#my vision was in slow motion but everything else was not

[endlessfuckup]

i have finally come down from whatever tf that was

that was the most unpleasant "high" i have ever had

definitely was not weed

[jinxvex]

omg haiii :3 #1 i just found your account and i love your works! the way you write is just… mwahmwahmwah. besides that! i’d love it if u could do a jinx x reader where reader is lowkey oblivious but jinx is super obvious with how much she wants to fuck… and when she finally gets to hit she degrades and dumbifies reader… orrrr am i just thirsty 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

♱ fantasy. ♱

oh girl this is sexy trust, WE IS THIRSTY TEW!! also thank you, you’re so sweet!! i’m glad you enjoy my works :))

syp. the first time jinx set her glowy shimmer-charged eyes on you, she knew she had to have you—and she always gets what she wants. no matter that you were friends and you were oblivious to her constantly undressing you with her eyes, fighting her urges to completely ruin, defile, and destroy you. you’d come to realize soon enough.

cw: nsfw content!!, dom!jinx plotting on that p***y (lol), sub!reader (i'm a switch!jinx truther but let me cook...), a lot of degrading + dumbification, cursing, dirty talk, some praise, teasing, mocking, she forces you to take it!!, mentions of oral/fingering/gun-play, strap-on sex, hair-pulling, pet names (toots, hon, babe, baby, bunny, etc?), possessiveness, nastiness galore (lord forgive me!), reader’s past sex life is purposefully written to be vague, + prob more

wc: 4.2k!!

jinx’s fantasies involving you started a month ago when she was off roaming the rowdy streets of the undercity for a market sale. well, before it. she had begrudgingly taken up silco’s orders to keep tabs on the shipment coming in and out before the market opened to the public. for what? ‘who freakin’ knows?!’ she thought.

in retrospect, jinx was never an overly sexual person. she understood what it was, why people participated in it, and her own sexual preferences but she’d never devoted much time to finding someone to fuck or to fuck her for that matter. she's fucked before, but that was it. plunging her long, slender fingers into her own cunt while reading a racy scene in a shitty romance novel was enough to get her rocks off. she figured something was missing but she brushed it off.

her mind was… elsewhere most of the time.

(a month ago...)

lost in her thoughts, per usual, jinx doesn’t see you standing in all your beautiful glory. she walks right past you, eyes darting along everything she can see to accurately take in the information silco wants her to report back to him. she's still preoccupied with the inner workings of her mind and not too much with the zaunite public.

well, that's bound to change one way or another.

suddenly, she's stopping dead in her tracks. something's changed. the air feels charged, full of opportunity and something else. curly lines, shapes, and colorful graphics fill her vision—overwhelming but she feels as though she can really see clearly for the first time.

her nostrils catch a whiff of something… sweet. inviting. like freshly baked cookies although it's almost incomparable to how truly delectable the scent is. she's taken by surprise at the smell of something so good, good enough to eat, to devour. she’s never smelt anything or anyone so delicious. it intrigued her beyond belief, she knew that whatever it was, she was going to have that thing.

that’s when in her own self-induced frenzy she'd caused by frantically turning and thrashing around to look for where the smell led her, she sees you for the first time. as radiant as ever.

everything's in slow motion.

you're leaning up against a metal post and speaking to a market vendor, your voice as sweet as ever chatting to them about ‘who the fuck cares’. your smile is the brightest she’d ever seen living in a place full of drug addicts, violence, and poverty like you’ve never been subjected to zaun in your entire life.

she watches as you flip your hair to one side, hips swaying and fingers twiddling against your satchel. she watches you so intently, that she can see your eyes blinking slowly, she can count your individual eyelashes and remember the number for the rest of her life.

to say the least, jinx is enamored by the sight of you, let alone your smell. images of how good you'd look naked, and what your skin would feel like against hers cloud her vision, creating the perfect first impression of you in her mind. she looks further at you, specifically your ass and the jeans hugging it perfectly as well as the curve of your hips. the veins in your neck travel further down beneath your shirt and she can't help but wonder what your chest would look like.

bare.

before this moment, she'd never thought of somebody in such a vulgar light; it put her in a state of shock. she let her mind wander even farther off into jinx-landia and she imagines what it would feel like to slide her fingers into your pussy and press the pads of them onto your g-spot. she wants to know what it feels like to feel you get wetter and wetter and what it feels like to make out with your pussy—to push your own juices into your mouth and kiss you dumb. she thinks about testing how deep your cunt could get—how pretty your ass would look riding a cock, tits bouncing in the air.

controlling herself was something jinx always had problems with, so she isn't surprised when she is unable to stop herself from approaching you. her feet seem to be dragging themselves towards you like some sort of magnetic force.

“hiya, toots,” spills from her lips before she can even stop and think about what she's doing.

you pause your conversation with whomever you're speaking to, looking over in her direction to find her staring intently at you. confused and a little petrified, you stand up straighter, as you aren't expecting silco’s adoptive daughter to be staring you down at the beginning of some random ass tuesday morning.

“uhm, hey,” you respond, sounding more like a question rather than a greeting in return.

‘this is gonna be so much fun,’ jinx’s eyes light up and she lets her lips curl up in a friendly smirk, running through ways in her mind how exactly she’d ruin your body, mark you up, and claim you for herself.

because no matter what, nobody else is ever getting a piece of you now that she's sought you out.

no fuckin’ way.

…

somewhere in the present, there’s an idea—a certain narrative established between you and jinx.

you’re friends. good ones.

you don't know what else would explain the obvious liking jinx has taken to you. what else would explain the way she’s always touching you, looking after you, and asking you personal questions? questions so personal they have your eyes widening and gripping the edges of your clothes.

"have you ever, y'know, done it before? had sex?"

"what sorta stuff you into? like, sex stuff."

"you ever touch yourself? what feels the best? just trying to see if i could learn somethin' interesting for myself."

you never answer, often opting to lower your head in silence. how could you? it was wildly inappropriate and quite frankly, jinx made you shy. maybe it's because she's so pretty, and bold, and has a waist so small and touchable that you just want to-

no! 'why does she care so much?' you ask yourself frequently. no friend has ever been so crass...

duh! she gives a shit because she wants to fuck your brains out 'n then maybe cuddle you a bit! but you don't know that...

jinx follows you around too, insisting you need protecting since "you're too pretty 'n perfect" to not have protection.

one day, she started walking you to your god-awful job and never stopped. her excuse was, "can't have anyone takin' advantage of ya so early in the morning, princess. janna knows they'd try with a face 'n a body like that...whew", she whistled to herself.

needless to say, she kept your life interesting. she always seems to find you, no matter where you are. like she can sense your presence anywhere. you figure she doesn't have many people to talk to, everyone's scared of her being silco's daughter and all. but, you don't have anyone either; no parents or friends. no girlfriend.

well that makes two of you. sort of.

you both are currently smushed together on her sofa in her hideout making bracelets—snacks, craft supplies, and sleepover galore surrounding you. earlier on in the day, jinx had swung by your apartment (how she found out where you lived, you had no clue) and invited you over for a sleepover for the first time. you were surprised she was trusting you enough to let you see where she retreats at night and where she spends most of her time eating, sleeping, plotting; scheming.

she has a knack for making you feel special; like it’s just you two in the world and nothing else matters.

she makes you feel alive.

you’re shaken out of your thoughts by a grinning jinx. yes, physically shaken. both of her palms are placed on your shoulders, gripping them tight and looking into your eyes almost as a way to silently ask if you’re having as much fun as her. heat transfers from her usually cold hands to your skin which has you internally reeling. you’re wearing a tank top, comfortable enough with her to show a little something extra, “whatcha thinkin’ about, hon?”

you smile back at her, “nothing.”

you swear you see her eyes flicker down to your chest for a split second but you ignore it. her eyes move quick due to the shimmer, ‘you’re seeing shit, girl’ claims the angel on your shoulder.

“hmm, you’re lying.”

“am not!” you counter.

“are too,” she doubles back.

“whatever.” you finalize, emphasizing the ‘ever’. you’re not interested in arguing with her any further or giving her the satisfaction of proving her right.

you focus on the friendship bracelet you’re creating for her, determined to make it as pretty as you can for her. you want her to wear it—like it. love it, even. it fills you with a sick satisfaction knowing that soon you’d be wearing each other's creations, way more than it would if you just saw her as a friend. you see her pause her movements out of the corner of your eye but you keep going.

the faint sound of her own bracelet dropping to the couch cushion causes your head to rise up, looking at her in slight confusion. you’re not shocked to realize that she’s already looking at you.

“’m bored,” jinx replies blankly, pouting cutely.

“and grass is green. what else is new? you’re always bored, girl,” you playfully nudge her arm.

“well… grass has more of a grey hue down here so-“

the funny but slightly depressing joke nearly flew over your head but the knowing smirk on her face clued you in on her shenanigans.

you gasp in disbelief and nudge her arm a little harder now, fighting to stifle your laugh under your breath, “ha ha. very funny.”

“yeah, toots. i’m extremely hilarious,” she holds her head up high and crosses her arms above her chest.

she pauses, “let’s play somethin’.

she faces you fully now, right knee switching from resting next to your left to mirroring both of your knees, parallel to you. she scoots closer, and by now you know her calculating personality. you know that whatever she’s up to, has to be mischievous.

“ever hear of truth or dare?”

you roll your eyes, “of course i have!”

“then, you know the rules… right?”

“yes, jinx. i know how to play,” you rebuttal.

maybe you should’ve known her attention span wouldn’t last long while bracelet making. even if the speaker blared her favorite music at her gadget station, filling the space with a comfortable ambiance.

she smiles widely, “then let’s fuckin’ play!

“it’ll be so. much. fun,” she gets closer to your face with each word to emphasize her point, biting her lip and giving you intense eye contact. sexually charged eye contact. but again, you don't realize.

“fine. fine! but you’re going first. you're better at this sorta thing.”

she leans back to give you more space, just enough space to where it's socially acceptable to still be incredibly close to your friend. she's clapping her manicured hands together as her smile grows bigger and her shoulders tense with excitement.

"truth or dare?!" she asks in a televised over-dramatic fashion.

"truth."

'too easy' she thought. although, 'this is good,' her thoughts linger further. she figures she should start you off easy.

jinx has now stopped her clapping to put a finger on her chin in a thinking motion, obviously pretending to conjure up an interesting question that she's probably already picked out in her head.

"hmm...have you ever had a boyfriend?" she asks confidently, putting emphasis on the 'boy' part of "boyfriend" in a mocking manner; like how a sibling or family member would tease you about a crush.

your eyes widen, already caught off-guard by her first question.

"uhm... no. i-i don't really like boys like that."

she licks her lower lip and smiles once again, unbeknownst to you because you've just confirmed that she actually has a chance to win you over. although, she had her suspicions when she first met you.

"ever had a girlfriend?" she questions further, a serious, eerie edge to her voice appearing at the thought of you ever even romantically touching another girl. hell, in any way, shape, or form.

blinking rapidly, you shut her down quickly, "what, no! never really got the… chance to."

initially, you were going to tease her by mentioning that she was only allowed to ask one question but, you couldn't help but shake the feeling that she wasn't going down without an answer from you.

"awesome, good to know! your turn."

"okay. truth or da-"

"dare," she cuts you off delightedly.

you file through your mind to give her something entertaining to do but you find absolutely nothing, your mind blank like always the very moment you get around her. jinx makes you feel like you don't have to live your life thinking so hard. it's peaceful.

"damn, you are bad at this game," she snorts.

"hey, i can't help it. you've gotta help me here."

she raises a brow, "i mean, you could ask me t'do basically anything. y'know i'd do it," she slowly cocks her head to the side, still gazing deep into your irises. her braids follow the movement of her head.

"make it nasty."

"what the hell am i supposed to do? tell you to take off your clothes?!"

she doesn't waver, "yeah. yeah, that's a good one. do it."

you gulp, throat now dryer than ever and your fingers hurt from tightly grasping the fabric of your sleep shorts, 'here goes nothing.'

"u-uh... i dare you to t-take off your shirt," you order weakly.

jinx doesn't even let you finish your sentence before she's crossing her arms in front of her to tug the tiny, thin tank top off of her body, you follow her hands and you watch her chuck it on the floor carelessly. you look back up at her only to realize that,

she isn’t fucking wearing a bra.

you gasp in shock and secret arousal, eyes darting to the spot below you as you avoid looking at her soft, perky chest any longer, not wanting to over-step or make her uncomfortable.

"hey, you're startin' to hurt my feelings, babe. gave you that idea for a reason. makes shit more... interesting."

you look up to meet her eyes and for the nth time, you see her staring right back at you, gaze charged with something more than usual. you may have been oblivious, but you weren't dumb, something was definitely going on here. something that friends shouldn't do alone.

but you can't stop. it's turning you on.

the game continues on for many rounds after that, you and jinx switching back and forth from truth and dare, learning more and more about each other as time passes by. you start to get the hang of her outlandish questions, answering them shyly but not as reluctant as before. something you'd never get used to was the hypnotizing way her tits bounced with each slight movement, entrancing you. you learn that she's had sex once before and that she likes rope play and getting her hair pulled.

she also mentions other personal traits of hers that make your head spin, "y'know when i get wet, i get reeeally wet. like water wet."

needless to say, you know more than you should. she seemed to not mind telling you these things either, almost excited to clue you in.

"truth or dare, baby?"

"truth," you choose once more, the pet name affecting your better judgment and the seductive tinge to her voice causing the wetness already present in your underwear to leak through to your shorts.

jinx doesn't attempt to pretend to think of a question, "tell me, toots. what turns you on? what gets ya goin'?"

"what do you mean? like some sort of a kink?"

"yeah, like a kink."

embarrassment falls over your face like a dam breaking. you have to lie. this was getting too up close and personal for your own good and the only thing that could save what's left of your dignity is a lie.

"i-i don't know..."

so much for a lie.

her unhappiness with your answer is expressed when you see her narrowing her eyes at you. she leans in close, nose brushing yours and you can feel her warm breath on your face, "i know you're lying," she says real sing-songy-like. she's teasing you, and enjoying it.

her slender finger points in your face, “no fair! showed you my tits, toots! play by the rules."

"okay! okay! god, this is so fucking embarrassing-"

"c'mon..," she urges you on, eager to learn more about your sexual side and what takes you cream. she desired to know what made your pussy wet before she stuffed you full. but again, you don't know that.

"i-um. i read something onc-,”

she cuts you off once again, “don’t got all day!”

you sigh, “okay! i like getting called names. mean ones,” you blurt out quickly—sick of her antics.

“and i think i like it…rougher?”

her seemingly continuous stare falters for a split second before a bubbly laugh escapes her throat, smiling bigger and better than she has all day.

“oh, yeah? you like it… rough? you like getting treated like you’re nothin’?” she laughs out incredulously and somehow she’s gotten closer to you, lips almost close enough to graze yours.

“jinx… i- what are you-“

“what if we… played somethin’ else? somethin’ a little more worth our while.”

she figures, ‘ay, i’ve waited long enough…i need her'.

“like what?” you inquire even though you're no longer oblivious, catching on to what she means by “somethin’ else.” you feign innocence.

you feel a calculating hand travel up your leg, they’re slightly sweaty and cold which makes a shiver crawl down your spine. your chest visibly quickens, eyebrows furrowing, and eyes glossy with desire. jinx, still maintaining eye contact with you, remains calm although internally jumping for joy as she's finally got you where she wanted you the moment she laid eyes on you.

"how wet are ya right now, toots? you look like you're 'bout to cream your fuckin' pants!"

you audibly gasp, and she continues,

"i bet you're just drippin' down there... this whole time i've been sittin' here thinkin' you're being tortured answering all my questions, but, the entire time you've been gettin' off to it, haven't ya?!"

a single tear gathers in your eye out of complete and utter embarrassment. despite that, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't fucking love it.

her hand stops at the edge of your top, fiddling softly with it, "you can tell me to stop, baby! but, i have a feeling you don't want that," she whispers against your lips. you feel her tug the bottom of your tank top tighter, balling it in her clammy fist.

"dont! d-dont stop."

and just like that, a switch flips in her head. she's grabbing the back of your neck and smushing her lips against yours, capturing them in a searing kiss that has your lips aching. as soon as you feel her tongue attempt to break into your mouth, you let her in.

you initially jump in surprise but quickly sink into the kiss once you get used to the overwhelming contrast between her cold hands clutching your waist and her warm lips pressed on your lips. soon, she's basically drooling into your mouth, tongue trailing over every detail of the inside of your mouth as if she's trying to memorize the space. it's disgusting, really. but, it makes your cunt sloppy.

jinx breaks the kiss to pull your top over your head. she throws it on top of hers. the same one she abandoned long ago at the start of the game. it creates a small heap on the floor of her cozy abode.

"fuckin' whore," she laughs.

you moan, biting your lip softly as a seductive tactic to keep her kissing you.

"wooow!!" she drags out humorously, pressing her hand against your throat and tightening slowly with each word that comes out of her mouth, "you really are a slut. you like when i'm mean, slut?"

you nod, words seemingly impossible to form at this point.

she tightens her hold on you, bringing your neck closer so her mouth resides next to your ear, "if you don't speak up, i'm gonna make it hurt. 's gonna hurt so bad, bunny. gonna torture you. ‘n i know it’s our first time and all! don’t wanna have to scare ya just yet!"

unable to stop rambling, she continues, "hmm... maybe i'll shove the biggest fucking cock i have into your tight cunt... no prep! betcha you'd take it so well. hell, you'd probably like it! you're nasty like that."

"maybe i'll stuff my gun in there...with the bullets inside."

"please, jinx. fuck me.”

she just smiles, “i thought you’d never ask.”

…

you swear you see your life flash before your eyes because of how hard jinx is pounding your poor, abused cunt into the couch cushion. she has you face down—ass up with your hands held together behind your back by her own hands. your face rests on the couch arm, halfway visible to her so she can marvel at your eyes rolling to the back of your head and crossing achingly.

her own eyes roll at the sight of you in such a lewd state, “fuck, toots! you’re takin’ this cock so good. suckin’ me in your pussy like a good little cockslut. mmph. jus' swallowing it whole, fuck!!"

her pace is fast but calculated; and planned. as always. she’s roughly rolling her hips into yours to produce the addictive whore-ish moans to spill from your mouth. she’s also focused on watching her cock disappear in you, your cunt swallowing her cock like it was supposed to be there. the open space is filled with creamy cunt sounds and skin-slapping noises.

“holy fuckin’ shit, hear that? ya hear that pussy creaming ‘round my dick? she’s talkin’ to me, baby!”

you speak, remembering her resentment towards you not responding to her, “y-yes! i-i do, jinxie.”

“yeah?! you think she’s tryin’ to tell me how much she loves me? how much she loves when i split her open on my dick?” she reaches below your stomach to slap at your clit right where the balls on the faux cock meet your skin and you shudder in pleasure.

“fucking love your dick, ‘s so good, s-shit!”

it’s like her mouth won’t stop. she’s relentless—bullying you with her words as well as her cock. jinx pulls you up by your hair so your upper body mirrors hers. she slows her pace to thrust deeper and harder in you, damn near knocking the wind out of you. that causes to you choke on your breath, and your mouth is open as far as it can go.

“h-hah! aww… ‘s just sooo good, isn’t it?"

"see what happens when you’re good for me? good lil’ whores get good dick, ‘n i love givin’ it to ya, hon.”

you’re uncontrollably moaning, voice echoing loudly as you beg her for more—to wreck you.

“more! m-more please!”

“more?!“ she removes her hand from your head to dig her nails into your hips so she can get deeper, so she can open you up.

“you. want. fuckin’. more?!” she slams into your pussy with each word.

your pussy is drooling with your arousal and the shared sweat between you and jinx. you can feel it squelching down your legs with every thrust and throaty laugh she lets out at your pathetic form.

“god, you should see yourself. such’a perfect slut.”

with every word you feel your pussy quiver, getting closer and closer to cumming around her cock. when you curl your toes and inch off of her to prevent yourself from orgasming a whopping 3 minutes in she’s not having it, quickening her pace but keeping her almost-painful thrusts deep.

“nope! gonna take it all. ya asked for it, toots! you begged me to stick my dick in you. so take all of it.”

“b-but ‘m gonna cum! don't wanna yet! oh my god, p-please!!” you beg her for the slightest bit of mercy.

uncaring, she leans down next to the side of your head, lowering her voice, “you’re gonna fuckin’ cum, ‘n you’re gonna cum telling me whose pussy this is. who’s is it, babe?”

“who’s feedin’ this cunt good dick?!”

“you, you! only you.”

“yeah, ‘s me. cum, toots. soak me—get me wet.”

and that was it, “fuck! ‘m cumming!”

you release a soul-crushing moan and triggered by your sudden high, you grip the edges of the couch arm and fuck your ass back on her to deepen her thrusts if that’s even possible. wetness squirts from your cunt and everywhere around you, soaking the entire space below you including jinx’s lower half. the last thing you remember before you pass the fuck out is the hazy, content look on her face and incoherent mumbles that probably consisted of,

“that was way better than a fuckin’ fantasy.”

…

PLEASE TAKE THIS FOOD WHILE I WORK ON MY SEV REQS!!🙏🏽🫣...

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

--

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

--

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + marking you

character: vox warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, marking/branding (carving something into the skin), blood, toxic relationship, extreme possessiveness, daddy kink, dacryphilia, fem!reader, minimal/no prep, dubcon if you squint, pet names, painful sex, reader doesn’t get to orgasm words: 1.8k notes: vox likes to mark what belongs to him. permanently. and, as always, that mark must be perfect.

He’s been at it for nearly half an hour now, a slow drag of his index claw downward, pressure concentrated on the very point of the talon, following the line of a perfect slant before sharply pivoting upward, velocity slowing as it works back toward your hips, tracing another slant perfectly parallel to the first. 

V. 

A split second of reprieve, a single instant where the metal leaves your skin only to find the origin of the wound and begin the process all over again. 

“V-Vox—”

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and airy, so close and concentrated on his work that you can feel his breath wafting over the cut, cool and burning. 

Cyan pupils pulse as they expand, desperate to devour as much as they can, scouring every minute detail and honing their focus on the singular letter he’s painstakingly carving into your pubic bone.

He’s meticulous with it, of course, just as he is with everything else, every movement precise and perfect. It has to be done this way, he had told you at the start, when you had whined about the deliberately drawn-out drag of his talon. Slow and steady, so it will heal in sharp, neat lines, all raised and gorgeous. 

A permanent mark of ownership, scarred into your skin for the rest of eternity.

The tapered tip of the V is the worst part, the harsh, quick maneuver of his claw procuring a deep sting, a yelp sticking in your throat as you try to swallow against the sound, Vox’s immediate responding coo, always accompanied by the brush of his thumb over your hip in the gentlest caress, doing little to soothe the pain. 

“But it—it hurts,” you hiccup out, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the prick of tears. “How much longer?” 

“Just a few more times, baby, I promise,” he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “You’re doing so well for me, lovebug, so well.”

But a few more times turns into another agonizing fifteen minutes with seemingly no end in sight, Vox lost in the repetitive actions, and the wound is starting to tingle, sticky crimson pooling in the flawlessly carved gouges, staining teal bright red. 

Tears have begun to leak from the corners of your eyes as they finally overflow, spilling past your lash line to stream down the sides of your temples in uneven little trails, vision gone blurry with a thick shield of water.

Your ribs stammer with half-stifled sobs, a soft hush distractedly falling from Vox’s lips with each minuscule jerk of your body, the hand on your hip tightening in warning. 

“Daddy’s almost done, darling,” he pacifies, a gentle threat sewn into his tone—don’t fucking move yet—we’re so close, don’t you dare mess this up. “Just a tiny bit longer, I swear.” 

“I can’t, I can’t, Daddy, it’s—it’s too much!” 

“Hey,” he looks up, a shock of sincerity slapped across his face, his voice ringing with painfully raw compassion. “I know you can handle just a few more for Daddy, can’t you? Don’t you want it to look pretty, too?”

Large eyes search your face with a rabid type of candour, hunting for validity. But your head is already nodding before he’s even finished speaking, motions becoming increasingly vigorous, an instinctual reaction, at this point—obedient as ever, desperate to please.

Of course you do—you want whatever he does, always. 

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sniffle out, the heels of your hands wiping messily at your lashes, smearing tears across your cheeks. “Yes, yes, Daddy.” 

His eyes soften, their usually bold glow dimmed with a sick sort of adoration, but his smile is barbed, stretching with something sinister. 

“There’s my good girl,” Vox purrs, pressing another tender kiss to the junction of your thigh and your hip. “Now, hold still while Daddy finishes.”

Another three traces through the routine—these last three harder and more purposeful than all those that came before them—and finally, he’s done, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs and gazing down at his masterpiece. 

Blood drips down his index finger in a thick dollop, his eyes shifting to watch with morbid fascination, the tip of his claw glazed with shimmering scarlet. Tilting it one way, then the other, he examines how it gleams in the low light of his bedroom—so pretty, he looks so pretty stained with you—then brings the talon to his lips, long tongue snaking from between his teeth to curl around it in a possessive embrace. 

He sucks it into the heat of his mouth, a low groan rumbling deep behind his sternum as his eyes slip shut, taking a moment to savour the taste of you. His lids snap back open a moment later, eyes drifting back to the freshly etched V, his free hand moving to rub at his cock, straining eagerly against his trousers. 

“F-Fuck,” he shudders out, the word soft as he stares at it, wide and unblinking, rolling the impressive bulge in his palm in lopsided little circles, then grinding the heel of his hand into it, his hips twitching up instinctively. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay, princess?” 

Your head is nodding, but you’re barely able to utter out an affirmative, because then he’s surging forward, a palm cupping your jaw as his fingers hook behind the hinge, pulling your face towards his and smashing your lips together. Bursts of copper explode on your tastebuds as he drags his tongue across yours—the slick muscle stronger, larger, wider as it shoves its way into your mouth, impelling your own tongue further into the hot, wet cavern. 

It’s sloppy and slippery and so, so sexy, his claws piercing your skin with superficial little pricks as he tries to yank you closer, your nose scrunched against his screen. Obscene squelching echoes throughout his bedroom as your lips glide and nip, copious amounts of drool, tinged pink with your blood, oozing from the corners of your conjoined mouths, leaving your chins shining with spit.

He overrides your senses, overwhelms your receptors and infuses your mind with nothing but him—his taste, smoky spice infused with metallic notes; his scent, sharp balsam and expensive cologne; his touch, still burning at the apex of your thighs, a constant reminder, an everlasting claim. 

A sharp gasp breaks the kiss as he forces his cock inside of you, forehead knocking against your own with a dark growl as his hips rock forward, burying himself in your cunt in a single, fluid motion.

Large hands curl around your hips, pinning them in place and keeping you from squirming away as he ruts into you, grinding his cockhead further into your cervix, ensuring he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be.

A singular moment, a breath shared between the two of you, oxygen sparse and dizzying as he takes time to revel in the feeling of filling you to the hilt, your sweet little hole spasming around him as it stretches and splits, eager to accommodate his girth, to gorge on his flesh.

Leaning back on his haunches, he drags your hips along with him, tailbone resting on his folded thighs, your knees thrown over either side of his hips. 

There’s no warning, no slow start or gradual build up, his cock slamming into you searing and sudden, fucking a gorgeous cry of his name from your throat. 

His chest heaves with ragged exhales as his hips pump, hard and fast and rough, voracious gaze swapping between your bouncing tits and the crisply engraved V glittering up at him on your pubic bone, still coloured with blood, drizzling past the scrupulously incised grooves with each vicious ram to stream down your skin, leaving tiny streaks of red.

The gash enchants him, pupils swollen as they soak up the sight, captivated by the way it quivers with every ruthless thrust into you, watching each drive of his cock as he sheathes himself in your cunt. The glistening arousal coating his shaft contrasts the blood so perfectly, the hands on your waist yanking downward with every jackhammer of his hips, forcing you to meet his motions. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s snarling as he fucks you, the word punched from his chest with each plunging thrust. 

“Yours, Daddy,” you sob out with messy little nods, dainty fingers braceletting his wrists, nails sinking into thin skin as you cling to him. “Yours, yours!” 

“No one gets to have you like this,” he gasps out, voice gone hoarse. “No one, tell me.” 

“No one—No one gets to have me like this but you, Da-Daddy,” you nearly wail, staring up at him with such bright devotion it almost hurts, your gaze lacquered with tears. 

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpers, the curse shattering on his tongue, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment before springing back open, gaping and gluttonous. “Yeah, yeah, you’re goddamn right.”

His motions have turned downright brutal now, every pound of his cock more merciless than the last, the strike of his hips jostling your entire body up the mattress, just barely held in place by the grip of his claws, razored points puncturing your flesh and scraping, tiny trickles of blood oozing from the lacerations.

“Your mind, your cunt, your fucking soul—it all belongs to me,” digitized blood drips from the corner of his mouth, the glaring glow of his eyes so brilliant it’s hard to bear, casting a flare of red across your skin.

“Yes, yes, y-yes,” you’re babbling out, gone delirious with the heady intoxication of pain and pleasure, fingers digging into his flesh in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. “You own me, Vox.” 

“Oh, Christ—” 

The confirmation has him cumming quickly, hips pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs violently, stuffing you full with copious amounts of thick, burning cum. His body stills, keeping his hips shoved up against you, almost as if he’s trying to plug you, to keep his seed inside of you, to claim you from the inside out. 

But it’s so much—too much—and you can feel it exuding past his shaft to dribble down your skin, leaving behind streams of pretty pearlescent strokes.  

Finally, he pulls out of you, another cracked curse falling from his lips as he watches with a sort of sordid obsession, his cock glazed with his cum and your blood, the tops of his thighs smeared with his own essence. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers to himself, claw reaching out to trace the V again, a hiss spit from between your teeth, body trembling with the effort to stay still, to resist flinching away from his stinging touch, to be good for him. “So fucking perfect.” 

Slinking down the bed, he wedges his head between your spread thighs to inspect the wound more thoroughly, teal tongue unfurling from his mouth to lave over the deep cut, mopping up excess blood as he follows the contours carefully once, twice, three times.  

“Mine,” he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss atop the wound, sealing the breathy claim into your flesh. “Mine, forever.”

“Yours,” you whisper, looking down at him as your finger outlines the V affectionately, a loving caress of what he’s gifted you. “Yours, forever.”

[slut4slytherinss]

Gold Rush

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Summary: in which (fem!)reader is in love with Mattheo, but so is everyone else. Reader pushes her feelings deep down, convinced Mattheo, beautiful Mattheo could never love her. In doing so, hurting herself, and a certain curly haired boy.

3,014 words

Warnings: cursing, fighting, slight mention of sexual content, reader being self-conscious, Mattheo being an idiot, Mattheo and his big ego, angst, potentially more parts(???), not proofread bc I don’t have time, a few references to movies IF YOU SQUINT, possibly ooc Mattheo (I haven’t read Everything Black in a hot minute forgive me), use of Y/n, Tom Riddle is Mattheo’s father in this, Regulus is in fact dead (rip my man), Mattheo and reader being a bitch lol, in character-ish Enzo but not headcannon Enzo, THEO IS IN THE SLUG CLUB FOR THE PLOT IM AWARE THAT HE WASNT IN THE BOOKS

2nd person pov

Hufflepuff prefect reader

Female reader

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

Your eyes are trained on the dark haired boy, specifically those deep eyes. “I know I’m pretty, you don’t have to stare, love.” Mattheo grins, you quickly dart your eyes away, “I wasn’t staring.” you murmur. He scoots his chair back, the feet scraping against the old library floor, he stands up and walks towards you— not even bothering to push the bloody chair back in. He takes a seat right next to you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “You really should be studying, y’know? Can’t have m’girl failing her exams.” My girl. You roll your eyes. “I’m immune to your charms, Riddle.” You say, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself of that. “Are you, though? I mean, remember in first year when you—“ you quickly cut him off, a foreign red flush invading your cheeks. “I was eleven!” You whisper-yell, his grin widens at your embarrassment. “Okay.” He drags the word out, “Some things never change, badger.” You furrow your eyebrows “Excuse me?” “Y’know? Badger, you’re a Hufflepuff, unless you’re shagging Diggory and stole his tie.” He gestures to your yellow tie, you roll your eyes. “First of all, Cedric is taken and if you call me badger again, I will ruin your pretty face.” “You think I’m pretty?” Another eye roll. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me, they’re gonna get stuck back there.” Before you can reply, a girl you recognize as a Slytherin fifth year, only younger than you by a year, calls for the boy sitting in front of you. “Mattheo! I don’t have all day, c’mon.” He looks back at the blonde girl and sighs, “Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs, then calls out to her “I’m coming Eloise!” Causing you to let out a laugh. He gives you a look, making you laugh even harder. But once he walks away, you realize that he, Mattheo Riddle, is probably hooking up with that girl, that absolute model, making your smile fade. Making you feel like an idiot for even thinking that he’d like you. For thinking you should inflate his ego even further by confessing.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. Everybody wants you. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

You clutch your books close to your chest, dodging the hundreds of children rushing to get to class. Like every other day. A paper airplane comes straight toward you, it’s about to hit you clean in the forehead, you duck just in time— but a hand reaches out and catches it. You look over to thank the person, it’s Mattheo. Of course it’s Mattheo. That damned boy never leaves you alone. “You alright?” He asks, seeming genuinely concerned. Of course he does. He always does. “I’m fine, Riddle.” You spit out, fighting back your horrid feelings. He tries to speak but you just walk toward the potions classroom.

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush.

-

You sigh as you walk into the lavatory. Standing in front of the sink, you splash your face with some water. Trying to cool yourself down. “Y/n?” Fucking Mattheo. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit, what are you even doing in the girls la—“ you cut yourself off as you see Mattheo, a girl against the wall, not Eloise, a different girl. An older girl, a seventh year. Looking annoyed as ever. You let out a breath of surprise. Shaking your head you turn back around and walk out of the bathroom. Feeling like an idiot. Like always when it comes to that boy.

I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush. Everybody wants you. But I don’t like a gold rush.

“Wait! Y/n—“ he rushes out of the bathroom to follow you, he grabs your wrist and you turn around quickly. “Let go.” You spit out, he tenses his jaw. “Why are you even acting like this? You don’t need to get so pissed just because you’re jea—“ Slap. Your eyes widen, as well as his, “Did you just slap me?” “No.” you reply quickly. “You just slapped me.” he persists, “No I didn’t.” “Yea, you did.” “Yes I did.” you finally admit. “Why?” He asks, “You said I’m jealous, I’m not jealous. You just have a big head.” “I have other big things.” You slap him again. But this time on his forearm. And, oh Merlin. Why is his arm so muscular? Why are his eyes so deep and brown and beautiful? Why do his oh so pretty brown curls look so pull-able? Why do his lips look so perfect and kissable? Was he always this beautiful? Of course he was. He was always beautiful. You’ve known that since the first time you saw him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos.

-

You walk into the Slytherin common room with Dorothea, one of your closest friends, she’d convinced you to come to this party. And you’d stupidly agreed. You stupidly got drunk. You stupidly found Mattheo. You stupidly kissed him. You stupidly hooked up with him.

You look around the room, Mattheo has his arm under your neck. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself “yeah, okay. I can get out of here.” You roll over a bit, pulling the covers off of yourself carefully. You easily get out of his warm, soft bed. An odd coldness filling your body as you do so. You slip on your shoes and realize that you don’t have your shirt on, you look around his room, which is surprisingly clean— minus the clothes everywhere, on the doorknob, there’s your shirt. How did it even get there? You shake your head and walk over to it, putting it on over you. You hear Mattheo groan and you quickly look over, he’s still asleep, but reaching out in the bed, as if looking for you. It takes you a moment before you realize that you need to leave before him and his charm pull you back in.

I see me padding ‘cross, your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

It’s been 3 weeks. 3 weeks since you went to that party. 3 weeks since you found Mattheo. 3 weeks since you kissed him. 3 weeks since you hooked up with him. 2 weeks and 6 days since you woke up in his room and mission impossible escaped. You haven’t spoke to him, or anyone in Slytherin at all. In fear that he told everyone he knows and you’d never live it down. He didn’t. But you don’t know that. You’re choosing out a dress for dinner, you’re in the slug club, but so is Theodore Nott and those two are friends, best friends even. So of course Mattheo was the boys plus one. No matter that. Dorothea suggests a simple dress that shows off your body, but you shake your head, “No, Dor, that— that doesn’t compliment me right.” So you choose a dress that goes down to your knees, it’s long-sleeved, completely covers your cleavage, which was the goal of course. You paired it with some old converse, not liking the feeling of heels on your feet all night. You have your hair done nicely in your favorite style.

“No Mattheo, I really don’t agree with that, you’re so— so contrarian.” You shake your head, “Oh give me a break!” He groans, but you just give him a look, calling him an asshole with your eyes. He’s just told you an opinion on the muggle-world, he’s a pure blood, seriously, who does he think he is? Giggles can be heard from others sitting around you, including Dorothea and Theodore who are sitting next to each other. Slughorn tries to get you two to stop, “O—okay, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Y/l/n, please refrain from arguments at the table.” “This isn’t an argument, it’s a debate.” You correct.

As you’re walking back to your common room, you overhear some girls talking “Oh, wouldn’t they be such a cute couple?” One of them giggles, the other nods in agreement “They argue so much, plus, doesn’t Y/n Riddle sound so nice?” “Oh I dunno, I’m kind of jealous of her.” A third one adds. Your eyes widen as you realize they’re taking about you and Mattheo. You quickly butt in their conversation, “We would not be a cute couple! He’s insufferable and his ego is larger than himself!” You huff.

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit. And the coastal town, we wandered ‘round, had never seen a love as pure as it.

-

“You know that you can’t avoid him all day, right?” Cedric tells you as he notices you staring in Mattheo’s direction in the Great Hall. “I can and I will.” The boy rolls his eyes, “C’mon, when me and Cho get into—“ “Don’t compare you and your girlfriend to me and Mattheo— that’s just.. no!” you mock gag, shaking your head. Cedric just grins at you knowingly, “Why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask, Cedric licks his lips “No reason.” “Shouldn’t you be making out with Cho in a broom closet or something?” you tease, he laughs “Yeah, probably. Shouldn’t you be getting in Mattheo’s pants again?” “Leave it Ced, it will never be.” You murmur as you look down at your tea, mixing it around lazily with your spoon.

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause you know it could never be.

-

“Why are you avoiding me?” You stop dead in your tracks, goddamnit. Why is he everywhere? You slowly turn around on your heels, face reddening, “I’m not avoiding you.” you reply simply with a shrug. “Yes you are, I’m sick of it.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s it matter to you? We aren’t friends.” “What are you talking about? Yes we are.” “No, we’re really not Mattheo, you only talk to me when you know I’m going to leave.” You spit out, annoyed with everything, “No I don’t! I talk to you all the—“ you cut him off “Just leave it, I’m done here anyway.” You say before turning back around and walking away, “Well— don’t come crying back to me when you realize no one else cares!” He yells, letting his emotions and large ego get the best of him. “Fuck you!” “You’ve already checked that one off!”

‘Cause I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

He is such an asshole! Who the fuck does he think he is?! He has no right to speak to you— or anyone for that matter — like that. You huff as you walk into the Great Hall, feeling his gaze immediately land on you. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of meeting that gaze. Taking a seat at your own houses table, you can hear his friends laughing loudly, stupid boys. The only time you do look over at him is when you hear his fork slam against the table and he stands up from his seat, to be fair, the entire Great Hall looks over at him. He ignores his friends and clenches his jaw as he walks out of the huge room, brushing right past you and leaving a small gust of wind from where he walked. Your lips slightly part as you watch him, but you look away just as quickly. Refusing to let him get his way. You shake your head as you now look over at his friends — who you now realize are staring over at you. Furrowing your eyebrows you mouth an annoyed “What?” to them, hoping to get any explanation. Theodore just shakes his head at you, and Lorenzo Berkshire mouths back a “Nothing.” making you even more annoyed with these boys. You decide to take matters into your own hands and stand up, making your way to the Slytherin table where they’re sitting. “Hello, boys.” you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Uh — hey..” Blaise Zabini murmurs, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with that dickhead who just walked out of the Great Hall making a scene?” Draco Malfoy laughs at that “Dickhead? Did you just call your little boyfriend a dickhead?” “He’s not my boyfriend Malfoy!” you exclaim which causes Draco to laugh and Theo to nudge his arm, Enzo speaks up “Um, Y/n he’s just upset you’re ignoring him.” now the rest of the boys groan, collectively murmuring little “C’mon man!”’s and “Enzo!”’s he throws his hands up in apology. Eyebrows going up you look at them, “Seriously?” you scoff “he’s mad at me because I’m not talking to him? After what he did?”

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush. I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush.

“Why don’t you just make it easy for him and tell him how you feel?” Theo speaks up with a shrug. “Excuse me? And how exactly do I feel Theodore?” you ask, twisting toward him. “You want him, obviously.” “Everybody wants him! I don’t — I don’t like that horrid feeling!” you exclaim loudly, catching the attention of others around you.

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush.

Lowering your voice, you rest your hands on the table, pushing Blaise’s plate away to do so. He stops in the middle of his chewing to give you a glare, then continues slowly chewing. “You’ve liked him since fist year, admit it.” Blaise speaks with his mouth full, so it’s a bit muffled. “Shut it and eat your potatoes Zabini.” you spit out. He shrugs and does just that. With Zabini out of the conversation Draco speaks again, “But really, stop leading our boy on.” “I haven’t led him — or anyone for that matter — on!” now it’s Theo’s turn to speak “Well.. you did kinda sleep with him and then leave the next morning,” “That was a mistake.” “Still shitty.” Enzo says. You huff, “That’s — no! Even if it was shitty, it’s not like I’m in love with him. He shouldn’t’ve expected anything from me.” Draco raises an eyebrow “Wow, didn’t know Hufflepuffs were such—“ “Dude, don’t finish that sentence.” Enzo says with an eye roll before looking toward you, “If you don’t like him, then don’t lead him on, it’s not difficult.” Looking him up at down for a moment, you sigh and your eyes move around the group at a quick pace. “Tell him I don’t like him, and — that I’m sorry or whatever.” Damn. That hurt you to say. Who knew it’d be this hard to get over him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful, with your hair falling into place like dominoes?

-

As you lay in your bed, miserable and alone, you think about Mattheo. Because of course you do. He’s plagued your mind since first year. Rolling your eyes, you silently curse yourself for not realizing how horrible it was to fall for him. He’s got the perfect life, minus the fact his father is literally the dark lord, still, he’s rich. He has hundreds of girls in love with him and multiple in his bed. You aren’t going to be any of those girls, not now at least.

My mind turns your life into folklore. I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.

-

You hear your name called out by a familiar voice, Pansy Parkinson, her loud — but not angry — footsteps reverberate along the stone walls of the castle. You stop walking just as she catches up to you, out of breath. She reaches for your shoulder to steady herself and you grab her arm to help her. “What’s wrong Pans?” You ask once she catches her breath. “Riddle told me about what you said.” You wince at the mention, “Oh.” She must notice the look on your face since she adds a quick, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad, that boy needs to learn that not every girl is in love with him.” As an afterthought. “Never mind that, you are,” you furrow your eyebrows “—in love with him. You’re in love with him.” She finishes, which causes you to stammer out a quick and defensive, “Am not!” In response. “You literally gave him a bouquet of flowers, which you handpicked, in first year.” “In first year! Yeah, but that’s not now!” She rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/n/n, you’re just going to end up hurting yourself if you keep saying that.” She then removes her hand from your shoulder and you do the same, “Okay, I’ve got detention now, see ya later.” Then she runs off. She literally runs off after telling you that you’re in love with Mattheo Riddle. As if you didn’t know that. As if you didn’t sleep with him.

I see me padding ‘cross your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

The last slug club meeting of the year before you leave for Christmas. You aren’t supposed to bring plus-ones, but Slughorn likes Theo too much and let him bring Mattheo. You sit slumped in your chair, dressed nicely though. Dorothea is sick so she couldn’t come. And Mattheo has the audacity to sit right fucking next to you. Purposely making those contrarian remarks, to get you to speak, so he can hear your voice again. Annoyed or not, he wants to hear it. But you don’t. You just stand up and move to sit beside Theo. Mattheo swallows and stops talking, looking down at his food.

At dinner parties, won’t call you out on your contrarian shit.

-

You sit by a garden in Hogsmeade, looking at the flowers silently. Of course, thinking about those girls from a few weeks ago at the Slug club meeting, how they were talking about you and Mattheo. Did everyone think that way? That’s impossible, he’s him, you’re just you. You barely know jack shit about each other. Sighing, you lay back in the grass and fiddle with the strings on your cardigan. It will never be.

And the coastal town, we never found, will never see a love as pure as it. ‘Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause it will never be.

-

He stands at your doorframe, knocking on the door rapidly. Hearing you groan on the other side and sheets ruffling. He quickly tries to fix up his messy curls and look at least a hit presentable, you open the door as he’s smoothing out his shirt, he’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you’re — well —in your pink unicorn pajama set, that causes him to grin widely. But then he hears your voice murmur a sleepy “Mattheo?” and becomes serious again. “Um—hey.” He smiles gently, out of character for him. “I know it’s late and all, I just had to um.. talk to you.” You rub your eyes and yawn, “Well?” You ask, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I know we aren’t close or anything, but I really fucking like you. I mean—really like you. It’s so weird for me to feel this strongly over.. well, y’know a girl who I barely know. But you’re just different, you make me feel things—things that no one else does.” He watches you watch him nervously, this is really different than the Mattheo you know. “Anyway.. what I’m trying to say is, I think we’d be really good together. I want us to try it out, if you’d have me?” “Mattheo I—“

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

-

A/N: IM SOOO SORRY FOR THIS TKAING SO LONG TO WRITE(literally ignore my spelling mistakes wtf) ANYWAY YEAH, LMK IF I SHOUKD MAKE A OART TWO OR SMTHING?????

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

[mutifandomkid]

Happy Anniversary Part Two

Pairings: Buckyxreader

Warnings: Cursing, fighting(verbal), car accident??, mentions of cheating, shock??, angst, think that’s it??

Word count: 1.2k

**********

I walked into the road, tears still flying from my eyes and fleeing down my cheeks. I tripped and stumbled on the road, dropping my heels. More tears streamed down my cheeks.

I bent down to reach for my heels, and when I finally saw it through my smudged makeup, through the tears, the car, less than 10 feet away, barreled towards me. Everything seemed like it was in slow motion.

It was too close, there was no time. No time to move, to jump out of the way. I turned my face, bracing for impact. My eyes squeezed shut, my hair shielding my face, my muscles tight and rigid, accepting the painful death I knew was coming. Maybe it would be quick, the pain there and then not.

My hands curled into fist, a small whimper leaving my lips out of fear of the impact. I felt the last breath leave my lungs, heard the soft sound it made when I exhaled.

I felt the wind on my skin, on the wetness of my skin where my tears fell. I could smell the tires as I heard the screech on the floor of the driver slamming on the breaks. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the screeching of the tires stopped.

It was then I heard the impact, but didn’t feel it. I felt the wind of something going over me at full speed, then heard the crash behind me, felt the wind of the impact on the road. I felt the hands grab my shoulders and spin me around, shielding me from shattering glass. My eyes were still squeezed shut.

I inhaled, feeling the oxygen enter my lungs. I could still feel the wind in my hair, could still feel the wetness on my skin from the tears and sweat. Could still feel the fear coursing through my veins, then adrenaline fueling my body. The hands were still on my shoulders.

Then I heard the shouting. It was muffled, my head still underwater. I still felt like I was drowning. I finally opened my eyes. My vision was blurry with more tears, and no matter how much I tried to blink them away, they insisted on staying.

I heard sobbing, but I couldn’t tell if it was from me or someone else. Maybe the one who was yelling? I couldn’t tell. The hands began shaking me, and the shouting turned into something more like a…plead?

“Look at me!” The words were muffled, but I could hear the words. It had to be the person yelling and shaking me, right?

“Goddamnit, look at me! Please!” That voice. I knew that voice…but who? The hands left my shoulders, cupping my face as if trying to force me to look at them.

Tears still sprung from my eyes, my vision still blurry, and I still felt like I was submerged underwater. I stumbled when the person dropped my face and grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the road and onto the sidewalk.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” The person shouted. That voice was so goddamned familiar. “Did you not see the fucking car?!”

I finally managed to blink some of the tears from my eyes. The car that had been approaching was flipped, the glass windows shattered, the frame crushed with the impact. The driver, off to the side, luckily unscathed. Skid marks from the tires were burned into the road, the smell of burnt rubber and oil string in the air.

“Are you okay?” The person finally asked. “Look at me. Please, for the love of god, look at me.” He pleaded.

I finally looked at him. He was distressed, panicked, and worried. His white suit, torn and slightly burned on his left sleeve, revealing the metal arm. His hair was tousled and messy, out of place. His blue eyes searched my face and body before finally meeting my eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes.

“Are you okay, babydoll?” He asked, his hands cupping my face once again, stroking my cheeks.

My brow furrowed, and I felt myself pulling away from him before I registered what I was doing. The words left my lips before I could think. “You kissed her.”

“You’re serious?” He asked incredulously. “You almost got hit by a fucking car, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

I physically recoiled at his words. “You kissed her.” I repeated. I didn’t want to see him, because all I saw was him with her.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not what you’re thinking babydoll.” He breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your lips were on hers, you had her backed against a wall. Her hands on your chest.” My lungs burned. “So if you’re trying to say you didn’t kiss her-“

“That’s not what it was!” Bucky said, now just pleading. “Please, just let me explain!”

“No! You kissed her Bucky! Your lips were on hers! Her hands were all over you!” I fought back, tears streaming down my cheeks again.

“Babydoll, it wasn’t like that-“

“Don’t call me that!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the near empty streets of New York. I’ve never shouted before.

Bucky faltered, looking visibly hurt. “Please, just let me explain!”

“What’s there to explain, Bucky!” I shouted.

His brow furrowed, I’ve never yelled at him before. Not once has he ever heard me yell or shout or scream.

I took a few deep breaths, folding my arms to my body, and hugging myself tightly as tears fled down my cheeks, and I snuffled. “I just want to go home, Bucky.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me walk you home.”

I was quiet, and no words came to give him an answer. I simply stood there, crying silently and hugging myself.

“Please?” Bucky pleaded, his voice cracking.

I didn’t look at him, just continued holding myself tightly, and staring at the floor in front of me. If I looked at him, my resolve would falter. “No.” I whispered, the sound barely audible.

I heard what sounded like a pained whimper leave his lips. “Doll, please.”

“I said no.” I said, my voice firmer, my eyes finally looking up at him, filled with pain and tears. “No, you cannot walk me home.”

Bucky had tears rolling down his face, looking as if he was in just as much pain as I was. “Please just let me explain.” His voice cracked as he spoke, “I’ll walk you home, and if you still don’t want me around, I’ll crash at Steve’s. Please, doll.”

“I said no, James.” The words that left my lips sounded more like an order than anything. My heart shattered at my own cruelty. I felt horrible, but it wasn’t enough to shove aside the pain that he’d caused. “You’ll crash at Steve’s nonetheless. You’ll pack your things tomorrow.”

“Doll please!” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “Babydoll, please, tomorrow’s our anni-“

“Tomorrow is what would’ve been our anniversary.” *I corrected.* “We’re done, James.” Tears fled down my cheeks as I brushed past him, walking back into the road and grabbing my heels. I stopped for a moment, barely glancing over my shoulder. “Thank you for saving me.”

I slipped on my heels, and then grabbed my clutch, pulling out my phone and calling Sam as I continued walking down the road, away from Bucky.

“Hey, what’s up?” Sam’s voice rang through the phone, music blaring from the party in the background.

“Can you come pick me up?” I sobbed softly.

“Where are you?”

I tried to block out Bucky’s quiet sobs as I walked further down the block.

***********

Lemme know if you want a part three.

Tag list:

@greatenthusiattidalwave @sebbymybaby21 @vicmc624 @cinnamon-bun47 @starfly-nicole

[creampuffqueen]

hold you til you fall asleep

Summary: After a sudden bought of illness, Yangchen is convinced she's on the road to recovery. Kavik feels a bit differently about her healing process - and what caused the illness in the first place.

Word count: 5358

Read on ao3

----

It’s been a while since Yangchen’s body has ached like this. 

Not long enough, though.

This kind of bone deep, body trembling, head pounding pain can only mean one thing, and Yangchen is loathe to open her eyes and face the reality of it. She knows she must have slept for a while, if the dryness in her mouth is any indication. Perhaps, if she keeps her eyes shut, she can get a bit more real rest before she’s forced to think about anything else. 

And yet, the light streaming behind her closed eyelids beckons her to crack her eyes open, what feels like her entire being wincing at the effort. A groan of pain escapes her lips before she can choke it back, and her arms shake when she attempts to sit herself up. 

Yangchen collapses back onto the pillows, head spinning. 

Wait, pillows -

The last thing she remembers is standing up from the dinner table and nearly folding in on herself, clutching the corner for balance as her vision blurred. She remembers shouting. She remembers arms wrapping around her, holding her upright as her legs gave way.

But she does not remember getting into a bed. Which means that someone put her here, tucked her in, and cared for her for… 

How long have I been away?!

Yangchen digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, as if she can bring the blank in her memory back if she adds enough pressure. All she accomplishes is making her vision spark. 

She can hear her own pulse echoing in her ears, the thrumming noise of it a hammer on the inside of her skull. The room sways with each breath she takes, a threatening force should she dare to try and get up again. 

Still, Yangchen refuses to be deterred. She knocked out at dinner last night, surely she must have slept through the night and now it’s the next morning. She can catch up on her work; she won’t be too far behind, she’ll just grab a cup of tea and that will push away the lingering pain and –

The handle of the bedroom door twists and clicks, creaking slightly as it opens with a soft push. Yangchen turns slightly to look, propping herself up on a trembling elbow. 

“Oh. You’re awake.”

Yingsu’s normally deadpan voice carries a note of surprise, making Yangchen more confused than ever.

“Don’t get too excited about it,” She mutters sarcastically. Gritting her teeth, she manages to finally pull herself up to sitting, frustrated at the effort it requires. 

Yingsu lets herself fully into the room, shutting the door behind her and walking over to the bed. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I was getting kinda used to you being out cold these last few days.”

Wait. Days?

Yangchen can feel her stomach plummeting. When she speaks again, her voice comes out in a startled croak, “What do you mean by days?” 

Yingsu’s reply is uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Yangchen.”

A shiver works its way up her spine, her breath catching in her chest. The blankets tucked around her suddenly feel too heavy, too tight, too restricting. She shoves them away, trying not to let the panic in her head overtake her heart. 

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Yingsu urges, “It’s all okay, we’ve been taking care of everything.”

Yangchen slides her legs off the bed, ignoring the way she sways with the motion. “A lot can happen in three days. I need to look over my correspondence -”

“You need to go back to bed,” The larger woman insists. She places two hands on Yangchen’s shoulders, holding her in place. The airbender tries to swat her away, but her smaller, weakened hands are no match. She feels like a child being punished for throwing a tantrum. 

Yingsu seems unimpressed with Yangchen’s glare. “Stay here. I’m going to let the others know that you’re up.” Slowly, she removes her hands, backing away. “Stay. I mean it.”

As though she has a choice. Her head is utterly swimming.

When the firebender shuts the door quietly behind her, Yangchen slumps back onto the pillows, attempting to take stock; of herself, of her surroundings, of the situation as a whole. 

Build the bridge. One piece at a time. Build the bridge. Build it –

Yangchen digs her fingers into her own scalp, grimacing from the pain but grateful for the sensation nonetheless. There’s too much missing. She can’t build anything in this state.

Before her thoughts can spiral any further, a gentle knock on the door signals the arrival of more newcomers. Yangchen forces herself to sit up again, to meet the eyes of everyone coming to check on her. 

They enter one at a time, cautious and slow, as though she’s some kind of animal they can’t afford to startle. Yingsu leads the way, then is followed in turn by Jujinta, Tayagum, Akuudan, and Boma. 

Boma is the first to approach her, smile warm and comforting. “Glad to see you up and about, Avatar.” Yangchen accepts the hug he offers, appreciative of the warmth it provides. Her body can’t quite seem to decide if it’s hot or cold at the moment. 

The others move in to provide their own well-wishes, but Yangchen is finding it hard to focus. Her gaze flutters between each of her companions, easily detecting the gap in their retinue. She glances up at the door, but the hallway outside is noticeably barren of the one person she really wants to see.

Boma’s hand settles on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s on a supply run. He’ll be back soon.”

Her pounding heart slows down a bit. Everyone is accounted for.

“Are you hungry?” Akuudan’s deep timbre pulls her from her wandering thoughts. “You haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

The logical part of Yangchen’s brain knows that, yes, she’s hungry. Starving, practically. And yet, the rest of her consciousness rails against the thought of stopping to eat, of all things. There’s no time for that at all.

“I’m not hungry,” She replies, attempting yet again to swing her legs over the side of the bed. 

Several arms move to block her way. “If you’re not going to eat,” Tayagum reasons, “Then you should keep resting. You need time to rebuild your strength.”

“All of you stop it,” Yangchen snaps, “I’m fine, and I need to get up so I can work.”

Her team retreats, chastised but wary, watching her every move. Still scowling, Yangchen removes the many blankets layered on top of her and settles onto the wooden floor.

She barely manages to stand for a few seconds before her knees buckle beneath her, sending her sprawling forward like a newborn wolf-deer. Only Jujinta’s lightning-quick reflexes save her from concussing herself on the bedframe. 

“Back to bed with you,” Boma insists, ushering her back onto the mattress with a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You’re still feeling weak. Rest for a while longer.”

Yangchen purses her lips, trying to hold back the tears of frustration she can feel springing to her eyes. She can’t rest; she’s missed too much time as it is already. 

However, much to her own displeasure, it seems her body is inclined to disagree with her mind. The headache she’s been attempting to ignore makes its presence known with a sudden throbbing pain, sending her reeling backwards with a choked groan of agony.

“Jujinta, close the curtains please,” Boma orders quietly. One of his weathered hands strokes soothingly across Yangchen’s forehead, the touch of a concerned grandparent. “I’m going to get you a glass of water, and then we’ll all leave you be. Please try and rest.”

All Yangchen can stand to do is nod.

She watches her team file from the room out of the corner of her half-lidded eyes, biting down on her tongue to try and distract herself from all the pain elsewhere. Squirming back beneath the blankets, she wraps herself up in warmth and darkness until it’s all she can feel. 

The blankets muffle the sound around her, of Boma placing a glass of water on her nightstand, of the door clicking shut behind him, of the others talking between themselves downstairs. All she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, thumping in time with the throbbing in her head. 

She closes her eyes fully. Sleep overtakes her before she even has a chance to recognize it. 

~~~~

When she wakes for the second time, something is different. 

Everything in her body is about the same. Her headache has subsided a bit, but the rest of her muscles are still filled with a low hum of pain. Additionally, she must have rolled onto her side at some point, because the shoulder pinned beneath her at an awkward angle tingles with pins and needles, springing yet another grimace to her features. 

The prickling sensation dies down after a few moments, allowing her to truly assess what is different this time: the presence of another person sitting on the bed with her.

She can sense the dip in the mattress beside her, feel the faint warmth of another body close by. And distantly, through the blankets piled high around her, she can hear the faint scratching of a pencil. Smooth, steady, and unmistakable.

Yangchen slowly pulls herself from the blanket wraps, taking in the person’s figure illuminated by a single candle. Kavik is seated on the bed, hunched over a stack of papers in his lap, thoroughly and methodically circling important passages. There’s a smear of charcoal across one of his cheekbones, and his lips purse together in that familiar focused pout of his, eyes never once leaving his work.

That is, until he feels her shifting on the bed and turns to face her, pencil at last stalling its gentle scuffing. 

“You’re awake.”

His voice doesn’t hold surprise, not in the way the others’ did. Instead, his lips twitch, the start of a smile, gaze brightening just at the sight of her.

For some reason, it makes Yangchen want to crawl back beneath the blankets and hide. 

“I’m awake,” She repeats softly, carefully easing herself up to sitting. The motion doesn’t make her quite as dizzy as before, but it still feels like it takes five times the effort it should. Her body hasn’t stopped rebelling against her. 

Kavik’s mouth opens slightly, as though he wants to speak, but no words form from it. He just sits and stares, unmoving as a statue.  

Eventually, he swallows, managing to find his voice again. “How have you been?”

“Asleep for three days, apparently,” Yangchen replies dryly.

Kavik flushes. “Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that.” Shaking his head, he manages to correct himself. “I meant to ask how you’ve been feeling since you woke up. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you with the others.”

“That’s not your fault.” 

He shrugs. “Still. I wish I was there.”

“You’re here now,” Yangchen points out. How long has he been here, quietly working and waiting for her to wake again? Her internal clock is completely out of whack, and with the curtains drawn it’s hard to see the outside light to judge it.

Kavik glances at the papers in his lap. “I guess that’s true. Let me put all this away for now. Do you need anything?”

“I need to see those papers,” Yangchen attempts. “I need to get caught up.”

The stack of papers is quickly pulled out of reach, Kavik tucking the charcoal pencil behind his ear. “No way. You still need to recover. Don’t worry yourself with this, I’ve been handling it.”

An exasperated breath huffs between her lips. “Yes, you’ve handled it while I was ill. But I’m awake now, and I need to keep up my own correspondence.”

She reaches for the papers again, but Kavik whips them away, holding them above his head. He’s playing dirty now, and Yangchen isn’t in the mood for it.

“Give me my papers, Kavik.”

“You don’t need these. They’re just accounting reports I’ve been annotating.”

“Then get me that papers that I do need!” She hates how shrill her voice is becoming, but she can’t stand this, this treating her like a child who needs a time-out. “Letters, sales reports, world news. Those are all things I need to be keeping up with!”

“I’ve been keeping up with them,” Kavik protests, “And I’ll continue keeping up with them while you recover! You need to rest, Yangchen.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need!” She snaps.

Yangchen grabs for the papers he’s holding again, but this time Kavik launches himself off the bed and crosses his arms. His smile has faded, leaving only a concerned frown in its wake. “Fine. Prove to me that you don’t need more rest. Stand up, walk over to me, and come get the papers.”

She kicks the covers off her body and reaches for the nightstand to haul herself off the bed. There’s weakness in each and every muscle, but if she chooses her path carefully to support herself with the furniture she can –

“Unassisted,” Kavik adds, frown deepening. “No bending, either.”

“You jerk,” Yangchen hisses. But she stays put. He read her too easily.

Kavik sighs deeply, placing the stack of papers on her desk. He walks back to the bed, sitting down on the edge a few arms’ lengths away. Perhaps he thinks she’s going to throw something at him. Part of Yangchen wants to. 

“I’m sorry,” He finally says, “but Yangchen, you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. That’s why you’ve been sick.”

Their eyes meet, and her anger begins to wilt underneath his concern and sadness. Kavik moves closer, until he can take a gentle hand to her back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. “Why didn’t you tell me things were getting so bad?”

“I didn’t think it was this bad,” She replies honestly, hating the way her bottom lip is beginning to wobble. “I thought I was handling it.”

“Collapsing at the dinner table and then running a fever for three days is hardly what I’d call ‘handling it’,” Kavik adds softly. His free hand inches forward until the very tips of his fingers are touching hers. Warmth sparks from his touch, even at the barest hint of it.

Still, Yangchen is struggling to wrap her head around it. Three days. She’s missed so much. How can she catch up if she’s still being forced to rest for who knows how much longer?

“You need to take it easier, Yangchen,” Kavik sighs. “Not just while you’re recovering. I mean easier overall.”

She jerks her hand away from his. “That’s not possible. You know that, Kavik. I can’t afford to take it easier, not when there’s people who need me.”

“You won’t be helping anybody if you drop dead at twenty from not taking care of yourself!” Kavik snaps.

Yangchen’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” He insists. “You really frightened all of us.”

A pause. And then, much softer, he adds, “You really frightened me.”

How can she possibly respond to that? Somewhere, deep down, the knowledge that he cares about her so much places a seed of warmth and comfort. But on the surface, her hackles are raising, defenses shoring up around her heart. 

“I’m fine,” She insists.

Kavik sighs in exasperation. “Aren’t you tired, Yangchen?”

“Of course I’m tired,” Yangchen all but spits, “I’m always tired. Of all of it. But that doesn’t mean I can stop.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?!”

“Do you? You don’t get to tell me how to handle things, Kavik; I can take care of myself!”

“Fine then!” Kavik yanks his hand from her back as though he’s been burned, standing up and heading for the door. “Take care of yourself then! Keep on starving yourself and staying awake for days and drinking your stupid poison tea and punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault! See if I care!”

Before Yangchen can attempt to form an answer he’s already gone, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. The force of it rattles the bed, and Yangchen’s bones along with it. 

She’s left reeling in his wake, shaking, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. She looks up quickly, breathing deeply, doing her best to hold off from a full-on crying session. Her headache is back. 

Her efforts don’t work. When she wipes at her face her sleeve comes away wet. Another surge of frustration washes over her, causing her to grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at the door with all her might, biting her tongue to hold back her scream. 

The pillow falls short. She buries her face against the mattress, muffling the scream she lets burst forth. 

Kavik is always honest with her. Well, besides the one notable incident. Otherwise, in the years she’s known him, he’s been honest with her, more so than anyone else. Normally she appreciates it. Somehow, this is different.

Yangchen rolls back over, dragging her hands down her face and heaving a sigh. She’s fine. She can work. She can deal with… whatever just happened later.

Maybe after she cleans up, though. She hasn’t bathed in three days, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious the longer she lays here. 

She hauls herself up to sitting yet again. If nothing else, that is getting easier. Sliding gently off the bed, she makes a hobbling pace for the door to her bathing quarters, holding herself steady on the furniture as she walks. 

So what if she isn’t up to walking unassisted just yet? She doesn’t need to walk to answer letters. “What does Kavik even know?” She mutters to herself, “Who does he think he is?”

Yangchen stands at the entrance to her bathroom, clinging to the wooden doorframe as her vision steadies. The idea of a bath is a bit daunting, frankly, as she visualizes all the steps she’ll need to take. For a heartbeat, she imagines how much simpler it would be if there was someone to help.

She brushes the thought aside as quickly as it came. She’s Avatar Yangchen, for Spirits’ sake. She’ll be fine by herself. 

~~~~

Although she no longer carries the same aroma as her beloved lemurs after her bath, that seems to be the only benefit. Her headache has only gotten worse, and the steam from the water made her woozy. 

Her hair is still incredibly damp, despite having been dried with a towel. She would airbend it dry, but even the thought of it makes her weak in the knees. She just doesn’t have the energy. 

Yangchen leans against the bathroom counter to catch her breath. Normally after a bath Kavik would bend the water from her hair, his precision with the element often surpassing her own.

Tonight, it’s just her.

She takes a deep breath, rubbing the towel over her drying hair once more. It will be frizzy in the morning, but that’s an issue for Tomorrow Yangchen. For now, she needs back in her bed until her headache subsides again. 

Putting on her robes also feels like too much effort. Instead, she carefully maneuvers herself to the drawer she keeps her clothing in and pulls on a pair of flowing linen pants and a matching loose top. She wears these as sleeping garments – if she bothers to change into them to sleep. They’re looser, lighter, and far less suffocating than the many layers she normally wears.

Clothing sorted, Yangchen curls back up on the bed, knees tucked to her chest, trying to slow her pounding heart. Her body aches with every inhale. Somehow, sleep still eludes her.

She loses track of the time she spends like this, holding herself in the fetal position, too weak to even bother pulling blankets over herself to stave off the chill of the room. Her stomach begins to growl, and when she clutches at it her head throbs in response. It feels like she’s falling to pieces. 

A soft knock on the door startles her from her bed of misery, and Yangchen peels her eyes open to look at the source of the noise.

Peeking through a crack in the doorway, Boma’s gentle, wrinkled smile greets her. “I come bearing gifts, Avatar.”

“Hm?” Yangchen’s throat is scratchy, as though she’s been crying. She honestly can’t remember if she has.

“Dinner,” Boma elaborates, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a tray loaded down with dishes, and Yangchen can practically feel the way her body perks up at the scent. “You’ve hardly eaten anything for three days, you must be starving.”

Yangchen’s stomach decides to answer for her, letting out an audible growl. Her cheeks warm in embarrassment, but Boma just keeps smiling, walking over to set the tray down on her nightstand. 

“There’s churu, momos, shogo khatsa, shom-dae, lots of balep, and butter tea. Eat up, food will help you get your strength up.”

Yangchen certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. She dives in, not caring about how she’s slurping or chewing too loudly or anything else. Boma made her a traditional Air Nomad feast, and each bite tastes like home. 

“Don’t choke yourself!” Boma chuckles, noting the cough she makes after devouring an entire momo in barely two bites. Yangchen, still coughing, grabs the mug of butter tea to wash everything down. 

It’s after her cup is emptied that everything comes rushing back. Three days, missing from her memory. Her body, hardly functioning.

And Kavik…

“Boma,” Yangchen starts softly, taking small bites of rice pudding between her words, “Can I ask for some advice?”

Boma’s smile is warm and comforting, exactly like the food he must have spent hours preparing for her. “Of course you can, Avatar.”

Yangchen can’t quite meet his eyes, focusing instead on spooning as much of the cheesy churu soup into her mouth as possible. “Kavik and I had a… disagreement earlier. I don’t – I don’t know how to make things right again.”

Boma takes a sip of his own tea. “I knew you two had argued –”

Yangchen’s head snaps up. “What? Why? Did he say something about it?”

“Not with his words, no. But he was frustrated and upset after he went to see you, so it wasn’t too hard to piece together. He offered to help me cook, but he was being so rough when folding my momos I had to put him on butter-churning duty to get some of that frustration out.”

Well, at least she hasn’t been alone in feeling awful about it. 

“What was the disagreement about, if I may ask?” Boma questions.

Yangchen’s voice is nearly a whisper. “He told me I needed to accept more help.” Saying it out loud only makes her realize even more how ridiculous it was of her to fight about it. Of course she needs more help; she needs all the extra help she can get if there’s to be a possibility of her life’s work succeeding. 

“That’s all?” Boma probes with a pointed look.

“No,” Yangchen admits after a small pause. “He also kept telling me that I need to slow down and take it easier. But how could I do that, even if I wanted to? People all over the world are depending on me to make their lives better.”

“You can’t improve other lives by making your own a misery,” Boma offers sagely. “I agree with him in that regard.”

“But I – I’m not making my life a misery!” Yangchen protests. 

“Clearly your companion thinks differently.”

“Why does he get to decide if my life a misery?”

“He doesn’t, not really,” Boma agrees, “But I am inclined to agree with his assessment. He certainly has better judgement in that regard compared to anyone else.”

Yanghcen’s brow knits in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Boma takes another sip of tea. “You didn’t see the way he cared for you while you were ill.”

“I thought you all cared for me together.”

“We did at first,” Boma confirms, “But it became clear rather quickly that your waterbending companion was… better equipped for the job.”

Understanding crashes over her in a wave. “My gift.”

Boma sighs heavily. “There was plenty of time where you were just… well, just ill, I suppose. But there were also many appearances from your past lives. Times you were up speaking nonsense half the night.”

The pieces of Boma’s point are falling into place one by one. “Kavik helped with the episodes?”

Another nod from her guardian. “He did. Better than I ever have, honestly. And besides that he just cared for you. Brought you water, made sure you were comfortable, stayed by your side. All of that, on top of keeping up with both your work and his own.”

And I just pushed him away.

Yangchen stuffs more potatoes into her mouth so she doesn’t have to keep speaking. 

Boma carefully meets her eyes. “He cares for you, Yangchen. If he thinks you should ease up, let others take on some more of your burden…”

Yangchen places her spoon on the tray, no longer hungry. “You agree with him.”

Boma sets his mug of tea in his lap to join their gazes, expression serious. “No Avatar before you has shouldered their burden alone. Why force yourself to walk this path when you have people who want to help you?”

“I’m not alone,” Yangchen insists, “I have an entire team, I have you, Boma. That’s the opposite of alone.”

“Exactly. You’re not alone,” Boma agrees, nodding. Finishing his tea, he stands from the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Yangchen’s head. “Stop pretending like you have to be.”

~~~~

If he hadn’t stubbed his toe on the desk chair, Yangchen might not have known he was there. Kavik is good at sneaking, and he’s memorized the creaky spots on her floorboards. However, all the espionage skills in the world can’t prevent his misstep against the desk, and the pained hissing and cursing that follows that wakes her up from her nap. 

“Kavik?”

He turns to her with a wince, face shadowed in the half-dark of her room. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, I just needed to grab a few things that I left in here.”

“What are you getting?”

He glances guiltily at the desk. “Some letters that arrived this morning. I was going to sort through which ones needed a response of some kind.”

“Okay,” Yangchen agrees, “But you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. You can stay and work in here.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your rest.”

“You won’t,” Yangchen promises. She’s always found the sound of him writing to be soothing. If anything, she might fall asleep easier.

Kavik still looks unsure.

“You won’t,” Yangchen repeats, “I promise. Stay here and work. We can… talk for a bit.”

Carefully, each movement measured, Kavik pulls the chair from the desk and takes a seat. He spends a few seconds sorting through stacks of papers until he finds what he needs. Then he glances back over his shoulder, blue eyes somber.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

Yangchen lifts her eyes to meet his, heartbeat thundering in her ears. She holds his gaze, opening up every vulnerable part of her for him to see. “I’m sorry too.”

The apologies lift some of the weight from her chest, but now it feels as though they’re at a standstill. Kavik turns back to his papers, shoulders hunched. 

“You’re right,” Yangchen blurts before she can talk herself out of it. That makes him pause. “And I’m sorry for making you worry so much.”

“I only worry about you because I care,” Kavik replies softly. He isn’t looking at her, instead fishing around in one of the drawers for a pencil. 

“I know you care.”

Finally, Kavik turns around again, this time fully facing her. He tucks the pencil behind his ear. “I know you’re not used to having people care about you. And I mean you, Yangchen, not the Avatar.”

“Nobody has done for me what you’ve been doing since I lost my sister,” Yangchen affirms in a whisper. 

“I’m happy to do it for you. I want to do it for you, care about you.” Kavik takes a deep breath. “But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

“It’s hard to accept help when you’ve had to do things alone in the past.”

“But you’re not alone now,” Kavik adds, in a nearly identical way to what Boma told her earlier. “Let us help. Let me help.”

Yangchen slips off the side of the bed, slowly making her way over to where Kavik is working. She’s steadier on her feet than she was earlier. The food must have helped even more than she realized. 

Tentatively, she places her hand on his shoulder. His skin is warm, even through his shirt. It makes her want to get closer.

“I want to let you help more. Can you just… be patient with me? Please?”

Kavik places his own hand on top of hers, a tiniest hint of a smile curling the edge of his lips. “We can ease into it. Together. I don’t want this to keep happening, Yangchen, I want you to be okay.”

She squeezes his hand, feeling a smile of her own starting to break over her face. “I want that too.”

Something unspoken passes between them as they lean in at the same time, eyes closed, noses just barely touching. Yangchen can feel the warmth of Kavik’s breath for a split second before she closes the distance and kisses him. 

His lips are gentle against hers, kissing her back with just the right amount of pressure. Yangchen breaks from it first, already out of breath. Kavik moves his hand to her cheek, tugging her closer with the softest motion to lay another kiss against it. 

“You should probably get some sleep,” Kavik whispers, kissing her cheek again.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Yangchen laughs breathlessly. But as soon as she finishes her sentence, a massive yawn parts her jaws wide. She and Kavik lock eyes when it finishes, neither of them able to keep from laughing. 

“I think your body might be disagreeing with you.”

Yangchen has to cover her mouth as she yawns again, this one longer than the last. “Fine, I’ll rest.” After a moment of thought, she adds, “You’ll stay, right?”

Kavik takes her hand and squeezes it, fully smiling now. “Of course I will.”

She hardly realizes she’s doing it, but in a swift movement Yangchen settles herself into Kavik’s lap on the chair, sitting with her legs across him and tucking her head against his shoulder. His breath hitches in surprise, but he just as quickly encircles her with his arms, rubbing a hand gently over her back. 

“You can still work, if you want,” Yangchen offers quietly.

“Is this some kind of ploy to sneak peeks at your letters?” Kavik asks, though his tone is joking.

Yangchen shakes her head, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck. “It isn’t. I just like listening to you.”

Sitting like this, she can feel each time his chest rises and falls with his breath, every thump of his heartbeat behind his ribcage. Every part of him that’s alive, and real, and holding her close like she’s something precious. 

Her eyes fall closed when he starts to write. One of his hands keeps circling over her back, spreading warmth with every movement. The other holds his pencil steady, scratching over the paper in perfect, precise marks. She could listen to him all night. 

She’s too tired for that though, truly. When her own breathing begins to slow she doesn’t fight it, and when the darkness behind her eyes beckons her closer she lets it draw near. The last thing she remembers before sleep finally overtakes her is this – the sound of Kavik writing, and the feeling of being safer and warmer than she has in a long, long while. 

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nine

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the teaaaa guys,, also should i post the playlist tn?? i feel like its almost ready 0.0

series masterlist // playlist

"You should go home. You can't save her by just hoping she comes out of her little tunnels again..." Coryo turns his head at the Dean's voice on his left. "She could be dead in there. You wouldn't know."

Your friend sighs, rolling his eyes and redirecting them to the screen ahead. Just in case.

"What are you reading?" He points to the open book on Coryo's desk in front of him as the boy quickly closes it, pulling it down onto his lap.

"Just a book." He mumbles.

The Dean gets closer, leaning over to read the cover as Coryo flips it over. "Just a book?" He probes it more, raising an eyebrow at him. "The very same one your poet was reading in all the live feeds of the zoo over the last few days. That's sweet."

"It's interesting. That's all. She asked for it, I wanted to know why." Coryo brushes it off, holding the paper tighter in his grip.

"What do you want from that girl?" He asks, leaning against the empty desk next to him.

"Nothing." Coryo insists. "I want her to live."

Dean Highbottom hums, giving a slight nod. "And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose."

Coriolanus smiles bitterly, thinking over what his best response would be. "I believe I'd be entitled to it."

"Of course you do." The Dean nods, flashing him a fake smile of encouragement. "Of course you do. The prize, the girl. Hm. How convenient you don't have to choose between them."

Coryo tucks the book under his leg at the statement, choosing not to grace his superior with any kind of response.

"Who do you think makes that final decision for the prize you so covet, Mister Snow? Wake up. Even if she somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don't see a dime." Dean Highbottom spits, looking up at the screen as well as Coryo slowly looks over at him. "So, ask yourself, how much do you care if she wins now?"

Coryo listens to the man's footsteps as he walks away, pretending to focus on the screen again. If he truly had no shot at the prize, would it be best for him to go home now and sleep like many of his classmates already had? Should he even bother to watch the cameras hoping that you'll reappear in the dark arena at some point tonight? Should he even come back? Of course he would. He couldn't live with the idea of you coming out, in desperate need of something only he could give you, food or water, and knowing that at some point you would realize he had lied to you. That he wasn't with you anymore. He would have to watch your heartbreak in holiday reruns for the rest of his life. Even if you died in that arena all alone, would you realize that he didn't care about you at the end? He couldn't take the idea of it.

As he returns to the book that he's pulled back onto his lap, he hopes you still remember.

It's another slow hour before you show your face again, slowly, carefully opening the vent across the arena as the motion cameras pick up on it, allowing Coryo to watch the closest one to you. It's a moment before he looks up, entranced in your book when he sees the movement in his peripheral vision. He was the only one there, now, and he knew it likely wasn't you that the cameras picked up so it took him a moment to even tear his eyes away from the desk, slotting the dried-up flower between the pages. When he does see it's you, he sits up quickly. Watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't come, there was no one else. It's just you.

Your eyes scan the arena in search of the nearest camera after seeing that there are no other tributes out in the clearing besides Lamina, where you left her on the beam. You crawl out, leaving the vent open behind you for a quick retreat. You find the camera, looking into it. You were covered in dirt head to toe, but even through that Coryo could see it when you tried to communicate with your gaze. With him.

You give a small wave to the camera, eyes flitting up with the sound of birds in the crumbled rafters above you.

He wasn't sure what you wanted, but he was grateful you listened. Tapping through his communicuff, he quickly finds water and hits send. Hopefully, it makes it to you instead of breaking like Lamina's did.

You stand up in front of the vent, stretching out your limbs from being curled up and crawling around in the vent system for so long. You wanted to explore as much of it as you could, but it was hot in there, and you desperately needed water so you could clear out the dust in your throat.

A smile falls onto your face briefly as you see the drone come in, carrying your water bottle. Coryo. He is watching. You hold your hand out, prepared to try and catch it before it crashes loudly into the stands just behind you. From watching what happened with Lamina's, you know you have to be careful. The blades aren't well covered, and they come flying in fast. Straight toward you. When it gets too close you bail, ducking down as the fast-moving drone flies straight past you and into the vent. You cringe at the loud banging that follows, echoing throughout the arena due to your beloved vent system. You stay hidden for a moment, making sure no one is coming after you before standing up and looking around. Satisfied that no one was coming besides Lamina who just stirred on her beam, you held your finger up toward the camera, signaling for Coryo to wait as you crawled back in.

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits, relieved when you emerge a minute or so later with an unbroken bottle in your hand as you kneel on the ground in front of the opening. You hold it up, shooting the camera a small smile before opening it and taking a sip. Or, you intended to, but you were so thirsty you downed almost the whole thing in one go.

You wipe your chin, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. It felt so good. Coryo is watching you intently. You don't look cold, which is good. Maybe even a little sweaty, if the hair that's clinging to your forehead is proof of that. You're probably hungry. And with that, he's sending you an apple. If you weren't hungry, it wasn't a lot to eat, but if you were, he would be able to tell by how you ate it.

You hear the distant whir of another drone, quickly standing up and stepping away from the vent. You want to avoid that loud echoing as much as you can. You brace yourself and duck beneath the seat in front of you, hiding behind the railing so it wouldn't hit you.

It crashes into the front of the stands, and you can hear it falling down onto the floor. You stand up slowly, looking over the edge. You were so hungry, now that you saw the apple there, that you hopped down over the side and walked along the edge of the railing before sliding down where it was safest. You watch your steps as you make your way over to the broken drone and the battered apple that was attached to it.

You scan the ground, looking for that delicious flash of red which you pick out quickly. You pick it up and wipe it off on your dress, taking a bite before you're even fully stood up again. You could moan just at the taste of it. You had missed fruit so much- occasionally Coryo and Sejanus had brought you some in the zoo, but now it was something else entirely. Every bite could be your last, and you try to enjoy it as best you can.

You track the arena again from the floor, looking around again for the nearest camera. You turn when you see it's pretty much directly above your head. You wave again, giving Coryo a grateful smile, weakened by the stress of the day's events, and by your inevitable death. Nevertheless, you tried to keep on a brave face; you didn't want him to view you as careless or ungrateful. "Thank you." You say, unsure if there is even a microphone.

You tilt your head at the camera, confusing him as you squint. "Can you hear me?" You ask and he nods, alone in the large room.

"I can hear you." He whispers back to the open air, watching as you swiftly turn around, facing away from the camera.

"If you can hear me, send..." You think about it. What is something they would definitely have available but obscure enough that you would know he heard you? "Send in something odd. Something you're surprised is even an option."

He flicks through the pages and pages of options, unsure what to pick. Bread was too basic, no apples, water, no. Milk? That's weird, and gross. It's perfect. He hits send and watches as you eat your apple, looking up at the opening at the top waiting for something else to come.

You smile as you see it coming in, looking back at the camera briefly before bracing yourself to dodge the flying gift. You wait until the last second, jumping out of the way as it smashes into the wall behind you, the bottle shattering and spraying the surface in milk. Coryo cringes just at the sight of it as you turn and look.

You scrunch up your nose and get closer, running your finger through the dripping liquid to try and identify it. "Milk?" You ask, looking up at the camera.

He smiles to match yours as it grows on your face and you start to laugh quietly. "That is odd, indeed." You giggle, shaking your head. "Well, thank you, dear Coryo. At least I shall have someone to talk to." You take another bite out of the apple in your hand.

"I hope you had a good day." You hum, covering your mouth as you chew. "But you should be getting home soon. I think it is late."

It's so you to be so caring, even finding yourself within the games you're still worried about him. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. He continues to click through the communicuff in the silence that follows, just to get a better idea of all your options, when he finds something better.

Finally, the keyboard makes sense. He quickly types the note out to you and hits send. It's pricey to send a note, putting a dent in your donations, but you had so many it wasn't really a concern at this point. After all, he was your mentor. It only made sense that he would kind of be able to communicate with you.

You perk your head up at the sound of another drone, ready to play this game again. You dodge it more smoothly this time, with a spin that puts a smile on your mentor's face before picking up the small container clipped on the bottom of the drone and prying it open.

You smile when you see it's just a piece of paper. "I'm not leaving. -C"  You read, looking up at the camera.

"Well then," You grin. "Let's talk! It is not day."

He remembers that one. You've said that one to him before- you said it was Romeo and Juliet. He's actually sure he just read it. If the book belonged to him, he would be highlighting and annotating every line you have recited to him over the last couple weeks just like he does in his textbooks.

"That's Romeo and Juliet, if you remember." You remind him, assuming that he wouldn't know it yet. Even if he had started reading it, which he shouldn't have considering you know he's been busy, it was unlikely he'd get that far in under a day. You didn't know that he was inhaling every word on the page in the moments you were off-screen, devouring every blank verse as if it were sacred. To you, and now to him, it almost was. 

You look around as you chew on your apple, stopping when you look at Marcus again. You sigh, sadly, seeing the birds now crowding his body as you quickly begin to make your way over. Lamina sits up as you approach, looking over the edge of the beam. "Just me." You whisper, reassuring her before you shoo the birds away as she lays back down.

You crouch down next to the boy, gently rolling him onto his back. You hadn't the chance earlier, too rushed by the daylight to get back into hiding, but now was as good a time as any. You gently cross his arms over his chest and close his eyes.

You sit back, carefully adjusting his clothes before getting up, as satisfied as you could be with the makeshift burial.

You take a few steps back, retreating quietly to the edge of the arena to get back to your vent. You climb up into the stands just as you hear another drone coming, quickly climbing the stairs so it doesn't fall back down into the ring. You grab it when it's settled, smiling to yourself when you see it's another note.

"No cameras in the vents. Only come out if you need anything. -C"

"Thank you, Coryo." You whisper, looking up at the camera and nodding before retreating inside, closing the fan quietly behind you.

You curl up just past the entrance to the vent, hoping to get some sleep near the fresh air. The exhaustion kicks in quickly after you eat the entire core of the apple, knocking you out in the darkness of the tunnel.

When you wake, it's still dark. You sit up quickly, realizing where you are. Rubbing your eyes, you look out of the vent to see the source of the sound that woke you. You quickly spot a figure kneeling over Marcus's body, blinking to try and see who it is through the sleep still in your eyes.

You should stay hidden, you know that, but from behind at least, it doesn't look like another tribute.

"Sejanus?" You whisper, the vast space carrying your voice to his ears and he quickly turns. You were lucky it was him, but you were able to make a quick escape if it turned out to be someone else. "Sejanus, it's just me." You continue, and as you ease yourself down the debris piled up against the wall he just turns back to Marcus.

You take careful, nearly silent steps as you walk up behind him. "Sejanus?" You say again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly, looking up at you. Tears filled his eyes and stained his cheeks, and you very quickly felt the tears building up in your own eyes as well. "Oh..." You quickly kneel down next to him, pulling him into a hug which he gratefully accepts. "Oh, Sejanus I'm so sorry... I wanted to save him, I did..." You choke on every word as you apologize.

"It's not fair." He sniffs, shaking his head gently under your grip as you soothingly rub the back of his head.

"I know... He didn't deserve that." You agree, ignoring the tears dripping down to your jaw and tickling your skin. "But I want you to know I told him how loved he is, and how sorry we all are. He knew. In his final moments, he knew..."

He tenses under your hold. "It... it was you?" He mutters, pulling away.

"No! No, I-" You quickly defend yourself, head shaking as your arms drop from around him and he looks over at you, understated anger beginning to shine through. "Sejanus, I didn't..."

Any trust he had in you was seemingly gone at that moment. You were worried you flipped a switch you couldn't unturn, that any relationship you had built with the boy had died and been replaced with the thought that maybe you were no better than the game makers themselves. Marcus was defenseless, and it felt like Sejanus thought you took advantage of that.

Your thought process proved to be correct. "He was defenseless! Innocent!" You could tell he would shout if you weren't both so worried about staying quiet. His anger quickly reverted back to hurt. "How could you?"

"I promise, it's not what it sounds like-" You try to correct him, to get him to forgive you as your chest constricts around your lungs. One of the two friends you made in your final days; gone. Just like that.

"Hey!" Another voice startles the both of you, already just a few feet away. You didn't realize how vulnerable you were while you were fighting to prove yourself. You scramble to get up, standing just in front of Sejanus as he knelt on the ground, making no attempts to move. "Y/N. Get out of here." Coryo instructs you, still in his academy uniform.

"Coryo, I-"

"Go hide. Now. It's not safe for you out here." He insists, eyes cold and serious.

"No, not until-"

"I said go. I can't be talking to you, we'll both be punished. Go."

God, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to do more than talk to you. He wanted to hug you for the first time unimpeded, to grab your hand and pull you outside to where you would be safe, but he knew that neither was an option. You're safer in the vent than you would be in the hands of Dr. Gaul after he was seen talking to you, that's for sure.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from asking you to stay while you scurry off to do as he said and climb back into the vent, his mother's scarf still tied securely around your waist. He hated that this could possibly be the last time you saw him, but he had no choice.

"Sejanus, let's go." He whispers to his friend, once he is satisfied that you are really going.

"She killed him..." He mumbles in response.

"She didn't kill him." Coryo quickly corrects him.

"She said-"

"He begged for their help, and she held his hand while she," He points up the beam where a now sleeping Lamina lay quietly, "did it. Now let's get out of here."

He urges him on and Sejanus looks up at him. "He asked them to." Coryo hisses to iterate his point. "Y/N couldn't do it even then."

Sejanus looks up to the vent just as the door creaks closed behind you. "I just wanted to help..." He says softly, eyes watering.

"If you want to help, the best thing you can do is come with me."

"No, I had to be where the cameras are, I need to show them-"

"Do you think anyone is watching this?" Coryo asks as his friend finally stands up. He was making progress, but slowly. This needed to move faster. "Gaul cut the feed. Come with me now, or-"

"But you said-"

"You can't help them if you die in here and become another body in Gaul's war." Coryo cuts him off. There was very little time for arguments, and that timer was rapidly ticking down. "Go home, spend your father's money, do some real good. And don't blame her. She's just as innocent as Marcus was and you know that. Who do you think shut his eyes? Posed him like that? She sobbed for an entire hour after holding his hand while he died!"

Sejanus is speechless, staring down at his tribute's body.

"I watched it all! She's alone in here. She has no one!" He whispers in his ear. "We are all she has. Me and you on the outside, and if you want to help that girl and all the tributes after her, we have to go right now or neither of us will see the light of day again and she will starve and die truly alone. Please, Sejanus. You're her friend... My friend. Come with me."

Sejanus looks at him, the two boys just inches apart as he nods with a resigning sigh. "Okay." He whispers.

Coryo sighs in relief. "Thank you, come-" He starts to turn back when they both are scared by the sound of footsteps sprinting toward them. "Come on!" He shouts, grabbing his classmate's sleeve and dragging him behind as they make for the red lighting of the exit.

You watch from the slits in the fan, hands perched on the blade as you lean against it to get a better view. Your heart is racing as you watch Coryo and Sejanus book it for the exit. God, you hope they make it.

They almost do.

Until Sejanus trips over the turnstile you know and hate, crying out in pain upon hitting the ground. Immediately, you're pushing the door open loudly and running along the railing, hoping to get closer to the exit without running the risk of cutting through the middle of the arena. "Coryo! Run!" You yell helplessly, careless of whether or not you'll be heard or seen by others. All you wanted was to create a distraction. To save him.

But he doesn't run, even as you see him stumble back in the red lighting of the tunnel, hissing when Bobbin's blade strikes him somewhere. "Coryo!" You cry out again, more out of fear. Was it serious? Was he already in the process of bleeding out?

You quickly hop the railing abandoning your safety, sliding down the concrete and stumbling upon hitting the ground. "I don't want to hurt you!" You hear his voice again as you run into full view of the tunnel, still about twenty feet away.

Just in time to see Bobbin fall back between the metal gate, landing a good ways away.

"Enjoy the show!"

You flinch when your friend steps out after him, chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at the boy's body. Silent, unmoving, dead.

Then he brings the club down on him again.

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 9

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: You and Enid try to celebrate Wednesday's birthday when more happens than you expected.

The sound of pages turning filled our shared dorm. The sun lingering at the horizon casting the only light, illuminating our dorm. Wednesday and I are investigating Codex Umbrarüm and the aged journal. We decided that I should investigate the dark covered book because of my experience with magic.

It turns out the leather journal is someone's documentations of different types of outcasts, most of which I haven't even heard of before.

"Y/n." Wednesday's voice finds it way to her bed which I am laying in. My head perks up from the book. "I found something."

I find my way to my feet before standing next to Wednesday's desk, looking over her shoulder. There are illustrations depicting the monster we've been hunting, calling it a 'Hyde.'

"Hydes are artists by nature, but equally vindictive in temperament. Born of mutation, the Hyde lays dormant until unleashed by a traumatic event or unlocked through chemical inducement or hypnosis. This causes the Hyde to develop an immediate bond with it liberator, who the creatures now sees as it's master." Wednesday turns to look at me.

"That means we're not looking for one killer, but two." I say, interrupted by the school intercom.

"Y/n Y/l/n, to the principal's office."

I look up towards the ceiling listening, before meeting my gaze back at Wednesday. "I guess I'll be right back?"

The sound of my footsteps on the cobblestone floor fill the empty hallway. I find myself in front of the door to Principal Weems office. I hesitate for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

"Ah Y/n, for a moment I was starting to think you got lost." Weems says with a smile before motioning her hand towards a chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

"Is everything okay?" I instinctively ask.

"You're not in trouble or anything of the sort. We just need to take a few, precautions for the moment."

"What do you mean precautions?" I raise an eyebrow, while sitting down.

Weems smile fades, her expression changing to a serious one. "I'm requesting that you don't leave campus until further notice."

"What? why?! Am I in danger?" I ask, fear suddenly finding it way into my voice.

"No, no. It's merely a precaution." Weems states, waving her hand in the air. She is clearly lying, why else would I not be allowed off campus?

I sit in silence, thinking about possibilities for this sudden change. "Is it because of the message last night?"

Weems shakes her head. "It's nothing of the sort, and nothing that concerns you."

I assume she's lying again. "What does that message have to do with me?"

Weems stares at me for a moment before releasing a sigh. "You may go back to your dorm now Ms. Y/l/n." Her hand motions towards the door.

I stand, giving up on trying to break through Weems stubborn walls. "Have a nice night Principal Weems." I say before leaving her office.

I walk back into our dorm to find Wednesday setting up candles in a circle in the center of the dorm.

"Are we conducting a seance now?" I ask half joking.

Wednesday turns her head to face me. "Yes." She states before focusing back on the candles. "We're going to try to communicate with Goody and Elsie."

I take a few more steps into the dorm before stopping. "Who's Elsie?"

Wednesday is silent for a moment, her hand stops in the air holding a candle. "Someone else I saw in a vision."

Wednesday stands after placing the final candle. "Why were you called to Weems?"

I sigh, almost already forgetting the new rule that has been forced upon me. "Principal Weems has 'requested' that I stay on campus until further notice. Saying it's some sort precaution or something."

"Why?" Wednesday asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "I asked the same thing, she wouldn't give me an answer."

Wednesday is silent for a moment, the gears in her head shifting. "Can you help me light the candles?"

The room is now only illuminated by the warm candles and the pale moonlight. Wednesday and I are sitting in front of some sort of alter facing towards each other. Wednesday has the name Goody in front of her and Elsie in front of me.

Wednesday is holding some sort of jewelry above the alter while muttering words I can't hear. I don't exactly know what's happening. I never really had a reason to try to communicate with spirits.

Suddenly the door opens, revealing a gust of wind. The wind blows out the candles ominously, the only light now being the cool colored light of the moon. I look past Wednesday as she turns around to look at the door. A silhouette appears holding a grocery bag, unable to see their face past the light behind them.

The silhouette takes a step forward to reveal our colorful roommate, Enid. Wednesday turns around, releasing an annoyed sigh.

"Sorry." Enid says before turning the light on. "I didn't mean to interrupt your... uh, do I even want to know?"

Wednesday stands, turning to face Enid. "I was reaching into the black maw of death to contact a relative."

Wednesday takes a step over the candles, approaching Enid before looking at the ritual we set up. "Feels very on brand for you. You have a relative named Goody?"

"She was one of the original outcasts." Wednesday crosses her arms. "Been attempting to summon her, but she seems to be ignoring my entreaties."

"Who's Elsie?" Enid asks as I stand up to be besides Wednesday.

"She's Goody's... friend." Wednesday says, implying something more with the pause.

Enid's face lights up for a moment. "Oh, you thought about using one of my scented candles? The aroma of steak tartare is to die for."

I scrunch up my nose at the idea that scent. "Speaking of candles." I gesture at the grocery bag Enid is holding.

"Oh right!" Enid digs into the bag to reveal a chocolate cake and some candles from the grocery store. "They're not anything impressive, but its something."

I look to Wednesday to see her tense up a bit. "I know you said no parties, so this isn't a party. Just us, nothing big." I try to comfort her.

She looks to me, giving a small uncertain nod.

Enid already has all the candles on the cake by the end of our short discussion.

"If you sing don't be surprised if you're both greeted with a knife to the throat."

I wave my hand across the candles, the wicks lighting. "No singing, got it." I feel Enid's fearful eyes on me.

Enid and I both look at Wednesday expectingly as the wax from the candles start to drip.

"You gonna blow out the candles or what?" Enid says jokingly with a smile.

Wednesday looks between the both of us before breaking her perfect posture for a moment to blow out the candles.

It's kinda cute to see her do more child-like act.

Enid quickly runs to her section of the dorm room after forcing the cake into my hands. She grabs a present wrapped in a dark gift wrapping, excitedly running back. She forces the gift into Wednesday's hands.

Wednesday's gaze softens for a moment, making eye contact with her before opening the gift. Wednesday lifts up the snood as if it's carrying a disease while she inspects it.

"Well, do you like it?" Enid asks, Wednesday's eye contact breaking from the snood. "What is it exactly?"

"It's a snood, silly. I made it in your signature colors. And you want to know what the best part is?" Enid pulls out a colorful snood, holding it in the air with excitement. "I've got one too!"

I take a look at Wednesday's face. It appears as if she's dazed from the idea of matching anything with our colorful roommate.

"We can wear them together to class." Enid says, wrapping her snood around her neck.

'Oh, Enid, this is far too unique to wear to something like class. I suggest we wait for a more special occasion." Wednesday states, Enid nods eagerly.

"Like a funeral."

Enid holds onto her snood around her neck defensively. "Oh." She has an emotion written on her face, but I can't exactly place it. Maybe disgust?

The silence fills the room for a moment.

"I guess it's my turn." I say, heading to my side of the room to grab a small present box decorated in black with dark red accents.

I head back towards Wednesday, finding her soft gentle gaze upon me. I hold the gift out to her. "Try not to see it as a romantic gesture. See it as... a sign of my loyalty."

Wednesday glances at me one more time before taking the lid off the present, revealing a necklace decorated with a vial of blood. My blood.

Wednesday grabs it by the silver colored chain, lifting it into the air. She admires the necklace for a moment before her fingertips touch the vial.

The moment her fingertips touch the vial her head flys back, her grip around the necklace tightens as she enters a vision.

"Wednesday!" Enid shouts as I instinctively grab her.

I open my eyes to find myself on the carpet of a bedroom. There's something different about this vision, it feels as if my body's atoms are trying to tear a part from each other.

I manage to stand. I find the room has a similar affect as well, as if it's corrupted or not supposed to exist. I turn to find someone tied to a chair, their face contorted and unrecognizable due to the corrupted nature of the vision.

I assume this person is you, mostly due to the white hair and that the vision was triggered by your gift.

"About time you woke up." A voice reaches from behind me, also corrupted and unrecognizable. I turn to find yet another distorted figure. Judging by their height and build it is a woman. She's twirling a wand at her fingertips.

"I thought you were a normie." You say in a haze to the figure.

"Goody was quite the remarkable witch, she managed to create a wand that allows anyone to perform magic." She slows her steps intimidatingly as she gets closer. "I can't believe you of all people caught me in that cave."

"What the hell were you doing to-" You ask loudly, anxiety lacing your voice.

The figure's steps hasten, holding the wand across your lips to silence you. "Watch you're tone, or I'll do worse than wipe your memory."

I can sense a new found fear rise in you at your silence.

"That's better." She said, removing the wand from your lips.

"Where are we?" You ask in a much quieter tone.

The person takes a step back, silent for a moment. "We're at my house, the Gates Mansion."

I can sense a new found fear reside inside you. "Are you going to kill me?" Your voice shakes, it hurts to witness you so afraid. "I assume I know too much."

"Oh no, no no." She shakes her head. "You're an important part of my plan Y/n." She puts the wand under your chin, tilting your head up towards her face. "But I can't exactly have you telling everyone about what you saw."

She takes a step back. "But that won't be a problem." She points the wand at your face.

"Obliviate!"

A green light emits loudly at the end of her wand, the vision evaporating into nothing.

I hear Wednesday's quilt shuffle as she sits up. I quickly stand from her reading chair, bags under my eyes.

"Wednesday, are you okay?" I quickly approach her bedside.

The necklace I gave her is still tight in her grip. "The Gates Mansion." She says quietly.

"What?" I say, confusion laced in my voice

Wednesday's eyes meet mine. "The next place we need to investigate is the Gates Mansion."

She stands, heading to her boots by the door.

"Wends where are you going?" I put my arms out in confusion.

"I just told you, the Gates Mansion." She glances at me while zipping up the side of the boot.

"Wednesday, it's like 4 am."

Her movements stop, taking a second to look at my tired state. "I was out for that long?"

I nod to her worried, she looks at me for a moment before breaking eye contact.

The smell of burnt grass fills my nostrils as Wednesday and I investigate the writing out on Nevermore's lawn.

"What you guys think it means?" Xavier says, sneaking up on us.

I take a deep breath. "I didn't know we were back on speaking terms."

"Why'd you suddenly stop talking to me?" Xavier turns to me, I glance at him for a moment before looking back at the writing on the floor.

"I didn't really like what you asked Bianca to do."

Xavier is silent for a moment, turning back to the writing on the floor. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked her to do that. It was out of character of me."

I remain silent, deciding if I should accept his apology or not.

Xavier looks around for a moment. "I do have something you might want to see though."

I look back at him, piquing my interest. "What is it?"

"It'll be best if I show you, it's in my art studio. Just stop by some time today. I promise it'll be helpful." Xavier says before turning around to leave.

I look towards Wednesday to find her eyes on mine. "What's the plan for today? I don't think I'll be able to get out of the school easily during the day."

Wednesday is silent for a moment. "I'll go investigate the Gate's Mansion, while you go see what information Xavier might have for us."

I nod, Wednesday quickly turns around heading towards the school exit.

I run towards where Xavier left. "Xavier!"

He turns around, finding his eyes on me. "What's up?"

"Do you have time right now?"

Our footsteps crunch the leaves beneath us as we approach the shed. "So, I had a vision in my dreams. It was the monster digging in front of a grave of-" He looks side to side for a moment, as if he's checking to see is anyone is eavesdropping. "It'll be better if you see it yourself."

He unlocks the door to the studio, opening the door for me to enter first. In the center of the room is a painting covered in a tarp.

Xavier approaches the tarp, looking at me worriedly, before revealing the painting.

The painting depicted the Hyde digging in front of a grave in the middle of the night. In the background reveals a clock tower with the time '12:37' on it. The name on the tombstone is 'Noble Walker'.

My eyes open in bewilderment. "Holy shit, is that the mayor?"

Xavier shushes me, putting a finger over my mouth. "Yes it's the mayor." He whispers.

I stare at the painting depicting the future for a moment. I find my eyes drawn to the clock. "Is the time accurate?"

"What?" Xavier asks.

"The time on the clocktower, is that time accurate to this event." I find myself getting progressively louder.

Xavier nods. "Yeah, it kept showing up for some reason in the vision."

I look at the painting in silence for another moment. "I gotta go." I turn to head to the door.

Xavier turns to face me "Go where?!"

"I gotta go tell Wednesday." I open the door with too much force as I leave.

Xavier follows behind me. "But you're not allowed off school campus."

I suddenly stop in place. The gears turning in my head a moment before turning around to see Xavier. "How'd you know that?"

Xavier looks to the side with an exhale. "Look, Weems told the Nightshades to not let you off campus."

"What?!" I ask, more confused than before. "Why?"

Xavier shrugs. "I'm not sure, we didn't ask. But, I can't let you off the school grounds. Sorry Y/n."

I turn around again with a sigh, surprised to see Bianca approaching me. She looks at Xavier for a moment before looking back at me, holding out her hand expectingly. "I need those books back Y/n."

My eyes go wide at the realization. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to take them out of your sight I swear."

Bianca looks at me annoyed. "Y/n, the books."

I look back towards Xavier for a moment. "They're in my dorm, you can come with me if you want. I was just on my way to my cell of a room."

I open the door to my dorm to find the furniture all skewed about, papers and pencils decorate the floor, and the drawers to our desks all haphazardly opened.

"Holy shit." I hear Bianca state behind me as my eyes go wide in bewilderment.

I run to the spot we were keeping the two books. "No no no!" Panic lacing my voice as I rummage through the drawer to be certain before turning to Bianca.

"They're gone."

I hear Bianca release an annoyed sigh.

I turn more to face my desk. I slowly approach it to find that the book of curses Wednesday gave me to study the death curse from has also vanished.

Past Lives pt. 10

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: I'm sorry for the slight delay on this chapter. I lost motivation for a minute, but it has been reignited so expect more soon :)

I'm thinking of making a taglist for this fic, feel free to reply to this or message me if that's something you're interested in

[yzashaven]

CW // mmm mean n rough xiao!! but also mixing degrade and praise :0 ERM NOT PROOFREAD OFC + fem!reader

made for my pookie @peakalatus <3

꒰ general﹒taglist ꒱ @kanaedd @scara6 (leave a comment or ask to be tagged in all my works :3)

"oh, you fucking slut." xiao groans out and pushes your legs further down and apart, having you in a tight mating press, hands forcefully holding you in place. "you look so lewd like this... so pathetic and so pretty~" he thrusts back inside your warmth making sure to reach all the right spots and he definitely did; his tip kissing that one spot deep within your cunt at the perfect angle. "fuck—you feel so good~ must feel nice knowing that you got an adeptus like me to be this needy for you, huh?"

he then pulls back until only the tip was at your hole before slamming back inside roughly, making you scream out in the mixture of pleasure and pain. "you like it, don't you? you like it when i take you roughly every once in a while~" xiao chuckles darkly as he watched your face that showed complete bliss as he continued to fuck you 'til your brain forgot about everything else around. an audible gasp slips past your lips as you felt his thumb stimulating your clit by rubbing it in slow and gentle circular motions; the feeling of getting treated both gently and roughly by him at the same time making your vision go blurry as all that left your lips were whines, babbles, and moans of how good it felt.

you then mumble out something that he couldn't hear and understand properly, to which he suddenly inserts two fingers from his other hand into your mouth, "shut up and take it. just fucking take it like the good girl you know you are~"

[sikyulioness]

"Too Late to Say Goodbye"

The dungeon was cold. Not in the way of ice or winter, but in a way that seeped into your bones, numbing everything. It felt endless—this silence, this solitude.

You sat slumped against a crumbling stone wall, your body too weak to move. The battle had ended hours ago. Or maybe it had been days? You had lost track of time. The only thing you knew for certain was that no one was coming.

Jin-Woo wasn’t coming.

Your fingers trembled as you unlocked your phone, the screen barely flickering to life. You had sent so many messages, so many calls. None of them answered.

"Jin-Woo, are you there?"

"Please call me."

"I'm scared."

"Jin-Woo, I don't want to die alone."

The last one had been sent hours ago. And still, there was nothing.

A soft, bitter chuckle escaped your lips, though it hurt to even laugh. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling you the truth you had been too afraid to face.

Jin-Woo had already moved on.

You had seen the way he looked at Cha Hae-In. The way his attention lingered on her, how he always seemed to be somewhere else when he was with you. You had known. Maybe not at first, but deep down, you had known.

And yet, you had still hoped.

The hope that he would choose you. That he would stay. That he would love you the way you had loved him.

Foolish.

Your vision blurred, but whether from exhaustion or unshed tears, you weren’t sure. The phone slipped from your grasp, the dim screen facing upward. It was the only light in the suffocating darkness of the dungeon.

You wanted to cry. To scream. To be angry. But you didn’t have the strength for any of it. All you could do was sit there, staring at the last text message you had sent.

"Jin-Woo, I don’t think I’m going to make it."

The words blurred. Your breathing slowed.

Maybe if you closed your eyes for just a little while…

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much anymore.

---

Jin-Woo stood outside your apartment, a faint frown tugging at his lips. It had been a week since he had last heard from you. At first, he thought you were just upset with him.

But now… something felt wrong.

He knocked. Once. Twice. Silence.

His heart clenched. He had been so caught up—with dungeons, with the guild, with Hae-In—that he hadn’t even thought to check on you.

He reached for the door handle. Locked. But that was nothing to him. With a quiet motion, shadows slipped through the cracks, unlocking it with ease.

The moment he stepped inside, the air felt… off.

The place was untouched. Dust had begun to settle on the furniture. Your jacket was still draped over the couch, shoes neatly lined by the door. But there was no sign of you.

He grabbed his phone in his back pocket looking for your number to call and text where you were but there

He saw what you've texted him without him noticed

You begging him to save you and for him to come to comfort you

His breath caught.

The last one—

"Jin-Woo, I don’t think I’m going to make it."

His grip tightened, shadows trembling around him.

No.

No, this wasn’t real.

A horrible, sinking feeling spread through him as he summoned Beru. The shadow general appeared instantly, bowing.

"Find them," Jin-Woo commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beru hesitated. That alone made his stomach drop.

"My king…" The pause stretched painfully long. "They are gone."

Jin-Woo’s world stopped.

It felt like the floor had been ripped from beneath him. His mind refused to process the words.

Gone?

No.

No, you couldn’t be gone. You were waiting for him. He was supposed to apologize for being distant, for not calling, for everything.

His shadows stirred, reflecting the storm within him. But the truth was undeniable.

You had died. Alone.

While he had been with someone else. While he had been laughing, talking, kissing another woman—

You had been waiting for him. Hoping for him.

And he had never come.

A ragged breath left him as he gripped the phone in his shaking hands. The screen flickered, the last message glowing like a wound that would never heal.

He had failed you.

Not as the Shadow Monarch. Not as the strongest hunter in existence.

But as the man you had loved.

His fingers hovered over the keypad. He wanted to call you, to send a message, to say something—anything.

But there was nothing left to say.

The dead don’t answer phone calls.

And now, he would never get to say goodbye.

---

[sound-of-scoups]

Moth To A Flame | JJK & KMG | Teaser

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader x Kim Mingyu  Genre|tags: Idol!au, series, established relationship, infidelity, love triangle, lots of angst, lots of drama, smut, maybe fluff.  Word count: 597 words (this teaser) Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Reader is lowkey a bad person but we love her anyway, afab!reader, cheating, high infidelity, graphic sexual content.  A/N: 1. I do not agree with, nor do I support infidelity. I also do not believe that Mingyu would be capable of doing anything like that. This story is purely fictional and meant for entertainment purposes only. If you don't like it, feel free not to read it. Consider this also as a warning. 2. This is highly inspired by two edits I saw on TikTok, one of them featuring 'Moth To a Flame' with Wonwoo and Mingyu, and the second with Jungkook and Mingyu using the audio 'She chose me.' 'Did she?' I no longer have the links to them, but they stayed in my head for days (long enough for me to create this story). Release date: October 29th.  (I'm just posting the teaser again because my clumsy ass deleted it 💀)

Summary: Four years ago, you crossed paths with a charming member of the K-pop group Seventeen during their tour stop in Osaka. The two of you shared three intense, unforgettable days before life took you in different directions. It was painful for both of you, but you knew you couldn’t take things any further and had to say goodbye. Now, back in Seoul for good, you’re in a new relationship with another idol: Jeon Jungkook—whose charm and stability make him everything you thought you wanted. You are very much in love with him, and as your connection deepens, it feels like your life is finally falling into place. That is, until you meet one of your boyfriend’s best friends and are stunned to discover it’s the same man you fell for in Osaka all those years ago. As buried emotions resurface and secrets begin to unravel, you find yourself torn between these two men, caught in a whirlwind of love and conflict, testing the boundaries of loyalty and the choices that could change everything. 

READ HERE!

As you weaved through the maze of tables, your nerves began creeping back in, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the table. You forced yourself to focus on Jungkook, on the fact that he was here with you, and that tonight was more about him than anything else. But as your eyes scanned the faces at the table, you couldn't help but search for the one you were dreading most.

“They’re just over here,” Jungkook said, bringing you out of your thoughts as you approached the group. 

And then you saw him.

Heart skipping a beat and breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on the man sitting at the far end of the table, his eyes downcast as he filled his glass with a cabernet liquid. 

The man you never expected to see again in your life.

Kim Mingyu. 

The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick, too heavy. The world around you blurred, your vision narrowing to just him—the man who had occupied your thoughts for so long after Osaka four years ago, the one you had tried and failed to forget.

It felt like slow motion as all eyes turned to you, and Mingyu slowly looked up from his drink, following suit with the rest of the guys.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked with his. A flicker of recognition crossed his gaze, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly masked his surprise with a neutral expression. Even though you knew he would be there, nothing could have prepared you for the rush of emotions that surged the moment your eyes met.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you breathless and frozen in place. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background, and all you could hear was the rapid beating of your heart.

Mingyu held your gaze, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. In that moment, a jolt of electricity shot through your body—a mix of fear, guilt, and something else, something you didn’t want to name.

“Everyone,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the haze in your mind, pulling you back to the present. “This is Y/N, the amazing woman I’ve been telling you all about, and the love of my life.”

Jungkook’s tone was joyful and proud as he kissed your cheek. You tore your eyes away from Mingyu, forcing a smile and trying to steady your breathing. Meeting the gazes of the guys around the table, you spoke, your voice steadier than you felt. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you all. 

“Babe, this is Yugyeom, Bambam, Chan, Eunwoo, Jaehyun, Seokmin, Minghao… and Mingyu,” Jungkook introduced, oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Mingyu stood up almost immediately, one of his long legs hitting the edge of the table, causing the silverware to rattle. He offered you a polite smile, but you noticed the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes avoided yours as he reached out to shake your hand across the table.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice calm and measured, as though nothing was out of the ordinary, giving nothing away.

Your hand trembled slightly as you shook his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body that you desperately tried to ignore. Heart racing, you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you forced a smile, “You too, Mingyu.”

[fangdokja]

The rules are simple: obey, or suffer. And you’ve already broken every single one.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Prison Warden x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2

♡ Word Count. 975

The cell wasn’t meant for comfort, and tonight, it proved its cruelty. The walls were damp with condensation, the frigid air lacing every breath with an ache sharp enough to make your lungs rebel. But even the cold was nothing compared to the presence that would soon follow.

You’d been bracing yourself, the moments stretching into eternity, each footstep in the distance filling your chest with a dread so thick you could taste it. Then, there he was. The sound of his boots—slow, deliberate, a predator announcing itself—echoed down the corridor.

When the door creaked open, you recoiled instinctively, pressing yourself into the farthest corner. It didn’t matter. He was there, and the sheer mass of him seemed to devour the air in the room. His silhouette, towering and broad, was more shadow than man, but the light caught the glint of his gloves—the crimson stains faint but unmistakable. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock sliding home with finality.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice dark velvet undercut with a rasp, each word measured and deliberate. He didn’t rush to you. Instead, he began unbuttoning his cuffs, the fluid motion a ritual of control. His forearms, lined with muscle and sinew, flexed as he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, veins coiling under his skin like snakes. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice? Or is it stupidity that made you think you could cross me?”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. His gaze found you in the shadows, cold and sharp, and it pinned you there like prey. His smile curled, humorless and cruel.

“No words?” he murmured, stepping forward. The floor creaked under his weight. You scrambled back, but there was nowhere else to escape to. When his hand reached for you, it was like being caught in the jaws of a steel trap.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he growled, yanking you upright with a strength that left your joints screaming in protest. His grip on your wrist tightened, cutting off circulation, until you whimpered. The sound made his grin widen. “But guts won’t save you. They only make your punishment more interesting.”

His free hand brushed against your cheek, deceptively gentle, before snapping down to your jaw and wrenching your face upward. His eyes, deathly and depthless, bored into yours. “Let’s remind you of the rules, shall we, fuckin' filth? Rule one—you belong to me. No talking to others. No whispers behind my back. And yet, you thought you could entertain someone else’s attention. Who was it?”

When you didn’t answer, he tsked, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Still playing the innocent act?” His grip shifted, and his fingers found its way to your throat. With the faintest pressure, he forced your head back against the cold wall, his body closing in, his breath hot and rancid against your skin.

“Rule two,” he hissed, the menace in his tone like a blade against your skin. “You don’t steal from me. Ever. What did you take this time? My key? A piece of my patience?” He laughed, a sound void of warmth. “Everything in this prison is mine. Every inch, every breath, every heartbeat—including yours.”

The pressure on your throat increased, enough to steal your air, and the black edges of your vision began to creep in. He didn’t release you until you sagged, choking, your knees buckling beneath you.

And still, there was no reprieve.

He crouched beside you as you struggled to draw breath, one hand tangling in your hair and jerking your head up. The angle stung, tears leaking from your eyes unbidden. He smiled at that, his thumb swiping a tear from your cheek as though savoring it.

“Rule three,” he whispered, the mockery in his voice unrelenting. “You don’t run from me. Ever.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you tried, didn’t you? You thought you could escape my sight, my control. Tell me, fool, how far did you think you’d get?”

You managed a shake of your head, a weak denial, but he only chuckled. His hand moved to your jaw, holding you there, his nails digging in just enough to hurt.

“Not far enough,” he said simply. “You were mine the moment you stepped into my domain, and you’ll stay mine, you piece of shit. Forever. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever see you.”

When he let you fall again, crumpled and trembling on the cold stone floor, you dared a glance up at him. His towering frame blocked out the dim light, his face cast in shadow, and yet you felt the weight of his gaze like a brand.

“You’ll learn obedience,” he murmured, unhooking the heavy chain from his belt. The metallic clink as it unfurled sent a wave of nausea rolling through you. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll never forget who owns you. Who will always own you.”

The punishment was swift, precise, and unrelenting, a calculated destruction of your will. The pain blurred into numbness, and the cold floor was your only anchor to reality as your mind fractured under the weight of his domination.

When it was over, he stood over you, his head tilted as though admiring a masterpiece. His voice softened, almost tender, as he crouched once more to lift your face. “You’ll be good for me now, won’t you?”

You nodded weakly, the words barely scraping from your throat. “Yes…”

He smiled then, a dark triumph gleaming in his eyes. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you in silence. But the marks he left—on your body, on your soul—would never fade.

[darlingdreadwrites]

I hear you breathing, baby. Been chasing you all night.

pairing: Jeff the Killer x Final Girl!Reader

part: 1, 2, 3

summary: After arriving at a hospital and leaving the investigation to the police, you start to get sick of locking yourself away in your apartment. An impulsive walk for some air earns you another encounter with Jeff.

contains: fight scene

warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, violence, stabbing, pet names and name calling (baby, sweetheart, bitch)

word count: 6.1k

masterlist

a.n: FINALLY DONE WITH IT WOOOOOO!!! IT GOT TOO LONG SO I HAD TO SPLIT IT UP THE SMUT TO A SECOND POST!! i think jeff brings out the worst in me because hello???? my first smut?????

You’re suddenly hyperaware that you’re gripping the wheel too tight. Your knuckles are white, and your hands tremble in sync with the rest of you. Your eyes dart to the rearview mirror, expecting to still see the parking lot and him. You’re only met with empty roads. The sun hangs heavy in the sky – glaring down. The heat is suffocating in this stuffy old car, but the cold is still clinging to your bones. You still have that same chill from experiencing what just happened – what you had just run from.

You realize you’re not sure how you’ve gotten here. The motel, the blood, Tony, Steph, Don—wasn’t it just minutes ago? Hours? Days? Your vision blurs, a wave of dizziness pull you under.

The road sign hits you like a slap. The town’s miles behind – farther than you thought. You pull over without thinking, the tires crunching on the gravel as you slow to a stop. The car’s engine cuts, but the silence is deafening.

Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and it almost sounds like it’s echoing in the car you’ve just realized that you’ve stolen. Your clothes stick to your skin, drenched in something you knew wasn’t sweat. You don’t want to think about it – how the blood is caked into your hair or how you can still taste the blood of the motel owner in your mouth. You glance down at your shirt, eyes wide at the still darkening spots across your body. Everything still feels unreal. This whole thing – your body, this car, the road you’re on – feels like someone else’s experience.

You didn’t even realize you’d started the car again until you parked near a hospital. It seemed you were still dead to the world.

Hands shaking, you unlock the door and step out with shaky legs. Your stomach churns as you force yourself to stumble forward. You need to move, you tell yourself. You need to keep going.

The ER’s entrance is a blur. You push through the double doors, the automatic ones sliding open with a mechanical sigh. Nurses and doctors rush around, moving in and out of view. Their faces were filled with confusion, concern – maybe fear. Someone says something to you—questions? Orders? You’re not sure. You’re only aware of the blood staining your skin. The world is too bright – too loud – and you’re too tired to keep standing. You sway on your feet, feeling the air thicken.

“I’m fine,” you say. It sounds like a lie, and you know you’re not fooling anybody.

“Ma’am?” A nurse catches your arm – pulling you in – but you can barely register the motion. Someone else starts talking, maybe a doctor—

“She’s lost a lot of blood.”

No I didn’t, you want to say. This wasn’t your blood that you were covered in.

“I’m—” The words won’t come. You shake your head, trying to find the pieces yourself.

A gentle push. Someone was trying to guide you on a gurney. You sit down, limbs too heavy. Then they’re all around you – too close, poking, prodding, questioning.

 “Where are you hurt?”

“What happened to you?”

“I’m not hurt,” you rasp, but the answer sounds as wrong as it feels. How can you explain the truth when you can’t even put it together for yourself?

You must have fallen asleep. You’re in a room that smells too clean, a nurse is humming in a corner. She turns quickly when she hears the rustle of sheets as you try to sit up. She smiles at you, and you think you hear her asking how you’re feeling. It sounded too far away for you to think you can reach her with a reply – your throat felt too dry.

The door swings open, and two officers step in. You immediately want them to leave, but they won’t. They want to ask questions, then more questions. You don’t want to talk. You want to scream. The officer on the left steps forward, a middle-aged man with a face worn by years of routine. He’d be perfect in a cop show, you think.

“Miss.” His tone is carefully neutral – he’s trained well. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“I…” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. The weight of his gaze makes your chest tighten as you look up at him.

The other officer – younger – with sharp eyes steps closer, his notepad ready. “Can we start with your name?”

It takes a moment before the sound of your own name feels real on your tongue. You give it to him reluctantly, like it’s the last piece of yourself you have to offer.

“Thank you.” The older officer glances at the folded bundle of clothes sitting on a nearby chair. You knew they would take the bloodied fabric for evidence soon. “Can you tell us what happened?”

The question hangs heavily in the air. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. The truth is stuck in your throat – tangled up in everything you’ve been running from.

“I’m not hurt,” you say quickly. You’re trembling, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shove your shaking hands under the hospital blanket – hiding them like it’ll make you seem less broken.

The older officer tries again, softer this time. “Where did you come from, ma’am? Were you travelling alone?”

That’s the spark that lights the fuse. A harmless question – probably routine – but it lodges in your mind and unravels everything you’ve been trying to hold together.

You weren’t alone.

The motel’s stairs flash in your mind’s eye – Don’s voice creeps back in.

“What’s wrong, babe? You finally find out?”

You blink hard, your breath hitching. The walls of the hospital room feel closer now – the air thinner.

“Miss?” The younger officer is watching you carefully. You realize too late that you’ve been silent too long.

“I-I can’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I can’t—”

“You’re safe now,” the older one assures, but the words are meaningless. Safe? You’d laugh if it didn’t feel like choking.

“I don’t know…” Your hands twist in the blanket – wringing. “It’s all—”

Another flicker of the past. Don, leaning too close, his grin too wide. The rail under your hands – cold.

“I don’t remember,” you lie, your voice flat and distant.

The officers exchange a glance. It’s subtle, but you catch it.

The younger one presses, his tone firmer now. “You don’t remember where you came from? Or how you got here?”

Your breath quickens. The questions feel like they’re coming too fast – piling you, cornering you. You stare at the floor in an attempt to ground yourself, but the hospital tiles blur and shift.

The stairs had creaked beneath your weight as you climbed them, the knot in your stomach still tight after what you’d just seen. You didn’t want to think about it tonight, but you couldn’t stop – couldn’t erase the image of them together. Your boyfriend and your friend – the betrayal.

You’d barely made it to the second floor when Don stopped you. His smirk had twisted to a cruel sneer when you didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong, babe?” He asked again in that mocking tone you’d always hated.

When you continued with your silence, his grin stretched wider – knowing. He’d known. Had had to have known what you’d seen. He had to have known for months.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low and coaxing. “I know the perfect way to get back at him.”

You had turned to leave, but he wouldn’t have let an opportunity go. His hand landed on your arm tightly.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he teased. His hand slid lower, just above your waist to pull you closer. He pushed you toward the railing, and all you knew was that his body was too close. His breath was too hot against your skin.

You snapped.

The world stopped. You shoved him – hard. His eyes went wide for a split second before he tumbled backward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening—

CRACK

The sound of bones breaking – his bones. Your heart slams in your chest, and you hear nothing else except—

“Miss?”

A hand touches your shoulder – it’s the older officer. You flinch violently, jerking away before you can stop yourself.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

The sterile scent of disinfectant clings to the air while your mind races – replaying fragments of the questions they asked.

Who were you with? Did anyone see you? Where did the blood come from?

Their faces had been impartial – professional – but you’d caught the flicker of doubt in their eyes. There was a tight set of their jaws when your answers came slow – as if you were piecing together a story instead of recounting the truth.

You’ve been left to stew – to sink into the waiting silence. It’s not intentional cruelty, just procedure. Time for you to gather yourself, or maybe just to let the shock wear off enough for them to catch you in a lie – if one exists.

When the door swings open again, it’s not one of the officers who asked the earlier questions. Her movements were more cautious, and her badge reflects the harsh light of the room. She pulls up a chair and sits across from you, placing a recorder on the table between you both. She introduces herself, but you don’t bother to remember it.

“I know this is hard,” she begins, her voice softer than the others. “But we need you to walk through what happened again.”

You can’t look at her for a moment as you swallow hard. Instead, your eyes dart to the blank notepad she holds in her hands.

“I already told the other officers…” Your voice trails off weakly.

“I understand.” Her pen is poised, but unmoving. “But we need to be thorough. Sometimes, details don’t come out until the second or third time.”

You clasp your hands tightly in your lap as you finally manage to speak. “It wasn’t my blood.”

“Okay. That’s helpful.” She leans forward slightly. “Can you tell me whose it was?”

“It was the motel owner’s.” Your voice is shaky but certain. “He… he was right in front of me when—”

You break off, the memory of Jeff’s blade sinking into flesh and the spray of red flashing behind your eyes. A shiver racks your body, and you fold your arms tighter around yourself.

She nods slowly. “And before that?”

“Tony and Stephanie. My boyfriend and my friend. They—” Your throat tightens again. “He… he carved smiles into their faces.”

The pen finally moves across the page, each scratch of ink feeling like a needle pricking your skin. The officer hesitates, her gaze flicking up to you.

“You said he?” she prods, and you nod.

“A man. He came after me. Pale skin, long black hair, and… his face.” You struggle for the words, the image of that grotesque grin burned into your memory. “His mouth was cut. Like… a smile. It looked… old.”

She shifts in her seat, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. “And you didn’t know him? You’ve never seen him before?”

“No. Never.” You shake your head until a sharp sinking feeling snaps you still. “No-wait—he… I think I saw him at a gas station before we, we went to the motel—”

The officer’s lips press into a thin line, and she scribbles something down. Her silence feels heavier this time.

“What?” you press.

Her gaze hardens, though not unkindly. “Your description… it matches some of our open cases. It’s consistent.”

The words sink into you like stones – the gravity of her implication chilling.

“Consistent?” you echo.

“Yes,” she sighs. “With someone we’ve been trying to identify for a long time.”

“I don’t, I don’t know who he is,” you insist, panic rising. “I don’t know anything about him. I just—”

“It’s okay.” She cuts you off softly before the spiral can take hold. “You’ve done well. You’re safe now. We’ll handle the rest.”

After a few more questions, she rises from her seat, the recorder clicking off with a decisive snap.

“If we have more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

You don’t respond, and the door closes behind her as she leaves you alone with the fluorescent lights and the sterile smell. For the first time since the nightmare began, you cry. It’s not loud or frantic – just silent tears carving tracks down your cheeks. You can still feel his eyes on you – the smirk that didn’t need the scar to be chilling.

You wonder if they’ll catch him. You wonder if it even matters.

You were already broken.

Three Months Later

Although the bloodstains have been washed off of your skin, it still lingers in your mind, on the walls, and in your veins. Tony, being – having been – a jealous boyfriend, you had given up on making new friends. Your relationship with your family being… what it was, meant that you had no support other than the therapist recommended to you by a detective. The detective has made bi-monthly visits since then, and yet you still never felt safe or less alone. But the fear was quickly changing itself into indifference, making you more afraid of yourself. Miller’s voice comes at you like clockwork, filling the silence of your apartment with the same, monotonous warnings.

“Just make sure you lock up. Keep your blinds drawn. Don’t go out alone, not at night—”

You tune him out, having gotten tired of this routine that would lead to nowhere. He says it every time he checks in, which has been far too often for your liking. Even if he doesn’t visit your apartment, he’ll call every other day. You know his speech by heart. You stare blankly at him, arms crossing tightly in front of you – unwilling to give him any satisfaction.

“Yeah, yeah, Miller,” you mutter under your breath.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he might call you out on your annoyed tone (a silent goal you’ve set for yourself). But, instead, he looks down at his notepad. You hate how this feels – why is he prying into your life like you’re the suspect. Wanting to know what makes you tick, where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing.

“Anything unusual lately?” Miller asks, and you suppress an eyeroll. If anything was unusual, surely you would have told him in the twenty minutes that he’s been in your apartment. Sometimes, you wish something would happen – that you’d see…

But his questions feel like tests – like traps he wants you to fall into, one way or another.

“No,” you reply stiffly, your gaze avoiding his.

His lips press into a thin line as if he’s silently judging you. He’s got that look in his eyes – the one that’s starting to really get under your skin. It’s one part concern, one part suspicion, and it always feels like you’re the one on trial.

“Right.” His voice is tight – he’s not convinced. Because why would you want a serial killer who’s most likely after you found and put in jail? “Well, if anything changes – anything at all – call us, alright?”

You stare at the door where he’s about to leave, your pulse rising with the need to snap. But instead, you just nod – the bitter taste of frustration pooling in your mouth. He sighs before stepping into the hallway, clearly too familiar with your disinterest.

“Remember what I said. Lock the doors, check the windows, and don’t go out at night. It’s dangerous right now, and you’re not—”

“I get it, Miller,” you cut him off, teeth clenched. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for him or the constant reminders – your suffocating apprehension and panic attacks did that for you. You didn’t ask for the nightmares that twist your stomach into knots, or the feeling that someone is always watching. But this is your reality now. His questions, his advice, his presence – it’s all become a constant, and you’re so sick of it.

The door clicks shut behind him, but the tension doesn’t leave. Instead, it presses down on your chest like a weight – suffocating you – filling the spaces between your ribs with the dread you can’t escape. You stand there for a while after he leaves, staring at nothing. You’re caught in the emptiness that lingers in the wake of his departure.

The walls are closing in.

You walk to the kitchen without thinking, your movements automatic, hands shaking as they pull out a bottle of water from the fridge. You drink it all in three gulps, the coolness of it barely enough to settle the burning in your throat.

Your reflection in the window stares back at you as you walk past it – eyes wide and bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. The silence of the apartment gives way to a distant ringing.

It’s driving you crazy. You are crazy.

I’m crazy.

You push the thought down before you become a shell of yourself yet again. But the urge is still there – it always is – gnawing at you. It’s too much – being stuck, being hunted, being studied, being watched. All the what ifs flood your mind, and the ache in your chest gets worse with each passing moment. You can’t keep doing this – living like this. You can’t stay here – wrapped in fear – buried under the wight of your own thoughts.

You slip your fingers along the counter, the cool touch of your hunting knife under your palm bringing you an unexpected sense of calm. A precaution. You know that, deep down, it’s not just for your protection. It’s a tether – something to keep you grounded when the panic starts to swallow you whole. I should’ve had something like this that night, that’s what you told yourself when you bought it.

The decision comes to you in a flash – you need to get out. You need to do something – anything – to break the loop you’ve been trapped in.

You grab the knife, sliding it into your pocket with practiced ease. Your hands are steady now, the panic momentarily quieted. You don’t think about it, you just do it.

You walk to the door, hesitating for just a second as your hand rests on the doorknob. The air in the apartment feels colder, as if it knows of your plan – as if it’s holding you here in a way that’s far more suffocating than any walls.

You open the door and step into the hallway, your steps echoing louder than they should. But you can’t turn back now – you need air. You need freedom – you need to prove to yourself that you’re still in control of something.

The streetlights flicker overhead as you step out into the night, the city now your only company.

The night air cuts through the fabric of your jacket and brushes against your skin like icy fingertips. The streetlights cast uneven shadows across the pavement, their orange glow flickering and mirroring the unease in your chest. You walk quickly with no end goal in mind, keeping your head down and your hands stuffed in your pockets. The knife’s weight was a cold comfort against your palm. The city felt more alive than you had in months – cars honking in the distance, muffled conversations spilling out from bars and restaurants. It feels both active and oblivious to your presence, the crowds indifferent as they pass by. You’ve always thought of cities as anonymous. They were places where you could disappear into the throng. Tonight, though, it feels as if every set of eyes lands on you.

You’re clumsier than you’ve ever thought you’ve been tonight; you’re almost colliding with every person that walks by you. They don’t care enough to look at you or notice how frazzled you are, yet you’re fighting with your body to keep yourself from falling on top of someone. Anything could happen to you at this moment, and they’d still keep walking. Was that a comfort or a fear? You’re dizzy with so many people around you – when was the last time you’ve gone out?

Your pulse quickens as someone brushes against your shoulder.

“Watch it,” the man mutters, but his voice is gravelly – too familiar. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you spin around, tumbling backward into a lamppost.

He’s here – the pale skin, the long dark hair, the way his shoulders hunch forward. Jeff – it’s him – you’re sure of it.

“Stay away from me!” you shout, your voice trembling as you get ready to pull out your knife. A few people nearby stop and stare, their faces painted with curiosity and alarm. The man – no, not Jeff – holds up his hands, confusion etched across his face.

“Hey, lady, relax! I didn’t do anything!” His features are softer – older – lacking the cruel, twisted grin you’ve come to associate with him.

Your chest heaves as the realization crashes over you and you take your hands out of your pockets. Of course it isn’t Jeff. You’ve made yourself look like a fucking psycho in front of strangers, drawing attention you can’t afford. The onlookers begin to move on, murmuring among themselves. The man shakes his head and walks away, muttering an expletive you can’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it’s too late. He’s already gone, and the embarrassment settles in your stomach.

You press on, your steps more hurried now. The crowds feel smothering, each passerby a potential threat. You can’t shake the sensation of being watched, the weight of unseen eyes following you with every step. Your fingers twitch against the knife in your pocket, the urge to grip it tighter battling the rational part of your mind that tells you to stop.

The streets begin to thin out as you leave the bustling main drag, your feet carrying you without thought. The noise of the city fades, replaced by a softer, uncanny quiet. You glance up and realize you’ve wandered into a park. The trees loom tall and dark, their branches stretching out like skeletal arms. Your breath clouds in front of you as you move deeper into the shadows despite knowing you should turn around.

But when was the last time you were in control of your own body?

Even before the murders, someone was always telling you what to do with yourself – be it Tony telling you not to wear that dress because it made you look too odd, or a professor completely disregarding a presentation topic you were passionate about for something completely unrelated that they worked on. You’re tired of not pursuing what you want – what you need. And, right now, with the looming threat of a certain someone watching you, your body was needing something you weren’t familiar with. Because despite the fear that kept you awake at night – the nightmares of Jeff finding you to finish the job – a dark and inexplicable part of you burned with the thought of being desired so intensely.

In all that questioning that the countless police officers and detectives would ask you – one of the only living witnesses Jeff had – about his whereabouts, you felt sadder each time you said no. But not for the reason of fear for your life. You wanted to see him – desperately. You wanted to ask him why. Why did he choose to target your group at the gas station? Why did he kill your friends? Why did he kill the motel owner? Why didn’t he kill you? Why did you feel so numb despite everything? Why is the only thing you’ve felt in months a twisted yearning for him? Why did he leave you to be so broken and alone?

Why didn’t he take you?

You tell yourself to turn back, to head toward the safety of the lights and people – but your legs don’t listen. The stillness pulls you in, the quiet whispering promises of solace that you desperately crave. The quiet and solitude of your apartment never felt safe since you came back, and yet these woods feel like a sanctuary.

The events of the night replay as you continue to walk – the motel room, the blood, the crunching of Don’s bones. Jeff’s face – the jagged smile that seemed to turn you on even as it terrified you.

“Poor little thing,” you imagine his voice, low and mocking. “Still running, still scared. Don’t you remember my promise?”

You shake your head violently, trying to banish the voice. It’s not real – he’s not here. It’s not real – it can’t be real. He’s not real. He can’t be. You repeat the words to yourself, but they do little to calm the rising panic in your chest. But the shadows – they shift. Too fast. Too close. You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Aren’t you?

The path beneath your feet turns to dirt, and the streetlights give way to the darkness. The park stretches out around you, its boundaries blurring into the woods. You hesitate, the rational part of your mind finally catching up.

This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here.

The wind rustles the leaves above, a sound that seems to ricochet unnaturally loud in the quiet. Your breath quickens, and you glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Jeff standing there. But the path behind you is empty.

You jump when a twig snaps underfoot, your hand instinctively going to your pocket. That was your own doing, you realize. The knife feels heavy now.

You freeze – a distant sound – a branch breaking, perhaps. You strain your ears, trying to make sense of it, but the lack of any response is oppressive. The woods are dark and endless, similar to the labyrinth of your mind in these past few months.

You turn back toward the city – or in the direction you think it might be in – and you walk toward it. Your breath comes in shallow gasps – the trees seem closer than before, their shadows stretching toward you and trying to pull you back.

 The sense of being watched wraps around you like a second skin, sticky and suffocating. It gets worse the more time you spend trying to retrace your steps. You glance over your shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time, but the path remains empty.

Your pace quickens, your boots hitting the ground harder as though you could outrun the unease crawling up your spine. You insist that it’s nothing – just the wind, the woods, your overactive imagination. But you feel a predator circling just beyond your vision.

That distant crack could’ve been from an animal, you tell yourself. A deer. A raccoon. Anything but him. The thought doesn’t settle the nausea bubbling in your gut as you infuriatingly slow to a stop. Slowly, you turn your head and scan the trees. Nothing moves – nothing stirs. But the sensation lingers – someone is there.

You force yourself forward, one trembling step at a time. Your hand doesn’t leave your pocket now, the knife’s handle being a tether in the oppressive darkness. The trail feels narrower, the trees reaching closer to you as though trying to trap you. Each sound is magnified – the creak of a bending branch, the snap of another stick somewhere that’s too fucking close. Was the echo of your footsteps always so slow? Did it always sound like second footsteps?

Your pulse hammers as your peripheral vision catches something – a flicker of motion, quick and subtle. You spin to look, but there’s darkness. Just shadows – just the woods. Yet your skin prickles, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

You walk faster, not wanting your mind to keep playing tricks on you. The soft thuds of your boots against the dirt trail becomes a rhythmic beat in the silence.

A shape shifts just out of sight – closer now. Your chest tightens, and your legs move on their own, breaking into a near run. The trees blur around you as you push yourself forward, desperate to leave the unseen presence behind. It’s colder now – biting at your face – and you’ve realized you’re nowhere near the path.

But the woods open into a clearing – mist clings to the ground, curling around your ankles, and the distant hum of the city feels impossibly far away. You’re alone, truly and completely. But the feeling of being watched hasn’t left. It’s strong enough to feel tangible, and you curse your stupidity for even leaving your apartment.

You stumble forward to the clearing’s center, spinning in place as your eyes dart to every shadow. The cracking of branches sounds louder and more deliberate, seemingly coming from everywhere. You narrow your eyes to pinpoint any movement in every dark gap between the trees. The silence presses against your skull, your hands tremble as you grip the knife so tight that your knuckles turn white.

The space is deathly quiet, save for the pounding of your heart. The cold air wraps tighter around you, constricting your chest.

“Out for a midnight stroll, sweetheart?”

The voice is unmistakable – low, teasing, and crawling under your skin like worms. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as your head jerks in every direction.

You whip your head from side to side, scanning the darkness for movement. But the voice doesn’t come again – not yet. It doesn’t need to. It’s already lodged deep in your mind – clawing at your fear.

A sound to your left – a crunch of leaves – and you spin toward it. But he’s not there – he’s not anywhere.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.”

The shadows shift, and there he is – stepping into the clearing like he owns the night ��� Jeff. The sight of him is paralyzing. The pale, scarred face; the dark hair falling in uneven strands across his brow and brushing his shoulders. His lanky frame moves with a ravening grace, and his lips curl into that infamous grin, split wide enough to show too much teeth. The knife in his hand gleams under the fractured moonlight. Your grip tightens on your own blade, but his presence freezes you in place.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice dripping with mock approval. He steps closer, one slow, casual stride at a time. You step back instinctively, your foot catching on a root, but you steady yourself before you can fall.

“Stay back,” you manage. His smile widens, and he chuckles.

“’Stay back’? That’s all you’ve got? After everything we’ve been through, baby, I thought you’d at least have a better line ready.”

“Shut up.” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. You curl your fingers around your knife tighter. Jeff cocks his head, eyebrows shooting up.

“Poor Don. Didn’t stand a chance, did he?”

“Just, just leave—"

“What? No hello? No, ‘How have you been, Jeff?’ That hurts.” He places a hand derisively over his chest, before his grin sharpens. “But seriously, you didn’t waste any time, huh? Snapping poor Don like a fucking twig ‘cause you caught your boy with his dick in your homegirl?”

“I didn’t—” You choke on the words. “You did that.”

Jeff’s expression shifts – the tilt of his lips softening, but it doesn’t lose its malice.

“You didn’t tell them the truth about Don, did you?” he asks, his tone veering toward conversational.

The question hits you like a punch, and you recoil. “What are you talking about?”

Jeff tuts, shaking his head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I was too busy killing your other buddies.”

Anger flares in the pit of your stomach, and you know it’s misplaced. You knew the truth just as much as he did.

“You killed him,” you snap, stepping forward despite yourself. “You killed him, just like you killed everyone else!”

Jeff’s laughter is as sharp and biting as shattered glass.

“Oh, is that how you remember it now? That’s cute.” He takes another step toward you, his knife spinning lazily in his hand. “You’re just like me, sweetheart. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I’m nothing like you,” you spit.

“You sure about that?” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, and making your cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one that shoved him, am I?”

Your breath catches, and the memory flashes in your mind – Don, screaming, the cracking, your hand reaching out—

“No,” you mutter, shaking your head fervently. “That’s not what happened. You’re lying.”

Jeff’s expression flickers with mock sympathy.

“Oh, lying’s your thing, isn’t it? To the cops, to your shrink—hell, you’ve lied enough to yourself that you actually believe it now.” His tone turns just as deadly as his smile. “But come one, baby, we were both there. We both know what really happened.”

“I didn’t—”

He cuts you off with a triumphant laugh. “You can tell yourself whatever you want, but how long do you think it’ll take before the cops realize one of their corpses isn’t smiling like the rest? If they haven’t already, that is.”

Your blood turns to ice, and your fingers jerk around the knife. Jeff’s words wrap around your throat, squeezing tight with every syllable that your mind deciphers.  

“Shut up.” You pull the hunting knife from your pocket in one swift motion, and he doesn’t even flinch. It feels pitifully small compared to the blade in Jeff’s hand, but it’s all you have.

Jeff’s grin only grows as he watches you, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. He steps back, just enough to keep you guessing, and flips his knife effortlessly in his hand.

“That’s more like it,” he murmurs. “Now we’re talking.”

Adrenaline floods your veins, and your body tenses – you’re ready for whatever happens next. But Jeff is eerily still – he doesn’t strike. He just stands there, watching you with that infuriating sneer. As if he’s already won.

The tension crackles in the air like static, both of you locked in a deadly standoff in the woods. Jeff lunges with quickening speed. His knife whips through the air, aimed directly at your shoulder.

Your heart flips in your chest, but your instincts are faster than your fear. You duck low, your breath catching as the blade narrowly misses you. With a shaky, frenzied swipe, you aim your knife at him, but he sidesteps effortlessly. He’s beaming at the near miss, and you feel the scorch of his gaze as he circles like a vulture.

“Fuck, I knew you’d try to fight,” Jeff taunts. The venomous words drip from his mouth as his eyes gleam with sadistic delight. “Let’s see how long you last, bitch.”

You straighten and back up, the soles of your boots scraping against the dirt. Your pulse thunders in your ears, but you only think of how pissed Miller’s gonna be if he finds you dead. A tree behind you halts your retreat. Panic hooks onto you as you glance over your shoulder, but there’s nowhere left to run.  

With a feral growl, he strikes again – this time his blade catching your arm, The sting of the cut shocks you, sending a rush of pain through your veins. You grit your teeth, and the rising tide of anger and distress pushes you forward.

You swing, reckless, wild. The knife arcs toward him, but it’s a clumsy swing. Once again, Jeff is too quick – too calculated. His taunting laugh echoes in your ears as you try to recover from the near-miss.

His movements blur from his fluid precision, the edge of his blade flashing. The ground beneath you suddenly feels lighter than it should. Jeff sweeps his leg under yours, knocking you off balance. You’re slammed to the ground with a harsh thud – pulling a gasp from you.

The knife slips from your hand, the dull sound of it hitting the dirt not too far from your head. Your heartbeat hammers in your throat as your eyes dart to where it landed, but Jeff is already on top of you.

Before you can react, his hands are on your wrist, pinning them to the dirt. The weight of him crushes you, but you manage to buck your hips, throwing him slightly off balance.

It’s enough – your body moves on pure instinct, your arms flailing in the brief chaos of his stunned pause. You scramble to your feet, gulping for air, and your heart racing in your chest.

Your flingers close around the familiar grip of your hunting knife, and you raise it again – trembling but determined.

Smutty part is -> (here)

[mydemimonde]

my tears ricochet — aemond targaryen x reader one-shot

warnings: angst with no happy ending. mention and description of miscarriage, depression, character death, aemond being an asshole. no beta reading! i like alys but i needed to make her kind of a bitch for this

words: 4500ish

A/N: i hope you like this little piece of writing, took me like five hours lmao. english is not my first language so expect some mistakes. i have an upcoming fic with aemond x oc, if you're interested in reading it, here's a sneak peak. enjoy your reading! ♡

We gather here, we line up Weeping in a sunlit room, and If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too

The words that left Aemond’s mouth cut deep in your skin. Your heart was heavy, a huge sharp pain was pressing your chest and you felt like vomiting. You were thankful you were sitting, otherwise your legs would have failed you.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, you could only hear his muffled voice, as if it was distant. The air grew thick with tension as Aemond’s words hung between you two, the Sun lighting the dark room.

“Alys and I…”

You have heard plenty of rumours about your husband and that woman in Harrenhal. You refused to believe them, you were sure your husband was an honourable man who loved you and respected you deeply. But apparently it was not like that.

All you could do was stare blankly at the fireplace, no emotion showing in your face, your hands together on your lap and some tears falling down on your cheeks, while he kneeled before you, explaining to you what happened, tears spilling from his eyes at the fact that he betrayed you. His dear wife.

“I swear to you, Y/N” he placed his hand on his chest, his voice broken and barely above a whisper “there is nothing else between us. I ended the matter”.

You stopped a bitter laugh from escaping your lips. Ended the matter? That was far from happening, you were sure of it. That morning, when he arrived with Cole and his men, a brunette lady in a green dress came as well.

Oh, yes. He even dared to bring her to the Keep.

According to Aemond, before he confessed his betrayal, that woman was an important asset to win the war for the Iron Throne against his half-sister and uncle. She could see things before they happened, she had visions and he needed her.

But to you, it was beyond that.

How could he betray you in that way and have the audacity to bring the woman he betrayed you with to your home? How could he do such a thing to you after everything you had to endure?

Memories of the weeks after you lovely wedding flashed through your mind.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

“I’m so sorry, Aemond,” you said in between sobs, hiding your face from him. You were sitting on your shared bed after the maester left your chambers. It was your second failed pregnancy, apparently you were not fertile enough for a healthy one.

The world shattered around you, you wanted to cry and scream until your throat hurt, you wanted to set everything on fire. You were not capable of keeping a child safe in your womb, you were not capable of giving your husband an heir.

“Shh, my sweet love,” Aemond’s voice was soft, his hand caressing your back as the other went to take your hands and uncover your face. Your eyes and nose were red and puffy, tears still streaming down your cheeks. He wiped the tears with his thumb and hugged your shaking figure, trying to calm you down. “Listen to me. This was not your fault. None of it”

“But, Aemond, I-”

“No,” he interrupted, looking at you with a serious expression. “Do not blame yourself for this. It is a terrible thing that happened, yes. But by no means was it your fault, I want you to understand that” his thumb stroked your cheek as you regained your breath.

“Aemond, you heard the maester. I’m incapable of giving you a child” water began to pool in your eyes again, remembering what the wise man told you with a sorrowful look.

He nodded. “Yes, I have heard him. But I do not love you less for that. Y/N, I love you for being you, my dear wife. Not for what you can or cannot give me. I only care and crave for your love.”

You believed every word he said, every promise, every look directed at you and every touch he gave you. Oh, how stupid you felt now.

Since you were not looking at him nor saying anything, he took your hands in his. That caught your attention and you flinched, finally looking at him.

With a quivering and threatening voice, you managed to say: “Get out”.

After that morning, you still slept in the same chambers and bed. You slept on your edge of the bed, turning your back to him, while he slept on his side. Sometimes you felt him staring at you, he would try to touch you or talk to you, but you were very clear to him. You needed time to think, needed time to forgive him, and he decided to respect that.

However, after feeling the bed shift every night while you pretended to sleep and hearing his footsteps early in the morning right before waking up, you decided you would not forgive him.

You cried into your pillow every time he left, spending the night in another chamber. Her chambers.

Soon you began feeling terribly sick, you would wake up with nausea, vomiting your breakfast and with awful migraines.

“You are with child, princess” the maester’s words echoed in your head, trying to assimilate them.

“That… that’s impossible” you shook your head and smiled sadly. “I have already lost two. I am not capable of carrying a healthy pregnancy” you repeated the words the maester had told you several moons before.

The old man chuckled. “You are almost three moons in, princess” you blinked. “You need to trust this old man. This one is safe. But listen very carefully” his expression turned serious, your eyes wide with surprise as you nodded. “It is imperative that you follow a healthy diet to keep this child safe. You must avoid all kinds of strong emotions and stressful situations.”

Oh. Right.

You just nodded, taking mental note of his suggestions. “Thank you, master”.

He left your chambers and you stayed there, standing next to the fireplace, a hand lingering on your belly. You were now with child. Aemond’s child. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, thinking about what to do next, but especially about how you were feeling.

Happy? Relieved? Sad? It was all a mix of feelings that made you uneasy. You’ve been confirmed that this was a safe pregnancy, or at least it was if you followed the maester’s instructions. You should be happy, right?

But after remembering what Aemond had told you weeks before and his activities during the nights, you realised that happiness was impossible. You were unsure if after you told him the news, he would stop seeing her. After all, he promised their affair would cease, and he did not keep his word.

The sound of someone knocking on the door pulled you from your trance. “Yes?”

Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law stepped in the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a worried look in her face. “My dear, I have seen the maester come from your chambers”. She came closer to you, examining you and taking one of your hands in hers. “Is there anything wrong?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you could not find the words. “I- uhm” you cleared your throat and looked at your hands. “I’m fine, your Grace”

Alicent tilted her head. “You’re with child, aren’t you?” you lifted your head, your gaze wide and lips parting. She only smiled. “A mother notices things. I have noticed you have been feeling ill. Nausea and migraines” she explained, leading you to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I started with the same symptoms when I had Aegon in my womb. And from the look on the maester’s face, it appears that you and the baby will be safe”

You just blinked at her words. Certainly, mothers can notice things.

“Indeed, your Grace” suddenly you felt like crying. “I do not know how to tell Aemond, he-” you closed your eyes and looked at your hands. You took a deep breath as Alicent caressed your hair. You looked back up at her. “I know he has been seeing that witch every night. I see him do that. He swore to me he would stop, but-”

The Queen nodded and grimaced. She did not like that woman either. It was a shame for her that her (favourite) son would bring her mistress there. The fact that he in fact had a mistress was a shame itself. How could he disrespect his wife, his mother and his whole family like that?

Something inside you told you she already knew. “I’m so sorry, my dear” she hugged you and you felt at peace for a moment. Queen Alicent was truly like a mother to you.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

After your conversation with Queen Alicent, you decided to tell Aemond the news. For a moment, you hoped that if he heard what you had to say, he would immediately abandon the witch’s side and come back to you. You may still forgive him after all…

The Queen had arranged a feast in your honour. It would be the moment where you would tell him the news, with the rest of the family. You met Aemond in your chambers, right when you were finishing preparing yourself, you were combing your long hair when he entered the room.

His expression confused you. “I am afraid, my love, that I will not be able to escort you to supper. I have some unattended matter in the Council”

You frowned and felt quite disappointed. “But you will be able to attend, right?” you already felt a wave of desperation through your body. “Your mother has arranged this in our honour, you must not be absent.”

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh that took you by surprise. “I will, Y/N. It is just that I will be joining later with Cole, that is all.”

And so you walked to the Great Hall alone. Aegon, Helaena, Otto and Alicent, as well as some members of the Council —except from Aemond and Cole, of course— were already there, waiting for you.

When Alicent saw you entering the Hall with a blank expression and no sight of Aemond by your side, the corners of her mouth curved downwards. She approached you. “My dear Y/N, where is Aemond?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “He said he would be late. He had matters to attend in the Council.”

Her expression softened as she caressed your arm. “Well then, come with me. Let us have a seat and we may wait for him” you followed the Queen and sat next to her, to her right. There was an empty seat next to you, meant for Aemond.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, anxiety coursing through your veins as you lifted your head to glance at the doors. You have been there waiting for almost twenty minutes, the musicians were already playing some quiet music, the sound of people chatting filled your ears. 

Suddenly, the doors opened. Everyone stood up from their chairs and the music stopped. It was Ser Criston Cole who entered. Alone. He found your gaze in the crowded room, a sorrowful and sorry look on his face.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you had to witness later. Your husband made his way into the Hall, with Alys Rivers on his arm next to him. 

One of her hands lingered over her belly.

You heard Alicent scoff next to you, shaking her head at the sight. You, on the other hand, could not utter a word. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to run away from there. But your feet did not seem to move, it was as if they were glued to the floor.

Aemond met your empty gaze for a few seconds before moving towards the chairs in front of him. He pulled one for Alys, she thanked him with a soft smile that he returned and sat.

You could not stand being there, in the same room as them.

You turned your heels and ran away from there as soon as you could, tears spilling and making your vision blurry as your legs moved fast. You heard footsteps behind you, and a soft grip on your arm made you stop in your tracks. You turned your head and saw Aemond’s eye scanning you, noticing the way your cheeks were damped with your tears.

“Y/N, let us go back to the Hall”

Rage flowed through you like dragonfire. “Get your fucking hands off me!” you yelled with a brittle voice and freed from his grip with a strong tug.

That took Aemond by surprise, his wide eye proving it. You were staring at him like he was the biggest scum in the world. Which he was. And that felt like a dagger through his heart.

“Y/N, my dear, please listen to me” he pleaded with a low voice, trying to reach your hand.

“So now that whore is part of the Council?” you answered bitterly. He did not move nor said anything. “How dare you humiliate me in front of everyone? How dare you disrespect your wife and your mother in such a way?” you spat, nostrils flaring with anger.

Once again, he tried to reason with you. “My love, I promis-” he was interrupted by a slap across his face, startling him.

“Do not fucking call me that” you warned him, waving your index finger to him to turn around and leave to your chambers.

That night, you just let the anger and sadness take over you, sobbing into the pillow as Aemond heard everything outside the door. He stayed there the whole night, his back against the cold door, waiting for you to open it. But you refused to let him in, and so he fell asleep on the floor.

He was awakened by Cole in the early hours of the morning, and since he did not hear an answer when he knocked on the door, he forced it open, searching for you. But you were nowhere to be found.

He called your name, but you did not answer. He just heard some muffled sobs in the toilet, the door was locked. “Y/N? Y/N please, let me in.”

You just muttered a small “Please, leave me alone”. Aemond’s gaze fell to the floor for a few moments, and he was ready to leave you again, you just needed time to think. You would come to your senses again, and you would listen to what he had to say. Everything would be back to normal.

Just when he was ready to leave with Cole, he heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, so he forced the door, worried about you. What he saw made his breath hitch.

You were on your knees on the floor, crying, your hands and the white gown you wore to sleep was covered in blood. Your blood. Your gaze found his, and you managed to yell. “I said leave me alone!”

Aemond fell to your side immediately, ordering Cole to fetch a maester. He began examining you, trying to find the source of the blood, but you were not harmed. He lifted your gown and saw your legs damped with blood as well. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y/N…”

“Almost three moons in” you cut him. “The maester said it would be a safe pregnancy, if I followed his instructions. Avoid stressful situations.”

Aemond’s heart dropped listening to your words. He could not say a word for a while, he just kept looking at you. “I-I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Sorry does not change anything” your voice was harsh, your eyes felt like daggers on him. “You chose her over me. You chose her over our marriage, our baby, and now our child is gone. Is gone because of you. You killed it.”

He felt everything around him stop, it was like you took his heart and squeezed hard with your cruel words. But he deserved it. He deserved all your anger, and more.

“Go back to her. She needs you, Aemond, I’m sure she does. The baby she carries needs his father, do not do the same you did to me” you swallowed, watching his reaction.

“Y/N, I told you, we ended everything. She was at supper with me last evening because as you well said, she is part of the Council. She is valuable” he was trying so hard to make you believe his words.

You laughed bitterly. “Do you think I’m stupid, Aemond? I know what you do every night, when I pretend to sleep. I know you go back to her. Every fucking night. You reek of her, Aemond” you sneered at him, letting him see how much you hated him now. “I know for sure she is expecting a child, your child.”

Tears began to spill from your eyes again, but you did not let them fall. You did not wish for him to see you that vulnerable again.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

After the maester had arrived, he instructed Aemond to leave the chambers. Your words and the way you looked at him with hate, no not hate, repulsion, were still engraved in his mind. As he left the room he heard your sobs, it was a sound that broke his heart. How could he hurt you, his beloved wife? He was responsible for your heartbreak and the loss of your child.

That day he decided he would try once again to have your trust and love back. He sent a maester to Alys’ chambers to give her moon tea. Then, a guard would escort her outside the Keep, a carriage would be waiting for her to return to her home.

He let that affair and bargain destroy his marriage, but he would do anything to amend it.

He went to your shared chambers, it was a cold night, the wind howled outside the Keep and only his footsteps were heard in the corridors. He opened the door, the wind was so strong it threatened to close it, but Aemond was stronger and managed to open it. He expected to see you lying on your bed, resting after the maester gave you some milk of the poppy, but he did not see you there.

Aemond looked around the dark room and found you in your white gown. His heart began to pound fast in his chest, his hands began to shake as he caught sight of you, your feet perched on the window still looking down.

His steps were silent, calculated, trying not to scare you. But you already knew he was there, you heard the door being opened and you knew it was him. You did not look back at him, not even when he was begging you not to do anything insane. He came closer, carefully offering you his hand.

“Y/N please,” his voice gentle yet tinged with desperation. “Step back, please, just take my hand”.

At the sound of his voice, you slowly turned around, facing him with empty eyes. His eyebrows drew together in deep concern, his lips slightly parted. He let out a small sigh of relief as you placed your hand on his palm, but before he could grab it, you gave him what could only be described as a sad smile and slipped through his fingers, letting yourself fall.

Your funeral was held a few days later, Aemond gave Vhagar the command to set your corpse on fire. As Vhagar saw the tears in her rider’s eyes, she let out a loud roar, full of sorrow. Aemond stared at the flames, incapable of moving as his cheeks were wet with warm tears.

As he turned to leave, however, he felt a certain uneasiness. He began looking around the field, and he swore he saw your figure standing behind a tree, watching him. He blinked rapidly, but you disappeared.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

That night after the funeral, Aemond cried silently as he clung to one of your dresses. It still had your smell, it was as if you were right there with him. In the dimly lit room, shadows danced like spectres, casting an otherworldly ambiance.

It was right there, through tear-blurred vision, that he saw you. Your ghostly figure stood next to the window, looking through it, an apparition bathed in a haunting glow. You were sobbing. Aemond's breath caught in his throat, the ache in his chest growing immeasurably.

“Y/N?” he asked with a trembling voice, standing up slowly to approach you. Your sobbing never ceased as you turned to see him. Your eyes were glinted with a seething anger, the tears you shed were like salt in his wounds, a reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon you.

Just before he could get closer to you, you climbed to the window sill. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he realised what you intended. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop you, but it was too late. You jumped, slipping through his fingers once again.

Aemond could not sleep well. After that, he began seeing you and feeling you everywhere. During his training, when he could not concentrate and fell on his back missing Cole’s attacks, he saw your figure staring at him from the roof. During his visits to the library, in the solemn silence, he could hear your sobs. During supper, he could feel your hand linger over his shoulder, just like the way you used to do.

He would see your reflection in the mirror, looking at him with pure anger, your face contorted with rage.

Every night, the same thing would happen. He would see you standing next to the window, sobbing, turning to glare at him just to jump afterwards. He had to witness your death over and over again, slipping through his fingers. It was driving him insane.

He was sleep deprived. He requested the maesters to give him something so that he could find sleep. However, your late visits never ceased. You continued haunting him, he did not know what else to do to stop this.

One night, there was a storm raging outside, loud thunders and lightning streaking across the sky illuminated the room. Aemond drank the tea the maester had given him earlier, trying to get some rest.

Your sobs interrupted his peaceful sleep. He rubbed his eyes and saw you standing there, looking at him with a mix of rage and sorrow. Before you could repeat the actions from previous nights and climb through the window, he dashed across the room and fell to his knees.

“Y/N, I beg you!” he pleaded through a strangled cry, his hands clutching his chest. You turned your body to him, watching as he cried before you, his other hand covering his face. “I am miserable without you, my love. I am so sorry for the pain and suffering I caused you!”

Your sobs came to a halt, listening to his desperate laments and pleadings. You approached him without saying a word and he lifted his head to look at you.

“I am living in torment, I am in agony, Y/N. I know I hurt you deeply, I know I deserve all of this” he moved his hands, gesturing at the room. “I’ll carry the guilt of what happened to you and our child with me, always.” His voice was full of remorse, his hands shaking terribly as he spoke.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling the weight on his shoulder starting to vanish. He could not apologise to you when you were alive, the guilt ate him. But now he had the opportunity to do so, even if it was too late.

Your hardened expression softened at his words, feeling your heart clenching at the sight of him like this.

“Aemond.” Your voice came out as a haunting whisper, as if the wind carried it, and it reached his ears, sending shivers through his spine. “I cannot leave this place. I am a prisoner here.” You explained as you extended a hand to caress his cheek. Your touch was cold against his skin, but he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“You caused me great pain, husband. This is why I haunt you every day and night.”

Aemond’s eyes opened and he rose to his feet. He took your pale cold hands in his and looked into your eyes. “I beg you to forgive me, Y/N. I cannot undo the past, I wish I could. But I need you to do that. You need to be free as well, I do not wish you to continue suffering.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes became watery. “I loved you, Aemond. I loved you til my very last day.”

“I still love you, Y/N. And I apologise for everything. You were too good for me.” A tear ran down his cheek, a bittersweet smile graced his features as the memories of your happy marriage filled his mind. Fragments of your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes would shine with love as you looked at him. Fragments of your life together before his mistakes.

Your foreheads touched. “I loved you, Aemond. But I cannot forgive you” you whispered and he gulped. He could feel your breath fanning his face, your lips were so close to touching.

Aemond did not know if it would be wise to kiss you, but he missed you so much and longed for your touch, your lips, his body and heart ached.

Your hands were carefully placed around his neck, and you chose to close the distance giving him a sweet kiss from your cold clay lips.

The next day after the ferocious storm, Aemond's lifeless form lay on the ground, next to the window. He was found by Cole and Otto, who walked into his chambers after not hearing word from the Prince all morning.

They gathered around him. His eye was closed, his slightly parted lips holding the faintest trace of a serene smile. His death was sudden, and it was said he died from the pain of losing his wife and child. It could have not been an attack, there were no signs of it, no signs from any wound in his body.

There were no signs of violence, other than the strange marks of slender fingers, like ghostly imprints around his neck.

taglist: @moonlightfoxx

[voltronisanobsession]

hi! i was wondering if i could request a percy jackson! platonic headcanon fic where like luke, y/n is also being manipulated and possessed by one of the evil gods and the group finds out? (also i’m sorry to go all teen wolf but she starts to act kinda like void stiles) ty!

Reader being Controlled by a God

NEVER apologize for going all teen wolf, I love this idea😍😍😍😍😍 when you say headcanons fic, imma think you meant headcanons but with a story plot🔥

I think this is a little more generalized than what I usually write

I’m telling you, when I finish heroes of Olympus, WE WILL HAVE A BIGGER AND BETTER GROUP OF CHARACTERS💀🙏🙏🙏

The change is a slow process

Not many caught onto your change appearances, those who did marking it down as an off day you had

Plagued with nightmares and visions, paranoia grows as you distance yourself from the group slowly

This god, you didn’t know their name or their face

The fear they instilled in you was enough for your confidence to break down though

It was like having a devil on your shoulder, it’s soft whisperings influencing your everyday life

You tried blocking it all out, but it was getting too much! You could never escape the whispers, even in sleep, which was way worse than being awake

Yet you didn’t dare tell a soul, what would people say! Would Chiron kick you out of the camp? Gods, you can’t be kicked out another home again, you just can’t!

You lose sleep as this god takes its hold on you, grip tightening more as the weeks pass

It isn’t long until you began listening to the voice, listening to it as it planted seeds of deceit and darkness

I think the one who would pick up on your weird changes is Annabeth lowkey

She notices EVERYTHING

When you don’t show up to breakfast in the mornings, she takes note of it. During training, she notices how you have this far off, dull look in your eyes. Like you’re there physically, but mentally somewhere else.

She definitely sees how you look at everyone now, a distrusting expression as you distance yourself from those around you

So when the girl tries approaching you about it, making it known that she’s worried for her friend, Annabeth is taken aback by your defensive aggression

“Don’t worry about it, its none of your buisness” you would say, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, shutting down any other attempts she tries to make

And while the others try to reassure her you could be upset about something else, one look at you and she already knows that there’s something more

You begin doing small tasks for your new friend

They’re small at first, pack a bag with a few necessities, steal some drachmas, your cabin mate won’t notice a few missing

You don’t even notice as they get a bit extreme, wordlessly following its orders to sneak into Chiron’s office and take some files, and to go into the woods after they call lights out in the dead of night

You’re friends grow even more suspicious and worried as you seem to creep around the camp grounds

They might even hear you whispering to yourself one day. What’s next, you would ask. Whose here? Hiding behind a tree, your friends would finally see that there’s something seriously wrong with you

Percy prays to any god or goddess listening that you just haven’t moved on from your invisible friend phase, but as always, nothing ever goes his way

This voice that first haunted even your sweetest of dreams was a familiar one that you grew to trust

They’re all waiting to watch you stumble, my dear. They’ll use you until there’s nothing left of you.

Join us, you’ll have me to guide you through the new life I’m offering you.

Your final task sets everything in motion, setting off every alarm in every demigods head as you walk past them.

With one mission in your head, you head towards the training grounds where Percy and a few others swung their swords at dummies

Taking the nearest sword, you walked up to Percy from behind, pushing everyone who got in your way

Speeding up to close the gap between you two, Percy’s instincts takes over as he quickly glances behind him and narrowly dodges your swing at him

He wouldn’t have any time to think as you continuously swing the sword you held at him, not once stopping even as he tried talking to you

“What’s going on with you?! Talk to me y/n!

“Do you seriously ugh- think talking is gonna get you out of this?”

Because of your sloppy form due to the wrong sized sword you took, you were taken down by the green eyed boy, causing you to scamper away from him

Heaving and looking at him with irritation, he could make out a dark shadowy figure lingering behind you, almost encasing you with its darkness

That’s it

It isn’t until Annabeth comes running in with Chiron that you make your escape into the woods, where they search hours for you, only to come empty handed

But you didn’t leave without leaving behind a small gifts

At sundown, three hellhounds were released into the camp grounds by portals no one knew existed

Just like Luke, you had betrayed them all, yet they felt that they couldn’t blame anyone but themselves!

The signs were there since the beginning!

It seemed that this god, a new enemy, had taken over your head, and your friends weren’t going to stop until they finally had the real you back🔥🔥

Cue epic music playing in the background