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

[fleurbly]

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet. 

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened. 

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did. 

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you. 

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more. 

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.  

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes. 

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face. 

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate. 

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.” 

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness. 

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.” 

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door. 

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood. 

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind. 

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them. 

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous. 

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you. 

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on. 

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness. 

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.” 

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.” 

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead. 

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—” 

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.” 

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name. 

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.” 

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far. 

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate. 

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core. 

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely. 

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you.  “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

[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.

————————

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.

[bigtreefest]

Warm Embrace

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: During a rough week, Ari wants to make sure he’s there for you

Word count: 1,249

Content/warnings: crying, non-descriptive mentions of stress, angst, comfort, kissing

A/N: For my sweet, sweet Mel @steviebbboi I hope everything is okay and this can help just a little bit with everything. I love you!!

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @kodaswrld

Main Masterlist

Your eyes burned, straining to see your computer screen so late in the night, but you couldn’t afford to cut your hours short. You were doing important work and actively helping people who really needed it. Who cares what your own life looked like? You’d figure it out. You had tomorrow off anyway, you could just push through until then.

Besides, that would help you forget about everything else going wrong right now. Everything that was so messed up and stressful and out of your control. It was fine. You were fine.

Except Ari saw through it. He saw through the faltering smile you’d given him at breakfast yesterday. He saw through the mumbles you gave him of “I packed spaghetti leftovers for your lunch tomorrow” when you insisted on aggressively doing the dishes the night before. And he saw through you claiming your third cup of coffee this evening was because you “weren’t getting good sleep probably.” Because it wasn’t just bad sleep. It was more than that and it pulled on his heartstrings to watch you trudge through this week.

It wasn’t at all dissimilar to how you’d trudged your way through the apartment to bed after you finally shut your laptop and turned off the dim lamp on your small desk in the corner of the living room. You didn’t even have the energy or drive to brush your teeth before flopping into bed as gently as you could to prevent rousing Ari. He tended to go into work pretty early in the morning, tomorrow included. He’d seemingly slept like a log the last few nights went you’d laid down next to him, but a stretch and low groan in response to you pulling the covers over your shoulder made your heart drop.

Ari turned over in the bed, taking in your form that was turned away from him, curled up as tight as he’d ever seen. Just over the rustling of the comforter, he heard you speak in a small voice, “I’m so sorry, Ari. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He had to fight the temptation to coo at just how torn up you were right now. He knew you were just so strained, and the wrong thing could make it worse, but he was more than happy to offer gentle comfort.

He shifted closer to you, his body wrapping around your own, arms warm and tight, beard next to your cheek where he pressed a gentle kiss.

“I was already up, Sugarplum. Don’t worry about it.”

He moved farther down to kiss along your shoulder as he whispered against your skin again, voice slightly rough with sleep. “You’re amazing, you know that, right? I love you so much. You make me happy by being yourself, and you’re so, so strong.”

You couldn’t help the way tears welled in your eyes, simply sniffling before grabbing one of Ari’s hands and pulling it up to your mouth for a peck. “Thank you. I needed that.”

And for the first time in a week, you felt your body relax into a peaceful slumber.

You woke up to the sun shining on your face through the crack in the curtains. You were used to waking up with cold sheets next to you, but when you stretched out under the covers, rolling over to shove your nose into Ari’s pillow, it was still lukewarm.

You turned your head in suspicion, and that’s when you caught a whiff of sweetness from the kitchen. It was mixed with the bitterness of brewed coffee, which didn’t make sense. Ari should have been gone hours ago, yet you could faintly hear oldies drifting toward the bedroom along with the delicious scent of breakfast.

As you sat up in bed, you noticed an old beaten up sweatshirt sitting on your nightstand. Your favorite of Ari’s. You slipped it on, along with a pair of socks to combat the cold floors and shuffled towards the bedroom door. When you opened it, music blasted through, along with sunlight bouncing off the white walls, although that could’ve been the brightness of Ari’s beaming smile as he watched you emerge.

You rubbed your bleary eyes, trying to help them adjust as you joined him in the kitchen, your croaky voice breaking through.

“Ari, what’s going on?”

He placed a kiss to your forehead before turning his attention back to the skillet on the stove and flipping the pancake that sat there cooking.

From the stack that already sat on a plate on the counter, you could see they were your favorite, filled with chocolate chips and seemingly all the fruits from the fridge. Or as Ari liked to call them…

“Pancakes supreme! Just for you, Sugarplum. Go on, take a seat.”

Your mind was too tired to react to his chipper mood consciously, but beyond your control, a smile began to tug at the corner of your lip as he slid the plate in front of you where you’d taken a spot on one of the kitchen stools. They were still warm, stacked up with pads of the good butter melting in between, a fork and knife tucked in beneath the bottom of the pile. It was perfect, Ari was perfect, and before you could help it, the floodgates opened.

Tears poured down your cheeks and your chest began heaving, shoulders jerking in a sob. And in a flash, Ari was on you, big hands framing your face, thumbs brushing away the salty trails. His eyes were full of concern as he searched for what was wrong.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s okay. Did I do something?”

You took another gasping breath as you shook your head, wrist moving up to wipe your nose before you finally looked at him.

“N-no. A-and yes. Y-you’re supposed to be at work! And you stayed home? For me? F-to do this?”

Your breathing, while still frantic, was starting to calm down when Ari moved his arms to squeeze you tight, your head falling between his firm pecs, arms clinging to his narrow waist. He placed a long, lingering kiss to the top of your head, breath steady in a rhythm that you body couldn’t help but want to match as he rumbled in response.

“Of course I did. I felt like you could use a little extra love today.”

You nodded against him as you pulled his body even closer. Ari knew everything going on, and the two of you hadn’t discussed how much it was affecting you, but you were so grateful he was able to sense it and do his best to help you out on the harder days.

“Yeah. Thank you, Ari.”

You peeled your body from his to look up in his eyes, filled with nothing but the deepest affection and care. No judgement at all. How did you get so lucky?

“I love you.”

The grin that graced his face at that gave you a spark of warmth inside that you hadn’t felt in days, finally getting the peace that helped you let go of everything difficult in life, even if just for a minute.

“I love you more, Sugarplum.”

As you shook your head in amused disbelief, Ari leaned down to place a tender, reverent kiss on your lips. When you wouldn’t let him leave so easily, though, he laughed and smiled, nose still nudging yours playfully.

“You better eat these pancakes before they get cold. Then we can continue wherever this is going.”

Bonus A/N: hope you don’t mind I gave your pancakes a name, Mel.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[kaneaken]

content notes; Natlan AQ spoilers, spoilers for Capitano's real name & backstory, grief, anger (reader), depictions of a nightmare, angst, gn!reader, can be seen as a continuation of my previous capitano drabble

author's note: Please, if you're going to read this, make sure you checked all the content notes! This one is pretty heavy, so please read with caution. I did my best to take from my own experiences as well as some research to make this accurate. I'd hate to write something that was insensitive to people who have gone through these experiences as well. Of course, grief is different for everyone, so I will most likely not be accurate to everyone's experience, but I did my best!

You hate the quiet. Despite its emptiness, you feel closed in. For a nation known for its heat, you feel undeniably cold as you sit, looking out at the blazing sun.

It mocks you. Its bright rays remind you of the life prior to all of this. Your beautiful home. Your love. Everything.

There's a knock. You don't flinch. It was common for the soldiers to check up on you constantly, especially after what happened. However, the soft tone that calls out to you is unexpected.

"Sorry to disturb you. Oh, it's Ororon, by the way. Do you remember me? I brought you some carrots last week. Were they good? They were from my garden, so I can guarantee that they were fresh."

You remembered him. The child from the Masters of the Night Wind. You grew to have quite the connection when he agreed to help the Fatui. The soldiers had told you about him coming by to drop off vegetables. He hadn't stayed long, especially since the soldiers had told him you weren't taking visitors.

You sigh. You wonder what he would say in a moment like this. You should get up. Get up. Get up. Get up already.

You get to your feet, dragging yourself to the door. You must look like a mess as you crack the door open. Ororon's facial expression shifts. Pity. It's always pity when it comes to you. Pity. Pity.

You force a pleasant expression, but you know it looks strange. Your eyes are puffy and red, which help distract from the lack of light in them. Your skin has lost its color. You look pathetic. Extremely so.

"I just wanted to check in again. They actually let me through today, so are you feeling a bit better? I brought some spinach. Granny says they're good for you. Oh, and she asked me to bring you one of her wind chimes for your nightmares."

He hands you a basket with said items. You stare. Your heart felt... warm for a second, but then, the thought that had been haunting you comes back. Were you allowed to accept this? Were you allowed to be happy again? No, not without him. It wasn't fair.

"Oh, one more thing. If you're up to it, the Archon is holding a ceremony tomorrow. It's to unveil the monument to the fallen heroes."

Heroes. Was he a hero? Perhaps to the Natlanese he was. To you, he was a fool. Tied to duty all his life. He left you because his duty to his people came before you.

"I could come by, and we could go together if that would help you feel comfortable. I'm sure Granny won't mind passing by. She hasn't seen you in a while."

Could you stand to see such a thing? A monument to fallen heroes. Could you stand to stare at their immortalization of his honor? Did you owe it to him to try to attend even if the idea causes your heart to twist?

Ultimately, you nod despite the jumbling thoughts in your mind. You needed to make the first step forward, but did you deserve to take that step without him?

It begins happy. You are staring at the cloudy sky with him by your side. You are smiling, and so is he. It almost seems unreal. You've dreamt of this before. It's a memory of when he proposed to you. It was a day you hadn't expected. He always found a way to surprise you, whether it be through gestures or gifts. That day had been no exception.

"You're stiff. Is something the matter?"

"Ah, I suppose I am nervous."

"Nervous? About what?"

"The future. Our future."

He turns to you. You see his smile soften before his face becomes a blur. Again. Just like every night since he left.

When would be the next time you'd see his face? The one hidden behind the mask? Did you even remember what he looked like? Is that why this kept happening? Were you forgetting?

"Did I frighten you?" You let out a breath you hadn't known you were holding as you stared at him. His robes changed. His face became obscured.

"It's me, my love. Do not cry. I am right here."

Liar. Liar. Liar.

There are tears in your eyes again. However, unlike your first nightmare, they don't startle you. You simply wipe your cheeks and sit up. You were sure you wouldn't get any more sleep, so you got ready for the day.

For the past week, you had been in bed, refusing to come out of the room. The soldiers didn't mind you. They brought you food and water and reminded you of your return trip home. You couldn't stand being in Natlan any longer. Not when they threw you glances of pity.

The first knock at your door is a soldier delivering your breakfast. They seemed startled to see you out of bed, almost dropping the tray in their hands.

"It's nice to see you again." Is all they say before they exit.

The second knock at your door is the duo of Ororon and Citlali. They also seemed startled with a hint of relief amongst it. Although, you notice the crease between Citlali's eyebrows as she stares at you. Regardless, she greets you with a smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to come along. I'm sure it isn't easy for you at the moment. If you need anything, we'd be happy to assist in any way," She reminds you to which you nod.

"Granny's right. We're happy to help," Ororon adds.

"Let's get going. I'm sure the ceremony will be starting soon."

You can feel their stares. No matter how much you look away, you feel their stares. Their pity. Stop. Stop it. Don't look. Please.

You are grateful for Ororon's tall stature. Once he notices your discomfort, he does his best to keep your figure hidden. Despite this, you continue to stare at the ground.

You don't lift your gaze as you hear Mauvika take her place in front of the monument. You didn't want to look at her. You didn't want to look at him. You didn't want to look. You were fearful of it coming down on you again. The fear. The dread. The knowledge that he was gone.

"I would also like to take the time to recognize a Fatui Harbinger who sacrificed his life for our cause."

You can't stand it. You feel your heart clench, and your eyes squeeze shut.

"You don't owe them anything! What have they done for you? They treat us as threats!"

"... he defeated his fated foe and protected me in the process."

"My duty is to my people as well as those who fight alongside me."

"But, on this occasion, we honor him as one of our own. In Natlan, all heroes are worthy are celebration."

"What about your duty to me?"

You feel a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up for the first time since you arrived. Mauvika stands before you, her hand planted on your shoulder.

"I know there are no words that will erase your pain."

"I want to be the one to hold you and love you through it all."

"But I want you to know--"

"Will you marry me?"

"He was a hero."

Hero. Hero. He was a hero to them. What was he to you? A duty bound fool.

"The Captain saved us, all of us. He will always be remembered--"

A fool, but he was your love. He still is. He always will be. Thrain. Thrain, why did you leave me?

"Thrain," you mutter. Your voice cracks. You look into Mauvika's eyes. Her confident stare is a contrast to your shaky gaze. "His name is Thrain."

Thrain. Your strength gives out. You feel your legs buckle under you, and you fall to the ground in tears. You look pathetic. You're sure of it, but you couldn't take it anymore.

Not them pitying you. Not them treating him as a hero. Not them acknowledging his strength, not his life. Not them honoring his title, not his name.

"His name is Thrain," you repeat between tears, clutching your hands to your chest. Your ring reflects the bright sun, reminding you of his smile.

"Don't cry, my love. I only wish to make you happy. Will you grant me my wish?"

"I will."

"Even if death rips me from your arms, I shall stay by your side. You will never be alone again."

Liar.

[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

[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 :((

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

Reiji x s/o that is responsible and mature, basically a mirror of him, who was parentified at a young age and never truly got to be a kid to get to know themselves as a person. They’re the only one that can keep up with Reiji’s rigid expectations, though they often hide parts of themselves they don’t know they had to do it. Overall, a person with people pleasing tendencies that hides their emotions.

Glass Masks

Reiji Sakamaki was a man who demanded excellence—and you delivered it with the same precision and poise he upheld in every breath, every gesture. Where others failed to meet his standards, you never wavered. You rose with the sun, kept the mansion in order, held intelligent conversations, and moved with grace that even he couldn’t help but admire.

He never had to explain himself to you. You anticipated his needs before they were voiced. You understood structure, discipline, and silence better than anyone. To him, you were efficient, composed… perfect.

But perfection came at a price.

You had been parentified young—forced into the role of the caretaker, the fixer, the grown-up while still a child. There was no room for tantrums, no space for vulnerability. You learned quickly that emotions were burdens, needs were weaknesses, and being loved meant being useful. And so, you molded yourself into someone who could survive—then thrive—by pleasing everyone. Even Reiji.

Especially Reiji.

Tonight, like every night, you sat beside him in the library, the only sound being the rustle of pages turning and the soft crackle of fire. You read, back straight, expression unreadable. You could feel his eyes drift to you occasionally, but you didn’t look up. You were tired—bone-deep, soul-tired—but you couldn't show it. He expected refinement. Poise. Composure.

"You're unusually quiet this evening," Reiji remarked, his voice cutting cleanly through the silence.

You smiled politely, the kind of smile that didn’t touch your eyes. "I suppose I’m simply focused."

Reiji narrowed his eyes, and you felt the weight of his gaze fully settle on you.

"You’ve been… reserved, even by your standards. You’re always composed, but tonight it feels almost like you’ve disappeared."

Your fingers clenched slightly around the edge of the book. "I didn’t think you’d notice."

"I notice everything," he replied sharply, setting his own book down. "And I find myself concerned. You hide your emotions so well I doubt you remember how to show them."

You flinched. Not visibly, not enough for most to see—but Reiji saw it.

"I'm fine," you said, and the lie tasted familiar, too practiced.

Reiji stood and crossed the room. You didn’t move, didn’t look up. You could feel something shifting in the air—subtle, but palpable.

“You are exceptional,” he said softly, standing just behind your chair. “More than anyone I’ve ever met. You match me stride for stride, challenge me intellectually, bring order where others bring chaos. But you exhaust yourself to meet standards I never asked you to bleed for.”

You inhaled, just a little too sharply.

"You didn’t have to ask," you whispered. "I needed to be enough. I have to be enough. If I fail… I don’t know who I am when I’m not being useful."

He moved in front of you then, kneeling so you couldn’t avoid his eyes. They were dark and unreadable, but not cold. There was something else in them tonight—concern, maybe. Understanding.

"You are not just useful. You are not a tool or a mirror or a shadow of me," Reiji said, voice lower now. "You are a person. And I fear… you’ve forgotten how to be one."

Your breath hitched, the walls you’d so carefully built trembling under the weight of his words. No one had ever seen you—not really. Not the child who never got to play, the teenager who silenced every cry, the adult who never stopped performing.

"I don’t know how to stop," you admitted, your voice cracking.

"Then let me help you remember." Reiji reached out and took your hand—steady, warm, grounding. "Let’s learn it together."

In that moment, something cracked quietly inside you—not in a way that shattered, but in a way that made room for light.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself cry. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough for the tears to slide down your cheeks, the dam to break. And Reiji didn’t flinch, didn’t scold or lecture. He simply held your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he let you feel.

Not perfectly. But truthfully.

And that… was enough.

[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.

[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!

[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.

[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."

[eorzean-tale]

FFxivWrite2024 - Prompt #11: Surrogate

“There you are Otsuya-tan. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Seigen heard his own voice vibrate through his horns and realised that it had come out far sharper than he intended. Even in his summer yukata he felt hot and sweaty in the Hannish sun, and the sight of his little sister playing in the fountain with some peasant-looking children filled him with a sense of indignation and envy. Why couldn’t she just grow up? Be more dignified, like him. 

At twelve summers he thought he knew quite a bit about such matters, and he was pretty sure that Doman-born nobles weren’t supposed to ruin their clothing by drenching them in filthy fountain water. Even if it did look really refreshing. And he was feeling the places where his scales met skin prickle and itch with sweat. 

Her small face scrunched up, making her scales scrape with disapproval as she waded towards him. “Nareema! It is Nareema now,” she told him, matching his indignation with some of her own. Though tiny and delicate-looking, his little sister could glare with the best of them. 

He had expected her to protest his chosen honorific, not her entire name! He reached up to his left horn to stabilise it the way he had seen elders do when their hearing started to fail them. “Come again?” 

“It’s my Hannish name. Nareema. All the students at the lessons have taken one. Well, except Zach, but he’s stubborn and his name is easy to say,” Otsuya told him, but he was shaking his head in denial before she even finished.

“You’re Otsuya! My little sister. From the clan of…” 

“It’s Nareema now! Everyone else is taking a Hannish name! You would know if you ever bothered to go to the lessons.” 

She interrupted him! She, a girl of eight summers. So tiny he could bodily lift her and carry her with one arm. Well, probably two, but who was counting? She interrupted him, her elder and the heir of their clan!

“I don’t need to go to lessons and learn this crude tongue, we’re going home soon,” he countered, hating how his voice cracked. It felt like a betrayal. Even more so when she reached for him, a cool, wet hand slipping into his.

“This is home now,” she told him gently. Damn. When had she grown up suddenly? Become so dignified? Seigen sniffled, shaking his head again. It wasn’t as vigorous this time. 

“It is,” she insisted. “We’re not going back. Everyone knows there’s still war there. Invaders. Otou-sama wouldn’t have made us leave if he could fight them,” little Otsuya pointed out, referring to their father and the head of their clan. Seigen hated that she, young as she was, had accepted what the rest of the household just couldn’t come to terms with. 

Not just accepted, she thrived here. Everything from the people to the customs to the food to the clothes to the weather. Where the entire clan struggled to keep their connection to their homeland and their sense of identity, she had shrugged it off like a serpent shedding an old skin. They had been here for less than a year, and she already felt ‘local’ to him. Like she belonged here. Was it just age that helped her adapt when the others struggled? Or something in her nature?

“Besides, maybe they’ll finally stop calling me a crocodile,” Nareema added softly, looking down. The wisdom he had perceived in her dropped away instantly, and she was just his little sister again. He frowned so fiercely that his brow scales felt tight. Someone had been bullying his little sister? How dare they.

“Alright, I’ll come with you to the lessons,” he promised, telling himself he was only doing it so he could get a word, or fist, in with whoever had been calling her that. Her green skin was not something to be mocked by some stranger!

She squealed in surprised delight, then tugged on his hand suddenly enough for him to tip, ending up in the refreshing chill of the fountain to the laughter of neighbourhood children. Brother and sister spent the rest of the afternoon playing in that water, and even when their parents scolded them for it later Seigen couldn’t get the grin off his face. He was twelve - nearly a man judging by his own wisdom. But maybe, sometimes, it was alright to still goof off. For his sister’s sake, of course.