#she doesn't even wash the rugs

[menzoberranzanprincess]

"You could at least not bleed on the rugs. It takes SO long to get the blood out and it stains if you aren't fast enough"

"You're getting blood everywhere" from this post

blood sentences. // @menzoberranzanprincess

"I'M SO FUCKIN' SORRY - lemme just bleed in a better area for your convenience, your highness."

[doerot]

Let's play will my roommate sleep in her bed tonight or is there Still something wrong

[sunni-stuff]

I have bad baby fever so take this.

—★! Tags: Established relationship, baby? Afab!!

Ghost never thought about having children before. He didn't understand them; they confused him. Worst of all, he envied them. How could someone willingly bring a child into a world filled with so much chaos that men like him and the task force had to clean it all up? How could a child smile so innocently while his childhood was nothing short of a nightmare?

He didn't want kids.

That was until he met your niece, Lola. She had to stay overnight, interrupting the plans he made with the team. Johnny wanted to sit down and play a game of drunk poker, but upon seeing chubby little Lola sitting on the rug playing with her blocks, his heart practically melted at the sight.

"Lt., you didn't tell us the missus gave birth," Soap teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Ghost snorted, shaking his head. "She's not mine, Johnny. That's my niece, Lola."

The men exchanged amused glances, but their attention quickly turned back to Lola, who looked up from her blocks with a bright, toothy grin. She babbled something unintelligible and held up a block as if showing off her masterpiece.

Ghost found himself smiling beneath his mask, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He wasn't used to this feeling—this softness. It was alien to him, yet he couldn't deny the tiny spark of joy Lola brought into the room.

The poker game was postponed as the men took turns entertaining Lola. She giggled at Gaz's funny faces, clapped along with Soap's silly songs, and stared wide-eyed at Price's stories. But it was Ghost who seemed to captivate her the most. She crawled over to him, tugging at his pant leg until he picked her up.

Simon held her awkwardly at first, unsure of what to do. But as Lola nestled into his arms, a sense of calm washed over him. She looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, and for a moment, all the chaos and darkness in his life faded away.

He still didn't understand children, and they still confused him. But holding Lola, Simon began to see a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for a bit of light in his shadowed world.

Needless to say, after that eye-opening experience, Simon quickly became attached to the loveable child. He tells your sibling to call on their work days if they need a babysitter, claiming he's just trying to help lift the burden. Family helps family, after all.

Wrong!!

In reality, that man is completely smitten by Lola. Loves her to death. The moment he gets free time Simon is calling up your sibling, asking if they need any help, maybe needing a break from the child for a while and if Simon gets the okay, he's speeding to pick up Lola and whisking her away to your home.

Simon drops everything for her. In the middle of a workout? Give him 5 minutes. He's a fresh man, ready to play dinosaurs. Hell, he doesn't even know what playing dinosaurs is besides the fact Lola loves t-rex and being chased in her green dinosaur onesie. He went as far as to buy countless toys and books for Lola to play with in his home office, no less! Her favorite story books are tucked away in his desk, burying the paperwork he was supposed to have done for Price.

If Lola throws a tantrum with you, he immediately gives you a side-eye. What did you do to make the princess unhappy?

The man absolutely adores that cute muffin, and you couldn't be more shocked. Simon "Ghost" Riley, your husband, who refused to think about children, was now wrapped around your tiny niece's finger! Heck, she's practically your kid now, especially since Lola sleeps in between the two of you, cuddling up to Simon contently.

Simon treats Lola like she is his own child, so imagine his heartbreak when your sibling gives you two the news that they're going to be visiting home for a while. He's distraught, already missing the tiny ball of life, moping about your shared home putting away Lola's toys when suddenly an idea rings in his head.

His beautiful, hardworking doll can give him a child.

♡! I have a lot of drafts, and this was one. My writing is all funky and all over the place bc it's written between being awake and having no sleep!! I have more stuff I want to post, and I might continue this.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

I'm really thinking about that one Ghost post you wrote about him basically making himself at home at the reader's place when she found him near dead in the woods and it still is scratching my brain all right 😭 him devoting his life to her and the fact her husband is there completely upset about this all is the perfect drama.

the thing i love most about this is that i never mentioned ghost by name in that post <3 not once <3 but you're right. it is so, so ghost-coded. ghoded, if you will.

you're the hands in which he rests, a weapon; submissive in the way (as was once said) a sheep-guarding hound is submissive to the livestock it protects. 

so mismatched is his demeanor with yours--harsh and scarred--and that it frightens the townspeople around you. and your guards.

when you do get hurt, they jump at the chance to accuse Ghost of hurting you. no matter how you insist you're fine and demand the townsfolk see reason--you witnessed the attack, for god's sake! not to mention your wound is shallow and looks much worse than it is. but the guards lock him up in the small dungeon under your family's estate.

at your direction, Simon doesn't fight his captors. you both know, for all his strength, he'll be killed if the guards see their chance to take his life. they've never trusted him.

and so he's hauled off, chained up like a dog, lying in wait for his sheep. 

when you return to see him, having pushed through those who insisted you stay away, that he's dangerous, that he hurt you--only then does Simon strain against those chains. he wants to be at your side. he's driven half out of his mind with worry that the assassin who hurt you might come back and finish the job without him there to protect you. 

he'd pull the chain bolts clean out of the rotting brick to get back to you if not for the guarantee you'd be kept from him if he did. although it's not by your choice. 

he's even willing to confess to crimes he never committed, would never commit, if it meant being in your debt, imprisoned in your home, back by your side.

you stay with him as long as you can. his arms are locked behind him and he rests on his knees, more animal than man, as he presses his face against your waist. his desperation abates once you take his face in your hands to comfort him. he's lightheaded.

you assure him you'll be back, that you'll figure this out and get him home and out of those chains soon. he strains against the chains again as you pull away.

it's not until there's a second attempt on your life that he's vindicated.

the only story anyone knows is that when you screamed, by the time your guards made it up to your bedchamber, the blood from your attacker's corpse was already soaking into your rug. one of them tried and failed to coax the bloody dagger out of your shaking hands. your palms were clean. 

you tell the guards this was the man who attacked you before. you tell them to bury him and not speak of this again; to leave your chamber for you to clean.

once they're gone, Simon emerges from the shadows, hands bloody, to disentangle your hands (white knuckled) from the dagger, to usher you into the wash basin. you see the iron cuffs on his wrists, chains snapped off, and say nothing.

nobody is ever quite sure who released him. just as nobody is sure who the assassin worked for.

strangely, your husband seems to avoid you after that.

;)

more Ghost / masterlist

[luveline]

can I request eddie with golden retriever!reader, maybe where she gets upset because she overheard people calling her stupid and he sees her cry for the first time and it breaks his heart bc even though she’s upset, she’s trying to be happy? a big hurt/comfort moment?

thank you so much for your request! i love him so much i just wanna squeeze him <3 fem!reader, 1k

Eddie stands in the doorway, and you're lucky he's around. He looks pretty today in his softest manner, plaid shirt tied around his waist, a shirt with cut off sleeves showcasing the lengths of his arms and all their subtle muscle, inky dark tattoos climbing his skin in whorls. His hand moves forward toward you, pale fingers bright even in the dark room. 

"It's a party," he says, "what are you doing here all by yourself?" 

You wipe your running nose with your sleeve for lack of a tissue. Sniffling, you say, "I just didn't want to cry in front of everyone. I'll be right there." 

Eddie closes the door with an easy swiftness. He flicks on the lamp, and he looks at you like you've pulled the rug from under his sneakers. 

"It's fine," you say quickly. You add a laugh you're not quite feeling, not wanting him to worry about you. "Don't stress." 

"Why are you acting like this isn't a big deal?" he says immediately, no punches held. 

"It's not, everybody cries." 

Eddie sits on the end of the bed. The bedspread is a washed out grey, the room someone else's and unfamiliar. You hadn't wanted to have anyone come upon you messy crying in the bathroom, slipping into the master bedroom without a word. It's weird to be among other people's things. It has the feeling of isolation creeping in all over again.

Eddie puts his hand on your thigh. "What's wrong?" he asks, squeezing gently. 

"It's really not a big deal." 

"Humour me then. What's bad enough to make you cry?" 

You swipe under your eyes, his questioning prompting another wave of useless tears. They well big and drop fast down your cheeks like warm summer rain on your cool skin. "It's really stupid," you say with a wet laugh. You can't wipe your face fast enough.

"This is agony for me, you realise?" he says, in a tone that's not as teasing as his usual dramatics. "Seeing you upset? Tell me who said something mean and I'll kick their ass." 

"No, Eddie, you can't." 

"So someone did say something mean?" he asks. 

You trace the curve of a silver ring on his fingers as his hand rubs a slow back and forth over your jeans. The ache in your spine from slouching forward into your hands twinges as you begin to relax, your upset softened by his comforting touch. You don't answer him, only look at his hand, tear after tear curving along the slope of your cheek to meet under your chin. You bring your shoulder up and wipe your chin into your t-shirt. 

"Hey," Eddie murmurs, patting your leg, "you can tell me. I won't do anything you don't want me to do, but I gotta know what's making you cry." 

You loll your head to the side and give him a sad smile. "D'you ever get the feeling that… that everyone's just pretending to like you?" 

"No, but… that's because people don't bother pretending, with me," he says. 

You nod appreciatively. "Well…" 

"It doesn't matter, I can guess. I can guess how it would feel. You think people are just pretending to like you?" 

"I know so," you say. 

Eddie takes his hand from your thigh. You don't have time to mourn the loss —his arm comes up behind you, fingers curling gently at your hip. "C'mere," he whispers, closing the gap between your sides. 

"People saying shit about you?" he asks. 

"You know Gareth's friend? The shorter one? He was laughing with his girlfriend about how stupid I sounded when I was telling you about that octopus thing and I… I know I sounded stupid, it was basically a joke, you know?" You rest your head on his shoulder. "It's dumb." 

"That wasn't stupid, that was interesting."

"In what world?"

"Hey, I can deal with idiots talking down on you, that's what idiots do, but I won't hear it from you. Okay? Don't piss me off," he warns jokingly, giving your waist a small shake against him. "You're not stupid. Do you know how fucking smart, how unshakeable you have to be to see the good in the world? It's easy to give into cynicism, that's why I do it."

"Eddie," you laugh. 

"So you got excited about something a bit weird," he says, "so what? Why should they get to say that's stupid?" 

"Is it really weird?" you ask. 

"Super fucking weird, babe." 

He sounds pleased to have said it, his smile audible, his breath a warm fanning against your cheek. You know you're moments away from a chaste kiss pressed sneakily to the skin just shy of your ear. 

You're shameful. "Is that bad?" you ask. 

Eddie kisses you as you'd expected, right on the mark. "No," he says resolutely, grinning at you though you can hardly see him, he's so close. "No way. We're weirdos together."

You let him make you feel better with another hug, this one double-armed, the short stubble of his chin scratching your cheek. Hands full of his hair, you squeeze him tight enough to bruise, pleased when he groans and yanks out of your arms. 

"That how it is?" he asks. 

"Isn't it always?" 

Eddie takes your face into rough hands. You're under no illusion —delusion, even— that he might close the inches between you. This is a Munson style telling off, eyes locked to yours, forcing you to listen. 

"You scared the shit out of me, but don't think you have to come and sit in a dark room crying by yourself. That's not okay. That's a bit sick, actually." 

"Are you serious?" 

"As a heart attack." 

He rubs your cheeks childishly, pushing them up so they apple. Then, with much more tenderness, he wipes the tacky triangles of your eyelashes with the tip of his thumb. "No crying in empty rooms. You have to do it when I'm around, so I can make fun of you." 

"You're very charming," you say sweetly. 

Something funny stutters over his face, like a slice of sincerity through his bravado. "Only with you, sweetheart."  

[fairlyang]

Rookie II 🕷️

you find yourself back at your new job

w/c: 4.7K

pairing: miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. gloryhole, voyeurism, blanking out, delulu af, lack of food & dehydration (drink water!!!!), room 1, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (do not do this), creampie

previous part ~ next part

You still had to be there for another three hours after Miguel left. Your mind was out of the loop and your brain was foggy.

At some point between the halfway mark you switched from blowjobs to messy handjobs but luckily none of the men complained.

Finally it was 4am and you slipped the final dick of the night out of your mouth. You sighed and stood up, fixing your clothes before looking down at the poor rug that was now filled with endless amounts of cum.

You'd also given up on swallowing it all and didn't wanna stain your shirt so you started spitting it out. Momma apparently did raise a quitter.

But only because your mind was filled with the terror of Miguel knowing it was you the whole time. Or even worse, he doesn't know and if you were to reveal it'd all go to shit.

He would most likely fire you and you'd no longer be a part of the spider society which would be so fucked because you rightfully earned your spot there and you absolutely loved being there.

But you were getting too ahead of yourself. Maybe, just maybe he wouldn't care? After all he was the one that paid you and even left you such a generous tip.

And technically any side jobs shouldn't be any of his concern, but given this was not any ordinary side job and it is now fully his concern, you didn't know how to go about it.

You rolled up the rug and carried it, you opened the door and walked out putting the rug against the wall so they can wash or burn it, you didn't know which they did.

You closed your door and walked along the slim hallway as the other girls were also getting out and fixing themselves off. You turned to the left and opened up the employees only door, and left it open for the girl that was behind you.

She gives you a quiet thank you as you nod and walk out of the room. You turn to the right now heading towards the entrance that also happened to be the main exit.

You turned your head to the right as you walked past a few of the rooms that were still available. You couldn't help but watch again, it was all so intriguing.

But considering you'd been sucking dick the past four hours this wasn't so amusing for the time being so you kept walking.

You were nearing the entrance but first had to walk past the first set of gloryholes. The one that after tonight you oh so desperately wanted to be in.

You couldn't imagine just how tired the girls are and just how much cum they could take. Luckily the girls in that specific room get breaks and switch off every two hours but that still sounds exhausting.

Especially after seeing just how many big cocks came in, it was an exceptional amount. There were a select few you wanted to fill you but you'd have to wait a few days at least until you could.

You watch the girl that has her ass stuck out of the hole and two different men were fingering her as they slapped their cocks onto her ass. Her moans were so sweet and she sounded so pretty.

But you then put your attention to a girl getting ate out by two men on the middle wall. Her legs were tied up and they were really getting in there. Nice to see they don't care if they touch each others tongues and only focus on the girl's pleasure.

On the right side of the wall were three girls getting pounded, all three men looked like big gym guys, broad shoulders and pure muscle. All of them had a lot of stamina and fully focused on fucking their girl right.

You got closer and leaned against the wall watching in admiration and a twinge of jealousy. You didn't know if you could handle only sucking endless amount of dick every night, you already wanted to move to this room but patience was key and unfortunately you didn't have any of it.

You sighed and walked off, looking at the cracked walls and the lights that were flickering on and off. Finally you made it to the booth with the lady and she chuckles upon seeing you, "seems you were a grand hit for your first night Rosie."

You shrugged and grabbed the sign out sheet, quickly signing it before facing her, "felt like a piece of cake."

She laughs and waved you off, "go on, see ya tomorrow."

You wave her goodbye and give her a smile before walking away. You push open the door, instantly feeling the cold breeze hit your skin. Note for the future: definitely bring some kind of sweater.

You took a left upon walking out and walked straight to the alley. It was empty of course so you quickly dug out your bag and swung up to the roof.

You open your bag and quickly find your watch, carefully put it on before opening a portal straight to your apartment, too lazy to swing.

You enter it with haste and are in your bedroom, you place your bag on the floor before slipping out of your clothes.

You threw them in your bin then walk over to your dresser opening up your drawer with shirts and choose the first one you see. You take your bra off and leave it on top of the dresser then put on the shirt.

You then plop down on to your bed and luckily drift off to sleep, not having to think for another second about what went down earlier.

Your body woke you up around midday, about to be 1pm when you get a call from Lyla.

Her hologram appears in front of you as you wiped your eyes and let out a yawn, "oh you look like a mess."

You groan and roll your eyes, "what do you need Lyla?"

"Miguel wants you in his office asap." She chirps and you jump up, eye wide and a wave of anxiety surges through your body.

"Uh did he say why?" You asked and she shrugs.

You sigh and nod, "I'll be there soon."

She nods and quickly disappears as fast as she appeared leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Does he know?

Are you about to get the ultimate lecture of your entire lifetime?

You took a quick shower and put your suit and mask on before opening up a portal to HQ.

As you stepped inside and were in the lobby your nerves only grew and you really hoped that he didn't know. Not only would you die of embarrassment and just die on the spot but you would not be able to speak. Just pure silence.

What the hell would you even say or how could you possibly defend yourself from something like this?

You were overthinking on your entire walk to his office space when you accidentally bumped into someone. "Sorry." You said under your breath and walked around the person to continue walking but they grabbed you and made you face them.

"'Sup with you?"

You sigh and give a weak smile, "Hey Hobie, my bad I'm just all over the place today."

He narrows an eye at you, not believing you but then shrugs and gives you a pat on the shoulder, "Lemme know if you need help with anything, y'know I got you with distractions."

He nudged you and you just playfully roll your eyes, "yeah yeah thanks a lot Hobes, I gotta run."

"Meetin' with the annoying prick today huh?" He says crossing his arms against his chest and you simply nod.

"Good luck, hope ya aren't eaten alive." He says making you sigh and finally walk away from him after giving him a wave.

Now you were even more nervous. What if everyone knew?

Maybe you could’ve found a different job to start with, maybe McDonald's or whatever the fuck they had here. Maybe then you wouldn't be in this mess.

But then again you wouldn't have made almost a grand in just a few hours...

So maybe this wasn't the end of the world...

Just then you walked up to Miguel's office and looked at him up on his platform looking at his screens like he always does.

You walk up and stop when he sighs, you clear your throat and he turns around, looking right into your eyes. "Lyla said you wanted to see me?"

More anxiety filled your stomach as he nodded and cleared his throat, "I need you to be honest with me."

Oh fuck.

You gulped and nodded, twiddling with your thumbs as your eyes were growing wide. You were doomed.

He steps down from his platform and walks up to you, looking at you carefully. As if he was inspecting your face. His eyes scanned down to your lips which you felt involuntarily twitch.

Oh shit.

"Call me crazy..." he starts and takes another step forward, then stops, standing directly in front of you. Awfully close. "But I feel like I know something I definitely shouldn't..."

Death.

You needed that so desperately, an emergency, all the anomalies in the facility have been let out, fucking anything to not be there.

You stood frozen, horror in your eyes and just completely dumbfounded unsure of how to respond.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and suddenly he's looking at you worried, "you okay? You kinda blanked out on me."

You blink and stare at him blankly, what?

"Fine you don't wanna do those reports I assigned you yesterday, it's fine. I'll just ask Jess to do 'em but you really could’ve just been honest with me." He says and backs away from you and back to his platform.

What the fuck-

Apparently your imagination decided to run wild today and not having any food or water in your system since before you went on the mission yesterday, no wonder your brain was playing tricks on you.

You ended up helping Miguel with the reports and took them to the cafeteria to get as far away from him as humanly possible. And to get something to eat.

You ultimately decided on eating some pizza and drinking plain icy cold water. You couldn't believe your mind made that shit up because of the pure anxiety you had since you made the realization twelve hours before.

You ended up doing the reports and making Hobie give them to him because you couldn't dare face Miguel again after embarrassing yourself like that.

The rest of the day flew by as you patrolled back on your earth not wanting to think of Miguel and distract yourself as much as you could.

Which helped a lot.

You ended up helping your friends who were getting jumped by some members of the Maggia. After scolding them for not carrying any type of protective weapon you went back to Earth-928 for your shift at the brothel.

You had forgotten about Miguel until you reminded yourself of last nights events and you couldn't fathom the fact that you could suck him off again tonight.

You were back at your apartment and you grab your bag of the fresh packed clothes and instead of swinging you made a portal straight to the roof of the building.

You do the same routine as you did yesterday, taking off everything spider related then change this time into a pair of leggings and another baby tee.

Some type of progress.

You also grab a zip up hoodie out of your bag before closing it up then swing down the alleyway. You hide your bag in its new designated spot then walk over to the front of the brothel.

Pulling open the door you're greeted with the smell of cigarettes and you notice there's men in line to pay. You walk in and face the wall, keeping your head down so they don't see your face.

Apparently the men are respectful to the women who decide to keep their identities a secret, which was good. You didn't need assholes here having the urge to look at your face and expose you.

And according to Lola the men were overall not asshats and were respectful to all the girls. If they weren't, Estelle, the lady from the booth, had their head security guy rough 'em up or completely scare them off.

A real one at heart and you couldn't help but feel relieved.

You heard the men walk off and go directly to the stairs to the right instead of straight down the hallway. They were going for the one on ones.

You turned around and walked over to Estelle who gave you a grin before passing you the sign in sheet and another masquerade mask. You quickly signed then put on the mask and waved her off then walked down the hallway already hearing loud screams and cries.

Taking notice of the paintings on the walls as you walked through, making a left turn, finally near the first set of glory holes.

Every single man in there was going feral, the whole room was loud and there were all kinds of noises from all over the place.

You shook your head and continued walking. You can't keep getting distracted every time you walk past this specific room.

It'll be your turn eventually.

Finally you got to your designated room and you walked to the employees door and walked the little hallway of doors before finally reaching yours.

You closed the door behind you and immediately walked over to the new rug and sat down on it. You turned your head and threw your sweater on the little table there was before turning back and there was a cock already waiting for you.

Time to work.

The whole night you were waiting on Miguel to show up, to hear his voice, hear him give you sweet words but nothing.

He didn't show up the following day either or the day after after that.

And he wasn't acting abnormal to you during missions so maybe he really doesn't know and you're in the clear.

Maybe you wouldn't have to see him at your second job and everything would be alright.

Your test results finally came in and you immediately sent them over to Estelle who asked if you wanted to switch rooms and with all the eagerness in the world you said yes.

It had been a solid week since you started and every time you were on edge if Miguel would come in.

But now that time has passed and it seemed like he wouldn't come in, you could work in peace and actually enjoy yourself like the first day before hell broke loose.

And of fucking course you were going to ask for a room change after a week of sucking dick. It was great, sure, but it was also repetitive and at least with the first room you'd be able to feel all kinds of cock inside you.

So when Estelle asked you which side of the wall you wanted, you immediately asked for the left side of the wall. You wanted your ass out and figured maybe after your break you could switch with another girl if it was too tiring for your legs.

So without a second thought you packed your bag as fast as possible before going through a portal and quickly run to it as you walk out to the roof of the building.

It was already starting to feel like a routine.

You changed out of your suit and put on a skirt along with a baby tee. None of it mattered since you were going to be butt ass naked anyway.

You hopped off the roof and landed gracefully since you've been carefully practicing your landing skills. Some from a certain widow from back home helped.

You hid your bag then quickly ran to the entrance, not wanting to wait any longer.

You pulled the door open and grinned at Estelle, she sighed handing you the sign in sheet and mask before shaking her head, "you're too excited Rosie, ya gotta ease yourself into it."

You sign and shrug, slipping the mask on and giving her a wide smile, "It feels like I've waited ages, I may as well be excited!!"

She chuckles and shrugs, "that excitement will run out quick hun."

You groan as you put the mask on, and wave her off, running the long halfway and hearing the moans of the first room.

Finally.

Everyone who was in this room whether employee or customer was tested, regularly. And condoms were available.

A lot of men didn't like them and not all the girls required them. But you thought since you were on birth control and you trusted the testing process and that everyone was clean you figured you'd leave it optional, so the man chooses whether or not to use a condom.

You walked into the room and went to the second slot that was empty. The guy that was in there to make sure everything was in order stepped in front of you and lifted your door up for you.

You just had to kind of lay your upper body on the massage like table then he'd close the door by your hips. You took off your skirt and put it in the little room you would be in. It was a massage table for you to lay on but then wood surrounding everything else like a box.

You got into position, laying down when you realized your feet weren't straight on the floor, you were somewhat on your tippy toes. Suddenly the massage table is brought down until they reach the floor and you realized the mechanics of it was to purposely move depending on the girl's height.

Suddenly the little trap door closes and you turn your head looking behind you and sure enough your lower half was the only thing exposed to the rest of the room.

You had left your tiny thong on and figured the first man could just use that to his advantage and have fun with you by first getting you wet.

And suddenly you feel a hard smack against your ass making you moan as the sting faded. The man then smacks the other making you moan again.

You could then feel the man's hands grazing your ass before they slowly made their way down to your already needy cunt.

You assumed he might've been on his knees as you felt his breath against your panties. But then again it could be more than just one man which sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt a hand right on your pussy, giving you light smacks, earning himself a whimper from you. He groaned and began rubbing you through your panties which made you spread your legs apart.

You realized this was going to be super trippy and the slightest bit isolating because you were going to receive immeasurable pleasure but couldn't see who was giving it to you or watch it be done.

You'd never know who was fucking you or even see the cocks that would be fucking you. But you still had one of the best senses: touch.

You'd easily be able to cum with just how much every cock would stretch you out and how deep they'd be able to reach.

Not so bad.

You're brought back to reality when you feel a tongue lick down your slit and to your clit. You moan and fold your arms in front you then lay your head on them like a pillow.

You then felt something hit your back and you realized he threw your thong at you. At least he didn't keep it.

You move your hips against his face and he smacks your ass then starts devouring your pussy. You let out a cry and close your eyes trying to imagine what the man looks like.

And already anticipating his cock inside you.

But then you do, you feel the tip of a cock rub against your wet folds when you realize there was still a mouth sucking on your clit.

You gasp as the cock slides in then slams into you. You whimper and feel yourself clench against the new man as the first man continued sucking on your clit ever so gently.

Just then the new guy starts fucking you, at first slowly to let you get use to the girth of his cock but then speeds up, suddenly not caring.

"Fuck!"

You try to keep your upper half from moving so much but it felt damn near impossible as he rammed into you.

He was now full on pounding your poor pussy to oblivion as you cried out feeling so fucking full.

He was groaning and smacking your ass occasionally as he thrusted his hips into yours but suddenly stops and you feel him cum?

What the fuck?

That fucking fast?!?

You were very disappointed and you feft the mouth that was on you disappear but all of a sudden there was a new dick inside you.

Ah perfect timing.

This dick felt smaller and less thick, this one was going to be short and sweet.

At that point you didn't even expect to cum, these men were using you as their very own fleshlight. Which did sadden you considering you just wanted to cum and thinking you would get to with all the guys you'd make cum. But nope.

A whole hour had passed and not a singular man was able to make you cum. Literally every single one edged the hell out of you and you had no choice but to take it. You thought you were bound to cum but apparently tonight didn't have that in store for you.

At least you thought before hearing the familiar sound of heels. You held your breath as another man was rutting into you, slamming into you hard and deep making you cry out in pleasure.

"Mmm fuck!!"

You closed your eyes and fuck yourself back on him which only made him go harder.

You finally felt your orgasm approaching, finally after an hour of straight of edging, you couldn't take it anymore and you were just so fucking close.

And then the expected happened and he came inside you but didn't keep going.

Just pulled out, leaving you pouting for more. You needed to release so badly. You almost thought this was because of Lola's presence in the room.

You heard whispers by your hole when your stomach drops, "here's our Rookie! She just got moved up front today actually!" Lola says and you bite your lip only praying to whoever was listening that it wouldn't be him.

Unfortunately no prayers were answered.

"Dropped in at the perfect time then huh?" Miguel's familiar voice says and you couldn't help the tingle it brought to your body.

You felt your heart beat fast and sure enough, there was the spidey sense. Where was that before?!?

"As if this isn't your usual time Miguel." Lola teases and you could hear a belt unbuckle.

Oh fuck-

Oh god-

He was about to-

Were you suppose to stop this?!?

You could technically go on your break now but what would be the point? The guy would help open the door for you and then what? You'd come out and let Miguel visually confirm it's you?

Hell no.

Then you feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your folds then slide down to your clit. You bit your lip really wanting to fight back letting out any noises that could help him recognize you.

Then he moved his tip to tease your entrance, dipping it in slightly then sliding it out.

What if you accidentally moaned out his name-

He then slams into you making you let out a loud moan. Shit.

"Good girl." He moans and places his hands on your hips, moving it back into him.

You whimper and cover your mouth, until he starts pounding into you that you have no choice but to moan. He filled you up perfectly and it felt like heaven.

But it had to be your fucking boss of all people?

He just had to have a cock sculpted by gods and that fit literally perfectly into you? It wasn't fair.

And it also wasn't fair how fucking sexy his moans were.

You hadn't realized how sexually attracted you were to him but after this you'd have no choice but to only have that in mind.

Especially with how good he was fucking into you, making sure to hit his hips against yours with every thrust. He was fucking you deeper and deeper and yet again you felt another orgasm approach you.

But maybe this time will be different.

And it was.

He was fucking you so good your moans were coming out even though you were covering your mouth. You squeezed him perfectly and everything about this was perfect.

You should've tried to hook up with him before this but at least it was happening now.

And for the time being you had no regrets.

Purely focused on wanting to cum and really hoping he'd be the one to make you cum. He was kind enough last time and gave you so much praise so maybe this time he can repay you and make you cum.

He started smacking your ass and alternating between both cheeks, leaving them both feeling so warm and most likely red. "Fuck baby- you feel so good wrapped around my cock like that." Miguel moaned out and started fucking you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess as your legs shook. 

"Fuckkk-" you slurred and tried to catch your breath.

He then started slowing down slightly and started hitting deeper, now hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. "Mmm fuck yes- please!" You cried out and move your ass up against him.

He smacked it and continued his pace letting out grunts and moans as you felt your orgasm build up in your belly. "Oh god yes- just like that. Please don't stop-" You murmured and tried to stay still but it was getting harder to.

Your legs were already growing weak and you felt you were finally close to actually having an orgasm all night.

He then switched his pace now going faster again and fucking you harder again, leaving you a whimpering mess for him.

You closed your eyes and all of a sudden forgot where you were and just imagined he was fucking you anywhere else but there.

Maybe in his office on top of one of his desks.

That thought alone was nearly enough for you to throw you over the edge, and it was especially when he started your clit and wouldn't stop his pace after hearing your desperate little cries for him.

You felt him twitch inside you as you gripped his cock making you both moan at the same time. You were already feeling lightheaded and him pounding into you senselessly wasn't helping.

"Fucking cum for me pretty girl- fuck- please cum for me baby." He groans and you cry out, that being enough for you as your orgasm hits you hard and your whole body starts shaking.

You felt your legs shake and you thought you could've somehow fallen if not for the fact he was holding you tightly and steady as he was filling you with all his cum.

You laid your head on the table and breathed out, your walls entrapping him still as he completely slowed down, riding his climax.

"I fucking knew you'd feel so good angel." He murmurs and slowly pulls out.

You whine as soon as you didn't feel him inside you, now feeling completely empty.

You felt his cum leak out of you and you felt your fucked out pussy clench around nothing but air. You heard him chuckle and you just close your eyes on the verge of passing out but you stayed awake considering it wouldn't be best to fall asleep.

This time around you didn't even wanna think of the problems this would cause.

You had finally gotten your well deserved orgasm and that's all you really cared about it, even if it was your boss who gave it to you. At least you got to cum once during this whole thing.

You heard the clink of heels come in and you hear both voices talk but you couldn’t be bothered to decipher what they were saying. So instead you calm your breathing knowing damn well another man could end up slipping inside you any second now and you wouldn't be able to catch your breath.

But lucky enough for you, no one did that and instead you were left there able to catch your breath, unbeknownst to you was because Miguel was paying every man in there to leave you be for the next half hour.

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 3)

The house does not make a home, but a home can make a man.

The trash pile has grown again. It's spilling out of the bin.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The house is bigger than you remember it being from the game. For one, there's a sectioned off washroom hidden partially under the loft stairs and a full kitchen area in the left rear of the house. The ceiling is also ridiculously high for a one story (technically two) house, but you let that detail slide. It's to your- Link's, benefit, after all.

Another thing, upgrades are not offered automatically here. Though that should've been obvious in hindsight and you're a bit embarrassed to admit it'd slipped your mind. Most people would decorate and furnish their own homes with either their old furniture or newly bought.

That's what the many, many shops the game never had reason to show were for, after all.

Therein led to your current dilemma.

Practicality or comfort? The large thin rug with dark patterns, or a smaller plush one with elegant designs embroidered at the edges? Red covers? Blue, white, gray? All of them perhaps? Maybe just three?

Does Link prefer cast iron or the wok? Steel forks or maybe chop sticks? A full set of pots and pans, or just two or three good ones for repeated use? Which set of knives? The specialty set or a general use one?

Should the loft have a rug too? Should you get both? Should you get three? What about the washroom?

Towels? A vase...

Dumb idea. No vases.

Should there be two beds? When Link frees Zelda from the castle, surely the poor woman won't be made to live there in that festering monster's nest of a ruin. And having been trapped there for a century as the world outside moved forward (after having been royalty nonetheless), would she even know how to live on her own?

Would it be presumptuous of you to already set up for her arrival before Link even properly remembered who she was? You didn't want to make Link feel obligated to fufill your assumptions like that. He already had so much on his shoulders. He didn't need you to add more.

So, only one bed. Sheets?

"Jus' get them all, ya cluckin' mother cucco." Adino snapped waspishly, thin brows pulled down into a severe looking glare. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall closest to the 'Odds and Ends' shop's door, pointedly.

You barely spared him a glance, used to his attitude after having known him for nearly three years. And honestly, it was all for show anyway. Adino loved shopping with you, but the spiteful little shit would never admit it. Even under pain of death.

'Jus' making sure the walkin' rupee bag doesn't fall dead to an ill fated breeze.' He'd snark if ever questioned why he was following you around on his days off.

Lies, of course. The truth is he's lonely. So very lonely and too hurt yet to reach out to anyone else for companionship.

The man he'd called father for 14 years of his short life suddenly throws him out of the only home he'd known with barely the clothes on his back. All after finding out his recently departed wife had been having affairs. And the kicker, the bastard claims he supposedly doesn't even know if Adino's his or not (despite them having the exact same eyes and brows).

It'd been convenient though, you'd give him that. Just washed his hands of the situation entirely. Started fresh with a new wife and got rid of the unnaturally (Adino had parroted coldly, like a curse and a confession breathed in the same breath) effeminate son that may or may not be his.

No stings attached. Just living comfortably on his late wife's family property and shacking up with her younger sister.

And that abandoned son running, running, running across Hyrule. Until he dropped right outside of Hateno, quiet and hurting and nearly driven mad with hateful, writhing loathing.

You pull yourself from those thoughts. It's not your business. Adino may have shared that information with you during his mandatory background check, but that doesn't mean it's any of your business.

Even if the boy is living with you, and has been for the last three years.

(Even if you already ruined that man's fletching business. Even if you never told Adino why that man'd taken a very long walk off a very tall cliff.

Even if Adino knew and left flowers on your desk every year on that day ever since.)

"I'll take them all. As well as the rugs, towels and curtains, please. Oh. And that tapestry. Yes. The one with the apples."

Adino snorted, rolling his eyes, and you smiled. A merchant's got to advertise wherever possible, after all.

The older, greying woman behind the counter nodded, glancing over to two younger women (her granddaughters, twins and five years orphaned. turned 17 last Fall) waiting unobtrusively near the back of the shop. They didn't need any more instruction than that, swiftly gathering your choices and folding them into neatly wrapped bundles.

You swear this family had to have some sheikah blood in them somewhere. Even if they had pitch black hair and the darkest grey eyes you've ever seen. They were just too quiet and efficient to be normal Hyrulians. (And were little known for their discretion above all else.)

You tipped the women for thier help. They thanked you with a quiet tilt of their perfectly kept heads, before returning to their preferred corner in the far back.

You didn't bother to barter with this woman. You paid full price for everything, and then tipped her too.

Four gold rupees. And a note, which she took with a nod and a knowing glint in her eyes.

(Because they were known for their discretion, and you appreciated that more than anything.

You knew she understood the flowers you left on her desk every year on the same day.

And you knew she'd understand this too.)

You left, but not before catching one of the twins (the one with the blue head cloth and lip rouge) staring longingly after Adino's back as he marched from the store in a dramatic huff. Her sister hiding a probable grin behind her red painted hand.

'Interesting. But not my problem.'

---

Link looked up the curved path to Hateno's guarded gate as he sheathed his guardian sword, the black mist of two hopelessly mangled bodies blowing away in the strong mountainside winds. Further back still was the semi-conscious groan of a young woman surrounded by fallen mushrooms.

Link ignored her slowly rising form, having checked her vitals earlier before being ambushed by a pair of bokoblins. He knew she'd be fine, and honestly, if she was sneaking around monster infested forests for mushrooms (Link could still hear the snorting of the beasts further past the treeline) then she must be able to take a hit or two and come out okay.

She must have had the same thoughts because she merely dusted herself off, picked up her fallen produce and made for the trees once more. Barely sparing Link a backwards wave before disappearing into the thick underbrush.

Link blinked after her. And sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

So. That happened.

Link let it roll off his back easily enough. He had more important issues to deal with. Such as was it appropriate for him to just show up at your (and now his) doorstep fresh from the road and smelling every bit of it.

He discreetly sniffed under his arm and grimaced.

Surely you'd understand. You and him were connected after all, and you knew his name and knew he'd be coming to Hateno. A little roadside reek shouldn't be a big surprise.

Yet. He couldn't shake the self-consciousness. The irrational fear that you'd look at him and expect more than what you got.

Like that old man who was actually a dead person. Like that Impa woman, and everyone in that little village she lived in.

For how quickly he'd steamrolled through the untamed wilds of Hyrule just to meet you, he was oddly reluctant to continue now that he was at your metaphoric (and soon literal) doorstep.

He glanced down at himself, taking himself in with a critical eye.

The Sheikah armor he wore (it had been under 10,000 rupees, he checked) was covered in dust, grim and the unflattering stains of sweat, dried bloody drool (from that unfortunate incident with the bokoblin horse), grass and meat grease. His hair was so filthy it was nearly brown despite that equally unfortunate incident with the octorok having put him in the water several times (strong inconsistent winds make aiming bows hard, he'd discovered).

Hopefully you wouldn't be disgusted. He hoped you understood that he wasn't- well-

He wasn't who he used to be. Apparently.

"Link." A flat voice called out, and Link nearly jumped to attention at the unexpected interruption. He nearly reached for his sword too, before he stopped himself.

When Link looked up and met dark gray eyes, his heart started to tightened.

'Is that you, AM?' His eyes asked earnestly, wide and round with quiet searching. For recognition. For understanding. For anything at all.

Instead he got a slow, dispassionate blink and confusion as the woman spoke into the silence between them. "AM instructed me to lead you home, Master Link."

Link pointed to himself. "Master?" He rasped out quietly, voice rough and unpleasant even to his own ears. Nothing to say for the pain it caused at the base of his throat.

Without missing a beat the young woman nodded once, the blue bandana holding her dark hair back catching slightly in the wind. Blue painted lips barely moving as she said. "Yes. I will explain more once we arrive at your home."

Link nodded, still uncertain but trusting enough of this strange woman who knew the name (Alis? Nickname? Title, perhaps?) of his sheikah slate partner.

Tomorrow, he would be given a small journal detailing many of the dangers and wonders of this beautiful, wild world he now lived in. And he wouldn't be so trusting anymore.

And he'd have bananas, apparently. So many bananas.

But that's for tomorrow. Today?

Today was the first time he walked across the old, but sturdy footbridge. The first time he glanced over at the shrine glowing faintly to his left, peeking from behind a small cluster of buildings.

It was the first day he stood on the threshold of his (and your) new home. The first time since awakening he felt the beginning of heartbreak as he realized you were not there to greet him. That you would not be living with him. Ever.

('For now,' He thought in quiet defiance.)

And the first time since he opened his eyes in that dark, eerily glowing shrine he felt loved. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light of the house and found a home waiting for him.

Not just an empty building with four walls and a bed, but a rug with pretty dark patterns under a heavy wooden table. A bowl of apples at its center, with thick candles at either side. An intricately sewn tablecloth just slightly hanging over the sides in delicate little weaves.

He felt loved when he walked around the front room, boot-heavy steps thumping softly on polished hardwood floors, slowly taking in the space (the blue woman waiting patiently at the door). The small wooden sculptures upon carefully arranged tables, cute and quirky banners and tapestries brightening up the dimly lit room (one was slightly lower than the rest, another was slightly off-center, and Link felt warm at the imperfections). Sunflowers, a bird, a rock formation, an apple tree, a cat with a bell.

A sword and shield rack. Two armor stands. A few weapon's plaque hanging above them.

The food in the kitchen pantry. Completely unnecessary, but for the way it made Link feel. The way it made his throat tighten and itch. The thought that this was put here because it was meant to be his home.

And so much more. So many things he couldn't even remember the uses for. So many bits and pieces that slot together into the jumbled mess that is a home. It was more than he had the heart to acknowledge without weeping.

Noticing his brewing turmoil, the blue woman spoke. "Perhaps a bath and bed before we speak of business. AM said you may be tired when you arrived."

Link nodded, unwilling to speak and risk his voice breaking entirely. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the washroom, holding back tears when he found bottles of sweet smelling soaps and hair cleansers on a small table beside a stool above a drain. A tub beside it all, shaped like a bowl but with a drain at the bottom and a water spout at the rim.

He looked to the blue woman, overwhelmed and dazed by the strength of his emotions.

Something in her softened at his lost expression. "Let me bath you, Master Link." She said, keeping her voice even, though her dark eyes were gentle. "Just until you learn how to do it yourself."

Link nodded. Quiet and trusting in his vulnerability.

She helped him undress. She made him sit on the stool as she gathered what she needed.

Her hands were so, so gentle as they brought a warm, wet towel over his dirtied, battered skin.

He nearly fell into a doze twice as she washed his hair three times until the suds came off white. He was only minimally aware of the strong (deceptively strong) hands that helped him into the tub. He nearly slumped into the side of the bowl, body completely lax within the warm, welcoming water.

He opened his eyes from one blink to the next and blankets (thick and soft, smelling of fresh soaps and linen) were being drawn over his shoulders. The pillow beneath him gave under the weight of his head, as did the mattress he laid upon.

Every part of him felt warm and soft and safe. He smelt like flowers and sweet nuts, his skin felt clean and supple under the tender caress of his nightclothes. The further dimming lights eased him further down into slumber.

"Rest well, Master Link. I will guard you as you sleep."

Link couldn't even bring himself to respond, lost as he was to the call to nothingness.

He was lost not long after.

"One day." The blue woman said softly, sitting beside the unconscious man with an amused smile. "I will teach you to identify sleeping oils before they reach you. But not tonight. For tonight you sleep. Tomorrow, you will learn to be wary."

She wiped her delicate finger tips across his relaxed forehead, a slight sheen left in their wake.

"Sweet dreams, Courageous One."

---

Link,

I apologize that I could not be there to greet you properly. However, after careful consideration I decided it would be safest for our paths to remain separate at this time.

Herein this text, you will find all relevant information I've amassed over the years regarding our world and the dangers within it. Including, but not limited to, the continued threat of the Yiga clan.

May you never have to make use of the less savory of this knowledge.

Yours truly,

AM

---

To the shadows I return.

[passivenovember]

Steve's never tried a weed brownie before.

Hasn't really wanted to, if he's honest, because the rag-weed shit he gets from Tommy all throughout high school is fine. Even though it's mostly shake and stems and seeds, and the bag Tommy puts it in always looks like it's been mauled by Scotty, his 15 year old schnauzer.

It has to be the same bag, Steve thinks, but maybe that's the 20 minute high talking.

So he's never tried a brownie.

But. Billy Hargrove comes into his life like a storm cloud. Black and gray with impending doom, snagging the air around him with little fish weights until everything is heavy. At first.

But. Then Steve makes him laugh once during a game of shirts and skins, and. It's like the belly of the thing has ripped open, y'know, and the streets of the thing flood with rainwater, and all that existed before is washed down some swallowing, insatiable gutter along with mulch and twigs and the shaky belief that Steve's straight.

They're friends and Steve watches Billy laugh and smile, feels all ten fingers against his chest when Billy shoves him, some sort of atomical reaction to Steve making him laugh, and.

Steve can't believe he ever thought Heaven was in Nancy Wheeler's pants.

--

So.

Billy Hargrove is the Earth after the flood, and the ark carrying everyone to safety. He's the animals inside and the God that sits, watching the world swallow itself.

He feeds things, to Steve.

Lines. You got a really pretty mouth, Harrington. You're smart, you know that? Not. Book smart, but street smart. Dirt road intelligent, I guess, in this shitty fuckin' Hickville hellscape--

Feeds Steve art. That's Samuel Baruch. He's my favorite. Look how he paints cloth, how he tracks the divets and the folds and the shadows. It's like a photo. It's like a window--

Steve makes Billy laugh when he says, "That lady kind of looks like you." Feels all ten fingers on his arm, pushing, when he says, "You'd look cute in a bonnet." Steve nearly falls over. Almost goes easy, but he doesn't.

Billy grabs him. Holds him as he smirks, "Where the fuck would I find a bonnet?"

Steve looks around the art hall, eyes wide and owlish, "Indiana?" He says, out there. In here. And.

Billy stares at him. He's the canvas and the lady in her bonnet, the divets and the folds and the shadows, the artist himself when he wets his thumb and sticks it in Steve's ear. "Dumbass," He says.

Steve finally gets everyone's thing about art.

He snaps a mental image of the afternoon and tries not to smother it in his hands.

--

So.

Steve. His eyes open, bit by bit. And what he finds is blinding. Like he fell asleep in the back of his mother's station wagon and awoke to the screaming light of high noon.

Billy's like the sun, longer Steve knows him. Storm clouds be damned.

Like. He talks about art. And he feeds lines and compliments for shits and giggles, never really noticing that Steve falls for it, a dumb catfish stuck on Billy's sharp, unforgiving hook.

He does all that but he smokes. Weed and cigarettes. He drinks.

He takes Steve to parties and says, "Ever try this before, Bambi?" But it's just Jack Daniels. But. Billy leaning with his elbow on the wall next to Steve's neck, close enough that he can smell Billy's sweat and cologne. He's smiling and his lips are cherry red, rio red, and.

He wants to roll in it.

So. He says, "No," Because, "I haven't."

It's the truth.

So Billy feeds it to him right out of the bottle. Makes him get on his knees. Slaps Steve's wrists away when he tries to hold the vessel himself, because.

Something's happening. Here. There.

Steve stares up at Billy through his eyelashes, trying not to go blind.

--

He blacks out and wakes up in the face of some bitch in a red bikini.

He's still drunk, so it takes him longer than it should to realize she's a poster tacked to somebody's, and he's not at home, and someone's snoring on the rug next to him.

Steve wiggles his toes. Fingers. Tries to remember what happened after Billy's hair caught the dining room lamplight but it's all a blur of sea stone eyes and bright white teeth and all ten fingers, rubbing at him while he threw up under the four way stop on Douglas Street.

Steve groans.

He rolls onto his side and tucks into himself and falls asleep, hoping Billy got home okay.

--

It's silver when a warm, flat palm shakes him alive. "You gotta go," Someone says, their voice rough like flannel bed sheets.

Steve blinks up, into the silver light, and sees Billy. Considers padding from the mattress to sleep inside of Billy's throat, where he'll be warm. It's a familiar urge. It's entirely new.

Steve aches. "What time--"

"--Just before five. My dad gets up early for work," Billy says, like that's supposed to mean castles are crumbing in their kingdom, but he's staring at something on Steve' face.

Really puts things into perspective, because maybe it's supposed to be an emergency. The first wisps of smoke from a forest fire, but Billy has bed head. And pillow lines on his face. And he's looking at Steve like there's something stuck in his throat.

Steve rubs at himself, trying to clear exhaustion and embarrassment. Really, just rubbing it into himself like lotion. "It's Saturday." He says.

"We're poor," Billy tells him, "My dad--"

"Where am I?"

Billy stares at him for a moment and then chuckles, shaking his head, "With me," He mutters.

Steve wants to curl into it like a cat.

--

He's rushed out of the room. He has to climb through the window while Billy keeps watch like a guard dog, and Steve lands on his ankle funny so it isn't until later when he's showered and hung over and falling onto his own mattress that he realizes Billy was in a panic.

That was Billy panicking, like Steve gets when his dad tells him to clean his room before he gets home from work, but Steve was full of concrete and wouldn't do it. Just like that, but worse.

Steve tosses and turns and tries to decipher what there was to be panicked about. Billy's room was clean.

Not just clean but spotless, like someone took a billow pad soaked in bleach and scrubbed every wall and baseboard until nothing remained except that bitch in her red bikini.

The only witness to Steve crawling out through an open window.

--

The more he thinks about it the more it feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

He combs through the memory of waking up in Billy's room. He tries to piece together hazy, half-baked image of beige carpet and the bookshelf and the little makeshift vanity that housed all of Billy's hair products.

Steve searches for a spot of the boy he knows. He calls Samuel Baruch's name and hears it shatter against empty, maroon-colored walls and the bikini girl's airbrushed rack.

He tries to envision a wayward sock, left out in the cold. A cup of water on the bedside table. Used tissues on the bedsheets.

Anything.

Steve blinks around his own room and wonders if clutter is a luxury only afforded to boys in houses paid by Monday through Friday workweeks.

He tries to imagine Billy in that room inside the house on Cherry Lane, happy, sleeping until noon in his own boyhood nest while his father gets ready for work.

It sits heavy in Steve's chest. A fairytale.

--

So.

Billy asks him during homeroom on Monday if he's ever had a weed brownie. Really, he scribbles it on a note and has Mary Sandoval stick it under Steve's elbow on her way to the bathroom.

Steve presses the note open on his desk until it's delicately wrinkled, mulling the question over in his mind. He spent the weekend driving himself crazy trying to come up with a reason to invite Billy over, a nook to slip into so he can ask the hard questions.

This could be it.

Steve peeks over his shoulder, flushing pink when Billy wags his tongue.

He has a black eye.

Steve snaps like a piece of rotted driftwood. He turns back to the note and scribbles no, but I'll try one if you have it. Has Mary take it back with her.

Figures. Billy should see his room. Steve should open his eyes.

--

"Why does it smell like that?"

"Like what, pretty boy?"

"Like. Gasoline."

Billy tilts his head back, laughter shooting like fireworks against Steve's ceiling, "It's just the dope. It's how it smells when you bake it into the--"

"--I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"I just think brownies are supposed to smell like chocolate," Steve says, handing the bag over with a wrinkled nose, "It's not a very appetizing smell."

"It's just weed."

"Weed smells gross, too."

"You don't like weed?"

"No, I just--"

"--We don't have to do the edibles if you don't want--"

"--I want to," Steve tells him. "Please." Instead of I'd do anything you asked me to. You're the influence my grandma warned me about. You're the lighter and the cigarette and the smoke in my lungs. Getting me high.

Billy nods, "Since you asked so nicely," and severs the baggy, tearing the first brownie in half.

"Woah," Steve says, embarrassed, "I know I've never had one before but I think I can do more than half."

"They're strong."

"I'm strong too," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, confused, Steve flexes.

The noise Billy makes is like a duck getting run over by a clown car. It reverberates off the walls and Steve aches to stand and chase it. "You can always start out small and take more if you need to, hot rod."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "How strong are they?"

Billy shrugs, fiddling with the chewed plastic lip of the bag. "I kissed a boy on half," He says.

It's the first time since Billy came to town that he won't stretch to meet Steve's gaze.

Steve takes the bag from him and shoves the brownie into his mouth, coughing over the dry exterior.

"Easy, man, easy," Billy smacks him between the shoulder blades, grinning and rubbing his back once Steve swallows.

[riddle-me-ri]

Hi, I like your writing/work, and could I request that you write about How would the different Riddlers would react when their S/O gets kidnapped

a/n: sure thing anon! I already wrote a scenario for Telltale Riddler for my 500 follower event so I'll just drop a link to his headcanon for his part! Also sorry beforehand if certain Riddler’s aren't here…I may have cut a couple out just to keep from being too repetitive lol

Content Warning: mentions of kidnapping

The Riddlers React to Reader Being Kidnapped

Arkhamverse Riddler:

- Edward is furious.

- How could this have happened? You were always near him?

- Who dared to stroll in and snatch you away? Did you even put up any kind of fight?

- He wants to blame it on you somehow; you were distracted, you got careless…you had a habit of getting far too comfortable.

- Deep down though, Ed was enraged at himself. What kind of genius is he if he can’t protect his own?

- For once, there was a matter far more pressing than his original plan to foil the Caped Crusader.

Dano/Reevesverse Riddler:

- Edward's whole nervous system is set aflame.

- His breathing increases, and his heart palpitates--a panic attack rising.

- No, no he can't lose his nerve.

- He has to find you-NEEDS to find you.

- You kept him sane, made him feel accepted, loved…he CAN'T lose you.

- Edward dons his mask and packs up his gear.

- He was going to get you back, no matter what.

Gotham Riddler:

- Ed's body is shaken from the inside out with pure rage.

- His mind is racing with who could possibly do this to get a rise out of him.

- He loathes to admit it, but it worked--it absolutely worked, whoever it is got his attention.

- Ed wastes no time to set out to find you.

- You are priority #1, and he will paint the streets of Gotham red to find you.

- He won't leave any stone unturned until he has you back.

BTAS Riddler:

- A seething rage washes over him.

- He can't seem to have anything good in his life without someone or something pulling the rug from under his feet.

- Rage soon shifts to concern…where were you, who had you, did they hurt you, were they going to?

- Edward has to shake his head to get the worrying thoughts out of his head.

- He needs to focus. He's got to figure out who would do this and where you could possibly be held.

- Once you're safe in his arms again…he'll worry about the next steps to keep you safe…

Zero Year/Capullo Riddler:

- Edward doesn't jump into action like others have…when he first saw the note, he figured you were just playing a trick on him.

- However, when he searches for you around your humble and cozy apartment, he's stunned.

- Edward's blood runs cold.

- You truly were taken.

- He tries to recount your last moments, the last increments of which he's seen you…

- Ed's temper begins to flare at this point.

- But no matter how frustrating it got, he would bring you back.

Gotham City Sirens Riddler:

- Edward has helped solve many kidnappings for various people.

- He did always worry about you possibly being in danger due to you being in a relationship with him…

- But a kidnapping?

- He never really imagined you being kidnapped. Usually, if someone had an issue with him--they would affect himself.

- Whatever case he was working on is immediately put on hold, and he refuses any new cases that come to his desk.

- Everything comes to a stop. All his energy and knowledge go to solving your whereabouts and bringing you back.

- Will likely enlist the help of Selina to find you. She hears and sees all sorts of things.

- Edward tries his best not to show it, but Selina can see the worry in his eyes, and she assures him they will get you back.

Telltale Riddler

^^ click on his name for the 500 follower event post with the same theme!^^

Young Justice Riddler

- Truly, likely the most panicked out of most of the other Riddlers.

- Guilt also overwhelms him a lot.

- You wouldn't likely be the victim of a kidnapping if you weren't associated with him.

- He knew he shouldn't have gotten involved with you…

- Eddie has to shake it off--he has to pull it together and find you.

- He begins to look for clues to where you've been and what you've done leading up to your whereabouts.

- Eddie tries to keep a determined attitude, to shove down any anxiety or insecurity, and keep it from distracting him from the objective at hand.

- You mean far too much for him to waste any time.

[spxdxrpxnk]

thinking abt how PROWLER MILES and SPIDERMILES sleep... 💤💤💤

( notes: this is written by a minor about underage characters, so nsfw/18+ only/'minors dni' blogs please do not interact with this post! thank you <3

i call them prowler miles and spidermiles instead of earth-XXX miles because it's cuter to me :) )

MILES is a very light sleeper.

a lot of people don't really expect that because he always looks like he's having the best, most deepest sleep of his life, all curled up in a tight ball, blankets burrito'd around him

bro is the literal definition of snug as a bug in a rug

he even snores just a little! when you first hear it you think he's like, growling in his sleep??? because of how low it is, nah, he's snorin.

there's literally never any sneaking up on him while asleep- MILES literally woke up because RIO walked past his bedroom door once. she didn't go in, didn't even touch the door; she just tip-toed in her work sneakers instead of socks or slippers.

and that woke him up, made him all grumpy because that was really early in the morning and now he can't go back to sleep

once he's up, he's up. and it takes an hour or so to get back to sleep, so he just deals with it

he sits up, but just stays sitting in bed slouched over like a zombie for a good few minutes.

he just needs a sec to boot up, give him a lil bit and then he's up and at em like he was never asleep in the first place??

weirdo.

one time, UNCLE AARON scared him awake from a nap because they had stuff to do, and he was literally so mad about it. he knew it was a dumb thing to be mad about, but MILES couldn't keep an angry pout off his face and AARON was just snickering at it the entire time

when sleeping, MILES doesn't dream. like, at all.

people around him will be talking about crazy dreams and nightmares they've had where their teeth fell out or they got turned into a horse or got chased by a giant lego man, and he's just like. tf???

he's very clingy in his sleep and when he's tired, even when he tries his best not to be, so if you choose to sleep with him then you just kinda have to accept your fate

thankfully he doesn't move around that much besides the occasional adjustment, he doesn't thrash around or anything crazy

the most annoying thing would probably be him snoring? it's not loud, barely audible if you're not right next to him, but if you do sleep near him then you'll hear it

it kinda just happens no matter how he sleeps, so if you can handle a little. um. natural white noise!

MILES is the best cuddle buddy you'll ever have.

he's very considerate tbh, he'll let you lay on him any way you want as long as it's not that uncomfortable for him

be warned though: he's an early riser.

will wake up first and do dumb shit to wake you if you're not up by time he's done eating breakfast.

he'll start lifting your eyelids, poking you, tickling your hands ( he don't do feet. ) and shit like a little damn kid

and he won't stop until you wake up, so gl w that

MILES, however..

well, he's also a light sleeper. more on the average side

but he doesn't wake up at every little thing. only if someone opens his door or talks too loud

some things wake him up, some don't

sirens and explosions outside of his window only start to wake him up after he becomes spiderman, he could sleep like a baby through it before

he usually falls asleep in a very fixed position, like curled up on his side or laying on his back with his legs crossed

but he'll always wake up halfway off his bed, limbs thrown out like he's a ragdoll, mouth wide open and dry, covers either tangled around his body or just on the floor

so.

yeah, MILES moves in his sleep!

he'll go from laying on his back to on his stomach, from his stomach to his side, from his side to somehow slumped against the wall by his bed???

because of that, he'll wake up very disoriented. he needs more than a second to boot up, his feet just kinda carry him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and stuff-

MILES isn't up-up until he blindly puts his hands under the ice cold water to wet his toothbrush and that shocks him awake, only to realize he completely missed his toothbrush and squeezed the dollop of toothpaste directly into the sink

he kinda just stares at it for a few minutes, pretty embarrassed, before scooping it off the porcelain ( or whatever sinks are made of ) and using it to brush his teeth

somehow, JEFF always knows when MILES just let the wasted toothpaste dissolve into the running water and squeezed more.

it's like his own spidey-sense.. just for something as stupid as toothpaste.

MILES does dream almost every time he's asleep, even when just napping, but he often doesn't remember them unless they were super duper crazy

he remembers the nightmare where he shot webs out his butt like a real spider, and that really scary one that he doesn't like to recall but has to do with the prowler

but he can never recall the only one that actually made him wake up in a cold sweat, panting as if he just ran a marathon.

"what was it?", you may ask?

well, MILES was president of some place.

he didn't find out where until DREAM PRESIDENT MORALES set a lot of very prejudiced laws against lego people, and it turns out he was president of lego city

( one of the laws was that, if anyone falls into the river, they're not allowed to be saved )

he got overthrown during a revolution that was led by a very violent lego spiderman who only spoke in what his brain's version of spanish was, so he could barely understand anything

and the part that made him wake up was when they tied him down and were threatening to go through his sketchbook and, upon opening it to the first page, something jumped out at him and startled him awake

you know those jumpscare videos where a spider jumps out during a seemingly calm scenario?

yeah, MILES gets weird deja vu when he sees those, but doesn't know it's because of that dream.

anyways- MILES does try his best to cuddle when sleeping, he really does!

he'll spoon ( big or little, he don't mind ), lay on you, let you lay on him

even just holding hands, or sleeping back to back

anything really, long as he goes to sleep touching you

but if it's one of his more active nights where he makes his big moves, you probably won't survive unless you're a deep sleeper.

he'll probably push or kick you, and not be sorry about it.

and he'll wake up totally out of it, wondering why the hell he's so uncomfortable

and sees he's sprawled on top of you like a terrible blanket instead of the very cute, cliche way he imagined waking up with you

something like this will happen every time, so. just throw him a pillow and a sheet and tell him to sleep on the floor.

or you take the floor, either works for him-

MILES really isn't the perfect gentleman. unless you or his parents tell him to give you the bed, he will happily let you sleep on the floor

never wakes up before you unless he had a really bad nightmare like PRESIDENT MORALES, and if you wake him up he'll be so petty and passive aggressive while he's still half asleep

so just. slap him awake if you need him that bad, shake him violently and yell frantically that they hit the pentagon

just wake him right up, so that he can't just glare at you with an adorable sleepy pout on his face, eyeing you angrily, even as he trudges to the bathroom...

... not looking where he was going, and walking right into the doorframe.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Feeling you 2

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: this was planned as one shot, but the story doesn't let go of me. So as promised Part 2 is ready and there will be Part 3 coming soon if nothing extraordinary happens. You know me already - if there is not a healthy portion of angst it's probably not my story 😉

Warnings: angst, heartbreak

Word Count: 3,6 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius@hb8301@zillahvathek@alexagirlie@gemini-mama @verenahx@mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

Eanflaed's voice, both comforting and irritating, pierced through your consciousness, pulling you back to the dimly lit main room of the old alehouse. “You are dreaming again,” she said. Your friend busied herself at the counter, cluttered with empty ale mugs, and leaned forward on her elbows, waiting for you to wash and refill them.

“You need to put an end to this”, she insisted, striving to capture your attention, though she knew you were hardly in a state to listen. Persistent as always, Eanflaed never ceased trying. You knew she meant only good for you and she was right, and you loved her for that with all your heart. Eanflaed had always been the bastion of reason, a reliable friend in the gravest situations. Someone you deeply trusted.

“You realise he won't come back to you. We've all been through it. Falling in love with a client can’t have a happy ending,” she added, placing her hand on yours, compelling you to pause and meet her gaze.

“I know, and I’m not in love,” you mumbled, averting your eyes as a surge of warmth tinged your cheeks, “I just can't shake him from my mind. It's foolish, but I can't help it. Sometimes, I wish for them to return, and for him to simply overlook me, choosing another for the night. Then, at least, I'd be certain he's forgotten me. It would hurt, but I'd finally know it's over. I'd understand that there was never anything between us in the first place."

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Eanflaed's voice softened. "When I asked you to hump him, I was just trying to help you get over it, to move forward. He seemed so sweet and somehow lost and I thought that maybe he could snap you out of this funk you've been in since that bastard... well, you know." Eanflaed's words halted abruptly under your stern gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured, releasing your hand.

You finished filling the mugs, ale frothing at the brim, and Eanflaed quickly picked them up, heading back to the few guests at the tables. You let your palms glide over the rugged and worn surface of the old, cracked wooden counter, feeling its grooves and notches, the sensation under your fingers strangely calming. Noticing an ale splash, you grabbed a rag to clean it up. Keeping busy always helped you stay grounded, stopped your mind from wandering too much. It was a quiet evening. 

It had been half a year since you last saw Sihtric, but for some reason, you couldn't get him out of your head. You just couldn't shake off the memories - that soothing feeling of his warm body pressed against yours, his strong arms wrapped around your naked frame, holding you tight as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go, that gentle touch of his lips on your neck, the tickling sensation of his breath against your skin. But above all his big, expressive eyes, the look in them tinged with inexplicable sorrow mixed with youthful eagerness and goodness were etched in your memory. 

He had asked your permission to stay with you, even though he knew he didn’t have to, as Uhtred had paid for the whole night. He had carefully tucked the blanket around both of you, his legs entwining with yours, enveloping you in his presence and leaving no space between your bodies. You could still almost feel his fingers tracing a gentle path from your shoulder down to your palm, interlacing with yours as he whispered a soft “Thank you,” in your ear, and his steady heartbeat coupled with his even breathing had lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in two years. 

Morning had arrived with loud knocks and Uhtred's brusque voice demanding the horses be readied. Startled, Sihtric leapt from the bed, his cheeks colouring as he scrambled to dress, muttering under his breath while struggling with the stubborn laces of his breeches.

You had watched him from the bed's warmth, a strange lump forming in your throat. With each passing moment you realised that this was the end. The end of what? Your mind was harshly insistent there hadn’t been anything. You had humped the young and handsome  warrior. It was nothing special. It was what whores do for money. And you had been in this trade far too long to know it better.

Closing your eyes, you sank back into the pillow,  the last thing you wanted was to watch Sihtric hurry out of the room. You were certain he wouldn't look back. Why would he? But just as you braced for the definitive sound of the door closing, you felt a weight settle on the edge of the bed. Your eyes fluttered open just as Sihtric's lips hesitantly brushed your forehead. 

A shy smile played on his lips. “I have to leave now,” he said, and you couldn't discern if his voice held a hint of regret or sadness, or if it was just your imagination. “Can I… will I see you again, if we… when we return?” Sihtric's voice wavered slightly with his last words. Was it due to the uncertainty of his future, or a genuine desire to see you again? You tried to speak, but no words came out, choked by the lump in your throat. Instead, you just nodded and exhaled sharply as Sihtric's lips met yours in a brief, tender kiss.

You had so much you wanted to say – to wish him luck, to say how much you enjoyed the night with him, to tell him you'd be waiting. Thoughts swirled in your mind, but your voice failed you as you watched him walk towards the door, turning for one last, lingering glance before leaving.

And since then, you waited, though you weren't sure for what. What could you expect if he did return? “Nothing,” your mind whispered, while your heart screamed, “Everything!” Deep down, you knew it was a lost cause. He had probably forgotten you the moment he left town, or at least by the next alehouse with its array of young, charming girls. Yet, each time the doors of the old alehouse creaked open and men entered, your eyes involuntarily searched among them, your heart racing with hope.

"Sigefried's here again, asking for you to join him at their table. What should I tell him?" Eanflaed queried with a teasing grin, returning with a batch of empty mugs.

"Just say I can't," you replied tersely, bracing yourself against the counter with your hands and shooting a challenging look at your friend.

"He's a decent man, and he's taken a liking to you. His wife passed away last year," Eanflaed pressed on, oblivious to your brooding expression.

"That's precisely it. Barely a year since her death and he's already on the hunt for someone new," you retorted sharply, your voice laced with disdain.

"Hey, go easy on him. He's only human, not a saint. And in his defence, he's only had eyes for you. Never once has he chosen another girl here. I think his visits are just to see you," Eanflaed whispered, trying to persuade you. "I'm not suggesting you to hump him. Just be courteous and say hello."

"I'm really not feeling up to it today," you replied, turning away and glancing towards the back chamber behind the counter. "Ealfwin, could you take over? I need a break," you called to the young girl in the doorway, who was surveying the room. She nodded in acknowledgment. You left your apron on the counter, which Ealfwin picked up as you made your way to the door.

You shivered, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as the cool evening air brushed against you, a stark contrast to the house's cosy warmth. Rubbing your upper arms to ward off the chill, you hesitated before stepping outside. Heading towards the stables just around the corner, you found comfort in the familiar scent of fresh straw and the soft sounds of horses snorting. Leaning against one of the stable poles, you took a deep breath, soaking in the tranquil hush of the approaching night.

The sound of the main door creaking open and footsteps drawing near reached your ears. Without turning, you knew who it was.

"Uh... erm... good evening. Sorry, I hope I'm not intruding," a deep, resonant voice broke the silence as you slowly turned to face the man now beside you, his figure casting a shadow in the light spilling from the alehouse. "I was wondering... about my offer... have you thought about it?" he asked, stepping closer.

You remained silent.

"I realise it might seem rushed, but as I've mentioned, I find you very appealing, and I'm in need of a wife to manage the household and care for the children. My estate isn't large, but it's sufficient for all my needs and more. With me, you wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again," Sigefried spoke with a measured, casual tone, but his words sent a shiver down your spine.

He had calmly and logically presented his proposal a week ago, urging you to consider it. And you had given it thought. The offer was undeniably tempting – a roof over your head, freedom from the worry about which meal you have to leave out today, or about your clothing slowly turning to tatters with no money to replace them. 

It wasn't about love or affection; it was a deal, pragmatic and sensible. It was a polite way of asking you to sell yourself, and the price he offered was more than fair for someone in your position. It was an escape to a different life, one you had often dreamt of – a life filled with esteem and reasonable wealth, a life where you would be attending church on Sundays instead of scrubbing mugs in an alehouse. Yet, in this new life, under the guise of a wife's respectability, you would still be selling your body, just as before. You would still be a whore, only with a different title, and that until your dying day.

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you leaned your head against the pole, closing them. A gentle breeze played through your loose hair, and you felt your fingers tremble as you adjusted your dress, bracing yourself to the cruel truth that there was no other life for you, you were trapped in your own dreams and the cold misery of this world and there was no escape for you. 

"I... I've thought about it," you stammered, your breath quickening with each word. Sigefried reached out, taking your hand in his and gently lifting it to his lips. The confidence in his gaze made you swallow hard. He understood the appeal of his offer, assured in its allure. There was no malice in his eyes, only lust mingled with cold calculation – and that was the final push in your decision, one that had been resolute from the start. You knew this was a choice you might regret.

You parted your lips to speak, but before a word could escape, Sigefried's lips pressed forcefully against yours, eliciting a surprised gasp. You remained immobile, spellbound, as Sigefried's greedy lips moved over yours. Shock rendered you unable to respond, while a growing sense of disgust churned in your stomach, absorbing all your other senses so that you even failed to notice the figure of a young man, halted in his steps, clutching a bunch of flowers, his gaze fixed intently on you and Sigefried.

—-------------------------------------

Sihtric stood motionless, unable to avert his gaze from you and the man who had just proposed to you, now kissing you with such intensity. Time seemed to slow down as he observed you both, completely absorbed in each other, oblivious to the world around. With a concerted effort, he finally managed to look away. His eyes fell to the flowers he clutched, and a wave of heat rushed to his cheeks, flooding him with embarrassment.  Flowers. He couldn't help but think how silly it was to come here with flowers.

His hand opened, letting them slip through his fingers and tumble to the ground, while his eyes followed their swirl in the air before landing in the dirt. An urgent need to escape washed over him, to flee before the overwhelming heaviness in his chest became too much to bear. Stepping over the now-crushed blossoms, Sihtric silently turned and continued his way, each step feeling heavier than the last. Reaching the door, he paused, inhaling deeply to steady his rapid heartbeat, then pushed it open, alehouse's raucous laughter and loud voices hitting him as he entered.

Uhtred and Finan, sitting at a table at the room's far end, were easily spotted, their laughter ringing out.

"Look who's here! Our lovesick warrior," Finan greeted with a teasing smirk as Sihtric approached. "Tell us, Sihtric, did you finally confess your undying love to the alehouse beauty?"

Uhtred placed a cautious hand on Finan’s shoulder, his eyes noting the miserable, lost expression on Sihtric’s face, his cheeks flushing and fists clenching, as he slumped onto the bench, burying his face in his hands.

"I need a drink," came Sihtric's hoarse voice. He reached for the ale mug Uhtred slid towards him. "And... and I need a woman," he added, setting the now-empty mug back on the table with a thud after a couple of hearty gulps. 

Finan's face shifted from amusement to concern as he shared a worried glance with Uhtred.

"What's up? Did you see her?" Finan asked, his tone now serious.

Sihtric tried to speak, but words escaped him as the image of you and Sigefried locked in that intense kiss replayed in his mind again and again, each time like a fresh wound to his heart. He was not angry at you; he was angry at himself for being unable to forget you, to move on from you. 

He had made every effort. He had tried to erase the memory of your deep, sorrowful, yet captivating eyes, and had sought to quell his yearning for your soft, tender touch in the embrace of other women. But nothing had worked. Something about you had ensnared him from the very first moment your eyes met. There had been something so familiar yet intangible in the way you spoke to him, the way you touched him, that lingered in his memory, impossible to shake off and forget. 

He had felt safe with you and he had felt loved. Yes, loved – he had felt a genuine care and acceptance of who he was, emanating from you, a feeling he thought long forgotten and buried together with the only person who he knew had truly cared for and loved him.

He understood that he had no right to expect anything from you, but deep down, he had hoped that unique bond he had sensed – that understanding and shared feeling of each other’s unspoken pain and sorrow  – wasn't just a delusion conjured by his imagination. He longed for it to be real, mutual. This feeling had ignited a relentless flame within him, driving him forward, guiding him in the battle, consuming his thoughts and breathing new life in him. He had never experienced that feeling again, regardless of how young, beautiful, or eager to please the other girls were. This flame had driven him to return to you, it had carried him, made him fight like a madman, spurned him and given him wings to fly. 

Yet he had arrived too late. And even if he hadn't, what could he possibly offer you? How could he rival the proposal he had just overheard? You deserved the security and prosperity that the other man was offering, and he would rather cut his own hand than attempt to deprive you of it, even if it meant leaving his heart bleeding. 

"I'm such a fool," Sihtric finally managed to utter, his hand tightening around the ale mug.

"Hey, that's how it goes sometimes, lad. We tried to warn you, but you wouldn't hear it. She's an alehouse girl, Sihtric. You couldn't have seriously expected her to wait for you for half a year," Uhtred said, placing a comforting hand on his younger friend’s shoulder. 

"Thank goodness there's no shortage of beautiful women around," Finan chuckled, his smile broadening as he watched a group of giggling girls emerge from the back room, making their way to the guests. 

It was that time again and the room was full of freshly arrived warriors, signalling a potentially profitable night. 

—------------------------------------------

Your heart pounded like thunderous drum beats in your ears as you flung open the doors, bursting into the alehouse's now noisy main room.You had been away for no more than half an hour and within this short time the quiet and drowsy alehouse had morphed into a bustling hive, filled with energy and noise. 

Your hands trembled, the vivid memory of the recent moments still fresh in your mind. You had slapped Sigefried with all your might, pushed him away in revulsion, and fled. The image of his stunned, confused expression lingered in your mind – his hands reaching out to you, his voice calling your name, offering apologies. But you didn't look back; you just ran, driven by an overwhelming need to return to the safety of the alehouse, to escape his grasp, to avoid his presence. 

Your gaze swept quickly over the buzzing main room as you made your way to the counter, trying to dodge Eanflaed's sharp glare.

"What took you so long? Where have you been? We're swamped with guests. Uhtred and his men are back, can't you see? I need you here," Eanflaed's words washed over you forcefully. Your heart seemed to leap into your throat as you spun around, scanning the crowded room. Then, you saw him.

There he was, seated at the far end, his laughter cutting through the din and loud chatter, his arm comfortably draped around the waist of a girl you instantly recognised  as Ealfwin, nestled in his lap and whispering something in his ear. Your hands clutched the counter, a desperate anchor as your knees weakened.

Try as you might, you couldn't tear your eyes away. They were fixed on that familiar, handsome face, those broad shoulders, and muscular arms highlighted by his sleeveless armour, pulled in by the sound of his infectious laughter echoing through the room. 

He had changed. That insecure, shy, hunched over and sad-eyed boy, who once tried to stay hidden and mask his true strength, was gone. In his place sat a formidable warrior, exuding confidence and self-assurance, adorned with golden rings on his fingers and armbands around his wrists. 

A soft gasp slipped from your lips as you took in the sight of him, completely unaware of your presence, entirely focused on the girl in his embrace. He cupped her chin with his fingers and drew her into a fervent kiss. Ealfwin giggled, playfully withdrawing from his lips, her fingers tantalisingly trailing down his arm, while her other hand playfully tousled his hair. Sihtric chuckled again, pushed his ale mug aside, and stood up, effortlessly lifting Ealfwin onto his shoulder, making her laugh and wiggle with her feet, as he made his way towards the stairs that led to the upper chambers.

In that brief moment, as he passed by, your eyes locked with his. You felt rooted to the spot, mesmerised by those deep eyes casually glancing at you, flickering with a playful spark, yet showing no sign of recognition.

“Where’s the ale?” a gruff voice from a nearby table cut through the air, as Eanflaed nudged you sharply with her elbow.

“Snap out of it,” she whispered urgently, “Now you know…,” she trailed off, but you were no longer listening. Gasping, you spun around and hurried towards the door. You barely managed to stumble down the few steps as you felt your guts revolting and overcome by the nausea you bent over to vomit the scant contents of your stomach. Time blurred as you stood there, cold sweat beading on your forehead, your body convulsively heaving.

Feeling hands gently gathering your dishevelled hair and steadying your trembling shoulders, you realised it was Eanflaed, preventing you from collapsing to the ground.

"Come on, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Eanflaed's soft, familiar voice grounded you. You grasped her arms, looking up into her eyes filled with compassion, your own tearful gaze brimming with gratitude as you realised your friend had simply left her bustling alehouse and its demanding guests to be by your side. Eanflaed wrapped her arms around your shoulders, holding you firmly with a strength one would never suspect from her delicate frame, as she gently guided you to sit down on the steps, settling next to you.

“You deserve so much better,” she said, her smile tinged with sadness as she tenderly tucked your dishevelled hair behind your ear. “You're too sweet and kind for this harsh world.”

"Sigefried proposed to me tonight," you managed between sobs, "And I rejected him. I slapped him when he tried to kiss me. I just couldn't stand his touch, or the thought of anyone else touching me.”

“Oh, heavens. It just keeps getting more complicated,” Eanflaed sighed. “You need to rest and get through this night. Things always seem clearer in the morning. Come, I'll get a bed ready for you. And no, you're not going home alone in this state,” she stated firmly, cutting off any weak protest you might have had. In truth, you didn’t have the strength to argue. Nodding in agreement, you allowed Eanflaed to help you to your feet and guide you gently back inside.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heyyy. Just had a thought about what would tan would be like on reader's birthday but they aren't together. So readeranf the twins are friends so what kind of stuff would they get her. Feel like tan would get something really meaningful and sweet that is something that he must really listen to what reader says in general to know. And when he gives her it he's reaally awkward and a blushing mess cyz he's worried she won't like it and he's saying stuff like'you can return it if u don't like it' 'its a stupid gift so u probably won't like it'. Love ur stuff recently :))

my baby hi!! sorry this has taken me longer to reply to than I usually would. been a little busy last couple days!! I got a little carried away and I couldn’t stop coming up with things😭💌

TAN GIVING READER BIRTHDAY GIFTS.

but

this guy is so thoughtful that no one can tell me otherwise!! he's a good listener, especially when you think he's not paying attention AND he's got cash to flunk which helps aid his gift-giving abilities so so so...

he's a bit of a snooper, so if he sees a tab open on your laptop or computer and it's a shopping website, he'd quickly click on it and take a picture so that he can remember what it is. maybe he deletes the items from your cart so you can't buy them for yourself

if you and the twins are shopping, and tan sees you eye up something, he'd make a note to pick it up (he's come back in a few hours or next day)

it depends on what things you like - ie flashy designer gifts or gifts for things you need/ can't buy. but he doesn't want to disappoint you so he'd get you something within that category (in that safe sweet spot)

maybe he mistakes things, so if he thinks you like a certain candle scent, he'd get it for you in air freshener form, not knowing that you know there's a difference in the smells (hence why you've never bought it for yourself) so he thinks he's being sweet (he is) but you don't really like the smell, but he's so thoughtful that you say you love the scent name (that makes sense right?)

he goes overboard and definitely puts lem's gifts to shame (even though he got you perfect gifts (I feel like lem just knows what you want and like, and the presents have funny inside jokes))

he tries hard to find the balance between a friendly and romantic gift - not wanting to overstep that line 

maybe your washing machine broke? so he buys you a new one, but a model better than your one before. maybe you mention how your floor seems empty? so he buys you a rug to match your space (would probs ask lem for advice) maybe you mention how you're running low on a lip gloss you like? but he doesn't know the shade name, so he gets you all the shades in that brand/ line so you can pick and choose when you want (it's your go-to one and you have it out often, hence why he knows the brand - he can read the logo) clear, pinks, purples, reds, browns, oranges - he'd get them all 

maybe you mention how you want to liven up your bedroom to match the season? so he buys you new bedding with colours to match your room (again, he asks lem to help) maybe you had your eye on a pair of shoes or boots but they're way out of your price range? guess what? he's had them boxed up and in his wardrobe the whole time (ready to give you on your bday) maybe there's a foreign snack you like but it's near impossible to find? so you bet when he's away for work he hunts around the shops to see if he can find any. ALSO!!!!! if he can, he'd buy loads, like I mean loads and pay to mail them back home so he can give it to you for your bday (dying)

and when it comes to actually giving them to you, he's all nervy and anxious bc he doesn't want you to hate them, so he puts it out there that he's uncertain about what he got you (even though he knows he did a good job) ALSO he really really values your opinion!!! so he says things like "I got the receipt at home if you don't like it" "that one's stupid. I thought it was alright in the shop, but I dunno" "you're hard to buy for (lie) I'll get you better stuff at christmas (or whatever it is you do or don't celebrate)" “I won’t be offended if you swap it” (or return/ refund)

and the reason you have a slight scowl is not bc of the gifts, but bc of what he's saying. like they're PERFECT gifts and he's saying that they're not 

so you're like "how did you even know I wanted that?" and he says how he has his sources yadayada

he's such a cutie pie <3

[soapoet]

how are you, october?

+3 Taylor Swift songs each because she's striving and so should you.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

Soapy scribbles: I already did a general energy reading for this autumn season here, but there's quite a bit of energies at play this autumn, so I felt the need to look at October specifically as it feels very important.

01.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift ‐ Don't blame me, I did something bad, Red.

How long have you kept the light on? Sitting there, staring at the door, waiting for someone who never seems to come? The radio is on, playing two stations at once. The flower petals all say maybe, not he loves me, he loves me not. You are frustrated and confused, yearning for clarity but outside the sun just won't rise and the only light is the one lit outside your house. Have you given your time at a discount, or is the free trial still running? Someone needs to draw the line in the sand further from the waves that keep washing them away. You want more, and for love to not feel like agony. Red is the colour of passion, both love and hate. I see you wearing their white t-shirt, your heart bleeding and staining it red as you watch them sleep. Safe and sound, whilst you howl to the moon. You're growing territorial. A desperate act to ward off the wolves that prowl your prey. You saw them first, but they don't seem to see you.

It seems as though your thoughts and feelings are silly until somebody else echos them, word for word, and then they're liquid gold. You're not a ghost, but you feel your outlines blur. Where do you end and where do they begin? You haunt their halls, but they're fast asleep and never notice a bump in the night. You've felt powerless, like the quietest poltergeist, unable to move and shake the silverware, never able to rattle the cupboards or the picture frames. Somebody treats you like they would give you their last name, yet make no such commitments, not a single step in that direction. It is all up in the air, and you feel like the rug beneath your feet will get pulled at any moment. Is it not tiring to lie awake, watching the shadows, wondering what beasts may strike if you let your guard down in slumber? Without certainty, you're the one in fear under the covers, certain it wasn't just the wind. Because in your experience, it never really is.

Do not sign the dotted line without examination of the fine print. Better yet, do not sell your heart and soul to someone who will keep you on a shelf, saved for a rainy day, but will not puncture breathing holes into the lid and care for you truly. Do not let yourself be kept for a season, wings clipped and left to asphyxiate in a jar. You have given enough benefits of the doubt, but nobody is so daft, so oblivious, they would not embrace love they find worthy and good. Do not let yourself be kept as an option or as something good enough until something better, new and shiny, comes along. Close up shop and demand full subscription for your time and effort. If they won't pay the price, you'll find better in no time whilst karma chews them out. Especially if you feel like you can't do better, or have felt like love keeps avoiding you and you're somehow faulty and too broken to be loved, there really is someone around the next few corners who won't play you like a game or stick around only in fair weather but your storms too. So don't settle, you deserve better than okay and fine and good enough. For a select few, there really is love here, but may be drowning in addiction or fears of some kind. Remember that you can't help someone who doesn't want help, because change is made when they want change. This change may very well be coming up in the near future, and wrongs may be made right slowly. If this is somebody you love, whether romantically or platonically, even in a familial sense, make sure you keep your head above water and put your own oxygen mask on first before helping another. You can extend a helping hand, but do so when they ask, not because you're expected to do it because you always have. New beginnings in old relationships are possible if you want it.

Additional details: Amethysts, Ayurveda, moths, mixed signals, love languages, uquizzes and other such tests, purple, blue, red, bus rides, tattoos, job offers, writing, poetry, thesis, message in a bottle, missing an ex, addiction, healing, birds and squirrels, starting over, second chances, reminiscing, old photos or journal entries or ig posts, synastry charts, girl in red, Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Kahan, Bishop Briggs, YA book series, maladaptive daydreaming, BPD, lighters, short trips, parties or other get togethers, double dates, life path 8, birthdays, sanrio, studying, Scorpio/Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Pisces, 3H/4H/5H/12H, Saturn/Mars/Uranus, Lilith/Chiron, 25/89/222/555.

02.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - Gorgeous, Paper rings, I think he knows.

Luck seems to be on your side, or it soon will be. After a long drought, you have stumbled upon an oasis. Prayers whispered in the dark, sometimes choked out by tears, are now proven to have been heard after all. Endless night and harsh winter is over, even though seasonally speaking it's right ahead of us in the northern hemisphere. In your life, however, you're coming out of a very long and hard winter. You have felt cold and lost, sometimes frozen in place, as though your icicle bones and frosted skin wouldn't let your body decompose when you thought you were dead. You were stuck up to your thighs in snow. Every step was a challenge, and harsh winds threatened you like frail branches bending and snapping in storms. Now the snow is melting, trampled into slush beneath your boots and making way for spring flowers to bloom.

Forward movement is happening in many areas of your life. New beginnings are popping up like wildflowers in a meadow for you to frolic in. You're making changes and changes are making you. Immovable objects begin to roll down the hilltop where you've felt stranded like a lone celltower sending and receiving signals. You may have felt in your heart and soul that the winds are changing. Your intuition has been wide open and receptive for some time now, hasn't it? But rooted in place unable to move you have felt unable to take action. That is changing now as not only can you move forward, but things you have wished for begin to arrive like ships to your shores. You sowed and nurtured the seeds and it is time to harvest your crops. If you have dealt with mental terrors and grief, you should see those slowly begin to heal, circumstances improve, and help becoming available to you and you finally feel ready and able to take it.

If you've been engaging in some good old fashioned yearning, know that it's a case of mutual pining. Someone whose freckles, birth marks, or scars you have mapped out like an astronomer the night sky in stolen glances has stolen just as many of you. Either one of you, perhaps both, have been closing doors as of late, gone through endings and made space for the new and found the keys to the doors once shut and chained and locked. There is a distinct sense of leveling up here, like entering a new region in a game at last when the requirements have been met, and you're now free to explore new and unknown territory. I see unwavering eye contact where before it was a game of cat and mouse. I see a church, two people side by side in the pews sharing quiet confessions. Words previously only thought find a voice and get spoken, not to the moon but the heart they were meant for. There can be some secrecy involved, but less like the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet it's keeping something sacred between two souls, keeping each other like an oath. Sheltering a flame, for some of you one rekindled, between four hands and promising to meet in the woods at night. This secrecy is not one grown from shame, but one of dedication. A solid foundation, a home and sturdy fortress is being built or rebuilt in the dark of the night so its eventual beauty and intricacies may be admired by all in the sun. You may have manifested this, or simply known this was inevitable. All you really had to do was accept it as fate and wait for it to unfold. This is a cozy kind of love, but also devout like two souls looking upon each other in reverence. It feels as close as it feels free. There's something to lean on but also room to grow. You hold each other tightly, but loosen the grip as needed, and always ready to catch the other if they fall. For some of you this marks the end of a third party situation, an entirely new love, and for others this is reworking an existing or past love with a new set of rules and making magic together after tough challenges.

Additional details: Full moon, abundance, sudden income, lottery luck, gifts, receiving or giving flowers, dancing, swimming, guided meditations, listening to higher frequencies, therapy or counselling, lists and plans, entrepreneurship, editing, finishing tasks, cats, rabbits and ferrets or rodents, pancakes and waffles, sunflowers and dandelions, espresso, heavy rain, holding hands, nostalgic scents or environments, coughing, PTSD, neurodivergence, artificial intelligence, fidget toys or stress balls, colouring books, arts and crafts, dainty jewellery, body language, law of assumption, dreams, blue, green, black, glasses, kpop, punk, indie, Stray Kids, Ateez, Dreamcatcher, Daft Punk, Sabaton, Avenged Sevenfold, Korn, Virgo/Leo/Cancer/Aquarius/Sagittarius, 1H/3H/5H/11H, Jupiter/Moon/Mercury/Pluto, North and South Node/Ceres, 12/13/33/555/888.

03.

Shufflemancy: Taylor Swift - The archer, Mean, Anti-hero.

Narcissus and Echo, a tragedy of old. You may have been at the mercy of fluctuating between the two. This can be a dance between you and another, or you and your own reflection. You may have pushed someone away. A friend, a family member, yourself, or an authority figure of sorts. Demanding they leave you alone, left them on read or never bothered to open their letters at all, after so long of clinging to their every word. Certain of your independence, a need to put yourself first, desperate self love wholly unrequited. Or perhaps you fought viciously for yourself, but your voice was never heard. As though you always needed someone else to speak your words for them to be taken as right and true. Perhaps you were sent on a glitched quest, "ask your mother" only met with "ask your father", leaving you in the uncertainty of the in between, alone and filled to the brim with unanswered questions and no sense of direction.

You have sought help, asked for assistance, asked all the right questions and really pushed your own cart forwards though it has been uphill. And something or someone always cast stones on your path forward, shoved stick between the wheels to make the process feel so hopeless. There are wounds that you bear that have been left unhealed for years. Still raw and bleeding you dry whilst you try to keep yourself together like cupping water in your hands as it spills through your fingers. But though your path is full of traps and spikes and is uncertain and winding, you know the way forward all within yourself. Because you carry with you the only light you need to find your way. You may cross paths with kind advisors who unseathe their swords to fight for you, and some of them may already be in your life. Those who see the injustice and tear down the thicket ahead to make way for you and protect you whilst you stitch your wounds and ready yourself for battle yourself. Accept the help, encouragement, and follow these kind mercenaries when you get lost. Allow them to carry your burdens when as Atlas you need a break from carrying the world upon your shoulders. Soon you'll be strong enough to do what you need to do. Be better, stronger, healthier, if not for you right now then for those who need you and cherish you and want you by their side in the quests of life. Eventually your actions will prove to be the best for you, and a faint portrait of a future you smiles upon your present self for your decision to keep moving forward.

If you need to put your foot down, do so in earnest. Shoo away guilt and shame, and let go of the idea that you must suffer in silence and weather unnecessary storms, speak when spoken to and follow another's commands so often not in favour of your own well-being. Fight your inner demons, but know you need not fight them alone. Dip a quill in ink and rewrite the rules. Break into the library which holds the book of life and black out that what does not serve you, and take ownership of your own story. If Narcissus treats you poorly, trample him under your foot on your way out the door. He is only a flower now and seasons change, and he will wilt and wither away as you no longer shine upon his petals.

Additional details: Violins, literature, art galleries, sisters and fathers, divorce, babies or children, psychotherapy, CBT, law, changing your name, lgbt+, jazz, classical music, Regina Spektor, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, borzoi, dog videos, playing instruments, writing a book, storytelling, unknown address, exotic animals, spiders, ED, OCD, teddy bears, squishmallows, studying for a test, doctor's appointments, funerals, chill covers/lofi, slowed/reverb/acoustic versions, subliminals, affirmations, lace, fuzzy socks or woolen socks, bruises, house plants, monstera, ivy, pothos, tea collection, cold hands, Taurus/Gemini/Libra/Scorpio/Capricorn, 2H/6H/8H/10H, Saturn/Pluto/Neptune/Venus, IC/MC, 17/23/95/11:11/000/444.

[cosmerelists]

What Cosmere Characters' Rooms Look Like (But Mostly In Terms of Vibes)

As requested by @rainbyanyothername :)

Here is my take on what the vibe of Cosmere characters' rooms would be--vibes mostly because I don't want to be stuck to, like, what bedrooms are canonically like in the various worlds. We're going by vibes, baby!

1. Adolin

I think that, as soon as he stopped having to abide by his father's strict "all rooms must follow the codes somehow" standards, Adolin went his own way...and that way was tasteful and fashionable. Adolin is the sort of guy whose bedroom pieces all match--but not in a "all bought from a matching set" kind of way, but rather, like, a deep orange bedspread and a forest green rug that somehow complement each other beautifully. It's neat--he is NOT going to wrinkle his clothes by tossing them over a chair--but also clearly lived in and homey.

2. Zellion

He doesn't have a room. :( He's always on the run. :( How rude of you to even ask. :(

3. Shallan

I just remember how happy Shallan was to be in that big fluffy comforter when she first moved in with Sebarial. I think she'd love to have that deeply soft bed and that big fluffy comforter and a beanbag chair and also a big egress window in case she has to escape in the night to do spy stuff. It is also definitely not neat.

4. Jasnah

Well...we know nothing is soft if Jasnah can help it. Her mattress is firm, her rug (if she has one) is low-pile, and she has bookshelves everywhere.

5. Wax

I think he has deerskin-rug-on-the-floor-guns-on-the-walls-but-also-everything-in-there-costs-one-million-dollars vibes. Except for the boots, which Wayne left behind as a trade and are worth $1.50.

6. Ranette

Her room is gross and cluttered and every single surface is either guns or gun parts.

7. Dalinar

I mean, surely this one is obvious: his room is Spartan. Dalinar has the minimum amount of furniture necessary to make a room a room, and he didn't even have any photographs before Navani came along. He thinks slippers are extravagant.

8. Lightsong

I mean, this one is clear from canon. Lightsong has, like, nineteen pillows and sixteen blankets and carpets on top of his carpets and a lot of objects that could only be called "baubles."

9. Sigzil

I don't think Sigzil is quite as Spartan as Dalinar--or at least, it isn't a moral thing for him. I think Sigzil would live fairly simply because he's not a big stuff person, and it would be neat on the surface but perhaps a bit dusty if you looked too closely because he's out a lot.

10. Zane

All I know is that his room has a My Chemical Romance poster on its wall...in, like, vibes.

11. Breeze

He has a wine fridge. It's by the bed. His room his mostly tasteful and masculine and, like, full of oak...but also there are sparkly pink pillows and doilies everywhere. We all know why.

12. Kelsier

Kelsier's room would be a sanctuary to Mare; like not-touched-at-all-since-she-was-last-there-even-though-he-feels-like-weeping-whenever-he-sees-it-but-he-can't-throw-away-that-crumpled-up-kleenex-because-Mare-touched-it sort of vibes. Sorry :(

13. Vasher

His room his gross. He thinks he can wear his socks three times before they need washing and in the meantime he will be leaving them on that chair.

14. Vivenna

Her room is very neat--she definitely makes her bed every morning and actually moves books to dust underneath them--and there is, just, no color anywhere.

15. Kaladin

If you asked Kaladin what he wanted in a bedroom he would be like "A mattress?? To sleep on?? What else do you need in a bedroom???" And yes, he's definitely a mattress-put-directly-on-the-floor boy. But then Syl keeps collecting cool leaves and flowers and putting them around, and there are some rocks from Tien, and a flute that somehow ended up back with him, and Adolin gave him something called a "decorative pillow" and in the end it's still a mattress on the floor but surrounded by things brought in by people who love him.

[whimsimille]

VENDETTA

Jeong Jin-Man x Fem! Reader

Chapter 2: VENDETTA.ZIP

“Momma?”

You're roused from your slumber by a peculiar sound that gushes—the way rapids dash against jumbled rocks. Your ear still nuzzles against the pillow plastered with black cat motifs. Unruly strands of your obsidian hair sprawl over the sable felines printed on your comfort.

This might be your final summer snuggling in this kitty patterned pillowcase—a relic better suited for preschoolers. You’ve been contemplating a more sophisticated change—not so much “grown-up” because that phrase seems oddly outmoded to you now. These days, it’s either 'mature’ or 'adult’. A plush silk case endorsing maturity may be owned soon enough, akin to those Jin boasts of from Sonyeo—an opulent Korean label— nonetheless! But till you bring home that plush treasure, it's the humble black-cat print for you—especially given its ability to maintain a coolish touch even when midsummer night's force is nothing besides sticky humidity and trills of katydids.

Yes, the string of sounds filling up your room are those made by katydids. Momma was sure those chirping notes were not lent by cicadas, as they preferred daylight hours over nocturnal ones for their concerts. She referred to these symphonies rather derogatively as 'that racket’ and rarely allowed her own window to be tampered with lest 'that racket' invade her serene sleep haven.

“Momma… Are you close?”

From deep down the hallway comes an array of sounds far louder than mere bugs tapping on exterior walls—they seem uncomfortably domestic. Bugs couldn't pass through barriers, but these incoming clips could—they undeniably belonged within these four walls.

Peering into silhouettes strewn around your bedroom, eyes accustomed to nightpicking details shimmering in monochromatic shades—black stands stark against muted greys in ambient darkness. Occasionally, a faint wave of moonlight filters through the open window, supplemented by the luminescence radiating from your trusty nightlight purchased at some local convenience store—a tiny LED bunny that stood guard near your bedroom entrance. At night, your heavily populated room transformed into a monster land, with forsaken clothes heaped around on the floor, resembling predatory creatures lurking in shadows. Now your token light was placed too far—a seeming hundred miles away—just so you could avoid tumbling over these innocent-looking beasts camouflaged in gloom while scurrying to the door. Not fear—you were far above such childish frights—but maturity guided you, or so you reassured yourself.

Still, it’s quiet enough now that you can hear your own breathing. You frown at that silence. It’s an unfamiliar quiet—the quiet that fills up the bedroom at night when you can’t sleep, the quiet that surrounds you when there have been bad dreams or when you’ve been sent to bed early for some infraction. This kind of quiet is the reason you sleep with your windows open, so you can hear something other than yourself alone.

It wasn’t too dark to see, not with the thin wash of light from outside that made it into the entryway. But it was dimmer than you would have thought for so early in the evening this close to summer. You wondered if a thunderstorm was gathering outside, and you just hadn’t noticed. You strained your ears for the telltale rumble of thunder or the flash of lightning but heard nothing. Just the whooshing sound and the quiet.

“Momma, please answer me.”

No. The silence stretches out, almost becoming a presence in itself. You sit up, the whooshing sound seeming to grow louder as you become more awake. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and hesitate for a moment, your bare feet hovering above the floor.

The hallway doesn't look any different from before—plain white walls, family photos hanging askew on their hooks, old throw rugs scattered here and there for comfort underfoot—but right now it's a dark tunnel with the faintest hint of light at the end. You step onto the floor, the coolness of the wooden boards grounding you. Each step you take is careful, slow. You don’t want to make any noise. You don’t want to disturb whatever might be lurking in the shadows.

You peer into Momma's room, blinking slowly to adjust to the darkness. It smells stale here—like a mix of cigarette smoke and old clothes, the kind that have sat too long in the back of a closet. Momma has been sleeping less lately; it's like she's avoiding her room at night.

Her side of the bed is rumpled, the sheets twisted and wrinkled as if she's been tossing and turning all night long.

You bite your lip. Something feels off about this whole situation, but you can't quite put your finger on it yet. Looking back at your own room, you gulp hard and step in, hesitantly putting one foot in front of the other.

Did she leave? Is she hurt?

You advance. Nothing here, nothing. Just an empty, cold room because today was the day to pay the electricity bill and she must’ve forgotten. A dresser with chipped paint and a missing drawer knob. A wardrobe with the door open, displaying a bunch of hotel hangers—the kind you can't steal. A Bible on a corner table. To the left, the bathroom door, a mirror in its full length reflecting your own pale image. That door was slightly ajar and... You saw your reflection nodding slowly. 

Yes, that was where it was, whatever it was. In there. In the bathroom.

Your reflection advanced, as if it were about to escape from the mirror. It extended a hand, pressing it against yours. Then it disappeared at an angle as the bathroom door opened. You looked inside. A long, old room, like a train car. Small hexagonal tiles on the floor, some of which are cracked and discolored. At the far end, a toilet with the lid up, a roll of toilet paper dangling precariously from its holder. To the right, a sink, and above it another mirror, the kind that hides a medicine cabinet filled with old prescription bottles and half-used tubes of toothpaste. To the left, a huge white clawfoot bathtub with a shower curtain drawn.

"Momma?" you call again, your voice trembling now. 

There was water running.

You entered the bathroom and walked towards the bathtub as if in a dream, as if you were being propelled, as if all this were one of those dreams horror movies brought, as if maybe you were going to see something good when you opened the shower curtain, something you had forgotten or something Momma had lost, something that would make you both happy.

You reached for the curtain, your hand trembling, and drew it back.

-----------

There was nothing but blood and a knife in Jin-Man’s bathtub. No water. No glazy eyes looking up at the ceiling. No body. Just crimson stains streaking down the porcelain, the knife resting at an odd angle, as if someone had dropped it hastily.

Your fist clenches around the curtain as you feel your eyes getting wet, trying to make you feel something. Something that involves anything but crying like a lost little child. You glance around the bathroom, noting the little details that seem to scream at you—the designer shampoo bottles Jin-Man always bragged about, the lavender-scented candles he adored, now splattered with red.

You wanted to say you thought you weren't going to crumble. That you were not tangled in lies and were ready for this. But looking behind you, you saw your hair, shorter now, messier and lifeless, and you saw the woman that you were supposed to be. The woman who didn't run but followed the line she was always meant to follow. Determined. Confident. Someone who has seen grief rears its head countless times and isn’t supposed to cry. But the thing about grief is—it isn't like other emotions; it begs for something so visceral. It induces that gut-churning feeling, even when it isn't directed at you. And just like when you were a child, you do not know what to do with such raw fury, so you swallow it down, until your stomach hurts and you are coughing back up those shards, and suddenly, "I wish you were here.”

You closed the tap. With no sound of water, the house fell into complete silence. The only noise was the steak dropping from the counter onto the floor and a slight scratch on your jeans as you pressed your nails against them, trying to keep yourself together.

Interesting house for an ex-mercenary, you tried to distract yourself with that thought as you scanned the bathroom meticulously, looking for any signs of a struggle. Overturned objects, broken tiles, anything that might suggest there had been a struggle. 

However, the razor blades were neatly aligned in the sink, the aftershave was covered and in place, and even the toothbrush was upright in its holder. Checked the medicine cabinet, hoping to find something—perhaps a hidden compartment or a secret weapons cache. But it was as tidy as the rest of the room. Painkillers, vitamins, and antibiotics—everything perfectly lined up. No clues, no detours.

Quickly, you moved down the narrow corridor, your footsteps echoing off the bare walls. The empty frames hanging seemed to mock you, as if to say that there was nothing left to see, nothing to remember. The walls were a weird white, the kind of white you only find in hospitals or in houses where life has been carefully erased.

In the kitchen, you found an old Italian coffee maker on the stove. Next to it, a can of ground coffee from Starbucks, the brand he insisted on buying despite your complaints about the exorbitant price. Next to the tin, a box of tea, still sealed. Jin-Man never liked tea so it might belong to Ji-An. 

On the counter, a plate of leftover food. Kimchi and rice. Next to it, a half-empty bottle of soju, the lid open. Jin-Man was never much of a drinker, but when he did, it was always soju. He said he remembered the days when he was just a kid, stealing bottles from street stalls in Seoul.

You opened the fridge and found only a few cans of Cass beer, a packet of tofu, and a pot of kimchi. Nothing to indicate that he planned to run away. You closed the fridge with a sigh, the sound of the door echoing through the empty kitchen.

You had to be quick; Ji-An must be getting done with the hospital paperwork by now.

Here comes the worst part: you moved to the bedroom.

You took in the scene as if it were a movie playing before your eyes. The sun's rays escaped through the curtains, dancing around the room like intruders, unable to touch the cool tiles beneath their sharp gaze. The bed was made; no rumpled sheets and blankets fanning out in all directions, resembling waves on a stormy ocean like yours always are. A sense of loss crept into your bones as you almost smell his unique musky perfume lingering in the air, mixing with faint hints of sweat and aftershave. His old army boots were by the corner, cleaned and polished, waiting for him to wear them again someday. 

Over there by the dresser was a framed photo of him and Ji-An at some beach, her dark hair whipping in the wind as she smirked at something he said just out of sight. In another corner stood an oversized clock whose ticking echoed through the silent room like a heartbeat missing its rhythm. Its long hands pointed to 4:15 PM, hours before you arrived here.

Deeper in the room, you noticed a small dresser adorned with trinkets and memorabilia. A delicate porcelain vase sat atop it, filled with dried lavender that exuded a subtle fragrance. Next to it was a collection of novels, and you recognised some of the titles—classics by authors like Kim Young-Ha and Han Kang, stories that Jin-Man had once passionately discussed with you during quiet evenings.

Five minutes and nothing. Just nothing. You frown and ruffle your hair once more. The frustration gnaws at you, a beast with sharp teeth. You start pacing, your eyes flicking from one object to another, trying to read the story they were silently screaming at you. Jin-Man was always meticulous, always one step ahead. He would hide things so well that even the most seasoned detectives would miss them.

"Jin-Man, you clever bastard," you mutter under your breath, looking around the room. Your eyes land on the oversized clock. The ticking is louder now, each second feeling like a hammer hitting an anvil. One of two things: you were either deaf or hearing too much—you responded to this new confusion with a malicious and uncomfortable feeling, with a sigh of resigned satisfaction. To hell with it, you said softly, annihilated.

You walk over to it. Jin-Man always had a thing for old-fashioned things, said they reminded him of a simpler time—an era of wind-up mechanisms and the kind of craftsmanship that required patience and skill. Your fingers trace the edges of the clock, feeling for anything unusual. The wood is smooth, polished to a fine sheen, and the brass accents gleam faintly in the dim light. And then you notice it—a slight indentation on the side, almost imperceptible. It’s a minuscule detail, the kind only someone intimately familiar with the clock would notice. You press it, and the back of the clock slides open with a soft click, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside, there's a small key and a slip of paper with a note scribbled in Jin-Man's handwriting. "Office," it says. Your heart pounds. You grab the key with fingers that feel like they belong to someone else and head out of the bedroom, your steps quickening as if the floorboards beneath you were on fire.

The office door creaks as you push it open. The room is where his personality shows through—bookshelves lined with volumes on military strategy, psychology, and history. The desk is cluttered with papers, but everything has its place. You move to the desk, pulling open the drawers one by one. They're filled with the usual office supplies—pens, sticky notes, paperclips—but nothing stands out.

Then you remember Jin-Man's favorite hiding spot. Kneeling down, you start feeling around the base of one of the shelves, cursing under your breath when a pencil stub pokes into your hand. With a determined grunt, you keep searching until your fingers brush against something hard hidden behind a row of history textbooks. It's a loose floorboard.

With trembling hands, you pull it open to reveal a small compartment within the wall. Inside is a box, plain yet sturdy. You pick it up slowly, heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you flip open the lid. A letter addressed to you in Jin-Man's neat handwriting sits on top—the sight of it making your throat tighten. Beside it is a USB drive and an old photograph of both of you from years ago; laughing over some forgotten joke while enjoying each other's company under bright sunshine at what seems like paradise now.

Your legs feel weak, and you drop into Jin-Man's office chair, clutching the items.

"My doll,

If you're reading this, it means something has gone terribly wrong. I know you hate me, and I don't blame you. But there's something you need to know, something I couldn't tell you before. The USB drive contains information that could change everything. 

Be careful. Trust no one.

Jeong Jin-Man."

You disguise your anguish and invent a pretext to be weak for a few moments. At the table, you bite the sleeve of your jacket, suffocating the screams threatening your throat. You sink further into the chair, your face buried in your arm, waiting for something to happen and save you. The room filled with Jin-Man's belongings, feels both comforting and suffocating. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the coffee he loved so much.

You start to hate them, all of them—the people who took him away, him, the circumstances that led to this moment. And you wish to abandon them, to flee from this feeling that develops with each passing minute, mixed with unbearable pity for them and for yourself. As if together you were victims of the same irremediable threat. You try to reconstruct the image of Jeong Jin-Man, line by line. His strong jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the sound of his voice when he called you by your nickname. It seems to you that if you recall him clearly, you will have some sort of power over him.

You hold your breath, tense, pressing your lips together. Just a moment... Just a moment more, and you would have him, gesture by gesture... His figure starts to form, nebulous... And finally, little by little, desolate, you perceive it fading away. You have the impression that Jin-Man is escaping from you, smiling.

The blinds moved with the wind, and you could see him in the dim light sitting at the counter staring at you. He didn't look sad, or mad. Jin-Man was scanning you. His eyes darted from your button nose to your lips, from your ears to your sweaty forehead. Every inch of your face was being studied intensely, like it was the last time he'd ever see it. You knew because you did it all the time. You know how the shadows fall under his chin and along his shoulders. You know how his spine showed itself against his back. You know him in all the impossible ways dogs can't know ourselves, even when they drink from a river and stare at the water for seconds.

You didn't want Jeong to look at you like you looked at him, with a compulsion to memorize every part in case it all disappeared tomorrow. You traced every outline of him once, all the places he couldn't see.

You weren't the one who had the tendency to leave suddenly, making the other wonder if the last time would really be the last time.

“Can you stop it? I won’t be able to concentrate on decorating this cake if you’re going to stare the shit out of me like a fucking weirdo.”

You met at night at home that Friday, exhausted and excited; you recounted the day's exploits and planned the next attacks. You didn't delve too deeply into what was happening at Babylon in your house this night; it was enough that all this had the stamp of friendship while you made the blessed chocolate mint cake that he always wanted to try. 

With a deadpan expression, Jin-Man leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms across his broad chest, looking amused at your irritation. "You've got it bad," he said with an eerie calm that made your stomach flip. It was strange how he could remain so unfazed when you felt like you were on fire just from him looking at you like that.

He watched as you slapped the mixing bowl down onto the counter, sending a small splash of batter flying up in the air before it sputtered back down onto the granite surface. You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, huffing out a laugh as you pulled out the ingredients for the cake batter. The scent of cocoa and mint wafted through the air, mingling with the faint smell of sweat from both of you as you worked together in silence. You cracked open eggs one by one, letting their yolky goodness drip into the mixture below.

The sound of butter being creamed together with sugar filled the room, along with faint metallic clangs from when you added flour and baking powder to make the batter smooth. It was oddly soothing, almost hypnotic—except for Jin-Man's gaze boring into your back like an anchor tethering you to the spot. They moved down to the collar of your shirt, a faded band tee from an old Metallica concert, then back up to your eyes, locking onto them with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Can I taste some of this mix?"

You turned around to face him, surprised by the request. His eyes were narrowed slightly in curiosity as he leaned forward on his forearms on the countertop, his fingers tapping lightly on the granite surface.

"Do you have any idea how many calories are in that mix?" You teased, scooping up a small dollop of the mint frosting with a spoon anyway and holding it out to him. His eyes lit up like a child’s, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips in anticipation.

He took the spoon and you watched as he brought it to his mouth, his lips closing around the metal. His eyes fluttered shut, and you could see the muscles in his jaw working as he tasted the frosting. His tongue played with the minty sweetness, and you could tell he was debating whether to spit it out or swallow it, much like a child chewing on an unfamiliar piece of bubblegum.

“Well?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

He opened his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. “It tastes like toothpaste,” he said, his voice muffled by the spoon still in his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I've seen you handle a sniper rifle with precision. This should be a piece of cake. Plus, you've been bugging me for weeks to make this cake, and now you’re complaining about the frosting? You’re going to eat it whether you like it or not.”

He coughed, pulling the spoon out of his mouth and setting it down on the counter. “I’m not that picky about my alcohol, but cake frosting? That’s a different story,” he said, shaking his head. “This is like brushing my teeth with dessert.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a bag of powdered sugar from the pantry. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “Here, let’s try adding more sugar. Maybe that’ll make it less ‘toothpaste-y’” The pantry door creaked as you opened it, revealing an assortment of baking supplies organized in neat rows.

As you reached for the sugar, however, Jin-Man grabbed a handful of cocoa powder and playfully tossed it at you. “Hey!” you exclaimed, laughing as the powder dusted your hair and clothes. “You’re going to pay for that!”

You retaliated by grabbing a handful of green food coloring and flicking it at him. It splattered across his shirt and into his hair, staining it with bright green specks. “Now you look like a Christmas tree,” you teased, unable to stop laughing. 

“Oh, it’s on!”

Before you knew it, the kitchen had turned into a battlefield, with cocoa powder, powdered sugar, and flour flying through the air. Your hands were stained green from the matcha powder, and his hair was speckled with chocolate chips, sticking out like tiny, sweet stars against his dark locks. Every surface in the kitchen bore marks of your playful war—cabinets smeared with butter, the floor dotted with floury footprints, and the stainless steel fridge now sporting a streak of vanilla extract.

“You're the worst baker!”

"You're going to regret this," you laughed, grabbing a handful of chocolate chips and throwing them his way. They bounced off his chest, leaving tiny smudges on his black t-shirt, before he grabbed your wrist and pinned you against the counter. Chest against chest.

You were laughing so hard, you couldn't do anything but shake your head as you wiped the chocolate smudge off his shirt with the hem of your own. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped. His skin was warm under your fingertips, the soft fabric of his shirt clinging to the hard muscles beneath. You could still taste the mint frosting from earlier on your tongue, and the cocoa powder on your lips mixed with it, making everything just a little bit sweeter. You looked at him in the dim light of the kitchen, taking in the playful glint in his eyes as he leaned down closer to yours.

"I shouldn't have started this." His nose brushed against yours as he spoke.

Butterflies danced frantically in your stomach as you both stayed still, eyes locked onto each other. Even worse, their wings started to scratch the walls of your guts, and they danced a folklore song around your heart as his fingers trailed softly along your jawline before cupping your cheek gently.

"You always start things you can't finish.”

He smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. "Oh, you think so?" he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. "Maybe I just need the right motivation."

"And what would that be?" 

Jin-Man's eyes flicked down to your lips, and he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. "You," he said simply, his voice low and husky. "You are my motivation."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, but then he deepened it, his hand sliding around to the back of your neck to pull you closer. You complied,  clinging into him without thinking, pressing up against his strong frame as you tasted him fully now: mint frosting mixed with high-quality coffee, a hint of mint leaf extract, rich dark chocolate, and something so uniquely Jin-Man that made your mind swirl with confusion and want. 

Still, there’s this gross thing inside of you that can’t help but make you think that it would've been a kinder fate if he had stolen the words out of your brain, if he had beaten you up until you became a litter of teeth and limbs than holding you like this. This, this touch of your tongues intertwining was horrible. It meant being engraved in your brain, just like the feeling of these cold tiles beneath your bare feet until you were put seven feet in the ground.

Before him, you thought it was impossible to keep your heart but give your skin, and you never got to know the difference between love or obsession. 

Jeong? He was the kind of person who would light a cigarette and watch it burn down to the filter, never taking a single drag, just mesmerized by the way the flame consumed the paper and tobacco, turning it to ash. He was fascinated by destruction, by the way things fell apart, but he was too afraid to consume himself. He'd leave the door ajar, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his vulnerability but never enough to let you step inside fully. He'd leave his boots by the entrance, yet his heart remained a no-go zone.

And you don't know how to love without bleeding. Your love wasn't a soft, pastel-hued glow but a crimson torrent. The kind of love that left stains—on your white cotton sheets, on the hardwood floors of your apartment, even on the porcelain of your shared bathroom sink. It was a love that demanded sacrifices—late-night hospital visits from knife wounds barely stitched up, bottles of antiseptic, and gauze pads hidden in the medicine cabinet among tubes of Colgate toothpaste and Dior Sauvage aftershave.

Perhaps you like how it feels when someone depletes you of your own blood. And deep down, you contemplate if he never let you in because he doesn't want to be responsible for the blood on his fingertips. All he might want is to feel your skin but never get to know what's beneath it.

Maybe he wanted to trace your figure, but never long enough to question about the same tattoo that he was caressing now, or the scars from the missions that marred your skin like battle relics. He might never have noticed the way you always cleaned your weapons in a precise, almost ritualistic manner or how you preferred to read military strategy books late into the night. He probably didn't pay attention to the way you meticulously organized your gear by functionality or how you always carried a first-aid kit, even when you were off duty. Perhaps he never realized how you preferred to sit with your back to the wall in a restaurant or how you always needed a cup of black coffee before starting your day to stay alert.

On the other hand, you wanted to know him. Wanted to know him before touching his skin, wanted to question the bruises on his back before leaving bite marks on his neck.

But the sound of keys jangling came before your question mark, and you both jumped apart like startled animals. Pinpricks of color stained your cheeks as you quickly wiped away any remaining powdered sugar from your face, trying to compose yourself while Jeong took a step back, his face flushed and eyes locked onto yours.

“Here. I brought the green sprinkles for the cake,” Pasin announced as he entered the kitchen, his eyes half-closed and a smirk playing on his lips. He tossed the bag of sprinkles onto the counter, narrowly missing the pile of powdered sugar. 

“Hey! Good night to you too, dude,” you said, using your hair for coverage while pretending to wash something out of your nails under the sink. The faucet gurgled as water splashed onto the stainless steel basin, masking the awkward silence that followed. Your hands trembled slightly, the cold water biting into your skin like tiny needles before you turned off the tap and dried your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to look at him.

Pasin seemed to ignore your trembling voice and how Jin-Man almost drowned in a cup of water and grimaced at the state of the kitchen before even starting to speak, tying his hair back into his usual ponytail. "Don’t mess with me. An old lady spilt milk on me at the grocery store," he continued, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated, his Thai accent becoming more pronounced. "Can you believe that? I tried to help her pick up her groceries, and she upended a whole carton of milk on me. Smells like a dairy farm now. I’m going to take a shower; try not to set the kitchen on fire or make babies on the stove while I’m gone."

You glance at Jin-Man, who is now coughing, trying to get the water out of his windpipe. His face turns a shade of red that matches the color of crimson stains. You can see the frustration in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches, and you wonder how much longer he can keep it together.

"We’re not—"

The Thai immigrant gave a smile, shaking his head as he fetched a can of beer from the fridge. "Yes, yes, sorry, I forgot. 'We are just colleagues. She is the one who uses the knives; I'm the shooter. Plans, gunshots, blah blah blah,'" Pasin mimicked Jin-Man, closing the fridge with his foot before rolling his eyes dramatically and straightening his back, squaring his shoulders. "You two are impossible. And speaking of which, who's going to clean up this mess in the kitchen? Because it won't be me. And if you find my body lying in a pool of chocolate, at least give me a decent eulogy."

Jin-Man smirked, shaking his head. "You always have a flair for the dramatic, Pasin. Maybe you should have been an actor instead of a soldier."

Pasin laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "And miss out on all the fun of dodging bullets and cleaning up after you two? No thanks. But seriously, what’s with the cake? Are we celebrating something, or is this just another one of your midnight baking sprees?"

You rolled your eyes, scooping another dollop of frosting onto the cake. "Jin-Man has been nagging me to make this chocolate mint cake for ages. Figured I’d finally give it a shot. Besides, it’s been a while since we had something sweet around here."

Pasin raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Chocolate and mint, huh? Sounds fancy. You know, back in Thailand, we had this dessert called Khanom Chan. It’s a layered cake made of rice flour, coconut milk, and pandanus leaves. My grandma used to make it for special occasions. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you guys sometime. Show you what real dessert tastes like."

Jin-Man chuckled, shaking his head. "I’ll hold you to that, Pasin. But for now, let’s see if this cake lives up to its hype. And maybe, just maybe, we can avoid burning down the kitchen in the process."

Pasin clapped Jin-Man on the shoulder, grinning. "Deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to scrub the smell of dairy farms off me. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone."

The sound of gravel beneath tires makes you startle back to reality. It's a motorcycle. The low hum of the engine cuts through the evening silence, and you can hear the faint squeak of brakes as it comes to a halt. Ji-An arrived. You can hear her fidgeting with her pockets, can see her expecting to hear the jingle of keys mixing with the distant chirping of crickets, and see the crunch of her nose when she finds nothing. The smell of gasoline and dust lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of pine from the trees surrounding the house.

You stash the letter and USB drive into the inner pocket of your jacket, feeling the cool metal press against your ribcage. There’s no time to be delicate; you have 2 minutes before she gives up and bends down to pick the spare key beneath the worn-out welcome mat. You need to leave before she sees that the weird doctor from the morgue is in her fucking house

"Where the hell is that key?" Ji-An mutters under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. She pats down her black leather jacket, and the sound of metal on metal grows louder as she digs deeper into her pockets. Her boots crunch on the gravel. "Come on, come on," she grumbles, her voice rising slightly in pitch. Her hair falls into her eyes. She blows a stray strand away impatiently, her breath visible in the cool night air.

You barely have time to hide the loose floorboard and close the office door before you hear her footsteps approaching the front door. Your heart races, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You slip out of Jin-Man's office, moving swiftly but silently through the hallway, your breaths shallow and controlled. You navigate through the dimly lit house, your senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards sounding like a thunderclap in your ears.

You reach the back door and gently push it open, the cool night air hitting your face like a splash of water. You step outside, careful not to let the door slam behind you. The moon casts long shadows across the backyard, and you stick to the darkest corners, moving quickly towards the side gate. You glance back once, making sure Ji-An hasn’t noticed your escape.

You slip through the gate and duck behind a row of hedges, your motorcycle hidden just a few feet away. The sleek, black machine is your lifeline now. You move with purpose, straddling the seat and inserting the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and you cringe at the noise, glancing back towards the house. But there's no sign of Ji-An. You twist the throttle and take off, the wind whipping through your hair as you speed down the gravel path.

The bike's headlight cuts through the darkness like a knife, illuminating patches of yellow grass and muddy puddles on the sides of the road. Every now and then, a bat flaps its wings close to your face, causing you to swerve reflexively, and a small stream hums to your left, its water glimmering silver in the light. There are narrow streets lined with old wooden houses, their eaves heavy with age and darkness. The smell of rotten fish wafts from one open window as you pass by; another house has a young family gathered around a TV set, laughing at some ancient sitcom that blares from within. A group of teenagers huddle together on a corner, passing around a cigarette and talking loudly about sports or the new porn edition. 

As you approach the main road, however, you hear the voices of an old couple. They’re coming up the road, carrying bags of food in their hands. You slow down, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.

The old man, Mr. Park, as a name tag from the local market says on his chest, adjusts his glasses and squints at you, trying to make out your face in the dim light. He's wearing a faded blue cap that looks like it's seen better days, and his clothes are practical—heavy-duty work pants and a checkered flannel shirt, the kind you'd wear for a day of hard labor. He has a sturdy build, with broad shoulders that hint at a lifetime of physical work. On the other hand, his wife’s silver hair is tied back in a neat bun, and she clutches a small purse under her arm, its clasp shaped like a tiny bird. She’s wearing a floral apron over her coat, the kind with deep pockets that always seem to have a piece of candy or a spare coin for the neighbourhood kids. 

"Ji-An, is that you?" Mr. Park calls out, his voice trembling slightly with age. He shifts the bags in his hands, the labels from different brands of local produce peeking out—fresh vegetables, a loaf of bread from the bakery, and a carton of milk. "Where are you going at this hour, girl? We just saw you come up the road!"

Mrs. Park nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, darling. Something happened? Poor thing, you look like you've seen a ghost.”

You quickly put your helmet on, hoping it will obscure your features. You pull up beside them, pretending to be Ji-An. "Oh, just running an errand, harabeoji and halmeoni!" you say, your voice muffled by the helmet. "What do you have there?"

Mrs. Park smiles, her dentures slightly slipping as she does, and hands you a bag filled with homemade kimchi and rice cakes. "We brought some food for you. This kimchi is from the last batch we made, and these rice cakes are fresh. We know it’s been a tough time since Jin-Man’s passing. Our condolences, dear. We’ll be at the funeral."

Mr. Park places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you need anything, anything at all, you just let us know, alright? Jin-Man was a different one, detached from the countryside, yes, but he had a good heart. He helped us a lot, especially with the summer crops. Those tomatoes wouldn’t have grown half as well without his help. He was a master with that old tractor of his, always fixing it up so it could run just a little longer."

You nod as you clutch the bag tighter, feeling the warmth of the rice cakes through the plastic. "Thank you. He was a good uncle. Always knew how to lend a hand." You shift uncomfortably on the hard seat, feeling the cold leather bite into your skin through your thin jeans.

Mrs. Park's wrinkles deepen as she places a wrinkled hand over her husband's. "Take care, dear. Sleep and eat well. Do you need any help with the funeral, or is your auntie going to help you with it?"

Auntie? Jin-Man had… he had another woman? That’s why he left you behind? That’s why he didn’t have anything related to you in his house? Did you really sit there teaching him how to love and how to let someone in, knowing damn well it wouldn't be you?

“Auntie?” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue like rotten fruit. Your mind raced, trying to piece together this new fragment of information. You imagined a woman, perhaps in her late thirties, with a kind face and warm eyes, someone who had shared Jin-Man’s life in a way a younger girl like you never could. Someone who knew his secret laughter and his midnight snack cravings, who had nursed him through illnesses and comforted him during sleepless nights. Someone who had grown old with him, watched their garden wither and grow beside each other, their hands aged from hard work and time. The thought of it made your stomach turn, and you couldn't help but wonder what kind of person she was—did she know about you? Has Jin-Man ever mentioned your existence? Were they happy together?

You waited for a response, and in expectation, with all your senses heightened, you wished to immobilize the entire universe, fearing that a leaf might move, that someone might interrupt, that your breath, any gesture, might break the spell of the moment and make you fall again into the distance and void of words. Blood throbbed dully in your wrists, chest, and forehead. Your hands were cold and damp, almost numb. Your anxiety left you in extreme tension, as if ready to throw yourself into a whirlpool, as if ready to go mad.

Mr. Park widens his eyes slightly, a flicker of realization crossing his face. He stammers, his words faltering. "Ah, y-yes, your auntie. I suppose you might not know about her..."

The taste of bitterness lingers on your tongue, and your hands tremble slightly as you grip the handlebars of the motorcycle. “Oh, no, no! I know who you are talking about, yes. But I’m not actually in contact with her, so I don't know if she will... appear," you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your voice wavers. You can feel the cold sweat forming on your back, drenching your shirt and making the fabric stick uncomfortably to your skin.

The elderly couple exchanged a worried look but did not insist. "Well, if you need help, dear, we are here," said Mrs. Park, the compassion in her eyes making her lips tremble slightly. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, shielding herself from the cold night wind. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it," you replied, your voice almost a whisper as you started the motorcycle's engine again. The Yamaha roared to life, the sound reverberating off the brick walls around you. “Thank you for the food again, really.” You bowed your head to them in deep gratitude, the weight of your helmet making the gesture slightly awkward. “Good night!”

"Good night!" Mrs. Park added, her voice a touch higher, betraying her worry. She reached out, as if to touch your arm, but stopped short, her hand hovering in the air before she let it fall to her side.

You speed through the empty roads leading out of town, passing by fields that seem to stretch endlessly into oblivion—their crops swaying gently under the moonlight like they have stories to tell if only someone would listen. The darkness swallows everything beyond them; it feels like there is no end or beginning to this world where secrets are buried deep within hearts and closets alike. The wind bites at your cheeks and fingers numb from cold; yet still, adrenaline keeps pumping through your veins like an unrelenting beast demanding acknowledgment.  You glance into your side mirror occasionally, making sure no one is following you, but for now, it seems like they've all gone inside for the night. You smile grimly in response to their absence—alone time is what you need right now more than anything else.

You want to scream, to break things, but instead, all that comes out is a hollow smile.

-------------------------

“Mrs. Lee? Can you wait just a second?”

Halting your steps, you look back to see the attendant from the shady motel you were staying in. Her name tag read "Mina," and the bubblegum she chewed snapped between her teeth, a pink bubble forming and popping every few seconds. She had a bored expression on her face, her dark eyeliner smudged slightly as if she'd been rubbing her eyes. Beside her, Yumi sat on the counter with her legs crossed, her skirt riding up just enough to almost show her panties. She glanced at you from under her eyelashes as she painted her nails a bright crimson, the color matching the cherry-red lipstick she wore. If she were off duty and you weren’t that urgent to look at this USB, it wouldn't hurt to have a quickie with her in some spare room. It wouldn't hurt to have some hot flesh in your cold hands.

“What is it?”

“Two men, twins, came here looking for you,” Mina said, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and fear. Her fingers drummed nervously on the counter, each tap echoing like a heartbeat. “Both had a cold expression and were filled with scars. They looked like they just walked out of a warzone.”

You raised an eyebrow, your grip tightening around the bag of food in your hands. “Twins? What did they look like?”

Mina chewed her gum thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she recounted the details. “They were tall, maybe about six feet. Both had buzz cuts and wore black leather jackets—looked like something straight out of a biker gang. One had a scar running down his left cheek, and the other had a tattoo peeking out from under his collar—a snake or a dragon, couldn’t tell for sure.”

Yumi glanced up from her nails, her smirk widening as she blew on them. “They were packing heat too. Saw the outline of a gun under one of their jackets. Made me think they were either cops or criminals.”

“Did they say what they wanted?” 

Mina shook her head, her oversized, retro glasses slipping down her nose as she did. “No, but they didn’t look like the talking type. More like the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind.”

You sighed, recognizing the description. Dad always knew how to find you, no matter where you went. It seemed that your short-lived escape was over. Probably checking if you already knew about Jin-Man’s death. He isn’t stupid and you have a tendency to do things without thinking through the consequences. Now, the consequences were there, floating in your mind, and you couldn't keep them shoved back the way you shove dirty laundry into a closet instead of washing it.

Yumi hopped off the counter, her Converse sneakers squeaking slightly against the tiled floor. She started to circle you, her eyes scanning your face and clothes with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “They scared the living daylights out of us,” she said in a childlike voice, her eyes wide with faux innocence, the kind you'd see on a doll in a horror movie. “I thought they’d hurt us if we didn’t tell them where you were staying. But we’re such loyal attendants, we never told them a thing.”

Mina’s gaze lingered hungrily on the homemade kimchi and rice cakes you carried before she glanced sideways at Yumi, who was now biting her lips and touching your arm like you were a lamb, although it was pretty clear you were the wolf in this scenario. “We just thought… maybe we could use some reinforcements. Just in case they show up next time.”

Yumi nodded vigorously, her pigtails bobbing with each movement. “Yeah, like, maybe we should call in some favors.”

You understood what she was hinting at. 

With another sigh, you handed her the bag of food and fished a couple of wons from your pocket, handing them to her. Yumi's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she took the money, giving you a glimpse of her cleavage as she tucked the wons into her bra. Her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, a calculated move from her days working the streets, using every trick in the book to get what she wanted. But you knew the game too well to be swayed by her flirtations.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lee!”

“Good night. I’m going to my room now.”

The stairs were narrow and steep, each step creaking ominously under your weight. The walls were lined with faded, water-stained wallpaper that might have been green once but now looked like a sickly shade of brown. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne grew stronger as you approached the fourth floor, mingling with the faint odor of mold and dampness. You passed by room 304, where the sounds of drunken laughter and a woman's exaggerated moans spilt out into the hallway. Some businessman letting off steam with a prostitute, you guessed. You were glad you didn’t have to settle for such shallow pleasures.

You reached your room, number 402, and slid the key card into the lock. The door opened with a reluctant groan, and you pushed it open with your fingertips since your hands were full of takeout from a restaurant near the port that was still open late. The fries were steaming hot and sour, and you savored the taste as you closed the door behind you, setting down the bag of food next to your laptop on the cheap wooden desk.

You took off your jacket and threw it on the bed before reaching for the lighter and cigarette that lay on the nightstand. Your hands were shaking slightly as you lit up; the smoke filled your lungs, and you exhaled slowly, trying to calm your nerves as you thought about what to do.

The room was small and dingy, with peeling wallpaper and a stained mattress on the bed. A small, portable fan whirred loudly on the nightstand next to it, doing nothing but pushing hot air around the room. There was a dirty sink and an equally filthy mirror above it, making it hard for you to look at yourself in the eyes. But it was more than enough for what you needed right now. You dropped onto the bed, feeling its springs groan under your weight, and stared at the empty bottle of soju next to an ashtray filled with butts and cigarette filters.  It seemed like forever since anyone had bothered to clean this place.

You finished smoking before tossing the cigarette butt into the ashtray carelessly and stood up again, pacing restlessly across the room. The squeaky floorboards beneath your feet only added to your agitation as thoughts raced through your head like wild horses. Your father would be here soon enough; there was no avoiding him this time. He always found you eventually; he always knew just where to look or who to ask for information about his wayward daughter. You rubbed at your face wearily before walking to your laptop.

You slide into the creaky chair, the legs scraping against the worn linoleum floor as you open your laptop. The screen flickers to life, casting a faint blue glow across your tired features. You plug the USB drive into the port, your fingers trembling slightly as you wait for the device to be recognized. The familiar chime of the computer acknowledging the new hardware is almost comforting in its routine normalcy.

The folder opens, revealing a series of files with cryptic names. Your eyes scan the list, searching for something that stands out, something that might give you a clue as to why Jin-Man had kept this hidden. The filenames are a mix of alphanumeric codes and odd words—"Dossier_003," "ProjectKX," "Confidential_12/21." 

You scroll, scroll through packs of photos and zips of files until one calls you out.

“VENDETTA.ZIP”

[yandere-fics]

♡ How Kassien Infantilizes Her Darling ♡

(something something the authors thinly veiled fetish. Also I wrote another fic after this too so I guess I really needed a couple break days so the inspirations would flow freely.)

♡ Kassien is one of the more pushy when it comes to making her darling sweet and reliant on her and in a different way then even Nora goes about her. This somewhat goes hand in hand with her daddy kink as well. The more aggressive or dominant her darling was prior to meeting her the more aggressive she's going to get with trying to make them her sweet reliant little mate who needs daddy for everything. It won't really go overboard though unless you work a job that really bothers her like an intense manual labor job or something like that. She also has to lose all her patience with you to go full into this mode like she asked you to quit your construction job and you refused completely. This can be prevented just by listening to her and doing what she wants at first but if you continue to assert yourself as someone tough who does hard physical jobs it'll make her aggressive about this. Especially if you're someone with a lot of muscle, she can't allow that. ♡

♡ Obviously first and foremost, she is daddy and she'll be very hostile if you refuse to call her daddy. Telling you you're her sweet girl and her sweet girl doesn't get to talk back to daddy, spanking you and yanking your hair the harder you refuse with her and making sure you know the only road to a happy life is by doing what she says because she knows better than you and you don't get to make big girl decisions like that. Yes she will absolutely start to call them big girl decisions if she snaps hard enough. She's very condescending about it when you finally give in too. ♡

♡ The next step is deciding every outfit you wear every day and how your hair is styled, girly colors and frilly clothing just to add that extra bit of humiliation to it. You're her sweet little mate, you wear cute clothes like daddy wants you too. A certain level of your own personal style may be taken into consideration though that's only if your style wasn't too rugged or 'independant'. She likes you in small dresses that you have to ask her to grab things because if you reach up to get it things might be exposed or light colors that you can't wash dishes in because the fabric will be ruined and then she'll know you tried to do a big girl task. ♡

♡ Speaking of, you're not allowed to do anything for yourself. A normal Kassien might let you do some things for yourself but if she thinks she needs to break your spirit of independence even things like bathing on your own will become forbidden tasks and you'll find locks on every room in the apartment. Trust me being bathed by her will be entirely humiliating. You'll also be given approved of hobbies by Kassien, things that are cute and don't require much thought because she needs to break you down and make you be good and sweet for her. You can earn back certain hobbies but not completely because she feels she can't trust you not to try to go back to your old independent ways. There's certain changes that will be made cuter and sweeter in her opinion. Like if you were into shooter games you get cozy games instead now, you're her sweet lovely baby, you don't do rough things. ♡

♡ Language is also monitored, because she needs to get you used to being less gruff, it doesn't matter if you were previously in a career where you cursed alot, you don't say those things anymore. She might fuck your mouth with the strap on roughly until you feel like it's hard to breath to teach you a lesson about those words. Using what she thinks is cuter words and phrasing will be rewarded with gifts and things to make your kept pet situation a little bit brighter and asking her for things will also be rewarding with nicer treatment from her. Over time if you continue to be good the infantilization may decrease though just barely because when Kassien snaps, she snaps nearly permanently. ♡

♡ By the way normally she'd allow you some outings on your own but considering how you used to behave she will never ever trust you with that sort of thing. That's for big girls and you already proved to her you couldn't be trusted with big girl privileges. ♡