across his chest, waiting for him to decide to hurt you or that this was taking it too far. But that never came. Feitan may have laid there like a statue, though after a few minutes he started squirming, attempting to relax with you in his arms while you listened to his wild heart beat.
You swallowed hard deciding to speak up, "I can move-"
"No." His words sounded laced with venom, but you could tell the slight difference. Feitan was nervous. Just like you were.Â
Your lips parted but no words came out. The fact you were both enduring the same confusing emotions, unsure how to physically figure the other out, made you feel so close to him. He was on your level, just as scared.Â
"Fei..tan?" You whispered his name, realization blossomed inside you and it was as if the last eight, maybe nine months were finally making sense!
"Yes?" It sounded, at least to you, like he was choking up.
"I- think I realize something. I think we're both awkward people and you didn't know how to go about any of this. Please hear me out." Boldly you pushed yourself out of his grip, pushing up on his chest so you could prop on your knees under the blanket. Feitan followed suit by sitting up to lean against the bed, quickly pulling the bedside lamp's string. He stared at you expectantly. So you continued with his full attention and the sudden coolness of losing his touch, "I think we feel the same way, not sure how to act around the other. I- don't get mad at me saying but you're very rough around the edges and I don't think anyone ever explained you shouldn't kidnap someone you love, or hurt them. But feeling your nerves, I'm realizing we're the same. I never know how to act around you, I thought you hated me or something but you're nervous too."
Your tongue felt numb as you spilled as many words as possible. Unsure if you made sense. Unable to look at Feitan as you spoke.Â
He was quiet until a hand touched your cheek, "You- feel for me how I feel for you?"
You nod.Â
Feitan brought your chin up so your gazes could connect. There was no maliciousness, only nerves. His lips aren't in their normal frown, instead they're slightly parted. He pulled you closer, hating that you chose to sit inches too far for his taste, having been in his arms prior.Â
You let out a whine as Feitan leaned in, his breath fanning along your lips. Your body was begging for him to close the gap, your stomach a fluttering mess of butterflies working its way through your ribcage. Blood pounded in your ears,Â
"Feitan?"
"Quiet." Fingers shake as you bring them to run through his black locks, causing a shiver to go down his spine and the smallest of noises to come from his throat. You found something he enjoyed and your heart felt content as you massaged along his scalp as his lips lay centimeters from yours.
The kiss was hesitant. Barely a peck as the touch of your lips had you both upright, shocked, staring at the other. Like a deer in headlights you waited for him to get upset, to kill you even. But he only captured your lips again, for a deeper kiss as your lips meshed together. His tongue pushed in, exploring your mouth greedily as he squeezed your waist. You made a noise as he flipped you underneath him, slamming his mouth back against yours as he pressed himself into you.Â
When you two parted, gasping for air, uncertain as you each explored each other's bodies, a gentle smile pulled at the corners of your lips. Feitan licked along your jaw, licked down your neck occasionally sucking on your sensitive skin. You whimpered and he pulled away as if you'd stabbed him.
"Liked.. that?" When you nodded his eyes glossed over. You liked it as he sucked and bit at your neck. What other pain could he inflict to bring you pleasure? You really were made for him, he told himself.Â
You reach up to try to take one of his hands into yours, he obliged, put his weight on his other forearm, "So.. I.." Embarrassment hit you and you suddenly felt ridiculous for what you were about to ask.
"What."
"Are we..?"
"Don't understand."
Your face went red, you looked away still feeling his breath across your face, "Never mind."
"Go to sleep, you're thinking too hard." Feitan huffed as he rolled off you, "Taking you outside tomorrow, you need rest."
"Okay."
To your surprise he hugged you from behind, nestling up to you, letting you slot into him as if it were the perfect fit. You could tell this was new, not something he did from how tense his body was. Sleep finally began to overtake your senses. A blossoming happiness in your chest as he traced a finger along your skin whilst holding your waist.Â
You fell asleep with a smile. Fell asleep with your back to his chest, him spooning you as if this was suddenly normal. As if you were an ordinary couple. You found comfort in his quiet breaths and knowing he'd watch over you. That night you dreamed of the day you met Feitan, and it changed, no longer was it filled with blood and cries, but a joy as if it were love at first sight. You two hand in hand walking off to a new life.Â
-
That morning you awoke with not a care in the world. You thought waking up to an empty bed would hurt, but nothing would diminish the smile smacked onto your lips. From an amazing dream to remembering your first kiss with Feitan, nothing could have taken that away. Giddy, you dressed in your most comfortable outfit and skipped out to face the rest of your day with excitement, feeling lighter than ever. The normal weight and anxiety you woke up with, was gone, replaced with a sense of purpose. Â
A list formed in your head of what you wanted to do. 1. Check the weather and if Feitan doesn't have to work, 2. Make breakfast, 3. Go outside.
The morning sun was strong amidst the blue, cloudless sky as you stared out the kitchen window. You grinned before grabbing ingredients you'd need for breakfast, hoping Feitan would be joining, but regardless you'd cook for him. You worked with a hop in your step, movements nonchalant as you continued to glance at the mid-morning sky. Too focused to feel a presence hidden, watching, until-Â
"You look... happy."Â
You squeaked, jumping at the sudden voice. You felt his dark aura first before you turned to see him, standing in the doorway, "Good morning. Hungry?"
Feitan nodded, inching over to the table. Your smile ignites a pain in his chest that he didn't understand. As he looked over you, all he could think about was his lips on yours and the addiction of it that stained his blood. How you'd snuggled into him. How in your sleep you'd begged him not to leave you. Feitan doesn't think he likes the churning in his stomach or the nerves coursing through him as he looks at you- it scares him. You had the power to turn him into this.Â
"Made scrambled eggs and toast, that okay?" You set a plate in front of him, creases at the corner of your eyes as you do so.Â
"Yes." He watched as you got him something to drink, then sat down with your own food. On the tip of his tongue are questions about last night, but Feitan felt ridiculous asking if you liked kissing him, or if he could do it again.
"Is it okay? Made it kind of quick, it's a nice day out." You smiled warmly at him, expectantly.
"Yes, good. We'll go outside when you're done."
He remembered and was following through, it meant the world to you. So you finish eating to clean up, which he surprised you by doing himself.
You were like an excited puppy standing by the front door bouncing on the balls of your feet.Â
"Stay in my sight. Can't run anywhere without me finding."
"I know I know. Can I run around the yard at least?"
"Sure." His threat went right over your head. It hits him that you don't need a threat to stay put. You weren't planning anything.Â
It didn't take long to undo the litany of locks on the door, it didn't matter if you knew where any keys were kept. Nen was the key factor to them.
He had to urge you out, that it really was okay to be outside, "Go out, I'll be sitting right here." He said rubbing the low of your back.Â
After a few grueling seconds you comply, a small giggle as you hurry off the porch. There was pure glee on your face, in your body and voice as your feet touched the grass. Squealing you carefully move around, skipping one way then the other.
You were a curious thing to Feitan, who found nothing interesting in the nature that surrounded the house. But you, running around in circles until you collapsed out of breath, loved it. You looked serene, stunning, just taking the breath away from Feitan as he watched you. You were perfect.Â
It hurt. It hurt. Feitan's convinced he was dying. Heaviness weighing on his chest and shoulders as he watched you. He didn't know how to be what you need. For the first time since kidnapping you he questions his judgment seeing how happy you were being outside, something he'd stolen from you. He wondered if he could give you the love you deserved when he'd never experienced it himself. While he hated himself. While he hated what was inside his darkened mind compared to the light that was you. So ethereal and kind, unlike him whose hands would forever be tainted.Â
Unbeknownst to you, Feitan retreated within himself while you basked in the summer sun.Â
-
Five weeks ago Feitan kissed you. He'd taken you outside and it'd been one of the best days of your life. You were certain it was the turning point in the relationship but- it wasn't. Things weren't worse by any means, but he treated your touch like the plague.Â
It felt like a continuous stab to the heart, every minute of the day at this point. You felt stupid. After a week of attempting physical contact in bed or on the couch, you gave up not wanting to further embarrass yourself. And slowly the conversation died out. He stopped eating meals at the table. Staying as far away as possible in bed, you began moving your pillows back up to the attic, which caused him to intervene. Making it clear you weren't permitted to do that, he locked the door to the attic shortly after.
He left two weeks ago for an important job. You only knew he was okay because Phinks stopped by to check on you and bring food. It took everything in you not to ask Phinks for advice, you'd only met him in passing and Feitan was... absurdly possessive. Even his closest 'friend' couldn't get within a foot of you without facing Feitan's wrath.Â
So you spent the days alone re-reading a book because you can't quite pay attention to it. You spend too long staring out the window by the front door, yearning pathetically from the couch. Knowing there were cameras kept you from crying for a strange reason you couldn't pinpoint, perhaps wanting to seem strong if he checked in.Â
You think it's Friday, 16 days since Feitan left. Time blended together, especially when he wasn't there to mark the calendar.Â
Frustration bubbled in your chest as you threw your towel into the corner of the bathroom. Your wet hair seeps into your nightgown, purple hues taking over the blue sky. You want to throw your shampoo, then your body wash you think. For a second you felt the appeal of thrashing your fist into the sink mirror. How good that would feel, you'd have control over something.Â
Breathe in. Out.
You count in your head, staring at your reflection with disgust. This would show him, right? You thought about him finding you all bloody, the panic that would consume him, and hopefully guilt too.Â
Tears prick your eyes, you huff moving back. Your reflection blurred. Annoyance grew, controlled her until-
SLAM. The sound of the front door closed suddenly, announcing that Feitan was back- and in the manner the door slammed, told you he wasn't alone.Â
You scamper out of the bathroom, practically forgetting your prior plans, needing to catch a glimpse of Feitan.
In his arms, he carried an unconscious woman bound and gagged.Â
Your stomach plummeted.Â
He glanced your way once before disappearing down to the basement.Â
Lips trembling, you stumbled forward, acting against better judgment. The air leading down to Feitan's torture room was dense and metallic scented. Rotted and death-like. You hated it down there, you felt bile rise up into your throat but you pushed through the fear that begged you to turn back.Â
You stood hidden behind the doorway, peaking in just so you could see Feitan had already finished tying her down in the chair. You weren't sure if he felt your presence as if he did he made no effort to greet you. Did he not miss you? Your fists clench as you rake across the battered woman, taking her in. She was beautiful. Fuck. The only relief you felt was that she sat in that chair- meaning she wasn't here to replace you. Feitan hadn't put you in that chair ever.Â
You stepped through the doorway as Feitan picked up a knife from a table.
Feitan's head snapped in your direction. His body language went taut, surprised, so he hadn't noticed you. He'd been too wrapped up in the woman who passed you in beauty in every way possible. Did he notice that as he looked at you now? Self conscious thoughts attack your mind as you drop your head.Â
"You're- you want to watch?" His voice was filled with hope, not that you noticed. You heard it as disgust by having you in the room.
You nod, drop into your chair beside the door, one you hadn't sat in, in five weeks.Â
For the first time he didn't need to remind you to watch his every action.Â
Your eyes couldn't be pried from his hands. He wondered if you were even blinking. What happened for this change? Feitan wracked his brain as he cut into the woman. He didn't notice what he was doing, hardly listening to her cries and shit information spilling from her lips. Did something happen to you? Phinks said you were fine. Feitan's thoughts flick to his recent closed-off behavior, knowing it had to be upsetting you. Shit. That was it, right? He moved on to more cuts, more stabs to bleed his prisoner dry. She was saying things he already knew, he told Chrollo this woman would be useless, so this was a waste. Why were you choosing to watch this? He wanted to look at you but also needed to finish work, for once torturing another being was boring him. He wanted to get back to you, needed to talk to you, apologize even.Â
SLAM.Â
You were reeling- unable to contain yourself as you stormed from the room. One second your eyes were flickering from floor to the captive's body following Feitan's every movement, to watching the walls of the basement fly by as you raced towards a bathroom.Â
Disgust curdled inside you. Anger wrenched at your limbs. You fumed as you remembered how he touched that woman's body as if torturing her was a sensual dance. It made you sick to see how his fingers would flit along parts of her skin that you dreamed he'd touch on yourself. He hadn't looked at you! You gagged over the toilet, head pounding as your body attempted to heave bile from your stomach. Dizzied with jealousy and hurt, you want to cry. Maybe attempt to slap Feitan if he'd let you. You think of your idea with the mirror, that could work.
Feitan stood outside the door, as soon as you opened it, you walked face first into his chest. Out of reflex you shoved him back, wide eyed at him.Â
"What's wrong? Throw up?" There was concern written all over him. Actual legitimate emotion, softness in his face as he inched closer.Â
"Dry heaved." You said, unable to hold back the snark in your tone.Â
"Okay?"Â
You glared, confidence surging within you as all you could see was green. Feitan took a step back, surprised. "Seriously?" You huffed, "Just go back to your work."Â
As you turn to leave him standing dumbfounded in the hall to head upstairs, his hand wrapped around your bicep. You're pulled back with force that makes you lose your breath. Your back's forced against the stone wall, Feitan caging you between his arms. "What is wrong with you?"
You swallow, the lump in your throat refusing to go. You felt instant shame with yourself but yet- didn't he deserve your anger? Was he really that dense with your emotions? Squaring yourself, you wouldn't back down, "I'm fine. Just.. go back to her."Â
Oh! "Funny girl." Feitan cackled. A shallow, chill inducing laugh escaped his lips.Â
Incredulously you shook your head, "Why are you laughing?"
He pushed himself off the wall and away from you. Still fucking laughing.Â
You balled your fists and walked over to him, fuming. "Stop it!" He let you hit his chest with your fists, let you throw your little temper tantrum as amusement danced in his dark eyes.Â
It was when tears began to fall did he finally compose himself. Feitan wiped the stray tears and wouldn't let you look away from him, hand possessively holding your jaw. "Jealous." He smirked. "My silly girl jealous over my work. Work, Y/N."
"I-It's not that- not the same. You've.. You've never brought a girl back here before." Oh god if only you could curl up under a blanket and hide, shame crossing your face, "It's not funny."Â
"How is it not? You're jealous over someone who will die."
"You're touching her." You spat, "You don't touch me, barely. Not after.. I thought." Taking a deep breath you collected yourself before beginning, "Since you moved me into your room, since we kissed and fell asleep together, you act like it never happened and ignore me for weeks. So yes I'm jealous of her, you're touching her so gently and in places I want you to touch me."
Your confession threw Feitan off his axis, processing your words at a million miles an hour yet it was like he stared at you brain dead. He really fucked this up. "I'm not being gentle. I'm torturing her." He did not understand how you thought he was being intimate with a prisoner, it killed him to stay away from you.Â
"But you brush along her so gently before making cuts, I thought I was going to die!" And he'd skipped past the part where you brought up the kiss and how he'd held you. Of course, "I'm going to go take a nap."
He let you go, watching your dejected form march up the wooden stairs. His brows furrowed over what the fuck just happened. He'd let you storm off and speak to him in a way he'd never imagine you would. Â
Feitan clenched his fists. He wanted to follow after you but there was one final thing he needed to take care of.Â
Red cascaded down the front of the woman as he slit her throat. Her tears and pleading only fueling the fire started within him. He stripped himself of his gear, leaving him blood free to chase after you.
You don't move from where you lay under the covers in his bed, but Feitan knew you weren't asleep. He pads to the bed, carefully sitting on the edge next to you.
"Y/N."
You don't respond.
He sighed, "She's dead." You visibly tensed.Â
You begrudgingly sit up knowing you've been caught, looking at him with reddened eyes. "Oh."
Feitan tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, "Since our kiss, I don't know how to act around you."
His omission makes you frown, "I don't understand."
"When you said you felt for me how I felt for you.. made me happy. You kissed me back, wanted me to hold you. I didn't expect it, thought you'd regret it later so I ran."
"I thought you regretted it."Â
"Never."
"I feel.. dumb." You said.Â
"Little foolish. But, I like that. Your jealousy is cute." He smirked, "But no reason to be anymore, okay?" You nod, scooting closer to him. Feitan tucks an arm around you, cradling the side of your head, "Was happy you came down to watch but, guess I know why now."
"Maybe I can.. slowly come down for little bits? I- don't like it but, you like it when I watch you work." You're burning, nauseas, because the last thing you wanted was to listen to screams, to bones breaking, to the noises that'd keep you up at night. But it would be for Feitan.
"I would like that." He nodded with sick excitement behind his eyes.Â
Silence. Softened smiles. Fluttering heart beats as a thick tension develops between you two. He was staring at your lips, your neck, and you couldn't tear yourself away from him. Closer, you silently lean in as your breathing turns heavy. You were sure he could hear your hammering heart beat as if it'd burst from your chest.
The gap closed. Your lips meet in a dance of uncertainty as self consciousness absorbs your minds until it bursts from need. Feitan was cold, certain as he pressed his lips hard to yours over and over, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. On fire as you gasp from the pain, metallic blood enters your mouth as Feitan's tongue pushes its way in. He explored you as his fingers dig into your side, your tongue dancing along his as electricity runs through your veins. You think your whole body is trembling, or maybe it was his as the kiss turned desperate, teeth gnashing, tongues shoved down the other's throat as saliva mixed; once light kisses turned to an all out way for the two of you to claim the other.Â
Feitan helped your legs wrap around his waist before he flipped you underneath him hovering over you on the bed. His whimpers against your mouth were the greatest thing you think you'll ever hear. And his need to control you, to possess you as his made your head go cloudy with want as his mouth worked against yours. He was consuming you as his confidence grew. That pit in his stomach growing with the certainty of your feelings, the change of the tide after nine months, that he felt. You wanted him. You understood everything he'd done had been to show you his feelings. So now he'd claim you like he should have weeks ago, rather than worry about the kiss.Â
Atop you, he watched with dark glee how you panted, mewled for him as he pulled away to watch you. You clambered for him as you were out of breath, saliva dripping from the side of your lips. In a swift motion he lifted your torso and pulled your shirt from your body, and as he pushed you back he leaned down entranced by your bare skin. He bit into your collarbone, licked along the mark that broke skin. You'd gasped in surprise, fingers twisting into his top, tears glistening in your eyes.Â
He continued to mark you, your cries music to him as he broke more of your skin with his teeth. Blood trickling only to be licked up by Feitan. You'd be littered with hickeys in the morning and the thought of you all bruised up made his cock twitch. Feitan slowly nibbled along one of your hardened nipples, studying how your body reacted. You were a desperate little thing he learned quickly as he sucked on your nipples, groping and molding your breasts with his strong fingers. Already quaking- how pathetic.Â
Feitan began to wonder if you'd done this before, because in the year he'd watched you, you never brought someone home or went to another's. But a possessive streak hits him and he doesn't want to know, because no one else would ever have you from here on out. He was going to make your cunt into the shape of his cock, make it so you'd never want or need anyone else.Â
"Fei," You whined, and the usage of a nickname made his head snap up to meet your lidded eyes. Your hips bucked against his as he straddled you and the discomfort of his hardened cock in his slacks began to gnaw at his brain.Â
As his fingers begin to toy with your waist band, he lets himself wonder if this was a dream. He'd have been as patient as you needed him to be. So to think everything he dreamed about for almost 2 years was coming to fruition? He stripped himself of his top and slacks, leaving only his underwear.Â
Fear clamped in the back of your mind as if you needed to escape. But as the cool air met your exposed entrance as Feitan tossed your boxers away, you relinquished yourself to him. He admired you from his knees as he pushed your thighs apart.Â
"Tell me what you want." A mischievous glint shone in his eyes and you shivered.Â
"Y-you Feitan." You squirmed under his heavy gaze, desperately wanting to cover up. He inspected every inch of you, but he always came back to the scar on your rib cage that held his name. His property.Â
Feitan shuddered hearing how lustfully you spoke his name, he liked this sudden change in dynamic. Liked how you begged for him so easily as he stroked so close but not quite at your most sensitive areas. Your pussy glistened, liquid coating your folds and slowly dripping to the sheets.Â
You could only see his dark eyes as your world spun on its axis. You feel him between your legs, tongue leisurely licking along your aching clit. Taking his time he listened to your whimpers, to your gasps as he changed the pace. You're grasping the sheets, knuckles white as your entrance fluttered in want. He latched onto your clit, and you cried as he suckled and teeth brushed along your sensitive bundle of nerves. Working you up to a climax, he presses his palms into your legs to keep them open. You're shaking. You're desperately trying to escape an onslaught your poor brain and body had never experienced before. It wasn't longer before you cried out, visiting turning black then white as you came, hips jerking and your lips babbling nonsense. Feitan continued to lick helping you come down, pride beaming from his chest. Internally thanking Phinks for all the times over the years he pushed him into sharing someone's bed, that he needed practice, all for you even if he didn't know it yet.Â
You moaned, furiously blinking before his tongue dances along your folds, licking and sucking at your cum like it's the best meal he'd ever taste. Tongue prodding at your entrance, his gaze flicks up to see you watch him in awe and pleasure, as he licks along your walls. Your clit is puffy as he worked his way back up, a finger delicately toying at your entrance as you gasp. More?Â
Feitan hummed against your clit, liquid pleasure pulsing within him but all he could do was grind against the mattress, he wanted to see you come apart some more. You babble something incoherent as he brings a finger up and covers it in your arousal, gently sucking still. His middle finger sunk in with ease, your back arching as he fills you. He adds another. He smiled so cruelly as your heat welcomed them so greedily.Â
"Tight cunt." Feitan groaned, "So wet. Taste so good." He hummed against your clit and the vibrations made you whimper.Â
You're moaning for him like he was your life line. Sucking him in and begging for more and you were starting to wonder which way was up or down. His tongue oscillating in mesmerizing circles along your clit, his fingers curling along your gummy walls that beg him for more. You were on the edge. You felt pleasure building you up so deliciously, "Fei, more, more, feel good."Â
For a second he froze as one of your hands tangle in his hair, but seeing you blissed out in his bed- he made you nearly sob as added a third finger stretching you apart as he cruelly sucked your clit until your moans are cries, gasping and loud, as if you were in pain. But instead, once more, ecstasy blossomed in your abdomen right as you thought you'd burst, and tears fell fast. You came on his tongue and fingers, squirt dribbling, your cunt fluttering around him as his motions slowed.Â
"Pretty." He cooed as he watched your writhing body with curiosity.Â
A confused cry left you as his touch disappeared, but you watched as he stripped himself of his underwear, finally leaving him bare.Â
"Gonna fuck you. All mine."Â
You whimper as he settles between your legs, his thick cockhead prodding at your slick entrance.Â
"Be good and take me." Feitan grunted as he began to push in.Â
"F-Fei- Virgin- I-I'm a-" You cried as you thrashed on the sheets, feeling as if Feitan was splitting you in two as he sheathed himself inside you.
An onslaught of butterflies swarmed in his stomach and could have come on the spot from your words alone. A virgin? He knew you were meant to be his, and him yours.Â
"There you go, tight cunt for me to fill." He pressed his lips to yours, knots in his core tightened as he thrusted deeper, hips to the hilt as he was finally claiming you, filling you.Â
He watched your eyes go wide, eyes spasming from the intrusion. Your gummy walls squeezing his cock so good as she attempted to accommodate his size. Feitan swallowed hard, trying to stifle his own noises, desperately wanting to be so far in you that you'd never think of anything else.Â
Blood trickled from your cunt and onto the sheets and it stirred Feitan's hips into a bruising pace as he felt the warmth of your virgin blood surrounding his cock. Liked knowing what he did to you, watching his outline in your stomach as he pushed down, a slimy grin forming on his lips.Â
He wanted to break you. But he felt himself losing composure as he pounded into your tight cunt. The two of you consumed with warmth and fire spreading along your nerves as together, you chased an intense high consummating some sick love.Â
"Mine." You were losing your mind as Feitan grunted those words, "Mine." He snapped his hips and you gasped from the intrusion of his cock against your womb, "Tell me who you belong to."
Your pretty eyes were hazy, rolling back into your head as your poor fucked out brain couldn't comprehend. His cock felt so perfect inside your pussy that coated him in your cream from the bliss you felt.Â
"You!" You cry out, "Fei- Feitan. You! I'm yours." You sobbed, only his name on your tongue and on your mind.Â
Feitan relished in the sight of his cock fucking into you, disappearing into your depth, his hips flushed with your own. And each time he pulled out, the sight of your bloodied cum on his length made him shudder. He gathered your discharge on his thumb and used it to coat your clit, relentlessly rubbing over it. His hips started to move again, desperately forcing himself deeper as he played with your bud. Your cunt spasming around him again as you attempted to escape his onslaught of overstimulation.Â
"T-Too much- can't Fei-"
"Never push me away," He threatened, leaning down to nip at your ear, "Will punish you."
You whimpered but the way your cunt opened up for him told him all he needed to know-- the pain, the helplessness, he was turning you on. Straightening again he continued to fuck into you, swiping over your clit, far past the point of pleasing you, rough thrusts hitting your g-spot over and over. You let out an honest to god cry as your third orgasm hit, words thick and hard to understand but Feitan understood how you begged and pleaded for him.Â
Feitan gripped your hips harder so he could drive into you at a relentless pace, throwing his head back, looking up to the ceiling as he gave you all he had. You pulsed around him all swollen and tight and he knew he wouldn't last much longer,
"Gonna fill you up. Take my cum in your pussy. Mine. My pussy- you're mine." Feitan was past the point of keeping quiet as his possessiveness slammed into him full force. The thought of his cum painting your insides and leaking out...Â
Falling forward he crushed his mouth onto yours, giving several long thrusts before his vision whited out as he came. Cock twitching as he filled you to the brim, hips stuttering all the way against you, hot, thick ropes of cum coating you. Claiming you. Becoming one with you.Â
His pace slowed but his lips never left yours, the two of you panting into each other as you came down. Feitan pulled away, resting his forehead to yours, your eyes meeting. Vulnerability. Like truly seeing each other for the first time. He stroked your cheekbones carefully, trying to sense any fear. But nothing. Your eyes shone with a million stars as you shuddered, staring at him, hips twitching as he pulled out. Leaving you emptier than you'd ever been.Â
Feitan pulled away, dropping back to his knees, carefully stroking along where he'd carved his name into your skin, stroking down your waist then to your thighs. His touch cold, addictive as he thumbed along your leaking folds, his cum beginning to drip down. "Mine."
"Yours."
He stared at you before his cheeks tinted pink, "I'm yours too. Only yours. Don't care about stupid woman I tortured, just my job. You're my.. life. Won't give you space again, won't run if I get scared, this was all my fault, I didn't want to bring you pain. I'll make it up to you."Â
Your eyes widen with love filling them, a stupidly happy grin washing over you from the gravity of his words, "I love you."Â
Feitan froze like he was in head on collision, by your proclamation. Love. Did he deserve that? No. He didn't deserve your love but he couldn't deny the happiness he felt in his chest and how his pulse skyrocketed, "Love you as well."
Feitan laid at your side, stroking along your body as sleep eventually overcame you. You seemed so innocent, so small lying in his arms like that. Watching you sleep was a favorite pastime, but knowing you slumbered with his cum buried in you was enough to entrance him back into your gravity.Â
Your passed out form hardly reacted to his touches, soft moans as he slid his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt. Little twitches as he sucked on your nipples. And you stayed asleep as he slipped his re-hardened cock back inside of your abused cunt, full heartedly welcoming him in.Â
The bed creaked and thumped against the wall as he let loose, let his grunt and sobs loudly leave him as he fucked you full once more. This was heaven. Pure bliss. Not even torturing made him feel this way, so high, so invincible. Feitan indulged in you until he was a whiny overstimulated mess, heaving atop you and leaving even more marks. He fucked you until he couldn't cum anymore, dumping two more loads into your pussy that became swollen and tight, a perfect fit for his cock.Â
It was then that he could finally sleep, curled up next to your limp body holding you flush. He pet your hair possessively as you subconsciously cuddled into him further, blood pounding in his ears. The fact you'd been jealous made his chest soar. You hated someone for having his attention because you wanted it. You loved him for him. And it was then that he could finally drift off to sleep, content knowing you were filled with him. His.
#feitan x reader#feitan portor#feitan x you#feitan hxh#feitan smut#yandere feitan#phantom troupe#hxh fanfic#hunter x hunter#hxh x reader#hxh smut#phantom troupe smut#phinks#chrollo#uvogin#feitan porter x reader#feitan headcanons#hhighkeyâs phantom troupe universe
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Never let go ~
Massimo x reader (may get a bit steamy.)
Tw: choking, cussing, smut
âOne yearâŠ. One year have I wasted on a man who will never change.â I write in my journal as I look up and out the window of the plane as Massimo huffs annoyed leaning against his chair mad Iâve refused to sit near him. You see unlike Laura I choose to be with him thinking heâd learn after she ran off with his gardener. At first it was bliss and we would shop, have dinners, and travel. ïżŒ
But as fate unfolded with the months he could never let a part of her go fully. Times Iâve spread myself thin to please this God like man, the change in clothes from my usual classy elegance to a more sexy look for him, the unusual taste in art that I know he had commissioned for her. If it were up to me Iâd burn them all in our courtyard one by one and light a cigarette with the flames. I hear him shift angrily either at the fact his wife refuses to look at him or even breathe in his direction or at the sexual tension between him and our flight attendant knowing I would turn the whole plane around if he even dares to act on it.
âIf he leaves again Iâll disappear I swear it to this book and to myself, I deserve the world at my feet. Not this sour bitter treatment as if I was Laura. I have done nothing to cater for him and yet I find my cup empty while his is full, full of life, fun, and excitement. While I am expected to wait for him, submisââ I feel a large hand wrap around my throat, his hot breath tickling my ear as his hand gives a warning squeeze. âMi amore, are you fucking kidding me? Disappear?â He lets out a stiff chuckle as I feel his other hand swiftly grab my journal and throw it against the wall of the plane where he was once sat. âAs if you could stay hidden long enough for that to happen, Iâd search under every single rock and cave to find you.â I tighten my lips together as I look off to the side seeing the flight attendant staring at us, want and desire pooling desperately in her eyes. â(Y,N.) are you really going to be this difficult, acting as if I was some random man you could throw a fit with and Iâd just let you be.â His free hand playing with the hem of your white mini dress going up to the middle of your chest where we can see the golden v accentuating your cleavage. âMassimo, please.â I croak out, half in annoyance and in desire because I know what lies in the next few moments to come. He lets my neck go and I take a deep breath, he moves to the front where I can see him towering over me and does something shocking.
Massimo has knelt in front of me with soft gentle hands he moves them up my calves to my knees and spreads them apart. âW-what are youââ he gives me a look. âFor once shut the fuck up.â He reaches under my dress and rips my lace underwear off me. My hands go to rest on his bicep as he pulls my hips closer to the edge of the seat, his lips tickle my inner thighs with kisses leading up to a long teasing swipe of my glistening folds. A deep primal groan emerges from his chest as he hungrily laps at the pooling wetness between my legs. Soft moans leave me as I shiver under the unfamiliar sensation of his tongue making its presence known. Massimo wasnât one for giving but always receiving. This is a whole different feeling entirely.
My eyes roll back as he continues determined to make me gush sweet juices all over his face. His sweet prize for having to put up with my mood swings as he calls them. He knows Laura is gone, but she gave him a feeling he couldnât describe but you, you were his weakness. The one thing that could bring him to his knees and possibly lose his mind, hence why you were his wife he lost you once over his own mistakes but that wasnât happening again.
The pooling desire swirling in the deep of your tummy was nearing the edge, asking to be released as your legs tighten against his strong hands. âM-Massimo keep going please, like that.â He smiles against your folds as he continues, his tongue swirls in circles around your clit and he moves a hand further up, once at his destination he inserts his two middle fingers slowly, angling them upward just to brush along the wall. He can feel you tighten around his fingers and at this point heâs ready to hoist you up and impale you with his long, girthy shaft. But he knows you need this, you need to feel cared for before he can have his own way with you. He feels your legs tremble as you struggle to breathe and he takes everything you give him, lapping each drop as if he hadnât drink anything all day not wanting to waste a single drop, the overstimulation of his tongue pressing your bundle of nerves until he finally stops and look up. âBeautiful.â He whispers before placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh and getting up, he sits next to you and pulls you close to his side. âStop acting like how you have been this whole trip, (Y,N).â He kisses the top of your head as you regain consciousness from cloud nine. âMassimo everything I wrote is true itâs how I feelâŠâ I look up at him. âYou arenât fully here.â âBullshit. Bella I am here Iâm right fucking here, I got on my knees for you do you understand how much you mean to me? Outside of this.â He motions around with his hand. âIâd kill for you. I shouldâve never left you for her. She was the devil in disguise, a fucking demon.â He grabs your jaw, âbut you.. you are everything pure, sweet, and perfect. Not a day goes by that I donât regret what I did to you. I may not be the perfect man or husband but for you I am willing to try.â You both lean in and share a sweet kiss before hearing a ding. âPlease buckle your seatbelt the captain with start our descend soon.â
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ᥣđ© the good girl . ⹠° ă .ă *ă:.ăthe proposition and the firecracker (3)
synopsis -- Rafe Cameron manipulates both his secretary and her fiancĂ© Pope with a tempting business offer: a month in Morocco and a six-figure bonus that could change their livesâor destroy them.
warnings -- 18+- mdni, cursing, angst, rafe being rafe *sigh*, sexual advances, manipulation
Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | word count: 4k
The following morning arrived with a weight of dread you couldn't shake. Your hands trembled slightly as you arranged your desk supplies, trying to ignore the ghost of Rafe's kiss that still burned on your lips. The office felt different now â every shadow held a memory of Rafe's darkness, every corner echoed with unspoken threats.
Then his shadow fell across your desk, and your heart stopped. Rafe loomed over you, his cerulean eyes gleaming with something that looked too much like triumph.
He'd dressed carefully today â crisp navy suit that matched his office walls, the ones he'd chosen because you'd once mentioned liking the color on him. Every detail calculated, every move choreographed.
"You're coming with me to fix the properties in Morocco," he announced, his voice soft but leaving no room for discussion. "I don't want to hear a no."
Before you could process the implications â before you could think about Pope, about the words Rafe had whispered to you at Roots, about that forbidden kiss that still burned on your lips, about all the professional lines you'd already crossed â Rafe turned on his heel and strode into his office.
The command in his posture was clear: follow.
And like a moth drawn to deadly flame, you did.
Your heels clicked against the floor as you trailed behind him, each step feeling like another thread in his web. He settled into his desk chair with the satisfaction of a predator who knew its prey would come when called.
The door clicked shut behind you with a finality that felt like fate.
"But Sir--"
"I thought I told you to call me Rafe?" His voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
"But Rafe--"
"Good girl." The praise rolled off his tongue like honey laced with poison, sending forbidden butterflies dancing through your stomach.
You watch as Rafe rises from his desk, coming straight towards you with that condescending stare that makes your stomach flip. Each deliberate step closes the distance between you, until there's nowhere left to retreat.
"Rafe, I--you're going to be in Morocco for the entire month of July." Your voice sounds small even to your own ears.
"Yes?" His cerulean eyes track your every movement, predatory and patient, as he effectively traps you between his imposing frame and the solid wood of his desk. The single word carries the weight of both question and threat.
"I can't do that, sir--Rafe," you stumbled over the name, watching his jaw clench at your slip.
"Well, why not?" The question dripped with dangerous calm.
"It's my engagement," you burst out, words tumbling faster as his expression darkened. "The $2,000 bonus I was given was just enough to afford rings--we're eloping in July!" The happiness in your voice felt suddenly wrong, like bringing a match to gasoline.
Rafe's face transformed as your words sank in. The bonus he'd authorized â his attempt at marking you with money â had instead funded Pope Hayward's claim on you. The irony of it twisted his features into something terrible.
His fist clenched at his side, knuckles bleaching white with barely contained rage.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. You watched as Rafe's knuckles whitened, as that muscle in his jaw worked overtime.
This wasn't just anger â this was something far more dangerous.
"We plan on just going down to the courthouse," you whisper, each word making Rafe's expression darken further. "The date's already set, and everyone's already RSVP'd--" Your voice trails off as Rafe's expression suddenly transforms into something that makes your blood run cold â a smile that's all teeth and no warmth, sharp and cruel and mocking.
In a moment of misguided politeness that you regret instantly, you stammer: "Of course, you're invited, sir--Rafe." The correction of his title feels like another mistake, another piece of ammunition you've just handed him.
The invitation itself hits Rafe like a physical blow.
His cerulean eyes flash with something dangerous as his mind processes the image: sitting in that courthouse, watching as some judge hands his girl over to Pope fucking Hayward.
The thought alone makes his vision blur red at the edges. A Cameron doesn't sit quietly and watch what belongs to them be claimed by someone else â especially not by a Pogue playing at success.
The way he's looking at you now makes your blood run cold.
But, a courthouse wedding...
How perfectly Pogue of Pope Hayward, Rafe thinks.
His cerulean eyes glitter with something dangerous as he processes this new information. No church, no reception, no grand celebration â just a simple ceremony for what belongs to him. The thought seems to offend him on a molecular level.
"But what about your job?" Rafe's voice softened to that dangerous velvet tone he used when he wanted something. "What about me?" he whispered, the words slipping out before he could catch them, betraying more vulnerability than he'd intended.
His smile flickered, a perfect performance of hurt that made your heart ache despite your better judgment.
"Do you realize how much of a bonus we can get from doing this deal in Morocco?" The question hung in the air between you, equal parts promise and threat, as his cerulean eyes searched your face for any sign of wavering.
He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his expensive cologne mixing with Rafe's last night's lingering sins.
His cerulean eyes held yours, swimming with what looked like genuine pain â but with Rafe Cameron, what was genuine and what was tactical often blurred into the same dangerous thing.
"All that stuff I said in the bathroom at Roots?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, raw with something that sounded like truth. "About you being the only one who sees me? That wasn't the vodka talking." His fingers found your wrist, not gripping, just resting there like a promise â or a threat. "You're the only person who's ever looked at me and seen past the Cameron name, past all the money and the mess, and seen me. You're my best secretary yet."
The words hang between you, heavy with implication. His touch burns against your skin, and you can't tell if this is masterful performance or if you're witnessing one of those rare, unguarded moments when Rafe Cameron lets his masks slip.
The most dangerous part isn't the uncertainty â it's how easily you find yourself being drawn back into his gravity, like a planet that knows its sun might burn it to ash but can't help orbiting anyway.
A heavy silence fills the space between you, stretching like taffy as you stare down at his hands now gripping your waist. Rafe's cerulean eyes never leave your face, drinking in every micro-expression, every subtle reaction.
His fingers flex slightly against the fabric of your blouse, memorizing the feeling of having you this close, of finally holding what he considers his.
The possessive triumph in his eyes makes your breath catch â this isn't just about Morocco anymore. This is about ownership.
"But Mr. Cameron, Sir, this is my Wedding," your voice cracked on the word, desperation seeping through as you pull away from his inappropriate grip on your waist, trying to create distance between your bodies. The movement feels like trying to escape quicksand â the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.
"My fiancĂ© and I have been waiting long enough as it is to get married--" You start, and Rafe's cerulean eyes darken at your careful avoidance of Pope's name. He notices it, savors it â how you can't bring yourself to say "Pope" in his presence, as if speaking his rival's name might shatter whatever dangerous thing hangs between you.
As if some part of you knows exactly what saying that name would do to Rafe's carefully maintained control.
"And what's wrong with waiting another month?" Rafe's voice drops to that same dangerous velvet tone, the one that makes promises and threats in equal measure. He moves closer, again, until you're trapped between his desk and his body, the heat of him making it hard to think straight.
His presence surrounds you like a cage made of expensive cologne and dark intentions, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize he's positioned himself deliberately â ensuring you have nowhere to run.
"One month with me in Morocco," he continues, each word carefully chosen like a weapon. "The bonus alone could buy you a real wedding, the kind of wedding a girl like you deserves not some courthouse ceremony." His fingers brush your arm, feather-light but burning. "Unless, of course, there's a reason you're rushing to tie yourself to Pope Hayward before you have time to⊠reconsider your options."
The implication hangs heavy in the air between you.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" you challenge, pushing back against his desk to create space between you again, trying to ignore how even that small contact sends electricity through your body.
"What does what mean?" Rafe's feigned innocence doesn't match the dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Please don't play dumb, Mr. Cameron. 'Reconsider my options'?" Your voice gains strength with indignation, spine straightening as you finally push back. "If you're implying something's wrong with my relationship, you're deeply mistaken."
Rafe's eyebrow arches with dangerous interest, his cerulean eyes gleaming at your defensive tone. Trouble in paradise? he thinks, noting how quickly you jumped to defend a supposedly perfect relationship. Like a shark scenting blood in the water, he catalogs your reaction for future use â another crack in the facade he can exploit.
Rafe's response is a low, boyish chuckle that shouldn't affect you the way it does â shouldn't make your breath hitch or your cunt to clench. The worst part is, he seems to know exactly what that laugh does to you, his cerulean eyes darkening with satisfaction at your visible response.
"All I'm suggesting," he purrs, leaning closer despite your attempts to maintain distance, "is that a month in Morocco might give you some⊠clarity. About what you really want in life.--"
About who you really want in life, Rafe thinks.
His eyes rake over you appraisingly. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking? I know you're young. Young girls like you shouldn't be rushing into marriage when there's a whole world to explore."
The condescension in his tone ignites something fierce in you. Nice save, Rafe, but not good enough.
"And perhaps," you counter, voice sharp with newfound courage, "I could say the same to you, Mr. Cameron. I suppose living under your father's ownership isn't something a man your age should be doing either, maybe you should follow your own advice about exploration and independence." You shrug, the gesture deliberately casual, but your words strike with surgical precision. It's a direct hit to his deepest insecurity, and you both know it â the way his jaw clenches and his cerulean eyes darken tells you exactly how deep that barb has landed.
Without waiting for a response, you storm out of his office, letting your anger carry you past the weight of his stare.
But even as you retreat, his words follow you like a shadow: One month with Rafe in Morocco. One month that could change everything â or destroy it all. The smart thing would be to say no, to run straight to Pope and never look back.
Yet as you sink into your desk chair, suddenly, the phantom weight of an engagement ring you can't even afford feels heavy on your finger. Despite your anger at his manipulation, despite your better judgment screaming warnings, you find yourself wondering what kind of clarity Rafe Cameron could offer under the Moroccan sun.
And fuck, if you're being honest with yourself, that extra Morocco bonus could solve a lot of problems. The kind of problems that Pope's courthouse wedding and earnest but empty promises can't fix. The thought sits in your stomach like lead â equal parts guilt and temptation, wrapped in the dangerous possibility of what saying yes to Rafe Cameron might mean.
As you sank deeper into your desk chair, a chilling thought suddenly struck you. How did Rafe know about your engagement to Pope Hayward? You'd never mentioned it to him, had been deliberately careful to keep your personal life separate from work.
The realization that he'd somehow known all along made your skin crawl, adding another layer to the growing mystery of exactly how much Rafe Cameron watched you when you weren't looking.
A firecracker you were. That's what kept repeating in Rafe's mind, smiling to himself, as he slouched in his leather desk chair, trying to regain his composure.
The slap you given him yesterday still burned on his cheek. Today's verbal assault stung even deeper. No one talked to Rafe Cameron like that â no one except you.
And fuck, if that didn't make him want you more.
No wonder Pope wanted to marry you. The thought made his blood boil, but he had to admit â that fire, that spine of steel beneath your professional exterior⊠it was intoxicating. You weren't just another pretty secretary. You were a force of nature trapped in business casual.
For ten minutes after your explosive exit, Rafe sat there, fighting both his rage and his boner. The way you'd thrown his daddy issues back in his face, matching his cruelty with your own â no one else had ever dared. Not his father's yes-men, not his business partners, not even Ward himself. Just you, his perfect, infuriating secretary who thought she belonged to Pope Hayward.
His body's reaction to your defiance was embarrassingly obvious, but then again, nothing about his obsession with you had ever been subtle. Every rejection, every sharp word, every flash of that fierce independence just made him more determined to break you down, to own you completely.
Morocco couldn't come soon enough, Rafe thought.
During most of his solo lunches, Rafe took himself into Cameron Development's newly remodeled canteen â a massive improvement over the old one, now boasting a Starbucks, Panera Bread, and McDonald's.
On his high-calorie days, nothing beat a Big Mac with fries, a guilty pleasure he'd never admit to his health-obsessed father.
Today, however, his appetite vanished the moment he spotted Pope Hayward holding court at one of the central tables. The sight of him, surrounded by laughing colleagues, made Rafe's jaw clench. Pope was clearly in the middle of some elaborate story, gesturing with his sandwich, playing the charming man that everyone seemed to love.
Rafe lingered by the McDonald's counter, watching through narrowed eyes as Pope checked his phone, probably texting you. The way Pope's face lit up at whatever response he received made Rafe's fingers curl into fists.
That should be his messages making you smile, his lunch breaks spent with you.
The Big Mac in his hands suddenly felt like ash in his mouth. Watching Pope play the perfect fiancĂ©, the beloved colleague, the man who dared to claim what belonged to Rafe â it was enough to make him reconsider every non-violent solution to the Pope Hayward problem.
But then again, Rafe thought bitterly, remembering Ward's warning about Pope being untouchable. No matter how much he fantasized about making his rival disappear, Pope's position at R&P made him politically bulletproof. The merger was too important, the relationships too valuable to risk.
So, what the hell, Rafe thought, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. If you can't beat them, join them â and learn their weaknesses from the inside.
"Pope Hayward," Rafe interrupted, his voice cutting through Pope's animated story about some youthful adventure with his Pogue friends. "Long time no see."
The conversation at the table died instantly. Every head turned toward him, faces marked with varying degrees of wariness and surprise.
Rafe couldn't help but appreciate the poetry of the moment â gathered around this corporate lunch table were three men whose faces he'd bloodied more times than he could count: Pope Hayward, Topper Thornton, and Kelce Thompson (both whom he hadn't noticed until now).
The irony wasn't lost on him. These three ghosts from his violent past, now wearing suits and playing at respectability in his mid-thirties. Each one a reminder of who he used to be â and who he still was beneath his own expensive suit.
Pope worked for R&P, climbing the corporate ladder with irritating success. Topper had somehow landed a cushy position under Ward at their mainland branch. And Kelce, who'd never quite figured out the corporate game, still hung around like a remora fish attached to his more successful friends. When had these former enemies become such close allies? The thought made something twist unpleasantly in Rafe's gut.
"Ah, Rafe Cameron," Pope's response came with that insufferably casually witty tone that made Rafe's teeth grind. "What do you mean, I just saw you yesterday, remember that meeting on the Morocco properties?" He paused, a knowing glint in his eye. "You know, the one where you couldn't seem to keep your eyes off my fiancée?"
The word 'fiancĂ©e' hung in the air like a challenge. Pope said it so casually, so confidently â marking his territory while maintaining that easy smile. Topper and Kelce exchanged glances, sensing the dangerous undertone of what should have been a simple business reference.
Rafe's cerulean eyes darkened at the subtle jab. Pope might be younger, might play at being the easygoing professional, but there was steel beneath that casual exterior. He knew exactly what he was doing, deliberately reminding Rafe of both your engagement and his own awareness of Rafe's obsession.
The fluorescent lights of the canteen suddenly felt too bright, the space between them too charged with unspoken threats.
How bad would it look if Rafe eliminated Pope Hayward in the corporate canteen? Just reach across the pristine table and finish what he'd started all those years ago on the beach--and all those other times, and while he was at it, he might as well take care of Topper Thornton too â the ambitious little shit who keeps eyeing Rafe's position like a vulture circling dying prey.Â
Rafe wasn't blind to the bitter reality unfolding before him. He saw the way Ward looked at Topper during meetings â that proud gleam in his father's eyes that Rafe hadn't seen directed at himself since childhood. The same look Ward used to give Sarah. While Rafe drowned in cocaine and debt, Topper had transformed from childhood rival into everything Ward wanted in a son.
The perfect fucking fairy tale: Topper Thornton, who'd married Sarah Cameron in that lavish ceremony three years ago, becoming the golden son-in-law, the brother Rafe never wanted. Now he was one of the company's top performers, stealing deals right out from under Rafe's nose with that same prep school charm that had stolen his sister.
Each of Rafe's failures â the mounting debts, the drug habit he couldn't kick, his growing obsession with you â seemed to push Ward further into Topper's camp. It was only a matter of time before his father decided to make the switch, replacing his disgrace of a son with the perfect proxy he'd always wanted.
But then that strange voice echoed in his head again: if you can't beat them, join them. The thought was foreign, almost painful â submission had never been in Rafe's vocabulary. Yet for once, maybe playing nice could work to his advantage. Get close enough to learn their weaknesses, their secrets. After all, the best way to destroy someone was from the inside.
For the first time in years, Rafe Cameron found himself considering patience over violence. The thought scared him almost as much as it intrigued him.
"Topper, Kelce, long time no see as well." Rafe forced the words through a practiced smile, deliberately turning away from Pope before his fists made decisions his career couldn't afford. He studied Pope's easy demeanor carefully, looking for any sign that you'd told him about the bathroom incident.
If Pope knew about that kiss, about how Rafe had tasted his fiancée's lips and lived to tell about it, this pleasant lunch scene would be very different.
The Pogues might play at being corporate now, but Rafe knew better â if Pope knew, he and his band of loyal attack dogs would have already stormed Rafe's waterfront condo with their old fury, all pretense of civilization stripped away.
But Pope's relaxed posture and casual smile suggested the kiss was still your little secret.
"How's my sister, and my niece?" Rafe said suddenly.
The mention of Sarah hung heavy in the air â another reminder of everything Topper had that should have been Rafe's: Ward's approval, the company's respect, a perfect family.
"Sarah and I are doing fine," Topper replied, his tone carrying that subtle note of superiority that made Rafe's jaw clench. "Madeline just started to walk." He paused, letting his next words land like carefully aimed darts. "You'd know this if you called every once in a while â introduce yourself to your niece."
The judgment in Topper's voice was clear: here was another way Rafe had failed as a Cameron. Another box Topper could check off in his perfect son-in-law performance.
Even being an uncle was something Rafe couldn't get right.
The worst part wasn't Topper's smugness or Pope's knowing smirk â it was that they were right. Rafe had been so consumed with his own demons, with watching you, with fucking random girls from bars, with chasing cocaine highs, that he'd missed his own niece's first steps.
Sarah would never forgive him for that, but then again, Sarah hadn't forgiven him for a lot of things.
"Wow, Rafe, you haven't even met your niece yet?" Kelce's voice dripped with theatrical shock, adding unnecessary drama like the background character he'd always been. His comment made the weight of Rafe's failures press harder against his chest.
"What can I say, I'm a busy man." Rafe's smile didn't reach his eyes. Then, seeing his opportunity, he shifted his attention back to Pope. "Speaking of busy â Pope, got a minute? Need to discuss something about your--" Rafe pauses, swallowing down his pride, "fiancĂ©e's role in the Morocco project."
The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly. Topper's eyes narrowed with suspicion, while Kelce looked between them like he was watching a tennis match. But it was Pope's reaction Rafe watched most carefully â the slight tension in his jaw, the way his easy smile faltered for just a moment.
"Sure thing, dude," Pope replied, emphasizing the casual term just to irk him. "Though I'm pretty sure any discussions about my fiancée's employment should go through HR, not me."
Rafe's smile turned predatory. "Trust me, this is something you'll want to hear in private."
"What is it Cameron? I don't got all day for your bullshit." Pope's words bounced off the nautical-themed walls of Rafe's office â the ones he'd designed with you in mind, a detail that made this conversation even sweeter.
"What makes you think it's bullshit I'm about to tell you, and not something that can change your life?" Rafe settled into his leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Or more specifically, change your courthouse wedding into something actually worthy of my secretary?"
Pope's eyes narrowed. "Get to the point."
"Morocco," Rafe said simply, watching Pope's reaction carefully. "The bonus alone would set you both up nicely. We're talking six figures, Pope. Enough to buy a real house, throw a real wedding. Maybe finally afford that engagement ring you've been 'saving up' for that she doesn't have to pay for?"
He let that sink in, noting how Pope's jaw clenched at the jab about his finances. "All you have to do is convince her to come with me. One month in Morocco, and you two could finally start living like Kooks instead of⊠well." Rafe gestured vaguely at Pope's off-the-rack suit.
"You really expect me to send my fiancée off to Morocco with you?" Pope's laugh held no humor. "I'm not an idiot Cameron, I see the way you look at her like she's a piece of meat--" His eyes hardened, that easy Pogue charm evaporating into something more dangerous. "Which I've been meaning to say to you--cut it out, dude, and get your own, that's not cool."
That "dude" hung in the air between them â a deliberate reminder of their age gap. Pope, still young enough to use such casual language in a corporate setting, while Rafe⊠well, Rafe was old enough to remember beating him unconscious for less disrespect than this.
The age difference had never bothered Rafe before. But now, watching Pope's boyish smile, knowing he was the one who got to wake up next to you every morning â it felt like salt in an open wound. You deserved someone more refined, more powerful. Someone who could give you more than courthouse weddings and young love optimism.
Someone like Rafe.Â
"No," Rafe's smile turned shark-like--similar to his father's. "I expect you to want what's best for her. Unless, of course, you're happy watching her work as my secretary forever, living paycheck to paycheck, settling for courthouse ceremonies because her fiancé can't provide better."
The words hung in the air like poison. Rafe could see them working their way into Pope's mind, past his suspicion and into that deep-seated insecurity about not being good enough for you. After all, what kind of man would deny his future wife a chance at a better life?
"Think about it, Pope," Rafe pressed his advantage. "One month of discomfort for a lifetime of luxury. That's all I'm offering. The question is â do you love her enough to let her have it?"
"You're full of shit." Pope spat the words like venom as he headed for the door.
"Just think about it, Hayward--" He watched Pope's shoulders tense. "And hey."
Pope paused in the doorway, and Rafe's lips curved into that dangerous Cameron smile. "If you convince her to come with me, and you find out I try to make any move on her, I give you all rights to kick my ass. How's that sound?"
Rafe watched with predatory intensity, head tilted slightly as Pope weighed his options. The soft 'tsk' that escaped Pope's lips only made Rafe's smile sharpen â like a wolf watching its prey realize it's already trapped. Every second of Pope's hesitation felt like victory.
Before either man could speak again, the office door burst open. You stood there, slightly breathless, concern etched across your features. "Mr. Cameron? Is everything alright? I saw Mr. Hayward leaving and-"
"Just discussing some properties, sweetheart," Rafe cut in smoothly, his predatory smile softening into something almost believable. "Weren't we, Pope?"
Pope's jaw clenched at the endearment, but he managed a nod. "Yeah, just business." He caught your eye, and for a moment, looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he turned and walked away, the weight of his decision settling heavy on his shoulders.
Rafe watched you watch Pope leave, already imagining how perfectly his plan was falling into place. Morocco was going to change everything â he'd make sure of it.
a/n -- this shit about to get so messy yall-
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MASTERMIND (vii)
SEVEN - THE MANUSCRIPT
SUMMARY:Â A child of light and dark, you are the Night Courtâs best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.
PAIRING:Â eris vanserra x reader
WORD COUNT:Â 9.2k
SERIES MASTERLIST
WARNINGS:Â language, heavy angst, love confessions, cliff hanger
The afternoon sun filters through the curtains of your new apartment, casting a warm glow over the freshly furnished space. Velaris lays sprawled beneath you, and the fifth story height gives you an incredible view of the Illyrian mountains in the distance. The studio is modest compared to the grandeur of the House of Wind. But despite the downsizing of your bed and the slightly cramped organization of furniture, it holds a certain freedomâone you havenât known before, one that lets you breathe more clearly.
A soft breeze seeps through the French doors you keep ajar as you settle into a chair by the balcony. You sink into the comfort of the plush seat as you begin sifting through the pile of documents that has accumulated over the past few weeks. Your work as Scholar has become a reprieve during this period of change. The intricacies of ancient texts and political correspondences offer a semblance of normalcy that have kept you grounded since your return to the Night Court. But as enjoyable as your work has been, the golden rays shining through the windows make the pile of parchment in front of you seem like more of a chore than usual. You try to immerse yourself in your work, but you keep finding your gaze being drawn to the city outside.Â
âEnjoying the view?â a gruff voice sounds from behind you.
You shriek and jump in your seat, sending papers flying through the air. You whip around, and your frantic heartbeat settles as you lay eyes on the intruder.
Cassian grins back at you with a devilish glint in his hazel eyes. You narrow your own into a menacing glare as you gather the jumbled mess of parchment from the ground.
âIs privacy a foreign concept for Illyrians? Or do you just take pleasure in barging in whenever you see fit?â you grumble.
Cassian chuckles as he leans against the doorframe. His gaze wanders over the mess of documents scattered across the floor, but he makes no move to help you. âRhys sent me to fetch you. Heâs called an urgent meeting about treaty developments.â Â
You roll your eyes, âMy point still stands. You couldâve knocked.â
The general raises an eyebrow, âWhereâs the fun in that?â He pushes off the doorframe and offers you a hand. You reluctantly take it, letting him pull you up from the ground. âIâm just trying to save you from drowning in paperwork. Besides, I heard the new developments are big. Figured youâd want to be there.â
You dust off your hands and meet his gaze, a mischievous smile ghosting over your lips. âHow big are we talking? Fate-of-the-world big or just enough to make me question my sanity?â
Cassianâs grin widens, âA little bit of both. Itâs not every day we get to negotiate peace treaties with horny high lords with a penchant for trouble.â
You sigh, stretching your limbs, âFine, Iâll come. But only if you promise to not sneak up on me like that again. I nearly had a heart attack.â
âDeal,â Cassian lies through a toothy grin. âBut only if you promise not to screech like that again. I swear you nearly ruptured my ear drums.â
You cross your arms over your chest, âI suggest you keep that in mind next time you decide to barge in unannounced.â
âNoted,â Cassian replies, âShall we?â
You grab a jacket and head toward the door, with Cassian falling into step beside you. âLead the way, then. And try to keep your snark to a minimum until after the meeting, okay?â
Cassian chuckles again, his tone light and teasing, âNo promises. After all, whatâs life without a little mischief?â
As you stroll through the lively streets of Velaris, the conversation flows effortlessly. Cassianâs banter provides a welcome distraction from the glaringly unresolved areas of your life. Most notably, a certain half-sister.
Your return to the Night Court has been smoother than you anticipated. Feyre and Elain have been incredibly kind and courteous, Amren has treated you like you never left, and Azriel and Cassian welcomed you with open armsâliterally, they tackled you to the floor. Youâve even found yourself spending more time with Nesta, whom you now regularly exchange books with. All is goodâall except Mor.
You know your sister well. You know that she can hold a mean, unrelenting grudge. But youâve never found yourself on the opposing end, receiving the brunt of her anger. She hasnât so much as looked at you since your return, evading every attempt you make to talk to her. At first, guilt consumed you. The disdainful look in her eye threw you back into the slew of emotions you felt while you were at Autumnâthe feeling that you were committing a grave betrayal to your only family. But as the weeks have passed, guilt has transformed into something more bitter. How are you meant to repair your relationship, when she wonât so much as meet your eye?Â
âI can practically hear the gears turning in your head. Penny for a thought?â Cassianâs rumbling voice halts your train of thought.
You tilt your head upwards to meet his gaze. He towers over you, but despite his size, his playful eyes resemble that of a puppy. âNothing,â you smile softly, âJust thinking about being back here. I missed it a lot.â
His mouth stretches into a toothy grin, âSo you missed me?â
You smile turns into a glower, âI didnât say that.â
âDonât be embarrassed, Bookworm. I know youâre in love with me,â he drawls, âAnd although Iâm a taken man, Iâm sure Nes wouldnât mind inviting a third into the bedroom.â
Your cheeks flare and you slap him harshly. He doesnât so much as flinch, but his face pales at your next words.
âDonât think for a minute that Iâm above tattling on you, Batboy. Iâm sure Nesta wonât be so amused at your perversion.â
âYou wouldnât.â
You cock a brow, âDonât test me.â
âTouchĂ©,â he relents.Â
A proud grin curls onto your lips at the trivial victory. But the smirk is immediately wiped from your face as Cassian lunges towards you. The scream has barely left your lips when he wraps you tightly in his arms and soars into the air.Â
âIâm going to kill you!â Your cry is barely audible through the wind whipping around you, but you can feel the rumble of Cassianâs laugh. Despite your anger, you cling to him for dear life. This isnât your first time flying with him, but the stomach lurching feeling of soaring through the air never ceases to surprise you. You shut your eyes tightly, willing the nausea to stay put in your gut.
The second your feet touch the ground, you lunge at the Illyrian warrior. Much to your displeasure, he expertly avoids your right hook. You send another his way, which he easily catches in his own hand.
âLet me have one,â you grunt, âI deserve it.â
His hazel eyes glisten with amusement. âYouâre gonna have to try harder than that, nerd.â
A growl rips through your throat, but before you can throw yourself at him once more, the High Ladyâs commanding voice slices through the air.
âWould you two quit bickering for once?â
The stern look on Feyreâs face leaves no room for debate. Reluctantly, you step away from Cassian.
âSorry, your highness,â he dips his head in apology, but his irksome smirk remains.Â
âIâm not,â you glower at him.
Feyre rolls her eyes but doesnât comment on your obstinance. Instead, she beckons you forward. âWell come on, then. Everyone else is here.â
You fall into step beside her, leaving Cassian trailing behind. As you enter the River House, you run through a million different ways to enact your revenge on him. From the quirk in Feyreâs lips, you know that she is listening to your sadistic thoughts. A delicious smell wafts through the air, eliciting a growl from your stomach. As freeing as living on your own has been, the one pitfall is cooking for yourselfâhence, the drool thatâs all but dripping from your chin when the doors of the dining room swing open, revealing a full feast of food.
Any lingering bitterness is swept away at the sight. You eagerly take a seat at the table, barely acknowledging the rest of the Inner Circle. Even as the chatter around you dies down, you still canât take your eyes off the spread before you. You donât hesitate to pile an assortment of dishes onto your plate: roasted chicken, potatoes, and vegetables galore. But before you can take your first bite, an expectant cough stops you.
âDo you have any manners?â Cassian quips.
You narrow your eyes into a menacing glare. The rest of the Inner Circle watches, eyes wide with surprise at your uncharacteristic behavior.
âI skipped lunch.â
You shove a forkful of chicken into your mouth, nearly moaning at the taste.
âWho the hell thought you living on your own would be a good idea?â Azriel grumbles from beside you, but the playful glint in his eye betrays him.
âYour High Lord,â you mumble through a mouthful of food.
Nesta crinkles her nose in disgust as crumbs fall from your mouth. Regret is painted across Rhysâs face, to which you only shovel another forkful.
âPig,â Amren chimes in.
You give her a bright, shining middle finger.
You scan the room and frown at the empty spot beside Azriel. âWhereâs sister dearest?â you ask after swallowing.
âNot feeling well,â Rhys averts his gaze as he lies through his teeth. Irritation courses through you but you merely roll your eyes, keeping the snide remark to yourself.
âIn other news,â Feyre says, âTreaty negotiations have been moving along.â
Rhys nods, grateful for the change in subject. âWeâve made as much progress as possible from afar. It seems that a summit is necessary to solidify tentative agreements and work out the remaining kinks.âÂ
Although you are still fully engrossed by the food in front of you, your ears perk up at the news. With two years passed since the War on Hybern, itâs about time the High Lords put their egos aside and meet.
âItâs about time,â Amren grumbles, voicing your inner thoughts.
Everyone nods in agreement. Despite the easiness, you canât help but notice the way Feyre shifts in her seat and Rhys avoids her gaze. You narrow your eyes slightly at their nervous energy and set your fork down in anticipation of whatâs to come.Â
âIn an act of good faith, weâve offered to host negotiations here in Velaris.â
There it is. A conglomerate of protests immediately erupts. Thanks to the mortal queens, Velaris is no longer a sanctuary hidden from Prythian. But the prospect of inviting a cohort of power-hungry High Lords into it isâŠdaunting, to say the least.
Rhys raises his hand, ceasing everyoneâs chattering with the gesture. His gaze sweeps over the gathered members of his Inner Circle with his usual calm authority. âI know itâs less than ideal. But think of it as an olive branch, of sorts. Hosting here in Velaris is not only a display of our transparency, but it also emphasizes the strategic importance of these negotiations.â
The tension in the air is clear. But no one dares to argue, as his commanding tone leaves little room for debate, and much to everyoneâs displeasure, Rhys is right. Although the moreâŠdisagreeable High Lords were willing to overlook the Night Courtâs deceptions during the war, that tolerance can only last so long now that the dust has settled.Â
âWho will be attending?â Azrielâs voice is quiet but sharp.
âAnd each court will be represented?â Amrenâs eyes narrow in suspicion.
âEvery High Lord and their chosen entourages,â Rhys confirms, his voice steady. âEven Beron has agreed, though I suspect his motives are less than pure.â
You tense at the mention of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. His name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and your raging appetite suddenly subsides. You push your plate away with a grimace. A contemplative silence hangs in the air as everyone digests the information, weighing the risks and benefits. Before anyone can voice another concern, Feyre leans forward.
âAnd to the mark the beginning of these negotiations, we thought it might be good to host a ball.â
The room falls silent again.
âA ball,â Cassian deadpans.
Feyreâs lips twitch in amusement. âA ball, gala, soirĂ©e, whatever youâd like to call it. A formal event to welcome the High Lords and their families into the city. Itâs more than just a social gathering; itâs a statement. A public display of unity for all of Prythian to see.â
A lump forms in your throat. Not just the High Lords, but their families. Which can only mean one thingâŠ
âA strategic move,â Amren muses, nodding slowly, âIt could help set a positive tone for the negotiations.â
âItâs risky,â Azriel murmurs, his shadows swirling restlessly as he considers the implications. âBut it could work.â
Cassian leans back in his chair with a groan. Nesta gives him a pointed look, silencing any impending complaints.
âThink of it as more than just a celebration,â Rhys folds his hands over the table in a subtle display of power, âItâs an opportunity to control the narrative. Itâs a chance to remind everyone that Velaris is not just a city, but the beating heart of our Courtâitâs a reminder of what we could build together.â
Any residual hesitation seems to vanish with his rather convincing argument. But despite the positive shift in energy, your mind is racing. The thought of seeing Eris againâof being in the same room, breathing the same airâsends a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over you: anxiety, panic, and dread, tied together by a small sliver of hope.
âAs for logistics, weâll need everyoneâs help for preparationââ
âIâll handle the dĂ©cor,â Amren eagerly cuts in. A glint of excitement shines in her cold eyes at the prospect of decorating the place with jewels and gaudy, shiny things alike.
âAnd Iâll manage security,â Azriel adds, his wings flaring out slightly behind him. âWith so many powerful players in one place, we canât afford to be careless.â
âGood,â Rhys nods before turning to you. You can feel his searing gaze, but you focus your own on the half-finished food on your plate. âAnd youâyour knowledge of the Autumn Court will be invaluable in these negotiations. Iâll need you close at hand.â
Everyone shifts at the indirect mention of yourâŠescapade in Autumn. But you donât so much as flinch at his words. Instead, you nod, the weight of responsibility settling over you like a cloak. âUnderstood.â
As discussions of the impending negotiations continue, you find yourself mentally withdrawing. Still, the calm façade youâve maintained so well doesnât crack. But your heart pounds with the suspense of whatâs to come.
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
Over the past week, a nervous energy has been humming around Velaris in anticipation of the big day. Itâs been chaotic, to say the least, with High Fae and citizens alike running around in preparation of the High Lordsâ summit. Despite the severe lack of sleep and constant ache in your feet, event preparations have been a welcome distraction. But the day has finally come, effectively ending your temporary reprieve. And as you rifle through the gowns in Nestaâs closet, reality starts to really settle in.
âWhat about this one?â Nesta pulls out an emerald, green gown that leaves little to the imagination. You eye the deep cut and skin-tight material with a frown.Â
âIf I want to look like a child playing dress up, then sure,â you quip. You throw your head back with a groan and sit on the edge of her bed in defeat. âI donât have the boobs to pull any of this off.â
Nesta rolls her eyes and places yet another dress back on the rack. âI really donât know what you were expecting. Why donât you just suck it up and go ask Mor?â
You stare at her in disbelief.
âDonât look at me like that,â she snips, âYou know Iâm right.â
You grunt in disapproval, but donât protest. Picking an argument with Nesta is a losing battle, after all.Â
âWhy couldnât I be blessed with tits as big as yours?â you recline on her bed with a sigh.
Nesta shrugs, still sifting through the closet. âYou could always ask Rhys to work his magic. Or Feyre. If she can sprout wings, Iâm sure she can magically grow you a cup size or two.â
You launch a pillow in her direction which she swiftly dodges. âI am not asking for a magic boob job.â
You canât help but giggle at the notion and Nesta follows suit. As ridiculous as the thought is, you long to see the look on Feyre or Rhysâs face if you did ask them.
âMaybe Iâll just wear a trash bag,â you muse aloud, âOr my birthday suit.â
âThatâll be sure to catch Erisâs attention.â
You throw another pillow in her direction.
âWhat about this one?â Nesta dodges your attack.
You sit up on the bed, ready to shoot down yet another dress. But the rejection halts in your throat as you take in the gown before you. Like the others, this one has a deep v-cut. But the bodice cinches at the waist before flowing down in a river of chiffon. The deep, sapphire hue is decorated with silver embroidery, delicate threads winding like constellations across the fabric. Tiny crystals are scattered throughout the design, catching the light and shimmering like stars in the night sky. The elegance is understated: a perfect blend of boldness and grace that leaves you momentarily speechless.
âThat could work,â you state lamely.
A proud grin curls onto Nestaâs lips. âI suppose the twentieth try is the charm.â She tosses the dress towards you, and you swiftly catch it. âNow that thatâs sorted, I think itâs time we play dress-up, then.â
You and Nesta fall into a comfortable rhythm, pinning your hair and dusting make-up over your cheeks in between bits of chatter. Despite her hard exterior, youâve taken a liking to the eldest Archeron since your return to the Night Court. She never beats around the bushâa quality you deeply admire. Talking to her doesnât necessarily take your mind off your worries, but rather makes them seem far less daunting.Â
Just as you zip up your gown, a knock sounds on the door of her bedroom.Â
âCome in,â Nesta calls from her seat in front of her vanity. You divert your gaze from your reflection in the full-length mirror to find Cassian in the doorway. His wings are tucked tightly behind him to fit through the opening far too small for the likes of a 6-foot-something Illyrian warrior. Heâs swapped his typical attire of leathers out in favor of a sleek, black suit. His unruly hair is tied back neatly, save for a few strands of hair.
Despite his intimidating stature, he stares at Nesta like a lovesick puppy. âWow,â he stumbles breathlessly, âYou look beautiful. Both of you.â
He doesnât so much as glance in your direction, and you roll your eyes.
âYou look less slobbish than usual,â you quip. Nesta snickers, but your insult doesnât register to Cassian, whose eyes remained trained on his mate. You wrinkle your nose in disgust as you can practically smell his arousal permeating the room.
âAnd thatâs my cue,â you sigh. You take one last glance in the mirror before turning on your heels. You send Nesta a soft smile and pat Cassianâs shoulder on your way out. âTry to keep it in your pants âtill after the ball, okay?â
You donât stick around to hear his sounds of protest, swiftly slipping out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart skips a beat as you glance up at the grandfather clock down the hall. 8:06 PM. You take a deep breath before squinting your eyes shut and willing the world to twist and fold around you. Cool air envelopes you as you land outside of the River House. The buzz of Night Court citizens filtering through the front doors fills your ears. You wipe your clammy hands along the chiffon fabric of your gown before joining the crowd. You keep your footsteps steady to counter the frantic beat of your heart. Youâre nearly at the steps leading to the ballroom when a hand gently grasps your elbow, pulling you aside.
âCan we talk for a moment?â Rhys whispers in your ear. You turn to find him standing in the shadows.Â
âOf course,â you reply, following him to a quiet corner on the side of the house.
He produces a small, green vial from within his tailored jacket. The liquid inside shimmers under the soft glow of the crescent moon. âAngelâs Blade,â he says calmly, as if discussing the weather.
Your eyes widen in surprise, and you tentatively take the vial from his hands. You know what it is. You know that a single drop is enough to ensure a slow, painful death. Yet, you still utter the word aloud for confirmation. âPoison?â
âA little something to help Eris with Beronâs assassination.â Rhys speaks lowly, wary of any potential eavesdroppers. âThe plan is simpleâBeron needs to sign the treaty at the summit. After that, Eris can do as he pleases with him, and our debts to him are paid.â
Youâre rendered speechless as you process the implications. Thereâs been little to no discussion of Rhysâs alliance with Eris since your return to Velarisâprobably for your sake. In fact, youâd assumed it had disintegrated entirely once Eris figured out that Rhys had sent you to Autumn to spy on him. And now, here he is, not only acknowledging it, but asking for your involvement.Â
âYou want me to give this to Eris?â you ask in disbelief.
Rhys nods, his gaze softening as he senses your unease. âOnly if you feel comfortable with it. Iâm not asking you to do anything youâre not ready for. But I trust you, and I trust your judgment.â
You swallow hard and stare down at the small vial in your palm. âIâll do it,â you finally reply. Even though it terrifies you, the decision feels right. âIâll give it to him.â
âThank you,â Rhys murmurs, squeezing your shoulder gently before releasing you, âJustâŠbe careful.â
You nod, tucking the vial into a hidden pocket of your gown.Â
âYou look beautiful tonight, by the way,â he smiles down at you. His lips curl into a teasing smirk, âLooks like you didnât need a magic boob job to fit into Nestaâs dress, after all.â
A flush crawls up your neck, but the embarrassment on your face quickly morphs into irritation. You slap his shoulder, eyes narrowed in a menacing glare as he cackles like a madman.Â
âIs Azriel the only male of the house who isnât a pervert?â you hiss, hitting him again for good measure.Â
Rhys reaches forward to tousle your hair, but you swat him away. âOh, trust me, my little scholar, Az is the most perverted of us all. Donât let the gentle giant façade fool you.â
You stifle a giggle, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your amusement. You turn on your heel to stroll back towards the crowd. As you part, he calls after you.
âDonât do anything I wouldnât do.â
You glance at him over your shoulder, âThatâs a pretty short list, oh Mighty High Lord.â
Rhysâs laughter fades into the background as you push through the crowd and make your way towards the ballroom. Your jaw all but drops as you enter the large room.
The grandeur of the scene before you is staggeringâchandeliers drip with crystals, the tapestries depicting the history of Velaris adorn the walls, and the dance floor is flooded with Fae in exquisite attire. The sweet scent of jasmine hangs in the air, mingling with the soft melodies that drift from the orchestra at the far end of the room. You catch glimpses of familiar facesâmembers of the Inner Circle mingling with high-ranking nobles and foreign dignitariesâbut youâre too distracted to greet them, your mind occupied by the weight of the vial in your pocket. You help yourself to a glass of wine to settle your unease, but to no avail.
And then, across the sea of dancers and courtiers, you see him.
For a moment, the world narrows to just him, and everything else fades into the background. The sight of him hits you like a physical blow, your heart lurching in your chest. Eris stands with a group of Autumn Court nobles, looking every bit the poised and calculated heir. When his amber eyes lock onto yours, time stops completely.Â
They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. You havenât thought much about death, being immortal. But for a split second, you feel yourself teetering on the brink of that quiet unknown. Those amber eyes are like a movie screen, reeling every memory, every fleeting touch, every unspoken confession. Twisted bedsheets in the watermill cottage, healing light engulfing blood-streaked skin, cool silver slipping around your thumb. Looking at him feels like throwing your freshly mended heart into the pits of fire. The alcohol running through your veins suddenly feels scorching, burning every inch of your skin. And for the first time since you fled Autumn, battered and broken, that feeling deep inside your chest transforms from a dull tug into a debilitating yank. Your body moves with a mind of its own. But just as you take a step forward, amber eyes are gone, replaced with the expanse of a broad chest.
The polite smile you force onto your lips immediately falls as you move your gaze upwards. You stifle a gasp at the sight of crimson hair, so similar to that which has plagued your mind over the past three months. But the man before you isnât himâhis face is too narrow, his nose too crooked.Â
 âI donât believe weâve been introduced,â his voice is cold, laced with an unmistakable Vanserra edge. His similarity to Eris is strikingâbut the russet eyes staring down at you hold something more sinister. You involuntarily shiver, but force on a smile which doesnât quite reach your eyes.Â
âI donât believe we have,â you dip your head into a courteous nod.
His lips stretch into a vicious grin, âBastion Vanserra. And you are?â The question, seemingly innocent, feels like a calculated move in a chess game.Â
You swallow down the lump in your throat, âY/N.â
He repeats your name, delighting in the way it rolls off his tongue. Your shoulders stiffen as he grabs your hand in his and raises it to his lips. You fight the urge to pull away as he presses a taunting kiss to your knuckles.
âMay I steal you for a dance?â he asks.
No.
âSure,â you nod, the gesture alone feeling heavy. As he leads you to the center of the ballroom, the music swells around youâan intricate waltz that seems to mock your inner chaos. The dancers around you swirl in a graceful blur, but all you can focus on is the scorching touch of Bastonâs hand on the small of your back, the way his gaze occasionally flickers to you with a scrutinizing edge.
âForgive me if I seem forward,â Bastion says, âbut you are trulyâŠexquisite. Iâve heard much about youâRhysandâs new scholar. What a shame he hasnât graced us with your presence sooner.â
The words are pleasant, but they feel like theyâre coming from a distance, muffled by the pounding of your heart. You force another faux smile, âIâm flattered. Iâve heard much about you as well.â
His eyes narrow slightly with hair-raising scrutiny. Although you know the Vanserra family doesnât possess Daemati powers, you still double check that the cobblestone barriers of your mind are intact.
âAnd what have you heard?â he replies smoothly as he twirls you around.
The question hangs in the air between you, a challenge disguised as benevolent curiosity. âOnly that youâre a man of considerable influence.â
His lips curl into a feline smirk. But just as quickly as the vicious glint in his eyes appears, it vanishes entirely as a rumbling voice cuts in.Â
ââConsiderableâ is one way to put it. âInconsequentialâ is another.â
The blood rushes from your face, leaving you ashen and awe-struck. You donât register the scowl on Bastionâs face or the change in tempo of the music; all you can hear is the thundering beat of your heart. Bastonâs hands slip from yours, but all you can feel is that golden thread pulling taut in your chest. The younger Vanserra brother retreats, and a pair of familiar hands slip around your waist. His touch is electrifying, giving life to breath. And when he spins you around, the bustling crowd ceases to exist.
Amber captivates you once more. Erisâs eyes are slightly darker than you remember, and the playful smirk that used to make you swoon is gone. Still, the male before you feels like home. Thereâs a hundred things you want to say, but the syllables catch in your throat. Instead, you let him guide you across the dance floor, resting one hand on his shoulder and placing the other in his. DĂ©jĂ vu washes over you as you glide together. There is no wreath atop his head and your red silk has been swapped for a deep sapphire, but just like the first night you met, the pull between you is undeniable, magnetic; this time, accompanied by an invisible, golden string.Â
âSo, your master has finally freed you from your leash, and the first thing you do is run into the arms of a Vanserra?â Venom drips from his lips. âI would say itâs quite unbecoming, darling, but I suppose you canât teach an old dog new tricks.â
You take the insult in stride, letting it roll off your shoulders.
âThe fox smells his own hole first,â you quip seamlessly despite the storm of emotions brewing just beneath your surface.
He wears a malevolent grin. âI see your sharp tongue is still intact. Nice to know that wasnât a part of your little act as well.â You suck in a breath as he dips down, his breath tickling your skin as he whispers, âTell me, Y/N, does Dear Old Dad know yet?â
You nearly lose your footing as your nameânot Athena, not Little Birdârolls off his tongue. You choose to ignore his goading question. Instead, you trail your hand down from his shoulder. The first few buttons of his silk shirt are undone, and you settle your hand on the bare skin of his chest. His eyes are void of emotion, but you can feel the rapid uptick of his heartbeat underneath your palm.Â
You dig your nails slightly into his chest, right where you know he can feel the bond. Your lips brush against his ear as you whisper, âYouâre so quick to call me on my shortcomings, Foxâso quick to forget that you kept secrets from me too.â The invisible string between you thrums in agreement. âBut I digress,â you sink your nails into his skin, relishing in the way he returns the favor around your waist, âIt seems we are but two sides of the same coin, after all.â
Ire flashes in his otherwise empty eyes. He tightens his grip around you once before releasing you entirely, just as the song comes to a close. âIâm growing tired of this game. If youâll excuse meââ
You wrap a hand around his wrist and tug him back towards you, effectively cutting him off. He tries to yank himself away, but your grip is relentless. You stand on your tip toes, and whisper into his ear, âIf you want to take care of your Dear Old Dad,â he tenses, eyes widening at your brashness, âYouâll meet me at the close of the night.â
Eris grits his teeth, but doesnât react for fear of drawing unwanted attention. âNot here,â he mumbles.
âFine. In the city, then.â You trail your hand over the center of his chest once more, âYouâll know how to find me.â You brush your lips against his cheek in a chaste kiss. While seemingly polite, the gesture only adds flame to his raging fire. âTill we meet again, Eris Vanserra.â
You donât dare look back as you slip away. You keep your eyes forward and your steps steady to counteract the frantic beat of your heart. The music feels far away as you weave through the crowd, tactfully avoiding all of your friends. Â
The moment you step outside the grand ballroom, the cool night air hits you like a wave, washing away remnants of the tension that cling to your skin. The orchestral music fades into a distant hum, leaving only the sound of your own breathing as you make your way down the steps of the side door. You glance back once, but the shadows are empty. Still, you can feel the intensity of Erisâs gaze lingering on you, even from afar.
Your steps quicken as you stroll through the open night towards the Sidra. The sound of the gentle current helps soothe your frayed nerves. You stop at the edge of the water, letting the cool breeze soothe your inner turmoil.Â
âRunning away, are we?â
You tense at the familiar voice, your skin prickling with surprise. You turn to find Mor leaning against a nearby tree, her expression unreadable. But the tension between you is palpable.
âJust needed some air,â you counter.
She pushes off the tree and approaches. The silky, burgundy fabric of her dress ripples like water with each deliberate step towards you. âI saw you with him,â she deadpans.
You stiffen and rub your clammy hands against the fabric of your own dress. âAnd?â
âAnd Iâm wondering what the hell youâre doing,â she snaps, her voice low but biting, âWaltzing back into his arms after everything heâs doneâafter all that youâve been through.â
The accusation stings, but you refuse to show weakness. âItâs not that simple.â
âIsnât it?â she steps closer, âBecause it looks pretty damn simple to me.â
Your façade of indifference cracks. âYou think I wanted this?â you canât hide the tremble in your voice, âYou think I wanted to feel thisâŠthis pull, after everything? Do you have any idea what itâs like to fight against something you donât even understand?â
Her own mask of apathy slips. Her eyes soften slightly, but her lips remain pursed in a tight line. âYou donât need to fight it alone.â
Something inside you snaps. âWhat the hell do you know about what I need?â The words come out harsher than you intend, but you canât stop. âYouâve been ignoring me for weeks, Mor. Avoiding me like the plague. So donât you darestand there and act like you care now.â
Her face pales at the blistering truth of your words. You divert your eyes to the Sidra, unable to hold her gaze. You mean every single word, but this is not how youâd envisioned this conversation going.
âIâm sorry,â you finally whisper. You take a shaky breath, trying to recollect yourself. âI donât know how to do this anymore. Iâm tired, and Iâm confused, and I justâŠI just want my sister back.â
A heavy silence hangs between the two of you. The cool winds lick your skin, but you canât move, let alone wrap your arms around your shivering body. Mor reaches out to touch your arm, but you instinctively take a step back, not ready to accept her comfort. Youâre thankful you canât see the dejection on her face.
âI know Iâve been distant,â she admits. A scoff bubbles in your throat, but you hold it down. âAnd thatâs on me. I was angry when you pushed me away. And thatâs something Iâm still getting over. But I do care, Y/NâI never stopped caring. And IâmâŠIâm scared for you.â
The vulnerability in her voice makes your heart ache. For a moment, the animosity between you dissipates entirely, leaving a mutual understanding in its wake. Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to swallow with a wince.Â
âIâm scared too,â you whisper, the words bitter on your tongue. âBut I canât let fear control me anymore.â
Mor reaches her hand out once again. You tense at the feeling of her delicate touch, but this time you donât pull away. âJust promise me one thing,â she runs her thumb over the bare skin of your shoulder, âDonât lose yourself in the process.â
You nod, though youâre not entirely sure how youâll keep that promise. âIâll try.â
With that, the soft touch on your shoulder disappears as Mor steps back, giving you the space you need. You wait until her soft footsteps are out of earshot to release the breath youâve been holding in. Your shoulders slump as you exhale, letting the cool air soothe the raw edges of your emotions. The night is still, and for a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, to process all thatâs transpired.Â
The anticipation of whatâs to come gnaws at you, a mix of dread and hope tangled together. Eris will come; youâre certain of that. But what will happen when he does? The question hangs heavy in the air, unanswered. For now, you focus on the steady rhythm of the river, grounding yourself in the present.
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
Velaris is a city of breathtaking beauty. It is a vibrant mosaic of colors: the lush gardens spilling over with exotic flowers, the elegant, domed buildings. From the air humming with creativity to the labyrinth of winding streets, it is full of hidden gems. But your favorite part of the city is how the stars seem to listenâhow the intensity of their shine seems to reflect your inner musings.
Tonight is no exception. The twinkling lights are brightâbrighter than youâve ever seen before. They are captivating, whispering to you to come closer. You know itâs temporary, as the night is far from overâbut you canât help but indulge yourself for a little while as you lean against the rails of your apartment balcony nursing a generous glass of wine.
Youâve swapped out Nestaâs dress for one of Azrielâs old sweaters. The cozy material engulfs you, falling mid-thigh and warming your body against the chilling breeze of the city. The deep, burgundy wine is sweet, effectively numbing you in preparation for Erisâs impending arrival.Â
A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him. Seeing him tonight was not something youâd properly prepared yourself for. Every fiber of your being longed to pull him close, to hold him tight and never let go. But that disdainful look in his eyesâŠIf only life was as simple as following your heart. You are no longer in the business of suppressing your emotions. Yet, you still take a large gulp of your wine to alleviate the tightness in your throat.
Something in the air shifts, and you blink back the silver lining your eyes. Every inch of your exposed skin vibrates with anticipation, sensing his arrival.
âDrowning our sorrows, are we?â
Your heart flutters at the sound of his crisp tone slicing through the air. You clutch the glass tightly in your hands, keeping your gaze trained on the stars above.
âSomething like that,â you mumble before taking another slow sip.
You can hear his soft footsteps behind you, wandering around the small space of your studio. But you donât dare turn around, because turning around means looking into his eyes. And looking into his eyes means losing your carefully constructed composure. So, you continue to marvel at the stars, wishing them to sweep you up into their sparkling abyss.Â
Erisâs voice cuts through the fragile peace of the night again, sharp and unyielding. âDrowning your sorrows wonât wash away the guilt.â
âMisery loves company,â you speak softly to conceal the waver of your voice. Your fingers tremble around the stem of your glass. The wine no longer tastes sweetâitâs bitter now, tainted by the truth in his words. His cruelty has always been a defense mechanism, but tonight, it feels more personal, like heâs trying to hurt you as much as youâve hurt him.
âDo you even feel anything anymore, or have you numbed yourself to the point of oblivion?â Each word is a deliberate strike aimed to wound.Â
Your silence speaks louder than words.
âOr have you finally become what they always wantedâa docile little pet with nothing left to say?â He slices through the thin veneer of composure youâve managed to hold onto.Â
The stars above blur as your eyes fill with unshed tears. âEris,â you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, âCan we justâŠcoexist for a moment? No accusations, no blame. JustâŠbe.â
Thereâs a long, heavy silence that follows your plea. For a moment, you fear heâll ignore you, continue his barrage of insults. But then, he sighs. The sound is filled with an exhaustion that mirrors your own. He moves closer until you can see him in your peripheral. He mimics your stance, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The heat radiating from his body is two-fold: a comforting warmth that beckons you closer and a searing intensity that threatens to burn you alive.
âYou always did prefer the night,â he rasps, his voice softer now, tinged with a note of something you canât quite place.
You swallow hard, still not turning to face him. âThe night doesnât judge,â you reply, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside, âIt just listens.â
 âThe stars are far too forgiving,â Eris murmurs, a bitter edge to his words.
You cup your glass with both hands in a futile attempt to hold it steady. âIf only people were as forgiving as the stars.â
You close your eyes, letting a single tear slip down your cheek. And when they open again, you finally turn to face him. Thereâs a storm behind his amber eyes, a battle between the ruthless mask he wears and the vulnerability he hides. He looks both devastatingly familiar and painfully foreign, like a memory you can't quite grasp. And as you take in the sight of him, the ache in your chest tightens.
âIt was all real, you know. Everything I said. Everything I did. Everything IÂ felt.â your bottom lip wobbles as you speak. âIt was so real it nearly shattered me.â
His jaw flexes, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip around the railing. The seconds stretch into minutes as you wait for his response. Your eyes desperately search his for some sort of tell, but the walls he has built up are impenetrable. Eris abruptly pushes off the railing.
âI didnât come here to reminisce,â he snaps. The momentary softness of his voice has disappeared. âDo you have it or not?â
 You blink slowly at him before averting your gaze to the stars one more time. You tip the glass of wine against your lips, swallowing the remaining contents. The burning of the alcohol down your throat mingles with the sting of his rejection. You set the empty glass down and wipe the lone tear from your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater before turning back to him. You donât meet his eyes as you wrap your arms around your frail body and pad back inside to your apartment. Eris follows silently, keeping his distanceâas if the air surrounding you is toxic.Â
He watches as you round the oak desk in the corner and slide the first cabinet open. You grab the little green vial inside with a trembling hand. But before you slide the drawer shut, you pause. The completed draft of your manuscript sits inside, bound seamlessly thanks to Clothoâs help. You run your free hand over the leather cover. Its pages seem to whisper to you, beckoning you to grab it. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you listen.
Curiosity flashes through Erisâs eyes as you walk towards him, deadly poison in one hand and an equally lethal paperback in the other.Â
âAngelâs Blade,â you hold out the green vial, âOne drop should do the trick.â
He cautiously takes it from you, careful not to touch you. But his eyes are trained on the leather-bound book in your other hand.
âWhatâs that?â he rasps.
Your mouth dries, your nerves running wild. But you muster up the courage to hold it out to him with a steady hand. âSomething Iâve been working on,â you croak, âItâs only a first draft, but Iâd like you to have it.â
He eyes the book with contempt, âIâm not interested in joining your little book club.â
You reach your arm out further, and he takes a step back. âAt least read the forward,â you plead, âYou owe me that much.â
Ire returns, this time with a vengeance. âI donât owe you shit,â he snarls. âThank you for your hospitality. Letâs never do this again.â
Your heart sinks as he turns on his heel and strides towards the door. In an act of desperation, you flip open the book.
âConfucius once posited that wisdom emerges from experience; a notion echoed throughout the annals of philosophy.â
His footsteps halt.
âFor centuries, thinkers have sought to distill the essence of wisdom through the accumulation of experiences and the study of theory. Yet, as we delve deeper into the human condition, it becomes apparent that true introspection does not arise from the mere cataloging of experiences. Instead, it is forged in the crucible of pain, a particular kind of pain that sears the soul and leaves an indelible mark on our being.â
For the first time since he entered your home, your voice is steady, strong.
âIt is pain that consumes, that reaches into the depths of our existence, touching the very core of who we are.â
You inhale deeply, preparing yourself for the word that is about to roll off your tongue. The word youâve been so afraid to utter until now.
âIt pain born of loveâa love so profound that it defies all reason, a love that transcends the boundaries of rational thought and knowledge, a love that has the power to unravel us completely. When love shatters us, it does so in a way that is both devastating and transformative. It is through this pain that the deepest truths about ourselves are revealed.â
Your vision blurs from the tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. The air is deadly silent, filled only by your soft sniffles and Erisâs staggered breath. You approach him on wobbly legs, positioning yourself in front of the door. An unrecognizable emotion swims in his eyes, but the strain on his face is undeniable. You hold his gaze with your own tear-filled one as you finish reciting the forward, the book forgotten in your limp hand.
âIn these pages, I offer not just a recounting of my life but a testament to the truth that has been etched into my soul: that it is loveâintense, all-consuming loveâthat paves the way to introspection. It is a truth forged in the crucible of suffering, illuminated by the dim light that flickers in the wake of loveâs destruction. And it is through this lens that I have come to understand myself, not as I once was, but as I am nowâa being forever changed, yet made more whole by the very pain that once threatened to break me.
For darkness and all its shining stars,
Avicula.â
Your heart lays bare before himâfor him to steal, to cherish, to break. For a moment, you think you see the male you once knew, the one who cherished you with everything he had. But then his jaw tightens, and he diverts his gaze to the manuscript in your hands. Finally, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he takes the leather-bound book from your grasp. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, barely above a whisper.
âAviculaâŠâ he murmurs, testing the name on his tongue.
âIt means Little Biââ
âI know what it means,â he cuts you off swiftly.Â
You want to say something, to reach out and touch him, but youâre frozen in place. He takes a step closer. Youâve never felt more vulnerable as his eyes search yours. But then, just as quickly as it came, the softness in his gaze is gone, replaced by an impenetrable shield. He pulls back and tucks the book into the inside of his coat.Â
âThis changes nothing.âÂ
Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. But the dejection tearing at your insides quickly transforms into a fiery rage.
âWhy wonât you admit it?â you demand, âI know you feel something.â You place your hand on his chest, right where you feel the bond in your own.Â
Erisâs eyes snap back to yours, and he wraps his hand around your wrist in a bruising grip. âYou donât know shit,â he snaps, throwing your hand down away from him.
âI know you better than you know yourself,â you retaliate, inching forward, âI know you put on this façade of a cold-blooded, ruthless asshole to detract from the vulnerability that lives within. I know that underneath all that armor, youâre absolutely terrifiedâafraid of what this means, afraid of what will happen if youâre honest with yourself.â
His jaw clenches so tightly you think it might snap. âYou have no idea whatâs at stake here.â
âThen tell me!â you yell, hands shaking with desperation. âStop being so fucking stubborn and tell me!â
He shakes his head vehemently and runs his hands through his hair, pulling tightly at the roots. Your whole body trembles as you watch him pace before you. âWhatâs it gonna take?â you shout. âDo you want me to fall at your feet? Plead for your forgiveness? Or did I damage your ego beyond repair?â you cry, vision blurry again with tears.
âYou canât fix this!â he explodes. The trees outside cower at the rawness of his rage. âYou donât belong in this madness. And I wonât let you destroy yourself for some lovesick fantasy you have of me.â
Eris turns towards the door, but you throw yourself at him once again, intercepting his path. âYou donât get to make that choice for me,â you stammer through your cries. You reach your quivering hands up, cupping the sides of his face. You pull him down towards you, resting his forehead against yours. âPlease, Eris,â your bottom lip wobbles, âI love you.â
Your confession hangs heavy in the air. His eyes flutter shut, and for a split second you can feel him sinking into your hold. But when they open, amber is once again nothing more than a frozen wasteland.Â
âI canât make that choice for you,â the anger in his tone is gone, replaced by an even more deadly finality. âBut I can make it for myself.â
Time stops. And that golden string between you splits, hanging precariously by a single thread.Â
You stand there, frozen and heartbroken, as he pulls himself away from your touch. Silent sobs wrack your body as his figure disappears through the door. You want to scream, kick, fight, anything. Not nothing comes out. It feels like drowningâlike water rushing in, flooding your lungs, and stealing your life away. Watching him walk out that door with the most sacred piece of yourself is a pain like no other, amplified by the shredded bond in your stuttering heart. You can only watch as the world around you spins on its axis before you crumple to the ground, and it goes black entirely.
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
Throughout his 500 years of existence in an everchanging world, pain has been the only constant for Eris Vanserra. From the relentless beatings by his father to the countless deaths witnessed in not one but two wars, he hasnât just experienced it; heâs lived it. Yet in those five centuries of misery, none has rivaled the Earth-shattering pain of walking away from the only thing that has brought him pure, unadulterated joy.Â
He knows this is the only right decision. He knows that she deserves more than the legacy of violence that taints his bloodline. And he knows that no matter how hard he tries, he canât rewrite the narrative of his own tragic destiny. But that does nothing to quell the shards of glass digging deeper into his chest with each step away from her. For he is no more than a hollow shell of a male, doomed to an eternity of perpetual darkness
The lively atmosphere of Velaris seems to mock his anguish as he stumbles along the cobblestone streets. Unshed tears blur his vision, and each slow blink to keep them at bay feels like another nail in the coffin. The little, leather-bound book seems to sink further into his pocket with each uneven step, until he can no longer bear the weight of it. He limps into an alley way and sinks to the cold ground in a heap of agony. Shaky hands fumble through his coat in search of the only piece of her he has left. His heart pounds in his ears as he flips the book open.
Avicula.
Eris watches in horror as a single tear splatters onto the page. He runs his trembling thumb over the name, smudging the ink slightly. He does it again, watching as the ink blurs together. And again, and again, until she is no more than a splotch of darkness on the page. Another tear falls, and he slams the book shutâas if doing so will put an end to this chapter of his miserable story. But memories are far too cruel, for blurred ink is replaced with every vestige of her: fleeting touches between rows of books, big, brown eyes sparkling brighter than the light of a thousand stars, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle lingering like a ghost in every corner of his mind.Â
He pulls himself from the ground, nearly losing his footing. He tumbles like a drunkard out of the alley, past the lines of shops, and into the grass where the Sidra lies. Eris clutches the book with a white-knuckled grip. He draws his arm back, but before he can launch that last piece of her into the depths of the river, a chilling voice stops him.
âWhat have we here, brother?â
Bile rises to his throat as he spins around. He catches a fleeting glimpse of Bastonâs wicked grin before pain explodes on the back of his head, and the world goes black.
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