#so these people who have not seen the sun except through the crack in the temple cavern

[looseleafteeaves]

Icons of the Me’eri Culture, Religion, Folklore, and Magic

1: “Little bird”- Already seen in the chant-song, Little Bird is used as a name/epithet for the people who are caged in darkness.

2. There is little music for the mining slaves(caged birds refuse to sing after all), so instead most use the rhythms of tools in use and the cadence of words to connect.

3. Wind, and any references to it- Wind is escape, it is rebellion. Many Me’eri spend a chunk of their lives never leaving the mines they are chained in. Wind is the freedom. It is safety. It is “taking freedom for themself”. Me’eri see the wind as a product of salvation. If a breeze blows, deep in the mines past a slave, a common greeting is "run quickly, Oritemi. Show us the way.” This is a good omen for the Me’eri who are running to freedom alone, while it is also good fortune for rebellion.

4. Sinking vs Rising- to sink is to be pulled down, made worse, wrapped in more chains. Rising means escape, finding strength, sparking rebellion.

5. Most people don’t know parents- childbirth is hard in normal situations, and even more so as a people trapped beneath the planet’s surface. Most have siblings, however, and thus family is more community than blood.

(The only mother is the fabled sunlight, for out of darkness, we will rise into the light, as we rose from our past, and found the light again)

6. In the Me’eri spirituality, the Storytellers and Chanters function as the spiritual heart. They guide new slaves, and for old ones, remind them to continue to Live not Survive.

7. The Three Parents- part of Me’eri culture is the honor of the three parents, who embody and inhabit the suns of the system. Mother Lotarima, Mapa Pelsi, and Father Korevian. Lotarima is tough love. She is all about burning out the sickness, infection, and dead thoughts. To care for someone, you must fight for them. Korevian is the silent parent. He watches over you from afar, but leaves clues on escaping. He also marks the path with bootprints(called kovmasɔ, a kind of flower). Finally, Pelsi is the Childrearer. They walk beside you, guide you, and help you to grow. They will not abandon you.

8. The wind- Oritemi. Named in the folk tale, Oritemi is the wind that first showed Pelsi where their people had been taken. As much as the 3 are revered, it is Oritemi who had a place in every home. They run through the tunnels, searching out cracks. They teach the birds to sing so that the Me'eri know they are safe. They carry seeds and light down into the darkness so that all the Me'eri can remember who they are. The most common seed they carry is one shaped like the sun. They grow best in the care of the firekeepers.

9. Biologically, the caves are surprising rich in life. Many types of plants or fungi grow. However, animals are quite rare- mainly due to the mining. Some plants: Bootprints/Kovmasɔ- these are bioluminescent marigolds/calendula type plants. Medicinal and bright, they are said to grow in the footprints of Korevian and the freedom runners. Bifek-a kind of jelly like mushroom. When harvested it has a sweet, nutty, and carmel-like flavor(think maple syrup). Pelmakɔ-a grain type plant, used for breakfast foods, it also is the base of a milk substitute that is used in tea(oats in real life). Lorimas- the only tree that truly grows underground, the Lorimas has a spicy-sweet flavor to the inner bark, its roots are more spicy and the leaves are more nutty(Cinnamon, ginger, and rooibos respectively). Rimak Pods- mushroom that grows specifically near warmth, this is a mushroom that finds its home in the tiniest cracks of the caves where Me'eri live. Rimak Pods are a spice(I personally picture a cross between cumin and spicy pepper) when properly dried. Almirɔ-sunflowers that produce a gentle UV light. They grow deep underground near water, or in water. The seed is considered akin to gold, as the seeds are food, and used to make cooking oil. Nifek- a meaty type mushroom that is plentiful, and used as the main source of protein. Think of giant puffball mushrooms. Other, currently unnamed plants- an elderflower-esque plant that glows when in the presence of germs or bacteria, a star anise/cardamon cross type seed-carried by the wind into the caves, silver birch type plant, white willow type plant, aloe type plant, and pepper type plant. Salt comes from a mushroom here, not the earth, and there is a large amount of other herbs, spices, and vegetables that grow.

[hazzashouse]

Through the Darkness (Harry Styles one shot)

This topic is incredibly important to me. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, please know you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust—a friend, a family member, or a professional. You are not alone, and you are loved. There is strength in asking for support, and there are people who want to be there for you. You are never alone.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Triggers: Depression, anxiety, emotional distress, mentions of isolation, self-doubt, and heavy themes of mental health struggles. Please read with care.

The world outside your apartment window was cold and colorless, mirroring the ache in your chest. Days blurred into nights, the sun rising and setting without your notice. It had been weeks since you last stepped outside for more than a grocery run. Even then, the strain of smiling at the cashier left you drained for days.

The depression you thought you’d left behind had returned, a familiar weight pressing against your chest, heavy and relentless. It was worse this time because it felt like failure. You’d been doing so well—hadn’t you? Harry had told you how proud he was. Your friends had said you seemed lighter. And now, here you were again, feeling like a burden to everyone you loved.

Harry was away on tour, as he always was this time of year. The texts and calls were there, of course. But you hadn’t told him. You couldn’t. His life was busy, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds, and you couldn’t bear to drag him into the shadows with you. He didn’t need that—not when he was living his dream.

So you suffered in silence, telling yourself you’d find your way out. Except, you didn’t.

Your best friend, Emily, was the first to notice. She’d stopped by unexpectedly, armed with a smile and coffee. You hadn’t answered her texts for days, and she’d decided to check in. When you opened the door, she froze, her face dropping.

“Hey…” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “What’s going on, babe?”

You didn’t have the energy to lie.

Emily took one look at the unwashed dishes, the unopened curtains, and the dark circles under your eyes and immediately understood. She’d seen this before.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, pulling you into a hug. The warmth of her arms broke something inside you, and the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

Emily didn’t leave that night. She made you tea, coaxed you into eating something, and stayed until you fell asleep. The next morning, she tried to talk to you about reaching out to Harry.

“He’ll want to know,” she said gently. “He loves you. You know he’d drop everything.”

But you shook your head. “I don’t want to ruin his tour. He’s happy.”

Emily sighed but didn’t push. Instead, when you weren’t looking, she sent Harry a message herself:

Hey, I know you’re busy, but she’s struggling again. She didn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know. Call me when you can.

Harry didn’t see the text until hours later. His phone had been in the dressing room while he performed to a sold-out crowd. When the show ended and he finally unlocked it, Emily’s message was waiting.

He read it twice before his heart sank.

————————

Harry’s decision to leave wasn’t even a question. His team tried to reason with him, suggesting he finish the next two shows before taking a break, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me. She’s more important than any of this.”

————————

The sound of a key in the lock woke you from a restless sleep. You sat up, your heart pounding as the door creaked open. When Harry’s familiar figure appeared, relief and guilt warred inside you.

“Harry?” Your voice cracked.

He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room in a few strides and pulled you into his arms. His chest rose and fell against yours, and you realized he was trembling.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m here.”

You didn’t mean to cry, but his presence—his warmth, his steady heartbeat—was the comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

Harry didn’t try to fix you. He knew better than that. Instead, he stayed close, quietly reminding you of his love in the small ways that mattered most.

He opened the curtains one morning and sat with you on the couch, not saying a word as you watched the sunlight pour in.

He ran a bath for you, adding your favorite lavender oil, and sat outside the door in case you needed him.

He cooked meals you didn’t have the energy to eat but never made you feel guilty for it.

On the hardest days, when leaving the bed felt impossible, he stayed with you, holding your hand as if anchoring you to the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told you one night, his voice steady. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Slowly, the darkness began to lift. Harry’s patience, his unwavering support, created space for you to breathe again. He reminded you of the things you loved—the music you used to listen to, the books you hadn’t touched in months, the way your laughter used to fill the room.

It wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks. But with Harry by your side, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay.

One afternoon, as you sat together on the couch, you looked at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his green eyes soft.

“For loving me. For staying.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

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like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 16 [final chapter] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warning(s): talk of past drug use and withdrawal symptoms.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 14 / chapter 15

[love renée but fuck am i getting sick of this gif. been looking at it for sixteen goshdarned chapters. finally i am freed.]

You woke up first. Naturally. Every time, every single morning that you'd had sleepovers, you'd been the first to wake up. The sun was shining through the blinds in a pleasant, warm yellow tone. Still morning but not unreasonably early.

You shifted to a more upright position, looking down at the girl still snoozing, whose hand was holding onto your forearm. She was all sprawled out, starfished as much as one could be on a couch. Her body was taking up the shorter end of the L-shape, one knee curled up towards her body, just barely on the couch, while the other stretched well beyond the end of the divan. You were situated much the same, except the other way around. You laid on the longer end so that your heads had almost met in the corner.

Her arms reached out towards you, one around your pillow and the other holding onto you. You knew you'd fallen asleep with much more distance between you, but you couldn't say you minded her having drifted.

Did you, though? You sighed and grumbled as you got up. Might as well do something while you contemplated reality, or something. Mrs George had insisted on some classic American breakfast ingredients, such as bacon and pancake mix. You didn't feel like causing a fire hazard, so pancakes were a no-go, at least for now. Eggs and bacon you could do.

What did you even, like, want? Realistically, actually, no, unrealistically what did you want? There was no sense in trying to make your base wants and desires realistic because at that point was any of that yours anymore? Likely not.

You wanted nights spent with Regina, talking and eating take-out, laughing until your tummy hurt and looking at her glowing in the blue light of whatever Adult Swim show was on at the time. You wanted grocery trips with Mrs George and to go to Kylie's games. You wanted people at school to just, simply not be jerks. You wanted Janis to find peace. You wanted Cady to wake up.

You wanted yesterday to not have happened. You wanted Thanksgiving dinner at the Georges' to never have happened. You wanted for your dad to be different, for Mr George to be different. You wanted your mom to not have died.

Looking at the bacon sizzling in the pan, you chewed on your lips and thought about that. You wanted many things. So many things, mostly for things to not have happened or to have happened differently. It was all wildly unrealistic. You were not a wizard, a time-traveller, or some other mystic being. You were a teenager.

You cracked the eggs into the mix. God, it smelled divine. You pulled a salt and pepper shaker from the spice rack and sprinkled a reasonable amount on there. You groaned out loud and threw your head back when you remembered there was sriracha in the fridge. Mrs George had seen you eyeing the bottle and had not taken a no for an answer, despite your abundant protestations.

"Spare your kitchen utensils the horror and go masturbate in your room like a normal person!" Regina hollered from the living room.

"Oh! Spatula! Harder! Harder!" You cried, moaning like you were receiving the blowie of your life. "If you want breakfast you're gonna have to witness this sordid affair." You called back, giggling. You leaned back from the stove, bending back at the waist. Regina was leaning her chin on the armrest, still more or less sprawled on your couch. There was a pout on her lips and a light flush to her cheeks.

"I'll show you sordid, nerd." She grouched before getting up. You straightened your posture, turning back to the stove, and probed the eggs in the pan with the spatula with a satisfied grin on your face.

You wanted this and more, above all. Was that something you were allowed to want? More importantly, was that something you were allowed to ask for?

Regina came up behind you, hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You didn't jump, much, which you were proud of.

"Looks yummy." She pointed out.

You hummed in agreement. "Can you put toast in the toaster?"

"Sure."

Then, as if no time at all passed, you were sitting down. Then eating and chatting. There was toast, eggs and bacon, and you'd made yourself a bowl of oatmeal. Mrs George had splurged on some blueberries and local honey. Regina refused to make eye contact when you were chewing, citing that your O-face was hard to look at. You only moaned louder and made more faces at her.

Then, just as you were heading to the couch to digest the meal as god intended, lying down, Regina yanked you to the foyer. Still in your jammies and everything, she insisted you bundle up and go for that walk she was talking about yesterday.

You'd hoped she would've forgotten. Sure, the weather was nice for once but if you didn't have to go outside then why would you? It was below freezing!

Much like her mother, she would not budge. You were going on a walk.

"What am I? A dog?" You muttered as you wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"If you were a dog, you'd be a... A Doberman." She was already dressed. It was odd for your roles to have switched like this. Usually, you were the one waiting for her to get ready. She had on a thick, white parka and a cute beanie. She also had on black leggings sure to insulate absolutely nothing and bulky, also black, fur boots.

"What? 'Cause I'm big and scary?" You preened at that, smiling widely.

"Nope." She tilted her head, examining you. "Gloves."

"Geez, okay, mom." You grabbed some mittens from the hat rack. "Why Doberman?"

"They wouldn't look so scary if they didn't have their ears clipped, y'know?" She said. You just looked at her weirdly, not catching her meaning. Your ears were not clipped. "Anyway, let's go."

"Aye aye," With that, you were out of the door.

You walked the block and down to the street. The sidewalk stopped so you went by the side of the road. She was walking ahead of you. It was cold out but not too windy, so it didn't feel so bad.

The sidewalk started again eventually. There, you walked side by side. You were just looking at a bird perched on a wire when you felt her grab your hand. Thinking she had something to say, you turned to look at her. She was still facing forward, the other hand in her pocket, walking along. She was just holding your hand.

Oh. Oh. She was holding your hand. Out in public. Not a lot of people were out at this hour, not even cars since it was a weekend. There was a woman with a stroller. A psychopathic man out on a jog. A dog walker. Still, it was outside where anyone who walked by could see.

You arrived at the park, hands clasped together. You stopped by a bench.

"I don't think we should sit." You said, observing the coating of snow piled on top.

"Let's go over there." Regina pointed to a tree a little ways away.

You went obediently, following the tug of her hand in yours. She was holding your hand. You felt all warm in your chest, like you were full of warm water.

You stopped by the tree. She looked around, trying to spot if anybody was nearby. Then, like she had a secret to tell you, she motioned for you to bend down closer. You did. Her hand squeezed at your fingers as the other came up to your neck, pulling you down the rest of the way.

The warmth you'd felt became hot, like an oil fire erupting in the foil-covered saucepan that was your heart, kernels and half-popped popcorn sputtering out as she kissed you. Your eyes just barely got to shutter closed before she pulled away. Instinctively, your body so starved of affection and touch, you chased her and found her lips again.

She smiled against your mouth. It felt like a secret of the utmost importance being shared, like a pinkie finger wrapped around your own in the corner of the room during a sleepover, giggled promises and childish adoration. She tasted vaguely like breakfast, and maybe egg-breath should've been nasty, but it wasn't.

Cold seeping in, the anxious feeling like you were soon going to be caught taking hold, you pulled away. You didn't lean away entirely, crowding her against the tree. When you'd gotten so close, pinned her, you weren't sure.

"Do..." What were you supposed to say post-kiss? "Do you like it sloppy?"

"What?" Her brows furrowed and the smile on her face turned sharper. What to say post-kiss: Not That.

"Uh, I mean, I just- uh..." You swallowed. "I don't know how to, like, I don't have technique. I dunno. Was that good? I saw Aaron was doing it differently..."

Regina rolled her eyes, head thumping lightly against the tree as her neck lolled back. "You would bring up Aaron now." She sighed. "It's fine. It's- it's good."

"Okay." You swallowed again. A slow smile crept up to your face. "It was good?"

"Ugh, yes, shut up." She shoved you away, but you just allowed the momentum to swing you back to her. "I... I don't think I'm good at words."

You chuckled at that. "No, you're not." She glared. You shrugged. "But, hey, you know me. I'm Chatty Kathy."

"No," She huffed through her nose, seemingly in frustration. "I wish I could say to you what I mean. What I feel. But I just... It's... It's not supposed to be but it's embarrassing."

Looking at her, hunched in on herself like a girl her age was supposed to be at times, so different from how she was most of the time, made your chest feel tight. You figured a person having been raised like she was, having turned out the way she had, would find being vulnerable uncomfortable. Or, as she said it, embarrassing.

Then again, it wasn't your place nor your duty to psycho-analyze her.

"Reg, I..." You hesitated. "I'm tired of, like, sitting in the passenger seat while you bulldoze everyone. I'm tired of feeling like if I do something you don't like you'll push me under too." You pulled away from her, hands getting sore from leaning your weight against the rough bark. "And then there's this whole thing." You gestured around you at the empty park. "Even if we were the best couple ever in terms of, I dunno, vibes or something, we're still..."

"Lesbians." She finished for you. "I'm a lesbian, Jorts." A sentence you never thought you'd hear from Regina George. "I know. For me, it felt justified for a long time, keeping them in their place, but since we started talking again, doing all that stuff just started to seem... Unimportant. And stupid." She fiddled with her fingers, eyes glued to the space between you. "It hasn't gone away. I still want to, I guess, hurt people because it does make me feel better even if it's, like, fucked up. But I want something else more than I want that."

"What's that?" You couldn't help but ask, hope stuck in your throat. Choking hazard.

"You, obviously." She said it so flippantly as if those words didn't just send your heart into the Milky Way. "I want you. I'll stop doing that stuff for you. I know we can't be out yet, but I... I have good grades."

You looked at her, puzzled. She huffed and continued. "I'll go to college. Major in, uh, I dunno, some sorta politics and I'll change the law. Maybe a law degree would work better for that, actually." She seemed to think about it for a moment before returning to her point. "Whichever one would be best in getting gay marriage legalized."

"You..." You had to laugh at that, disbelieving as well as delighted. "You're gonna change the world for me?"

"If that's what it takes." She said, determination shining so bright it made your eyes water.

"Wow, okay." You licked your lips, trying to will the stupid grin off your face. You had some important questions still. "If I moved away, would you still stop?"

She paused at that. Took a moment to really look at you, like she hadn't considered that to be a real possibility.

"Yes." She sounded so sure you believed her. "I just don't have... What it takes anymore. I guess. I don't know if there's something wrong with me that I... I want to be mean, sometimes. It's funny. For me." She glanced down and then looked somewhere over your shoulder. "It took a lot of work to get to what Regina George is now. I don't want to put in all that next year."

"Y'know what they say. New year, new me." You quipped, looking down at her. You were quite sure your pupils had morphed into heart shapes, despite your valiant efforts to have this meaningful conversation without seeming like a love-drunk idiot.

(She kissed you. You kissed her. It was a beautiful morning, you were on a walk and you'd held hands and then you'd kissed under a barren willow tree. It was the first day of Christmas break and you were spending it with Regina George.)

"Does that mean I can be a raging bitch till January 1st?" She asked, eyebrow notching.

You laughed. "Only if you..." You bit your bottom lip, getting nervous. "Only if I get a kiss for every mean thing you say."

"Deal." She offered her hand to you, a cheesy smile on her face.

You pulled your glove off and spit on your hand, then made to take hers.

"Ew! That's disgusting!" She flinched away from you, violently shoving herself back against the tree. "Don't- no! Not near me! Don't touch me with that!"

She bolted and you ran after her, cackling maniacally. You waved your spat-on hand at her as you chased her around the park, her shrieking and you laughing.

"I'm serious, J!" She looked at you over her shoulder as she ran. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running away from me!"

"You're just gonna smear your spit on me, you- you fiend!"

"Pinky swear I won't!"

"I won't pinky-swear with your disgusting paws, you-"

With a yelp, Regina tripped over something, probably a root, and fell to the ground. You, having been closing in on her, put the brakes on, windmilled your arms, and tried to stop, but soon followed her into the snow.

"Ouf!" The breath wooshed out of her as you fell on her. She wheezed as you rolled off of her, half-heartedly punching in your direction. You giggled and dodged to the best of your ability, not even minding the snow seeping through your pyjama pants.

Giving some time for her to recover, you laid on your back and looked up at the sky. Clear blue with some thick, greyish clouds looming in the peripheral, morning was turning to day fast. Soon, the park would surely get some more traffic. Kids and their adults, mostly. There was a sizeable play area in the centre. You were pretty much on the outskirts of the park.

It was a familiar spot. You and the guys used to meet your other friends here all the time. Those times it'd been night, too dark to see the faces of the guys with big gym bags, filled to bursting with little plastic baggies and glass bottles.

You turned your head to look at her once her breathing had quieted down.

"You bitch," She hissed at you, the usual venom in her voice gone, replaced by exhaustion. You could only smile, somewhat sheepish but mostly just happy.

"It'd be a lot harder to resist if we were still in school, y'know." You said, turning back to watch the sky. "You can't change the law until we graduate. Until then, we're stuck here. And then, let's say you do change the law and it's passed, it's gonna take some time for people to accept that."

"Yeah," Regina agreed, folding her arms under her chin to lean on.

"And you can say that you'll change a hundred times easily, but actually doing it is different."

"When did you get so wise?"

"When I was all alone for years and did some stupid stuff."

"Like what?" You could tell she wouldn't be expecting what you said next. Even you weren't expecting it.

"You know how I sell drugs and alcohol, right? Where do you think I get the stuff from? I got to know some people while we weren't talking." You sighed. Remembering those times, the worst of them, still so fresh despite it having been years, wasn't nice. "Vandalism, underage drinking, shoplifting, driving without a licence... Did some harder drugs than weed... Stupid shit. I stopped most of it when I got caught the last time and almost went to juvie. Dad got me out, somehow. Probably threw money at people."

You turned your head to look at Regina. She was already paying keen attention to you. "I told my mandated therapist I was gonna change. I said I wasn't going to ever do anything like that ever again. I lied, of course."

"When did you actually stop, then?" She asked.

"Months after the mandated therapy was over." You put your hands in your pockets, getting cold. "I wanted to do it before then. I wanted to just, not be that. A druggie fifteen-year-old spraypainting some dilapidated trailer, hanging around guys that were way too old to be hanging around me. I didn't want to be that but at the same time being anything else was terrifying. I don't think highly of myself, but that was low even for me. Then, Mrs George found me one time."

"Mom?" The question was more out of shock than actual inquiry.

"Yeah." You blinked a couple of times. "I was in a bad state. Withdrawals. I made her promise she wouldn't tell my dad if I allowed her to take me home. She was talking the whole ride from downtown to mine, trying to keep me awake. I just lost it. I don't remember what I said or exactly what I did, but she had to pull over and restrain me." You gulped. "It was awful. Then she offered that I could mow your lawn for some money. I used it the first couple of times to get a new dose. She used to ask what I'd be spending it on and those times I had some bullshit excuse, but the first time I said I was probably gonna get some McDonalds', she cried. Cried real actual tears." You didn't feel like looking at Regina, but you could feel her eyes on the side of your head. "After that it just... It wasn't worth it."

"You never told me." Regina breathed out, still sounding shocked.

"I didn't want to." You turned onto your side, body facing her. "I was- am ashamed."

You didn't feel shame now, though. You undoubtedly would later, tomorrow perhaps, but not now. You were glad for it. You regretted it, wished you hadn't gone down that road, but lying there in the cold snow there was only indifference. That had happened. You had done that.

"Me too." She whispered. "Obviously, it's not the same, but-"

"I know what you mean. And it could be more similar than you think. Quitting an addiction is hard, but I wouldn't say quitting a behaviour is easy."

"It's stupid to compare drug addiction to being a bitch." Regina huffed, a frown on her face. "It's incomparable."

"Well, then let's not compare. Both can be hard in their own way without diminishing the other. What I'm trying to point out is that," You thought for a moment. "We're both trying to get over a bad, toxic habit that feels safe and good and like the only option, without seeing the merit or the other supposedly better option first. It's scary."

"Are you still trying to get over it?"

"I haven't been on drugs since, no. But it's not something that goes away. Not ever."

"And you're still kinda in it." She said, remembering your hustle around the school.

"Yeah. I can't expect you to be all buddy-buddy with everybody suddenly. That'd be hypocritical."

"So what do we do?"

What a question. One that you did not have the answer to. You didn't feel unsettled by the confusion. You hadn't told anyone of your dark past (gosh, could you be any more emo?) since those that knew had just kind of stumbled across it, so telling somebody felt... Good. You'd just sort of blurted it all out without thinking about it too much.

"Can we go back home? I wanna..." You stopped, realizing I wanna make out with you on the couch sounded awfully crude.

A lecherous grin spread Regina's cheeks. "Oh, I see. You just want me for my body."

"No!" You denied, indignant. "I would never."

"You would never want me for my body." She reiterated, purposefully misconstruing what you said. "Wow. Just wow."

"Regina, c'mon, I just mean..."

"Say what you were gonna say." She rolled away and up, towering above you with a twinkling smile pointed down at your prone body.

"Let's just go," You said and tried to get up. Like some bondage dominatrix, she pushed you back down with a shoe on your chest.

You hated how that sort of got to you. Your heart beat faster against her Ugg. Hopefully, she didn't feel it through the thick sole.

"Nuh-uh. Say it."

"I... I wanna make..." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. "I wanna go home and make out with you on the couch."

"Oh, that wasn't so hard, now was it, baby? Let's go."

It was only once you'd made it back, chucked your wet clothes into the hamper, and spent a considerable amount of time in liplock, that either of you thought to circle back.

"Hey," Regina said, adjusting her weight to not be leaning on you so heavily. Your lips smacked apart and, gosh, now you were the gross ones. "I just now realized,"

"What are you realizing while you're supposed to be kissing me?" You pouted, falling onto your side and away from her. Your hand went over your eyes like you were a swooning maiden. Regina just patted your leg in mock consolation.

"You have your drug thing-" Only she would refer to your past addiction as your drug thing. "but I was, like, the only one doing anything actually wrong. Actively. You know what I mean." You craned your neck to look at her. Your double chin was probably epic.

"I lied to you by omission. I was really mean to you on Thanksgiving."

"Okay, lying by omission was bad and never do that again," She paused, waiting for you to affirm. You nodded solemnly. "But you were only mean after I was mean first. So, both forgiven. Anyway, I'm talking, like... I don't know how to say it."

You blinked. You didn't know what she meant so you couldn't really help. Regina huffed, nails scratching absent-mindedly on your calves.

"You made it sound like we were both wrong for how things exploded." She eventually said. "That was all me."

"I shouldn't have been such a doormat. I let you walk all over me and I never said anything about how I really felt."

"I don't think you can be in the wrong for that."

"I think I can be. At least the way that I was. I could've said something."

"And what would that've achieved? Me cutting you off and nothing changing?"

You clambered up to your elbows. "And now we're here." You smiled, one side a little crooked with how gleeful you were. "Look, we can hash everything out during the break, now just... Let's focus on other things."

Regina, still looking conflicted, caressed a hand up your leg. You shivered. You were in just a hoodie and loose briefs. Regina was more covered up than you, but still in just your old basketball shorts and a big band tee.

"Reggie, I'm getting used to asking for things I shouldn't want. Amuse me." You turned onto your back and hooked your legs around Regina. She fell forward, hands braced on either side of your torso. "Kiss me."

"I just don't want to mess up and have all this go away." She swallowed, a worried crease between her eyebrows.

"I think we're gonna mess up plenty of times. It's a possibility you'll find some justification to make somebody's life hell for a time. I could relapse." You pulled her closer with your legs, arms coming up to cross your fingers behind her neck. "A lot of the time we're not gonna want to admit it, we might not even know it. So, we can lay out a few... Promises, or something."

"Okay," Regina said, gazing down at you like you never imagined. Like you meant things to her. Important things.

"Promise me that you'll listen. Even if you disagree, please hear me out." She nodded seriously. "And, in turn, I promise to speak my mind. When I don't like something, or just like something, I'll say so." Again, she nodded. You loosened your hold on her neck and rubbed your thumbs on her cheeks. Getting to touch her like this, having her literally between your legs, was more than you ever thought you'd get.

Even if this ended in a similar fashion to the Thanksgiving kiss, or even much, much worse, you'd have regretted not taking the chance for the rest of your life.

"And... This is the most important one... Come closer."

Regina shifted closer, bending down, her elbows coming to rest next to your chest as she turned her ear towards you.

You whispered conspiratorially, like this was top-secret: "Still let me do your yard work."

Notes: Fucking christ. I wrote this all in one sitting. 4.3k words. That's like two chapters. I've written long chapters before, longer than this, but I got so used to the 2k on average pace that this felt huge.

Also! Don't be spooked by the [final chapter] marking! This is the last chapter in the story, yes, but we'll be hearing more from Reggie and Jorts still! I have a couple of epilogue sequences I want to write. Would y'all be interested in a poll as to what order those should be published? As in, chronological. Do we start from 10 Years Later... or something more like, idk, next summer? Lmk in the comments :)

This might be counterintuitive to add, and if my lovely amazing readers have exercised their reading comprehension during this series they might get why on a more nuanced level, revenge on Gretchen was left out purposefully. This will not be the last we hear of her, I have some plans for her in some of the epilogues, but yes. That plot point was left open on purpose.

The name. A lot of people like it! I was feeling insecure about my lack of foresight and impulsive naming, but hey, as it turns out it's not that deep! To add, it went really nicely with the end there I think :) No changes will be happening.

This note is getting so long. I just wanna thank everybody that's been along for the ride so far. I read every single comment and check my notifications way too often for new ones. I'm pretty used to writing for quite dead/inactive fandoms on AO3, and I love that site it's my origin, but it's very different to Tumblr. I just feel like people on here are much more open to sharing their thoughts. Everybody who's bore witness to my grief with the taglist, thank you for your patience. And thank you so much for wanting to be on it. I cannot believe people wanted that. For little ole me? Oh, you shouldn't have...

If there are spelling errors or grammatical weirdness, shhh. I'm not reading all that again at 1am. Toodles!

Taglist will be posted separately! Comment on that post if you want to be added to be notified when the epilogies are published!

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. I've seen teams do a fan forum for races and I would like to request one. She had been invited along with Lewis and George and of course Toto to the stage (like the one in Silverstone) and just answered fans questions. I know that sometimes they throw things (I saw one with Toto trying to catch or failing to catch something🤣🤣) And them being the cutest couple. Him giving her heart eyes, her blushing, fans teasing for kisses👀 Anything. Tag me later! Thanks!! :))

The sun cast a warm glow over the Silverstone paddock, creating a shimmering backdrop as the crowd buzzed with energy. It was an eventful day, and the atmosphere was electric. The stage, lined with banners bearing the iconic Mercedes logo, was set for a special interaction with fans. You stood at its centre alongside Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, and Toto, your husband, whose presence always stirred excitement among the fans.

“Alright, everyone,” Lewis said, a wide grin on his face as he scanned the crowd. “Let’s hear those questions!” The fans cheered in response, a sea of raised hands waving enthusiastically.

A young fan at the front raised a microphone. “This question is for Mrs. Wolff,” she began, eyes bright with anticipation. “What’s the best thing about being married to Toto?”

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. Toto glanced at you, a playful smirk curving his lips as the spotlight settled on you. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling a subtle blush rise to your cheeks.

“Oh, where do I start?” you teased, earning a delighted roar from the audience. “I’d say it’s the way he’s always so calm and collected—except when he’s yelling into the radio,” you added, feigning a serious look that cracked into a smile as Toto let out an exaggerated groan.

“Guilty,” he admitted, shrugging as Lewis and George chuckled beside him.

The session continued with light-hearted questions and stories. George shared an anecdote about Toto’s impeccable timing during practice, while Lewis reminisced about their first Silverstone victory together. Then, without warning, a playful shout came from the crowd.

“Catch, Toto!”

A white blur sailed through the air. Toto instinctively reached out, fingertips brushing the fabric before it tumbled past him. He broke into laughter, shaking his head as Lewis bent down and picked it up. The object was revealed to be a t-shirt, emblazoned with a large, grinning image of Toto’s face and the words “I Have It Printed Out” in bold lettering.

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. “That’s brilliant,” George said, turning the shirt for the audience to see. You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Looks like you’re a walking meme, Toto,” Lewis teased, nudging him lightly.

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Toto replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He turned to you, holding the shirt out with an exaggerated flourish. “Do you want to keep this as a gift, darling?”

You reached for it, the crowd chanting in unison: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The chant grew louder, blending with laughter and whoops. Toto’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at you with a gleam of mischief. “Well, the people have spoken,” he said.

Your blush deepened, but you couldn’t help smiling. Leaning in, you pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek, the gesture met with thunderous applause and whistles. Toto’s eyes lit up, softening with unmistakable affection as he turned to face you fully, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten.

“You two are too cute,” Lewis said, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to wipe a tear.

George laughed. “No wonder they throw shirts at you, Toto. They know who the real star is.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Toto said, his voice low but warm, eyes still locked on yours.

The next question came from an older fan in the back. “Toto, do you ever feel nervous when your wife is up there with you?”

Toto’s expression softened further. “Every day,” he answered sincerely, earning a collective “aww” from the crowd. “But in the best possible way,” he added, turning to you. “She’s my strongest supporter and my fiercest critic, all in one. And seeing her out here, sharing this moment, makes it all even more special.”

For a moment, the event paused in an unplanned silence, filled with the warmth of genuine emotion. You reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly as the crowd watched, eyes glistening with admiration.

“Okay, before we all start crying here,” Lewis said, breaking the moment with a grin, “next question!”

The session continued with the same playful energy, with fans firing off questions and sharing laughs with their racing heroes. But the moment on stage between you and Toto lingered, a reminder that amidst the roar of engines and competitive spirit, there were human stories filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. And today, under the sun and in front of thousands of fans, those stories shone as brightly as the Silverstone track itself.

@pear-1206

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 2022

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, murder, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, literal crack

STW: fingering, Ben being Ben, degradation, explicit spoken detail, practically manhandling

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

The sun hung low in the Nicaraguan sky, casting long shadows over the dense jungle. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to every leaf, every blade of grass, and every breath the small town's inhabitants took. A deep, unsettling quiet had settled over the place, punctuated only by the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of leaves. The tranquility of the town was deceptive, however, masking the turmoil that had gripped the world beyond its borders.

In the heart of the town, a small news station buzzed with a rare energy. Reporters shuffled about, their voices tense, their faces drawn with concern. The camera lights were harsh against the evening gloom, casting sharp shadows on the walls of the makeshift studio. Outside, a handful of locals gathered, their curiosity piqued by the unusual activity. News had traveled fast, as it always did in small towns, and the disappearance of Soldier Boy was no exception. For the people of this remote corner of the world, the arrival of a famous superhero—however dire the circumstances—was an event worth witnessing.

Inside the studio, the main anchor, a seasoned reporter named Esteban Garcia, sat behind a worn wooden desk, straightening the stack of notes before him. His dark eyes were set with a determination that had been honed over years of covering stories that often blurred the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But today, the story was unlike any other he had ever covered.

Esteban had been one of the first to receive the report that Soldier Boy, the legendary superhero and symbol of American might, had gone missing during a covert operation in Nicaragua. The details were still murky, shrouded in a haze of classified information and official denials. What was clear, however, was that the man who had once been invincible, the man who had been the living embodiment of strength and bravery, was now feared dead.

As Esteban shuffled his notes one last time, the door to the studio creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Crimson Countess was a striking figure; her red hair, usually fiery and untamed, was pulled back into a tight bun. Her crimson suit, once a beacon of power and confidence, seemed to have lost its luster, the fabric dull and wrinkled as if it, too, had been drained of life.

She moved with a heaviness that Esteban hadn't seen before, her every step measured, her every breath labored. As she approached the interview chair, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. This was not the Crimson Countess the world had come to know—the fierce, unyielding force that had fought alongside Soldier Boy for years. This was a woman on the brink, teetering between despair and the desperate need to hold herself together.

"Thank you for coming, Countess," Esteban said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she lowered herself into it, her movements slow and deliberate. "I know this must be an incredibly difficult time for you."

Countess nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, her throat working to push down the grief that threatened to spill over. When she finally did find her voice, it was hoarse, raw with emotion.

"Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, far beyond the walls of the studio. "I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with Soldier Boy. We all have. But this… this is different."

Esteban nodded, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming specter of loss. Outside, the gathering crowd pressed closer to the windows, straining to catch even the faintest whisper of what was being said inside.

"He was… he is," she corrected herself quickly, as if to banish the thought of his death from existence, "the strongest person I’ve ever known. Indestructible, or so we all thought. To think that he could be… gone… it’s like waking up in a nightmare you can’t escape from."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes tightly, as if that could somehow block out the pain. Esteban felt a pang of sympathy. He had seen many interviews like this before—family members of the missing, the grieving, the lost. But this was different. This was Crimson Countess, a superhero, someone who was supposed to be beyond the reach of such ordinary, human emotions. And yet here she was, broken in a way that no enemy had ever managed to break her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Esteban asked softly, careful not to push too hard, but knowing that the world was desperate for answers. "Anything at all that you know?"

Countess opened her eyes and looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to be weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal, how much to hold back. Then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

"It was supposed to be a routine mission," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before—go in, neutralize the threat, get out. But something went wrong. I… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was in a different part of the field, but I spoke to him on the comms. He was… he was confident, as always. He didn’t think anything could go wrong."

She paused, swallowing hard, as if the memory of that last conversation was too much to bear. "But then we lost contact. Just like that. One minute, everything was fine, and the next… nothing. No signal, no word. Just… silence."

Esteban leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "And you haven’t heard anything since? No communication from Soldier Boy or anyone else on the mission?"

Countess shook her head, her expression one of helplessness, an emotion she was clearly unaccustomed to. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished into thin air. The government’s been tight-lipped, as always. They’re saying it’s classified, that they’re ‘looking into it,’ but I know what that means. They think he’s dead. They just don’t want to say it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Esteban could feel the tension in the room rising, the weight of the world’s expectations pressing down on this woman who had spent her life fighting battles that most people couldn’t even imagine. And now she was fighting a battle of a different kind—one that she had no idea how to win.

"What does this mean for you, Countess?" he asked after a long moment, his voice soft with understanding. "For the team? For the world?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a deep, abiding sorrow. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really don’t know. Soldier Boy was… he was the heart of the team. The backbone. Without him… I don’t know how we go on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Outside, the crowd had grown larger, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. They had come to see a superhero, but what they were witnessing was something far more profound—a woman laid bare, stripped of the armor that had always protected her, struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense.

Esteban knew that he had to tread carefully now. He could see how close she was to the edge, how fragile her composure had become. But he also knew that the world was watching, waiting for answers, for some kind of closure. He took a deep breath, choosing his next words with care.

"Countess," he began gently, "the world has always looked to people like you and Soldier Boy for strength, for hope. In times of crisis, you’ve been the ones to lead us, to show us that even the darkest times can be overcome. What would you say to those who are watching right now? To those who are afraid?"

Countess stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something—perhaps a lifeline, perhaps an escape. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, more certain, as if she had found some small reserve of the strength that had always defined her.

"I’d say that fear is a natural response to the unknown," she said slowly, the words coming out measured and deliberate. "But fear can’t be the end of the story. Soldier Boy… he wouldn’t want us to give up, to let fear consume us. He’d want us to fight, to keep going, no matter how hopeless it seems."

Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the words seemingly giving her strength. "I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Soldier Boy is… if he’s really gone. But I do know that he wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. He’d want us to keep pushing forward, to keep believing that there’s a way out of this, even if we can’t see it right now."

Esteban nodded, feeling a sense of respect for this woman who, despite everything, was still finding a way to inspire hope. "Thank you, Countess," he said quietly. "I know that wasn’t easy."

Countess managed a small, tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Nothing about this is easy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s what we have to do."

As the interview drew to a close, Esteban could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body seemed to sag with the weight of it all. He knew that the moment the cameras stopped rolling, she would retreat back into the private hell she was living, the grief and uncertainty gnawing away at her resolve.

"Do you think he could still be out there?" Esteban asked, unable to resist the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the interview. "Do you think Soldier Boy could still be alive?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "I have to believe he is," she said softly, the words laced with a fragile hope. "Because if he’s not… I don’t know how we move on from this."

The camera panned out, capturing the room in its entirety—the small, stark studio, the gathering crowd outside, and the lone figure of Crimson Countess, sitting in the harsh light, her face a mask of controlled despair. The broadcast would soon be over, but the impact of her words would linger long after the screen went dark.

NOW:

“Whatever you’re experiencing, it’s not real.” Your shrink - you still didn’t know whether her name was Emily or Earhart - assured you, but you knew better. “Vought only wants to help you get better.”

“They’ve been so called helping me for forty fucking years.” You gritted out, your fingers gripping the chair you were sitting on. The maroon chair, with some fugly beige cushions in this fugly beige room. You hated it.

Fuck all.

She sighed, leaning forward. “You exhibit signs of anger issues and PTSD. Vought is merely facilitating your recovery and return to glory.”

“They’re fucking with my head!” You burst out, standing up abruptly, surging forward and grabbing her throat, your eyes turning black, gleaming with wisps of purple. “Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It resonated through Eleanor’s head, and her eyes turned the same colour as yours, her jaw going slack as she stopped resisting.

“You’re not crazy.” She whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You never were.”

You let her go, and her eyes returned back to normal, a shaky gasp escaping her lips. You bent forward, trapping her between yourself and the chair.

“You tell anyone what I just did, sweetie,” You warned lowly, “and I’ll snap your neck by the time I next come in here.”

“Of course.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

You sat back down on the armchair, cracking a smile as you examined the fear in her eyes. Good. “Shall we continue?”

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

“Is he always gonna be doing that?” Hughie whispered to Butcher, watching Ben crush some medicine and snort it like it was nothing. They’d broken him out of his cryogenic capsule, and it’s safe to say that he was an incredibly pissed off individual. Understandably so.

“Just let ‘im, it ain’t killing us.” Butcher replied under his breath, and then snapped into suave gent action when Ben cleared his throat and looked up. “Everythin’ alright, there, guv’nor?”

“Gotta add another name to my kill list.” He cleared his throat again, grunting distastefully.

“One more?” Hughie asked, eyes widening slightly, but he recovered. “Uh, w-who is that - the one you want to kill - who?”

Ben grunted again, snorting up more crushed pills. “Tricky bitch, she is. Superhero by the name of Psyke, she was my co-leader and fuck buddy. Real tricky to get past. She can create illusions that you’ll fall for if you’re a dumb piece’a shit, and if she gets her hands on you, game over.”

Butcher crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“One, she’s hot as fuck. And a great fuck.” Ben chuckled, reminiscing the days. “Second, she’ll just whisper a command and you’ll do it no questions asked.”

“No problem, guv.” Butcher smirked confidently, but Hughie raised his hand. “Put your hand the fuck down, we ain’t in school.”

“Cocksucker.” Ben snorted - not recreational drugs this time - drinking his beer. “What is it?”

“Psyke, she… she’s impossible to get to.” Hughie revealed, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently she had a psychotic outbreak after you were put in the freezer in ‘83. Vought’s holding her for rehabilitation and therapy. Has been for forty years.

Ben saw the picture of the old newspaper, the title blaring in his face. ‘Psyke in Rehab for Violent Behaviour’, but no explanation. It told him one thing— that you must have known something was wrong.

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

There wasn’t a world in which Vought would imprison their darling, their golden girl. Not unless she went rogue.

“That means she’s deep in a Vought facility.” Butcher smirked, glancing between the two others. “We get the team together, launch an attack on the cunts holdin’ her, we can get her out quick an’ easy.”

Ben’s protective instincts over you flared up when he thought of what Vought could’ve done to you. “She gets out unharmed, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

Oh, fuck. You could go for one of those at the moment.

You were left on the ground, on your back, trembling. Your brain felt like it’d been stretched and then left to rebound against all four walls of your brain, close to turning into mush had you not been fighting the drug injected into your system with everything you had.

“She’s resisting.” You heard one doctor mutter to another, just as searing, white hot pain made the corners of your vision turn black.

And then they shaped into the nightmare land, taking over your vision until it was half reality half illusion, messing with your perception until you weren’t sure which was actually happening.

You could see Nicaragua.

The blood, being distracted by a legion only to find Ben being subdued by Novichok.

Fighting off every member of Payback, making them turn on one another with nothing but a hand on their shoulder and a persuasive whisper.

Getting hit with a cheap shot from behind, and both yours and Ben’s bodies were dragged across the dirt.

Only difference was that you were barely awake. Awake enough to see his unconscious face as they took him away and put him God knows where.

“Have we tried giving her a stronger dose?” A male doctor replied, the corners of your vision blinking from reality, back to nightmare, reality, nightmare, reality- nightmare—

Keys jangled. “We give her a stronger dose and she’ll go up in a stroke. Homelander wants her alive.”

“I don’t understand why, she’s a walking weapon.”

“Talking like I’m not there.” You rasped out, like you hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. A rough chuckle left your mouth as you shakily pushed yourself up, the pounding in your head still there but finding it easier to regain muscle control. “Ballsy move, especially for a couple of dickless scientists.”

You pointed at the lady. “You’re already dickless, so you don’t count.”

The two doctors looked between each other, getting more and more anxious as you found your feet, staggering towards them, almost shuffling, footsteps uneven.

“Uh, what are you-” They froze when you clapped your hands on their shoulders, leaning forward so you were speaking in their ears, your iris turning into gleaming purple mixed with black.

“Kill each other.” You whispered, and the command resonated. The urge to pick up their pens and go postal overtaking them.

Kill each other.

Kill each other.

It went through their mind, body, soul. Clipboards flattering to the floor as their irises turned black and swirled with purple, turning to each other slowly. Teeth gritting, veins popping as the two doctors looked into each other’s eyes with pure hatred and a chuckle left your lips as you watched them click their pens and go straight for the jugular.

Over and over again.

“Sleep tight, bitches.” You muttered in satisfaction just as armed Vought soldiers burst in, two forcing you to your knees while two others went to check the tangled, lifeless bodies of the two doctors running rampant.

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

“Bet you’re so wet for me, pretty thing.” Ben chuckled against your lips as you stumbled back into the his hotel room, the rapid undoing of clothes not privy to the two of you as the curtains were wide open. Everyone in the street below could see the filthy way yours and Ben’s lips joined together over and over again, eyes closed but hands familiar with where they needed to go to make the other moan.

Ben separated from you to go and close the curtains, leaving the taste of whiskey on your tongue, still in his slacks from the press conference while he’d ridden you of everything but that delicious fucking lace you’d worn under your dress.

He’d been eyeing you all day in that thing, and all he thought about was having it off.

“Didn’t have enough after coming like a faucet on my cock this morning, hm?” He added, toeing his shoes off and working on his belt, his lips descending to your neck and leaving hot trails of kisses and rough sucks. “Nah, you didn’t.”

Your hands slid up his chest, and then one went down to palm him over his slacks, which had the vein in his neck popping, jaw tensing as his head fell back for a quick second.

Then he took control of the situation, tearing your panties off and throwing you onto the bed, the bra going with it as he sank two thick fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Shit-” You gasped, arching off the bed, your legs widening instinctively as he set a brutally delicious pace, leaning forward to lick and suck at your nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth at his fancy.

Ben only laughed, manoeuvring your body how he wanted, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, hearing your moans, seeing your eyes roll back, knowing you were close-

NOW:

“TMI.” Hughie groaned, putting his hand out and shaking his head. “Really, dude. Ew.”

Ben frowned. “TMI- the fuck does that mean?” He thought for a second, then waved Hughie off. “Eh, I don’t give two shits.” Then he chuckled at the memory, nodding and hitching his shield higher on his arm. “Psyke, man. Best fuck you could ask for. She’d ride me like a damn champ, knows how to suck you off too. Had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum-”

“As much as I want to hear about your old buddy’s jerkin’ off talents, guv,” Butcher cut in with a wave of his hands as they walked, “we have half an hour to get in an’ out.”

“We’ll get her.” Ben assured, finding a Vought guard and slamming his shield into their face, successfully breaking their nose and making them drop, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

“Fuck you.” He added, sneering at the unconscious guard before trudging further through the halls, Hughie and Butcher keeping up right as the alarms blared red.

The moment they did, you - in your cell - smirked, finding an opportunity. The guards were about to restrain you, but you used their grip on your arms to knock them into each other, rolling out of the way and grabbing their handgun, shooting them both once each in the head before anyone could react.

You barely dodged a bullet (literally), jumping and spinning, whipping your leg around so your heel could connect with the side of one’s head, snapping it sideways and sweeping another guard’s legs out from under them, grabbing their head and snapping their neck.

All the guards were down, so you got up, looking at the massacre - the art - you’d created with a small smile on your face and an approving nod.

“Cocksuckers.” You muttered under your breath before shaking your head, clearing the corners of your vision of Nicaragua, induced by whatever shit they put into your system. Wasn’t the good shit either, it was bad shit.

You really needed a smoke round about now.

But now wasn’t the time, so you picked up the guard’s assault rifle and pocketed a few rounds, making your way through the clinically white halls with it held up, popping a few rounds through the heads of the guards you met.

Eventually, of course, all your rounds were depleted soon enough, and you resorted to using your hands (and not in the sexy way), Nicaragua threatening to take over your vision

“You can check that way, guv, she might be there.” A voice with an accent said gruffly, and when you looked around the corner, you saw a boot disappearing down a side corridor, and two other guys. You stepped up behind the smaller one, your bare feet silent on the cold floor.

With a sharp movement, you grabbed the smaller one’s shoulders, yanking him against you as your powers activated again, ready to strike. “Move a muscle and I tell this one to dislocate his own shoulder. Maybe break a leg.”

“What the fuck- I don’t wanna break a leg!” The dude held to you squeaked to the taller guy, who turned around, taking one look at you and smirking.

“Guv, we found ‘er!” He yelled, and a large red and brown boot stepped out, connected to a much larger body that you knew all too well. Only difference was that his hair was darker and he had a trimmed beard. Oh, you’d have fun with that - you mused, right as a grin spread on your face.

“Son of a bitch.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

TAGLIST: @goldngguk

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@cheynovak @manicjk @riah1606

[tinykittendelusion]

Seventeen as Boyfriends

a/n: i accidentally posted this earlier by mistake 😭

triggers: mentions of sex or sexual attraction or hinting towards it

Scoups

The boyfriend who you thought would be those cold overly possessive guys but he turns out to be a soft munchkin who absolutely adored you and is so sulky when you don't give him attention and love

Jeonghan

the gremlin boyfriend who loves pranking you. Sometimes you wonder whether you are dating a child cause this guy sometimes behaves like one.

Joshua

He's a gentleman through and through and he's this gentleman with you too. except when he goes crazy and you absolutely love it cause you laugh until there are tears in your eyes.

Jun

Your shy boyfriend you absolutely adored making him blush you'd flirt with him and watch his face go red completely. he'd stare at you all the time and seungkwan would have to tell MOON JUNHUI to get his attention. He'd be worried that you'll be jealous seeing his acting in exclusive fairytale but would be surprised to see you were mostly supportive and cooed over him. Definitely the jealous one.

Hoshi

He's that extremely excited boyfriend regardless of how stressful or tiring work is he gets excited and in all your time dating him you've rarely seen him tired. Loves being babied especially when the members complained cause he'd like to remind them that your HIS girlfriend from time to time.

Wonwoo

Again the looking cold guy like scoups except he's the biggest dork ever. He'd recite lines from books for you and crack dad jokes. Needless to say your dad and he get along very well. Also absolutely loves loves loves losing to you while playing games 10/10 would be turned on.

Woozi

Your busy boyfriend. He'd always be in the studio so much so you'd just move in with him in the studio where you'd be working on your laptop while he made music. He'd act all annoyed but absolutely love it. After one point you'd start regularly dragging him out cause you think he's forgotten how the sun and the sky looks like.

Dokyeom

Sunshine. Somehow he looks like he's glowing all the time? Especially after you both started dating. Would love to go on long walks with you. Randomly gets jealous of people and would pout until you'd kiss him.would joke that the only sun you need is him.

Mingyu

Cling puppy if it was a human. Definition of a golden retriever boyfriend. He gets easily jealous so decides to befriend all your friends and gush about you to them.

Minghao

the quiet boyfriend who is sassy. You'd go out to a cafe with him and you'd spend hours people watching. His favourite thing is going shopping with you and you modeling those clothes for him. His love language is buying you gifts.

Seungkwan

Karaoke dates. He loves going to a karaoke bar and singing his heart out with you. You both together are as loud as dokyeom and the boys keep trying to shush you guys but boo just is sassy with them.

Vernon

Cuddles cuddles and more cuddles. He just loved having his arms around you. His love language is sharing memes and holding your hands. You'd go on movie dates together all the time.

Dino

He's your baby. He'd pout and whine to you whenever his hyungs bully him and you'd protect him from them. He liked feeding you and would often ask mingyu for help in learning new dishes. You're his favourite drinking partner.

a/n : hope this was nice I want to expand futher later maybe into individual posts for each of them

[blackdollette]

ive never made a request before im a bit nervy omg

but could u maybe do smth about like a sweet innocent little y/n meeting euro (or maybe even kappa) and he just wants to ruin her innocence and make her a total whore for him (maybe slight undertones of cnc IF youre comfortable with that)

K IM NERVOUS TY

don't be nervous, anon! thank you so much for reaching out & sharing your ideas!

"said i was flawless, true perfection." | euronymous

ridin'. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @vanlisbon @livingdead-reilly @oliviah-25 @lankysimp@auggiethecreator @livingdead-materialgirl @monkeyfart@imoonkiss @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @greenxgloss @wild-rose-35

female!reader x r!euronymous

word count: 1.7k

contents: blowjob, public sex, masturbation

who the hell thought it would be a good idea to sell lana del rey vinyls in a black metal record store?

business at the shop had been slow. euronymous sat behind the cashier, lighting himself a cigarette as the clock neared noon. he sighed deeply, putting his feet on the desk as he took the tv remote, flipping through channels mindlessly. he’d figured to take his break a little early. it didn’t seem like anyone was planning on showing up anyway.

the sun outside shone just a little too bright. euronymous groaned, standing up and making his way to the window to close the blinds. he peeked outside through the glass, the streets nearly empty with the exception of the occasion person strolling by. he grumbled, closing the shutters and rubbing a stressed hand over his face. he needed to make a sale, even if it was only one. all he needed was an angel from heaven to stroll by…

the bell above the door chimed, snapping euronymous out of his train of thoughts. “we’re off for break, man. come back in an hour.” he muttered. you froze in your tracks, raising an eyebrow. you cleared your throat and he glanced over at you. “i said get los-” he finally locked eyes with you, seeing a woman instead of his usual audience.

his eyes were wide with shock as they travelled down your body. you were just about the furthest thing from death metal he’d ever seen walk into the shop. it’s not like you were adorned in pastel rainbows, but he’d never expect someone like you to show up at a store like this.

he cleared his throat, walking back behind the desk as you began to stroll through the shop. “i don’t think we have the type of music you listen to, lady?” already at the section for the artist you were looking for, you looked at him. “you sure? cuz i think i see what i need right here.” you rolled your eyes, starting to flip through different albums as euronymous glared at you.

this new sale was already attracting all the wrong types of people. you looked like a doll, one meant to be used and destroyed by a ruthless owner. not wandering through a black metal store like it was your second home. silence filled the environment, much to your comfort but it made euronymous very uncomfortable. he’d been used to cracking conversations with whoever walked through the door, but he didn’t know how to go about that with you.

after taking a deep breath, he spoke. “everything going okay over there?” his words were forced, but you looked back at him with a smile. “going just fine, thanks.” your sweet words had a bite to them, like you were mocking him for something. he found himself getting intrigued about a person he had met less than a minute ago.

after what felt like an eternity, you picked 5 vinyls and took them to the cashier. you set them down in front of him, you two now less than a foot apart. he glanced at you as he rang up your items. “you come to places like this often, doll?” you swallowed hard, shaking your head. he added up the total before reading it out to you. “your total will be $401.59.” your eyes widened to the size of saucers. “400 dollars?! i don’t have that kind of money on me!” you bent over to read the total off his screen, your tight dress slipping down your chest slowly and revealing your cleavage to him.

your breasts waved right in front of his eyes and his breath grew shallow. your arousing scent filled his nostrils. he squirmed slightly in his seat, heart hammering in his chest. you were almost completely revealing your tits to him compeltely by accident. he had only know you for a few minutes and was already getting a taste of how naive you were.

his gaze bored into your chest until you stood upright again, picking at your fingernails. “i-i had no idea that these would be so expensive…” euronymous clasped his hands over his lap, a boner already sprouting underneath. “well you’ve gotta pay for them one way or another, lady.” he paused, a sinister idea brewing in his mind. “i’d hate to get the cops involved in our business.”

your heart stopped for a second as you frantically shook your hea.d “n-no, of course not…” you sighed deeply, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. you looked right into his cold eyes, speaking so softly that he could barely hear you. “p-please, find it in your heart to help me out. i’ll… i’ll do anything…” that line alone was the perfect telltale of how much porn you watched, but maybe euronymous was the clueless one for not picking up on your obvious hints.

you fiddled with the thin chain aorund your neck, pouting slightly as his pupils dilated. he stood up from his seat with a small grin, extending his hand to you. “let’s step into my office, sweetheart. then we can talk business.” you nodded, taking his cold, pasty hand in yours as he walked you into the small room behind him, locking the door.

he looked at you right in your cartoon eyes, your face resembling one of a make-believe character that was too good to be true. he leaned against his personal desk, beckoning you to come closer to him. ou stood right infront of him, his arm slowly slithering around your waist. he spoke in a whisper, eyes locked on your nipples that barely poked out through your dress.

“you want those records real bad, don’t you?” you nodded, chest rising and falling slowly as you took deep reaths. his smile turned slightly sadistic as he pulled you into him, his breath hitting the cave of your ear. “then i’m going to make you work for it, whore…” you almost choked as euronymous grabbed the neck of your dress, tugging it down and making your tits pop out.

your gasped, your pierced nipples painfully erect. he kneaded your bugs between his fingers, making your knees go weak, much to his pleasure. the boner he had been fighting all this while was roaring to be let out, a mess of precum already spilling in his black jeans. “get on your knees, bitch.” you went down without protest, your face an inch away from his bulge. he grabbed the back of your head, bringing your lips to it and making you kiss him through the fabric, a low groan escaping his lips.

his dick throbbed and tiwtched through the denim, his body instantly reacting to your indirect touch. “tell me you want this cock, doll… say it.” you swallowed hard, gazing up at him trough your eyelashes as you spoke hoarsely. “i-i want your cock, sir…” you didn’t know what to address him as, so you went with the best choice. he smiled, his hand moving to unbuckled the weapon of a belt that was around his thin waist.

the metal clanged to the ground. he unbuttoned his jeans, biting his lip as his cock sprung out and slapping the base of his stomach, nearly hitting you in the face. you flinched, mouth gaping open. “i-it’s so big…” you whispered, making him chuckle. “and you’re gonna take every inch of it, you hear me?” you nodded, feeling a soaking sensation spreading in your panties.

he gave himself a few lazy pumps, connecting the tip with your lips. you opened you mouth slightly, not enough for him to fit himself in. he grabbed your jaw, forcing it open all the way before shoving himself all the way in. you gagged eyes welling with tears as he grabbed the side of your head.

he put on a fake pout. “aw, too big for you, angel?” his arrogance was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, but you let him have it. a deal was a deal. one you adjusted to his size, you slowly began to bob your head up and down his shaft, gazing up at him with shiny eyes. his core heated up as he listened to your lewd gagging and gurgling.

“you’re a natural, you nasty bitch…” his eyes shaded like a lust-filled haze, as if you were the only thing in the world right now. your hands felt completely useless in this whole ordeal, so you reach one underneath your dress, starting to touch yourself through your panties. you moaned softly, the vibrations feeling like pure bliss to him.

his hair feel into his face as profanities slurred out from him. he slammed his cock into your throat, not even lettinig you get a breath of air. but the pleasure outweighed the discomfort for you, your fingers coating in your liquids as you slipped your panties to the side. he noticed this in an instant, his voice growing shaky. “y-yeah… touch yourself for me, you slut…”

you used your other hand to fondle his balls as they slapped against your chin. his tip repeatedly rammed into your uvula, the slaty taste of his precum making your throat convulse around him. he used his thumbs to gently wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks. he forcefully fucked your face as you fingered yourself even quicker. his cock abosrbed your moans like a sponge, the feeling being better than anything he’d ever felt.

his moans becamemore intense and more frequent as the warmth of your throat took him in like a blanket. time began to go elastic as euronymous felt the pleasure getting to his head. the sound of your gurgling was intoxicating. you swirled your tongue around his girth, finally pushing him to the edge. he bit his lip, drawing blod as he whipped himself out of your mouth and shot his cum onto your tits like he was frositng a cake.

you panted as he the string s his you, a smile growing on your face. “such a dirty girl…” you licked his tip, cleaning off the last bit of cum and finishing him off. his breath was heavy like he just ran a marathon. you stood back up, tucking your tits back into your dress and trying not to ruin it with his cum.

euronymous slowly tucked his cock back into his pants, fixing up his hair as the sound of customers reminded him of where he was. he cleared his throat, looking at you deeply. “it was a pleasure doing business with you ma’am. enjoy the records, completely free of charge.”

author's note: back to shcool tomorrow :((

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 11

What Happens in the After

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard

Word Count: ~10.9K

WARNINGS: Triggers for discussion of childhood abandonment / absentee parents. Please read with care.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie / Minors DNI

A/N: And so we come to the end of this little story. Thank you to each and every one of you who have shown interest, shared, commented, and supported me in general throughout this little journey. I can't tell you how much I have looked forward to your comments on these, the beautifully phrased ones and the incoherent screaming ones alike. My inbox is always open for incoherent screaming about these two.

Chapter Moodboard

A note: This chapter takes place in Jamaica, which was impacted this week by Hurricane Beryl. I'm always hesitant to tell people what to do with and where to send their money, but if you are so inclined, I would urge you to make even a small donation to a reputable organization that aligns with your beliefs to help provide aid to Jamaica and the wider Caribbean in the wake of that storm.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

There’s a soft shave and a haircut knocked against the door to the hut.

She has a backpack slung over her shoulder and one hand stuffed into the pockets of cargo shorts. 

The other hand’s wrapped around the dregs of her welcome drink. 

And to Frankie’s grief-sore eyes, Audrey looks like hope dredged from the bottom of his chest and given a heartbeat.

He steps aside and allows her in and as she slips past she doesn’t reach for him. 

“Hi,” he whispers when he shuts the door. 

“Hi,” she echoes.

She reflexively twists to avoid his hand when he reaches to help her out of her backpack. 

And it twists Frankie’s viscera.

“How was your flight?” He rakes a hand through his curls. He has the louvers shut and the hut is lit only by the faintest glow of sunlight through the cracks. 

“Yeah, was good.”

“Where were you coming from?”

“Why am I here, Frankie?” Audrey asks gently.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I’m trying to show you that I mean it.”

“Why.”

Because I need you.

You keep me from using.

You remind me who I am.

It all rattles around his brain. 

And yet none of it feels like it’s enough.

Because what about her…

What about her. What about him is worth anything to her. How could he ever be. The addict. The body.

She doesn’t need him to fix her car or make her come.

She doesn’t even need him to watch her six.

“Stay with me?” Is what he asks instead. “Here. For a few days.” 

In the smallest voice she’s ever heard him use. 

Not even languid words lazed across the velvet of her skin after she’s poured pleasure into his blood have ever reached this level of softness.

And she puts her backpack down on wood planks because she realizes he’s ready to apologize but hasn’t yet found the words.

She walks over to the doors that lead out to the balcony and flips both sets of louvers open. “You seen the beach yet?”

“Haven’t made it out.”

“It’s nice. Get changed,” she nods towards the bathroom door, stepping out of Frankie’s path.

His palms burn as he slips through to the bathroom.

She's no different with him as they laze in the sun.

No different except that she hasn't touched him, or reached out for him in kind.

Condensation drips from a chilled bottle of water and lands on her inner thigh, slipping because it’s pulled by gravity, and gravity taunts Frankie as his eyes follow the drop’s trajectory from behind dark lenses.

The dew of sweat highlights the curve of her breasts and Frankie catches a pale man who looks as though he considers mayonnaise a spice glare as he passes them on the sand.

Frankie taps on her chair to signal that he’s heading into the ocean and dives furiously the moment he makes it out far enough.

He can’t clear his head.

He can’t find the words.

Trevor, a benevolent bartender, attempts to give him a word of advice.

“You love that girl?”

And Frankie stares hard into his melting rum punch and then back up at kind, light brown eyes.

“I do.”

“Tell her, brother. Woman like that? Once in a lifetime and you’re gonna lose her.”

“She doesn’t need me.”

“No woman needs a man, brother.”

“She doesn’t love me.”

“She does.” He skates a rag over the bartop without looking up. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Audrey’s in the sea and doesn’t see Frankie staring with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

He tips Trevor treble for the drink.

The bartender’s words rattle around Frankie’s brain the rest of the day.

That night Audrey’s cradled in white cotton with her nose in a book when he emerges from having brushed his teeth.

Frankie fishes the spare comforter out of the closet and moves to the left side of the bed, pulling a pillow from next to her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

And she offers half a laugh.

“Frankie—“

“It’s fine, I—“

“Frankie you’re not sleeping on the floor, that’s insane,” she gazes at him incredulously through the gauze of the mosquito net.

“I wanna give you your space.”

“It’s a king sized bed, Francisco, we’ve slept on far smaller…”

They’ve slept on far smaller under friendlier circumstances. Frankie’s broad, heavy form draped over her back, his nose nuzzled in her hair.

It flashes through his brain.

“I’ll sleep on the day bed.”

“Frankie you’re gonna get eaten alive by every biting insect in Jamaica, you’re not sleeping outside. You’re gonna get fucking Dengue. If it bothers you that much I can go down to reception and book another hut it’s fine,” she peels back the comforter and moves to climb off the bed.

“No.” It rushes from his mouth. “No, no don’t leave.”

He puts the pillow back on the bed.

Lengthwise.

Between them.

And grabs another for his head.

It irritates her enough that she nearly forgets that he still hasn’t apologized. She nearly reaches over the physical barrier between them to pull it from behind his teeth with her tongue.

She closes her eyes and breathes in and out through her nose.

And turns back to her book.

The next day they barely speak but to coordinate showers, which beach they’re going to visit, what one wants to drink when the other is heading to the beach bar.

Audrey burns through her second book and Frankie just burns with the heat of regret.

He’s the one dragging this out.

That night after dinner, they walk back to their hut in silence, both just this side of drunk on rum. A bartender mistook Frankie’s trepidatious buzzing and Audrey’s carefree chat as him being nervous to propose and kept free drinks flowing. They’ve put down more together before but Frankie is a tequila man and although rum is Audrey’s ancestral drink, she hardly touches dark liquor anymore.

Frankie stuffs his fists into the pockets of his linen pants as they navigate shell-laced concrete and figures drunk isn’t the state of mind to do this but drunk also won't let him wait any longer.

“Audrey.”

She looks to him without saying his name, but her pace doesn’t falter. She spins on her heel and starts walking backwards as a reggae version of One More Night starts playing from some far-off speaker mounted in a tree.

 There’s music in her step.

“Audrey, wait,” he reaches for her arm but thinks better of manhandling her again.

He replaces his fist in his pocket.

He kicks at a loose pebble.

He skates a hand through his hair.

“Audrey, I fucked up.”

Big green eyes meet his gaze.

“You did.”

“I was living in a fantasy that night and when I saw you. That night in DC.”

Her eyes soften now.

“You looked so beautiful. Perfect. So at ease in a place where I was so lost.”

“You always are. Beautiful.” 

“Everything just hit me at once. And it’s not an excuse, but I’ve thought about that night in Honduras every night since.”

“When Benny was out there with us.”

“When I called you mine. And you hesitated and I know you told me to drop it but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Frankie,” she whispers as the ocean breeze whips through her curls.

“It got in my head, Aud.”

“And I didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t know how to just talk to you and I let it fester until I lashed out, like, like a fucking child.”

“It was wrong. I—I was wrong. I ripped at you because seeing you there—on someone else’s arm—someone smarter and richer and better than me tore me up even though you didn’t do anything. You didn’t do anything.”

She steps closer to him.

“You looked like a bride.”

It makes her heart drop from her chest. 

“You felt precious and unattainable and I ripped you off of your pedestal and broke you because I finally realized that maybe everything you said is true.”

“I can’t have you so I broke you. Into the most beautiful shards I’ve ever seen.”

There are tears streaming down his face now.

“And I’ve regretted it every moment since because I’m not a sculptor and I don’t know how to put you back together. Us. I don’t know how to put us back together.”

“I was cruel.”

“And I’ve deserved to sit in it like this," he gestures broadly over his torso, "with this—this this weight crushing my chest.”

“And it’s okay if you’re done, Audrey. I’m not going to beg you to stay if you don’t want to.”

He wipes an angry hand across one cheek.

“I’d understand it if you’re done.”

And Audrey stares back at him through eyes as big as saucers before she speaks.

“Do you want to be done, Francisco?”

“No. This is me trying not to be done, Audrey.”

And she considers him more carefully than she ever has before. 

Staring through him.

And when she blinks hard to clear it she must be satisfied with what she saw because she holds out her hand. 

“Can we keep talking back in the room?” She asks him softly, because tears are still streaming down his cheeks and another couple is heading down the path.

“Yeah,” he whispers, swiping a palm down his face. But he doesn’t take her hand. 

And it twists a piece of her heart. 

She starts off again and when the gravel ends and the cement begins she can’t hear him following her anymore.

She’s doesn’t look back.

She stops to love on the petite tabby cat that roams the resort and she supposes Frankie stops somewhere behind her. 

Audrey knows that Frankie loves cats and the fact that he’s not standing right beside her makes her stomach roil. 

When they make it to their hut she heads straight for the ice bucket, scooping a clean glass through it and grabbing the unopened bottle of complimentary rum before she heads out onto the porch. 

Frankie grabs a glass and flips on the porchlight.

It washes out color and bathes her in red. 

His weight falls heavy into the chair across from her, heels of his palms scrubbing his eyes as she splits the ice and fills his glass before her own. 

“Whatever happens,” she starts and Frankie's gaze falls heavy on her, “I want you to know. There is no one else. I wasn’t—“

The back of the chair creaks as she braces her form against teak.

“I wasn’t fucking anyone else before you and I haven’t fucked anyone else in the two years since Nicaragua.” 

She meets his eyes now. 

“I want you to know that. For you.”

And he offers the barest nod.

“I haven’t been able to think about anyone else since Nicaragua,” she tosses offhandedly. 

“And frankly— I don’t really know what to do with that. But it’s the truth.”

Frankie doesn’t dare let himself hang on it, swallowing a mouthful of rum to singe the hope that curls around his heart.

“And I know I should have picked up the phone, it works two ways, right? I shouldn’t have run the way I did, and I should have said something to you but—“

A ragged breath.

“I was scared. You deserved better than that, Frankie. And I’m sorry.”

They’re quiet for a long time. Each working up the courage to take this where it needs to go.

And it’s Audrey who finds it first.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, babe,” he says weakly as he meets her gaze.

“What does ‘not being done’ look like to you?”

His glassy gaze doesn’t leave hers.

“You. Us? Some kind of future.”

“What is a future, Frankie?”

“Everything.”

“There is no white picket fence, barefoot and pregnant dream with me, Francisco. I’m not a nurturer. I can’t give you a normal life and a home and chi—”

“Where—why does this matter, Aud?”

“It’s what you deserve,” she murmurs.

“What?”

Her voice is monotone when she starts. “You deserve to return at the end of each day to a lovely warm home and a warm meal with your daughter and a beautiful wife who’s an amazing mother.” Rattling off what she believes to be fact as though it’s plain as day. “You deserve as many kids as you want because you’re an amazing dad. You deserve—a home that’s filled with laughter, Frankie. You deserve a safe home filled with love.”

“Is that what you think I want? Audrey, is that really your only blueprint for happiness? That suburban fuckin’ nightmare?”

“It���s what I thought I wanted,” she whispers in a voice so small that Frankie nearly reaches out to hold her before she shrinks into nothingness.

“Aud,” he coos.

“It’s what I thought I wanted as a girl. Something better than what I had.”

And he can tell she’s struggling against the lock that secures the box of her memories. The childhood hopes and dreams. The things she packed away to survive this long.

He can tell she’s struggling against tears.

“Tell me,” he whispers, leaning in across the small table. “You don’t have to carry it on your own anymore. I’m here. I’m going to be here. Talk to me, Aud.”

“I just wanted—a— a home.” She stutters. “With someone who loved me. Someone I could love. I didn’t— have that.”

“We moved a lot when I was a kid. Home was never anywhere for long. Didn’t really have time to make friends, stopped trying.”

“It always felt like no one ever wanted me around. And I mean, I was the perpetual new girl with the weird eyes and the frizzy hair, I can’t blame them.”

“Aud…”

“It doesn’t matter, Frankie,” she takes a rough sip of her rum. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It hurt you.”

She’s quiet for a beat, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep its tremor at bay. 

And Francisco sits with her, listening to frogs sing a midnight hymn.

“I just remember feeling like everything was my fault. When we had to move. When my parents fought—and that was a lot. Like, wake up in the morning to them yelling at each other kind of a lot. Just, all of it. I took all of it on myself.” She sniffs hard and runs fingers through her curls. “I didn’t really understand what else adults could fight about at the time.” A dismissive gesture of her hand.  “They became so distant. And it wasn’t always like that but life just got in the way., you know? They were doing their best with what they knew.”

“But I got in the way, I guess. I just grew up by myself,” she rubs at her nose with the back of her hand.  “Told myself I didn’t need anyone because I never had anyone. Not for a long time. I didn’t have anyone because I wasn’t enough to keep them around.”

“That’s not true,” he whispers.

It’s a different kind of grief to know a lover’s pain.

“I made my friends up,” she offers a weak smile, “I made them up just so I wouldn’t be alone.” 

“Because I was a person everyone abandoned.”

Audrey whispers, “and I just wanted to be loved so badly.”

And where she’s doing everything in her power to keep tears from breaking, they flow freely down Frankie’s cheeks.

She was a child. Frankie thinks. A child who needed love, needed to be held and told that she was someone’s whole world. And he can’t go back in time to change that but he wants so desperately to give it to her now.

“It’s why I ran. From you, that morning,” she meets his eyes now, “I fell back into a bad habit of running. I left you before you had a chance to leave me.”

And Frankie realizes the true weight of what he said all those weeks ago.

What he hissed into the face of a scared little girl.

He’d fuck you but he wouldn’t keep you. Yeah—I wouldn’t either.

She left because he said he would.

He has the briefest flash of his daughter’s face.

And it cracks him wide open.

“I wasn’t kind to you, Aud.”

He wants to reach out for her hand, but he isn’t sure if he can. If he’s allowed. “I wasn’t the safe place I should have been. But I want to be. I want to show you that everything you’ve felt isn’t true. I want to try.”

“I want to build a home that’s warm and safe. And I’m not talkin’ about having babies. I’m talking about us. A place that’s ours. Filled with laughter. Filled with love.”

“And I only want to do that—with you.”

“It’s not safe with me, Frankie. I don’t leave loose ends but I can’t—anywhere I am, anyone I’m with isn’t safe.”

“And you think I am? On my own, you think I am?”

He braces his elbows on his knees and leans in over the table.

“I made that choice a long time ago. Before you, Aud. I can’t unring that bell either.”

“Frankie,” she looks to him, eyes swimming with a gentle shake of her head, “I ca—I don’t. Know how.”

“Let’s figure it out together?"

“What do you want, Frankie?

“I want you.”

“You don’t know me, Frankie.”

Still she fights to push him away.

“You don’t know where my parents are from or the places that I lived. How many siblings I have. You don’t know what my favorite band is or or or my favorite fucking color. And I don’t know those things about you.”

He leans back in his chair, lips pressed into a hard line. “I know that you’re grasping at straws right now because these aren’t real questions, Audrey…”

“No, no of course they’re not. But that’s my point. We’ve known each other for two years in some fucked up, protracted honeymoon phase. Every few weeks we fly to a new country and fuck and maybe kill a few people in the process before we go our separate ways. I’ve never even slept in your bed, Francisco.”

“And I’ve barely slept in yours.”

He stares at her through wide eyes. Soft yet full of conviction.

“But I’ve cried in it.”

“I’ve seen you in crisis. I’ve seen the way you look when you’re lining up a shot. The pure determination on your face that one time you dragged Santi out of live fire because you had to get him somewhere safe. You were unshakable.”

He tips his head in an effort to catch her gaze where it’s locked on the floorboards.

“I’ve seen you look at me when you thought I was dying, Aud.”

“I’ve seen you.”

“You love in the sharpest corners of life. You love your people, Audrey. You care for their souls. You move the earth to keep them safe. To protect them. Because you care.”

“And there are people who care about you. People that love you. I love you.”

“You don’t even know my real name, Frankie.” She whispers low with glassy eyes, still trying to shake him from this delusion. 

And what should have dropped as a bombshell barely causes a ripple.

“You’ve always said that you couldn’t give me anything more than what we’ve had, but I think it’s because you don’t allow yourself to try, Audrey. I don’t want a nine to five with you. I don’t want coming home to dinner and a martini, or or or soccer game pickups and ballet practice drop-offs in a minivan. I just want you.”

“I have laughter with you. I have love with you in my life. Anywhere you are feels like home to me, and I know I haven’t lived up to being the same for you yet…”

And he thinks he hears “you are” fall from her lips as he finishes, “but I want to. I want to—with you.”

“I want to know you’ll be there in the morning and I want to get to hold you at night. I want to see you smile in city lights and I want to hold your hand in the rain. I want to go on dates and meet your friends. I want to close down bars with you. I want to do this properly. For real. I want to love you. And I want you to let yourself be loved.”

“Because I love you, Audrey.”

“I LOVE you.”

Frankie’s eyes are wide with sincerity when she looks up.

And a sudden rake of anger chafes over him.

“Don’t react.”

Firmly but kindly.

With salt on his cheeks.

“Don’t mask your shit with the lies you tell yourself. You’re not that kid anymore, Aud. You don’t have to make it up. I’m here. And I love you. And I’m not fucking going anywhere. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“And I don’t think you do.”

“And don’t tell me that you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve love because of what you’ve done, either. I’ve done it too. And I know you don’t think I’m a monster even after what I’ve done to you, so that dog don’t hunt.”

“So don’t spit out a lie right here to my face.”

“Please.” 

And Frankie knows this is it. 

She can forsake it now and it would be over. Over because she doesn’t want any of it. 

Whether out of fear. 

Denial. 

Overwhelm.

She could run again. Right in this moment. Leave knowing he loved her.

Leave because she can’t take it.

And that’s something Frankie can’t fix.

But he has one last plea.

“Whatever happens. Please don’t lie to me about that, Audrey.”

At least give me this to hold on to.

Something to remember you by.

The ghost in the trees. 

“I don’t stick around after making a shot.”

Maybe just this once.

And for all Francisco Morales has seen of the woman he knows as Audrey Goddard.

He’s never seen her cry.

But the red porch light catches the wet streak making its way down her cheekbone to drip off of her chin when she turns her head to meet his eyes.

“I love you, Audrey,” he repeats, as firmly as he dares.

“And I think you’re crying because yo—”

“I love you too.”

And Frankie’s heart stops in his chest.

Trevor was right. 

“I love you, Frankie. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

And the tears flow freely now. From both sets of eyes.

“And I’m sorry that I’m the one that loves you. Because I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what normal is, what that looks like. I don’t know how much longer I can do this job, but I don’t know how to leave. I don’t know where I go. I don’t know what it looks like. In the after.”

“It looks like whatever we want, Audrey.”

“I don’t know how to live, Frankie. I only know how to not die.”

“And I’m sorry that that’s all I have to give to you. But I want to. If you’ll take it. I want to.”

“Can we figure it out together?" He asks, "Would that be okay?”

“Because I want all of it. All of you. Everything that hurts. Everything you’re scared of. I want to do everything in my power never to hurt you again.”

Don’t run away from me again.

He finally takes her hand that’s resting on the table between two massive, gentle fists because he can’t hold back anymore.

“And can we stop all of this, pretending like we’re strangers? Please can I kiss you and touch you and hold you again?” He pleads with a squeeze of his fingers. “I’m dying without you.”

“I didn’t know if you still wanted to.”

“Audrey, of course I want to.”

And he catches her where she leaps to her feet, chair clattering against the deck.

The force of her knocks the wind from his lungs as he folds her into his arms.

Pressing her against his heart. 

And Frankie breathes again for what feels like the first time in weeks.

And he feels Audrey breathe too.

Stuttering and damp against his collarbone.

And she pulls away, causing momentary panic before he feels her take his face in her hands.

One chaste kiss followed by one fervent one before she slips her tongue into his mouth.

Like she hasn’t tasted him in years.

“Frankie,” she sobs when she breaks the kiss, burying her nose against the thick column of his neck with her arms around his waist as the massive palm cupped at the base of her skull holds her tight there. “I love you."

“I love you, baby,” Frankie repeats as his eyes slip closed with the relief of reunion.

Of holding her right back here where she fits.

Of knowing he isn’t going to let her go again. 

Audrey presses her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump against her skin. 

And after a while she sniffles, “you taste like bug spray.”

And Frankie roars with laughter.

With relief.

“Come.”

He takes her hand and leads her through to the wet room-style bathroom. He starts up one of the shower heads, testing the temperature of the spray before shaking the drops from his hand.

“You can go first.”

She has one leg crossed in front of the other, one hand on the teak countertop. “Stay?” She whispers.

And a smile tugs at the corner of Frankie’s mouth as he kicks off his shoes and helps her from her sandals, shutting them on the outside of the bathroom door.

He cups her jaw gently, pressing his lips to hers once again as her fingers move under his collar, around to the buttons of his polo shirt as he does the same for her. Frankie’s eyes glitter in the low light as she slips fabric from her shoulders. They help each other undress, her hands at the hem of his shirt, his fingers carefully unfastening the zip at the back of her linen skirt.

Layer by layer they bare themselves to one another until Frankie takes her hand and leads her under the spray. 

“Let me?” He asks with soft eyes.

He starts with her hair, lathering shampoo at her scalp with strong but deft fingers, hand at her hairline to shield her eyes on the rinse, before slicking conditioner through midway to the ends.

Audrey smiles at his intentional attention to detail. 

His daughter has curly hair too. 

The humidity of the shower chokes out the humidity of the night as he quickly tends to his own hair because he won’t let her. 

He snatches shower gel from a corner shelf and a rolled washcloth from the sink, working up a lather before turning her to face him. 

He holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing her slowly at first and then more deeply with an impatient tongue. Audrey’s hands soothe over a stomach that’s more toned since last she held him, a consequence of losing himself for hours with Benny and Will at the gym.

“May I?” Frankie whispers against her lips and she nods, giving him permission to take the washcloth over her skin. 

And what began as a need to show care now turns to worship. Down her neck, over her arms and back, around her hips and thighs, down to her toes. She lets him, watching as he does the same for himself before flipping on the handheld shower head to rinse soap away.

It’s in this moment that he realizes he’s never actually seen the scars.

Because he’s never seen her until tonight.

He’s only ever seen her as perfect.

He’s never seen her pain.

He’s never actually seen her as fallible. As mortal.

He does now.

Frankie sees her skin anew. 

And it makes her all the more precious.

Frankie slots the handheld showerhead back into its spot, pressing his chest to her back, taking the brunt of the main spray as he sweeps wet hair to curl around her shoulder. Lips fall against the symbol at the back of her neck. Over the lines of moose antlers. 

The scars of her own making. 

He kneads the feathery stretch marks at the flare of her hips and the meat of her thighs, humming contentedly.

Where she grew into herself.

He runs two fingers reverently over a thread of lighter brown skin on her right shoulder before pressing a kiss there.

“Dislocated shoulder. Torn rotator cuff. Gordon patched me up.” She offers.

Bits of things she’s said in the past begin to echo in his mind. 

Frankie wants to ask what happened because he wants to know all of her stories. 

And Frankie figures that he shouldn’t hold back anymore. So he does.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—“ he immediately apologizes.

She cranes her neck, asking for his mouth and he obliges, allowing her to press a kiss soft to his lips. “I want to.”

“Warehouse raid,” she runs her hands over his forearms where they’re locked around her waist. “Was up on a catwalk, a newbie tripped an alarm, concussion grenade went off and I fell, dislocated it. Slammed it back into the joint before I passed out. FBI managed the extraction, actually.”

Frankie hums his understanding, hands moving around her waist and down her spine.

“Here?” He asks of the faint echo of a slash just over the wings of her hip bones.

“Caught the blade of a knife, can’t remember when. Just lucky it wasn’t the pointy end. I’d be out a kidney.”

She turns to face him and meets his gaze, sweeps wet hair from his forehead and thumbs his cheek.

Warm dark eyes map her face, thumb settling on a scar at her temple, half hidden by her hairline as his other hand smooths over the panes of her back. 

“This?” He murmurs, stomach churning preemptively.

“Assassination attempt.”

“You didn’t make your shot?”

“On me.”

And Frankie’s fingers stop their ministrations as his blood runs cold.

“Range Rover with a reinforced chassis smashed my car between itself and a tree at fifty miles an hour. On purpose. Shot the driver before he could finish the job.”

“This,” she holds her wet hair back off of the scar, “was some kind of mangled metal. My car or his, I’ve got no idea.”

She settles her hands at the small of his back, “but I uh,” she starts, eyes darting over his shoulder and back, “I wasn’t okay for a long while after that.”

Frankie pulls her tight to him, one palm holding the base of her skull, pressing her face to his neck. 

“Brain was pretty scrambled,” she whispers against his collarbone. 

Frankie lays a kiss to her hair, letting up the pressure on her head to press his lips against her neck.

Down her sternum.

Tongue laving over her skin as he sinks to his knees.

Water from the spray follows his path and he spits out what makes it into his mouth.

He only has a taste for her. 

Her waist fits in the span of his hands as his lips find a round scar with rough margins just under her left breast.

He already knows what would have caused this.

“Bogotá.” She whispers.

And he presses his forehead to her stomach, drawing a rough breath through his nose.

“Audrey—” he whimpers on a ragged breath.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, carding a hand through his wet hair. 

Thumbing one cheekbone. 

Frankie asks now with touch.

His thumb fits against a lighter patch of skin just below her kneecap.

“Tripped on a sidewalk.”

He smiles and presses a kiss there.

His palm splays up over her thigh and the faint, stuttering smatter of marks there as she shower pelts his shoulders.

“Road rash. Controlled motorbike crash.”

His tongue traces them. Locking their taste away.

Thumbs skim over two small, identical scars just below each hipbone. 

“Had my tubes removed.”

And Frankie has seen too many movies, because he stares up at her with a savagely protective look in his eyes.

She soothes a hand over his wet curls and reads him dead on when she answers, “my choice, Francisco.”

“Good,” he says firmly, pressing his lips to each before he takes the flat of his teeth and his tongue over one hipbone.

He presses her against the wall with his palms, the bridge of his nose catching against her slit before he presses a kiss to her mound.

“Fell in love with you,” Audrey breathes on a sigh as her head falls back.

Frankie hums low and it thrums straight through her.

He moves slowly despite his impatience. 

A kiss at the swell of flesh just above her clit. His tongue against the crease of her thigh. 

His nose against where she’s wet for him, catching her slick on his bottom lip. 

Humming as his tongue darts out for a taste. 

“Frankie,” Audrey lets go on a cracked sigh, both hands tangled in his curls. 

“Baby,” he answers, palms settling on her hip bones as he holds her against the wall and guides one leg over his shoulder.

Finally his tongue slips through her folds and she gasps and moans. Giving him the breath from her lungs as his tongue dips inside of her and he lets slip a growl.

She tastes of salvation.

Of every dream he’s had for the past three months. 

The past two years.

She tastes of the rest of his life. 

And he drinks until his thirst is quenched by trembling muscles and full throated moans.

He doesn’t even attempt to touch his cock, desperate and obscene in its insistence between his thighs. 

He gives her his fingers instead and her muscles clamp tight around them as her hands clutch at the roots of his hair and he brings her through with heaving lungs as she urges him back to her. 

The tang of relief on her lips as he plunges his tongue into her mouth. 

Frankie shuts the water off and lifts her up with legs quickly wrapped around his waist.

Mouth never leaving his. 

He holds her firm, one hand to protect the crown of her head as he walks through to the bedroom.

“The net, Frankie,” she warns.

“Get it, babe,” he murmurs, waiting for her to find the gap in mosquito netting as he occupies her mouth with his tongue.

When finally she parts gauze he lays her backwards onto the mattress, grinding his hard length against her weeping core.

He cranes to trail his tongue over her abs. Sucking on her hipbone. Thumb brushing over her clit. 

“Frankie,” she lets go on a ragged gasp, “wait, baby, wait.”

Immediately his heat leaves her, and mercifully she acts before panic can rise in his chest.

She sits up, hand coming to his jaw as the other snakes around his waist, sucking at the plush of his bottom lip. Frankie’s hands trail over her back as she lets out soft moans with each kiss.

They make his cock throb where its pressed to her stomach.

Audrey’s fingers wrapping around the thick base of him and he lets out a strangled groan. She gives him a few tentative strokes before he stops her in a hurry.

“Baby, don’t—I’m not—,” he traps her face between his palms, the tip of his nose brushing against hers. “I want—”

And she doesn’t need him to finish his half-panted thoughts, pressing a kiss to his lips and placing her hands over his own.

Frankie lets her go and she shifts further onto the bed. An invitation to join. He tracks her mouth, head spinning from having what he’s been so long without right within his grasp. He crawls over her form before he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder, urging him onto his back.

Frankie complies, leaned against pillows as he reaches for her.

His fingers have been too long without her skin. Every second away from it carries the burn of eternity.

Audrey gently straddles his hips, palms braced on broad shoulders as his hands settle in the curves of her waist. 

There’s a gentle smile on Frankie’s flushed lips as he stares up at her though round, soft eyes.

“Is this okay?” She whispers, cradling his jaw.

“Yeah,” he sighs, lids fluttering closed as she presses her lips to his, tongue dipping inside his mouth. Frankie’s fingers skitter over her spine as she thumbs his cheek, head dropping back against the pillows. She traces the lines at the corners of his eyes. The smattering of freckles across his cheekbones called forth by the sun. One thumb fits gently against the divot in his bottom lip, pronounced as though hewn by the hand of something divine. She sees the grey at his temples that has caught in the scruff at his cheeks.

She sees him the moment that he opens his eyes. 

Rich brown shot through with flecks of love. 

She sees this man.

With a soul like water. 

That bends and rushes. Freezes and thaws. That carves mountains jagged and soothes stone smooth. 

That boils when left untended.

That envelops every inch of her. 

And she kisses him with the beginnings of different tears in her eyes. 

For this is water that’s found its own again. 

“I love you Frankie,” she whispers into his mouth.  She reaches back, giving his hard length a few strokes as Frankie’s breath hitches. His hips buck into her hand and she guides him inside of her.

Audrey gasps in the sigh that he exhales as her body adjusts to the stretch of him. 

His forehead thumps against hers and she smiles.

“Hermosa,” he gives a tentative roll of his hips and she hums, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. 

“Cariño,” whispered against the column of her neck as she meets his thrusts.

“Mi amor,” he nips at her chin as she grips the wet curls at his nape.

Frankie cranes to pepper her throat with kisses as they find a rhythm like language. 

The give of his hips and the eager pull of her cunt. His nose smashed against her cheek. Her tongue desperate for the salt of his skin.

And it is the greatest relief to be buried inside of her. To feel the flutter of her walls and the damp slip of her body against his.

But Frankie’s fingertips dig into the meat of her ass in an effort to gain some measure of composure. He wants to be delicate. To hold her with care. 

To show her how much he needs her. Tenderly.

But Frankie’s brain starts to melt.

He wants this to last. For her. Desperately. Wants to make her fall apart one more time before he does.

Wants to feel her pleasure before his own.

But her hips render him useless. Drunk on the way she grips him. 

He skates one hand up her sternum between her breasts before palming one and sucking on her flesh. The scratch of his beard sends a chill up her spine, drawing a moan from her throat. She shifts to brace her hands on his shoulders, slowing her pace. 

One hand traces her vertebrae up to grip her hair and bring her mouth back to his. Frankie breathes hot and damp against her cheek, nipping at her jaw.

“Quiero cogerte,” he ghosts over her skin.

“Cógeme, Francisco,” she breathes and her answer in the same tongue doesn’t help his cause.

He moves at a speed she can’t register, twisting around and landing her on her back before he braces a hand on either side of her head.

He thrusts deep and sinks his teeth into her shoulder, holding there as he slowly starts to roll his hips.

Frankie catches the backs of her knees over the insides of his elbows, tongue slipping into her mouth as he sets a languid pace that has her arching with impatience beneath him.

“Te he extrañado,” he tucks against the shell of her ear before he sits up. Frankie trails his fingertips down her ribs and fits them to the curve of her waist, murmuring as he thrusts. “Tu piel y tu boca…”

“¿Solamente esas cosas?” She teases with closed eyes, tipping her face into the pillow to smother a moan.

“Hey,” he says, slowing for a moment to press his chest to hers, “all of you, baby,” offering a sincere kiss before his pace picks up again. 

And as good as it feels to be filled like this.

Affirmed like this.

Something’s not quite right.

Their rhythm is off. 

And Frankie, usually so exacting in how he pulls her apart, thread by thread, is uncoordinated. Lost in his own head. 

“Francisco—” she calls out, twisting in his hold. “Wait. Wait wait wait, baby,” and he stops, panting as he runs a hand down his face.

There’s something incongruous here. 

Perhaps it’s the weight they’ve unconsciously assigned to the reunion of flesh.

Maybe it's the frogs and the air and the rum.

Maybe it’s that Frankie hasn’t been able to come in three months. 

And apart from their dalliance in the shower—

Neither has Audrey. 

But she can tell that he’s strung out on desire. Ripped in too many directions. 

She wants him to stop thinking.

She wants him back.

Frankie soothes a hand over her stomach and swallows hard, “what’s wrong, baby,” he pants, eyes suddenly round with concern, “what’s wrong?”

And he slips his dick from her heat and sits back on his haunches, swiping a hand down his face. 

He catches how her gaze flicks down to his cock, glossed with her slick. Thick and straining against the confines of his skin. 

“Frankie,” Audrey murmurs, voice dripping with mischief. 

She makes an exaggerated show of stretching.

Rolls over onto her stomach, parts her legs, and tips her hips forward.

And Frankie’s eyes lock on her pussy, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

She tosses him a glance over her shoulder. 

“I need you to stop being so sweet.”

And he groans, low and fractured, and falls forward.

Mouth latching to her cunt before he hollows his cheeks.

And Audrey lets out a small yelp, letting her head drop onto her forearms.

Frankie grips the globes of her ass in each palm, the flat of his tongue running the length of her slit before it dips inside of her. 

She bucks away with sensitivity, but Frankie yanks her back against his face.

“Frankie—” she begins to whine but he lands his palm against one cheek to stop her squirming.

“Don’t give a man a meal and expect him not to eat,”  he murmurs, muffled by her flesh and the shameless need in searing through him.

He’s back.

“Fuuuck, ” she buries her face in the sheets and he fucks her with his tongue until he hears her breath go shallow.

Frankie tears his mouth from her, skimming his tongue over his wet bottom lip, reaching down to pump his cock as he fits himself between her legs. 

The slide of his foreskin made easy where he’s leaking precome.

He skates one hand down her spine, telegraphing what he’s about to do.

“¿Quieres mi verga, gatita?” he growls.

And Audrey lights him up. 

Spitting profanity that chastises him for making her wait so long.

Frankie thrusts inside of her without pretense, blanketing her with the breadth of his form, tucking his nose just behind her ear. 

“Nice girls don’t talk like that, gatita.”

She can feel his smile on her skin.

“If you wanted a nice girl,” she arches against his weight as best she can, tipping her mouth to meet his, “you shouldn’t have called.”

Frankie hums, sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck before kissing an apology against her skin as his hips rock against hers.

His lips laze over the curve of her shoulder. Up the side of her neck before teeth sink into her pulse, all the while hips picking up in speed. 

He sits up, fingers flared over her back, heels of his palms pressing her hips into the mattress as her fingers claw at whatever fabric she can reach. 

Frankie trails his tongue over her spine as he grunts with exertion before his hands palm her hips and pull, angling them to allow the head of his cock to slide against her g-spot. He spends a moment here, allowing pressure to build before he slams his hips hard against hers, pulling a cry from her throat. 

He hums as he grinds deep, the baritone of his voice thrumming through the hollow spaces in her chest.

“So deep, Frankie,” she whispers.

And Frankie starts to litter her skin with filth.

“—tan mojada, gatita, ohh—fuck, baby.”

“Si, asi, asi, asi, así tal cual—” he pants as she bucks back against him.

“¿Quieres más duro, bebita?” He murmurs and she gasps.

“Tell me,” he grits out.

She’s breathless when she sighs into a pillow, “yes, Frankie.”   

He grabs her by the upper arms, pulling her up off of the bed, pace punctuated by hard, deep strokes that bottom out. Frankie presses one hand low against her stomach and wraps the other over her shoulder as she scrambles to brace against the wide shelf of the headboard.

“Mira, gatita,” the hand on her stomach cups her chin, tipping it up to meet his eyes in the mirror that hangs above the headboard.

“Look at us.”

Still damp curls fall in her eyes. Jaw, nose, and chin reddened from the scrape of his beard. The whites of her top teeth flash in low light where her mouth has fallen open to fill her lungs with breath only for him to force it from between her ribs on a moan.

She thinks herself a disheveled, fucked-out mess and smiles.

But Frankie.

Frankie’s beautiful.

Eyes blown dark with adoration where they’re locked on her reflection. Sun-browned skin damp with a sheen of sweat that catches the low bedroom lights, bronzing the swell of muscle in his arms. Cheeks flush with heat and lips sucked plump.

Frankie that she pulls apart like this. Hissing through his teeth and grunting through the grip of her.

Frankie that hangs on her every word.

Frankie, buried deep, rocking against where her core molds to the shape of him. 

The sight of her Frankie is pleasure unadulterated. 

Audrey reaches back for him and he quickly obliges, tucking a kiss into the curve of her shoulder before burying his nose in her hair.

A particularly deep thrust makes her moan and her fingernails catch in the scruff of his beard before tangling in his hair and Frankie cups one breast and squeezes, making her buck back against him.

He can feel the slightest tremor in her limbs as her head falls into the crook of his shoulder as she gasps, “no te pares.”

“W– with me, baby,” he stutters as his hips snap against her flesh, the head of his cock nestled deep in her warmth, hammering against her favorite spot. 

His spot.

“Fuck, ’m so close,” he presses against the curve of her shoulder, mouth falling open, tongue trailing up the tendons of her neck as she arches against his chest.

“You own this cock, baby—” he growls in her ear. “It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s y—ours.”

She takes the hand that’s gripping her hip and brings it to her clit where Frankie immediately starts winding circles against nearly over-sensitive flesh.

“God, I’ve missed you inside of me, Francisco,” tipping her face to breathe against his flushed cheek and he moans into the curve of her shoulder. He holds her fast and ruts against her without pulling out as his fingers speed up.

He watches in the mirror as her mouth falls open and her eyes fall shut, strands of wet hair clinging to her neck.

“Come for me, baby,” he purs against the shell of her ear even as his voice starts to crack with desperation. “Please, baby, please—”

Audrey can’t answer him through the sobs of pleasure.

“Baby—” he hisses as he feels his balls tighten, pace growing frantic now. “Ohfuuck—”  

His fingers dig bruises into her flesh. “Come with me. Te ruego, hermosa.”

He pleads.

“Frankie,” she murmurs against his skin before she reaches back to curl fingers in his hair. “Frankie,” she repeats, tightening her grip as his lips find her jaw.

“Acábame adentro, Francisco.”

And Frankie sees white. 

His hips slam against hers and hold there, growling and hissing with every pulse of his cock as as he floods her with his come. She answers with a sobbing keen as she clenches around him, jostled by every twitch of his hips and his heaving chest at her back.

Audrey finally lets out a stuttering breath and Frankie answers with something between a moan and a wail and smashes his nose against her cheek.

And this is something entirely new. 

Frankie knows full well how to move to wring pleasure from her blood. Audrey knows how to hold him until she hears him. 

But this is nothing that they know.

This makes her legs go numb.

Makes his ears ring.

Makes both hearts beat in rhythm.

Causes lips to crash together and stay there. Breathing each other in as his forehead falls against the back of her shoulder.

This is love.

He holds her tight to him until panting evens out into gentle moans before slipping his softening cock from her heat.

Warm palms curve to her waist and her breastbone as Frankie guides her down with him.

He wraps her in his arms, peppering her jaw and neck with kisses.

When she moves to shift off of the bed, Frankie’s arms lock around her waist.

“Don’t. Don’t leave.”

And she lets out a throaty laugh and reaches a hand back to soothe over his hair. “Frankie, I just have to run to the bathroom.”

“You always run away from me,” breath coming in deep huffs, kissing at her jaw, “when I’ve just been inside you.”

“Maybe you always hit the right spot, Francisco,” she twists to kiss his chin.

He grins and glances off the side of the bed.

“Alright, let me—” he helps her over with a groan, turning onto his stomach as she shifts to the edge of the bed, ready to help her down.

“Frankie, I can—”

“Yeah, no. Between this height and that netting you’re gonna—”

She braces a palm against his chest as she moves to climb from the bed.

And her leg gives out the minute it hits the floor.

But Frankie is quick with an arm around her middle and a laugh he tries to stifle.

“You always do that too,” he whispers as he parts the mosquito netting for her. 

“Maybe you make my knees weak, Francisco,” she snarks and bends to kiss his nose.

He lightly smacks her on the butt with the back of his hand. 

“Hurry up, Bambi.”

She returns to him in two minutes, shutting the lights off and crawling under where he holds the comforter up for her.

Arms wrapping her in a tight embrace as he folds her into the warmth of his form.

He can’t keep his hands from her skin. One pulls her thigh to drape over his hips and the other skips over the damp skin of her back.

She settles her nose against his neck.

And for a long while they just breathe. 

Frankie lulled by the weight of her body and not of his grief.

Audrey soothed by the gentle rise and fall of his chest and his fingers over her spine.

She draws idle patterns over his chest as they listen to the singing of frogs in the night.

Before Frankie breaks the silence. 

“The Caribbean.”

“Hmm?”

She shifts to prop herself up on one elbow, but Frankie’s hand over her skin doesn’t stray from its path.

“Where your parents are from. An English-speaking country in the Caribbean. You don’t have much French and you tend towards Central and South American Spanish. I never lose you in a crowd, but I did all the time when we were in Trinidad, and you understand local accents on different islands far better than either Santi or I do, even though everyone is speaking English.” 

And it sends a prickle of fear up her spine. 

To be known like this.

Even though it’s all she’s ever wanted. 

“You grew up in the States though,” Frankie continues, “somewhere in the Southeast. It’s in the way you say ‘county’ and ‘nine, and ‘right quick.’” Frankie’s hand that rests on her thigh moves to cushion his head.

“You have one brother who’s married with two kids, and I’d love to meet him because I know you two are close.”

Audrey stares at the wall, biting the inside of her cheek.

He’s paid attention. For the last two years. Cobbled together half-fragments of information in the pursuit of pieces of her.

“Your favorite color is blue and your favorite band is Nine Inch Nails.”

“That’s only because I wore that—“

“You play them too loudly in your headphones sometimes,” Frankie interrupts, wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, bringing her mouth back to his before he whispers, “and I’m absolutely going to fuck you to that song.”

She whispers against his mouth, “baby, I will make you a whole playlist.”

“Deal.” He releases his grip and she soothes one hand over the flare of his ribs and down across his stomach.

“And I know that you legally changed your name six years ago.”

Her fingers stop their path. 

That’s not something he could have deduced from a ratty t-shirt or the color of a water bottle.

Someone had to have told him.

“You’ve been going by Audrey for longer than you went by the name you were born with. And maybe some part of you wanted to leave that behind. I don’t blame you for that.”

She looks down at him now, where he lies with a hand tucked behind his head, soft eyes canted in her direction.

“I found Spencer.” Frankie answers the question she hasn’t asked. “Well, Santi did. In Oklahoma.”

Audrey’s eyebrows briefly tick up towards her hairline before she chews on the inside of her lip.

“Gave me a pretty good dressing down. Which I fully deserved.”

“But I needed to ask him,” Frankie shifts to his side now. “I needed to know if—” he eyes flit over her shoulder and back to green.

“If I needed to let you go.”

He swallows hard.

“If it would have been cruel to ask you back,” Frankie trails his knuckles over her collarbone. “If you were really done, after…after everything I did.”

And Audrey meets his eyes with tears in her own. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want to hear from me again. If I was—fucking delusional to think that there was anything I could do to make it right. And once I started working through my shit, I didn’t know. I didn’t know—” 

He swallows hard against the breaking of his own voice. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Aud.”

“But he said if I asked you here, you’d come. And one way or another, I’d get an answer.”

“Because he knows I love this place,” she whispers, shifting to lay on her back. “Because this place put me back together.”

Audrey fits her palm to his cheek, slanting her eyes up at him.

“I lived here for a month after—” she lets her hand fall from his skin but he catches it, wrapping it in the warmth of his own.

“This is where he and I called off our engagement. And I knew it was the right thing, but I just needed time on my own. To figure out—”

“—what happens in the after," she finishes.

“What happens?” Frankie murmurs. “In the after?”

“You.”

And Frankie settles down into the sheets and curls into her, palm running over her stomach and down her hip.

“That’s why he sent you here.”

“He understands you, Aud.” His hand soothes over her ribs now. “The way that I want to.”

It travels up to brush softly at her jaw.

“He’s known me since I was nineteen, he knows all of my shit,” she swipes a fingertip under one eye. “But I guess that means he also knows when I’m in love.”

“He wasn’t going to let either of us throw it away.” Frankie kisses at her shoulder before nuzzling at her skin. “He wants you to be happy, Aud.”

And she buries her nose in the fluffy tufts of Frankie’s curls as he kisses softly at her neck.

“He said if I can’t recognize how precious it is to have your love then I don’t deserve it,” he whispers in her ear.

And she hums. 

“He’s right,” Frankie meets her eyes again. 

She kisses his forehead.

“He also made it clear that if I fumble you again—“

“He’s gonna rip your eyes out,” she finishes.

“I believe him,” Frankie turns serious for a moment. 

“You should. He isn’t kidding,” she smiles and Frankie rolls onto his back, pulling her tighter against his chest. 

“And he said to tell you that Hannibal is still alive?”

And Audrey laughs and tucks her face into the curve of Frankie’s neck.

“A dog that I rescued off the streets of Havana. Went to a friend of his. God, that little thing must be fourteen by now.”

“‘I’m not a nurturer’ my ass,” Frankie teases and tips his lips to kiss her forehead as her eyes start to fall heavy.

They give in to the lull of sleep like this—tangled in each other.

They stroll down to the beach early the next morning.

Hands clasped.

Trevor is already parked at the beach bar and Frankie throws him a salute that he returns with a grin.

They push two chairs together, each trying not to lay right on the gap.

They kiss. Audrey with salt-spun curls. Frankie with red-tinged cheeks.

Audrey squints against the sun and Frankie slips his hat on her head, gently pulling her ponytail through the back of the cap, closing out the action with a kiss on her shoulder.

They share stories about their pasts.

About his daughter. 

He thanks her for sending a gift.

They hold each other in the ocean. Frankie’s chest at Audrey’s back, folded around her as they watch a crab forage on the footing of a dock.

They wave from the water and thank Trevor for refreshing their drinks, moving closer to the beach to chat about the bonfire tonight. 

“Trevor?” Audrey starts. “Could you take a picture for us?”

“Of course, sweetheart, of course.”

“You can use that one, right there,” Frankie tips his chin towards his phone where it rests on top of his towel.

“Alright now, smile,” Trevor says, holding the phone up.

Frankie puts his arm around Audrey’s shoulders and she slips hers around his back.

“Oh come on now, you love each other?” Trevor teases.

And Audrey looks up at Frankie, wrapping both arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he holds her against his chest. 

“There you go,” Trevor says. 

Audrey presses a kiss to Frankie’s cheek right as he snaps the picture. 

A big grin plastered to Frankie’s face. 

Three more days of bliss pass like this.

Filled with the press of humid, sleep-warm skin. The slick of sweat and the smell of sunscreen. The rich vanilla of rum on each others’ tongues. 

One afternoon the man Frankie caught leering at Audrey on their first day spots her at the beach bar and sidles up far too close. She’s as polite as she needs to be. She can handle herself.

But Frankie will have none of it. 

He springs from his lounger and jogs over to her, rumbling “baby” so as not to set her nerves firing. 

And Frankie does the the only thing that Frankie can think to do.

He presses his chest to her back and lays a kiss at the nape of her neck. 

And like a reflex, Audrey melts against him.

Brain shorted by the breadth of him.

By the safety of him.

“Hi,” she tips her head back with a grin.

“Hi, baby.”

“You two just meet or something?” The man quips. “A little vacation fling?”

“It’s our tenth wedding anniversary actually,” Audrey spins a yarn that Frankie tracks in an instant. 

He holds up his bare left hand, “saltwater does a number on the rings, so…”

“Oh yeah? Congrats, then. Not feelin’ the itch as they say?”

“Not even a little bit,” Audrey cranes her head back and nips at Frankie’s chin as the arm around her middle tightens. 

Frankie hums and slips her his tongue.

“Well, congrats again,” he holds up his drink in salute and heads off behind the bar. 

The moment he’s out of earshot Audrey turns around, attempting to smother a snorted laugh with his chest and Frankie grins into her hair. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“Mmm, maybe we should come back here on our tenth anniversary,” Frankie muses. 

“Let’s make it to next year, yeah?”

“Deal.”

They again make use of the double shower in their room.

Frankie orders oxtail stew and Audrey falls all over again.

Frankie climbs a tree to pick her a mango, despite every one of her protests about his back. She peels it with a pocket knife that Frankie doesn’t ask how she took on a plane. They split it and pass the seed back and forth between them until it’s nearly bone-white. 

They share cigarettes on the porch. Frankie refuses to let her light a single one.

They pet every resort cat that will let them.

A bug lands on Frankie's bare shoulder one night as he's brushing his teeth and he lets out a noise that has Audrey racing in before nearly collapsing with laughter.

They make love on the daybed as an afternoon thunderstorm rages, drowning out her cries that Frankie muffles with his palm and the moans that he smothers with her breast.

They live. 

And for this brief moment, each of them surrenders to this possibility.

That there’s a chance.

That there’s life in the after.

The two of them.

Together.

When the valet knocks on their door that final morning, shouldering their bags and running them down the stairs to a waiting van, Frankie stops Audrey at the door to the hut, stealing one last moment for themselves.

“Aud? I want to tell you something.”

And she tips her head inquisitively, arms around his neck.

"My family is from—"

"Chile," she finishes. "You grew up in Texas and have two sisters."

He nods, finishing out her questions,"my favorite color is green, and my favorite band is the Rolling Stones."

And her eyes fill with the soft light that he's come to recognize as love.

"And moose have been my favorite animal since I was a kid."

Her smile drops.

“I’m serious.”

And he looks it. 

“Frankie—”

His fingers trail nervously over the back of her shoulder.

Over the lines of moose antlers.

“Frankie,” she pulls back a fraction now with a hand on his chest.

She sounds exhausted.

“If we’re doing this—just—this doesn’t have to be a rom-com, it can just be. Please, just, don’t lie to me. Not for a cute story, not to make me feel better, not to smooth things over, please let’s be hon—“

Frankie stops her with gentle fingers over her lips. He slips his phone from his pocket and her hands drop to his waist as they both glance down at the screen. He navigates to his texts and taps on “Mamá,” scrolling up past a few messages before tapping on a picture and turning his phone to landscape.

It’s a picture of a picture.

Baby Frankie.

Buckled into the back seat of a car, thumb jammed into his mouth, mop of straight blonde hair falling in the same big brown eyes that stare back at her now. 

Tiny arm clutching a stuffed moose to his chest.

He scrolls to another. Four-year-old Frankie on a beach, squinting against the sun. 

Fingers wrapped around the stuffed moose’s antler. 

And another.

He’s older in this one, maybe around eight or nine. Sitting on his bed, grinning with two of his front teeth missing.

And the same stuffed moose, now tired and tattered, resting on his lap. 

“Mr. Bear was a moose,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Mr. Bear,” he kisses her cheek, “the most important thing I had as a child,” he presses a kiss to her lips and tucks his phone back into his pocket, “was a moose.”

And she stares up at him. Incredulous. 

“Weird coincidence I guess,” he pulls his cap from where it was tucked into his back pocket and fits it back onto his head. 

“Frankie,” she whispers as his hands fit to her waist. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

And he grins.

“I don’t either,” he holds her tight to his form, burying his nose in her hair. “Aside from Lucia,” his arm wraps around her shoulders now, “the most important thing I have is still a Moose.”

He kisses her forehead.

Audrey looks up at him through huge green eyes.

And bursts with contagious laughter that fills his cheeks and calls forth the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Corny,” she whispers against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she kisses him. Long and slow. With all the time in the world. “But I like it.”

“Well, then,” he hums, taking her hand, lacing thick fingers with hers.

“Let’s go, Moose.”

She stares up at him with a smile. 

“Let’s go, Frankie.”

“Let’s go.”

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam

@bloviating-vy @pimosworld

And tagging some of the lovely folks who keep me going on here and have left lovely comments (some of you from the very beginning of this series when I had no idea what this would become. 💚 As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:

@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked

@jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub

@76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @jeewrites

Thank you all so very much for reading.

And as a little bonus: The Picture that Trevor Took

[kingjullian-3]

There’s just something about the way session 7 ended. Everyone was focused on two of the survivors. The Zombie and the Stars. Everyone forgot about the Sun. No-one noticed the little platform on the sky, having mysteriously been changed.

Except someone did. The Glare. He saw the platform, how it had been changed, realised that the remaining survivor would be up there. However he did nothing with this information, why?

Simple, he wanted to apologise in a way. Apologise for forgetting about him, apologise for getting turned into one of the army. That’s why he let the Sun slip through the cracks, why he let the Zombie and the Sun hide in the base, even protecting them against the hoard.

The Zombie, the Stars and the Sun all survived. To the detriment for the rest of the server. They all failed, because of one man’s loyalty. The Harbinger had been upset for sure, but really what could she do?

The session was over. Sure she could wait for her revenge till the next week, but that’s too long. The Glare had ruined it for everyone else. She had been willing to kill the Stars for the task, why hadn’t he?

The Glare is a loyal man. He would never betray those he called allies unless they did so first. And neither did. The Zombie and the Sun stood by his side until his unfortunate demise to someone who in a past life had been his son.

The Zombie went out the same way, in a hole with that same son. But what about the Sun? He died fighting. Sure his curse had activated, both the Glare and the Zombie dying before him, but he knew that they would be proud. Knew that the first people who had seen his loyalty since the sand had been washed out of his wings, would be proud of him.

Proud of him for staying by their side till the end. Proud for fighting a 3v1 so the Zombie would have some chance of escape. Prions of him for taking a total of 91 hearts from the most stacked team before he died.

Because in the end their only players. Players in this unforgiving game. Cleo, Etho, and Grian were all just victims of these games, coming together to give eachother some form of comfort.

[thatsexcpisces]

Astrology observations pt. 8

🔅Disclaimer🔅: these are just my personal observations and things I’ve noticed and encountered, I’m not a professional astrologer!!

🧡Pluto/Mars-mercury people are likely to struggle with intrusive thoughts that could mostly be related to violence and inappropriate things done to others

🧡I feel like many Scorpio suns have a theme of “death” that stays in their life.

for example Scorpios in general may have lost a parent at a young age or suffer with the loss of family members. They may have lost a parent or even both during their teenage years due to an illness or lose people who are close to them.

🧡People with harsh mercury-ASC aspects or Virgo risings in harsh aspects can come off as “know-it-alls” or “well actually...” people

🧡Libra risings May have an obsession when it comes to collecting beauty products/self-care products or any expensive/fancy items and accessories. This is because taurus, a Venusian sign associated with luxury and indulgence, rules their 8th house of obsessive focuses and vice versa, they have Scorpio in their second house, amplifying the energy of having an attachment to material items.

🧡Aquarius moons have a closer/better relationship with their father than their mother

🧡Whenever you’re in a work or school-related environment, people are most likely to view your personality or see you as your mars sign. If you’re a Virgo/Capricorn Mars, you may have been the person in class that appears as hardworking or shy/quiet and stayed back from the crowd to do their own thing. If you’re a Leo Mars, people at work or school may see you as having a spontaneous personality or dramatic and also as someone very artistic and who likes to express themselves. Aquarius Mars can be seen as very opinionated.

🧡Gemini/Aquarius placements will make you feel like you can talk to them about the weirdest things or literally anything without feeling judged

🧡I feel like Leo and aries moons want to and always have this plan to try and hold grudges forever after they’ve been hurt because of how strongly Leo & aries moons feel their emotions, but they usually end up forgetting and hold one for max a few days until their emotions go through a different range and they focus on something else. (It depends on the situation tho because if really hurt, they can manage to hold one till death)

🧡A Sagittarius moon has such a prominent energy in someone’s birth chart. Even if the person has a stellium in another sign it’s like once they have a sag moon it takes over their whole personality. For example, someone can be a cap sun, mercury, rising, etc and you might expect them to show Capricorn traits and appear as “serious or hard working” but if they have that sag moon it’s like you’ll see then as a completely outgoing and bubbly person who’s always cracking jokes. Their humor and charisma is so contagious and it outshines everything.

🧡Aquarius placements might become certain types of doctors/scientists in a way that the job is related to using modern technology since they have the ability to be innovative

🧡mutable signs are likely to have ADHD

🧡water moons have these super vivid & intuitive dreams or usually the universe may try to send them messages or communicate with them through dreams. for example, a lot of my water moon friends tell me that they’ve had a dream of a person specifically telling them how they feel about them (my friend) and when they ask the person how they feel irl, they say the exact same thing as they said in their dream. Or whatever they dream of likely happens irl.

🧡saturn-ASC harsh aspects may come off as serious and not wanting to interact with others except people they’re close to

🧡 people with Virgo sun + libra mercury in a chart = talking absolute shit about you to others if they don’t like you but never saying it to your face (virgo is ruled by mercury and libra placements just tend to be passive aggressive in general since they’re afraid of open issues)

🧡Pisces risings are so ethereal and beautiful. even though it’s a rare rising sign to have I feel like they’re king easy to point out. It’s usually the people in the room who are always radiating warm energy and giving people hugs. They may also have a soft voice and appearance in general. Very sweet people!

🧡Capricorn mars hate when people try to automatically help them with something or do something for them without them asking for their help first

🧡Jupiter in the 11H individuals can attract friends easily or have a large friendgroup and abundance of friends

🧡I’m so jealous of how organized 6H stelliums and Virgo risings are. Yes, they might secretly not have shit under control, but they still manage to pull it off. I know a lot of people who have this and they always seem to have the perfect structured life with some sort of an organizer or to-do list and succeed in everything.

🧡I feel like no one talks about how jealous Leo moons/Venus or 5H stelliums can be. Sometimes even more than Scorpios. People with these placements are always constantly trying to be the best and everyone’s favorite, and as a result, they might try to “out-perform” and “look better” than the people around them. When they feel they are not receiving the recognition they deserve, especially from close friends and loved ones, they can spiral into unhealthy coping mechanisms. Some even get attached to people very fast and are the type to get angry and jealous easily if they see their friends and loved ones hanging out with someone else. They’re very possessive and hate feeling like they matter less compared to others. They thrive off validation so theyre the type to give you the silent treatment because you ignored them in some way.

🧡heavy Venusian placements in a chart can l be the type of people to actually ‘judge a book by its cover’. This doesn’t mean that these people don’t care to look at the inside and see the beauty, but they also do appreciate aesthetic and something that is pleasing to the eye or in a visual sense (for a very literal comparison: these are the types of people to be at a bookstore and put a book down because the cover isn’t pretty or it’s boring even if it might be a good book lol)

🧡gemini moons/risings are either super extroverted and outgoing or they barely speak and keep to themselves in social situations. There’s no in between

🧡Pluto in the 8H people might have ego issues and their ego can get in the way of making mature & responsible decisions

🧡moon in the 11H are so warm and loving towards their friends. These are the type of people who’s friends mean so much to them and they always make sure to keep their circle close and happy

[qvrcll]

fluff, inclined towards book coryo + possessive themes

unsuspecting, is how your jostling romance with coriolanus snow would start. how anything would start. romantic relationships weren’t prohibited per se, but were frowned upon. peacekeeper training was for strengthening the nation and the arms that would carry it across the years, not to dilly dally between the stretches of grins and a swipe of a kiss. and knowing the stickler for rules that coriolanus was, he would stop at nothing to keep it that way.

foolish, foolish coriolanus. for who could have thought that the newest recruit could be up for debate. that you would be a change of heart? sure - unarguably so. he sees you first in the night, sidling into the cabin when everything else falls hush. and he’d been having nightmares, more so than usual, of doctor gaul and her endless menageries of sickly bright snakes, their sweeping tongues of venom, so it isn’t funny that he’d been awake for a smidge of the night. when he swipes a glance from atop his bunk, it’s not the crack of another boring recruit that he makes out in the cold nighttude. no, you’re sweet faced and hurling a duffle-bag against your share of the bunk. right beneath his. strange. he’s never seen you before. late enrolment? a stirred-up schedule? something other?

and why should he care? as enticing as you are, he is far from accustomed to this place. a boring sort of repulsion has begun to haunt his role in his own life and he’s grown hateful of almost everything in a manner that is almost pathetic. but, hey, you’re going to rip off your arm trying to sling that thing over your bed at this rate. and you’re making a racket, something so loud that he may as well lay in the ambience of your failures. plus, you have piqued his interest. with a swift whorl of his ankles, he lands on two wobbly knees and wordlessly grabs the duffle strap you’re wrestling with, “need help with that?”

when you let out an embarrassed smile, and agree, it’s a polite scattering that you commit to when he helps you - a mere stranger - unpack. keep your belongings in stationed lockers. make the bed and fist the sheets between the corners. between the humiliating exchange (more-so on your end) you exchange names. explain that you’d been freshly relieved from your life in the districts and sent here as a way to harbour cash for folk back home. not necessarily family, but known folk. people you hold dear. and coriolanus cannot despise the reasoning, with his own reason of keeping the snows afloat back in the capitol. so, a mutual understanding perches from there on and he tests the syllables of your name with sticky interest when you put your bodies to rest.

and that’s it, right? except, it’s not. he seeks you out more. prideful as he is, coriolanus is a lonely man. even more, now that he’d been tossed apart from a life he knew best, like a fawn in the wild. at lunch, he sits ahead of you and makes conversation despite the slobber on his plate. at training, he offers incentive when your knees buck during drills. because this is just a simple friendship and he enjoys you like the sun. a friendship that doesn’t feel so forced and guarded as the ones he has loathed.

“quick,” you whisper all too loudly at him once, when you’d lingered outside of your parameter of patrol, bound to be in trouble with the head peacekeeper, “if we’re lucky, we’ll sneak in through some window?”

the thing had been phrased as a question and it only made coriolanus more antsy. what’s worse to handle, a snow strewn to the edges of peacekeeper training as an alternative to expulsion or being caught within in, slacking and spending too much of a time with his fellow bunkmate? his fingers are messy, slippery, against his sides when the two of you are hounded and hoarded into the office of the said headpeacekeeper. is this it, he thinks, my brilliant plan of return just squeezing into a failure? until, he hears your voice boiling at his side.

“it was my fault,” your voice trembles, but is forthright in your admission, “it was my idea. i should have known better.”

even as the two of you are equally subject to the same punishment (kitchen work and twice the normal borders) in the flimsy heat, he cannot brush the thought of you taking the fall for him in his head. it should’ve hit as an insult, especially as it was accustomed in his nature to see it as such, but none of it comes. just a funny feeling as he bumps his shoulder into yours with a burst of shared laughter.

soon, he begins to feel important. wanted. a thing close to your heart when your friendship grows with his days as a new peacekeeper. a new occupation, a new change of heart. and you have long since stuck your hand into his chest and held his beating heart with ten curling fingers. a real friend. someone to accompany him on long, riveting walks. share silences with. fondle the mutual knowing of caring for people back at home with no shame strung with it. and so, it continues, this funny feeling.

“here,” you let up one day, passing a bag of ice cubes his way, swathed in a plastic bag, “keeps the skin cool.”

coriolanus accepts it with open hands - the heat has began to batter ruthlessly on everything he has ever known and something cool to stow away the burn it brings only sounds natural. as he slathers the cool thing all over himself, he spots you watching him. softly, not like the way a hawk does. less imposing and almost comical. sweet. god, when had he burned all his edges into soft corners?

“i’d say that staring is rude, but you’re making me laugh,” he chuckles between his palm, when he folds the bag back towards you. when you flush toward to grab it, your fingers brush softly. but he feels the wake of it in his belly. like bile but pleasant. eating away at his own organs like a bloody parasite. but he ignores it. classic. he cocks his head and minds the sun, “are you going to join us and head down to the hob this week?”

he eyes the drip of water as it curls into your neck and trails beneath your clothes, and when you glance back around him, he breaks his sight away to the rock beneath his boot. shit, why was he staring?

“probably will. i need it. you’ll be there, right?” and coriolanus feels airy, mushy, when you call for his presence to be the impressionable factor to bring you along. he doesn’t understand it, this feeling - he merely sits with it in his hands, much like the ice cubes. assumes that he’s never had this much pleasure within a friendship, yes, that must be it. so, he nods, like it was a brilliant thing to be half burnt and swelling under the sun with you, “of course.”

and then, it spirals, as it always does. he begins to grow jealous of the bunk mates who seek you out like he does. who don his place at the dinner table as theirs. who manage to claw a laugh from you the way he does. and he doesn’t understand. doesn’t understand the ugly, tilting feeling of his heart kissing the skin of his chest whenever you choose him above all things else, spot him in the mess of a crowd. never does, but will.

and that happens at the hob. when all of your cabin mates have gathered around the make-shift stools and chairs you’ve managed to grab, the trip blends in with alcohol. white liquor, they call it. and things will begin to build from thereon. it builds when coriolanus watches you over the rim of his cup when you cough after your shot, all hot cheeks and laughs when someone pats your back. it builds when you’re one too many bodies away from him, smashed between people you don’t even know, people that are not him. it builds when he can’t tell if it’s the glow from the dingy lights or if you’ve grown a halo, or exuding brighter than anything here.

and then it hits him. he’s fallen in love, so hard that he cannot stop to breathe or swallow the thick saliva that builds. this can’t be happening to him. to stupid and dumb-struck coriolanus snow, peacekeeper in training that has just broken code and gone awry with a romance he has been chasing with no sense.

he needs to squash it. this feeling. but how can he? when you cross across the space and reach him with inviting arms, hailing a smile in his direction like the world will tear with your gratitude stitched within it? when you’re pressing the side of your face into his with unmitigated glee? when you’re so close that he can smell you, feel you, wring your friendship so tight that your warmness is all that will come to greet him? no, no, he must—

and when he rips away from you, tells you he needs to catch some air because he cannot stomach the liquor in such heat, he curses when you follow in your confusion. even when he assures you he’s fine, just needs a minute, you’re tight on his heels. and when he throws a look over his shoulder, you’re wordlessly trailing still, like it is a thing to be stuck at the hip with him. and it gets to the point of bursting - he’s trying, is he not? to keep the two of you in the game. as modest peacekeepers. to run by the rules you’ve gotten by. so, he shuts your shoulders into the smash of a rock wall behind you, which wakes you up efficiently, keeps you in place. confusion still riddled in your eyes, but no harm. no repulsion. he almost hates you for it.

and he bursts — “i like you. okay? no, not like, love you. have for a while. and it’s gotten bad. i know you’ll hate me for it,” he breathes, a broken sound mixing with it, “please, please, do not make this hard. i’m trying. just—“ and… and you’re kissing him?

the kiss is not harsh or insulting. not something intruding. but he inhales sharply when you do it anyway, breathing you in like a drug, trying to commit the little noises you make to memory. try to remember you, in all the little pushes you allow and the plush of your lips, in case this is all an illusion. he kisses you in such a way that his lips run hot and his body shakes, rattles, in its frame, takes a minute to gather you all up in his arms.

“in what world do you think i don’t think the same, coryo?” you smile, fiddling with his biceps as you kiss the edge of his mouth till its twitching with a soft grin of his own.

“but the base… our duty—“

“between you and duty, you think i give a shit?,” his heart throbs at his importance and his hands tighten along your hip line, “a secret is a secret. if you want it to be.”

and when you move you mouth, grow heavy and hot in his hands as his tongue swipes into the little crack of the lips he’s grown to taste, there it is again. that very funny feeling. a thing he’s made peace between all his scuffle; love, undecidedly.

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[mystra-midnight]

— FOLIE À DEUX | chapter i

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x atreides ! ofc (leiana)

tags: mentions of rape. mentions of torture. brief suicide attempt. arranged marriage. mentioned canon character death.

w/c: 2.5k.

a/n: so recently i started writing on a dune roleplaying site, and honestly, I'm in love with everyone; they're all so insanly creative, and i love reading their threads. admittedly, i'm not sure when this idea spawned, but i'm really enjoying writing it. its not often i feel comfortable writing stories with original characters, so any feedback you have is wildly appreciated!

Thick lashes fluttered beneath the waning sleep spell; hers, his, was impossible to know. The room was warm, sweat pooling on silken sheets beneath them, making their bodies feel heavier as their limbs moved restlessly. Sleep slipped away like water through cracks in the sand. The floor was rough, the textured concrete catching at her skin, his skin, impossible to know.

One moment, there was darkness; the next, light, blinding, shining in her eyes, his eyes—a blackened sun, Giedi Prime. She knew because he knew. He knew because she knew. And then pain, all-consuming, starting from nowhere and spreading everywhere. Their vocal cords vibrated in a scream, the kind that welled up from the pit of their stomachs and stole the air from their lungs. It seemed to fill the room, echoing the sound of fear, pain, and death.

Her eyes, his eyes, flashed open, and the visions were gone.

Memories of the future danced behind the blur of tears in her eyes as her chest heaved with a shuddering sob—the sting of wounds not yet suffered induced a hysteria that threatened to consume her. The screams, hers, his, continued to echo around the prison chamber, mingling with those of the handmaidens who served House Atreides.

In the low light of the prison cell, memories of what had happened upon Arrakis came rushing back to her—betrayal. That was the only word for it. Political intrigue had led to the Atredes bloodline being eradicated, all except for her. And now she was a prisoner to House Harkonnen, the last Lady of Castle Caladan.

Leiana scrunched her eyes tightly shut, desperately willing herself back to sleep as the screams became crescendos. But she could not; instead, she settled for pacing the small cell to pass the time. That was until she saw him exit the room opposite her cell—her captor—and her emotions overwhelmed her as the handmaidens' screams turned to broken sobs.

She could smell their tears in the air and the coppery scent of blood and other bodily fluids.

"Stop this! Please!" She yelled, her fingers tightening around the bars as she glared at Glossu Rabban. Hot tears streaked down her face, leaving lines in the dirt decorating her olive-hued skin. The Beast, and indeed he was one, smiled in a sick way as he approached. He was not dressed in the traditional Harkonnen armour, the one she had seen him wearing that night, but rather in much less.

Leiana watched as he adjusted himself, tucking his flaccid cock into his trousers, making a show of it. She wanted to be sick.

"Why?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in an innocent gesture that belied his brutality. She wanted to scream. Why. Why? Because he was hurting them, taking possession of their bodies, and subjecting them to horrors none of those beneath Atreides rule had ever known. Duke Leto was kind; he did not believe in revenge. He governed in much the same way. Their people knew love and prosperity.

He was so close, standing on the other side of the bars; if she had a knife, she could end their torment. Duncan had shown her how, Gurney, too. Aim for the throat, slash, don't stab, make it deep.

His hand snaked between the bars before she could retreat, thick fingers curling around her shoulder. His thumb pressed painfully into her collarbone as he pulled her against the bars, leaving her face pressed against the rusted metal.

"Life is cruel," he said, leaning closer so his bulk pressed against the bars. She clawed at his wrist, manicured nails tearing into his pale skin, blood welling up to fill the shallow scratches. Leiana managed to suck in a breath of air, the only thing that kept her focused enough as her face pressed painfully into the bars, threatening to bruise her skin.

"Why should their deaths be anything less?"

"You're hurting me."

Glossu Rabban would not kill her; this she knew—he could not afford to. Through her, The Baron would regain his rightful and legitimate control of Arrakis, gain control of Caladen, and unite the ancient and noble houses of Atreides and Harkonnen. So no, Rabban would not kill her, but then again, a quick death had never been the Harkonnen way.

He would rape her. He would beat her. He would breed her. And that would be what killed her: the loss of freedom, forced to submit to a man so terrible and cruel. Leiana would be a caged bird, pregnant and swollen with his seed time and again until she lost the will to live, choosing instead to allow the desert to claim her.

Rabban reached through the bars with his free hand, pushing the hair from her face in an almost caring gesture. "You will be my wife." He spoke plainly, his words holding a promise that filled her with dread, turning her blood to ice until hell froze over. Leiana tried to fight him, attempting to knock his hand away, only for him to seize her wrist, his strength threatening to bend and break her bones.

"You should watch," Rabban continued, his tone soft, a sweet whisper as he traced one finger along the elegant line of her jaw, tilting her face to meet his heated gaze. "Watch as they take my cock, my Lady, as they birth my bastard children. You will learn how to be a good broodmare."

He felt the muscles of her neck shift beneath his fingers only a moment before a globule of spit hit his face, just below his left eye. For a moment, the world stood still, time and space falling away until there was only them: herself and the Beast she thought to provoke.

There was a choice to be made, his, hers. Leiana refused to be subservient; she would bear him no children. She would force his hand, let him kill her as he had killed Duncan.

Glossu Rabban would not claim her—his temper was too great to control, or so she assumed. She would ensure he could not control it. Leiana would question his every decision and speak against him during political affairs; she would betray him and kill him if the opportunity arose. He would have no choice but to discipline her or appear weak in front of his peers. 

Leiana was strong, and though she could survive whatever torment he delivered, she would not fight to live. She would choose death before him. 

The Beast swore in the language of House Harkonnen. The vowels were heavy and rough, the meaning lost to her. His fingers closed around her throat, the capillaries beneath her skin bursting, letting the blood rush to bruise in the shape of his fingers. She imagined her end would have been worse if the bars had not been between them. Bloody and violent, her body beaten and bruised and broken, but it would be the end nonetheless.

Darkness blanketed her vision, a cone funnelling it so that his face would be the last thing she saw as she struggled to gasp around the constriction of his fingers. She was crying, trying to, soundless sobs shaking her lithe frame. But she was smiling, and he hated her for that.

"My Lord."

She hardly heard the voice as her limbs started to fall limp, fingers and nails falling from his skin as a heaviness set in. She could see stars, or rather, she thought that she could. Something bright in the darkness as her lids drooped.

"What is it?" Rabban answered, pinning the servant with a hard stare. He had not yet released her. She did not hear the servant address him that way, the lack of formal title, but it seemed neither did Rabban.

"The Baron requests her presence, my Lord."

There was a moment, a single heartbeat of time when she saw her consciousness slip from her body. She saw them as though floating above them, but the rope was still there, holding her to her body and refusing to relinquish her. Rabban’s control was far greater than she'd anticipated. This would not be the day.

Leiana fell to the ground when he released her, spluttering, sobbing, and retching as dusty air filled her lungs and breathed life back into her body.

Leiana had been permitted to bathe in preparation for dinner with Vladimir Harkonnen, a small kindness given the current circumstances. The water had been scolding, leaving her skin tender as she dressed; the pain was a sting, but it soothed her all the same. During this time, she learned that her things had not been burned. This came as a surprise, as did the summons. It had been. . .

Two weeks, her mind whispered the words. She had been held in the dungeons beneath Arrakeen for fourteen days, trapped while the corpses of her family rotted and burned. A sob welled up in her chest, threatening to break her resolve.

She could see Duncan and her father in their final moments if she closed her eyes. She had not seen her mother or Paul but knew both had perished in the city's sacking. Such was the gift and curse of the Bene Gesserit, taught to the Atreides children by Lady Jessica—to know things impossible to know.

But she would not cry for them, not this night. Leiana had to put herself first now, for dinner with Baron Harkonnen would be no easy feat to survive. His brilliance and patience in political affairs were well-known. She had to keep her wits about her.

Swathed in ivory-white fabric that hugged her hips and did nothing to hide the bruises on her skin, she entered the room. Leiana intended to wear them with honour and defiance. The Baron was seated at the far end of a long table decorated with wines and meats.

"My Lord," Leiana greeted with a deep curtsey, her dress fanning around her. It was a trained mannerism, not one of affection or respect. The Baron, aware of their complicated history, acknowledged her with a nod.

"Lady Atreides," his gruff voice echoed lowly. He did not look up from his meal but instead motioned for her to take the seat at the opposite end of the table. Leiana slipped into it, observing him in quiet contemplation: he was a grotesque man, so large that he could not walk beneath the weight of his own girth, instead needing to be carried by suspensors. She imagined that, in his youth, he would have been quite handsome, as many Harkonnen had been. But in his old age, he had grown fat and treacherous, more dangerous than ever.

She waited until he resumed his meal, the sound of his cutlery scrapping the porcelain plate grating on her nerves before she, too, ate something. Her stomach knotted in protest, not because the meal had been tampered with or poisoned but because she had eaten only gruel for fourteen days. The texture of it had been like sand on her tongue, but she'd forced herself to swallow mouthful after mouthful.

This meal was a heaven-send in comparison. They ate silently for a time, the tension in the air palpable before his voice broke it.

"You know the reason I have summoned you, yes?" The Baron asked, still not taking his eyes off his plate. He ate like his appearance: with greed and excess, his portions were enough to feed a small family. Leiana chewed at the inside of her cheek, carefully considering her words.

"I must confess that I do not, my Lord."

At long last, his eyes rose to meet hers, spider-like, twinkling with shadows beneath the lights. The muscles in her jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth, stealing herself beneath his stare.

"Your marriage."

"I am not married."

"You are to wed my nephew—the Na-Baron."

At that moment, the air was knocked from her lungs. Naturally, the dinner was a trap, which she was prepared for. Still, she felt much like a fly desperately trying to escape the clutches of a spider. Her resolve was absolute, however—she would not marry him. "No," Leiana spoke plainly, her voice painted broadly with defiance and the faintest trace of disgust.

"No?" He echoed.

"No."

"You seem to have the impression that you have a choice in this matter." His expression was stern as he spoke, and he watched her with beady eyes, regarding her with genuine curiosity and a distinct disdain. The Baron was renowned for playing cat and mouse games, but who was the cat, and who was the mouse?

Leiana placed her utensils on either side of her plate, her fingertips lingering on the knife's handle, and she stared at him. The gears of her mind spun rapidly, thoughts flying from one to the next. "There is always a choice to be made, Lord Harkonnen."

He watched her, his cherubic jowls twitching with amusement when he saw how she tapped her index finger upon the knife. The action gave away her intentions before she knew what they were.

"You think to kill me? You know you could not."

On the one hand, he was correct; she could not kill him and hoped to survive. But on the other, he was so terribly mistaken. Leiana did not move; she only stared at him with fierce defiance. "No, not you. There can hardly be a wedding, let alone a marriage, without a bride."

"Ah, I see," he mused with a soft hum. "You would act cowardly, Lady Atreides, and prematurely end your family bloodline?"

"Yes." Her answer was firm, brokering no room for negotiation. "I will make this abundantly clear to you, my Lord. I will choose death, time and again before I wed your nephew. That is my choice. I will not marry Glossu Rabban." She saw how his mouth twitched, the dangerous gleam in his eyes; panic seized her.

The Baron appeared unfazed by her defiance, utterly unconcerned by her refusal. He was calm, sipping on a glass filled to the brim with blood-red wine. Alarm bells rang in her mind like sirens, and at that moment, she felt a noose tighten around her neck. She had played into his hand. 

Leiana did not hear the doors swing open; only the Baron's spider-like eyes briefly flicking away, taking in the presence of another alerted her. Her heart slammed against her breastbone with such force that she feared it would break. Rabban had come to claim her, rape her, and breed her.

She moved on instinct, standing quickly, her chair threatening to topple, fingers scooping up the knife and raising it to her throat. The serrated edge kissed at her skin, tore at it. Aim for the throat, slash, don't stab, make it deep.

Her wrist was seized before she could complete the act, the blade ripped from her grasp and thrown somewhere across the room, leaving globules of claret thickly down her skin. And then she had known the truth. 

"My Lady." The closeness of his words was startling. Once more, the tension in the air was palpable, the room as still as the morning air as his gaze lowered to her lips, broken only by the Baron's smug chortle.

She could feel his warmth as he walled her against his chest, and now, practically touching, she could smell him, too.

Feyd-Rautha.

"My nephew, Lady Atreides. The Na-Baron.”

—interest in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

[writeformesinpie]

Carnal Restraint 

Niragi x Reader 

Summary - The Beach is a dangerous place as you yourself well know. When you are saved by Niragi you realise you owe him. It’s time to make it up to him. 

Genre - Smut 

Warnings - Smut, attempted assault, attempted SA, sleazy non-main characters at the beginning, canon typical content (death, violence, blood, guns etc), explicit language, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, just all the warnings. 

Word Count - 3.6K

Note - I wrote this after watching the first season and held onto it to edit then proceeded to forget about this one. I hope you enjoy it! Also, remember this is just a fantasy. You deserve better in real life <3

The Beach is not as glamorous as some make it out to be. It’s still part of the borderlands, after all. How grand can it really be?

“Hey baby, you want to come back up to my room?”

Boring.

You don’t bother to respond, flicking your wrist to shoo the faceless man away. Your eyes remain closed as you sit by the pool, sunbathing because protecting your skin isn’t a priority anymore, now is it? Survival is the only thing of worth out here. It should be devastating but there’s a freedom in having nothing. It brings out what’s important, shines on the values that matter.

The faceless man mutters a slur under his breath as he shuffles away. They are all faceless here. They drink. They fuck. They die.

Except for him.

Niragi’s not faceless. He’s here now. His laugh is unmistakable. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway, the murmurs that follow him are.

He’s the reason you still shave your legs (because let’s be serious, what’s the point in things like that now?). That’s right, the image of that face between your smooth legs, that pierced tongue feasting on you; it’s the only reason to keep beautifying yourself.

A smile flutters across your face. Everything else is still. You’ve seen him watching you, you could have him at any time, but it’s the chase that excites you. You want him to want you.

“What are you smiling about?”

Repressing a sigh, you ignore the second faceless man whose hand is lingering on your thigh. It takes a few more minutes before he gets bored and walks away.

You aren’t stupid, you know they whisper about you behind your back. Let them say what they like. You aren’t here to make friends. This is the easiest place to live. That’s all.

Drowsiness is your cue to head back to your room. The sun is a blessing and a curse. It’s hard to win endurance games with blistering skin. The sounds of people partying aren’t enough to keep you awake anymore. They can laugh, brawl and sing drunken songs, and you can sleep through it all. This place was engraving itself on your skin, becoming home.

Walking into the hotel, the drop in temperature is automatic as a few people run past you laughing on their way out to the pool, you press the elevator button and wait.

“Oh, look who we have here.” It’s the man from earlier. That one that called you a cunt. He has two men on either side of him, closer to you than you’d like. “A stuck up bitch that likes to walk around the place like she owns it.”

You ignore him, turning back to the elevator. Why bother giving him the satisfaction of a response?

“Are you ignoring me, bitch?”

How original. Why is everyone so tedious here?

“She’s ignoring us.”

It happens fast. His fist snakes out and pulls you back by your hair as the bell dings. The elevator door opens. You jab him in the gut and walk forward, followed by the three men. Six arms grabbing at your skin. Swallowing the urge to heave, you instead bite the hand clamped across your mouth. Spinning you bring your heel down on one of their toes.

He’s watching you, that smirk on his face that disappears as the elevator closes. Bastard. Niragi was the last person you wanted to see in this situation. And that smug look. What was that about?

“Shit! She bit me.”

“Hold her down!”

One of them slams your shoulder against the mirror at the back of the spacious elevator with enough force that it cracks. Pain sears up and down your arm as you curse under your breath.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” It’s the one from the pool. His friends snicker. “Do you want to come back to my room now?”

“Not even if you were the last man in the world,” you sputter with a soft laugh. That gets you a punch in your gut. You tumble over, crawling into a ball with a hiss.

“Not so tough now, are you?” He bends down close to your face. The elevator dings and opens as he grabs your face, pulling you up to your feet before pulling you against his lips. Hand on the back of your neck he walks you out of the elevator. “I’m going to be the last man to make you scream.”

“In disgust maybe. You’re not man enough to make me scream,” you say, elbowing his stomach with everything you have. It’s his turn to fall to the ground as the other two descend on you. Picking up one of the potted plants on the side of the elevator you throw it at one of the men and ignore the piece of shit screaming something behind you as you run to the stairway. Rounding the corner, you come face to face with Niragi.

“Who’s not man enough to make you scream?” His eyes glisten with amusement.

“I’m hard to please,” you say looking over your shoulder. The two friends are close behind you, the widening of their eyes comical as they see you standing with Niragi. His reputation is well known. They turn back the way they came quickly.

“Should we stop them?” He smirks, slipping the gun off his shoulder.

“Why bother?” You shrug, tongue sliding along your lips, your eyes locked with his. He picks up on the cue, pushing you back against the wall with his body.

“If I kill them will you give me a treat?”

“I’ll give you a chance,” you say, a smile tucking at the corner of your lips. “If you can make me scream, I’ll return the favour.”

“Yeehaw,” he whispers against your neck, his tongue gliding against your skin before he pulls back, turning the corner. You hear gunshots and the sound of bodies falling. Sneaking a peek around the wall the two men are sprawled across the floor, bullet wounds riddling their now lifeless bodies.

“Yeehaw,” you whisper as you follow him up the hall to the elevator where the creep from earlier is still sitting, begging Niragi to reconsider.

“Please, I didn’t realise you two were a thing. Of course I wouldn’t have touched her if I had known,” he says in a high pitched whimper. “Please. I won’t do it again.”

“I know,” he says before pulling the trigger, causing you to flinch. You thought he was going to play with him a little. He turns to you and motions towards the elevator before walking in.

A soft moan comes from the room as Niragi presses a button. Looking down at the man, his eyes flicker and you realise he’s still alive. From the soft wheeze of his struggling breath coming from deep within his chest, you assume Niragi shot him in the lung.

Before you can look at him for too long Niragi is in front of you, blocking your view, a smirk on his lips. He takes a step towards you, leaving no room to move, your back already up against the wall behind you. His fingers walk up your arms before finding their way into your hair. He pulls your head back and excitement pools between your legs, the previous touch of the man gurgling at your feet forgotten as Niragi’s lips claim yours.

You know it’s wrong. After everything you’ve heard about him, all the vile things he’s capable of. All the things you’ve seen with your own eyes–although not as bad as the claims made by others–do in fact give credence to those very claims. You know it’s wrong, but it’s also exciting. If this isn’t the place to indulge your darkest desires, you don’t know where is. You’re sick of being a good girl, sick of being in control, sick of always doing the right thing.

The ding of the elevator snaps you out of your reverie. His tongue slides across your neck one last time before he turns, leading the way. You take a gander behind you, the man struggles to reach out his hand towards you, eyes bulging before the doors close.

Following behind Niragi in silence you notice how quiet it is up on this floor. It’s rare not to see other people walking the halls here and there, because although the preference is the poolside, people don’t usually hang out there every minute of their day.

He stops to look at you before turning the knob. “Ladies first.” It feels like a dig but you enter the dark room anyway, feeling along the wall for the light.

The door closes and the room darkens, the only light faintly fluttering across the room coming from between the closed curtains. As you find the light switch his hands envelop your fingers, spreading your arms out, his chest against your back as he pins you flush against the wall. He chuckles before nibbling on your neck, his cock already hard against your arse. You hear something placed against the wall near the door, most likely the rifle.

He turns you, the dark outline of him seen through your unadjusted eyes briefly before he throws you over his shoulder. You let out a squeak, clutching desperately at his back as he walks you over to the other side of the room. He plops you down on the bed before you have a moment to gather your thoughts.

“You don’t waste time,” you joke as you bounce on the bed. Before you can add anything else you have to shield your eyes from the sudden intrusion of light as he spreads open the curtains.

“Of course. I want to play with my new toy.”

“Toy?”

He smirks, turning back to open the window, the light sounds of laughter and splashing can be heard from below.

“You looking for an audience?” Squeezing between the pillows you push your back against the headboard.

“Where are you going?” He slithers over and pulls you back down to the bottom of the bed. His hand slips under your shirt, the shock of his touch causing your back to arch. “You’re this sensitive yet you’re hard to please?”

Slapping away his hand you sit up, the noise from outside sounding closer than you’d like. “I’m just cold. Since you opened the window.”

“Then I better warm you up,” he says, a mischievous grin flashing across his face before his tongue dances along his bottom lip.

“You could just shut the window.”

“Shy, too? I wouldn’t have expected that from our earlier conversation,” he says, pushing you back down, his body hovering over yours. His hands push against your shoulders to keep you in place as his tongue glides down your stomach leaving a soft wet trail.

“Not shy. Just private.”

He smirks before his lips caress your hips, nibbling at the flesh. He pulls down your pants, leaving them around your ankles and chuckles at the floral print panties underneath.

“It’s laundry day,” you say, pushing against him. “And the window is still open.”

“You won’t notice it in a moment.” He lowers himself again to your hips kissing along that delicate line between your stomach and underwear.

He grabs your sides and pulls you closer, your legs now dangling off the edge of the bed. Slipping one ankle out of your pants, you slide your legs apart. He kneels between them in silence. Starting to regret stirring up this situation you hover on your elbows looking over your body at him.

“Lay down.” It’s a demand, his tone shocks you into submission, you lay back against the plush bedding. Thoughts scurry around your head with haste, accompanied with feelings of confusion and embarrassment parading to the front of the line.

Then you feel his tongue flicker across your pussy over the fabric of your ill advised choice of panties. He finds your clit and the power of his sucking, tongue swirling over the sensitive flesh, causes you to let out a gasp. The sensation feels both erotic and dirty.

The sensation of his moist tongue flush against you yet denied complete access by the cotton clinging to your flesh is new. His hair tickles your inner thigh, his tongue zigzagging across your sensitive thigh. Wanting more, no, needing more, your fingers start to pull at your underwear only to have him push you back. You try again but this time the pressure of his tongue stops. Assuming he’s about to slip off your panties you sink back against the pillows, but instead of pleasure a searing pain radiates up from the flesh of your skin.

“What the fuck?” you say as you jerk up, practically spitting the words, moving to rub at the red mark he left branded against your skin.

Thrusting his hands against your shoulders you’re slammed back against the bed. This bastard really just went there. He looks down at you, wagging his finger back and forth as you attempt to get up once more. “I’ll tell you when you can move. Feel free to scream all you want but stay still.”

Heat skips across your cheeks as you lie back down, your eyes on his as he takes your clit back into his mouth, his tongue moving circles across the soft flesh. Excitement pools in your lower abdomen, making it difficult to deny. You refuse to scream for this man. Biting your lip you lean back, closing your eyes.

You try to think of another time, attempting to avoid the pleasure the beast between your legs is eliciting, avoiding the way he flicks his tongue while smirking up at you. Why are your eyes open again? But damn if he isn’t fucking georgous. His curves, his bones, his skin. It’s exciting to watch someone so pretty do such dirty things to you.

Curling your toes and clenching your fists you refuse to believe that he can make you come without even getting your pants off completely, your jeans still hanging from your left foot. Think of the jeans, don’t think of his tongue and that piercing or what he’s capable of doing with that mouth when you’re finally naked. Your breath hitches. You're close. Turning to the side you bury your head, hands tight balls as you let the wave of your orgasm flow through you with a soft sigh.

Looking down at him, that smug smile still on his face, he finally pulls your panties down. His tongue laps up the crease of your thighs before taking a bite. “Are you ready to scream?”

“You think you can make–"

Your words are cut off by the sudden pressure of his fingers plunging into your pussy, his lips back on your clit as you throw your head back.

“You’re dripping for me, baby. It’s only a matter of time before I get you to scream.”

Frowning you try to remember why it was you couldn’t scream, why had you decided not to give in fully to the pleasure Niragi was so intent on providing. The reason escapes you as the cold piercing dances across your clit, a contrast to the warmth of his mouth. He’s right, you are dripping. The wet, sloppy sounds of his fingers deep in your cunt makes you want more.

There’s a dangerous hungry look in his eyes that promises a long night. Biting your tongue your fingers pull at his hair before digging into his back, your nails marking him as he finds your spot. He’s got you now and he knows it. His fingers stoke back and forth, caressing your g-spot with persistent precision as his tongue vibrates, the two movements working together in unison until he pulls out of you.

“What?”

Crawling up on your elbows, you frown at the absence of his heat. The slight breeze from the window brings attention to the beads of sweat lining your forehead and down the small of your back. Why the fuck did he stop?

The question is answered as he pulls towards him, “I want everyone to hear you whimper and moan.”

That brings you out of your temporary euphoria. “You wish.”

“I don’t need to wish. You’ll be screaming out for me in a few minutes.”

You scoff. Right as you start to turn away from him he grabs you up and flings you over towards the window, like a ragdoll he has you bent halfway out the window. He blocks your attempts to hit him, pinning your hips painfully against the window frame, your breasts on display for anyone who happens to be looking up from the pool only a few stories below.

“You bastard! Let me go before people see.”

“But baby, I want them to see,” he whispers into your ear, one hand cupping your breast and the other on your ass. He chuckles before licking up your neck. “If you don’t want them to notice then keep quiet.”

“I’ll fucking kill you for this.”

“No, you won’t. By the time we’re done you’ll be thanking me.”

“I very much doubt that,” you say between clenched teeth pushing back hard against his chest. He’s an impenetrable wall.

“Let’s time it and see how long it takes,” he says, bringing his wrist up to you, the Rolex showing 5:53. “I can guarantee that you’ll be screaming before six.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the plan.” The words resonate against your skin as his tongue flutters across the back of your neck. He massages your breasts, his cock hard against your entrance. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand.”

Gripping the side of the window ledge you bite your lip to hold back the gasp that threatens to escape as his thick cock thrusts into your slick pussy. The angle he has forced your body into enables his dick to pound against that special place, that magical spot that makes you weak in the knees. Fucker. A tear rolls down your cheek as he fills every inch of your pussy with himself, fitting perfectly within you, as if this is where he belongs.

Shuddering, you bite your lip harder as the sinful pleasure of his cock pummels into you over and over until you worry you're about to give in. The moans start as whispers before morphing into loud pants until ultimately they turn into desperate pleas. The heat is gushing through your body like lava on a rampage, unable to stop even with the strong wind blowing against your naked skin. The only thing holding you up as your knees buckle are his hands on your hips. Even your grip on the window loosens; you're complete putty in his hands.

The wanton purr that exits your lips is unfamiliar as his pace quickens, the tears coming down a little faster as he pounds into your g-spot repeatedly. Gulping with sudden abandon, the freshness of the air from this height almost unnoticed, you whine as he bites your ear lobe and neck, his tongue playful against the side of your head.

“You’re so tight.”

The words bounce around for a few moments before they form into something you understand, the bliss causing a delirious fog within your brain. The air up here is too sweet. It’s dizzying as you look down. You can see someone looking up at you but you can’t think why it matters anymore. Blood is pulsing throughout your body, the sound of your heartbeat loud enough that you don’t hear what he’s saying.

“Hmm?”

“I said it’s okay to let it out. Let go. Come for me." His voice is honey and you’re so very thirsty, but when you lean back for a taste he instead twists your hair around his fingers and snaps your head back.

Pleasure and pain erupt within. Shaking, you give into the ecstasy. The need within you is electrifying and inescapable, you allow the pleasure to ripple out, slink across your skin and crescendo from within. You try to ignore the crowd forming below but if you are honest with yourself, it only turns you on more. The intensity of your arousal skyrockets into something you can no longer control.

“Fuck! Oh, God!"

The words are not screams. They are loud, yes, but not screams. The friction is torturous, his pace beyond human comprehension. Howls of rabid pleasure fill the room and you want to tell whoever’s making the loud, guttural sounds to shut up when you realise it’s coming from you. Fuck. You’re like a fucking animal, teeth bared as his own bury into your neck again. It’s enchanted delirium and you’re drowning in it.

“Come for me, baby.”

That’s when the walls begin to crumble beneath you, your body splintering as the waves of fire sputter from within and erupt, every atom ignited in pure bliss. He continues to slide into you slower now but still touching that spot with meticulous skill. Your fire burns down to your bones yet somehow avoids him, only scorching you.

Your vision darkens and blurs as you ride out the final waves. High pitched ringing vibrates within your ears as you cling to the window frame, your legs wobbling as you turn back to him. It takes everything left in you to resist the urge to slap him. He’s holding up his watch, that smirk plastered across his face. 5:57.

“Well, looks like you screamed,” he whispers, pulling you into him, his lips claiming yours. He’s honey and you’re still thirsty. He pulls back, a look of impish delight flashing across his face as he pushes you down roughly to your knees. “You can thank me by returning the favour.”

[miabebe]

I Am What I Am (V)

A man of the shadows and a woman who belonged in the skies - fate could not have brought two more different people together. But was this fate or was this a choice?

Pairing - Im Changkyun x OC, Kim Mingyu × OC

Word Count - 7.3K

Warnings - guns, slight mentions of violence blood, death.

Chapter summary - Running down the dark tunnel looking for light was turning out to be a never ending loop. It wasn't like nothing was before her, rather Na bi couldn't understand what she was seeing. And more importantly, what she was feeling.

| Previous chapter | Masterlist |

Much to her surprise, when Na bi woke up the next day, it was already past noon.

She had passed out from all that exhaustion quite early last night - the muscles of her legs were still sore but the warmth of the bed and the weight of the duvet were comforting. She had forgotten to close the curtains before dozing off and now the yellow of the sun was all over the room. The trees outside were standing still as ever, birds chirped all around - The forest looked so alive, yet still felt so daunting.

Dragging herself off the bed, she closed the curtains, submerging the room into darkness before flipping the switches of the lights.

Something had changed.

Na bi walked up to the small study in the corner, eyes falling on the new contents on the table. It was her belongings - her unnecessarily thick medical textbooks, study guides, lecture notes - all her personal material from home, neatly stacked. On the shelf were her novels, magazines she liked to flip through, journals she had filled over the years. How did he manage to get these?

Even her toiletries were arranged for, neatly laid out by the sink - new bottles of her soap, shampoo, creams and serums of her night routine. In the ten minutes she took to wash up, a fresh set of clothes which, albeit she didn't change into, were laid out for her and outside, on the table was a piping a hot coffee and biscuits. Her bed had been made, the curtains were pulled back again, and the fire of the night had been put out. It was as though Changkyun had a bunch of elves working around here for him - efficient, meticulous and invisible.

Na bi sipped on her coffee as she looked through the books and papers on her table again. When Changkyun said whatever she needed would be arranged for, he kept his word - every small thing, down to drawing pencils and her favourite set of highlighters was here.

Everything except her laptop.

Na bi looked around, eyes searching for it as another realisation slowly dawned upon her. She hadn't seen her phone in very long either. Panicking slightly, she left her coffee and rummaged through the sheets of the freshly made bed - it was not there. She opened the drawers of her bedside table hurriedly, scoured the shelves and cupboards of the room, checked the bathroom, checked the closet but it was nowhere to be found. She tried to  recall when she last saw it. A very faint memory told her it dropped out of her hand when she was shoved into Wonho's van.

Fuck.

She needed that phone, how was anything going to work out without it?

Na bi sank onto an ottoman, massaging her temples, her mind behind it racing. She wasn't prepared for this. She hadn't expected things to be in motion so soon; screw Mingyu for not so much as warning her before putting their plan to action. But now it was too late to curse him - she was already in the middle of it all and she had to figure it out on her own, there was no other way.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her hair back, pulling it into a tight ponytail, something she rarely ever did. Leaving her half empty coffee cup on the table, she stuffed two biscuits in her mouth for some sugar and slowly opened the door of her bedroom. If she was going to crack Changkyun's empire, his house would be the first place to begin.

When Na bi stepped into the familiar corridor, she found herself alone again, a chill running down her spine. It wasn't eerie or haunting in anyway, but the thought of just what she might discover in this inhabitation was terrifying her already. Cautiously, she began walking further down the corridor, doors of two rooms coming into her view - one she assumed was the second guest bedroom Changkyun mentioned and the other was perhaps his own. Surely if there was any place in this house that could give her a clue, it had to be his room.

Opening the first door on her way, Na bi immediately concluded it to be a guest room for the layout was unmistakably, exactly the same as hers - the colour of the walls, the sheets, the furniture, all of it. Except the view from the window. From the left most corner, Na bi caught sight of a sliver of the beach she saw yesterday. So it wasn't a mirage conjured by her exhaustion or a figment of her imagination.....

Gulping at the possibilities, she slowly left, proceeding to the next room, only to find it locked shut. She tried the handle a few times, with both force and technique but neither could open it. Stepping back she glanced at the walls that spanned on either sides of it. It had to be a huge room, which meant it most definitely was Changkyun’s but clearly, neither was he home, nor was anything about him accessible to her.

Na bi though, wasn't one to accept defeat. Besides, how hard could it be to break into a room? One bobbypin and she could have easily found her way in. And perhaps she would have too if she didn't hear the strange sounds of clanking metal from a distance. Frowning, she turned, walking towards the source, trying to locate it. Softly she whispered Changkyun's name, guessing it was him and instantly, the noise stopped. And so did Na bi.

After a long silence and a long period of immobility, Na bi finally took another daring step ahead, the living space downstairs slowly coming into view. It was just as empty as yesterday, only more harshly lit by the afternoon sun. It looked just as beautiful though, she observed as she walked down the stairs, looking around. Changkyun was definitely a man of strange taste but she didn't expect to find herself in approval of it. Except those ceiling high windows. Those still made her stomach churn with discomfort.

When Na bi managed to make it all the way down to the last step, she stumbled, noticing a door she hadn't really seen before. The walls felt warm and she could hear the sound of firewood crackling from the other side. Wondering if that was the source of the noise, she knocked softly before grabbing the handle and pushing the door, only to feel a hand rest on her shoulder.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Na bi bit back a scream, turning to meet the eyes of a  woman almost a whole head smaller than her, looking at her fiercely. Her salt and pepper hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, and with her cute little pink apron and half moon glasses, one would think she was a sweet old lady, but the sharpness of her tone told Na bi otherwise.

"I'm...I'm looking for Changkyun." Na bi watched the woman physically wince at the mention of his name. "Where is he?"

"Master's not home." Master? She wiped her hands on her apron before walking past her and closed the door loudly. The point had been made. "If you there's something you need, you can ask me."

"Is this Changkyun's room?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it is."

Na bi's eyes flickered between her and the room. What was in there? And if this was his room, who did the room upstairs belong to? And why was it locked?

"Wait, wait." She rushed as the older woman began walking away, following her footsteps. "Where's Changkyun?"

"Master is a busy man." She huffed. "He comes and goes as he pleases-"

"Goes where?"

"He doesn't inform me about his whereabouts."

"When does he usually come back?"

"Whenever he decides to."

"When is that usually-"

"Ms. Baek," Na bi's lips parted in surprise at the mention of her name. And at the faint but apparent annoyance in the woman's voice. "I do not concern myself with master's business and frankly, neither should you. But if your curiosity cannot handle the ignorance then I suggest you ask him yourself, whenever he's back."

And with that, she walked off into the kitchen across, a lot faster than before. Na bi stood in the middle of the hall, staring at a loss.

There's a lot you need to learn about this place Ms. Baek.

Indeed there was. The rooms of this house were just the beginning of things. If she was to be successful in her mission, she needed to know all that was there to know. She had to unravel Changkyun’s world down to the core and she had to do it without letting him get even the faintest idea as to why she was here - that would ruin everything. So right now, what Na bi most desperately needed..... was a friend.

She turned to look at the only other person she had seen here, standing behind the kitchen island, mixing soup in a pot, cutting up some greens and putting something into an oven, all simultaneously. She was perfectly efficient, timing her moves just right, smoothly executing her tasks. She looked not too old, perhaps in her mid fifties, crowsfeet aligned by her eyes which were somewhat soft under all that snappy exterior. If Na bi made the right moves, she knew she could break through that hard perosona of hers and make a potential ally. Only problem was, Na bi had no idea how to make friends.

Silently going back to her room, she threw herself on the bed and stared at the grey ceiling. Her whole life, much to the contrary of what most people believed, Na bi was quite the loner. She rarely went to team dinners, never joined them on karaoke nights and barely ever participated in birthdays or other celebrations. She wasn't hostile to people or unfriendly, no; she just didn't have the time and energy to engage in social niceties. She had cordial relationships with her colleagues and neighbours but that was about it. Seokmin was the only exception in her rather isolated life.

Two years ago, when she first joined the hospital, he too was just like everyone else, a mere acquitance. Somehow, over time, he warmed up to her and honestly, rather insistently inserted himself into her life. Thank god for him though. Na bi didn't know what she would do without that crazy guy who somehow always there when she needed him (which wasn't very often), who always tolerated her rather unbothered attitude (which was very often) and who would always look out for her, no questions asked.

Even though Mingyu had asked her not to inform a soul about her mission, she regretted not telling Seokmin about everything. He was probably worried by her lack of response, but hopefully, he just assumed her radio silence to be just one of her usual unsociable moods - she often ignored him over the weekends and holiday season, knowing he would attempt to set her up with one of his many, many friends.

But Na bi wasn't the kind to date either. Dating apps were completely out of question - they demanded way too much time and commitment. Over time, she disliked meeting the people Seokmin or her other colleagues set her up with too; it was just hours and hours of talking leading to nowhere. Can a person really be understood over a meal and a conversation held specifically in order to impress? It didn't make any sense to her.

Rather, she preferred her not-so-regular-but-quite-frequent rendezvous - Flirting with men at the bar, hooking up at the convenience of their cars or homes, and leaving, first thing in the morning, never to see them again. Atleast those encounters were honest in intention and brief with expectations. Seokmin often ate her ear off about how now that she was getting older, maybe it was time to settle down with one person and though she heard him (and partly agreed), she as usual feigned ignorance.

That's why when Mingyu walked into her life, she decided to take the chance. Things with him flowed so smoothly and were so easy going, she thought perhaps finally, she had managed to find someone more permanent. She found herself willingly going on dates, happily having hours of conversation and was pleasantly surprised that they were on the same wavelength about most things. He seemed to understand her; he was willing to go the extra mile whenever she pulled herself back, he was ok with taking a step back when she wasn't ready - it was as though he knew exactly what she needed.

Except he really did know exactly what she needed. He was nothing but a facade, a man tailor made for her after days of observing and studying her, presented in a way they knew she would be interested enough to meet again and again. It worked. Oh it worked wonderfully well for them, because honestly, Na bi did not ever see herself dressing up for a man but..... it wasn't their triumph.

Deep down Na bi knew what was the exact and the real reason she met Mingyu time and again. It was because he was a cop. It was for Changkyun. It was because should anything happen to Changkyun, Mingyu would be one of the more reliable sources to find out from.

Na bi sat up, crossing her legs, just the thought of it making her nauseous. Sure she was attracted to Changkyun, sure she knew he was dangerous but she did not think he would be the one responsible for Ana.... of course, since she found out, she no longer had the same kind of interest in him.

But the moment he appeared before her yesterday, the moment he met her eye, something in her stomach dropped and she knew - the effect he had on her was far from gone. Na bi though, wasn't insensible or unreasonable. She knew what she was here to do and no matter what happened, she was not willing to end up as the prey in this hunt.

So, to begin with, there were 2 things she had to focus on - 1. breaking the ice with that older woman and 2. figuring out this strange place she was holed up in. And with that clarity, Na bi began her mission, scribbling down the details of her discoveries in her new journal every night.

Day 1

I got together a bunch of papers and started drawing out the layout of the house. Whatever I've seen of it at least. I need to map the whole place out, and whatever is around here too - the forest, the beach, find other landmarks, any and all clues that can help identity this location. I shall do it, one step at a time. But I need to be careful. That older woman, who I think is the housekeeper here, tends to walk into my room anytime. Thank god I managed to hide the papers when she came to give me lunch. (Kimchi pasta and orange juice, absolutely delicious). There's a loose floorboard I found by the fireplace. These drawings should be secure there as of now.

But I don't know what to do about the her. When I smile at her, she simply nods and walks away. She's going to be a tough nut to crack. I watched her all afternoon, sitting in the living room with my books. She left from the backdoor at 3 and came back only at 5. I ate dinner with her at the breakfast bar, tteokbokki and orange juice again, not that I'm complaining. I told her to not refer to me as Ms. Baek and to call me Na bi. She said I could call her Mrs. Lee. She didn't speak much after that, just cleaned up everything and disappeared. Its almost 11 at night now, and I don't think I was really successful with anything today but I'm trying. One step at a time.

Oh and Changkyun didn't come home the whole day today.

Day 2

Changkyun did come home today.

I made it a point to wake up earlier than usual and as I got out of the room, I saw him, sitting at the breakfast bar, eating an omelette. But by the time I got down the stairs to approach him, he left. I don't know if he saw me or if he was ignoring me but I keep missing out on opportunities to talk to him.

I think I made a little more progress with Mrs. Lee though. If my eyes didn't betray me, she might have given a small smile when I thanked for coffee and my favourite breakfast, avocado toast and milk. I watched her again today - she has the exact same routine. She served me kimchi rice and orange juice at 12 and then by 3, she disappeared out of the back door. I followed her this time. There's this small garden at the back of the house with all sorts of vegetables and herbs but there was also a path, leading to a cottage. When I looked through the window, it seemed like Mrs. Lee was getting ready to nap. I think she lives there. It makes sense because there was no other room in the house that could belong to her. Which meant that locked room upstairs belonged to someone I don't know about.

Obviously I broke in. Somehow. I couldn't find a hairpin but I managed to grab a few old pens and do the trick. It was nothing like I expected though - it was a plain old bedroom, albeit bigger, brighter and disappointing. I was hoping to find something concrete here, anything at all, not just antique furniture and vintage dresses which oddly looked very similar to the ones I was dressed in when I first got here. I searched every inch of that place, there was truly nothing of value or even a clue hinting who it belonged to. Only Mrs. Lee could answer that question for me.

I wasn't really sure how to bring it up to her, so I just tried to make casual conversation about it using the dresses. I brought them down before dinner, showed it to her and-

Na bi looked up from her diary, the conversation replaying in her head.

"These clothes." She placed them on the kitchen counter. "I never got the chance to thank you for them."

"You don't have to thank me." Mrs. Lee glanced at them, mumbling. "I thought the red one would look nice on you."

"It is beautiful." Na bi sat down, softly running her fingers over the material. "I'm so sorry, it tore....are they yours?"

"Imagine a hag like me in dresses like that." Mrs. Lee scoffed. "It belonged to my mistress."

Na bi felt something sink in the pits of her stomach. "Mistress?"

"She loved dresses, had a huge collection in fact. A perfect one for every occasion." The use of past tense did not slip past Na bi. "A beautiful woman who only made the dresses she wore more beautiful."

"I should probably apologise to her then. Where is she...." Na bi trailed off looking at the woman's eyes become slightly wet.

"She was the sweetest thing alive. I don't think she would have minded. Master on the other hand, I'm afraid he was a little... displeased."

Na bi tugged the edges of the dress nonchalantly. "He must really love her."

"More than anything in the world." She sighed, slowing down her stirring. "That's why he's always hurting...."

Her voice softened as she looked at Na bi, eyes shaking like she spoke more than she should have. This was what Na bi wanted anyways - carefully guarded information being let slip. But she had to take it slow, to not raise any suspicions. And Mrs. Lee didn't seem like she was willing to let anything else slip as silence took over between them again.

-she said it belonged to her Mistress. Whoever she is, or was, either she doesn't live here anymore or she's dead, I don't know which. But it's proved Mingyu wrong. Changkyun cannot possibly be interested in me. Not when he had someone else in his life. Someone he cared enough about to still hold on to her personal belongings. Then why was he looking out for me? What do I mean to him?

Who knows? He could answer my questions, he's the only one who can but yet again, he didn't come home.

Day 3

Today I drew more of the map. I left the house before sunrise, followed the same route I took the time I first ran out of here and yet again, it took me to the beach. I passed almost 58 large trees, ran almost 3km west of the house to reach it. I still don't understand how I can possibly be near the sea. Where on Earth is this place?

I made sure to return in time for breakfast though, but Changkyun was not there today. I had toast and milk again and Mrs. Lee seemed more guarded than usual, perhaps after yesterday's slip up. But she didn't seem as unfriendly, maybe because I squeezed the orange juice for lunch by myself. When she was gone by 3, I knew what I wanted to do today - search through Changkyun's room. So I did just that, except today..... he was inside.

Na bi felt her hands shake as she recalled the encounter.

"Ms. Baek."

Na bi froze, hand on the handle as the voice boomed behind her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She turned around slowly, eyes falling on the not so large room with a really large table in the centre, Changkyun seated behind. 

"I uh...thought I heard you in here." She slowly walked in.

"Really?" He looked at her amused. "I'm known to be quiet as a cat."

Na bi gulped, clearing her throat. "You.... haven't been home in a while."

"Neither have you." He titled his head at her. "I stopped by your room this morning."

Na bi felt her heart hammering away in her chest.

"I....must've been in the shower."

"I didn't hear the water running."

"Oh then," Na bi looked away, at the fireplace, thinking quick. "You probably came when I was in the garden."

"You left the house?"

She stared at the flames harder, hoping not to give herself away. "Why? Am I not allowed to?"

"No." Na bi turned to him surprised as he continued. "There are no restrictions on you here Ms. Baek, you are free to do or go wherever you wish."

"Really? There's a room upstairs though....that you keep locked." She looked at him, trying not to seem too inquisitive, probably horribly failing at it. "Am I not allowed in there?"

"Can locked doors possibly keep you away?"

Na bi blinked at him. Did he know that she...

"That door has been like that for years." He clarified. "Simply locks every time it's closed."

"Oh." Na bi licked her lips, walking closer up to him, the contents of his table getting clearer with each step. "Then what about this room? Mrs. Lee stopped me from entering it a few days back."

He smiled. "Perhaps because entering someone's personal room in their absence is a sign of poor etiquette."

"Of course." Na bi glanced at the papers on his table, holding her breath as she did.

Maps. Hundreds of them. Much like the one stashed safely in her room, the one she was drawing out.

She looked up meeting his eye. "So you're not....hiding anything here?"

Changkyun leaned back, expression unreadable but he shook his head. "Not from you, no."

Why not though?

"What are all these then?" She pointed, stuffing her hands in the back pockets of her jeans so he couldn't see them shake.

"Maps of different areas in Seoul." He spread them out further, allowing her to take a closer look. "This is how I keep my business organised."

"Huh." She nodded, noticing red crosses and black circles scattered all over the papers. "What kind of um business do you-"

She jumped a little, at the sound of a strange static noise, unable to recognise its source.

"What's that sound?"

"My cue. I have to go, there's a meeting..." He got up and Na bi immediately took a few unnecessary steps back as he walked up to her. "Meanwhile, the reason I was looking for you..."

He handed her a familiar, shiny black device that felt cold in her palm.

"Wonho said you dropped it when he picked you up."

Her phone.

Na bi inwardly sighed in relief as she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal. Changkyun walked up to the door, donning a blazer over his trademark black shirt. Na bi followed him out, her mind still focused on the contents on the table. She knew she was far from done with this room.

He returned my phone to me but its as good as not having one. There's a crack, right across the camera lens, rendering any picture I take absolutely unfathomable. And I don't get any signal here, not one bar. I can't contact Mingyu or Seokmin, that phone is as good as a brick.

When Mrs. Lee came back, I helped her with making dinner. I know I'm no cook but I can follow instructions and I think I did a good job of it? She was afterall talking to me sweetly and even gave me an extra helping of her special homemade kimchi. Maybe I'm not far from making a friend here but Chankgyun.... I still can't figure him out.

I still don't get him.

Day 4

I covered the North side today.

It's.... its the same. Almost 5km of trees, trees and more trees and the end of it all, a beach. I'm getting a faint inkling as to where I actually am but..... I don't want to think about it. If what I'm assuming is true, I couldn't be more trapped.

Yet again I didn't see Changkyun for breakfast but I didn't see Mrs. Lee either. She was back in the garden, trying to deal with some weeds and dying tomatoes.

Fate, if its real, must be trying to help me because who knew better about gardening than I did. I think that hour we spent, fixing up those shrubs probably broke the last of the ice between us. Mrs. Lee was smiling more than usual, talking about the plants and all her recipes, and just seemed to have warmed up to me now. So I thought it wouldn't be too wrong to ask her the question.

"Mrs. Lee, I was trying to call a friend yesterday. You see I didn't get the chance to tell anyone I was going to be away, but I wasn't getting any signal? Is there.... is there any place where I can get better cell service or something?"

"Around here? No dear, there's no cell towers for miles." She tugged the weeds. "We don’t need them anyways, no one around here uses phones."

Na bi felt a wave of apprehension wash over her.

"Then... how do you contact people? Like your family?"

"Master is all the family I have." She smiled. "And need."

I think don't know if Mrs.Lee was telling the truth about the phones. But her statement did confirm something else I've been wondering - we're not the only ones, there are others. Others who lived around here and perhaps, they can help me understand more about this place. I just need to find them.

After lunch today, I wasn't able to explore anymore - Mrs. Lee needed help with the garden again. I wasn't able to extract any more information from her either, she was too focused on the task at hand. But over dinner, she did say something that surprised me.

"You really seem to like my kimchi."

Na bi took a break from shoving a huge bite into her mouth and looked up, nodding.

"I like everything you make. I don't get to eat much fresh food at home. I pretty much survive on kimbaps and instant noodles."

Mrs. Lee frowned at her, shaking her head. "You poor thing. Must be tough, having to eat those miserable packaged food."

"I don't really mind it." Na bi confessed. "I actually really like it-"

"Well you're not going to find any of that poison in this house." She crossed her arms. "I don't allow it. It's unhealthy and atrocious. Master is already picky with eating vegetables, imagine adding those preservatives to his system."

Na bi raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't eat vegetables? What a five year old."

"Indeed." Mrs. Lee broke into a fond smile. "You should've seen him when he was actually five. He wouldn't even take a bite of the kimbaps I used to make. Always spat it right out."

The image of his full cheeks as he munched on the kimbap in her home flashed in Na bi's head. I'm not picky.

"Thanks to you, I've been able to get him to eat at least a few vegetables a day. Even though he still insists on having some meat every meal-"

Na bi tried to swallow her bite quickly. "Because of me?"

"Yes you. I've been cooking more vegetarian dishes recently since, well, Master told me you're a vegetarian. And so I can..."

Na bi didn't hear anymore. Not with her mind full of thoughts.

He knows what I eat. He knows what I wear. He knows what I smell like. He knows everything yet I don't know why. Why did he bother to know so much? If like Mingyu said, he is interested in me, why hasn't he made any move, or even conversation?

I can't figure him out. I can't figure him out at all.

Day 5

Today morning I managed to cover the South side. It took considerably longer cause it was much larger, 10km at least, but to no one's surprise, ending at a beach. 3 directions, all ending at a beach, I think what I fear is true..... perhaps tomorrow I will be able to prove it.

But there was something I didn't see elsewhere - a helipad. At least that's what I'm guessing it is. It was just a large clearing in the woods, and by the way the impressions looked in the grass, that seemed like the most probable explanation. Yet another factor supporting my theory....

Also, I found out how they do it. Live without cell towers and phones that is.

Walkie talkies.

I saw Mrs. Lee talk into one over breakfast today. I don't know how I've never noticed it before, this black box like machine sitting in the corner of the kitchen counter. She said we were running out of rice and by the evening, there was a huge sack of it, sitting by the back door. I don't know much about walkie talkies and how they work, but I am aware that both parties need to be in a certain range. That's only further proof that there are others here, people who might be able to help me but also people I've never managed to catch sight of over the many days I've roamed around here. I need to explore the east side tomorrow. That might be the last piece to finish the puzzle of this place.

While Mrs. Lee took up most of my day, trying to teach me some simple recipes, I did manage to slip into Changkyun's room once again after lunch. There were no papers on the table this time, in fact it was completely empty. I tried looking through the drawers, the shelves - they were all empty.

The only other things in the room were a bed, a couch and a wardrobe. I looked through the wardrobe too - it was just a bunch of suits and hoodies that looked a whole lot more comfortable than the clothes kept in my room. Maybe that's why at that moment I decided to strip out of the really uncomfortable blouse I was wearing, into one of the hoodies....

"You really have a mind of your own don't you?"

Na bi knew before turning that Changkyun had just walked out of the bathroom; she had heard the water running. What she didn't expect was that he would be clad in nothing but his towel, hanging low on his waist, little rivets of water streaming down his torso. Na bi could not hide the way her eyes roamed over his body.

She cleared her throat, turning back to the wardrobe. "As should everyone."

As he began walking up to her, she grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt and threw it to him over her shoulder. The muffled sounds told her he had caught them and was slipping them on and it was only when she felt his breath on her neck that she knew he was done.

"You keep forgetting to breathe when you're around me Ms. Baek."

His voice was a soft whisper, making Na bi realise that she had indeed held her breath all this while and allowed herself to exhale. When she turned, she found herself trapped between him and the wardrobe behind her, her eyes flickering to between his lips and eyes. Changkyun raised his eyebrow as he looked pointedly at his grey hoodie which she had donned.

"You really oversold yourself with whole 'whatever you need will be arranged for' statement." She crossed her arms. "The clothes you filled my wardrobe with look like the personal collection of someone who cannot decide between being a victorian widow or a rebelious milkmaid from the alps."

Changkyun laughed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "I knew Wonho didn't know a thing about women's fashion."

Na bi blinked at him. "Wonho bought the clothes?" Changkyun nodded.

"How... how did he know about the... blue?"

"I told him."

"Did you also tell him the scent I use?"

Changkyun nodded but scoffed looking at her expression. "It's a colour and a smell Ms. Baek. I have good memory. You need not feel grateful for the bare minimum."

"Okay then, How did you know I was vegetarian?"

"I guessed? Based on the your eating habits."

"But you were barely with me for a day. How could you know?"

Changkyun grew silent for a minute, looking rather amused.

"Your questions are rather different from what I expected you to ask me Ms. Baek." He leaned closer, as though he was searching her face for something. "You're rather unpredictable."

Na bi wanted to laugh at that. Maybe she would have if Mrs. Lee didn't knock to call them for dinner. As Changkyun left, Na bi winced at the loss of his warmth and his scent around her. No, no, no. She had to snap out of it.

He had dinner with me for the first time today. Mrs. Lee was right, he was indeed picky with his food and his vegetables - he refused to even touch the kimbap. He really had enjoyed the one I made him though. I don't know if he liked my food or dare I say, if he likes me....

I don't think I'll ever know.

Day 6

I was supposed to explore the east side today but I couldn't - Changkyun was home all day.

He was there eating breakfast with me. He was there, playing the piano as I pretended to read through my books. He was there for lunch, and there when Mrs. Lee took her usual siesta. We played chess all afternoon, which he, not surprisingly, ended up winning. I let him win - it was our first game afterall. I wanted to crack his gameplay more than I wanted to defeat him, see how his brain works, figure out how he thinks. He's..... straightforward. He wasn't hiding behind any moves, or playing any mind games. He was simple and upfront. I don't understand him any more than before.

After that I caught him leaving the house so this time I asked him where he was going. He said for a swim and asked if I wanted to join. I probably shouldn't have but....

Na bi followed Changkyun out of the back door of the house, walking the opposite direction of Mrs. Lee's cottage. She hadn't had the chance to explore the east side yet so she took each step behind him carefully, looking around as she moved. When the trees cleared before her and Changkyun moved out of her view, her eyes fell on a water spring, pouring out from behind stacked rocks into a small pool reflecting the blue of the skies and white of the clouds.

Na bi stared at it wordlessly, missing the moment Changkyun stripped out of his shirt and pants and jumped into the water, disappearing under it. Coming back to her senses with the splash of droplets all over her, she looked around in the dead emptiness of the woods.

Changkyun’s head appeared above the water, hand pushing back the dark hair sticking to his face as did the familiar sight of his drenched, sculpted abs. He looked at her, head tilted, eyes questioning.

"I... don't know how to swim." Na bi confessed. The pool didn't look too deep, one definitely didn't need to know how to swim to get in there but Changkyun didn't point  that out as she pulled her pants up to her knees and sat on a rock, legs dangling in the waters.

Instead, he smirked. "Did you offer to come along just to watch me Ms. Baek?"

"Maybe." Na bi answered truthfully, trying not to let her eyes wander anywhere below his neck. Changkyun chuckled, disappearing under the water again, as Na bi relished the feeling of the cool waters around her legs.

He swam around for a while, submerging himself for long periods of time like a child trying to see how long he could hold his breath under water. Sometimes Na bi panicked when she didn't see him come up soon enough, but he always came up - the man could clearly hold his breath for a ridiculously long time.

As the sun began to set, the cool waters started feeling a lot colder, making Na bi pull her feet out, shivering. Watching her Changkyun got out, shaking the water off like a wet dog, making her cover herself, looking away. Grinning like a child, he walked away and to her surprise, began collecting a bunch of sticks and twigs from here and there. In five minutes, he stacked them all and pulled out his lighter from the pocket of the discarded pant and started a fire.

Na bi scooted closer to the flames as he dried himself off beside it and sadly, dressed himself up again. When he sat down across her, poking the sticks, she slowly began questioning him.

"So this is what you do around here?" She rubbed her hands warm. "Play the piano, swim out here, all alone?"

"When I have the time yeah." He replied, nodding. "Which is not often. I'm usually far too busy with my business to find time for such things."

What kind of business?

Strangely, Na bi felt bad for him. He didn't look like he was much older than her which meant he was in his late twenties too. She wondered how it was, living a life so isolated, so alone, so far away, in the shadows. She liked being alone too but his life seemed so.... lonely.

"I can't imagine. I've been here barely a week and I feel like I'm already losing my mind."

"Go out then." He stated like it was the obvious solution. "Some city air should help."

"Wait I..." Na bi tried not to look too shocked. "I can leave this place?"

"Of course Ms. Baek." He glanced at her amused. "You're not my prisoner."

"No I just.... thought it was too dangerous for me out there?"

"It is, but Wonho and my men can accompany you, make sure you're safe when you're out."

Of course, she would still have company, of course she'll still be watched. But she had to get out, she had to meet Mingyu somehow, tell him everything she found out so far.

"And when will I be able to go back home?" She added. "My home."

Changkyun took a deep breath. "Soon. I admit we haven't made much, actually, any progress on finding those who are after you but hopefully....soon."

"Well I can't stay here forever. My suspension ends in less than 2 weeks, I need to be back at work, back at home."

"You may return whenever you wish Ms. Baek. Today, tomorrow or in 2 weeks. I can arrange for your protection wherever you choose to be." His gaze pierced her. "I meant it when I said I'll look out for you."

Why why why Changkyun?

Na bi wanted to ask him, she wanted to ask him so much more but there was something about the silence that fell between them that didn't allow her to talk. She...liked it. She had often craved for a silence this comfortable and warm and to find it here was.....terrifying.

It persisted till the fire finally burnt out, submerging them in the darkness of the evening, dimly lit by the swarms of fireflies. Changkyun finally got up, brushing off the dried twigs and leaves off his pants, as Na bi  struggled to do the same with her foot fast asleep. Laughing at her stumbling movements, he walked up and pulled her onto her feet, her hands flying to find their place against his chest, face inches away from his.

You could put her at gunpoint but it was moments like this that Na bi dreaded more. Moments where she was so physically close to him that her defences, her inhibitions, everything crumbled down, overwhelmed by the desire to just feel him against her, just once.

But then Ana's image flashed in her head. Her lying sprawled on a forest floor much like this, all that blood.... this was sick. This man was a murderer, this man killed her friend, yet she... she couldn't do this. She shouldn't do this.

Before she could separate herself from him, it was Changkyun who pulled away, not meeting her eye.

"The temperature tends to drop fast around here after sunset. We should head back." And with that he walked away, leaving her to follow him, perplexed by his behaviour as always.

My clothes are all here. All that blue miserableness in the closet is gone, Changkyun arranged for my own clothes to be brought from home. I showered for longer than usual today. I don't know, I just felt strangely dirty.

Then I had dinner with him again. Mrs. Lee was the only one who spoke the whole time though. I couldn't find any words to say to him, he didn't seem to have any either. After dinner he informed me that Wonho will take me wherever I want to go tomorrow.... I need to figure out how to meet Mingyu. The map isn't fully done but I need to tell him whatever I know and to give him... 

Na bi looked up from her diary at the gun on the table.

She found it, in the pile of clothes Changkyun had discarded before he jumped into the waters. She'd recognise it anywhere - it was the same one he had on him the night he came to her house. The same one who's bullets implicated her in this mission with the NIS. Perhaps the same one that committed many crimes.

She just needed to get it to Mingyu somehow. She would've given it to him too. If only.....

Next chapter

[8bitscarlet]

Winter Solstice

Summary: When the sun was taken without notice, your world was plunged into a darkness you almost didn't recognize. But as you sunk deeper into the shadows, you remembered why you'd given it up.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst (mention of blood, canon fighting, use of knife, mention of torture)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: AOU Wanda here because there's no Wanda in this story, since you know ehehe. Here’s chapter 18 of AOP. 😂 Happy Reading everyone! 💕

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

_________________________

“I’m having your vest checked before you leave!”

You watch as Stark grabs the tablet from his suit jacket hanging on the coat rack near the door. He came around as soon as the alarms started to blare. What he came home to nearly doubled him over. It took him some time to get back to his joking ways, along with everyone else. Trying to deal with what happened only hours ago. 

Everyone except you. 

“Whatever,” Yelena rolls her eyes but points towards a gadget on one of the tables she walks past, “Your stuff isn’t even cool, Playboy.”

Her green eyes watching Nat nod that she’ll steal the parts for her. Yel looks over at you, sliding a granola bar across the table. You glance down at the wrapper, a chocolate chip granola bar. She looks at you with a hopeful grin but you don’t eat it. You just spin it around as you wait for her to tell you who you’re not allowed to kill. 

“Four mercenaries checked in at that checkpoint,” your eyes wash over the map with numbered outposts scattered around the landscape, “They’re heading to a resting place, assigned to the General’s protection unit. This restaurant,”

Yelena slides all the information she got from her contact casing the business, “It’s a front. A place to grab gear and weapons before they switch positions.”

“They’ll know where that asshole is,” you grumble, smashing the granola bar into the table with every slow stab of your thumb. 

“I’m just waiting on Rick to give us information on where they're stopping next. We'll swing in after them and steal some uniforms and codewords,” Yelena gives Natasha a look, ensuring that you see it but you don’t give it a second thought. They can see exactly what you want to do to every one of these soldier's wearing this patch.

They could think whatever they wanted about you now. They knew your true colors. If they’re surprised, it should be over that you’ve hidden them for so long. 

Natasha sees how you grind your teeth and turns to Yelena, “What that cost you? Five cases of Stoli?”

“Only four. I’m his favorite Russian spy.”

You ignore their arguing as you flip through the file further. It’s a simple plan. Corner some soldiers and work your way up the pay grades. Eventually someone would know where the General was and he worked closely with Strucker. 

“We’ll call you guys when we’ve got a location,” you stand up abruptly and look towards Steve, “Just make sure you have Clint by then,”

The door behind you opens and Stark rushes inside, not bothering to hold it open behind him as you see how wide his eyes are. 

“I tried to stall,” he turns on his heels and all of you watch as a greying and mustached man in a crisp suit steps through the door that closed on his face. 

Ross clears his throat as he pulls against his sleeves and carefully looks over everyone. Half of the people in the room are weary and exhausted from the mission. The other half stare cautiously, collecting papers behind their backs. Only one stares with a fury that the man has never seen before and because of this, speaks to you .

“You’re not operating.”

Your jaw clenches so tightly, you’re surprised it doesn’t completely shatter. Each paused stare along the politician’s body are places you know would completely ruin the rest of his life. Steve sees the way you roll your wrists, your breath elevating. Your fingers crack beneath his iron vice grip and you grimace as Stark attempts to negotiate with Ross. The words buzz around your head. 

Treaties. Agreements. Violations. War. 

You chuckle, drawing some attention your way but Stark quickly draws it back to him. You’ve been at war longer than Ross could know. At war with Strucker. With your own mind. But he couldn’t care less about those wars. They weren’t important. Finding and killing Strucker wasn’t important compared to the obscure agreements he had pulled up by an assistant. 

They wouldn’t be important to him until it was too late for everyone else. 

You didn’t utter a word as you moved past him, your shoulder cracking against his. He slammed into the door with a grunt. One of his guards stepped in front of you and he flew across the room into the railing of the staircase, not realizing how quickly you could move. The second guard half steps away from you as the pistol that was printing against his jacket comes out. 

Holding out your hands, you wave your fingers towards yourself, “Go ahead, buddy. Make my day.”

The trigger depresses just slightly and you grin, you just need a reason. There’s movement from your side and Nat stands in front of you, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. And you can’t deny to her that you haven’t.

“Stop being stupid,” she whispers harshly, grabbing your wrist and whirling you around. 

Your face slams into the floor but you don’t struggle. You just watch your breath fog up the tile as your body contorts to Nat’s will. Her apologies to Ross don’t make it past the ringing in your ears. There’s a pressure in your shoulder and your knees come up beneath you, your feet following behind them. 

Stumbling towards the back room, you remember this route. It was the walk you made every day back to the holding cells. The cells you tried so hard to convince yourself that the enemy surrounded you. That any day your meal brought by a redheaded witch would be sedated and you’d be taken within inches of your life. 

“Don’t be mad,” Nat tells you as you stare down at the same bed you sat and watched Wanda chew on her pens, “This is just for show. Ross is out of his mind, we’re going. I’ll exhaust my Rolodex. I’ve got favors to use up.”

There isn’t much warning and even less for Natasha when the dull numbness subsides. You sink down onto the floor, your back pressing against the frame of the bed and exhale sharply. Pressing your stinging eyes against your knees, you let out an uncharacteristic noise. A wailing sob that burns your throat. Your body shivering with shaking breaths that used to only wake you from nightmares. 

And then you realized. Your nightmares had become your life. 

_______________________

Your fingers play with the corners of the menu in front of you, eyes scanning words that you don’t comprehend. The only thing on your mind is the number of people inside, the paths around the tables and exits around you. Leaning against the wall behind you, you watch the waitstaff exit the kitchen from your right. 

“You know I hate eating out with you. Do you know why?” You pull your eyes away from a man sitting alone at the bartop and glare at the blonde in front of you, “Because you always want to sit next to the kitchen and anytime a plate comes out, I think it’s mine.”

Your grimace grows into a scowl, “You don’t know what you ordered?”

“Of course I know what I ordered,” she almost looks offended, as she crosses a leg over her thigh, “I just think it smells good and I’m starving and you’re making me sit here when you made me rush out of the hotel breakfast.”

You stare in silence before glancing back down at the menu, taking a sip of the odd tasting tap water in your glass. A slow breath gets pulled in across the table and you brace yourself for more complaints. 

“Do you ever realize how grumpy you get?”

She’s met with more silence. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re not grumpy, you’re pissed off,”

You cock an eyebrow and watch her grumble down into her menu, “Times a million.”

The waiter makes their rounds again, oddly bypassing your table once again. Your brows clench slightly when he stops at the bartop and talks to the lonesome man. 

“I’m sorry,”

The words catch you off guard and you look back across the table, “What?”

Yelena fiddles around with the bag on her lap, drawing your attention but holding the conversation with ease, “That you actually listened to my advice. About being vulnerable.”

You sigh and adjust the piece of metal digging into your stomach, “She’s part of the team, Yel. I’d be worried either way.”

She hums and you sigh before looking her way again, “When are you going to stop lying to yourself? You wouldn’t be a part of this team right now if it wasn’t -,”

“We’ve been made,” you stop her from psychoanalyzing you any further and carefully watch more suited men enter the building. 

The waiter isn’t as subtle as they keep glancing your way, practically pointing at you. You push your shoulders back, it was inevitable. You weren’t regulars here. The two of you were bound to be noticed. And at least you could say now that you didn’t start the fight. 

Yelena stands up, stopping the waiter who just decided to walk out of the kitchen. You hiss at her to stop as she pokes and prods at the food. The three suited men are walking towards you, two already have their hands tucked inside their suits while the other has their knuckles lined with metal. 

“Yel!” you whisper at her. 

“Don’t bother taking this back to the kitchen, it’s trash!” she yells and whips the tray from his hands and slams it into the group behind her. 

You yell, punting the table away from you, knocking a few of the suited men on the floor. A few start stumbling to their feet amongst the shattered plates and sauces. Yel wraps her legs around the unsteady man who was knocked in the head with a ramekin. As she flips him to the ground, your breath is rushed from your lungs as you’re bulldozed back into the kitchen. 

Slamming your elbow into the top of his shoulder, you try to loosen the tight hug the man has on you. It loosens. After you back clangs against one of the many stoves in the kitchen. You grunt, shoving yourself down to the floor and frantically slapping your arm. 

Your shirt smokes after pressing directly against one of the burners. Your back throbs as you hold up a hand, 

“One second,”

The man waves his hand at you, “Thought you were supposed to be a problem. Don’t know why people are so scared,” His knee slams into your face and you’re knocked back onto the ground as the stove door slams between your shoulders, “Get up!”

“Careful,” you cough, trying to move the arm you swear you heard a crack from, “You’ll ruin your dinner,”

Reaching back, you pull yourself up with the help of the stove. Your eyes catch the sight of scallops cooking in oil. With a grunt, you swing your arm and throw the hot oil behind you, feeling it slightly burn your neck with some flyaway droplets. 

The man screams, holding his hands against his face as you smack the pan against the top of his head. His screams end as he collapses to the floor. The pan clangs next to him, 

“You got something in your eyes,” you say before you grimace from the unyielding pain in your shoulder. 

The kitchen door swings open and you see another man walk in. He doesn’t wear a suit like the other men. It’s a dark uniform and you can see the patch on his shoulder. His belt is lined with different knives and you let out a sigh, you really didn’t want to have to shoot anyone today. 

He pulls one of the long blades from its sheath and tosses it with a quiet grin from hand to hand. The blade reflects the light in every direction as it spins and flips through the air. You sigh, going to lift up your shirt but stop as the emergency door is cracked open. The talent show in front of you pauses for a moment as Yel waltzes inside, rubbing her reddened knuckles. 

“Room for dessert?” she asks, and eyes the man take out another knife with a grin.

“You’re the one who was starving,” you remind her, trying to get feeling down into your numbed fingers. 

She sighs, walking forward without hesitation towards the clanking blades. She grabs a simple chef’s knife from a counter she passes, not slowing her pace. The man swings his arm around, going in for a backhanded stab and is only met with air as Yelena sidesteps without a thought. Her foot slides around gracefully as she ends up behind him. 

She leans forward as the blade slices underneath his arm, pulling a yelp from his throat and the knife in that hand clattering to the floor. She ducks between his frantic swings, making it look like a dance as you look around for where they keep the ice. Spinning on her knee, Yelena presses the blade to his upper thigh and pulls her arms up without much resistance. 

Standing up, she steps around the shocked man and places the knife back where she found it, now dirtied with blood. The man collapses to the floor with grunts, trying to press his hands against the cuts that are profusely bleeding. 

“Hit the arteries. He’s got twenty seconds.” she says as she pulls out a bag of frozen peas, “They said always fresh, never frozen. This place sucks,”

Pressing the cold vegetables to your shoulder, you follow her out into the dining area. You see that she fought more than the two suited men that came for you both. The Hydra soldiers you two were waiting for finally arrived and their uniforms were now ripe for the taking. Tearing some of the unneeded clothes, you make a makeshift wrap to keep the frozen peas in place. 

As you folded up the uniform you’d be taking, you handed over one of the shirts that would fit Yelena better. She goes to take it but you hold onto it for one second longer,

“Thank you,” you say, watching as her eyes look at you with her mouth slightly agape, “I listened to you and stopped lying to myself. Now I’ve got three people to worry about.”

“We’re going to get her back. Alive and safe. And we’ll make sure Strucker draws his last breath, too.” she tells you, wiping off a mustard stain before looking up at you, “Wait, you worry about me? You know sweets ruin your dinner.”

You grin, “Speaking of, I saw some macaroni in the kitchen,”

“You ever dine and dash? That dude is definitely dead in there, we won’t get caught.” Yelena excitedly jogs back into the kitchen to get some road trip snacks and leave you alone to the thoughts that fill your head as the sham of a smile falls from your face. 

You hope both of her promises come true but you know you’ll be lucky to have only one come true. And this unending cycle will continue. Tapping the boots against your thigh as you walk, you wonder how much collateral you have to your name.

________________________

Your fist slams forward, over and over again. Making contact with a fury that leaves his nose cracked and blood to pour from split brows. With a grunt and one more crack, you whip your arm down and extend your fingers. They practically groan from being clenched for so long. You stare at the reddening of your skin, wiping away the blood that isn’t yours. You glance over to the soldier’s friend, waiting patiently in their chair as they stare at the wall. There’s soft mutterings coming from them and you wonder if they’re practicing their lies. 

With a sigh, you turn back to the soldier in front of you, his face bleeding and his left eye already swollen shut. You glance down at his dirtied name tag, Fisher.

“Tell me where they are, Fisher. Come on, you were there being a good little soldier. Where is Strucker?” you squat down in front of him, resting your arms on your thighs and attempt to hold onto your patience a little longer this time. 

He huffs and puffs but doesn’t give an answer, you grin at how loyal he is to this madman. You sigh, picking up the pipe you had previously ripped from the wall and used to make his arm slightly crooked. 

“Listen, I don’t have all this precious time and you’re not the only one I need to talk to so,” you swing the pipe with a strong twist of your hips right into his shin, watching as he conceals his screaming into his shoulder. 

“Okay! They, goddamit! I only know where the General is.”

“Keep it coming,” you say, pacing in front of him and manipulating the cold metal between your hands. 

You listen to his directions, the description of the hideaway the General uses for all of his vices. You grunt, knowing you’re sure to find the worst bachelor pad of your life. Fisher continues to babble on, telling you where you can find mounds of cash in the walls and all kinds of classified documents. You’re bareilly paying attention until he brings up a certain scientist. 

“Strucker… he’s trying to do something. Brainwashing or some crazy magic from this staff. I don’t know, please let me go.”

His voice cracks as he leans as far forward as his tied up body lets him. You stop your pacing and look at his miserable face, his lip now starting to swell. The blood mixes with his sweat and you feel a whole new level of hatred. You know what he’s talking about but you wish you didn’t.

“What?” you ask, making sure you heard him right.

He swallows roughly and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, “You can’t save her.”

You clench your jaw, the metal creaking in your hands as he stares in fear, “What is he doing to her,”

Fisher grimaces and stares past you. He shakes his head, he’s done talking to you. He’s looked into your eyes and knows he’s not getting out of here alive no matter how much he tells you. You wish you could lie to him, stroke his ego that he’ll heal from his wounds and live a normal life. All you do though is shake your head at his decision. He’ll recover from his wounds but his face’s natural color is going to be blue from this day forward. Pulling back, your joints practically creak as you clench your fingers into a fist. 

“I’m a nice person,” you whisper and watch him shiver away from your breath, “I’m going to let you think about what you’ve done. And when I come back, we better be on the same page.”

Turning, you replace the pipe with a glass of water and take a sip from it. You realize how thirsty you’ve become and you wonder how much longer you’ll be upright. You’re exhausted and starving but every hour you waste, is another hour Wanda is subjected to hell. You remember clearly what happened when you both were captured. You know it’s only worse with that scientific madman. 

Wiping your bloody knuckles against your pants, you walk to the other soldier. They’ve been having a nice time relaxing and dreaming but they forgot to set their alarm. You toss the glass of water at them, shocking them awake. You watch them cough out the water they inhaled with their gasp and casually grab a chair. Pulling it in front of them, they shake at their binds, probably having gotten lost in their happy dreams. Sitting down casually, you’re hoping that this will be a nicer chat. 

Price has nothing more to say to you than their pal Fisher over there. They spit at you, your jaw clenching when you feel the wetness smack you on the face. She chuckles as you slowly wipe it from your face, flicking it down to your boot. You don’t let the rage show on your face as you look up at her calmly. 

“You feel like talking while your friend takes a rest?” you ask her quietly, crossing your foot on top of your knee.

She stays silent, glaring at you. 

“Tell me where the woman is,” you give her one more chance to offer you something useful.

“What woman, asshole? There’s only some freak of nature,” she sneers at you, thinking she can play games. 

You look Price dead in the eyes. Your graciousness continues, you won’t kill her just yet, “One last time. Where?”

“Fuck you,” she spats out once again and you groan. 

You nod with a smile and don’t blink as you slide the knife from your belt and slam it into her shoulder in one fluid motion. As soon as the blade cuts, her scream fills the cabin and the front door opens. You grab the handle tightly and quickly shake her, 

“You tell me where she is or so help me, you’ll never use this arm again!”

“I don’t know!” she screams, gritting her teeth against the pain, “I don’t know!”

Before you can twist the blade, your arm is twisted behind you as you’re shoved towards the front door. You don’t fight against them but you stop your feet to grab the jacket you left on the coat rack. 

“She knows. She knows where Strucker is,” you tell Nat, sliding your arms into your coat. Looking up, you see the worry in her green eyes and for a second you freeze. 

“Reign it in,” she tells you harshly, “You know how this works. You’re just finding an excuse now.”

You slowly button your jacket, “We need to find her.”

“And you’re not finding her if you’re becoming that,” she slaps the patch on your shoulder roughly, “Again. Go get some air, now.”

Stepping through the door, you slide your hands into the uniform jacket and glance down at yourself. The uniform is filthy, covered in dirt and food from the scuffle you had when you ambushed the place. Dried blood and sweat from the conversation you were having with the two survivors. You climb into the car with a sigh, what the hell was Natasha talking about. She knew as well as you that some things required certain tactics. Maybe you were right all along. She had gotten soft.

Yelena peers back at you from the front seat. She shakes a box of granola bars in front of you but you wave her away, listening to her mumbling about how you’re going to pass out. You run your fingers along your knuckles, feeling a stinging pain you hadn’t felt in a long time. A time you always told yourself you wanted to forget. But here you were, purposely living in the past. 

Glancing up, you see green eyes carefully watching you through the rearview. You raise your brows. 

“You okay?”

You stare at the front door you were pushed out of, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Yelena sighs. 

“What do you want me to say?” you snap, watching the green eyes stare one moment longer and then look away. 

There’s a prolonged silence until a noise has you jumping out of your skin, “That you’re scared.”

Nat’s voice carried in from the open window and you watch her climb into the passenger seat, gently closing the car door. You look her over, she doesn’t have a single drop of blood on her and her face isn’t flushed from exertion. She nods quietly to her sister, the car starting to reverse and leaving dust behind all of you. 

You stare out the window, not giving her the answer she already knows. 

“We’ll find her. The General will know where she is and if he doesn’t, the files on his desk will.”

“Are we going to find her alive?” the real question you’ve been thinking of explodes from your mouth and it’s met with the exact answer you knew it. A heavy silence. “You promise me that and I’ll stand aside.”

“You know we’re doing everything to make that happen. So trust us, she's coming home.”

The car ride quiets until you hear the rumbling of your stomach. With a sigh, you lean forward and grab a few bars out of the box that Yelena had offered you. 

“When we get to the General’s safe house,” Nat peers over her shoulder to look at you properly, “Come in after we clear it. Please.”

You look at her, her eyes flashing down to your split knuckles. How hard they shake as you try to open the simple packaging of the granola bar. You think back to what she said to you in the house and realize the night is lasting much longer than you intended. You let yourself hide back into the darkness and you see that there isn’t always a light to rely on. You’d have to be ready for the light. 

If it came down to it and only one of you made it out, you wouldn't want Wanda to remember you with the things you did to find her. You didn't want her to remember the person that she met for the first time but the one she ended up loving.

Biting into the chocolate chip, you give a small nod, “Fine.”

______________Ch. 19

[deliverred]

It was highly unusual to be left waiting for too long. Sometimes things ran over, students needed help and Lukas had always been such a kind soul to help them but today was…an exception. Their tea had gone cold as had the snacks and he found himself warming both up and handing them out where it seemed a child of the church or a student might have appreciated the treat. The table had been offered to a few students who’d yet to reciever their own brew and he was off to find his odd middle child. The training grounds proved empty as did most other halls he recalled the young man traversing. His brows knit together and suddenly he found his feet traveling to the young man’s room.

A gentle knock was offered and a response was waited for but after a few moments, the door cracked open and he…found himself stunned. “Lukas…?” Matthias stepped into the room quietly and made sure to close the door behind him. He wasn’t unused to this sight. Between Sylvain, Miklan, and the soldiers that were often found that way in their barracks, he understood a bit…too well what might have happened but to see it occur to Lukas… “I was wondering what emergency might have kept you and it seems to be the worst of them all.”

A seat was taken at the end of Lukas’s bed and Matthias found himself leaning over his own legs. “These things do pass…but they will only do so smoothly if you’re clear with others. I…won’t ask you to tell me all of it or any of it at all…but to have you in here like this means it’s something you know needs to be handled.” A hand reached over and gently rubbed the man’s back. Comfort had never been and would never be his strongest suit but he wouldn’t let that be due to not attempting to do so. “People aren’t as simple as they might seem, all the more in moments like what I’m sure has caused you such a wobbly heart.” While he meant the words, he did offer a small shake to him.

“I’m sure they’re worried.” In hindsight, he didn’t know much about those who Lukas was around though…he couldn’t imagine that they’d be the type to be happy with things as they were now.

Lukas doesn't particularly recall making his way back to his quarters, nor any other plans he'd had for that day.

It had been a beautiful day, truth be told. The sun was out, but the air was cool enough to offset it; leaving the day wonderfully balanced. But as soon as he reaches his room, the door is shut on the day and his vision is cast into muted shadow.

Not that he's really seeing what's in front of him at the moment. He rests with his back against the closed door for a prolonged moment, doesn't register the thunk of his head against the wood as he stares into the dead space of his room.

He stays there for an undeterminable amount of time before blinking, eyes feeling gritty.

He pulls in a weary breath, lets it whisper through his lips before pushing off the solid wood of the door to blindly stumble in the direction of his bed. His legs connect with the frame and he lets gravity carry him forward onto the mattress with little care to where he falls; he just misses bashing his skull into the wall.

Lukas lays there with his legs hanging off the side of the bed for a moment before curling up onto his side, knees partially pulled up and arms laced tight against his middle. It's something he's seen others do in an attempt to self-soothe before, though it doesn't really ease the dreadful feeling inside him, nor does it offer much comfort.

The knock to the door goes unheard, likewise the fact that someone is entering until he feels the bed dip with someone else's weight. He's only taking up half of it, curled up as he is, so there's plenty of room for another.

It takes a while for the words to sink in, but when they do, there's another weight added to him. "Matthias, I should have...sent you word. I...," Lukas trails off, words heavy on his tongue as he flicks his gaze to a different spot on the wall. "My apologies."

These things pass...

"I handled it-- I attempted to handle it," he amends, fingers digging in just above the bend of his elbows. "It's difficult to be clear with others when they refuse to see what's in front of them."

The touch against his back is unexpected, and Lukas finds himself frowning in vague bewilderment at the offering of comfort.

It might have been a little awkward, but it does accomplish the task of pulling Lukas out of the tight ball he'd wound himself up in. He felt horribly stiff, distantly wondered how long he'd laid there in that position, before doing his best to shuffle around to properly speak with Matthias without accidentally kicking the man in the process.

Hm. Still had his boots on. He'd have to shake out his blankets later.

"...I rarely assume people to be simple. Everything that goes into...being them is complicated, and trying to understand it all feels like I'm piecing together another language at times," he murmurs, running a palm over his face. Lukas sighs, lets that same hand fall to his chest, presses hard until he can feel the unbothered beat of his heart.

"Is that what this is? An issue of the heart?"

Then take it out. Remove it. What good did it do him, caged in the ice of his ribs? If he could hold it in his hands, bloody and heaving, he could at least prove that it existed outside of his own desire for it to. Maybe then, free of him, it could be what it was supposed to be.

He smiles, fingers curling into the material of his shirt.

"I'm not sure they should worry. They have better things to turn their attention toward, and all I've done is try to sully the happiness they've found."