#pls they’ve been dead for so long

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

60 Seconds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: heavy angst, rape (explicit), being bound and gagged and blindfolded, kidnapping, heavy trauma

Request by anon: Would you write something with Spencer x reader (s7 ish doesn't really matter) where you're taken or kidnapped and when they find you, you keep yelling like 'no, no, don't hurt me' and shit like that cuz you don't realize it's them, and Spencer rushes to you and holds you but you're like trashing and hitting his chest until you break down in sobs pls that would be the cutest help. Also love me some team reactions to it happening skskdks OKAY BYE

Summary: One minute can change everything. A lot can happen in sixty seconds, and your entire world is turned upside down when you’re taken off the street in broad daylight. Spencer and the team fight to save you while you’re fighting to stay alive.

Square Filled: laid on a stretcher for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Everything can change in one minute.

That’s sixty seconds.

You pass by the bank you and Spencer have a joint account with. Three seconds. You see a woman and her child playing with bubbles across the street at the park. One second. You wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. Twenty seconds. You cross the street with a group of people. Ten seconds. You stop at a flower stand and buy two roses, one for Spencer and one for you. Twenty seconds. You turn the corner onto a desolate part of the sidewalk. Two seconds.

A van pulls up next to you and two men reach out and grab you. Six seconds.

One minute.

You’ve heard of stories where people are taken in plain sight and in daylight, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories of victims being tortured, raped, and abused, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories about victims needing a lifetime of therapy knowing it won’t fix them, but you never think it’ll happen to you.

Until it does.

Spencer moves about the office with you on his mind, excited to go on a lunch date with you. You’re not part of the BAU but you try to visit as much as you can. You have your own art business that you sell out of your apartment. You like to paint, make vases, and occasionally sew. Business has been booming for the last year so you’re not worried about not finding a “real” job any time soon.

Lunch time comes but you don’t show up, and Spencer thinks you might have gotten lost in a project. That tends to happen a lot, so he calls you to see if you’re going to be free any time soon. You don’t answer.

“Reid, JJ got something for us.”

Spencer puts his phone away and will call you later when he has a minute. Just like that, you’re pushed to the back of his mind. He has victims to save and bad guys to put away.

He just doesn’t realize that the victim this time is you.

The two men who took you were only the delivery boys. The men who have you are much worse. Spencer must be on a case if he hasn’t tried to contact you. Maybe he has. You’re not sure. You’re also not sure how many hours have passed or if it’s the next day. Time stops when all you can think about is pain.

They put a blindfold on you as soon as they stole you from the street so you’re not sure where you are in the world or what the room even looks like. All you know is that it stinks in here like dirt, sweat, and blood.

You’re hanging from the middle of the room by your wrists, your toes barely touching the ground. You’ve been suspended like this for so long that you’ve lost all feeling in your hands due to the rope biting into your wrists and cutting off circulation. If you’re lucky, they’ll fall off.

You’re stripped bare to just your panties. Those men love easy access where they can get it. Cuts adorn your once smooth skin and dried blood cake down your body. If you don’t give them what they want, they get violent. You’re surprised you’re not dead right now. They’ve beaten, raped, and abused your body multiple times in a single day.

You just hope that wherever you are, Spencer comes soon. You’re not sure how much of this you can take.

Spencer comes home after a grueling seven days in the field. All he wants to do is take a hot shower and snuggle in bed with you.

“Y/N? You home?” Spencer turns on the light but you’re not there to greet him like you normally are. “Y/N?”

He walks to the bedroom thinking you’re sleeping but frowns when he sees the bed is perfectly made as if no one has used it in a while. He checks the guest room but you’re not in there either. He takes out his phone and calls you but it goes straight to voicemail. He checks the Life 360 app only to see your phone is located in some ditch on the side of the road.

Now he starts to panic.

“Can’t get enough of this team? You just saw us for a week straight,” JJ jokes when she answers his call.

“Is Y/N with you?”

“No.”

“Have you seen her or talked to her all week?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“I think she’s missing,” he panics.

“Who, calm down, Spencer. Why do you think she’s missing?”

“She’s not home, she hasn’t been answering all week, her phone goes straight to voicemail, and I can see her location is in a ditch somewhere off the side of the road. You don’t think…”

“I don’t think what?”

“Do you think she was taken by the Daylight Killer?”

The Daylight Killer has been on the BAU’s radar for quite some time now. They take innocent women off the street in broad daylight only to return them back to their families after weeks. During those weeks, these women endure harsh psychological and physical torture. The BAU hasn’t been able to capture this man because they don’t think he’s working alone. If anything, it’s an organization that keeps him hidden from the authorities.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Spence.”

“JJ, she always answers her phone. Her biggest fear is me not picking up mine because of our job.”

“I’ll get the team together.”

Spencer immediately heads back to work and meets the team in the briefing room. They already have the victims of the Daylight Killer posted on the bulletin boards despite not having concrete evidence that you’ve been taken by him.

“What do we know?”

“I have already looked at the security cameras around your apartment, this building, and everything in between.” Penelope puts pictures of you on the screen for all to see. “She was last seen walking down Main Street when she stopped at a flower vendor on the corner of Main Street and Dobson Road. She turns the corner and continues to walk toward the BAU.” Penelope puts up three more pictures, one of you walking, another with a car parked right next to you, and the other with you gone. “This car stops next to her and she isn’t seen on any other cameras.”

“Did you get a plate?” Derek asks.

“Only a partial, but the system hasn’t come up with anything yet. You’ll be the first to know.”

“What if it is him? Do you know what he does to his victims?” Spencer asks with tears in his eyes.

“We need to speak to the survivors and see if they can remember their time with him.”

“You want to put them through that pain again?” Emily asks.

“What other choice do we have?” Rossi asks.

It’s safe to say that the victims of the Daylight Killer were less than thrilled to have to relive their experiences. Some of them are still in the hospital recovering from their injuries while others are locked away in their houses too afraid to go outside. There are only two girls who are brave enough to come forward. Confident that if they help the BAU, the men will get caught.

“If you need to stop at any time, please let us know,” JJ says gently.

“Okay,” Stacy, one of the victims, whispers.

“Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Stacy does, and she wrings her fingers together nervously. “When you were taken, do you remember what you could feel?”

“You mean besides their hands on me?”

“I can only imagine this is hard for you but don’t focus on them.” Stacy nods and tries to relax. “Focus on the car ride. Was it bumpy? Smooth?”

“Smooth but then it became bumpy like they were driving on rocks or a dirt road.”

“How long were you on that road for?”

“It seemed like hours but probably ten minutes.”

“Then what?”

“They parked and took me out of the car. I was still blindfolded.”

“What was underneath your feet? Rocks? Dirt? Concrete?”

“Sticks. Dirt.”

“So, you were in the woods. What did you smell?”

“Dirt. Nature. It was musty.”

“What did you hear?”

“Insects. However, they stopped once we started walking.”

Spencer leaves the room after hearing enough from Stacy. So, they are keeping their victims in the woods. What woods, is the question.

The best part about you is Spencer. He brings out the best in you and pushes you to do your best in everything you do, especially with your art business. He never goes a day without telling you he loves you, and he shows it with the little things he does. He leaves out little notes for you on the kitchen counter before work, he buys you cookies and other sweets before he comes home, and he gets you flowers every single week.

Even in bed, he’s super loving. Sure, he’s been rough with you a few times but your favorite is how gentle he can be. He can spend hours in bed just worshiping you before giving you his sock. He fits so well inside of you like he was made for you. Even now, you can picture him bending you over and sliding his cock into your pussy. He touches your skin as if he’s mapping every inch of your body. He rarely leaves behind any marks because it reminds him that he can hurt you. He’s seen too much in the field to leave marks on you.

You’re pulled from your dream with Spencer when one of the men slaps your ass hard. His dick feels nothing like Spencer’s. He doesn’t care if he stretches you too much or if he doesn’t fit. He’s still slamming into you from behind and chasing his release. Your entire body aches from the pain but you refuse to give him and the other men the one thing they crave.

You refuse to cry.

You slip back into your dream and replace the man raping you with Spencer who loves you.

“According to the camera’s timestamp, she’s been missing for a week. Do you know what these men do to these women? What are they doing to her right now?” Spencer panics.

“I know it’s hard but you can’t think like that. We’re doing everything we can to try and find her. Right now, we have two women who remember being in the woods which means this unsub or unsubs need privacy. They can’t risk anyone finding them so they have to be isolated. That narrows down a lot of places,” Hotch says.

“They can’t be far either because Virginia PD is always on the scene whenever they release these women. They have to have a place close enough to where they can grab someone and release another in the span of hours.”

“Garcia, anything?”

Penelope pulls up a map of the area and circles the places where it’s likely the unsubs are located. All are in densely forested areas with nothing around them for miles.

“Based on the survivors’ accounts of being in the woods and the fact that they both said they weren't in the car for long once they got onto the dirt road, I estimate that the unsubs are located in one of five places. Every single victim has been released at a gas station before walking into town where there is reception.”

“That’s too many to go to. They could see us coming and leave. How are we going to narrow down this list?”

JJ comes marching into the room with a look of determination and worry on her face.

“We got another woman missing. Melissa Summers was out jogging when she was taken. This time, there were witnesses. They witnessed a ‘dirty white van’ and ‘two men grabbing Melissa off the streets’. They saw a partial plate which matches the one who took Y/N.”

Spencer goes rigid at the news because there are two reasons why they took someone early. They normally keep their victims for two or three weeks before releasing them and grabbing someone new. You’ve been gone for just over a week. Either they changed their minds and let you go early or you’re dead.

Spencer doesn’t have to say anything for everyone to know what he’s thinking.

“Reid, don’t go there,” Derek warns.

“Too late.”

Spencer leaves the room just before he bursts into tears. He can handle being by your side while you heal from their abuse but he can’t handle the thought of you being dead.

You wish that was the case. You wish they had killed you. After a week and a half of abusing your body for their pleasure, they leave you to rot on a dirty mattress with your hands tied behind you, duct tape over your mouth, and a blindfold over your eyes. The door opens but you don’t have enough energy to react. You’ve been saving your energy for when it matters the most.

“What should we do with her?”

They must have another girl if they’re already talking about disposing of you.

“We should just kill her, boss,” another man says. “She doesn’t make it fun. She doesn’t cry or beg like the others.”

“We should just leave her here and move on. She hasn’t seen our faces. She doesn’t look like she’ll talk.”

“Enough. Both of you. I’ll decide what to do with her when I’m done with her.”

The door closes and you’re back to lying in the darkness.

“Okay, so according to her parents, Melissa goes on a run on the same route every night. It’s on Mason Trail located next to a gas station. It’s one of the ones Penelope circled,” JJ says.

“We should go check it out,” Spencer suggests. “What harm will it do? The best case is we find the men responsible. Worst case is she’s not there and we try again. We have to do something.”

“I’m with Reid on this one,” Derek says.

“If we’re wrong and she’s not there, it could ruin everything,” Rossi says.

“You’re both right,” Hotch says. “Let’s go.”

The team, as quietly as they can, make their way to the house deep in the woods located near Mason Trail. It’s not quite night but Hotch keeps the headlights off to prevent anyone from seeing the sleek black cars. Virginia PD is right behind them because, despite the concern about this not being the location, Spencer has a feeling it is.

They park several hundred yards away from the house and finish the rest of the way on foot. If this is the house and someone is home, they won’t take kindly to Derek announcing that the FBI is at their door. Instead, he kicks down the door and just barges in.

There are four men sitting around the table playing poker who all jump up from shock. They reach for their guns but the FBI is quicker. Derek, Rossi, Hotch, and Emily take down the four men while the police search the house to clear the other rooms.

“Where is she?” Spencer asks once they are all in handcuffs.

“Dead.”

“There’s a door to the basement,” one of the officers announces.

Spencer refuses to believe you’re dead. Hotch leaves the unsubs in the care of Virginia PD and follows Spencer down to the basement. Light floods the room and Spencer pauses when he sees Melissa strung up wearing nothing but her panties, and you lying on a dirty mattress in the corner.

Emily and JJ immediately go to Melissa to help her down, and she starts to cry when she realizes she is being saved.

“You’re okay now. They’re not going to hurt you anymore,” JJ soothes.

Spencer runs over to you and unties the rope that binds your wrists. The second you’re free, you find the burst of energy you’ve been saving. You swing at the person who is above you thinking it’s one of the men.

Spencer grabs your wrists and tries to stabilize you but you’re thrashing too much for him to control. Derek comes over and helps Spencer hold you down, and Spencer removes the duct tape from your mouth.

“Y/N--”

“No, let me go!” you beg.

“You got her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

Spencer lets go of you and Derek has to use his whole body to hold you still even though you’re still trying to get away. Spencer removes your blindfold and you blink rapidly to counteract the brightness of the dim lights. For someone who has had a blindfold on the entire time you’ve been here, the dim lighting it very bright to you. You look around and lock eyes with Derek who is the one who is holding you. You notice JJ and Emily caring for Melissa, and Spencer comes into view in front of you.

Almost immediately, you begin sobbing. You’re free. You’re safe now. You’re not going to hurt anymore. Every single tear you have been holding back is now coming out and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Derek lets you go knowing you’re not going to start swinging which allows Spencer to pull you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You’re safe now. You’re okay now.”

You bury your face in Spencer’s chest and sob and wail as loud as you can. Spencer can’t stop his tears from falling, and he looks at the rest of the team. JJ and Emily are in tears, Derek is clenching his jaw tightly, Hotch has a stoic look on his face but is breaking down inside, and Rossi has to look away before he cries.

“We need a medic,” Hotch says into his mic.

By the time the ambulance arrives, your sobs have died down to quiet cries. The men are all arrested and put into separate cop cars, and you’re laid onto a stretcher. Melissa is taken to the hospital in another ambulance, and you’re put into the back of the first one.

“Spencer,” you whimper.

“I’m right here.” He climbs into the back and sits next to you. He grabs your hand and runs his thumb across the back of your hand. “I’m right here. You’re safe now.”

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry.

“I’m not. I’m right here. You’re not alone. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

The entire ride to the hospital is you crying over your innocence being destroyed and Spencer trying not to cry.

x

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[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Prince Regent

aemond x sister smut

A/N: I haven't given yall smut in so long :( pls forgive me

WARNINGS: smut!, incest, murder (bye bye aegon)

WORD COUNT: 1,475 words

You feel ill when your brothers come back from battle. Your husband, Aegon is a step away from death and Aemond is… different. It all unnerves you.

You spend hours visiting your husband on his sickbed but there’s only so much you can take before you have to retire to your own chambers. You hated Aegon sometimes but you truly never wanted such a thing to befall him. You miss when he was healthy.

“Sister.” You don’t think you even heard Aemond knock before he’s in your room.

Your eyes well with tears when you see him, knowing it’s okay to break a little when in the presence of your dearest brother. “Aemond…” you let out in a whimper.

His face softens as he immediately makes his way over to you, pulling you into his strong arms. “It’s just all so awful.” You say.

“Oh my poor, dōna riña.” He murmurs into your hair, rubbing circles on your back. You’re such a fragile little thing. Aegon was terrible to you. Your twin can hardly understand why you’re so upset that he’s bedridden.

“I just… don’t want my children to grow up without their father. They’ve already lost their brother. They don’t understand why he won’t come to play with them anymore. There’s no way for me to explain it to them… I don’t know how to help them.”

“Aegon was a shit father anyhow.” He comments.

“Aemond.” You give him a scolding look through your tears.

“You can’t say I’m being untruthful. Besides, I can care for and love your children better than he ever could.”

“You are so careful with them. I am appreciative of it of course.” You murmur, feeling comforted by your brother’s gentle touch. “But you shouldn’t speak so unkindly of our King while he lies on what might be his deathbed.”

“If it is his deathbed, then I am the king.” Aemond responds.

“Would it not be Jaehaera as queen?” You question. Should it not be your daughter who would rule next?

“It would be difficult to have a girl heading our cause when Rhaenyra is also a woman. Besides, i’ve been named Prince Regent. I’m the king in all but name… and all kings need a queen.” He gives you a look that you can’t quite place.

“I am sure the Baratheon girl will be ever so pleased when she is informed of her rise in status.” You murmur.

“I won’t have dark haired, Baratheon mutts as my heirs.”

“Then who shall you marry? One of Vaemond’s granddaughters perhaps? I don’t think a Velaryon is worth breaking such a beneficial betrothal.” You don’t see it yet. You haven’t caught on to what his words mean, his treasonous words.

“I shan't break my engagement for some woman I care not for... I’ll break it for you.”

Your jaw drops. “Aemond, that is absurd.”

“I will quell their anger by arranging a match with Daeron. A third son is as good as a second.”

“You know that isn’t what i’m shocked by.”

“Are you truly shocked?” He tilts your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I know it is I that you desire, not Aegon.”

“Aegon is my husband.” You protest.

“Aegon is a useless cunt who will be dead soon.” Aemond says firmly. “And when he’s dead, i’ll be king.”

“He might yet live and if he does, i’ll still be his wife. I won’t be an adulterer.” You push away from your brother, creating an appropriate distance. 

“I would never make such a woman of you. All I ask is that you answer my one question. If Aegon were dead, would you choose to marry me?”

There’s a long pause as you think about your answer. It would be treasonous to respond truthfully… but it is Aemond asking the question. You can’t lie to your beloved brother.

“I would.”

There’s a certain glint in his eye when you give him your answer. He leaves the room without saying anything else.

Over the next few hours, you try your hardest not to overthink. The way Aemond phrased the question, the way he looked at you after you answered, it was unnerving. You know your brother wants nothing more than to take care of you but he could never harm Aegon, could he?

Your question was answered by morning. Aegon is dead.

It wasn’t Aemond. You tell yourself, repeating it for a week. You only left your room when it was time for the funeral. You don’t speak to anyone, especially not him. Tonight, you don’t sleep, trying to distract yourself with what most would call silly feminine interests.

“Sister?” You look up from your needlework to see him standing there, stoically in the middle of your room.

“The hour is late, Aemond.” You say, confused by his presence and more than nervous by it.

“I know. You should be sleeping. I thought you would be sleeping.”

“I couldn’t find my rest.” You whisper.

“Why?” 

He knows why.

“It was by your hand, was it not?”

“I hardly know of what you speak.” He brushes you off.

“I am no fool.”

“I know you aren’t. That is why you’ll never say it aloud.”

“Is that a threat?” You ask and there's a visible pang of hurt shown on his visage.

“I would never do anything to harm you.” He states firmly, getting closer and taking the needlework out of your hands so he may hold them instead.

“But you would covet your brother’s wife as he lies on his deathbed. He has been cold for but a week; have you already come to claim me?”

“You desire to be claimed by me.” He states, irritated by your current disdain for him.

“I desire a good man by my side.”

“Then why do you think of me when Aegon fucks you?” Aemond grabs your wrists, pulling you closer to him. You gasp. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

“Aemond…” You breathe out, appalled. 

“You toil with this decision so i’ll make it for you.” His right hand slides down to your waist and he pulls you flush against him. “We will consummate tonight.”

He kisses you with rough passion, stealing your breath from your lips. Your brother has waited too long for this and will not wait a second longer. He pushes you back until you reach the bed, the two of you falling atop it.

“I will have you now, my wife… my beautiful bride.” 

“This is… we can’t.”

“The King can do as he pleases.”

He wastes no time, reaching his hand up your skirts until he finds your small clothes. He rubs gently through the fabric, smirking as he feels the wetness before he pulls the garment down.

“Be gentle, Aemond.” It was never a request you would make of Aegon. Such a sentiment would do you no good with a man who takes pleasure in pain.

“Of course, my dōna riña but by the end of the night, my babe will be in your belly.”

You gaze up at him as he unbuckles his trousers, such a sweet nymphet was wasted on a bastard like Aegon.

You wince as his cock splits your tight cunt and he marvels at the grimace. He must be much more well endowed than the dead king to warrant such a response.

“Shh, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. Poor sweet angel.” He lets you adjust to him, wanting you to enjoy the times you will lie together just as he does.

When he no longer sees pain strewn across your face, he begins to thrust. A little choked gasp leaves your throat as he does; you never expected to enjoy such a feeling.

“Hmm, you like that?” He taunts, beginning to pick up to a pace that you can’t handle.

“Oh, it’s too fast.” You whimper, but he doesn’t slow. Your big brother knows what you can take. Besides, there’s a bit of sadism in every Targaryen man.

He begins to pound into you, relishing each moan his baby sister makes. It’s sick, but nothing brings him more pleasure than knowing he will be a better husband than Aegon in every way possible.

Aemond hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and the new angle lets him get even deeper inside you.

“Gods, you’re just sucking me in.” He wanted so desperately to last longer as he begins to furiously rub your pearl but the way you squeeze around him makes it hard.

His hips stutter but he knows you’re close too as you begin to spasm around him. He digs himself into you with one final thrust before painting your walls white with his seed.

“We will have the wedding this week, my darling. I’ll wait no longer for you.”

comment to be added to the taglist

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦

summary. reaping day. something ellie is rather indifferent towards, wanting only to return back to the warm embrace of nature. meanwhile you're the complete opposite, today being one that'll determine your fate, as well as your placement in your family. this chapter follows the alternate experiences that the two of you go through.

content warnings. depictions of dead animals, domestic abuse, implications of slavery (avoxes). if you see anything else that i missed, pls let me know!

total wc. 10,815

notes!! she's here!!! chapter one of this beauty!!! i've proofread this at least fifty times and i'm still not happy with it, but! here's the reminder that this fic is formatted and meant for ao3, not tumblr (hence why it's so goddamn long). anyway, i advise you read it there rather than here for that reason. it's updated sooner and i actually make sure that it's intelligible. the link is right here ↓

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

11:46.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“Again?” Ellie’s groggy cavil is muffled against the crook of Cat’s neck. Her freckled face is buried into the warmth of the woman’s bare skin, chasing the comfort her proximity provides.

Cat huffs an airy laugh, her fingers absentmindedly running along an auburn scalp. “We’ve gone over this.”

“Yeah, but,” Ellie props up on her elbows to frown at her, “You went last year.”

“It’s a good thing if they’re asking me to attend again, Ellie.” Cat reminds her as she’s done at least fifty times by now. Despite her dwindling patience, Cat’s eyes are filled with naught but fondness as they clash with a pair of viridescent irises. Ellie continues to frown at her, adamant in her show of defiance. Cat continues to fiddle with her choppy hair as she speaks. “The Capitol is extremely picky with their stylists. It’s an honor to work for them, not to mention being chosen by them.”

Ellie has to swallow back the words that crawl up her throat and threaten to spill. Words of which vocalize her personal repugnance for the Capitol. She and Cat have gotten into plenty of fights regarding this topic and she refuses to cause another — especially considering the news she’s been trying to avoid facing all morning.

“I won’t see you for, like, a month.” Ellie grumbles before flopping back down onto Cat’s chest. She turns her head so her ear is pressed against her ribs, the gentle thudding of Cat’s heartbeat almost soothing enough to distract her from the world that envelops them.

Their bare bodies are pressed flush together as Ellie continues to listen to the repetition of her palpitating organ. She can feel Cat’s fingers toying with her hair, the soft caresses providing a sense of calamity. Her chest rises and falls, Ellie’s head shifting alongside each breath she takes. The intimacy it takes for to be near someone in this way — especially for Ellie — is oftentimes overlooked and seen only as crude or lustrous. However, in this case, they’re simply enjoying one another’s presence. Nothing vulgar about it.

Oh how Ellie wishes she could stay like this forever. In this little oasis of solace she’s founded for herself. Waking with Cat in her bed whilst morning sunlight filters through the window and casts golden hues over hardwood flooring. It’s nigh impossible to imagine that in only a few hours they’ll be separated for an indefinite epoch as Cat is escorted off to the Capitol while Ellie remains here.

She shuts her eyes, arms tightening around Cat’s waist as she wishes to cherish what little time she has left with her. Cat doesn’t dare cease playing with her hair, delicate fingers toying with the strands. 

Comfortability, domesticity, safety. That’s what Ellie feels when she’s near Cat — like nothing in the whole world could reach her. Like they’ve left the horrors of their District and are now floating through the cosmos all alone. Just the two of them. Though she knows better than to voice that to Cat, having found out the hard way that she doesn’t feel the same.

What they have is impermanent, said Cat when Ellie questioned her on fidelity, it has to be, she’d said. Even now, Ellie is unsure what that was supposed to mean. But she didn’t pry any further, for fear of damaging the fragility of what relationship, or lack thereof, they’d formed. Ever since, Ellie has learned to keep her feelings locked away in a hidden corner of her mind, making sure they never come forth to have the dust blown away. 

“Ellie!”

They both jolt to attention as the bedroom door flies open, doorknob slamming against the thick wooden wall behind it. Ellie sits up and narrows her eyes at the perpetrator, only to roll them once she comes to realize who it is.

“What do you want, Riley?” Ellie grumbles, flopping back against Cat as Riley enters the room. 

“I want to know why you’re still in bed.” Riley responds, stepping over the clothes on the floor with an upturned lip. Half of them are Cat’s from the night prior. Riley seems to instantly realize this, likely because she’s known Ellie well enough to know that she doesn’t wear Capitol-made dresses. Riley puts her hands on her hips, frowning at her best friend who remains cuddled up against her– Cat. “The Reaping is today and you’re still in bed.”

“It’s in two hours.” Ellie is quick to point out.

“I don’t care if it’s in twenty hours, you’re getting out of bed.” She says, picking up Ellie’s discarded clothes from the floor and tossing them at her. They land where her legs are tangled with Cat’s underneath the thin plaid blanket that’s draped lazily atop them. Riley begins to walk out of the room with a pointed expression before calling over her shoulder, “Oh. And these are Marlene’s orders, by the way.” Then she shuts the door.

Ellie sighs heavily, not yet ready to get up. If anything, she cozies even closer against Cat’s bare chest as she once again listens to the comforting thumps of her heart.

“God, she’s so demanding.” Cat scoffs. “I don’t understand how you put up with her.”

“I barely can.” She responds, causing Cat’s eyes to widen at the unexpected concurrence. “But she’s taken care of me since I was a baby, I owe it to her.”

Cat’s initial shock instantly dissipates. “I don’t mean Marlene, Ellie. I’m talking about Riley.”

Ellie sighs once more, her lips thinning. She knows that Cat and Riley don’t exactly get along. Well. Okay, that’s a major understatement. They literally despise each other. In every aspect that Cat admires the Capitol, Riley loathes it. They butt heads all the time, only ever speaking when it’s absolutely necessary and, even then, it oftentimes ends up in fighting. Ellie tries her hardest to keep them as far apart as possible, hating when they speak ill of the other.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” She mutters, having to force herself to sit up. The plaid blanket falls from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. The cool air chills her and goosebumps instantly begin to adorn her fair skin. She quickly reaches to the foot of the bed to grab the clothes Riley had tossed her way. Cat remains in bed as Ellie stands to get dressed, pulling on a frayed hoodie and worn jeans. “I just don’t want to have to choose between you two, that’s all.”

As she laces her shoes, it’s hard not to take notice of Cat’s lack of response. Ellie lifts her head to see the frown that’s plastered onto her features, the sight of it causing her to sigh. She walks over to the bed, shoes lightly padding across the old wooden floor. She leans one hand on the mattress beside Cat’s head, her other coming up to lift her jaw. She presses a kiss to her lips.

“You know where I keep the key.” Ellie whispers, pulling back only slightly as her hand remains on Cat’s chin. “You can get back to sleep and leave whenever you want, yeah? You need rest.” 

Cat nods, “Okay.”

With one final kiss goodbye, Ellie leaves. On her way out the door, she grabs her backpack from under her desk, swinging it over her shoulder before shutting the door gently behind her. Not yet ready to part ways with Cat, she stands in the hall for a few long minutes, using this time to straighten out her thoughts. 

After the Reaping, Cat will be gone for an indefinite duration as the stylists are taken to the Training Center alongside the two tributes. Not to mention, if the opportunity is provided, she knows Cat wouldn’t hesitate to stay to live in the Capitol forever. And everyone knows how much they love her there. It’s truly a matter of time before she’s promoted to a full-time Capitolite. The mere thought sends a chill down her spine.

Ellie heaves a sigh, mentally cursing anything and everything that relates to their fucked up government before she turns to walk down the hall. Her shoes thud against the floor as she attempts to calm herself, the repetition of her stride mocking that of Cat’s heartbeat. Nigh tauntingly. 

Turning a corner, she spots Riley standing in the kitchen. Her back is facing her as she peers out the window at the passerbyers that straggle down the street. District seven isn’t usually this busy, most citizens at work by now. But it’s Reaping Day and therefore one of the few days of the year that everyone gets off work. Parents cater to their kids, teens get into mischief with their friends, pets are walked through the neighborhood. Though, regardless of how one’s morning is spent, everyone will be amassed in town square by two o’clock. If not, they’re to be imprisoned.

Ellie slows her movements, footsteps now inaudible before she jumps out at Riley, causing the other girl to shriek. She nearly drops the glass in her hands as she whips around to scowl at Ellie. “You scared me!” She reprimands her, frowning.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughs, “That was the whole point?”

Riley rolls her eyes at this. “Whatever.”

She leans forward to set the glass back on the counter, a light clink sounding throughout the space as she does so. Ellie had expected it to be a glass of water or some other form of drink. Instead, it’s a vase holding an array of flowers that Ellie has built the habit of collecting on their daily outings. At first, it annoyed Riley the way Ellie would stop whatever she was doing to pick a flower and stuff it between the pages of her journal. It would interrupt the flow of their expedition. Though, with time, she’s grown used to it and even finds herself taking notice of pretty flowers in Ellie’s absence.

“Are you finally ready to go?” Riley asks, turning back around to face her friend with her eyebrows raised. Ellie gestures down to herself — dressed and obviously ready. Riley chuckles, rolling her eyes fondly before brushing past her.

The two of them exit the small wooden home and begin their journey toward the treeline. Four buildings down, they pass Riley’s house. After graduation, they’d chosen this neighborhood due to its proximity to the woods and the fact that two houses were simultaneously for sale closeby. And here they are, three years later, still fleeing to the foliage every morning.

The low hum of conversation isn’t foreign to District seven, but it’s rather uncommon way out here. To get this type of commotion, you’d usually have to be closer to town where the markets are. That’s where most people spend their time, trading supplies. The circumstances aren’t nearly as dire as in District twelve, but they’re certainly not as wealthy as the Capitol. Starving to death here is rare, but not at all impossible. 

“So,” Riley speaks up after a few minutes of comfortable silence before turning to Ellie with a regaled expression, “You’re sleeping with Cat again?”

“I never stopped sleeping with her.” Ellie says pointedly. 

What she doesn’t say is, It’s just grown more common as you’ve grown more distant from me.

She sighs. “I’m not gonna give you shit for it because you already know how I feel about her. But I want to know, is she going to be a stylist again in this year's Games?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, “You know I’m not allowed to go around telling people. She’s technically not even supposed to tell me. We could be arrested for disclosing information about the Games prior to their airing. We could be made into Avox for it. And, I don’t know about you, but I quite like my tongue.”

“Yeah, so does Cat.” Riley adds with a disgusted expression.

Ellie laughs, slapping her in the arm. “Gross!”

“What’s gross is walking in on your best friend naked on top of some Capitolite.” She grumbles. 

“We weren’t even doing anything!” 

“Yeah, luckily!” She replies with a laugh before another repulsive thought dawns on her. “Oh, and you didn’t even lock the door!”

To that, Ellie has no excuse. “Well– Okay yeah, fine. That’s definitely on me.”

Riley grins at her victoriously as they continue down the sidewalk. The air is practically buzzing with activity. With naught else to occupy their time, the people of the lumber District naturally swarm toward the woods. It’s in their blood. Even more so for Ellie and Riley, who spend their mornings in the woods even when they should technically be applying for jobs.

Yeah, the two of them have received that lecture from Marlene more times than anyone could count — that they’re adults and should therefore be forming some sort of a career path before they’re rendered undesirably old to any future employers. But, unbeknownst to Marlene, the two of them do have a job. Perhaps not a formal one, but it’s enough to keep the bills paid and water running. And, to a pair of girls in their early twenties, that’s more than they could ask for.

See, Riley and Ellie have built a routine. One where they awake at dawn, meet up at Ellie’s house for breakfast, then walk to the woods and spend the following few hours there. They cut trees, chop wood, hunt animals, etc. Then, at noon, they head toward what’s known as the Hob — basically a black market for those desperate enough to trade their hard earned quarry for a bit of cash. It’s located inside an abandoned paper mill, packed full with hundreds of buyers meandering about the derelict space. Every District has their own version of a Hob, well, perhaps not the richer Districts, but twelve is sure to have a huge one that would make seven’s dull in comparison. That thought alone is enough to ease Ellie’s conscience whenever she feels guilty for the illegality behind her line of work. If any of the Peacekeepers in her District found out about the Hob, all participants are sure to be hanged or, at bare minimum, given a whipping — both of which would be public as to make an example of the persecutors. To imagine Ellie hanging from a noose or tied to a pole whilst everyone else watched, while Marlene watched? It makes her stomach churn. So, habitually, she simply ignores the lack of validity to her actions. Plus, there's no malice to her intentions. She’s just a young woman who wants to put food on the table. Is that so much to ask for? She thinks not.

Anyway. Riley and Ellie basically run that place. Everyone knows them there, recognizing the two women the instant they enter the mill. They always have the good shit — perfectly chopped wood alongside undamaged game — and are willing to be paid less than others because they tend to have a higher quantity and manage to amass a large sum in spite of their lowered payment. However, seeing as everyone is off work today, it’s rather awkward to see the people of the Hob out on the streets. Because they all know better than to acknowledge the illegal trading they participate in religiously. 

Ellie walks silently beside Riley, the unspoken tension in the air doubling in size whenever they recognize someone. The Peacekeepers are large in aggregate today as well, managing to make this impossibly more nerve wracking. The town square is packed full with Capitolites who are setting up for the Reaping, hence everyone now on this side of the District as they look for something to busy themselves with. And, as said before, the woods are evidently everyone’s collective first choice.

“You nervous?” Riley asks as they enter the woods, the familiar scent of pine and dirt wafting toward them. The air is chilly, yet not unbearably so. It’s a nice medium that Ellie finds herself enjoying. She turns, raising a brow in inquiry. Riley digresses, “For the Reaping.”

She shrugs, “Not really. The Hunger Games are morbid, yeah, but they’re a fact of life. If I get Reaped, what good will it do to have worried about it that morning? I feel that fate is predetermined. Whatever happens, you can’t change it so you might as well live regularly until it’s foisted upon you.”

“Um, wow?” Riley gives her a peculiar look. “Since when did you get all philosophical?”

Ellie huffs a laugh, “I’m just saying.”

“I agree that the Games are morbid.” Riley shakes her head with a sigh, dry leaves crunching under their feet as they trek further into the woods. “But why should we have to live in fear while those in the Capitol live in ignorant bliss? It’s immoral and dehumanizing.”

Ellie agrees with her, of course, though she finds herself glancing over their shoulder fretfully before turning to frown at her friend. “Be quiet, Riley. Peacekeepers are fucking everywhere today.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She huffs. “But I mean it.”

“Yes, I know you mean it.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “And I mean it when I say I don’t want to see you punished for your brutal honesty. Truly, it’ll be the death of you.”

Riley laughs before they fall into another comfortable silence. 

Despite the wordlessness being one of easement, it’s foreign to them both. As of late, Riley has been progressively growing more and more distant, causing an awkward rift between the pair. They still go about their usual routines each day and share moments of fond laughter, but it’s different. Only a few months ago, there’d not be a single second of silence as the two would oftentimes end up talking over the other in a coveted rush to share random information. Even after a day’s work had finished, they’d frequently wind up at one of their houses for the night — watching television, feasting on game, or just sharing the space. It got to the point where it was more rare to be without the other than with them.

But now, Ellie feels as though they spend more time in silence than in conversation. Take present for example. Had this happened in July, one of them would undoubtedly be rambling on about something. Though, as it turns out, that’s not currently the case.

Ellie has yet to bring it up to Riley, fearing she’ll say something she’s not ready to hear. She hasn’t even a guess in her mind what could have brought this upon them, but whatever it is, it’s drastic. Hence why she’s recently been hanging around Cat more often, using the woman to both distract herself from her childlike friendship issues as well as make herself feel better. Because Cat always knows how to comfort Ellie, even when she’s not entirely aware of what the problem is.

They continue to walk through the woods, their footsteps nigh inaudible as they’ve grown skilled at adapting to nature. After a few minutes of trekking through the foliage, Riley stops and turns around expectantly. Ellie instantly removes her backpack and crouches to the ground as she sifts through it. She pulls out an axe — which barely even fits inside the bag — and passes it to Riley, who takes it gratefully. Ellie then hands the bag to Riley, who positions it on her back with a few shoulder shrugs.

Where they stopped wasn’t randomized, though. Not entirely. Because, a few yards away is a fallen tree, hollowed out in the center to create a tunnel-like log. They walk over to it, Riley tossing the axe back and forth between her hands. Ellie crouches down and reaches into the log, feeling around the dampened bark until her fingers brush against the coveted items. She pulls out a bow and quiver, adding them to her newly emptied shoulders. 

See, they can’t exactly be caught carrying weapons through the District or the Peacekeepers will know they’re hunting illegally. So, as an alternative, they hide the weapons deep in the woods where nobody else would think to look. Fairly smart on their part, Ellie thinks.

“So,” Ellie muses as they begin walking through the woods once more, “This morning, you said you woke me under Marlene’s orders. What exactly did she say?”

“I talked to her last night.” She explains, swinging the axe back and forth. Had Ellie not done this with her a million times before, she’d likely be fearing for her life. But that axe is quite literally an extension of Riley’s arm, moving as though it’s a part of her. It's, admittedly, rather impressive. “She told me to make sure you’re awake at least an hour prior to the Reaping.”

“Ugh, she doesn’t trust me to do anything.”

“Can you blame her?” She laughs. “You were nearly late to the Reaping last year. Had you arrived less than five minutes after you had, the Peacekeepers would have placed you under arrest.”

“I think my timing was impeccable.” Ellie argues, pointing her chin up in an act of superiority. 

As she does, something in the trees catches her eye and she suddenly stops in her tracks, Riley quick to do the same. She nocks an arrow, the head instantly pointed in the direction of the movement. After a few seconds of tense silence, a squirrel chitters before ignorantly traipsing across the branch. She releases the arrow and it lands right in its eye, so as not to damage the meat. It hits the ground with a thud. Ellie grins widely as she walks to retrieve the corpse as well as the arrow.

“Talk about timing.” Riley whistles, following close behind.

“What did I say?” She responds, positioning the squirrel to hang from her belt. “Impeccable.”

“Yeah, maybe in terms of your aim, but not in your vigilance.” Riley points out.

“Whatever.” Ellie waves her hand to dismiss the accusation. “Shut up and go chop your wood.”

Riley laughs but obliges, turning to leave the scene. Ellie can’t even listen to her footsteps depart, as she’s rather adept at masking their boistry. But she can tell when she’s gone, though, because the atmosphere alters — shifting from one shared between lifelong friends to one of solitude in the middle of nowhere. And yet, despite the latter being far less preferred by many, Ellie relishes in it. The lack of eyes on her is comforting rather than eerie. 

She treks through the trees until she finds a slightly elevated patch of land, allowing her to look down on the forest below her — though, only by a couple feet. But any altitude is better than nothing. She crouches behind a bush and nocks a second arrow, waiting for something to pass by.

Ellie manages to shoot a few more squirrels and a couple of rabbits throughout the following hour they spend in the woods. She then lets out a three-note whistle as she stands to her feet. She’s brushing off her jeans when the same whistles tune is repeated back to her a few hundred yards to the East. Riley. 

They’d come up with this tactic a few years back, where once one of them had finished up for the day, they let out a whistle to let the other know of their completion. Then, if the sound reaches the other, they’ll return it.

They split up like this because Ellie requires quiet in order to hunt whereas Riley tends to make quite a bit of ruckus during her wood-chopping. Ellie’s still gathering her things when a twig snaps a few feet away. She doesn't need to look up to know who it is.

“What’d you catch?” Riley asks as she approaches her from behind.

“Nothing good.” She admits. “Just squirrels and rabbits.”

“That’s not bad, though.” 

“Yeah, animals are so scarce today due to all the people’s proximity to the treeline. I could sometimes catch the sound of their talking. Even from way out here.” Ellie says as she finishes packing up and turns to face Riley, who’s holding an armful of chopped wood. “Here, turn around.”

Without question, Riley does. Ellie unzips the bag and holds out a hand for a piece of wood. Riley passes it back to her and she loads the wood one-by-one into the pack. She then adds the axe and zips it — well, partially. A few inches of the handle remains sticking out, though it’s doubtful anyone will question the contents of the bag. Not when so much is going on today.

They head back to the mouth of the woods, making sure to return the bow and quiver into the hollowed log on their way by. In minutes, they’re emerging from the trees and walking back through the streets, which appear to have grown even busier in their absence. They’d walked in silence the entire way.

“Welp.” Riley says once they’ve reached Ellie’s porch and she’s returned the bag — which has tripled in weight with the addition of the axe and wood. “See you at the Reaping?”

She sighs dramatically, “I guess so. Not like I want to go anyway.”

“Marlene would fucking kill you.” Riley laughs and Ellie joins in, imagining the enraged expression on Marlene’s face had she not shown up. She couldn't get away with it regardless, though. Riley was right when she said the Peacekeepers would either imprison or hang her. It’s happened to someone before — an old man ripped from his home and put in an icy cold cell for the rest of his short life. He’d apparently used the excuse of saying he was in a wheelchair, but that wasn't enough for the District’s law enforcement as they claimed he could easily be wheeled to the square. So, yeah, maybe the jokes of Ellie not showing up shouldn’t be pondered on but so much.

Once Riley has left, Ellie grabs her key from the top of a nearby windowsill. She notices that it’d moved a few inches to the left. Cat. She unlocks the door and enters her home, almost screaming to see the silhouette of a woman standing in her kitchen. Though she quickly regains normalcy when she recognizes the person’s frame.

“Fuck, Marlene.” She curses, putting a hand to her chest as she — as subtly as possible — slips the bag from her shoulders and places it on the floor next to the door. “You scared me.”

Marlene is wearing a dress, a nice one. The neck is in a deep V shape that shows off her collarbones and shoulders. The sleeves come to her elbows, the skirt to her mid-calves. It’s a soft maroon color, complimenting her dark skin and brown eyes beautifully. Ellie would accolade her for it had she not known it was for the Reaping and thereby the Capitol. However, being aware of that fact rather mars the beauty of her accentuated appearance.

Marlene turns to face her with a frown, “What were you two doing?”

“Seriously?” Ellie groans, walking over to grab a glass cup from the cabinet over Marlene’s head, having to shift around her to do so. “I was hanging out with my best friend before we witness two people being shipped off to die. Do I truly have to walk you step-by-step through everything I do?”

“Yes.” She begins filling the cup with faucet water, Marlene looming like a shadow over her shoulder. When Ellie doesn’t respond, she frowns. “Whatever. I don’t even care what you guys were doing, I just seek the consolation of knowing it was safe.”

“I’m an adult, Marlene. When will you–”

“Was it safe, Ellie?” She repeats, tone growing more agitated. 

“Yes.” She replies, the lie coming easy to her now. After all this time of being untruthful, it’s nearly second nature to withhold the truth from her mother-figure whenever she’s pestered on this recurring topic. She has a great poker face, too.

 She raises her brows as she takes a sip from her glass, peering at her from over the rim.

“Was it legal?” She questions and Ellie nearly spits out her water. Marlene scoffs at her reaction. “Okay, so I got my answer.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to!” She crosses her arms and gives Ellie that disapproving mom expression that could make anybody feel remorse. Ellie places her glass on the counter and holds her gaze, trying her hardest not to falter under it. “I assume you saw how many Peacekeepers are here, Ellie.”

“I’d be an idiot to not notice them.” She grumbles defiantly, sounding far more childlike than she’d care to admit. Marlene always manages to bring this side out of her — a scorned child who has no choice but to agree with everything she says. Despite how hard she tries to be mature and release herself from Marlene’s iron fist, it’s so far been proven impossible.

“So what were you thinking? I don’t care for the details of what you guys go out doing everyday so long as it’s legal.” She says. “You know that. It’s one of my only rules for you.”

The acknowledgement of their daily repetition is enough for Ellie to stiffen, not having realised Marlene even noticed their outings. However, now that she’s thinking of it, it makes sense. They've been doing this same routine for three years now. You’d have to be a fool to not notice. And Marlene is no fool.

“I know, I just–”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, cutting Ellie off with a sigh. “Just go wash up. I don’t want you smelling like a dead animal for the Reaping.”

The closeness in her comparison of the miasma to a corpse is nigh to laughable. Except it’s not. Because Marlene is unnerving. She cares for Ellie more than anything, yes, but she’s absolutely terrifying in her vehement need to protect her. 

But Ellie is an adult now. She doesn’t need protection.

Despite this, she follows her orders and trudges off to the bathroom, making sure to scoop up her backpack on her way down the hall.

She discards the bag of wood and lays the dead squirrel and rabbit corpses out on her bedroom floor. Normally, she’d place them in the kitchen to ready them for gutting but that’s, clearly, not a viable option. If Marlene were to see the quarry from their expedition, she’d absolutely lose her head. First, she’d force Ellie and Riley to get a job, and likely a boring one. She’d forbid them from using the forest for income. And, in those two short acts of discipline, Ellie’s life would be over. The woods are her home; her place of solace. Without it, who is she?

She then heads into the bathroom and takes a bath, scrubbing all the dirt and grime from her skin before redressing into something a bit more fancy — though it’s definitely not Capitol material as everyone else typically aims for. She’s simply wearing a nicer pair of jeans and a flannel. The collar and buttons make it fancy. Kinda.

When she returns to the kitchen, she’s still drying her hair with the towel. Marlene looks her up and down and frowns, though she says nothing. 

See, if one is Reaped today, they’re taken to the Capitol. As such, they’re traditionally expected to wear their nicest clothes to the Reaping, just in case their name is drawn. But Ellie cares naught to make any lasting impressions on the Capitol, so she doesn’t give a shit what she wears. The sole reason she’s wearing even a button up is to please Marlene enough so she’s not forced into something else. 

Because, when she was fourteen, she tried to wear a t-shirt to the Reaping and was instantly reprimanded. As punishment, she had to wear something Marlene picked out. Needless to say, never again will she do that. Even now Riley laughs at her for the outfit, though Marlene insists it was the most distinguished Ellie had ever looked. She begs to differ.

“Okay, you ready?” Marlene asks.

Ellie shrugs, “Yeah.”

They head down to the square, the entirety of District seven doing the same. The waves of people grow larger and larger the closer they get to the square until it’s practically a tsunami of them. Once they reach their destination, they pause and turn to each other. Marlene looks down at Ellie, a glint of something unreadable behind her gaze, almost as though she wishes to say something to her prior to parting ways. But instead of voicing whatever it is that’s weighing on her, she just pats her shoulder and walks away.

The crowd is sorted by generation. Everyone between the ages of twelve and fifty are required to be within the crowd as their names are among those able to be Reaped. The younger kids are positioned closest to the stage whilst the older crowd is near the back. Ellie stands with her age group, picking at the peeling skin around her nails as she awaits the ceremony’s exordium. 

The stage before them has been added purely for the Reaping, as it’s not usually present. Atop it resides a podium, a table with a bowl of tiny slips of papers, and three chairs at the back of the stage — one for the District’s mayor, one for the escort, and one for the mentor of this year’s tributes. Camera crews are perched like buzzards atop the neighboring buildings, readying themselves to document the coming show. Each District is going through the exact same procedure. Tonight, each footage will be broadcasted across all televisions in the country.

About twenty more minutes pass, the square growing supplementarily crowded with each passing second. When the clock strikes twelve, three people are in their corresponding chairs. Ellie hadn’t even noticed their arrival. 

The mayor, whose name she doesn’t know despite having heard it repeated throughout her entire life, sits in the far right chair, his jaw set as he overlooks the citizens. The District escort resides in the center chair, a Capitol woman with bright blue hair and a smile that’s so pearly white that it’s almost inhuman — Ellie doesn’t know her name either. The only person whose name she’s sure of is the man sitting in the left chair. That’s Joel Miller. The victor of the 56th Games. Word is, he’s not a pleasant man. Though, Ellie supposes no sane victor would be. Returning from a murderous arena after all other twenty-three tributes have fallen must be the emptiest feeling known to man. She has a deep respect for Joel, despite never having properly met him.

The mayor steps up to the podium and begins reading off his script. The story of how their country came to be. Ellie tunes it out, instead glancing around the crowd for Cat. It takes her an embarrassingly long time before she remembers that she’s absent from the ceremony due to her being the District seven stylist this year. Ellie turns back to the stage just as the escort steps up to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Says she. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!” 

The slogan has grown old and worn out by now, everyone having heard it an indefinite quantity of times. Ellie wouldn’t be surprised if she mumbles it in her sleep. 

Once more, she finds herself tuning out the rest of the woman’s speech. Despite her lack of listening not resulting in anything beneficial, it makes her feel better. Like she’s showing the Capitol that they don’t control her. Not like the Capitol gives a fuck if one measley twenty-one year old is tuning out the speeches. But whatever. It makes her feel ameliorated and that’s all that matters.

“Here we go.” The escort says before diving her hand into the bowl of names. The glass sphere is packed full with slips of paper, each one reading a citizen’s name. The entire square is holding their breath as they await the name. The entire country is — as every District is being Reaped at the same time. The woman pulls a slip of paper from the bowl and reads it aloud with a grin. “Riley Abel.”

Ellie’s heart drops to her stomach, body frozen in place as the name is spoken. The world feels far away as she watches Riley walk up the stage and stand beside the escort. Riley’s chin is held high, her eyes dullened; they lack the vibrancy that Ellie adores so much. She’s the epitome of strength, standing on that stage as she’s set to be broadcasted across the entire country. 

Ellie knows that expression though. Riley isn’t sad or mourning. She’s pissed.

Fuck. She should have done something. But it all happened so fast. And now the escort’s hand is diving right back into the bowl for a second tribute.

“Aaaand,” She sing-songs before lifting her head joyously, “Ellie Williams.”

11:46.

DISTRICT 4.

“Again.” Your mother’s tone is sharp as a dagger as she thumps the end of her cane against tiled flooring, demanding more, more, more from you. Her voice is tinny, filed through an intercom overhead. To your left is a one-way mirror that scales the entire 20ft wall, through which she pedantically watches your every movement. Though you’re unable to see her, she sees you. And that fact in itself is enough to make you vigilent.

Sweat coats your skin as you reposition yourself, squaring your shoulders and planting your feet in preparation. Your expression is hardened, purposefully so under your mother’s gaze. Her scrupulousness is nigh to tangible, made palpable by the heavy weight on your shoulders, the stiffness in your muscles, the tell-tale feel of her eyes scanning you. 

Then, in a flash of flickering blue, holographic opponents begin to charge at you. These humanoid figures are translucent in visibility, but their hits land just as genuinely in spite of their pellucidity. You’ve been fighting them all morning — another cause of the fatigue in your bones.

A few sessions prior, you’d been permitted the use of weapons. Your mother had instructed you to train with each one interchangeably. She wished to see which you were best and worst at — which ended up being throwing daggers and a trident, respectively. The daggers allow you close-combat, which you’re rather skilled at, as a product of these training sessions, whereas the trident’s weight is off balanced and leaves you fumbling with it for a few seconds prior to use. She soon grew bored with the weapons, though, and instructed you to fight bare handedly. Just to be sure you can. 

There are currently three holograms presented to you — one with a burly build, one with a dainty build, and one that resides between the two. 

The muscular opponent is the first to strike, swinging a right hook toward your jaw. You dodge it, ducking easily under its arm. Whilst straightening back up, the smaller figure grabs you by the hair. Your head is yanked backward. You whip around, snatching the figure by the wrist and throwing its body over your head onto the floor. It lands with a hard thud before you bring the heel of your boot down onto its throat. With a light puff of air, the hologram disintegrates.

One down, two left.

Without a moment’s pause, you spin around to face the other two diaphanous forms. The intermediate combatant surges forward, arm reeled back in preparation for a punch. You swerve out of its way, the figure staggering forward as it misses you by a mere three inches. You kick it in the back of the legs, sending the hologram on its knees. You’re positioned behind it, pulling it into a headlock. 

The sounds it makes is eerily human as it coughs and sputters, blue fingers grasping with desperation at your forearm. You’re used to this though, the cruel personification behind these lifeless things. You snap its neck with a deafening crack. It disappears.

Two down, one left.

When you turn around, the burly one is already behind you. It’s at least three times your size, but you’re undeterred. You stand upright and ready your fists. 

With a grunt, it charges toward you. You sidestep, but it anticipates this and turns in unison. You back away, putting yourself out of reach, your arms coming up to block your face. It swings and you duck subsequently. While crouched, you grab its left calf and pull, lifting the leg uncomfortably high. The oversized figure hops awkwardly on its right limb. You then hook your foot behind the ankle of the remaining leg it’s balancing on, sending it plummeting toward the ground. 

You’re quick to position yourself atop it, straddling the hologram’s chest. It thrashes beneath you, squirming around like a trapped insect. It’s only a matter of time before it throws you aside due to uneven weight advantages. But you had surprised it and therefore withhold the ascendancy. So, while you still have the upper hand, you lift your leg and drive your knees into its neck. With a gag, the hologram vanishes.

Done.

Your chest aches with exertion, lungs fighting for air as you pant. As such, you remain with your knees on the black matted floor in an attempt to catch your breath. You’ve been killing these things on repeat for the past three hours, your mother having woken you at seven in the morning to train. 

Frayed hair clings to dampened skin as sweat traces lines down your face. It drips from your chin onto the floor beneath you. Your pants and tank top are soaked, causing you to feel gross and sticky. You yearn for a shower.

You oftentimes have to remind yourself that your mother means well, that she’s pushing you so hard because she cares. But, at times like these — where your body is on the verge of collapse — you find yourself questioning her morality.

“You’re getting slow.” Comes her voice through the speaker system, as though on cue with your thoughts. A tap of her cane against the floor is heard prior to that singular word you dread so vehemently. 

“Again.”

It's truly no shock that you’re growing amble considering how long you’ve been at it. But to protest your mother’s orders would be a death wish. You’re still catching your breath as you push yourself to your feet, fully expecting another hoard of holograms to appear. 

Though, in their stead, a spear materializes before you. It’s equally as holographic as the figures you’re fighting, blue and crackling, but it kills them just as viable as you would.

As you lean over to pick it up, something kicks you hard in the base of your back. The force of impact sends you to the floor. Your elbows take the brunt of your fall, causing you to feel rather grateful for the mat. Still in a heap, you whip to face the perpetrator. A hologram; a singular female figure with a lean build. 

You should’ve known better than to let your guard down.

You glance at the spear concurrently, the weapon lying at a perfect distance between you two. Without vacillation, you hurriedly crawl toward it. The figure notices and kicks you hard in the face, its shoe slamming into the bridge of your nose. You land hard on your back as a wave of pain shoots through you, warm liquid tracing down your face. 

By the time you regain your sense, the hologram is thrusting the stolen weapon toward you. You roll out of its way, though the blade manages to slice your bicep. With a reverberated thud, the spearhead burrows into the mat where your head had just been.

You push to your feet, tugging the spear out of the cushioned floor. Now armed, you turn to the hologram. It doesn’t have a face but if it did, you’re sure it’d be glaring at you. The two of you circle one another like vultures, the hologram waiting for you to attack whilst you wait for the perfect angle. Then, once you’re positioned to your liking, you strike. You throw the spear at the diaphanous form. 

The blade whizzes through the air too fast for it to dodge, too fast for anyone to dodge. Your aim is undeniably precise as the point wedges right between your opponents eyes. With that, it disintegrates alongside the spear.

Even once the combatant has elapsed, you remain in that position — chest heaving, brows furrows, fists balled. A metallic taste fills your mouth as your nose continues to bleed down your face, getting past your lips. Your bicep mocks it, crimson tracing down your arm.

You await your mother’s reprimand via the intercom. Instead, you hear the door click open and her cane tap against the floor with every other step. She remains in the doorway, not wishing to enter the abhorrent room. She stands expectantly until you walk up to her.

“Your fatigue impairs your ability to fight.” She tuts, wrinkled lip upturned in distaste. You don’t respond, lowering your head as you wordlessly accept her criticism. “Had you been in the arena and those figures sentient, you’d likely have been long gone. Debility is no excuse for inadequacy. L/ns don’t lose.”

You nod, knowing better than to defend yourself.

She goes through each of your performances, telling you how every one was worse than the last. A few times, she mentions your brother, comparing the two of you in a way that makes your chest cave. Ruben wouldn’t have gotten his arm cut, Ruben wouldn’t have had his hair pulled, Ruben wouldn’t have hesitated when she added a child hologram into the mix.

Once she’s had her fill of castigation, she waves a hand to dismiss you. 

Your first course of action is to shower. Since your mother woke you so early, you were unable to change or eat prior to training. You enter the bathroom, peeling your sweaty clothes from your skin before stepping into the cool water. Your presence tints the liquid pink with blood as your arm and face stain its cleanliness.

You stand in the shower for a long time, relishing in the feel of the water as you allow your mind to roam. Though, despite how hard you try not to think of it, your thoughts continuously lapse back to your mother’s ceaseless mentions of your brother, her favored child.

See, Ruben won the 67th Hunger Games when he was only thirteen years old, becoming a legend in the Capitol and the light of your parents’ lives. He is the Capitol’s favorite victor, deemed the most attractive man in the country. Anyone would die to get a moment of his time, of his attention. People who the Capitol favor, idolize, and center their entire lives around are known as a ‘Capitol Diamond’. And Ruben is the shiniest of them all.

Your father won his Games two years prior to Ruben when you were only six, so you never knew him all that well. The memories you do have of him are rather bitter, invoking flashes of flailing fists and deafening shouts. Though, acting as a warm blanket to the chill of your father’s acerbity, Ruben appears in your memories like a deity. He’d cover your ears when your parents’ shouting bounced off the marble walls; he’d argue with your father whenever he’d hit you for breaking something trivial; he’d always take your side, even if you did technically break that vase. As a child, Ruben was an angel sent from above. But, now that you’re older, you know better than to deem him as such.

Anyway. Ruben and your father’s triumphs earned them both irrevocable places in the Capitol as diamonds as well as homes in District four’s Victor’s Village — leaving you and your mother to live alone in the house of which you were raised. In fact, your entire lineage is among the victors, aunts and uncles and cousins all diamonds of the Capitol and residents of the village. Well, most of them. Some of your relatives moved to higher Districts after their Games, seeking as much proximity to the Capitol as possible.

A L/n has never lost the Games, not in the entire seventy-three years they’ve been running. The mere thought of someone in your family failing to prevail is something unprecedented. 

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself into a towel, grabbing a suture kit from the cabinet under the sink. You pop it open and sit on the closed toilet seat before threading the needle. You’ve stitched yourself up plenty of times, the damned holograms annoyingly good at what they’re made to do — challenge you. 

By the time you’ve finished and your bicep is newly adorned in neat stitching, it’s one o’clock. You only have a short bit of time before the Reaping. As you put the kit back into the cabinet, a second thought dawns on you. 

Fuck! You think, eyes widening almost comically. Mister Alden will be here in ten minutes.

You tighten your towel around your body before padding down the hall to your bedroom. It’s overlarge, making you feel small. The walls are white with golden mouldings, the floors are made of marble tiles. To some, your family’s mansion would be a dream come true. Though, to you, it feels more like a prison than a home. It has ever since your brother left.

Your mother had an Avox lay your Reaping outfit out on your bed. It’s blue — as most clothing made for District Four is. It’s made of a deep navy satin, jewels embedded into the fabric. It’s absolutely gorgeous and you hate it.

Though, your personal thoughts on clothing matter naught. You once tried arguing with your mother on how extravagant your clothes were, saying it was ridiculous when people in lower Districts struggle for food. That comment earned you a week with minimal food. She said that if you pitied the peasants so greatly, she’d gladly treat you like one, claiming empathy to be far more valuable than sympathy. You’d never made another comment on your clothes again after that.

Though, you both knew her anger was rooted far deeper than your mere clothing preference. It was rooted in the underlying criticism you’d made in regards to the governing of your country — the unfair hierarchy of Districts. You never made a political comment after that, either. Not aloud anyway.

You pull the dress on, something symbolic always laced within the act of holding your tongue. 

Each curve and stitch is made specifically for your body, fitting perfectly. Trading fish in this gown will make for an odd sight, but you haven’t a choice. Mister Alden should be here any minute and the Reaping begins in less than an hour; multitasking is your only option.

The halls are just as pristine as your bedroom, walls decorated with fine art and the tile floor kept sparkling. Thanks to the unpaid Avoxes — which are former criminals whose punishments are to be made into servants for the Capitol. You live in the Districts, but your family is so cherished by Capitolites that you’re permitted to have an abundance of your own servants. Despite the fact that your mansion is tended to by over twenty Avoxes, you’ve never spoken to a single one. Not due to your own ignorance, but because their tongues are removed and they’re unable to speak.

One of them holds the door open for you on your journey out to the docks. You thank him shortly, though he doesn’t respond. 

Your house is beachfront, back porch providing a wooden path down to your own private piling dock. It’s unnecessarily fancy for your mother to inherit — who just happened to marry into a wealthy family — and you, who hasn’t even become a victor yet. And, if you’re never Reaped, you’ll have never deserved an ounce of what’s been given to you.

The path to the dock is a downward slope. Your house is built on a rocky cliff, hence the path’s existence. You hike your dress up as you rush down the wooden trail, though as soon as you do, you hear your mother’s past lectures ring through your head. “Never above the ankles!” She’d once said, slapping your hand with a stick to force you to drop the dress. Instinctively, you lower it.

You walk down to the dock, happy to see that it’s empty, Mister Alden not having yet arrived. Though, once you’ve reached the end of it, you hear the low hum of his boat’s motor putting through the salty water. He coasts up to the wooden structure. You reach out to catch him as the motor comes to a halt.

His boat is small, just big enough for one man to fit in. It’s made of metal with only one seat at the helm, situated beside the tilling outboard. 

Your family has bought from mister Alden all your life. When you were a kid and it was Ruben’s job to retrieve the fish, you would traipse behind him. You’d hobble behind him, small legs having to run in order to keep up with your elder brother's long gait. Then, once at the dock, you were rendered useless. You’d peer over mister Alden’s boat, nosily searching his belongings. You watched as Ruben would speak to mister Alden shortly, pay him graciously, hoist the net of seafood over his shoulder, then head back inside. Due to this, mister Alden watched you grow more than your own father had. And even though his presence is short and biweekly, you know the old man rather well.

Well enough to know that he has three grandkids and the oldest of them is a twelve year old girl whose first ever Reaping is today. 

“Oh, what a lovely outfit.” He smiles, crows feet creasing. He remains seated as you moor the boat to the cleats. The metal is so hot from endless days spent in the sun that it burns your hands at the touch. You don’t dare wince, knowing how fast mister Alden would rush to your aid. You’re sure he has enough on his plate what with his granddaughter. “I can carry the fish inside, if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you staining such a stunning dress.”

“It’s okay.” You’re quick to assure him, offering your hand to help him out of the boat once it’s tied off. He takes it, the man nigh senile in his old age. His hand shakes slightly as he steps onto the dock. “I can get the fish, mister Alden, I don’t mind.”

He smiles kindly, “You remind me so much of your brother.”

You don’t respond. You know he’s only saying that out of kindness, he has to be. Your mother ceaselessly reminds you of how different the two of you are. You try to ignore the comment as you lean over the boat to pull the huge net of fish from the creased hull. They’re blue in color, almost mimicking that of your dress, though their scales shine silver in the sunlight.

“Did you ever hear the story of Ruben’s first Reaping?” Mister Alden asks as you drop the net onto the dock, pausing to converse with him for a while despite knowing it’s a bad idea with your lack of time. “He only attended two Reapings, that poor boy. But his first one, I’ll never forget. It was the first time I met your mother, too, the nasty woman. He was out here retrieving fish, as our exchanges always seem to fall on Reaping Day. He was only twelve, but so determined to carry the fish all on his own. I offered my help at least a hundred times, to which he refused each one. He was strong, though, for his size. He managed to carry them all the way to the porch before the net caught on a twig and the fish fell all the way back down the pathway. Every single one.”

Your eyes widen. You recall this, though the memory is rather blurry to you as you were only seven at the time. That, and also because most of your memories with Ruben are tainted, not to be trusted in your bias. 

“What’d my mother do?” You ask, unable to help your childlike curiosity from rearing its head.

“Well,” He chuckles, though it lacks any sense of humor. “She wasn't happy, that’s for sure. Ruben instantly began to cry when he saw the effects of his mistake. I tried to assure him that it was okay and I could always deliver more fish, but he said that’s not why he was sad. He wasn’t mourning the loss of the fish. Instead, he was terrified of what your mother would do to him.” Mister Alden shakes his head, grey brows turned in an expression of dispirit. “No child that small should fear his own parent so vehemently.”

You frown. In every aspect where your mother lacks morality, mister Alden has a myriad of it. The old man is practically overflowing with sympathy at all times. He’d always treated you and Ruben as his own, offering comfort whenever you seek it and kind words whenever you forget they even exist.

Just as he’s about to continue his story, your mother’s voice is heard. It’s shrill as she shouts your name. Chills trace down your spine at the sound. Mister Alden gives you a pitying expression before you pass him a small pouch of coins for payment, lift the net over your shoulder, and begin the trek back up to your porch. The sound of his motor starting up carries through the air as you approach your mother.

She’s wearing a baby blue dress, just as fancy as yours — if not more. Her usual wooden cane has been swapped out for a fancier golden one. Her hair is done up in a neat braid, gold heeled shoes adorning her wrinkled feet. 

She shoots you a scowl before entering the house, dropping the door on you despite knowing you’re carrying a huge weight of seafood. It slams into your side, the corner of it landing on your stitched bicep. You wince, struggling for only a moment before an Avox rushes to your aid and holds it wide for you. You don’t dare thank her in front of your mother.

You enter the kitchen, placing the bag of fish onto the marble counter.

“We have less than twenty minutes before the Reaping!” She spits, rage evident in her tone as she watches you set it down. “Your feet are dirty and bare, your hair is matted, and you reek of fish!”

“I didn’t—” You begin, though you’re quick to stop yourself, remembering her order of not speaking unless asked to do so.

A sharp pain shoots through your cheek as she slaps you across the face for having spoken out of turn. You lower your head, mouth now sealed shut. She turns to give orders to the Avoxes — instructing two of them to put your hair up, one to put your shoes on, and three to gut and clean the fish prior to your return from the Reaping.

They’re quick to do so, rushing around to oblige.

You’re directed to a stool, two servants doing your hair into some intricate design whilst another crouches in front of you to slip on your shoes. They’re a pair of silver heels that match the jewels on your dress. In record time, the other two complete the updo, holding out a hand mirror for you to examine the design. Two thin braids wrap around the crown of your head, a neat bun resting at the nape of your neck. It’s beautiful considering how little time they had.

“I love it.” You whisper, quiet enough only they can hear it.

Your mother approaches you, thankfully not having heard your words of thanks. She circles around you, looking at the hairdo before she tuts, “It’ll do.”

The journey to the town square is only a few minutes. Though, as you walk beside your mother in deafening silence, it feels like an eternity. Everyone knows who the two of you are, the entirety of the Capitol fond of your family lineage. Their eyes are wide as they watch you and your mother pass through the streets. See, due to your partnership with mister Alden and your large quantity of Avoxes, neither of you ever leave the house unless it’s mandatory, which only adds to the peoples’ astonishment. Not to mention your unnecessarily extravagant clothing. Most people are only wearing plain gowns or linen shirts whereas you two look like you’re about to meet a monarch. It’s humiliating.

Your mother loves the attention, basking in it. You, on the other hand, feel as though it’s rather embarrassing.

You reach the square and part ways with her, wordlessly joining your respective age groups.

Your shoulders are set and your chin is raised as you know everyone is staring. Their gazes feel like spiders crawling all over your body. You fucking hate it, the prestige. Especially since you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were just born into the family. To you, nothing makes you any different from the people living in the hovels of your District. Even in other Districts. The only thing that separates you from a starving child in Twelve is chance.

Mayor Marriott steps up to the podium and she tells the story of your country’s origin. You already know it by heart, having been taught by your father to memorize it at a young age. Her hair is platinum blonde, younger than most District mayors, though she’s just as strict. Her father was the mayor before her, causing her to take over the career. You oftentimes wonder if she hates lineage inheritance just as much as you do. You doubt it.

Following her speech comes the District escort. You know her by name, you know everyone in the Capitol by name. That’s Alice Reymond. Her hair is bigger than her head, her eyes adorned by lashes longer than her fingers. Capitolites are fucking weird, looking more like disfigured abstract pieces than human beings.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Exclaims Alice Reymond. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

She goes on to tell a speech on how much of an honor it is to serve as this District’s escort. Though every escort says that, you’re sure she means it more so than any others. Escorts are paid based on how many victors their District is able to produce. And, what with your family’s abundance of them, you’re sure she’s swimming in more cash than even District One’s escort is. However, more importantly, the bragging rights must be immeasurable.

Behind the podium of which she stands, mayor Marriott watches with a piercing gaze. Her blue eyes are intimidatingly sharp as she overlooks the crown. Though, the man sitting in the mentor’s chair has a gaze even sharper than she. 

Ruben. Your brother.

He’s tasked with training and keeping the tributes alive each year. He’s rather good at it. And, even when he fails, nobody blames him. How could they when he’s so perfect? You tune out Alice Reymond’s speech, taking in the sight of your brother after having not seen him in years. The closest you’ve gotten to talking to him is watching interviews on the television. 

His features are almost a perfect copy of yours — the same nose shape, same hair and eye color, same lips. But he’s got a certain look to him that erases any sort of similarities you two happen to share. A certain Capitolistic look. His eyes are highlighted with golden eyeliner, all the wrinkles in his face surgically removed. The brother you’d cherished all those years ago no longer exists. In his place sits the shell of a man. A Capitolite and thereby not your brother.

“Here we go!” Alice Reymond grins, yanking your thoughts back to the Reaping. She then begins digging her inhumanly long fingers through the bowl of names. She pulls out a slip of paper and smiles widely before calling it out. “Remy Wilson!”

The crowd murmurs lowly, looking around for the owner of the name. A pause. Nobody steps forward. Then, two Peacekeepers suddenly storm into the crowd and rip a little boy from his parents. The boy, Remy, is frozen in place, unmoving. The Peacekeepers pull him up to the stage. He’s crying, as he stands on the elevated space, trembling under the gazes of the District. Of the country.

He can’t be older than twelve. His cheeks are rounded, his big brown eyes even rounder. His skin is pale with a rosy nose, his wavy hair is an ashy brown that forms a messy crown of innocence around his head. Ruben is watching the boy closely, likely examining whether or not he’ll survive the arena. The answer is obvious, though. This child won’t be making it out.

“And for our second tribute,” Continues Alice Reymond. She pulls another paper from the bowl, her eyes widening slightly as she reads it. A great, pearly smile splits across her face before her spider-like eyes land on you. Your heart sinks.

You already know what she’s going to say when she calls out your name.

[post] notes!! While dual POV will be in this story, this is the only time I'll be showing two perspectives of the same event. This chapter followed Ellie and the reader both experiencing the reaping. It was needed for the plot but grew repetitive at the end, I promise this is the only time that'll happen 🤞 Also, this was a shit ton of exposition & I apologize for that, but the backstory of both characters are very needed. You def needed to see Ellie's relationship w everyone around her as well as have explanatory bg with the reader's family and everything. Also x2, I hope the amount of dialogue in Ellie's pov made up for the lack thereof in the reader's pov. I hate reading huge paragraphs of straight monologue so I try to refrain from writing it, but sometimes it's unavoidable (bc reader literally has nobody to talk to) Anyway, hope you enjoyed!!

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[sixosix]

SOMETHING HAPPENS | XIAO

summary verr goldet and huai'an playing matchmaker, basically

warnings wc 1.7k, this fic is xiao pretty much watching over reader in his very xiao way so if you’re not into stalking elements pls don’t read LMFAO + xiao having a crushhh

You’ve felt the looming presence of someone watching you ever since you’ve set foot in Liyue.

It wasn’t anything sudden—in fact, no ordinary human being would have noticed it. But you’ve been trained to deal with all sorts of animals, from wild Rishboland Tigers down to slippery Red-Tailed Lizards. You could sense the tiniest snap of twigs and freshly fallen leaves that could have only occurred from an interference.

And having dealt with animals for so long, you can safely conclude that whatever has been following you for the past ten days is definitely not an animal. If it were, it would’ve been some skilled predator that somehow disappears into thin air when you steal a glimpse. The only possible trace you could find is the barely discernible mark on the dirt.

It also helped your Vision gave you the blessing of being attuned to the wind and the shift of air from a heavy presence.

You thought you’d be dead by the fifth day of your stay—murdered by this newly-acquired stalker of yours, but nothing happened. You asked (politely, with a please) this person to reveal themselves and save you both the trouble, but nothing happened.

You even went as far as to throw yourself into the first hilichurl camp you saw to see if anything happened, yet while you were defending yourself against one, all of them fell to the ground limp once you turned back to them. You search for more camps nearby, but they’ve all been cleared—and all of them were freshly beaten as if your stalker made quick work once they figured out what you were up to.

“It’s hard to tell if you’re out to protect me instead of murdering me if you don’t show yourself,” you say to the empty field, hoping for at least one answer, but nothing happens.

You suppose all that matters is that it’s hard to feel lonely with the constant presence.

“You been hanging around Wangshu Inn lately?” asks the man you went up to. It is in case you weren’t alone in what seemed to be the beginning plot of a horror movie. At your reluctant nod, he snorts, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one? Or perhaps it’s the complete opposite if you’ve been up to no good and disrespected an Adeptus.”

You don't understand what this man’s point is. You’ve briefly heard of the term ‘Adepti’ floating around Liyue, but you’re not quite sure if it’s one person or something else entirely. Have you done something to offend any deities in Liyue? All you’ve really been up to is researching the wildlife and tracking down the stalker. 

“What does Wangshu Inn have to do with this?”

“Why don’t you ask and find out yourself?”

You frown. “It would save me hours if you just tell me now.”

“I already told you what I know, kid,” says the man to you, a full-grown adult. “But I suppose I can let you in on one secret: you’ve piqued the interest of someone.”

This man is crazy.

You sigh. You’ve only been hanging around Wangshu Inn for shelter, but the sun is setting a little too fast, and the warm lights and delicious aroma of their food are starting to speak to you—you suppose there is no other way.

Making your way up to an inn has never been more interesting.

While walking, you belatedly realize that you feel the presence of the stranger again. It’s stronger than before, says the winds, and they never lie with what they touch as they fly by.

You also take it upon yourself to ask the merchants and customers alike, calling yourself new and curious as to what they know about the Adeptus lingering around Wangshu Inn.

“An Adeptus? All I know is that this inn is hiding a mysterious secret, but none of us have really gotten to a point where we found more about it.”

A secret.

You’d really prefer if the man you met before weren’t lying, as you would want your stalker to at least be some sort of god than an ordinary human being who has been watching you for no other reason.

You mull this information in your head as you climb up the inn. And then your limbs lock in place once you hear a voice. It speaks to you, for some unknown reason—as if the winds have quieted down to make you listen. You’re not sure if it’s the rasp or the absolute command his voice demands that gets to you, but—

“The next person to come here will ask about me. You will say you know nothing about my whereabouts.”

Then, a new, feminine voice speaks up. It breaks the brief trance you’ve been under. “…Is this the same person you’ve been watching over for the past two weeks, Adeptus Xiao?”

Adeptus Xiao. Watching over…?

Yet when you pick up pace and hurry to the counter, it’s just a woman alone, wide-eyed as she looks at you as if you were the one acting stranger.

“Sorry,” you blurt. “I’m, ah… I thought…”

Were you really just imagining that? No. That’s impossible.

The lady smiles. “I’ve seen you around the Inn recently. My name is Verr Goldet, the boss here at Wangshu Inn.”

“Oh, yes, nice to meet you.” Embarrassed, you choose to stare at the cat resting on the edge of her desk. You wonder if that cat can sense your distress; it’s blinking up at you innocently, surely the eyes of someone who has witnessed what you’ve missed. “My name’s Y/N, and I wanted to book a room…”

Verr Goldet brightens, but you suppose anyone receiving a customer would be, too. “I see. Have you considered the room on our highest floor?”

“Not…really?”

She hums, then smiles like she's letting you in on a little secret. “You should. If not, then at least consider climbing up the stairs and see the view for yourself. Most of my customers book rooms solely for that reason.”

That does sound appealing, and you have time to spare. “I will; thank you for the suggestion.”

Pleased, Verr Goldet turns to her desk to assumably book you a room. In the silence, you find your voice, “Hey, boss.”

You look up, and Verr Goldet’s eyes are sparkling. “Hm, yes? Oh, your expression looks terrified.” She laughs, sliding a key across the desk and urging you to take it. “I’m just used to correcting people who call me ‘boss lady’. What was your question?”

“Well, I’m pretty new, and—I’ve heard something interesting about this place.”

“There are a lot of rumors about this place. You’d have to be more specific.”

She might either kick you out from where you’re standing or understand what you’re about to say. “Well, ever since I arrived here at Wangshu Inn I always felt like I was being watched over… and then a man I met outside from here told me that there’s an Adeptus nearby?”

“I see. So you’ve met my husband,” she smiles knowingly. “You’re not from Liyue, aren’t you?” You shake your head. “Usually, no one knows about this, but my husband must’ve caught it, too. You’re looking for Adeptus Xiao, and I have noticed that he’s been lingering a lot more recently. More so than usual—I’ve concluded it’s ever since you arrived.”

“Should I be scared?” Because you’re not. Your heart is pounding. It’s a little messed up, but the thought of someone so highly esteemed having noticed you sends a thrill down your spine.

“Of course not. Xiao is the slayer of demons—he keeps Liyue and, most notably, this Inn safe from harm. Of course, I can’t blame your curiosity: no one else has seen Xiao with their own eyes.”

“Am I correct in assuming my stalker could be this Adeptus?”

Verr Goldet laughs. “Why don’t you head up and find out?”

Breathtaking is the first thought that crosses your mind as you finally reach the terrace. You can’t hold back your elated gasp seeing the place from this height—the lanterns, the people, the scenery.

And then you say, “Adeptus Xiao, are you here? Verr Goldet told me you’d be.” She didn’t say it directly, but the implications were there.

The wind shifts as a presence materializes behind you. It’s an all-too-familiar feeling. Goosebumps arise in your arms, and it’s not from the breeze. You turn, and come face-to-face with the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

Xiao clicks his tongue, his pale skin tinted red. “I did not ask for them to resort to matchmaking.”

“You heard that? So you’re not denying that you’re the one who’s been stalking me ever so creepily?”

“Do not disrespect the Adepti with your accusations,” Xiao quickly retorts, like it’s second nature.

But you now know that one of the Adepti has a little crush on you, so you hardly care less about that at this point. “I’d say that invading my privacy is more disrespectful.”

Xiao’s silence embodies a scolded puppy.

You grin, stepping closer. It widens as Xiao stares at you warily, yet doesn’t disappear. The moonlight brings out the color on his face. He’s beautiful and acting unbelievably adorable. “It’s nice to meet you, Adeptus Xiao. Thank you for protecting me during my stay in Liyue.”

It must’ve been the sincerity in your voice that has him clearing his throat, scrambling for some sense of control again. “It’s—It’s my duty.”

“To watch over one person in particular?”

Xiao glares weakly, caught red-handed. “Do not get so presumptuous.” He says, yet he hasn’t disappeared into thin air while talking to you, unlike what Verr Goldet says usually happens. That alone says a lot.

“It’s hard not to when you look at me like that.”

Xiao visibly startles, losing his calm composure by blinking. “How do I look at y—“

“I think I’ll be staying in Wangshu Inn for a little while longer,” you voice aloud, the grin on your lips never once faltering. “I’ll be in your care, Xiao.”

Xiao cannot, in fact, handle this, as his entire face goes up in flames, and he disappears into wisps of teal and black. You’re not too worried. You can still feel his presence, the way you’re already getting used to.

A/N OH MY GOD. A XIAO FIC. FINALLY. FROM SIXOSIX. SELF-PROCLAIMED XIAO MAIN... im shaking as i post this like im so nervous. and i hate this. but out of all the xiao fics i tried to write this one has been the one i actually completed without throwing out halfway through

[aventoru]

but i love you more

ft. itoshi rin

tags : misunderstanding/miscommunication, corporate worker!reader, proplayer!rin, awkwardness, rin being a coward, angst to fluff, rekindled love/second chance romance, happy ending!!

a/n : oh my god i'm finally finished with this fic (thank god) after it's been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS. i got the motivation to finish it in the dead of night yesterday so pls let it be worth it LOL.

highschooler!rin who is your first love. he’s there to support you in your dreams of living a simple life and pursuing a corporate job. you’re there to support him in football and his ambitions to go pro.

highschooler!rin whose brother traumatized him after getting back from spain. from then on, rin decides his ultimate goal is to surpass his brother in football and to fully achieve that, he has to break up with you.

highschooler!rin who lays awake staring at the ceiling that night, unable to fall asleep due to the rush of thoughts running through his head. he can feel himself spiraling, and he knows you don’t deserve to go through this. he has to let you go.

highschooler!rin breaks up with you the next day, stating his lame ass excuse of wanting to focus on his football career. in reality, he just doesn’t want you to get involved with him and all his negative feelings. you’re oblivious to all that he’s going through and simply accept that you’re second to football in his heart. you agree to breaking up, wishing him good luck and happiness in his future.

highschooler!rin who comes to realize how lonely he is after losing you. since you’ve been gone, his life has become dull and without life. rin feels empty without you by his side, but he knows it’s for the best.

or at least he thinks so.

proplayer!rin who regrets everything he’s done to you and misses you dearly. his love life has been rocky ever since you left, especially now that he’s famous and under the scrutiny of the media.

proplayer!rin whose recent breakup left his reputation in shambles. the public view him as someone talented and handsome, but his personality has too many flaws. “he’ll never find a girlfriend with such a personality” they say, when in fact, they know nothing about him.

proplayer!rin who realizes all the people who have dated him after you fail to understand him. he tries, of course, to be affectionate and doting and the perfect boyfriend. it’s never enough in their eyes. they always say he’s too distant and closed off. they’ve been with him for how long now and still don’t know anything about him. they’ve changed him.

proplayer!rin, having gone through many breakups and makeups, realizes quite a few things about love. he realizes love, or rather, people are complicated. he’s been through all of its troubles, from public scrutiny to betrayal. he discovers some only love him for his wealth and fame. and those who truly love him for who he is eventually leave him due to his lack of communication and emotional unavailability. he’s learned and grown from love.

but most importantly, proplayer!rin realizes he still loves you.

proplayer!rin who meets you again as part of a marketing campaign with your company. he finds out that you did achieve your goal of becoming a corporate worker as you are currently the manager of the marketing department.

proplayer!rin who is awkward when talking to you again after such a long time (and even pouts a little when you act like he’s a stranger).

proplayer!rin who tries to become friends with you, hoping that he’ll somehow be a part of your life. proplayer!rin who still sees the girl he crushed on in high school reminiscent inside the more mature you now. upon getting to know you and seeing how much you’ve changed, proplayer!rin finds himself falling even deeper for you.

you could sense him professing silent apologies to you through his actions as he complies with everything you ask him to do. for the first time in his career, proplayer!rin doesn’t complain one bit about doing pr.

ex!rin who finally manages to strike up a normal conversation with you a week into the campaign and totally doesn’t stutter one bit.

ex!rin who is surprised when you tell him you forgive him for breaking up with you in such a rude way considering his career did become incredibly successful (you don’t know how broken he is).

ex!rin who wants to tell you how much he regrets doing so but the words seem to be stuck in his throat.

ex!rin who begins subtly courting you again once he confirms his status as your…acquaintance.

ex!rin who finds himself buying you a (pretty expensive) gift on your birthday a few months after the campaign has ended. he spends the night before your birthday with you, wishing you a happy birthday right as the clock strikes twelve.

ex!rin who hands you your gift in his usual shy tsundere manner, not even daring to make eye contact with you. you accept it with a kind smile, even going as far as giving him a kiss on a cheek, but telling him to not take it the wrong way. ex!rin who blushes a bright red and finds color and happiness returning to his life at the slightest touch from you.

ex!rin who continues looking after you, inviting you to his games, taking you out to romantic dinners, buying you luxury items. but you feel like something is missing, it all seems so superficial. you eventually tell rin that you’re not friends with him for his luxury lifestyle and wealth, but rather for the highschooler!rin that you’d known.

ex!rin who finally pours his heart out to you one night, finally unveiling the trauma that sae caused back in his high school days. ex!rin who cries the most you’ve ever seen that night, claiming he regrets losing you so much. you’re moved by his words and actions these past few months, wanting to give him a second chance.

ex!rin who clings onto asks you to teach him how to love you again. to which you gently pat his head and agree.

friend!rin who is hesitant at first, reverting back to his shy and awkward self around you. yet you’re glad to see his boyish charm return, and you let him in, slowly but surely.

friend!rin who changes his ways and goes on more authentic hangouts with you. he cooks dinner for the both of you, goes on coffee dates, and watches movie marathons late into the night with you.

friend!rin who opens up about his career so far, talking about both his personal life and (unsuccessful) love life. he tells you about all the people he’s met and dated and (he avoids eye contact with you, a deep blush on his face) how he realizes you’re the best he’s ever had. you smile brightly at that, saying “i know.”

friend!rin who ends up giving you gifts again, but this time with much more meaning and sentiment tied to them. exhibit a : he saw the trend where people would make bouquets from scratch for their s/o and decided he had to do the same. you opened the door to rin holding a giant bouquet of your favorite flowers and an alarming amount of thorn pricks on his hand (you had to patch him up after).

friend!rin who unconsciously develops physical touch with you and only you. first it was just comfortably sitting next to each other. then it was the arm linking and casual hugs (that last a bit too long), which you consider to still be friendly gestures. but that somehow develops into intertwined hands and cuddling?? next thing you know he’s pressing himself up against you any chance he gets, resting his cheek against the crook of your neck.

this is definitely more than friends, but you don’t have to the heart to push rin away, especially when you know how hard it is for him to feel this comfortable after what happened with sae. and you would be lying if you said you aren’t enjoying it as well.

you also soon come to realize that itoshi rin is a coward. you two have been in this situationship for a month now and he still hasn’t come forward to ask you out like a proper person. so, you take matters into your own hands.

“what are we?” you ask him as you two are lazing on your couch, finding a movie to watch. “huh?” more-than-friends!rin turns to you. “i’m asking you what are we?” you make eye contact with him, “whatever this is has been going on for months and you’re not saying anything about it.”

more-than-friends!rin stays silent for a moment.

you almost think he’s chickening out and running away again when he suddenly whispers, “i wanna be your boyfriend.”

“hmm? i didn’t hear what you just said,” you push on.

“i said, i want to be your boyfriend!” he exclaims.

“okay!” you shout back.

everything falls silent. and then, boyfriend!rin pulls you down for a kiss.

loving you comes easy to boyfriend!rin. it’s like he’s breathing air. you two get off work, meet up for dinner (if your schedules permit), go on cute dates, and cuddle like it’s nobody’s business. he buys you cute things, you do the same. you travel together, eat together, and eventually sleep together when he asks you to move in. it’s different from all of the people he’s loved before.

he realizes that you do, in fact, love him the most.

[pascalsrps]

⋆˙⟡ — plot ideas !!

hey y'all!! i'm back at it again — meaning i'm bored, it's a dreary autumn, and i'm finding myself retreating back to cutsey fantasylands in my mind 🥰 listed below are a few plot ideas i've had in my notesapp for a while — as always, send an ask or a private message if you'd be interested in any of these up !! happy writing !!

childhood sweethearts (on the rocks)

a plot where muse a and muse b have been friends since childhood — here and there, they would have a one night stand, but never really allowed themselves to progress into anything more than just friends. now, as adults who are figuring out the dating scene isn’t as easy as their parents made it seem, muse a and muse b are seeing each other more and more frequently. eventually, muse a starts seeing someone new, and has less and less time for muse b. i’m talking jealousy, tension!!! muse b realizing maybe they’ve had feelings for muse a the whole time, muse a having to make tough decisions — either continue dating this new person or hurt muse b!!! i liiiiive for drama pls

childhood sweethearts (with a twist)

okay but a plot where close childhood friends reunite — except muse a was in love with muse b growing up, and muse b became muse a’s best friend’s high school sweetheart. muse a concealed their feelings for muse b all throughout their friendship, in high school & college, although both muses definitely had feelings & felt sparks for one another long before muse b started dating muse a’s best friend. despite the connection they’d felt, neither wanted to jeopardize any of the friendships between the three, and ultimately, muse b ended up married to muse a’s bff… except now, years later, muse a and muse b reunite at muse a’s best friend’s funeral. imagine the hurt of losing a loved one but having the comfort of yet another loved one?? blurred lines, tension, second-guesses…….

let me take care of you (southern charm)

okay so i’ve been kicking around a ranch hand plot where muse a is looking for help around the ranch they’ve just inherited due to a death in the family, and seeing as they’re just one person with lots of land, and virtually no knowledge on how to take care of it, it’s impossible to go it all on their own… enter muse b. muse b, a man who not only knows how to work the land but can take care of the ranch with ease, finds it impossible to not take care of muse a, while he's at it. just give me texan sunsets and lovers with low static music crooning in the background from some vinyl record please & ty

friends with benefits (with feelings)

a friends with benefits plot where muse a is dead-set, hellbent on not having a relationship and not getting too intimately involved with muse b; muse b has been in love with muse a for years, and muse a knows this, but still can’t bring themselves to get emotionally attached. i need tensionnnn and like, a lil toxicity ykwim??? for the angst omg 

will you come find me (after the after party?)

so hear me out — a plot where muse a and muse b met at a friend of a friend’s party & instantly hit it off. muse a is immediately infatuated with muse b — they laugh, talk, drink; they even make an incredible beer pong team. at some point during the night, muse a decides to put the moves on muse b. however, after leaving to get them some drinks, muse a comes back to find muse b kissing someone else… and to make it worse? it’s their boyfriend/girlfriend. tbh this plot could have the potential of a shakespearean comedy if we did it right akdjgh ok i'm talking messssssssyyyy 

you feel like home (but i’ve got a different address)

okay so i need a tense plot where muse a and muse b are soulmates, beyond the shadow of a doubt — but muse a is married to a nightmare of a spouse. little by little, they spend more time together one on one, but it’s getting increasingly harder for muse b to see muse a with their spouse, especially knowing how that spouse treats muse a. idk this is a rough plot/work in progress plot but i feel like it has potential to go somewhere!!!

— as always, send an ask or a private message if you'd be interested in any of these up!! happy writing 🥰🥰

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ lost in this green (and in your eyes)

pairing: wood nymph!joshua x gn!reader

genre: fluff, magic realism, meet cute, besties!97z

word count: 2371

warnings: brief mentions of fainting

notes: i just. i just love wood nymph!shua a lot okay pls he'd fit the concept so devastatingly well

summary: you're lost in the forest, and it's terrible and terrifying and you're all alone but then... well, you meet someone, and suddenly you find yourself wondering if fairytales and myths really are just tales.

"Lee Seokmin, you are so dead."

You turn around in a circle, looking around for any recognisable objects around you, desperately trying to find a way out. When you see none that could possibly mark out this section of the forest as different to where you’ve been traipsing through earlier, you sigh, frustrated. 

This was all Seokmin's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely his fault, but it was all his stupid dare to get you to fetch him a squirrel from the woods (what sort of dare was that, anyway?) and now… Well, now you're lost. 

It had all started when Mingyu had abruptly announced that you should go on an outing for fun, and then Minghao, being Minghao, had insisted that all four of you take a trip into the countryside for the outing, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere for a 'healing day out' in a field surrounded by trees. It had been fun, for all of one hour before you'd devolved into a game of truth or dare that had ultimately led you to venture into the surrounding trees to go catch a squirrel for Lee Seokmin. 

Oh, that guy really is so dead if you manage to make it out.

"Seokmin? Mingyu? Can anyone hear me?"

The wind rustles the leaves in reply, almost mocking, and distantly there's the sound of some insect creaking. Everything around you is green and brown, and even when you look up, the blue sky and bright sun is covered by the dense foliage. This is a little bit terrible. 

Sighing, you continue on your trek through the woods. Not being the best with directions, you'd kind of lost where you were going about 5 minutes into the forest, and so you have no idea if you're heading back to the field or if you're going in an entirely different direction. You just hope you're not walking around in circles, because that would—

You pause in your tracks. For a moment, there’s only the sound of a pigeon cooing somewhere, but you listen harder, certain that it was a distinctive voice that you heard. And then, there it is again, louder, and you’re sure of it. There's a voice, calling for you, and it sounds a lot like Minghao. 

“Minghao!” Immediately, you’re scrambling towards the noise, running along the soft forest floor, accidentally kicking bushes and almost tripping over tree roots. “Minghao, oh my god, what took you guys so long?”

But abruptly, Minghao stops yelling for you, and the forest is silent again. The trees are tall, looming, now, and you kind of wish it was Mingyu’s stupid height looming over you rather than these dark, unresponsive trees. 

You wait, for several moments, straining to hear Minghao’s voice again. But when he calls, it’s in a completely different direction, so you curse to yourself and start running off again.

You’re deeper into the woods now, you’re sure of it, because the trees are denser and there’s less light and the sound of animals and insects have disappeared. The air is still as you run through the forest, still following the faint sound of Minghao’s voice, and when you stop, it’s as if the entire world is silent, with not even the trees making a breath of noise. 

Minghao’s voice disappears, yet again, and now you’re worried that your brain is playing tricks on you. The bushes you brush against are getting thornier, bigger, difficult to get past, and the trees look like they’ve enlarged and now seem to try and slap you across the face with their rough branches. 

You’re well and truly lost now. Minghao’s voice doesn’t sound again, and you turn around aimlessly in circles, hoping that somehow, you’ll magically find an exit. 

But then. In the eerie stillness of the forest, any sound and movement echoes through the trees, and you hear a branch snap to your left.

“Hello?” you call out, hoping it’s just Minghao or one of the others behind the bushes, waiting to jump out at you. “Who is it?”

There’s silence.

And then a bush rustles to your right.

You whip your head around. “Come on, stop playing. Just show yourself, I know you’re there.”

There’s a good chance, you know, that it’s just a woodland creature or something, but everything in this part of the woods seems so dead and dark that part of you is sure that it has to be a person rather than an animal.

Slowly, gingerly, you creep towards the bush. It rustles again, and you flinch, but then the distinct sound of Minghao’s giggles comes from the bush and you move forwards, and just as you’re peering over…

“Boo!”

A person jumps out at you, yelling in Minghao’s voice. His hair is long, his eyes are large, and he looks like he has little stars around his doe eyes and he’s smiling widely, wickedly, delighted.

You scream, and he laughs with Minghao’s laugh, and the last thing you see are his eyes suddenly widening in horror as the world fades to black and you fall to the floor.

All you can think is, ‘That wasn’t Minghao’.

————————————— 🌿

When you regain consciousness again, there’s a man leaning over you. His eyes are large and he has little stars around his doe eyes, too, and for a moment you’re sure that it was the person who had scared you who was now going to try and kidnap you.

You yelp, attempting to scramble away, but the man just shushes you, gently and firmly placing hands on your shoulders to keep you against the tree you’re propped up on.

“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling a little. “Jeonghan is a bit of a menace, but he means well. He just loves imitating voices, and he didn’t intend to take the joke that far. He meant you no harm, truly.”

The man’s hands are now on your face, brushing your cheeks softly, making soft sounds to calm down your racing heart. Now that you’re properly looking at him, the man focused on dislodging a leaf that fell on your shoulder, you can see he’s not the same man as earlier. Not Jeonghan, or whatever this man had called him. But you stiffen up, still, unsure if you can trust him.

He looks up at you then, warm eyes meeting yours. His eyes are constantly turned up at the corners, you notice faintly. He looks like a baby deer.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man says. “I promise. No one here wants to hurt you.” He pauses. “At least, not intentionally.”

Well. That doesn’t exactly make you feel reassured.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He smiles again, and you realise that even his mouth is constantly turned up at the corners. 

He’s so pretty.

“Let me try again. I’m Joshua,” pretty man says, and he sits back a little to hold out his hand. “And I noticed that you’re a little lost here. I was wondering if I could maybe help lead you out?”

You look down at the hand, surprised to find yourself endeared by the action as you reach out to shake it. His hand is warm, too, as warm as his eyes, rough and soft in yours at the same time. Your heart is still racing when you release his hand, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Y/N,” you reply, deciding that, at this point, you’re not sure you have anything to lose by following this pretty man. At least, if you die, you’ll die by the hands of a gorgeous stranger. “And I think any help would be much appreciated.”

Joshua smiles again, and takes your hand to pull you upright, swiftly walking off, hand still clasped with yours.

The woods are still silent, but it no longer feels as if every sound has been suffocated—rather, it’s a peaceful silence, and maybe it’s brought on by the peace you feel with a warm hand firmly holding yours, and a presence beside you that’s quiet and gentle and relaxing.

He’s silent the entire way, walking with you through trees as if he’s following an invisible path, pushing away branches for you and gently guiding you to one side to avoid tripping on roots. You can’t help but glance at him, often, because he’s so pretty and so calm and, in turn, it makes you feel calm too.

There are flowers weaved into his hair and they wave gently in the wind that has managed to come to life again. The forest feels lighter now, less terrifying, and birds now seem to chirp cheerfully in the trees above you.

One bird comes and lands on Joshua’s shoulder as you walk and you startle in surprise, but the man doesn’t even bat an eye, smiling down at it in greeting.

“Well, hello there,” he says. “What do you want now, you little rascal?”

Joshua’s tone is fond, affectionate, and when the bird chirrups, he laughs. 

“Yes, this person is very pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles, and it makes you blush slightly. Nevermind the fact that he’s talking to a bird. “But unfortunately, they’re not here to stay. We need to lead them out.”

The bird trills, but Joshua just laughs again, and then it flies off.

You watch it go, curiously, and then look at Joshua, who seems completely unfazed by what would have been, to any other normal person, an incredibly weird exchange.

The stars around his eyes glitter as he turns to look at you. They don’t look like stick-on gemstones or even glitter patches, but look as if they’re embedded in his skin. As if the stars are part of him.

“What brought you here to my humble forest?” he asks, and you blink a little at the strange phrasing of his sentence. 

“Oh. I was… trying to catch a squirrel. For my friend.” It sounds ridiculous, when you say it aloud, but it manages to make Joshua laugh, sweet and beautiful and melodic, and you can’t help but smile.

He tilts his head, amused, and now his eyes are sparkling too. “A squirrel? Well, I think you may have failed at that. Unfortunately.”

You shake your head. “This is all Seokmin’s fault. He knows I’m bad with directions, and yet he sent me off into the forest. Alone.”

Joshua’s hand tightens around yours, secure. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore.” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and the sun is now peeking through the leaves, casting a dappled golden shine over his face. “I’m here now.”

That makes you duck your head, shyly, awed by his beauty.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, the trees thin and you can see a road ahead of you, a road that looks awfully like the one that Minghao had driven down hours ago to get you to the field.

“Ah, it seems that we’re here,” Joshua says, and he lets go of your hand. When you look back at him, confused, he smiles a little sadly. “This is as far as I can take you. It’s too polluted there for me, and I can’t leave my home.”

“Your home?” you repeat, but he’s stepping forward again, and then leans in to press the lightest kiss on your cheek. It makes heat rush into your face, blushing at the sudden action, but he’s already stepping away before you can react.

“Goodbye, Y/N, and I hope you manage to get home safely.” He grins, lips turning up at the corners a little mischievously. “Hopefully you manage to catch a squirrel someday.”

You blink, startled, because suddenly he’s leaving even though he’d been by your side for so long. “Wait,” you call out, “what are you?”

Joshua laughs, and he’s already begun to fade back into the trees, the stars sparkling around his eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious?” he says.

“I’m a nymph.”

And then he’s gone, melted back into the forest, and you’re standing there alone, straining to see where he went, wanting to know what he meant, wanting to know whether he really was a mystical nymph that you only read about in legends.

You stand there at the edge of the forest for a lot longer, and are about to walk back into the trees again when there’s the sound of a car driving down the road, and someone honks the car horn loudly, making you jump and turn around.

Mingyu has rolled down the window of the passenger seat, practically half falling out of the car.

“You!” he yells. “We’ve been looking for you for ages! Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

And instantly, the memories of before you’d found Joshua come flooding back, and you run towards the car, yelling at Mingyu.

“There’s no service in a forest, idiot!” You open the car door and get in, only to be tackled by Seokmin, who’s sitting in the back seat beside you.

He sobs dramatically, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Why did you disappear like that! We thought you were dead!”

“No, I wasn’t dead, why—hey.” You frown down at him from where he’s buried his head into your shoulder. “It was you. You sent me into the forest to get you a stupid squirrel!” 

Mingyu laughs at that, looking back at you as Minghao drives off again. “Yeah, Seokmin, you sent Y/N in there.”

Seokmin’s eyes go wide as you wrestle out of his arms to shake his shoulders. “I’m going to kill you! This is all your fault!”

“What—! Hey, we found you in the end, didn’t we? Minghao! Help!”

“Hey hey, no killing in my car,” Minghao interrupts sternly, and he sounds genuinely serious, so you settle down. Not before balling your fist and shaking it at Seokmin, though. This guy really is dead once you get out of the car.

Minghao looks at you in the rearview mirror, eyes glittering amusedly. “How did you even manage to get out? You have literally no sense of direction.”

You don't even register the teasing, eyes going distant as you recall stars around eyes and flowers weaved in hair. You smile, feeling your face warm up, leaning back against the headrest.

“I found a nymph.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @minhui896 ,, @bunnyiix ,, @slytherinshua ,, @haowrld ,, @belladaises ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @butiluvu ,, @wonranghaeee ,, @zozojella ,, @kawennote09 ,, @thedensworld ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @abibliolife ,, @doublasting

[danikamariewrites]

more dark batboys x dark reader pls i’d literally give you my first born for more, maybe they sit together and do a debrief of all mysteries in velaris. like the boys have been trying to solve this one criminal that kidnaps primarily men sith bad reputation and reader joyfully says oh that’s me!! :)) and their jaw drop nv they’ve been investigating for over 20 years and now they’re in awe and want to know exactly how her brilliant mind did it🧎‍♀️

Cold Cases

Poly!batboys x reader

A/n: I think this has been one of my favorite ‘series’ to write for besides the ddlg stuff

Warnings: mentions of injuries, murder, torture, and mentions of abuse

Azriel had laid out all his unsolved cases from the past decade. All missing males or murdered. He stood, his hands behind his back, as he waited for you, Cassian, and Rhysand to come in.

Rhys pushes the door open giving Azriel a questioning look. He just nods at the table and Rhys just lets out an ‘Ahh’ before taking his seat. You have your arm entwined with Cassian’s as he leads you to your seat.

You plop down kissing Cassian’s hand in thanks and turn your attention to Azriel. “What’s all this Az?” You gesture at the files across the table. Azriel sits, pulling the closest one to him flipping it open. “These are all unsolved cases. All males either missing or murdered, so I wanted to go through them with you to see if you knew anything.”

“Ooohhhh a stroll down memory lane. Ok read ‘em.” You say excitedly. A deranged twinkle in your eye as Azriel reads out some of your greatest crimes. The first three cases were duds. You were almost offended he thought you did it.

Once Azriel read out the fourth case that devilish smirk that told them you knew something they didn’t spread across your lips. You let Azriel finish before you said anything. “Yeah that was me. He’s dead, I buried him in the Dark Forest. The asshole was beating his wife, so I stopped it.”

Cassian gave your shoulder a supportive squeeze as Azriel moved the file to his ‘solved’ pile. The next few were also you. Majority dead, all in different and very creative ways, as Rhys put it. This went on for two hours and over seventy percent of Azriel’s unsolved cases were you.

The last case was an interesting one. The male was missing and still alive. You wouldn’t say what he did, it was far too vile to repeat. The female that was his victim didn’t live in the long run. “I-I wanted him to live with the pain he caused her.” You seemed to be struggling to get your words out.

The boys knew this was clearly personal. But they wouldn’t push. You’d tell them the story on your own time. “I psychologically tortured him for years. His friends and family thought he’d gone crazy, magic really helped there. Once I got my hands on him I kept him tied up for days. I broke his mind to the point where he didn’t even know who he was.” You let out a shaky breath, laying your sweaty palms on the cool wood table.

“A few days after that I dropped him in a random Winter Court village. Gave him a whole new identity and a face fucked up beyond recognition. He’s confused, alone, and scared. And he will be for the rest of his life.” Your eyes had gone distant, like you were in that Winter village watching the male. A grave look had taken over your usual chipper demeanor.

Shaking your head a little, you snap back into yourself. That smirk coming back along with the glint in your eyes. “That all of them Azzy?” “Yeah,” he nods. “I’m very impressed darling. And not a single person suspected you.”

You shrugged, standing from your seat. “What can I say? It’s a talent.” As you left the room the boys shared a look that said they were impressed yet terrified of where you draw the line.

[carpkoinobori]

[✮] the politics of dancing — wendy x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): enjoy the silence - depeche mode | the politics of dancing - the reflex | cities in dust - siouxsie and the banshees | there is a light that never goes out - the smiths | love is a battlefield - pat benatar

summary: you’re told to find the man who killed your partner— husband, to you, but your superiors had no idea. You’re told to collect information on all KGB agents, and while you will, you’re far more focused on killing the man who took away the man you loved. and yet, there’s this woman you keep seeing. who the hell is she?

pairing: cia!reader x csis!wendy

tags: set in 1989 cold war era berlin, they’re spies, angst, it was the cold war ok, angst with a happy ending

wc: 6k

cw: blood, weapons (guns, etc), smoking, violence, death, sexual themes

ex: reader has a dead husband, pls listen to the songs in order.. PLEASEEEE.. they’re so good. c/n stands for code name, it’s not a code name like badger but more like a fake full name. Like Nicole Elizabeth Mintz. just think of a fake name lol

a/n: this is inspired by atomic blonde

September in Berlin was cold. Not horribly so, but enough to need a coat due to the weather. It was roughly 48 degrees, and your breath could be seen in the air, the vapor made even more noticeable by the streetlights. The cigarette between your fingers helped to fight off the chill, as you took a drag and exhaled. The warmth settled in your stomach, as you gazed up from where you were previously looking.

it was imperative to stay alert, to stay vigilant. Especially now.

You had a job to do. You were here to collect a list full of formation on KGB members— their names, what they’ve done, how long they’ve been working— it’s essential for the CIA.

but you want to find someone, specifically. The man responsible for killing your previous partner.

it was complicated, to be frank. There was a man— you had been told his name was Pyotr. His last name, at this moment, was unknown.

He was believed to be hiding out in West Berlin, passing along information to his comrades in East Berlin. There was the issue of the wall, of course, but you were sure you’d figure it out.

you had to.

for him.

September 14th, 1989

“He’s dead,” was the very blank, monotone way you were informed that your husband, your partner— was dead. You had only been working at the CIA for about seven months, at that point. You were told this news by your superior, and it was almost like he wasn’t surprised.

Death haunted this building. Dead agents, dead enemies, dead civilians— morality was no where to be seen, too. You can’t claim to be the good guys and stoop to the same level as everyone else.

but all you can think at that moment is— dead? he can’t be dead. He’s coming home, in a few days. We were going to go, together, our next job— but he’s dead. your superior, everybody calls him Badger— he’s an older southern man, gives you a barely sympathetic look. He’s not a monster, you know. He just can’t afford to feel for every death. It’d kill him.

“He was a good man, y/n,” is what he offers.

“I know,” is the only thing you can manage. There’s not much else to say.

September 15th, 1989

You were deployed to Berlin three days later.

the first thing you notice is that it’s cold. It’s not unbearable— not like Moscow, or any of the rest of Eastern Europe, but cold enough. You didn’t love the cold, truth be told.

The plane ride had been long. You were given a new name, which was only natural— c/n. A new hair color, a new passport— and you took completely new clothes in your suitcase. Getting off the plane, and out of the airport— you see your contact.

Your handler was another man— god, it was like you never saw a woman in these places— he says his name is Perceval.

outside the car there are is another man. He helps you put your bag in the back.

as you sit next to him, you know something is off. There’s an odd feeling about the car, and it’s making your hands fidget. This job was rumored to give you paranoia, but christ, it couldn’t be—

he adjusted his coat, and you see it. Sleek, black metal. Amazing, you think, sarcastically.

You’re starting to regret not carrying a knife on you, or some other weapon, when you remember you’re wearing stilettos.

Thank God.

you reach down as you turn into a dark tunnel, and repeatedly stab the man next to you. He doesn’t die, of course, but you manage to take his gun, and despite the way he twists your hand, you manage to shoot him in the chest. You’ve barely been in Berlin twenty minutes.

The driver is next. You begin struggling as he still tries to steer the car. You’re swerving, and he’s wrestling the gun out of your hands, yet, you manage to shoot him in the side of the head. You’re grateful that the gun was fully loaded.

taking control of the car is a different story— there’s two dead bodies inside the vehicle, and you don’t want to be caught by the Stasi— well, you’re in West Berlin, but it’s still plausible they’re there. KGB would be slightly more possible. Either way, you want to remain discreet.

a car pulls up, slowly.

your actual contact.

Perceval, he says.

“Where the fuck were you?” You spat, anger and panic already rising in you.

“Oh, don’t be so upset. Nothing’s happened, you’re alright,”

“I’ve been made, you idiot!” You exclaimed, already feeling increasingly aggravated. You couldn’t afford this, you had to stay calm.

you took a deep breath while Perceval attempted to placate her. “Christ, woman, you have to calm down,” he groans. “We’ll be fine, it’ll be figured out,” Your contact has a slight British accent. If he’s part of the MI6, you’re unaware, but it’s a possibility.

“Just take me to my hotel,” you sigh, finally, just needing to get away from the scene.

“As you wish,”

Packing yourselves into the car, you discard the bodies somewhere Perceval claims they won’t be found, and you’re finally taken to your hotel.

this job is going to be hell. You can feel it.

September 16th, 1989

The hotel isn’t bad, but you can’t exactly stay there long. You don’t love having to sleep, anyway— it’s necessary, you know, but the dreams that plague you are unbearable.

you always see him. You couldn’t save him, you couldn’t, but does he blame you? Would he still love you?

you don’t want answers, and you don’t want to think about it, so you throw yourself into your work.

You know there’s an apartment in Berlin that housed a list of all active KGB members. You know the man who had the list— your husband— is dead. You just need to find who killed him.

You flag down a cab.

The apartment itself? Already ransacked. There’s papers and files everywhere, and all you do is tear the place up further.

there’s nothing left of him. No pictures, no writing— some files, some other things, but nothing worthwhile. You know it’s been too long since he died for there to be anything. Half of Berlin has probably already been inside the place, but it was worth a try.

but, you find something.

there’s an earring. It looks like there was a struggle in one of the rooms. It’s silver, and you know a woman must have left it. What man wears earrings? Not many you know. Especially not KGB officers.

that’s who has the list.

It’s not like you can’t do two jobs at once, right? The woman who had the list is probably who killed your husband.

you’re sure you’ll find some intel on the way.

Talking to Perceval, he reveals there’s a man named Sergey. He’s important to the KGB, and he has money. He’s currently in West Berlin, allegedly. Perceval isn’t a bad contact. He does have some information, even if he’s insufferable and drinking half the time. He’s a complete wreck, and you’re a little offended that he’s your contact.

he frequents a bar that Perceval’s fond of, as well. You’re sure if you can find Sergey, you’re bound to find some information, as well. It’s very possible.

you get dressed up nicely— lingerie, with a wire hidden by your clothing. You need to record, of course. The wire is covered up by a simple outfit— a long black dress, and a coat.

once you enter the bar, you remove the coat. Your hair has been done quite nicely, framing your face, while the dress is meant to distract. A low cut, a bit loose, revealing your back, shoulders, the side of your chest— and of course, you’re wearing a bit of makeup.

you light up a cigarette, and wait.

after a few minutes, you spot him by the bar. There’s a woman speaking to him. She has short hair, down to the nape of her neck. It’s brown, a darker color in the light. You notice her immediately. She’s wearing a black dress, as you are, with a very low cut. It has straps, and covers most of her back, aside from the diamond shaped cut out that reveals smooth skin. You take a drag, and then she’s gone.

Sergey approaches you. He’s propositioning you, obviously, but you feel off.

there’s something about the woman. There’s something off about her. She didn’t seem like just a patron of the bar.

maybe you should ask Perceval.

September 17th, 1989

You’ve been following a specific man for about an hour. He’s yet to notice you. For a KGB agent, he’s quite dull. His name, Alexander, wasn’t hard to find. His friends are easy to pin down, as well— Nikolai, and Dimitri. All this information has been written down. You’re here to collect information on who’s apart of it, and what they’re doing— but you’re still not able to hear, yet.

Getting close is hard. You don’t want to be seen.

and when you’re about to leave, to go back to your hotel, you catch a glimpse of the woman. The one you saw at the bar.

she’s getting into a cab, sunglasses obscuring her face, and a long coat on.

you tell yourself it’s just a coincidence, and move on.

you get a tip from Perceval, later in the day.

he gives you a watch. This watch, he says, holds a new contact you should meet in the East.

another new passport. More dyed hair. An outfit yet unworn.

getting through the border isn’t the most difficult.

it’s what comes after.

You step into a theater, of some sorts.

you’re already being followed. By who? You’re unaware. Most likely some members of the KGB.

when you’re sitting, you see the woman— with the short, brown hair.

There’s that feeling again, that sense that something is wrong. Why do you keep seeing her?

you slip out the viewing area and move into some storage area, hidden in the theater. You trip the fire alarm, you take some keys out of a coat pocket— those were the keys you needed to meet your contact.

unfortunately, there are some KGB members waiting for you.

Fuck.

the first man is disarmed quickly. A well-placed kick sends him to the ground, and you’re free to focus on the second man.

you get to stab him with the key, and you fight. It’s violent, and the man is very bloody, but he’s managed to get several good kicks and punches in. The pain is clouding your mind, but you’re nothing but a good agent.

You manage to steal a coat off a rack, and slip out of the back unnoticed. An abandoned building is where you’d been told your contact would be.

you unlock the door, and deadbolt it when you get inside the building. The contact is in the roof.

“There’s a lot of unrest in the youth,” He informs. “I’m sure if you found the right motivation, well..”

“Keep talking,”

September 19th, 1989

You made it out of the east relatively unscathed. You took a day to patch up your wounds, to reconvene with Perceval—

there should be someone with information at this club, from what you’ve heard. Perceval encourages you to go.

The club is loud and filled with people. There are colored lights flashing— purple, blue, red— all against the black walls of the club. you’re wearing a black dress, again. It’s tight, sitting at your mid-thigh, exposing your shoulders and some of your back.

you’re at the bar, again, sipping vodka on the rocks when that woman appeared at the bar. She was wearing a skirt, which is a nice navy blue, along with some kind of matching tank top. Over it was a black leather jacket, and her hair was down. You had half a mind to run up to her and ask just what the hell she was doing.

Luckily for you, she walked over to you, ordering a drink. She turned to you, with her drink in hand. She smiled— it was oddly disarming.

“Hey,” she began, taking a sip. “What’s a girl like you doing at a place like this?” Her voice had an accent— it was a bit hard to decipher, though.

“I’m.. just looking for something to do,” you answered, vaguely.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, slightly. “I’m Wendy,” she introduced herself, and extended her hand. You shook it. “C/n,” you muttered, in reply. “It’s nice to meet you,”

She didn’t respond, just moved a little closer. The club was loud.

“What do you do, Wendy?” You asked, wary. You know she had been following you.

“I’m a translator. What do you do?” She asked back, a playful smirk on her face.

“It’s unimportant,” you shrugged, shifting slightly.

“There’s something I really want to ask you,” she smiled, still, leaning closer. “Let’s go somewhere quieter,”

she leads you to a secluded part of the club, a small room covered in graffiti and lit by red lights. The flashing outside was still seen in the room.

it’s immediate, the spark between you two. The tension breaks, and you’re kissing her. This random woman, that could possibly be trying to kill you— she’s up against the wall, and tastes like alcohol. Your ears are still ringing from the noise outside, and as you feel up her body— you feel something cold and hard tucked into her skirt.

you manage to get it out, and point the gun to her head.

“Why do you have a gun, Wendy?” You question, lowly, and she only looks shock for a second. She sucks her teeth, before visibly giving up.

“I’m working for Canadian intelligence,” she murmured. “They sent me out here a few months ago. Things have gotten really bad, lately, and they wanted me to go help some Americans on a job,” she explained, leaning against the wall. She looked so much more confident, before, but now she’s curling in on herself, her arms crossed and a leg up against the wall.

There’s not much you can say for comfort. It’s true. There’s been rumors of the wall going down, and tensions in Berlin are rising. Sometimes, you just want to forget, too.

“I’m guessing c/n isn’t your real name,” she adds, quietly.

“It’s not,” you agree.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she offered.

“Y/n,” you reply, even if you know you really shouldn’t. There’s something about her that makes you want to trust her.

“Son Seungwan. Wendy is my name, but I thought I’d give you something extra,” she smiles, now, even if it’s weak. You remove the gun from her head, and she lets out a soft laugh, looking down, and it just sounds a bit like she’s trying not to cry.

“Things are so, so bad lately,” she mutters to herself.

you don’t have a response. You know they are. You can tell she’s not used to this kind of job. She wasn’t meant for the field.

you lean in, again, and your hands are on her again. You hold her face in your hands, alcohol heavy on your tongue, and the both of you are pressed so close together you might as well be one person.

at one point, the hard wall of the secluded area grows uncomfortable, and you manage to get out of the bar and into a cab, then your hotel room.

your hands are on her again when you enter the hotel room, and there’s just something so warm about her you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because she’s new to this world, and hasn’t hardened around the edges yet, but you like it. You really, really like it.

she’s ripping your clothes off, and you’re doing the same. Her skin is warm, and despite the seedy place you were just in, her hair smells good. It’s soft. You tangle your hands in it, and the both of you fall onto the bed.

You get to forget everything, for a while. That makes it all the more worth it.

September 20th, 1989

and you don’t dream, for once. You’re sure there’s echoes in your mind, but as of right now, you slept soundly the first time in a while.

you would’ve slept through the whole night, if not for Wendy bolting upright in the middle of the night, clutching at her chest and panting.

you’ve always been a light sleeper. There’s no other way to be when you’re in this profession. You blink quickly, the sudden movement shocking your system awake.

“Wendy?” You call, tentatively. You sit up a bit more, your hand hesitantly brushing her side. “Seungwan?” Is what you resort to when she doesn’t respond.

the brunette next to you takes a shuddering breath, but nods. “I’m alright,” she assures, weakly. you don’t want to pry, and the reason for this sudden awakening is quite obvious.

“Go back to sleep,” you instruct, coaxing her to lay back down. Her head is on your chest, now, and it feels strange to be comforting her, but you do anyway. You stay silent, but rub her back gently. You run a hand through her hair, and when you hear her breath even out, you close your eyes again.

it’s strangely intimate, given it’s the first time you’ve officially met, but you don’t mind.

Wendy is warm, and you hate the cold.

When you actually wake up— early, in the morning— it’s even colder. Luckily, Wendy was still there. It looked like she was a slight sleeper, too, but was too tired to do anything but continue to lay there. You sat up.

Wendy looked unguarded when she slept. There was always something off about her when you saw her in public, a sort of forced ease and practiced facade about her, but as of now, she was simply quiet, and relaxed.

You were slightly unsure what to do.

“Wendy?” You called, peering down at her. She stirred immediately, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. Usually, she would’ve jolted up, but as of right now, she was finally feeling well-rested.

“c/n,” is how she greets you. She would’ve said your name— she quite likes it, after all— but your room could be bugged. Everybody knew that.

In any other scenario, you would have left before she woke. She would have done the same. But you’re both aware there’s a certain kind of suspicion surrounding you two— what if she stole something? You couldn’t leave her unsupervised.

you both don’t talk. She gets dressed, and you light up a cigarette.

she wrinkles her nose at the smell, and you pay her no mind.

it’s cold in Berlin, today.

September 25th, 1989

you keep seeing Wendy everywhere you go. You’re aware she’s trailing you, but that’s kind of her job description, so you ignore it. It’s just that every night, she’s in your hotel, without fail. Much like right now.

“Wendy,” you groan, fingers tangled in her soft hair. “How many times-” your breath hitches, and you look down at her. “-are we going to do this?”

she looks back up, and her eyes are dark and hazy. “Well,” she murmurs back, voice low. “I think the better question is how many times can we do this?”

Wendy’s voice is like honey, and it pulls you in. It’s slightly rough. You forget about your objective, again, as you’re with Wendy.

she bites at your lip, tugging it, and you reciprocate.

and when you wake up, it’s before her. You watch her leave in silence again. You would much rather not seeing her in the morning, you would rather just leave— but you don’t trust her alone in your hotel room.

there’s still some rules you’ve made sure to keep.

September 26th, 1989

you are instructed to meet your superior. There have been small reports back to the CIA that you’re distracted, not completing your work— it’s not true, but it’d be hard to argue.

“C/n,” he greets, casually.

“Badger,” you return the greeting, eyeing him cautiously.

“You’ve managed to get me sent over here,” he informs. “I wonder, c/n, what is it that’s been distracting you?”

“I’m not distracted,” you protest. “I’ve just been collecting information while I plan what to do with it,”

“Right, then. I’d hate for your friend.. Wendy, is it? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her,”

“What are you implying, sir?” You gritted out, your jaw clenched.

“Don’t be dull,” he murmured back, dangerously. “Finish the job, y/n. Or someone will finish it for you,”

September 29th, 1989

You had been working nonstop, now. You had successfully orchestrated a meeting with a man you only knew as Yuri— Perceval had assured he’d have information.

it was a rather simple affair.

“Yuri,” you greeted, as you sat down.

“C/n, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he smiled, although it was practiced.

“I’ve been told you know who has the list— I’ve also been told you know some of the contents of the list,” you began, slowly. “In exchange for my promise to help you out of East Berlin, I’d like to know what, exactly, is in the list, and who is in possession of it,”

“I can’t tell you who exactly has it, but I can tell you where they are. As for what’s in the list, well— it’s all current KGB informers, and a few other bits of information covering them. It’ll tell you where they’re stationed, for how long, the things they’ve passed along.. quite a useful list, wouldn’t you say?”

“Quite,” you murmur, in agreement.

you aren’t quite ready for the sense of betrayal when you find out, though. You aren’t ready at all

you’re at some dingy apartment, one that looks barely cleaned. You’re inspecting the drawers of a dresser when—

“Wendy?” You blinked, surprised at seeing the other woman.

“C/n? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m..” you see her ear, now. There’s a silver earring, it looks oddly familiar, and— her other ear is missing an earring. A sense of dread washes over you in waves, and you feel the shock begin to creep in. Its a cold chill that runs up along your spine. You berate yourself. You’re a CIA agent, for Christ’s sakes, you should react like this to a little betrayal. It’s what you expected.

“Wendy,” you murmur, slowly. “Where’s the list?”

“What?”

“Where’s the list, Wendy?” You press again, slowly taking your gum out of your coat.

“Y/n, come on, I-”

“Where’s the fucking list, Wendy? I need that list!” You press, growing frantic. The first thing you’re taught is to keep your cool, but for some reason, you just feel off-kilter. You point the gun at her.

“I can’t give you the list,” she murmurs, turning her gaze away from you.

“Wendy, just tell me where-” and in that split second, she’s sprung up in front of you, her hand turning your arm, the gun now on the floor. You barely register what’s happening until she elbows you in the stomach— hard. Your breath is stolen away, and you struggle to take in a gasp of air. You lunge at her, the both of you falling to the floor. It’s a struggle, but you manage to get a few good hits in. It all comes to a head when you grasp a shard of glass, and impale her hand. She lets out a shriek, and you scramble onto your feet. You rush towards the bookshelf, where you’re sure the list is, but she grabs your ankle. She tugs you down, and you fall into the hardwood floor while she stands to her feet. She kicks your side, moving you out of the way with her foot, and takes the list from behind one of the novels. She rushes out of the door, and you try to get up despite your disorientation.

you’re chasing her now, and she’s fleeing into the streets, hailing a cab. You do the same, of course, but she’s already being lost in the crowd. Fuck.

November 7th, 1989

it’s a strange feeling, really.

you’ve only known Wendy for about three weeks, but the betrayal stings. She has the list— she knows who killed your husband. She knows you, and yet she’s nowhere to be found.

It’s just hard to understand. Did she know? Was she working with Pyotr? She had said she was working with Canadian intelligence, but it could be a lie. You should’ve known better than to trust some random woman that you met.

but your time is running out. You need the list by the ninth of November. You only have two days.

you have to talk to Perceval.

“There’s a warehouse in East Berlin,” he begins, twirling a cigarette between his fingers, as you stand in his messy, cluttered apartment. “There’s an exchange going on for the list. Pyotr wants it to cover some things up, and he’s planning on auctioning it off to the highest bidder. The thing is, he has to be given the list. By Wendy.

“And when is this happening?” You inquire.

“The ninth,” he replies. “There’s going to be a protest, a huge one. It’s the perfect cover,”

“Right, then,” you nod. “I’ll need a fake passport, again,” you remind.

“Of course,” he grins, in that sleazy way of his. “It’ll be done by tomorrow morning,”

November 9th, 1989

“Here’s my passport,” you say, as you hand it to the man in the booth. He checks the passport, giving you a strange look, but you’re allowed inside.

the deal is allegedly being made later, when the sun begins to set.

you wait, and it gives you some time to think. You’re in some dingy abandoned building, and it reminds you of your first assignment with him.

sometimes, you feel guilty for moving on like this. His death hurt, of course, and you’re doing this assignment for him, primarily, but— after, what’s left? You’re alone. Your only friends are your coworkers, you’ve never been able to know anybody, and everyone you love ends up dead. You hate this job. You really do. And Wendy- it’s stupid, you know it is, but you felt.. good, with her. She was witty, and intelligent, and you can’t believe you let your guard down.

everyone that you’ve ever loved, ever trusted, is either dead, or has betrayed you. Well, no. To be fair, most of your coworkers haven’t, but that’s not for you— that’s for the good of the country.

you begin preparing your weapons, your supplies, and your plan.

you have to put these feelings behind you. They make you volatile.

The protesting outside could be heard from your spot in the corner of the dusty old building, and you took that as your cue. You slipped out through a back door, into the throngs of marching youth. Finding the warehouse wasn’t that hard, honestly. You entered slowly, and tried to peer inside as you went, looking for a wall or something to cover you. You leaned against some kind of corrugated metal sheet, one that obscured you. Your gun was heavy and cold in your hands.

“Pyotr, I have the list,” You hear, and it stops you in your tracks. It sounds a lot like Wendy. It probably was, if you were honest.

“Good, good. Give it, now,” he instructs, presumably holding out a hand. You can’t see them.

there’s the sound of rustling paper, which you find odd, now that you think about it— why would such a confidential list be written on paper? Why wouldn’t it be hidden somewhere, in a watch, or painting, even?

“I’d better get going then,” You heard her turn, footsteps making their way to the door where you were standing near. You held your breath.

“Wait,” Pyotr’s voice. “I can’t let you go before I read the list, Wendy,” He laughed, lowly, and it sounded threatening. “I need to make sure everything’s on it,”

You heard Wendy’s footsteps stop. She was frozen. Suddenly, you watched her bolt. She ran straight out of the door, most likely when Piotr looked down to read. Your eyes widened, and your first instinct was to chase after her.

it was hard to find her in the mess of protesters, but only she was running. You ran after her, contemplating on yelling her name. It was a few seconds later when you saw Pyotr, as well— he had just stepped out of the warehouse, and gave some directions to a man high up in a building via a hand signal. His face looked cold— angry.

suddenly, you noticed a man dressed in civilian clothing following Wendy, as well. He trailed a few paces behind, walking quickly to keep her in sight. You then realized something had to be wrong with the list. Wendy had given them the wrong thing.

you were rapidly approaching the wall— as you ran, something told you to look up and to your right. A tall, run-down looking building, boarded up, and—

that’s when you see the faintest glimmer, something reflecting the barely there ray of light obscured by the clouds. The tip of a sniper rifle.

The spike of fear is what causes you to shriek out, “Wendy!”

she turns her head, and stops for a second. You don’t know if you’ve just signed her death warrant or not, because you lunge at her, tackling her to the ground.

You feel a droplet of a warm, familiar liquid hit your hand. It’s crimson, it’s blood.

you look to Wendy. She’s staring up at you with wide eyes, panting. You’re panting, too, and the adrenaline doesn’t completely taper down the pain of the gunshot in your shoulder. You had moved her out of way enough to be unscathed. It was unfortunate the bullet hit you, but you were both alive.

Alive. You wouldn’t be for long if you just stood there. Wendy seemed to realize that too. She scrambled upright, dragging you up with her, and now the both of you were running.

“Wendy,” you panted, glancing over at her, and then your surroundings. “Why are you being chased? What’s going on? Where’s the list?” You bombarded her with questions, but they were necessary.

Wendy made a sharp turn, jumping into the front seat of an unlocked car. You quickly caught on, and threw yourself into the passenger seat.

“I gave them the wrong one,” she confessed, lowly, breaths shaky as you both ran closer and closer to the wall.

“What?” You blinked, heart pounding in your chest, blood still roaring in your ears. “Why.. what? I don’t-”

“I’m supposed to bring the list back to my superiors. That’s my assignment,” she confesses. “I just didn’t think.. I don’t know why they gave me such an important one, I don’t know if I can complete, I didn’t think he’d notice, and-”

Wendy’s started the car, and navigating the streets is another mission all on its own. Suddenly, you hear the sound of glass cracking, and your head whips around to see hundreds of fractures on the back window of the car. Your eyes widen, and you watch Wendy hit the gas. You pray that another car, a bus, a truck, a bullet— you pray it doesn’t hit you.

“…The wall is coming down... The sledgehammers in the hands of men not born when it went up tear into it... behind it, the East German soldiers tried to stop the tide. Water cannons were brought out, but the West Berliners were determined. One West Berliner sprayed champagne back. It is the moment Berliners have waited twenty-eight years for…”

Wendy is in your hotel room. She’s patching up your shoulder, and you’re panting. Pyotr isn’t dead, but you have the list. You let out a sharp hiss as Wendy presses a cotton ball, saturated with alcohol, straight to the wound.

“Sorry,” she mutters, and you bite the side of your lip to not make a sound.

“It’s fine,” you reply, stilted. It’s kind of awkward, all things considered. You still let her bandage you up, and there’s an uneasy, tentative silence.

When she’s done, you bandage up her hand. It’s only fair. She had already done so, but you redress the wound. You may not be the best agent, but you always have gauze.

and when you’re done, you stand. You wish you had a painkiller.

“Wendy,” you call, lowly. “I need you to tell me where Pyotr is— or where he’s going, I don’t care. Just tell me,”

she owes you this much, you figure.

“He.. he should have been giving this to some seller. I don’t know where, but now that he doesn’t have it, he’s.. well, I’d think he’s coming after me,” she reasoned.

“And where does he think you are?”

“My hotel room, probably,”

“That’s where we’ll go, then,”

Finding Pyotr isn’t hard. He’s currently tearing apart Wendy’s hotel room, two of his men standing outside the door. You signal to Wendy, and both of you walk closer, silently. You both stay close to the wall, and you only have one shot.

a bang. a second.

There lie two bodies, crumpled on the ground. You push past them, moving them aside with your boot, and opening the door to the hotel room. You stay pressed to the wall, of course, you can’t just barge in.

You take a chance, and glance inside. Pyotr immediately shoots at you— he misses.

you glance at Wendy.

you take a few blind shots inside. You hear a pained shriek, guttural and low, and turn to see directly inside. He’s on the floor. You make eye contact for a split second before pulling the trigger, again.

a third body, limp and bleeding out on the ground. You don’t feel satisfaction, though. Just a cold hollowness.

You stare at Pyotr’s body for a long time. Wendy puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n,” she calls, softly. “Let’s go,”

November 25th, 1989

“Congratulations,” Badger takes the list from your hands. The real list was encoded in a watch. You and Wendy had to transcribe all of it onto this list and hand it back to your respective agencies. You were back on home soil, now.

“Thank you,” you bow your head, slightly. It feels strange to be congratulated for this. It was sloppy, and you barely got the job done. You wouldn’t have been able to complete it without Seungwan— or maybe she’s the reason it was such a mess. Either way, it was done.

“Y/n!” You turn your head to the sound of your name— your real name— It’s her.

“Seungwan?” You blink, a smile creeping onto your face. “What are you doing here?”

Badger has the sense to make himself scare, disappearing down one of the many hallways of the main building.

“Well, the CIA wanted a translator, and I volunteered,” she explained, a small smirk growing on her face. “I figured while I got situated you’d let me crash at yours?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, replacing the action with an amused huff. “Right. I suppose I can agree to that,”

She has a small grin on her face, and leans forward. “You’ll show me around America, won’t you?” She presses. She’s so.. smug isn’t the word. Teasing, maybe? Something like that.

“Just like we toured around Berlin?”

“No,” she snorts, shaking her head. “I’d prefer it to be a bit more calm, if you wouldn’t mind,”

You sighed, theatrically, as she leaned in. She pressed a kiss to your lips, and a warm feeling blossomed inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands snaking into her hair as you sighed into her mouth.

“Yeah,” you murmured against her mouth, reluctantly breaking apart. You still had public decency, obviously. “Yeah, I’ll show you around..”

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!! I know it’s not the best pacing and there’s not a lot a lot of interactions.. it’s mostly plot and I apologize. I don’t love how this came out, but I don’t think it’s bad either. Perfectly average and mediocre. kind of sad I wasted such good plot and setting on this but.. so is life. I promise to do wendy/rv justice in another work, but take this while I work on my sakura fic I SWEARRR I’ll try to get it out in a timely manner. as always, thank you for reading and please send asks!! they’re what inspires me to write, in a way.

p.s. the music for this fic is so good I highly recommend you listen to it as you read. songs are in order but you can play it out of order I guess. the most important part is the politics of dancing is meant for the club scene so if you just want to play it there ❤️THANK YOU!!

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 3/4 (here are part 1 and part 2)

i just want to preface this by saying: as much as they tried to make this movie all about tony, and as much as they tried to no-homo the steve/bucky situation, they still somehow ended up making CACW the gayest movie in the whole cap trilogy, and that's saying something *throws confetti*

now, picking up where we left off:

aided by his friends sam and natasha, steve spends the following two years or so chasing after bucky, looking for clues as to where he could be hiding, until he eventually finds him.

their reunion scene is like. i honestly don't know if i can convey the sheer, ridiculous, absolute beauty that is this scene.

the thing is, steve isn't the only one who discovered bucky's location: the bad guys did too, and they're coming. like they're coming RIGHT NOW, as sam keeps trying to warn steve. which means that he and bucky have about 20 seconds to do this, and that might sound like too short of a time, right? but honey, the amount of repressed emotions and homoerotic subtext these two manage to stuff into those 20 seconds, my god--

no because like, there's a whole-ass SWAT team outside, waiting to crash through their door and blow up the place, yeah? and instead of getting the fuck out of there PRONTO, steve, mr romeo fucking rogers, decides to spend those precious few seconds trying to get bucky to admit that he loves him, making this much yearned-for, long-awaited reunion the most high-stakes game of gay chicken in the whole of history. you might think i'm kidding, but i'm not!!!!

INTRODUCING:

in the red corner, we've got steve basically telling bucky: "i know that you remember me, i know that you saved me because you still love me, please will you just say it out loud babe"

and in the blue corner there's bucky, extremely conflicted because YES, of course he loves steve, but he also knows he's putting steve in danger just by standing in the same room as him, and steve shouldn't even be here in the first place, and anyways STEVE NOW'S NOT THE TIME PLS FUCK

so he's just (unsuccessfully) trying to deny everything, you know?? "fuck no i don't know you, just know your name from a museum, what do you mEAN i saved your ass because i love you more than life itself and that's literally the first thing i remembered when i got my memory back"

(a quick reenactment:)

but really, you'll see the love in bucky's eyes if you just look hard enough.

n- no, look harder

a bit harder?

see, i told you

so here they are, just about to slam each other into the nearest wall and make out like it's brokeback mountain and they're just two guys coming from a time where their love had to be kept a secret and they miss what little privacy they used to have in their own little bubble when they were younger and living together and then life tore them apart and they haven't seen each other in ages and they've been yearning all the while and now that they're finally standing before each other again the air feels electric between them and they just can't help but- wait. uh. that, uh. that sounds familiar. uh.

OKAY so they're totally about to snog the living daylights out of each other, but time is running out. the bad guys are here!! and- and also a bunch of other people! because apparently everybody wants bucky either dead or locked up for one reason or another!! MY BOY CAN'T CATCH A FUCKING BREAK!!

so bucky is apprehended. but before anyone can do much about it, this other guy - this movie's Official Antagonist™ - gets bucky alone and triggers bucky's brainwashed assassin persona into taking over.

no longer conscious of his own actions, bucky wreaks havoc in the building, knocking people down in his wake like a sexy buff steamroller, and tries to escape; but steve, desperate not to lose him again, goes after him and stops him.

by grabbing onto a fucking helicopter, as one does

one extremely romantic, freaking insane stunt later, steve manages to get bucky to safety. next thing you know, bucky's waking up and back to himself, and they finally have a bit longer than 20 seconds to talk. you think they're gonna be normal about this? you think they're gonna share a standard heart to heart conversation? oh hell no, babes. WHIP OUT THE BEDROOM EYES, TURN THAT SOFTNESS UP TO ELEVEN, WE'RE UNLOCKING A BRAND NEW LEVEL OF EMOTIONS HERE

seriously. you don't know what true tenderness is, until you've heard james buchanan barnes softly say, in his sweet, gruff, velvety drawl, barely holding back a smile, "your mom's name was sarah. you used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

also the two of them just. spend half the scene making INTENSE heart eyes at each other, gazing deeply and intimately in each other's eyes, just bypassing the flirting zone to move straight to eye-lovemaking lane, while sam is in the room, because they've got no chill whatsoever.

unfortunately, sam cockblocks reminds them that they don't have time for this shit (dammit, sam) as they kinda have more pressing matters at hand, being on the run from like every government in the world (and then some). also they must neutralize The Antagonist™ before he can act on his Evil Plan™, so, you know. put the eyesex on hold, guys!

(to be continued in part 4)

[possessivedesires]

hello :) could you pls make a continuation to your villain deku story?

Yandere: Villain Izuku Midoriya

Reader: Hero in training

Summary: Izuku has decided enough was enough and that you weee no longer a fit for the hero course, he was ready to make the city and school burn. But he wasn’t about to do it without you by his side.

“He did… what?” Izuku asked dangerously as he could hear the person on the other end began to get nervous. This was Zero, feared in the villain world- especially when he had the support of AFO at his back. So anything he wanted, it always happened.

Just like this. Information on the league, what they’ve been doing, how they’ve been reacting since Dabi’s death. But now his source is telling him that Shigaraki sold your location to Overhaul, about accepting Overhaul if he had taken care of you. Using you and wanting to use Overhaul to take care of his little puppy?

No… That was not gonna happen. Izuku was not gonna be standing for this. His hand tightened on his hero case, phone by his ear as he could hear the voice of AFO on the other line. “Are you sure you want to do this Zero?”

“Shigaraki fucked up, he was warned and purposely crossed it. Don’t worry sir, I’ll take better care of the league than Shigaraki ever did.” He spoke; none of the nurses really paid attention to him and this point he didn’t care. Izuku was throwing his little hero mask, he was done with the class and had more than enough information of what he needed.

Light footsteps were behind Izuku, feeling himself smirk a bit at hearing that and mumbling a talk to you later to AFO. A pro hero was finally confronting him and this was probably the best thing that could happen to Izuku right, he was so ready to hurt someone at the moment. Needing to release some pent up anger.

Nurses were bustling through the hallway, seeming to avoid the two though. It was like they could sense something off was in the air, pretending to focus on their clipboards than even having to look at either of them. Green eyes glanced to a reflective surface, seeing Midnight standing behind him. And I even got the easy target, Aizawa would have been more fun but I’ll take what I can get. One less hero.

“Deku.” Midnight called out his hero name, Izuku letting the mask once more and letting that cheerful boy they knew out for one last final act. Izuku glanced back, noticing the papers in Midnight’s hand and recognizing them immediately. The forms he’d forged to get into UA. The were perfect, so it ticked him off they his work was being questioned. Narrowing his eyes, turning full to face Midnight. “You recognize these, right Deku?”

Midnight asked, noticing the hardened look in his eyes. Izuku’s hand tightened on the handle of his case, angered at the offended feeling he felt. He knew that the forms were perfect! It was his work! There was no way that those idiotic heroes could figure it out.

“Fatgum told us what happened on the mission. You killed that man Deku, which apparently isn’t the first villain you killed… According to Aizawa, you did the same with Dabi on our grounds.” Yes, Izuku had forced himself onto the mission with taking down Overhaul when he had gotten the news that Overhaul had taken you.

And he did kill a villain, well, more than one but the heroes only know about one since Fatgum had caught him. Izuku had blamed it at first for protecting Kirishima, since it was the villain that had been fighting. But he hadn’t realized because Izuku’s own mission was to burn down that place to make everyone pay for ever threatening you.

“What are you trying to say Midnight? That I’m a villain?” Izuku asked with such a tone that it took Midnight off guard. The mask fell, Izuku the sweet sunshine of 1A was dead. And it was satisfying to see the pro hero in shock, feeling himself begin to get annoyed with how long this was taken. He just walked to go see his pretty little puppy, was that so hard? “You-you…”

“Oh? Don’t tell me that I killed your thunder? Aren’t you a least bit curious that I was always there when the villains were continuously finding us? Just a little odd, ain’t it? I thought I would have to hide or sneak around or even at least try…” Izuku mocked Midnight, watching the way the papers crumbled in her grasp. The villain let out a bored sigh before lunging at Midnight before she defend herself, kicking the hero without holding back.

Midnight felt the pain, felt her rib breaking as she hit the wall harshly. Her body sliding down with a dazed look, Izuku felt relived. Finally he didn’t have to play nice anymore, he didn’t have to act this stupid school boy anymore, all he could do is take you away. “It was a shame, how easy it was.”

Izuku hide his chuckle, it was pathetic seeing how easy a pro hero went down. He enjoyed watching the way that she struggled to stay conscious with that concussion she gained; wanting to watch her continue to struggle. His hatred for them running deeper than any other emotions.

He moved his hand, pulling up the mask and hearing it click to two ear pieces. Midnight didn’t recognize this boy… She had remembered Izuku a stuttering mess, a boy who was always shy and fumbling around. She didn’t understand who this person was… It had to be a crazy nightmare, right?

“I got so close to everything. And you… You just let a villain pass through the halls each and everyday, saying hello while not knowing that I was planning on your downfall with each lesson you gave.” He laughed, a chill running down Midnight’s spin. She opened her mouth, Izuku’s narrowed with a harsh look. Don’t you fucking speak.

He thought venomously, Izuku quickly tightened his hand on the case and hit her upside the jaw with the steel case. It was a sickening sound that heard and he stood up, hearing the light buzz of his filter going on. His mask had some upgrades, especially knowing of Midnight’s quirk so it filter out the air for any quirks like that.

“VILLAIN!” The nurse cried out in fear, taking off running for her life. Izuku glanced in annoyance, holding out his hand and the black whip shot out. The quirk wrapped around her as he yanked his hand, watching the way she went through the window. I need to get my puppy and get out of here already.

“Murderer… Murderer! You- you killed him!” The young boy stared at the nurse as he was staring at the factuality, a dead doctor was on the ground. Blood pooling around his body as Izuku was holding the sharp object in his hand. He only tilted his head lightly, he didn’t care.

Izuku opened the door to your room, frowning at seeing it empty. You were supposed to be here… Could a nurse have fucked yo when you’re supposed to be recovering? How could they be so careless about his precious puppy?

“Izuku.” Out of all the heroes who could approach him next… It had to be this one. Someone that Izuku could see as a father figure, it annoyed Izuku. A lot.

Aizawa hated seeing the student that he started to care in a fatherly way. Izuku turned, staring at Aizawa and the pro hero’s heart hurt at seeing the darkened green eyes. It made him wonder how someone always look so bright every day… “Sorry old man.”

“So… you really…” He didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want to accept it. Even if he had saw Midnight’s body… She was pushed into an emergency surgery to see if they save her, Izuku left deathly wounds from the impact. Everything internal. “Where are they?”

“I had a feeling you would have looked for them first… Izuku, are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to. We can get you safe, you can be a hero-“ Izuku shook his head, he didn’t want anything to do with the heroes. Unless it was watching them all suffer in their death. Aizawa would be the only one that he would give a merciless death, for the respect he gained for that hero during his time undercover. “You never answered my question Aizawa.”

“Gone. They went to go help for the search and protection from the villain.” Aizawa admitted and Izuku clicked his tongue in annoyance. Of course your big heart would want to help everyone… Even with how adorable it is, it’s annoying right now. “Well then, there’s nothing of interest here.”

“Izuku, you know I can’t let you leave. Don’t make this harder kid.” Aizawa didn’t really want to hurt Izuku, sure he pushed him and always seemed like he didn’t care in class. But this was one of his students, this was his future son… He didn’t truly want to hurt him. “Then move out of my way, I have to finish my mission.”

“I can’t do that…” He hummed, Aizawa thinking that maybe he got through the student. But was taken off surprise when Izuku was sliding beside him, confused at seeing the smirk on his face but his eyes widened suddenly when he noticed the empty hospital bed getting thrown at him by the black whip quirk. “Shit!”

Aizawa yelled as he quickly dodged out the way, hearing the wall breaking from the impact and getting stuck in the door. The pro hero climbed over the hospital bed, noticing the stairs door was open. He sighed, moving to the radio that the teachers were wearing. “Midoriya… He’s in the stairs…”

“Midoriya? No way… You can’t be saying that he’s…” Aizawa didn’t want to answer Present Mic, running into the stairwell. Izuku was paused on the steps a few floors up, staring at the pro heroes coming in on different levels. It annoyed how quickly that news travelled… The thundering footsteps were getting louder, pissing off Izuku like a ticking clock to a bomb. His eyes glanced to the side, smirking at the idea he suddenly got.

Black whip wrapped around the railing as he jumped off, Aizawa’s fingers only brushed past him. Just barely missing on catching the student. Black whip tightened, letting Izuku sail to the level below and he felt the strength building before smashing against the wall. His quirk disappearing from the railing as he flipped in the air to summersault carefully on the lower roof.

There was a familiar yell, it made his heart flutter. He’s heard this yell so many times during training. Izuku looked back, easily moving out of the way but staying close to his love. “Villain! I won’t let you- Zuzu?”

You asked, seeing the way he smiled and suddenly… You felt terrified. Something was wrong, something was strange… This wasn’t your best friend. Your best never felt made you felt like you were in danger, never felt like you needed to run… “Zu… Where’s the villain?”

You asked nervously, feeling your stomach knot at when the unnerving smile stretched across his lips. There was so much instability in his eyes, it made you recoil from him. And that watching you move away… That broke him. “Don’t you ever move away from me!”

He snapped, your body instinctively flinching. Aizawa watched from the Izuku made hole on the way he was approaching you. You. Of course. You were the key, you were the way that they could get Izuku to calm down.

Izuku’s eyes widened when he saw Aizawa’s scarf wrap around your waist, quickly pulled away. He panicked, there was no way that he would lose you! You were everything to him! He didn’t hesitate to race after Aizawa, blinded by the obvious lure to keep his eyes on you instead.

“Midoriya… why?” He stopped at hearing your voice on the top roof, his eyes darkening. No… You weren’t supposed to call him that… He’s your Zu, your everything. Don’t talk to me like that… Don’t worry puppy, it’s their fault. It’s all their fault, they made you hate me. I am never your villain.

“I won’t let heroes take another thing from me.” Izuku spoke, feeling his anger beginning to boil that he felt numb. Oh how he couldn’t wait to tear the hero system down, it made him chuckle. “Kid… listen-“

“No! You fucking listen to me Aizawa!” Izuku snapped, completely unhinged at this point. His beloved puppy should never be withheld from him and that’s exactly what the hero he had respect for did. All respect for Aizawa… He lost. Aizawa would no longer have a merciful death. “The system is gonna be crushed and I will tear it apart! Heroes are pathetic, none of them are actual heroes. Just power hungry. Ain’t that right, Kachan?”

Izuku asked suddenly with a cold voice, turning quickly to grab the lunging blonde by his face to smash him into the rooftop. Aizawa’s eyes widened, wondering how he knew that Kachan was attacking him while Izuku was thankful for the danger sense he was given. “You’re beloved, top student. Oh so powerful, loved to tell me how pathetic I was. That I should take a swan dive off of the rooftop. Nothing heroic about that, hmm?” Katsuki gritted his teeth, wondering why he wasn’t moving to attack this nerd. Wondering where Izuku got this strong? Or was he always and refused to show his strength throughout the school year…? Did he think that he was too weak to actually take him head on?!

“I’ve seen heroes turn their back on children, because it wasn’t convenient for them or they wouldn’t get their fame out of it. Is that all you heroes care about, fame? How pathetic.” Izuku mused, Katsuki suddenly screaming from the burst of pain and sickening snap he heard in his arm. When he noticed All Might on the roof, Izuku felt himself grin. “All For One as been a better hero than you ever been.”

And that was the final nail in the coffin, watching the way that the ex number one hero seemed to lose his resolve. Izuku lunged from his spot, hand gripping onto your arm and kicking Aizawa onto one of the lower roofs. “I-Izuku…”

He ignored you, his puppy wouldn’t call him by his full name. You just needed some training and this was your first lesson. You remembered how Aizawa had rushed explain on how you would be the only one to get Izuku to calm down… “Zuzu…?”

Finally, they can learn. That’s my good puppy. He thought with a smile, looking down at you with a smile. It was confusing to see that smile… It didn’t look villainous… It looked like the Izuku that you knew. “We-we can still fix this… remember what you told me… you wanted to do good! We-well this is the time to do something good.”

“And I will puppy, by gutting the heroes.” He said with such a happy smile that it made you feel sick. Your eyes widened when he started to make a phone call, portal appearing for you as Izuku gave a sadistic grin to All Might before dragging you through the portal. And that was the last thing you saw…

:::::

How long were you asleep…? You didn’t really know… All you know was the fact that you woke up in one of Izuku’s tees, in a soft bed. A room with some of your favorite things, some things that only Izuku knew about…

You carefully got out of bed, bare feet pressing against the hard wood floor as you were quiet. Every nerve was on edge, your movements slow as you were nervous that something was going to pop out at any second…

“My pretty puppy finally awake?” Izuku asked as you had peeked into the large room, seeing Izuku sitting in a chair with Shigaraki dead at his feet. The rest of the league was dead along the bar, Kurogiri was alive but cautious. He knew that the master loved Izuku as a son, that he treasured the host of OFA. But to see Shigaraki die now… Kurogiri was weary of Izuku… “Come to your senses puppy, there’s no other escape for you.”

Izuku spoke, noticing the way that you were looking around the bar. You were trying to escape and it wasn’t gonna be happening any time soon, you were his. If the world must die for us, then the world shall die.

One lesson at a time, Izuku would train you. He would make you more perfect than you already were. Your eyes watched the way he stood up from the chair, making his way to the bar and mentioning you to sit down; giving his first order.

“Eat with me.”

[nburkhardt]

Somebody Loves You, You Got a Friend (part 5)

Other parts: one, two, three, four.

I know I said in the last part we’re meeting the CC boys, but I forgot about this. So we get a bit of what’s happening outside of Steddie’s bubble! (We’re fast forwarding a bit, Steve’s like five-six months along. Also if anything doesn’t seem accurate to real life, pls ignore that oh and the show timeline…don’t look too closely pls 🫡)

Being in a small town is still sometimes stupid, Steve will always say this. Because of how fucking true it is.

It wasn’t too long ago when all the town could talk about was “poor Joyce Byers, her youngest is dead” and then found alive it switched immediately to “poor Barbra Holland, just so young” and now? Now it’s his family.

Thankfully the rumors and gossip is about his father leaving suddenly and not about him being pregnant at sixteen.

Currently he’s hiding his tiny baby bump, because according to the doctors, he’s thirteen weeks along and the other day he noticed his stomach rounding out. So, he’s taken up to wearing a bit bigger shirts and sweaters. Since the doctors and his mom told him scent blockers can be harmful, he’s had to stop taking them.

Instead, he helps mask his scent with Eddie’s scent.

“How you feeling today?” Eddie whispers to him, as he subtly scents him.

He shrugs and notices Nancy and Jonathan staring at him, turning away, “the nausea is better today, I think. Right now I’m really wanting a cheese pizza oh, and a chocolate brownie”

Eddie laughs and pushes him just enough to start walking, “good thing it’s lunch, then?”

They make their way out of the school, Steve hearing multiple people whispering about them but ignoring it. It’s not new that he’s friends with Eddie, plus he isn’t really ‘King Steve’ anymore either. If anything, being popular was a huge disappointment.

As they reach his car, they hear someone shouting Steve’s name. Confused, and not finding anyone immediately, Steve’s a little surprised to see that Nancy and Jonathan followed them.

“Um, what’s up?”

Nancy looks between him and Eddie then narrows her eyes, like she’s trying to figure something out. “We wanted to talk to you about something”

Confused even more, he looks between the other couple before glancing at Eddie, who’s just as confused. “Ok? Can’t you say it in front of Eddie?”

Jonathan shook his head, “uh, we can’t- probably shouldn’t. It’s- it’s about my brother”

That’s when it clicks, it’s about the stupid Upside Down.

Again.

Shaking his head, he hopes they can’t tell his scent is spiking with anxiety. Eddie immediately picks up on it though, “Stevie, we should leave before our lunch break is over, yeah?”

Thank god for Eddie.

“He’s right and I really want some pizza, maybe another time?” He’s lying, there’s not going to be a next time for as long as he can ignore them. He can’t be involved with them anymore, especially with the tiny life growing inside of him. “Come on, Eds”

Eddie gives the other two a blinding manic smile before climbing inside the car and Steve just smiles and then they’re gone.

They drive to the closest diner that serves pizza and brownies.

They’re in the furthest corner of the whole place and hidden behind a wall, giving them the privacy they’ve been wanting. Steve’s not at all hiding the fact that he’s scenting Eddie and Eddie has a hand on his stomach underneath the sweatshirt.

“You know, I was told you can’t feel anything yet. There’s like a few more weeks, then apparently you’ll be able to feel them moving and kicking” he whispers against Eddie’s neck, “have I told you I love your scent?”

The alpha chuckled, “yeah? Your scent is better, it’s even sweeter now”

Shaking his head, he sits up and looks at Eddie, “it changed?”

Before Eddie can answer, the pizza is there. Along with two brownies, which Steve immediately grabs a slice. “Uh yep, I never realized how good this was” he nearly moans at the pizza, then he eyes the brownie and grabs a piece.

“You aren’t-“

Nodding, he puts part of the brownie on top of his pizza and takes a bite. An overly satisfied smile on his face, causing Eddie to laugh and shake his head. They eat mostly in silence, especially since the omega is happily eating the pizza with the brownie on top.

It’s only once they’re back in Steve’s car heading back, when he remembers. “Hey, you said my scent changed. What does it smell like now?”

Eddie lets out a hum, leaning over and taking in his scent before answering, “there’s a hint of I think cinnamon? It’s really faint, I only notice it when we’re scenting each other”

“I’ll ask my mom about it, this is still all outta my knowledge. I knew some of it but there’s things I didn’t know. Like, your scent is overly calming to me? It’s weird, I mean, before even back when you shoved me in my car at that party, I really liked it but it didn’t calm me down.” He explained as he parked but didn’t move to get out, instead turned to face Eddie, “I already knew the basics for pregnancy and all that. But apparently the baby will be able to hear both of us? It’s so weird. This is weird”

Eddie laughed, reaching over to grab his hand, “it’s metal as fuck, pretty boy. You’re growing a human, like right now. I know it’s not what we wanted but, I’ll be honest, I’m so damn lucky it’s you.”

Almost immediately, his eyes start to sting as tears well up, rubbing at his eyes, he laughs before shaking his head. “Please don’t make me cry, you sappy alpha.”

Eddie grins, “Your sappy alpha, princess.”

A Week Later

The Harrington house is quiet and all three people are currently asleep. It’s only eight in the morning on a Sunday anyway.

Steve has his face shoved by Eddie’s neck, arms wrapped around the alpha and their legs tangled together, peacefully sleeping. Eddie’s just as peaceful, with one arm holding Steve close and the other is thrown over his eyes.

Steve’s mom, Janet, is waking up only because of their annoying doorbell going off. She huffs, pulling on a robe and stopping by Steve’s room to see the boys still asleep.

The bell rings again and she sighs, pulling their door shut before making her way to the front door to be met with Nancy Wheeler.

“Hello, can I help you?” She never formally met Steve’s ex-girlfriend. She was too busy helping her ex-husband.

The teen is shocked to see her, clearly and she doesn’t know how to school her emotions yet, because the girl looks disappointed that she answered the door, “uh- yes, i’m here to talk to Steve?”

Frowning, “I’m sorry but Steve is asleep right now, is this important?”

She can tell Nancy’s an alpha that hasn’t figured out a way to control her emotions, because the girl is still disappointed and it seems frustrated, “I just need to talk to Steve, you’re his mom, right?”

“I am, and I won’t be waking him up just for a chat. You can come back later or wait until school tomorrow” she’s just as frustrated, if not more. This is the girl that called her son ‘bullshit’ and she doesn’t ever want to see that sadness and that self-doubt in Steve again.

She watches as Nancy clench’s her jaw before trying and failing to school her face and straighten up, “I’m sorry ma’am, but this is important enough to wake him up. It- it’s about Will Byers and-“

Janet shakes her head and gives a sharp smile, “My son isn’t the police or involved with what happened to Will Byers and I won’t be waking him up just to see his ex-girlfriend.” And promptly shuts the door before Nancy can say anything else.

If she listens closely, she can hear Nancy let out a frustrated huff and walking away.

Shaking her head she doesn’t bother going back to sleep, goes into the kitchen to start on breakfast since the night before Steve mentioned craving pancakes.

The smell of bacon and pancakes is what helps wake Steve up, the other thing is the light kiss on his forehead.

Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, his lips curl into a smile at Eddie, the alpha is smiling at him and he can suddenly feel a hand rubbing at his waist and stomach, “good morning, Stevie”

“Morning Eds” he sighs and leans into him for a few seconds and then he’s bolting out of the bed and into the bathroom, throwing up last night’s dinner. Groaning he feels a hand start to rub up and down his back, “Eddie, I swear I’m never going through this again”

The alpha laughs then helps him up. After brushing teeth and putting on decent clothes, they find his mom humming softly to the radio and busy flipping pancakes. Despite the fact that he was just nauseous and didn’t want food, he wants nothing more than the food his mom is making.

“Oh! Good morning boys” she smiles and turns the burner off before pulling him into a hug with a kiss to his forehead, “how are you feeling, sweetie?”

Shrugging, “just weird, I guess?”

“Yeah, that won’t be changing much” she smiles, “come on, I have enough pancakes and bacon. Would either of you like eggs?”

As they’re eating and having small talk, it isn’t until Steve’s finished his food that his mom looks at him with a pinched look, “mom?”

She sighs and looks at him, “Sweetie, before you woke up someone came over looking for you. She was pretty determined to talk, but I told her no. I just wanted to let you know incase she shows up again”

Confused, he sees Eddie equally confused and before he can open his mouth to ask who, his mom says it, “it was your ex, Nancy, I don’t know what was so important. She said it was about Joyce’s son, but you aren’t involved with them.”

For a quick moment he panics at the thought of Nancy pulling him back in, but he’s been better at standing up for himself other than just relying on others.

He doesn’t bother waiting, he’s determined to stay out of their mess. He has more important things in life.

Eddie’s waiting in the car while he’s standing on the Wheeler’s porch. He takes a quick moment to control his breathing and then knocks on the door.

It’s thrown open by Mike, who immediately glared at him, “what are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, “your sister wanted to talk to me and so I’m here”

Mike rolls his own eyes before turning and yelling for Nancy, then he just stands there waiting and honestly just glares at him. It doesn’t bother him, it makes sense. Then before he knows it, Mike’s being pulled away and there’s Nancy.

“You can’t keep avoiding this, Steve. You’re in this now” is the first thing out of her mouth, “are you going to help? The kids almost got hurt without any help and I thought-“

“I went over to that house just to apologize to Jonathan, Nancy. Not to throw my life away fighting monsters, did you forget we’re also kids? I’m sixteen. You’re sixteen!” He’s never been ashamed to fight dirty, “I thought that the supergirl closed that stupid gate, anyway?”

He watches as Nancy’s frustration grows, and he suddenly realizes how much they wouldn’t work at all. Ever.

“It doesn’t matter! We need help and you’re in!”

Shaking his head, he decides it’s not worth fighting and just says, “it does matter and I’m out. I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not even your friend. Leave me alone and I’ll stay out of your way”

And he simply walks away.

—

That’s it for now! I’m sorry for making Nancy into this pushy person but I mean…she kinda is that way in canon? She’s an older sister with younger siblings so of course she doesn’t see that she’s still only a kid too. She’s pretty much like this throughout the whole fic btw 🫣

NEXT TIME for sure the CC boys make an appearance 😌 (just a heads up, the unnamed member is named Grant in this) 

 Taglist: @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @zerokrox-blog @callme-keys @maya-custodios-dionach @rajumat @yellowdevilkitten @munsonfamilyband @steddierthings @tartarusfairy @mx-jinxous @zombiethingy @lunaticmarunatic @izzy2210 @carlyv @thelittleclare @estrellami-1 @sierra-violet @grtwdsmwhr @epiclazershark @bookworm0690 @forest-fogg (if you would like to be added to this or the permanent tag list, let me know!!)

[archive-z]

a few months ago i was wracked with the Horrors (nightmares) & coped by sending @ghstbird deranged rashidposting takes from 3-6am

it’s been saved in my notes app for awhile, so as a midwinter treat pls enjoy 1k of comedic “what if ex-talamasca agent rashid needed a new job post-dubai & became daniel’s personal assistant/butler?”

Rashid’s cover is blown, which means his time as a Talamasca agent is over. It’s either desk duty for the rest of his life (a waste of his abilities) or quit and find something else he’s good at. Not surprisingly, all the skills you need as an undercover intelligence agent — on-the-fly problem-solving, fastidious attention to detail, implacability, reading people, blending into the background of any room you occupy — are the highly sought after traits of ultraluxury butlers/personal assistants.

Afterall, Daniel does kind of Owe Him One for helping him out in Dubai. The least he could do is offer some sense of stable employment, with fuckoff $ compensation that newly minted multimillionaire Daniel Molloy is now in the position of being able to provide. Fetching Daniel’s dry cleaning and handling his divorce paperwork is child’s play in comparison to navigating the volatile psychosexual energy of the Dubai penthouse.

The only problem is that it’s boring. Rashid is depositing hundreds of thousands of dollars into tax-havened bank accounts and doing very little to endanger his life in the process and he is bored. Naturally, his only course of action is to engage in Jeeves-levels of deep psychological warfare for sport.

(Daniel keeps buying white jeans, Rashid keeps burning them in the utility sink).

Daniel, quintessential Bertie Wooster that he is, is mostly unaware of this going on around him. He has not considered that the decision over whether or not he should wear a tie on his next tv appearance warrants the 5d chess. (Brat tamer Rashid is so good at brat taming that the brats aren’t even aware they’ve already been tamed in the first place). on the rare occasion Daniel does happen to notice the ironclad grip Rashid has on some minor aspect of Daniel’s life, he thinks its hot (something something giving up control & being put in his place).

As a matter of convenience, Daniel does drink from Rashid when he needs a snack, because hunting really cuts into his busy schedule of celebrity appearances and firing off expletives on twitter. Daniel was initially hoping it would be the like Louis-and-Fake-Rashid schtick in Dubai, but Rashid stays 100% dead eyed and implacable throughout le petit coup, which Daniel finds somehow even hotter. Occasionally, Daniel attempts to engage in the vampiric equivalent of edging Rashid during le petit coup, but when he reads Rashid’s mind to see if it has any effect, Rashid is doing to mental equivalent of a number station broadcast.

When Daniel is in his “why won’t my deadbeat maker fucking text me back era” he absolutely has Rashid roleplay as Armand. Rashid looks down on him with a mixture of disdain & pity and Daniel’s like “wow, you nailed that impression” and Rashid is like I’m not doing an impression, that’s just literally how I think of you 🫥

However Daniel is also out there lavishing Rashid with gifts of unfathomable $ bc he’s lonely & likes feeling like he can show off his own wealth & status thru like. wearing beat up converse himself but having Rashid decked out in the best of savile row. at one point Daniel has an extremely tired & long suffering Rashid tell dinner guests that he, Rashid, is “the devil’s minion, [and Daniel, the devil], grants his every wish”. everyone in the world is like wow Daniel midlife crisis much?

Rashid gets to blow off steam after a day of catering to Daniel’s most annoying whims by slipping into his Armand cosplay and being like “alright you pathetic worm, time to lick my savile row leather oxfords” to which Daniel is already like “put your cigarette out on me” levels of Into It

Real Rashid, smoking a cigarette: you were already divorced and won a pulitzer the year i was born, isn’t that interesting? Daniel: can yuo put that out on me?

Rashid’s personal feelings are deep down: 1) this isn’t actually the most Bullshit job he’s worked & the pay is actually commensurate with the predicted risk to his livelihood, unlike working for the Talamasca 2) he’s bored & getting to run a vampire’s life is the most fun a girl can have without putting his life at an untenable risk-reward ratio 3) Rashid thinks sex is pretty cosmically boring for the most part (beyond its function as stress relief), but knowing it pisses Armand off somewhere in the world adds a lil frisson to the arrangement that Rashid actually enjoys 🖤 he derives sexual enjoyment from being in danger & he knows Daniel’s freak behaviour will probably inspire Armand to rip Rashid’s spine out & slow cooker him in jealousy so he’s like “haha, neat :)”

Daniel is doing weirdo exhibitionist stuff like having guests to dinner and being like “okay, real rashid you sit in my lap and pretend to be fake rashid so i can drink from you” in the hopes that the psychic “wtf is going on” from his dinner guests is loud enough for Armand to catch the psychic wavelength and be pissed off about it. (it takes MUCH coordination to get their relative heights into a configuration that suits this).

Daniel gives Rashid a monogrammed locket of his blood to keep him safe from other vampires & Rashid openly rolls his eyes at the gift. (every vampire in a 100km radius has already clocked that Rashid is actually the one to Be Afraid of, not the coked up nepofledgling).

[will post part two later — will involve what happens when Armand gets wind of what’s going on]

[dragonfly0808]

Musa: The Thesis

Kay so… this one involves one of the biggest spoilers of s3 due to one of the biggest changes I made there revolves around Musa and I will be discussing it after the First Things First part. So please please please if you haven’t read up until Season 3 Chapter 24: The Space Between Where Our Ends Meet, DO NOT READ PAST THE FIRST THINGS FIRST PORTION OF THIS THESIS

I’M SERIOUS PLS DON’T

First Things First

The first words I have in Musa’s character sheet are small sassy goth.

One of the main things I focused on with Musa, especially in the first season is her struggle to be vulnerable. Musa has lived the past 5 or so years with a closed off dad and never got a real chance to truly mourn her mom due to her having to learn to pretty much take care of herself, because of this she becomes very defensive and doesn't trust many people, and it causes her to struggle with being vulnerable, making her feel weak to do so. Here we see her open up slowly to the girls and not really talk that much about her home life until s2.

This is also where the main problem in her relationship with Riven comes in, but we’ll talk about that later on.

Musa, along with Aisha was the loneliest Winx before going to Alfea, and this plays into how protective she can be over the girls, she knows what it’s like to have no one so she is more than ready to throw hands for her girls any day of the week.

Love’s a Loaded Gun, Nobody Wants to Fight

A theme we see with Musa is her not believing she’s really worth a lot of time. She worried about staying one place too long and becoming an inconvenience or sharing her hurt and becoming a weight.

We see that it really takes a lot for her to believe that she is not being selfish or ‘too much’ by expressing herself or deciding to stay in one place, namely Tecna’s home.

Musa has a lot of feelings regarding feeling like she’s being shut out.

She’s working on not shutting people out herself but when others do it to her, she could just have a breakdown since she is so sick and tired of her dad doing it to her and that’s just about the worst thing you could do to her.

She’s a tiny bit afraid of love. Not so much of love itself as just, the thought of losing someone she loves again.

Haunted

So… this is the part with the huge S3 spoiler so PLEASE TURN BACK NOW, THIS WAS ONE OF THE MOST IMPACTFUL MOMENTS OF S3 MY INBOX WAS FLOODED FOR A WEEK IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET TURN BACK NOW

So, in s3 chapter 24 Musa gains her Enchantix… and kills Stormy in the process.

First off the second I decided to do s3 I knew I was gonna change how Musa got her Enchantix cause I think we can all agree she got the short end of the stick in the OG.

I also already had in mind killing off either Stormy or Darcy but Stormy just fit more.

I combined these two ideas by changing Musa’s Enchantix to be gained by taking down a building over herself and Stormy due to Stormy loosing control of a curse.

Now, this could’ve gone very differently so why did I chose Musa to be the one to kill Stormy?

Honestly? I felt like it would impact her the most.

Now, obvs any of the girls would’ve been hugely impacted by taking a life (see Tecna) but taking the life of one of the Trix who they’ve known and fought for so long is another level of personal.

And, just like Bloom, Musa can be a very angry person and she hated the Trix’s guts and maybe a tiny part of her would’ve been glad with them dead, but actually having a hand in it…

It creates very conflicting emotions and a mountain of trauma and feelings of inhumanity and just confusion for our girl which we will get to see a lot more of in s4.

Thoughts Behind her Main Relationships

Tecna

I love Tecna and Musa, they are very much a friendship between unconventional girls who don’t always come across as they mean to.

They both struggle to make friends for different reasons but the second they meet they realize that they are quite similar and so never push each other outside of their comfort zone at first and that’s what allows them to become close enough to then push one another.

Musa gets what makes Tecna tick and makes sure that she’s comfortable, she makes sure she gets her alone time and makes sure she doesn’t get overwhelmed.

Tecna gets that Musa doesn’t want to talk about herself so instead gets her to open up about her music.

And it’s through this that they start to trust one another and by s2 we see them knowing each other well enough to keep the other from spiraling.

When Tecna’s confused about her feelings for Timmy, it’s Musa who reminds her that it’s okay to not be ready for a relationship. And when Musa and Riven first kiss, it’s Tecna who suggests they take it slow since she knows how skittish they can both be.

At this point, they push one another when they need to.

They are crucial to each other’s growth.

Riven

I always loved the idea of Rivusa but hated the original execution.

I really like the idea of two kids who have been so hurt by the people that were meant to protect them figuring out how to love each other. How to be open and trusting and just how to work as a couple.

Riven and Musa fall very slowly over the course of a year and a half, they get to know each other, be friends, quite crucially: they’re able to be vulnerable with each other. Which is huge for both of them.

And, when they realize that these feelings are serious and more than just a crush, they are both terrified.

I’ll talk a bit more about Riven’s feelings on his thesis but for Musa, she’s scared of this failing, of flying till the bone crush like the queen would say. She’s scared of it going wrong and losing someone she loves so much.

The part I love about this is that this means that even after they get together we get to see them fuck up. Because just because they’re together doesn’t mean they’re just going to forget years of trauma and having their walls up.

And, in my version, once they’re together, it’s Musa who fucks up by keeping secrets and not being able to bring herself to be vulnerable.

I think my fave part about writing these two is writing about how they grow together both as individuals and as a couple, how they learn to communicate and be vulnerable and realize that they are both here to stay and that this relationship is soft and safe and everything that they have been denied for so long.

That’s what this couple is to me. Two kids learning to love and not be afraid of it.

Helia

Helia and Musa are the writers of the group, due to them both being artist and having had past or present issues with their fathers and being vulnerable, it made sense for them to be platonic soulmates.

They’re the kind of people to spill their guts out of paper and just take a pen and truly speak, word vomit comes out in prose and metaphors and long words that just make you feel serene.

That’s how they find it easier to communicate.

They bond over words and music and the crushing weight of a knot in your throat not letting you speak when it matters most. The falling feeling of everything coming out wrong when spoken but in a beautiful way when written.

Helia is the only person Musa co-writes with for her songs, because he gets her voice as a songwriter in a way that no one else does.

And Helia shared his favorite poems because he knows she’ll get them in the way few could.

They are the artists who write not just because they enjoy and love it, but because it’s a crucial part of who they are, of how they process things and how to keep going.

If you wanna get to know these two, the best way to do it is to look at what they write.

And that’s why they just click.

Who is Musa in this Rewrite?

Musa is a girl who’s hurt. Who has lost and has had to almost raise herself.

She’s done the best that she could but the best she could do to protect herself at the time, back home with her father was to build walls around herself.

She’s someone who is learning to be open and vulnerable and to believe the people she loves won’t leave.

She’s someone trying to leave behind a toxic environment and mindset.

Someone who is, in one word haunted. By her past, by both her parents be it in different ways, by words, by Stormy.

But she’s learning to live with it, to still grow and to not take steps back in her journey.

She’s an artist finding her meaning and voice.

—————

Masterlist

Musa Moodboard

Musa’s Instagram

Musa and Tecna Moodboard

Musa and Riven Moodboard

Musa and Helia Moodboard

—————

so this one took so long cause I couldn’t figure out how to word certain things and tbh I feel like this one is the worst one so far so pls validate me and tell me it was good I feel like crying but I think I managed to get everything across

[harringtonstilinski]

Reunion - Richie Boyle

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Richie Boyle x Reader Word Count: 1,188 Warnings: angst, small fluff, mentions of guns, mentions of blood Smut: no | yes; Requested: I don't remember... if you requested this, pls let me know!! A/N: Hi, friends! After having this sit in my google docs for over a year, I finally got inspiration to finish it! I hope you like this! If you do, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

Ten years ago, I left Chicago and vowed to never return… that is until my father passed away. He was head of our family’s crime organization. Yes, I knew my father was a mobster. Did it scare me? A little. Did I want anything to do with it? Absolutely not. 

See, my father had no sons, only daughters. I have an older sister and younger sister. We’re all two years apart. My older sister wanted absolutely nothing to do with our father’s line of work, same with my younger sister. So, the only two people to take over from my father was his right hand man, Donnie Ward, and… me. 

I guess I didn’t have a choice but to come back, especially for the funeral. I was standing with my mother at his grave site, black dress and shoes on both our bodies, watching as my father was lowered into the ground. My mother, hysterically crying, was taken away from the six foot square in the ground. 

Lifting my eyes to dead ahead of me, I saw a family I didn’t think I’d ever see again; the Boyle family. We were allies with them, which meant that my sisters and I grew up with Richie. His father, Roy, was good friends with mine. 

Deciding it was best to talk with them, I walked around the grave of my father, walking straight to Roy.

“Mr. Boyle,” I smiled, hugging him.

“Y/N!” he said, hugging me back. “It’s been so long.”

“It has,” I replied. “How have things been?” 

He knew exactly what I was talking about. “As good as they’ve always been.”

I nodded my head. “That’s good.”

Turning towards Richie, Roy said, “You remember my son, Richie?”

Smiling and taking a few steps towards him, I said, “Who wouldn’t?” Richie and I hugged before doing that thing where you kiss both their cheeks in greeting. “Richie, how ya been?”

“Good, good. And you?” he asked.

Gesturing around me, I replied, “All things considered.”

Him and I looked at each other, not saying a word. I didn’t think words needed to be said with the looks on our faces. 

Roy cleared his throat, causing me to look from his son’s eyes to his own. “As much as I would love to get down to business, I don’t think now would be appropriate.”

Confused, I asked, “Get down to business?”

“It means that my Pops, here, wants to join forces. Combine the families together,” Richie explained. “Just for business, not personal.”

I smiled a little to myself, looking down. “Never mix your business life and personal life.” Looking back up at Richie, we both finished my father’s quote, “Or someone will wind up either hurt or dead.”

My name was then called by my mother. I said my goodbyes to both Boyle men then walked over to my mother, putting my arm around her shoulders and walking her to the car.

~~~

“Look, I don’t care how much he fucking owes. Get me my money!” I slammed the phone on the receiver, sighing as I sat back down in my seat and closed my eyes. “Fucking men.”

“Aww, we can’t all be that bad.”

I opened my eyes, seeing Richie leaning against the doorway to my father’s– my office. “Yes. You all are that bad.”

Gesturing with his chin towards me, he asks, “Who and how much?”

“You remember my father’s right hand, Donnie Ward?” I asked.

Richie nodded his head, folding his hands in front of him.

“It’s him. Apparently, when my father told him that I would be taking over the family business, he got all pissed and stole two grand. Now, my guys are trying to find him to get the money back.”

Knowing what my answer was going to be, Richie went ahead with the question that I knew he was going to ask. “And what are they going to do when they find him?”

I stood, placing my hands flat on the desk. “Blow his fucking brains out.”

He smirked. “Good answer.”

~~~

“I should be taking over, not her!” Donnie bellowed.

I stood there, checking my nail polish as my guys went on their torture spree on Donnie.

“Doesn’t matter, Don,” I singsonged. “This is a family business. You’re not family.”

“Being your father’s right hand made me family!”

I looked at him, seeing the trail of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. “Not in my book. My father died and left the business to me, and only me. My siblings wanted nothing to do with it. They hated this job, especially this part. Now, you can either tell me where my money is…” I said, trailing off at the end.

Walking forward, I grabbed the gun from Thomas, my new right hand. I walked over to Donnie, standing about a foot from him before raising the gun, putting the barrel right between his eyes. “Or I’ll blow your fucking brains out myself.”

Donnie scoffed. “You wouldn’t. You’re too sweet for that. Daddy didn’t–”

“We found it!” Charlie said. “In his apartment, under his bed.”

“Now, you don’t have to kill me,” Donnie chuckled.

“Ohh, but I do,” I said. “See, you did my father wrong. Told him to take all the bad deals while you went behind  his back and took all the good ones for yourself. You personally put my father through hell with this business. I’m having to clean it myself. But you know what I won’t be cleaning?”

His eyes stared into mine, waiting for my answer.

“Your blood off the floor,” I sneered before pulling the trigger.

Once the reality of what I had done started to sink in, I backed up on shaky legs, handing the gun back to Thomas. “Take care of the body. I don’t care how or where, just get rid of it.”

Nausea started to set in as I made my way back to my office. Once I stepped inside, I started to almost panic, feeling hands on my shoulders.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. What happened?”

I turned around, seeing Richie standing there.

“I shot Donnie. I fucking shot him.”

“Where?”

“Between the eyes.”

He gave me a look of sympathy, pulling me into him as I started to cry. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve all been there.”

“Not you,” I pointed out. “You’re too chicken.”

He chuckled, which caused me to chuckle in return. We looked at each other before he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear that had fallen from its hold. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

I couldn’t help myself as I stood my toes, pressing my lips to his, feeling him kiss me back instantly. Our lips moved in sync before my lungs felt like they were catching fire. Pulling away from him, slightly, I took a quiet breath in, feeling his forehead press against mine. “Our families,” I whispered, taking another breath in.

“What about them?”

“They’re combined.” I looked Richie in the eyes, seeing nothing but adoration in them. “You’re mine now. You always have been, and you always will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N 2: i forgot this was done in first person pov, lol. but let me know what you thought!

Additional Note: i hope i did richie justice! 

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24​​​​​​ @stixnstripesworld​​​​​​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​​​​​​ @quanticobae​​​​​​ @mischiefandi​​​​​​ @kellyashcroft​​​​​​ @lauren-novak​​​​​​​ @good-vibes-and-glitter​​​​​​

Posted on December 7, 2023