#this chapter will forever have a firm place in my heart

[menuliso]

ive got the chapter 362 rot again, because katsuki DIED for izuku.

HE FULLY ACCEPTED HE WAS GOING TO DIE, AND IT WAS ALL FOR IZUKU. HE ACCEPTED THE FACT ALL HIS DREAMS WOULD END, THAT HE WOULD CEASE TO EXIST, JUST TO BUY MORE TIME FOR IZUKU.

AUAGAHHAGAJHHHHGHHHHHH

[satowooo]

i. imgonnagetyouback

The one and only son of the Gojo clan had fallen quite hard, completely and utterly, to a lowly woman who came from the dirt, and got his heart broken by her. Years had passed, he was still as angry since the day you left, but he only wanted you back.

contents. modern au, gojo satoru x reader, angst, not proofread.

Whether I'm gonna curse you out or take you back to my house, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back

next chapter

It was pathetic. The sight of Gojo Satoru, a well-respected son of the Gojo clan, was down on his knees right in front of you, begging you to stay, a daughter of a mere servant.

It made him look pitiful and weak, a miserable prince who had his heart shattered by a low class woman like you. But he didn't really give it that much of a thought, ever since he first laid eyes on you. He didn't care what people might've said from the very first time, and he proved it to you a million times as he stubbornly and desperately showed you how much he loves and adores you. So, begging down on his knees is not that much of a deal now, no?

“Stand up, please.”

But you were firm, closing your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. You hated seeing him like this, but you were left with no other choice. Your love for him could risk even the dangers of your life, and you were sacrificing him to save him.

“I do not wish to be with you any longer, Young Master.” You said, uttering his title in a whisper. “What we had was wrong. It was a mistake on my side. And I thought I was in love with you, but it was just a pathetic infatuation and I realised that another man best suits me, and it's not you.”

Your words were nonstop, every single thing that you uttered was shattering his heart into pieces. But Satoru furiously shakes his head, his hands trembling on your lap as his forehead falls on your knees.

“T-that’s not… T-that's not true…”

You remembered everything from that day. Every little detail, every word, every touch, every action, of what had happened stayed forever in your mind. It never fails to shatter you. To make you cry every single time that you thought about him as you lie in the confinements of your small room.

“I have done what you asked for. What else do I need to do–” A whimper escaped your lips as a hand flew over your cheek. Breathing heavily, you felt the sting on your skin as you looked back at the person who had been the cause of your pain.

“Pack your things, and never show your face again.”

Gojo Satoru haunted your dreams and nightmares. He managed his way in your heart, and refused to leave. He was the ghost of your tragic love story, you could only wish that you never should've picked up the pen. It's already been two years since you left, and even until now, your heart only beats for one man and it will always be for Satoru.

So what are you going to do when he comes up at your door, claiming what used to be his?

It all happened so fast that your head can't fathom how you ended back to the place of your nightmares. The Gojo clan's mansion. The place where it all started between the two of you.

Every corner of this place was filled with memories of you and Satoru, all the good and bad. But what you remembered most was the torture, the consequences you had faced for falling in love. You felt like all your scars were slowly tearing apart, opening the wound that was almost healed as you looked back to the man who stood in front of you.

You never should've been back in this place.

“I expect you to work immediately.” Satoru's voice was different. It was laced with authority and demand, not the sweet ones that you remember back when he was yours. “Remember, your family is in the palm of my hands. Try to escape, and you'll face the consequences.”

His eyes looked at you with anger, a pent up emotion that he bottled up all these years. His hands were balled on a fist by his sides, almost trembling, but he wouldn't let you see just how much you still have an effect on him.

Right now, all he feels is anger and hatred for what you did. For leaving him. For running off with another man. For loving him only to break his heart. For letting him hold on to your empty promises.

For those two years, he only loathed you and he's not going to be a forgiving man, he'll make sure you regret. He'll make you beg on his knees, the way he did for you.

“I expect you to be in my office in five.”

Now, you're back to square one. Working as his maid was already bad enough back then, so what's going to happen now that you're back to serve him again?

You can't help but notice how much he changed. Somehow, you can tell that he was still the same, only that he was only mad at you. It was obvious already how he's showing indifference only to you but not to anyone else. His bubbly personality that used to welcome you with warm embraces is now replaced with an angry demeanour of a man who cold-heartedly took you away from your family and took you back to the house where you suffered.

How unfair.

This was not your Satoru.

As soon as Satoru turned around and left you standing, he heaved out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. His heart felt like it was trying to escape from his chest. For the first time since you left, he finally felt his heart beating again.

All throughout those years that you were gone, he relentlessly looked for you. Trying to search your face in unfamiliar places, sometimes getting himself into trouble when he mistakes someone for you. Everyday, he was turning angrier and angrier when you never showed up, while all he needed was proper answers and explanations. He hated all the memory that you had left, and how it tore him to pieces that all of it was just a lie.

He couldn't believe you had the nerve. A woman like you with no name for herself, telling him that a relationship with him was just a mistake as you sought another man. Gojo Satoru was everything anyone could have asked for, so how dare a woman like you? How dare a woman he loved…

Everything comes crashing down into his mind once again. From the first time he saw you and how you've caught his eye. His heart starts to beat frantically, his breath caught into his chest, his tongue tied together. Satoru slumps into his chair as he closes his eyes, letting the memory sink in.

“Who is that woman?” Satoru asked an older servant, seeing your unfamiliar face walking around the garden in a maid uniform as he stared down at you from his window.

“That's [M/L/N]’s daughter. She's here to take her place while her mother is recovering.” The servant answered as she poured him tea.

Satoru watched as you walked quietly, your movements looked calculated and careful. He watched your finger touch a ragged cloth, gracefully cleaning the dirty tables.

From afar, he can see how your skin looked soft and pale. You were a bit thin and looked weak. He can only assume that he could break you with one twist.

Your face didn't have any emotion in it which intrigued him. Even your lips were downturned, like you hated every second of working in his place. You caught his attention in a matter of seconds, a curiosity growing inside him while he watched your every move.

He noticed the way your mood changed when his family's dog, a small golden retriever, came running to you. A smile formed into your face and he swore he could feel all the flowers blooming all around the place. Everything seemed to have lighted up, his heart began to drum in his chest as you kneeled down to the dog, petting and rubbing the cute animal between your hands.

What's so fascinating about you?

He swallowed hard. Satoru felt like a teenage boy realising that he was staring a little too hard. He felt like a stalker for watching you, shivering at his thoughts.

But he wanted to meet you. Something was pulling him to be close to your presence. A magnetic force was drawing him to come near, and it was the very first time that he ever felt like this.

But he'll take his time first. For now, he's going to settle on just watching you from afar, memorising every detail of you, until he is ready.

A knock on the door woke Satoru back to his senses. He straightened up on his seat, erasing the memories out of his head as he coughed. “Come in.”

But how can Satoru completely forget?

You walked inside in your maid uniform, the same dress that you used to wear, and it only took Satoru a matter of seconds for all your pasts to remind him of how much he loved you. He felt a pain in his chest, and for a moment, he wanted to fall back on his knees and beg for you to love him again. But even you had changed.

Satoru was also back to square one. He looks at you, reminded of the first time he had seen your face. The lack of emotion, the frown, the gaze that used to intimidate him, and the wall you had built between the two of you was palpable.

“Take a seat.” Satoru gestured over the chair in front of his table.

He watched you carefully as you stepped inside his office, striding forward with a sense of hurry as you obviously refused to seat. You stood in front of him, an emotion in your eyes that he can't seem to read.

“I have to get back to my family–”

“They are fine.” Satoru immediately cut you off, his voice ringing over your ear. He looked at you with a glare, venom laced in his voice as he says, “You are bound to stay here, as I said so–”

“You can't keep me here!”

Your scream shocked the both of you, but Satoru kept a straight face as he stood up slowly. He chuckled with malice, staring at your helpless state.

“What makes you say that I can't?” He smirked. “I own you now. Every single thing that's yours is also mine, even your family.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, your hands trembling at your side. Your knees felt weak underneath his gaze, burning and crushing your soul.

Everything he said was true. You were in so much debt ever since you left the Gojo mansion, your family almost falling apart if he didn't show up to take you. And now he's claiming every single bit of what's yours, not leaving a single piece behind.

Satoru made it clear when he took you here. He'll pay for everything to save you and your family. Your mother's hospital bill, your father's gambling debts, your brother's education, their food, house, electricity, and all their livings, because you couldn't pay them off by yourself.

So now you're trapped. He's got you wrapped around his fingers.

“You need me, Y/N.” You closed your eyes at his voice, shaking your head in denial. “You can't afford to live without me, and that's the truth.”

It was the truth, Satoru taking her away from her old life.

You were doing just fine when he was gone. But now you don't know anymore.

this is the part 1 of my mini (?) gojo series! i hope you'd like it and anticipate for what's next to come 🥺🫶🏻 [M/L/N] also stand for "mother's last name" in case you didn't knowww ^.^ I also hoped you understood the flashbacks and such.

this is just a prologue of the main story, sooo the real story starts at part 2.

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Ten / Thursday Evening, Four Months Post-Break-Up - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Angst!!! 🌶 This one is a little spicy. 18+ only. If you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

I'm sorry this chapter took forever to post, life got very busy and some of you may have seen that I had someone plagiarising my work on Wattpad and was NOT happy. I got it taken down and finally felt ready to finish this bad boy.

There will be one more chapter coming up shortly, aptly named Chalet Girl Winter. Hope you like it and thank you to everyone who reported the person who was stealing my work 🫶🏽

THURSDAY EVENING, FOUR MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

George's alcohol-glazed eyes bore into yours in a way that made you almost uncomfortable. Surely he did not mean what he just said and was just drunk? Before you could determine an appropriate response, your door buzzed for the second time that evening. Your heart leapt to your throat, knowing exactly who it was. 

Toto.

“Who’s that?” asked George, his tone suspicious.

“Well…” you stumbled over your words, “I was trying to tell you. It’s Toto….”

George’s expression shifted to horror as he groaned.  “Amazing,” he muttered. “Just what I need. I’ll go, forget what I said.”

Your eyes softened, “George…” Before you could finish your sentence, the buzz came again, Toto was obviously growing impatient. “I better get that,” you said, George huffing in response.

You stood there in awkward silence, George glowering as he knew Toto was on his way up and there was no escaping seeing him. Fortunately, the pair of you didn’t stand there long before there was a knock on your door. 

Taking a deep breath, you opened it to reveal Toto standing there, handsome as ever, grinning, holding an impressive bouquet, even larger than the one George had brought.

“Hi,” he said, his smile faltering as he stepped inside and clocked George standing in the hallway behind you, "Hi George, what’s going on here?"

George turned to face Toto, his face now filled with rage, "Of course, you’re here" he spat. "You just can't stay away, can you?"

"George, calm down, Toto, come in," you said, Toto looking shocked as he stepped inside. You quickly closed the door, not wanting your neighbours to overhear the drama unfolding, stepping between the two men. 

"I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me," George snapped, his voice rising as he stepped forward, squaring up to Toto over your shoulder. "Why do you think you can just come here and replace me? Steal my girlfriend?"

Toto, to his credit, remained calm, handing you the bouquet he’d been holding, and moving out in front of you, his hands now raised in a placating gesture as he faced the younger man. "George, I understand you're upset. But this isn’t helping anybody."

"Upset? You don’t know the half of it," George shot back. "You think you can just waltz in here with your yacht, all tall, dark and handsome and your big flowers and your charm and…"

"George," Toto interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "Please, I didn’t come here to argue."

The tension in the hallway was palpable and you could see George's anger teetering on the edge. You stepped from behind Toto and placed your free hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "George, please, it’s been months."

For a moment, you thought George might explode, but then he seemed to deflate, the fight going out of him. "I just... I just wanted to fix things," he mumbled.

“There’s nothing to fix,” you said, looking at the ground as you felt your eyes tearing up. “I’m sorry but I think you should go,”

George glanced back at you, his eyes filled with hurt. "I just don’t understand why things had to end this way. Why him? Of all people?"

"It’s complicated," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "We both deserve to be happy and I think we both know that it wasn’t working between us anymore."

Toto stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring as he placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. "George, it's clear you still care but right now, the best thing you can do is take care of yourself."

George looked between you and Toto, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Toto nodded and pulled out his phone. "My driver just left, let me message him and he’ll take you home.”

“Okay.” said George, looking at you wistfully, “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you watched George shuffle towards the door as Toto typed out a text. You turned to face your former boyfriend, "George, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I hope you find someone who makes you happy."

He gave you a sad smile. "Yeah, me too." With a glance back towards Toto, he added, "Take care of her."

Toto nodded. "I will.”

Then, much to your surprise,  George leant in to hug the older man, perhaps a sign that the journey to forgiveness had begun. “Thanks, boss,” he said.

Toto shot you a look of shock over George’s shoulder, somewhat awkwardly patting him on the back. “I’m sorry for everything.” he said, his deep voice thick with emotion, “I really am.”

George seemed placated by Toto’s words and stepped back from the embrace, his eyes red, filled with emotions. “I appreciate that," he said quietly, casting one last look at you. "I’m sorry I interrupted your evening, I guess I should get going.”

"Don’t be silly. I know it’s weird but you’ll always be welcome here, any time," you replied softly.

“Thank you,” said George, turning to Toto. “Did you say your guy will be here soon? I can wait downstairs and be out of your way.”

“Honestly, take your time,” you said, secretly willing Toto’s driver to arrive asap. As if by magic, Toto’s phone buzzed.

“He’s downstairs,” said Toto, clearly sharing your sentiments as you exchanged a look of relief.

“Thanks, Toto.” said George, “See you guys around.”

As you murmured your goodbyes and George walked out your door, you were floored by the evening’s events. Did George really still love you or was it just the drink talking? If Toto hadn’t come over, what would have happened?

Your mind was racing as you closed the door behind him and Toto immediately pulled you into a comforting embrace, his strong arms enveloping you, putting your mind at ease.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the evening slowly lifting. "I am now. Thank you. I’m sorry about that, it’s not been easy. I bumped into George when I was out earlier and I guess he hit the pub afterwards."

Toto gently rubbed your lower back, soothing your concerns, "No need to apologise, it’s not your fault. I think unfortunately this was always going to happen. He has been behaving strangely with me all season.”

“How come you never said anything?” you asked, leaning into Toto’s chest, “It’s less than ideal.”

“Life is often less than ideal. But we deal with it and move on.” Toto said, pressing a kiss to to top of your head, “How about we get some food and relax? We can take your mind off things."

"That sounds perfect," you replied, “And thank you for these, they’re beautiful,” you added, holding up the huge bouquet Toto had handed to you. 

Toto’s goofy grin had returned, “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman. Although I did picture myself giving them to you in different circumstances.”

You laughed as you made your way through to the kitchen to find a vase for them, gesturing for Toto to follow. “You mean to say that you didn’t envisage my ex being here?”

Toto laughed in return, “Not exactly, I can’t blame the guy though. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Surprised by Toto’s admission you stopped in your tracks, “Well don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Toto quirked an eyebrow as you set about arranging both his bouquets and the roses from George in two vases, struggling to fit them in.

“Did George bring you those?” asked Toto, sidling up to the kitchen island.

“Yep,” you said, feeling slightly guilty, “I don’t want to waste them.”

“Of course,” said Toto, smirking slightly as he clocked how much larger his bouquet was.

“Sorry, I’m being the worst hostess, I got some wine out and then George completely distracted me. Would you like some?” you asked, suddenly flustered by Toto’s presence in your kitchen.

“Relax,” said Toto, stepping nearer to you, reaching around to hold your hip from behind as you arranged the flowers, kissing your neck softly, “I will pour us the wine.”

Melting into the tall Austrian, you finished arranging the flowers and turned to face him, “Sorry, I let the stress get to me. I was kind of surprised when you said you were nearby and then George coming over completely blindsided me.”

“Don’t be silly and stop saying sorry” Toto said, gently caressing the side of your face, “I should be one saying sorry if I took you by surprise. I wanted to see you. I had planned to take you out to dinner but maybe a quiet night in is better tonight?”

“A quiet night sounds wonderful,” you said, stretching up to kiss him, finally starting to calm down from your stressful altercation. It was amazing how quickly you had started to feel comfortable with Toto.

“So this is where you live?” asked Toto, pulling away and starting to take in his surroundings for the first time. Your apartment was small but cosy and somehow Toto’s tall frame looked larger than life in the tight space of your kitchen, almost as if he didn’t belong.

“Yes,” you said, feeling awkward as Toto surveyed your domain. “My home for the last four years. I know it’s nothing compared to your yacht even but…”

Toto quickly interrupted you, leaning over to kiss you once more before pouring out two generous glasses of wine. “Stop it. This place is perfect. It’s you and that’s what makes it perfect.”

You chuckled, knowing he was being polite and was used to much grander surroundings, "Thanks. I’ve tried my best!"

Toto finished pouring and handed a glass to you. "To a quiet night in," he toasted, clinking his glass with yours, his eyes crinkling warmly as he smiled at you.

"To a quiet night in," you echoed, taking a sip and feeling the tension of the evening finally begin to melt away.

FRIDAY MORNING

As your eyes fluttered open, crisp Winter sunlight started to spill through the curtains and you were finally content. Toto had kept a firm grip around your waist all night and waking up in his strong arms was bliss. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest pressed up against your back as he slept peacefully.

Having ordered dinner in, spent far too long carefully selecting a film to watch together and then watched it for all of ten minutes before you were all over each other, your quiet night in had taken a wilder turn. Having only had the one time with him on the yacht, you hadn’t known what to expect but Toto had more than delivered. You were sore in the way that you only felt after a night spent fucking, enjoying each other’s company and letting loose for the first time in what felt like forever.

Basking in the post-sex glow, you snuggled closer into Toto before you dropped back off to sleep, knowing that you didn’t have any commitments for the day and could enjoy a lie-in.

– – – 

Rousing from your sleep for the second time that morning, this time was different. Your bed was cold, there was no strong arm cuddling you, Toto was nowhere to be seen and your heart dropped. You hadn’t discussed whether he would stay the night but to wake up and find him missing was somewhat disheartening. Perhaps you’d gotten the wrong idea? Cara and Marion’s words of warning swam around in your head, leaving you wondering.

That was until you heard a clatter coming from the kitchen. Easing yourself out of bed, you fetched your bathrobe, slipped it on and made your way to the source of the noise.

“Morning!” said Toto brightly, turning to face you. He was wearing nothing but boxers and a copious dusting of what looked to be flour.

“Good morning,” you said sleepily, making your way over to him, realising what he was doing. He was making pancake batter. You were floored, in what world does a man who has staff to do everything he could ever dream of wake up and start making pancakes? “This looks interesting.”

Toto looked a little sheepish, bending down to kiss you, coating you with a light sprinkle of flour. “Sorry for the mess, I thought I would surprise you with breakfast in bed and clean up without you seeing.”

“Oh my goodness,” you said, “Don’t worry about that!” You smiled widely at your beau, “I thought you’d left, I’m just happy to see you.”

“Why would I leave?” asked Toto, quirking an eyebrow, “I am not working today, I thought I told you.”

Casting your mind back to the previous night, you suddenly recalled him saying something about having Friday free - you were an idiot for thinking otherwise. “Sorry, my bad,” you said, coming closer to him, placing a hand on his hip as you surveyed the carnage that was your worktop. He’d taken the bowl off of your Kitchenaid but managed to coat most of the worktop and himself in flour. “Have you made pancakes before?”

“Have I made pancakes before?” Toto repeated back to you, aghast, “Who do you think I am? A heathen?”

“Well, it’s not like you were making pancakes every day on the yacht…” you replied sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t insulted.

“That was my holiday, I’m not cooking on holiday, especially not for six guests,” said Toto grinning, “Now that you’re up I can ask, do you want tea or coffee? I know you drink both.”

Grinning that he remembered this small detail, you replied, “Maybe coffee this morning, something kept me awake all night.”

Smirking, Toto turned around to face you, “Sounds like a fun night…”

Returning his look, you leaned up once more to catch his lips with yours, “Indeed it was.”

“Well there’s more where that came from,”  said Toto boldly, his hands starting to caress your hips as he gazed down at you.

“That’s good to hear,” you said, sliding a hand under the waistband of his boxers, stroking his bare hip idly. 

“We have time later, let me finish breakfast, go back to bed and I’ll bring it to you,” said Toto, taking your wandering hand in his.

“No, I can help, honestly,” you said, “How about I make the coffee?”

“Ok.” said Toto, pressing a kiss to your hand before dropping it, “Deal.”

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

By the time Toto had left, he’d spent the best part of the weekend with you, only having left your side to go and grab some fresh clothes, not having planned to stay over. You’d spent a good part of the weekend in bed, making the most of your time together before Toto had to leave for the final race of the season in Abu Dhabi.

Aside from the obvious, you’d also spent time getting to know each other better, exchanging stories about your childhoods, your crazy family members, not to mention your hopes and dreams. Toto was a good listener and you were pleasantly surprised that he even remembered things you’d told him when you’d first gone to explore the cove and sat by the waterfall. 

Life could be strange and surprising sometimes and Toto was certainly turning out to be a man full of surprises. If you could have time-travelled back to the days of you sitting patiently in the garage watching George drive around, your past self would have baulked at the idea that you’d now be so close to his intimidating Team Principal who had never even looked twice at you. You knew that you would never have believed it but stranger things had happened.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, ONE WEEK LATER

The following weekend you settled down on your sofa, a glass of wine and snacks in hand, to watch the final race of the season. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Granted, your situation was an odd one, rooting for your ex-boyfriend’s team because your current not-quite boyfriend owned and ran it was a somewhat unusual predicament but you wanted to see how they got on. 

Mercedes weren’t fighting for a driver’s championship but could still do well in the constructors and were competing against Ferrari for second place, something you knew that Toto wanted desperately. It meant more to the team collectively and more to the shareholders.

You’d promised him you’d be watching as you’d waved him off so true to your word, you settled down to watch. As the camera panned around you kept an eye out eagerly for any glimpse of Toto. Searching hungrily for that famous white shirt or tousled dark hair. You knew that the cameras often liked to linger during races as he was particularly emotional for a Team Principal so it would only be a matter of time before he was shown. 

Sure enough, the race had only been running for a few laps when George made a particularly impressive overtake and Toto was shown enthusiastically celebrating. Butterflies started as you took in his dimpled grin, quickly turning to nausea as the camera panned out to show him wrapping his arm around a willowy blonde on his left-hand side. She was statuesque, beautiful and all too close to the man who’d recently stolen your heart. Tears started to form as you saw him flash a handsome smile at her which she returned, leaning into him, their heads close as his hand lingered on her waist.

You were devastated. Of course, Cara and Marion had warned you about Toto’s playboy tendencies but you naively had believed that Toto was not seeing anyone else. How could you have been so foolish? He was just using you and going home to a model-like blonde. In a fit of rage, you turned the TV off. This was clearly your karma for what you had done to George.

– – – 

Having turned your attention to cleaning your flat for the rest of the afternoon, you spent the next few hours dwelling on the cosy image that was now burned into your mind and were livid by the time your phone rang. 

Toto. The name flashed on the screen as you swiped to decline the call. A few minutes later and he rang once more.

By the end of the afternoon you had six missed calls from Toto so after you’d checked where Mercedes had finished (you were relieved to see they had come second in constructors- you weren’t completely heartless after all), you turned your phone off. 

You didn’t want to talk to Toto, you didn’t want to see him. He’d lived up to his reputation and you felt like a fool. What was he playing at, flaunting another woman on screen when he knew you’d be watching? You briefly considered sending a message to Cara as you knew she was at the race and would suitably berate Toto for his cruel behaviour, but you decided against it. It was time to take the high road and ignore him. He was probably out celebrating with the mystery woman anyway.

You didn’t sleep that night, restlessly tossing and turning as the mental picture of Toto’s hand on another woman’s waist lingered in your mind. You knew it was incredibly hypocritical considering the circumstances that you’d gotten together but you were floored by the cruelty of which he’d flaunted another woman when he knew you’d be watching. It was sick and twisted and you were upset at yourself for being so stupid.

MONDAY MORNING

Finally having dropped off the sleep, you were rudely awoken by the buzzer of your door. You groaned as you woke up, your eyes puffy from a night spent crying. It was still dark and checking the time on your clock, you saw it was five o’clock in the morning. There were only two people in the world who would have the audacity to wake you at this hour and you groaned once more, not wanting to see either of them.

The intercom buzzed once again, whoever it was growing impatient. Getting out of bed, you padded along to the hallway to answer the door.

“Hello, can I help you?” you said wearily, the annoyance clear in your tone.

“Is everything okay?” came a deep, heavily accented voice over the speaker. Fuck, it was Toto. Although you hadn’t wanted to see George, he was easier to deal with and get rid of.

“You tell me,” you said indignantly, yawning.

“Can I come up?” asked Toto, “I am sorry if I woke you, I was worried when I didn’t hear from you.”

Knowing the man as you did, you knew he was persistent so reluctantly you pushed the key button and answered tetchily, “Sure, come up.”

“Have…” Toto began answering but you cut off the intercom, waiting to see how he’d explain himself face-to-face.

Knowing he was on his way up, you steeled yourself and hurriedly tried to flatten your bed hair in the hallway mirror as you caught sight of yourself looking like a wreck. You were fighting a losing battle but didn’t have time to do more as a knock landed on your door.

Cracking the door open you were surprised to see that Toto was still wearing his work uniform, he must have come straight from Abu Dhabi. He looked equally as shattered as you felt and it somehow comforted you to know that Mr Perfect was not always so. His normally pristine white shirt was rumpled and his hair was nothing short of a complete mess.

“Thank goodness,” he said, pushing the door wider and coming towards you, trying to pull you into an embrace.

“Why?” you said, annoyed at his pretences and turning away from his arms.

Looking hurt at your rejection, his brow furrowed, “I thought something bad had happened. I was trying to call and it kept not working, I couldn’t leave a voicemail. I came straight from the track.” He gestured down at his clothes, “Is everything okay?”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, annoyed that he was not catching on. “No. It’s not. Why would you tell me to watch the race and then do what you did? Rub it in my face.”

“Huh?” he asked, running his hand through his hair as he often did when he was nervous. It was a tick that you’d noticed. “What do you mean? What did I do?”

“Wow.” you said, “The camera panned to you… and your girlfriend.”

“Huh?” he said, still confused. “What girlfriend?”

“The tall blonde you were draping yourself all over. Rub it in my face why don’t you…” 

Toto cut you off, “My sister?”

Floored by this, your face dropped. “Your sister?”

“Yes my sister,” said Toto, his expression darkening as he realised what you were accusing him of.

An awkward silence crept in and you were not sure how to respond. In hindsight, you had been quick to jump to conclusions. Perhaps driven by guilt over the way you’d handled things with George, you jumped to think the worst of Toto.

“This is why you ignored my calls?” asked Toto, looking thunderous, “Because you thought my sister was my girlfriend?”

Feeling smaller by the minute you shrunk back towards the wall, “I suppose.” you mumbed, “Look, I’m sorry, I leapt to conclusions.”

“You could say that,” said Toto, folding his arms, “I was worried about you, I thought something bad had happened and all this time you were sitting there thinking the worst of me?" His voice was thick with disbelief. "You didn't think to ask me before shutting me out?". His dark eyes bore into yours and you could feel the weight of your accusation.

You swallowed hard, the realization of your mistake sinking in like a stone. "I’m sorry," you said, "It’s just that… I’ve been burned before and I guess I panicked."

Toto's expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he stepped closer. "I understand that you're scared, but I’m not George, and I'm certainly not the kind of man who would play games with you. I’m insulted that you would think I would do something like that."

You winced at his words, the guilt gnawing at you. “I just… I didn’t know what to think. It all felt too good to be true."

Toto sighed, reaching out to cup your face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the tension in the air. "I’m not perfect, but I’m not going to lie to you. If I ever make you feel uncomfortable or unsure, I want you to tell me, be direct."

Feeling like a fool, you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "Direct, I can do that," you whispered, your voice cracking, leaning into his touch. “Why did you come back? You should be out celebrating!”

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "So you did watch the race?" he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin. "Because I care about you, more than you know."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling, "Of course I did, I care more than you know too," you admitted.

Toto's smile grew and he leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, reassuring kiss. The tension between you melted away as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened and when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Toto looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "there’s a way we could put this little, let’s say, misunderstanding behind us."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

He grinned, a wicked smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "I have some ideas.”

You nodded eagerly, all thoughts of your earlier insecurities forgotten as he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bedroom.

– – – 

Later that morning, as you lay tangled in the sheets, your head resting on Toto’s bare chest, he broke the comfortable silence. "You know," he began, his voice a soothing rumble beneath you, "I have been thinking. How would you feel about coming skiing with me next week? I have a chalet and I always invite people at the beginning of the Winter break."

You looked up at him, enchanted by the thought of a snowy getaway. "That sounds amazing," you said, smiling. "But… when you say people, who do you mean?"

Toto hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Well, normally friends from the team. James, John, some of the other engineers. George also mentioned that he might be free… I thought I’d ask if you would be okay with him joining us."

The mention of George sent a ripple of unease through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. If Toto was willing to include him, it was only fair for you to try to be okay with it too. "I suppose," you said cautiously. "I’ll drop him a text and see how he feels about it. If it’s easier just take him this time."

Toto nodded, "That’s fair."

"I’ll text him now and see what he says," you said, grabbing your phone from the nightstand and typing out a quick message, asking how he felt about the idea. To your surprise, his reply came almost instantly.

Yeah, that's fine. Toto asked me the other day. I'll be bringing someone too, so it should be fun.

You stared at the message, your heart sinking slightly. George bringing someone else was entirely reasonable, but it still stung more than you cared to admit. He’d been busy declaring his love for you just one week ago and now he was bringing someone for a weekend away?

"Is everything okay?" Toto asked, noticing the change in your expression.

You nodded, though the feeling lingered. "Yeah, he said it's fine. He's bringing someone too."

Toto's eyes softened as he sighed, "I know. He already asked me. Are you sure you're okay with that?"

"Yes, just a little surprised after his outburst the other week," you said, still wondering what that had been about if he was already seeing someone new.

“I was too.” said Toto, his brow furrowed, “But I know him, he overthinks, it will be good for him.”

At that, you managed a small smile. "I think it will be good for all of us. It's time to start new chapters, right?"

Toto studied your face for a moment, then nodded, pulling you close again. "Agreed," he said, kissing the top of your head.

FRIDAY MORNING, ONE WEEK LATER

The week leading up to your ski trip had flown by and anxiety lingered at the back of your mind. Trying to take the high road once more, you kept reminding yourself of the progress you'd made. George’s last drunken visit had given you a strange sense of closure and Toto’s less than happy reaction towards your unwarranted accusations had reassured you that he was somewhat of a realist. A few days away should do you all the world of good.

As you found yourself in a sleek black car with Toto on the way to the airport, the scenery blurring by, your thoughts drifted to the upcoming weekend. The air between you and Toto was comfortable, though the unspoken tension of the past week still hovered.

Toto reached over, squeezing your hand as if sensing your unease. "We'll have a great time," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that made you believe him.

You smiled, squeezing his hand back. "I know we will."

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen@amandadesantasworld @formulaal

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

Chapter Thirteen - Glass heart

☆☆☆

"Dream..."

Morpheus moves his head slightly to the side so he can see you over his shoulder in the corner of his eye. Your voice was soft, and he would linger on it if he wasn't so... upset about you leaving.

"I did not say you could go to her."

You can hear the warning tone in his voice. To anger the dream lord was never a good idea, and you hadn't intended to anger him, though knowing what you did what do as much.

"I know. But, I cannot allow you to kill her."

"She is the vortex. She could destroy everything." He turns so he's facing you properly.

"Maybe she won't!"

"I'm not talking the chance to find out!" He raises his voice. "She has the ability to destroy everything. Everyone." His voice goes soft at the end.

"She's barely an adult. It's not fair..."

"When did you come to care so much about the mortal?" He asks.

"When I found out what you intend to do." You look him in the eye. "I am asking you to find another way."

"There is no other way."

"Kill me in her place. There must be some way I can swap places with her." You say desperately.

He stares at you. The silence is heavy and you have to wonder what's going through his head.

"Kill you...?" The words part from his lips in an almost whisper. He can't believe you would ever say such a thing.

"I have died for you before, I would do so again. This time, I offer my life for hers." You say, standing firm.

He still can't believe what he's hearing.

"No."

"My lord-"

"I will never take your life. Ever. Do you understand me? Not for any reason. The day you died... a piece of me died with you. Even after we met again in your new form, the image of you on the floor... in your own blood, it never left my mind. I swore to myself I would never let that happen again."

You stand there, tears threatening to fall.

"My lord... I cannot stand idly by while you dare take the life of a young woman who only wants her family back. If... if you're going to go through with this... I shall never forgive you."

Morpheus swears his heart shattered. No words have ever hurt so much. At least, n words from you had ever hurt him so much.

"Fine."

He can't find it in him to argue with you, to fight with you. If he must live with your anger toward him for the rest of time, so be it. He accepts this punishment.

You're not quite sure how to feel right now. You didn't think he would just accept your words. Did he know you were just upset not actually going to hold this over him forever? You're not entirely sure.

"Fine." You repeat.

You walk away.

Morpheus watches you go.

☆☆☆

You sit in the library. Perched on the table as you stare intently at the books on the shelf in front of you. Your leg swings restlessly back and forth.

You're agitated, anxious, upset.

There was no stopping Morpheus, and you had told him you would never forgive him, but you know deep down that wasn't true. You loved him too much to ever stay angry at him forever. It was hard to be eternally angry at him, you were sure of it.

However, in this moment, you were still upset with him.

Lucienne walks in and finds herself confused by your appearance in the library. She glances around to find you here alone.

"Are you alright?"

Startled by her voice, you look up quickly and stare at her for a few moments. Your mind settles and you look back at the books.

"Fine. Just fine."

Lucienne is unconvinced by your words and comes closer. You resist meeting her gaze again as she comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the bookshelf.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

You sigh softly.

"Lord Morpheus found me and told me he was still going to go ahead with killing Rose... I... I don't want him to. I don't want him to kill anyone."

Lucienne's expression softens. "What else?"

"I... told him I would never forgive him if he went through with it."

"Oh, come on now. We know you didn't mean that."

"I think he believed it." You tell her softly.

Lucienne looks slightly concerned. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers. You lift your gaze to meet her eyes.

"Lord Morpheus is a stubborn old fool who still follows a lot of the old ways. But if there is something I know for certain about him, it is he cares deeply for you, and he would never do anything that would ruin that bond you both share. I am certain there is another answer to play here. We just need to find it."

You say nothing as she let's go of your hand and turns ro her books.

If only you could believe her words.

☆☆☆

Unity Kincaid has fallen asleep. She finds herself in a grand library, her hand brushing against the spines of the books that sit on the shelves next to her.

She is searching.

Lucienne sees the woman searching among her books and approaches her. "May I help you?"

The library doesn't often get visitors from dreamers.

"Oh, yes, please. I'm looking for a book."

"We have every book ever written, as well as those yet unwritten." Lucienne says proudly.

"I'm looking for the story of my life, had things turned out differently." Unity says.

"I have detailed accounts of sleepers' dreams."

"No. No, thank you. I've had more than my fair share of dreams." She tells Lucienne. "I want to read about my unlived life."

"I'm not entirely sure we have those volumes."

"If you have every book ever written, and every book that will ever be written, it must be around here somewhere." Unity says.

She walks to the opposite shelf and spots the book immediately. "There I am." She pulls the book from where it sits and opens it.

"You're Unity Kincaid? Rose Walker is your great-granddaughter?"

"Yes. How'd you know Rose?" Unity asks.

Lucienne looks at Unity with a column expression.

☆☆☆

"Death is not always such a bad thing." Morpheus tells Rose. They stand in the lands that were once full of beautiful meadows. "You could stay here if you like. My raven was once a mortal."

Though he referred to Matthew, his mind thought of you. You had never been mortal. You just appeared as one. He had to shake you from his mind for now.

You would never forgive him, even if Rose accepted his offer.

"Wait! Sir!" A voice calls out.

Gilbert comes running over.

"Gilbert? What are you doing here?" Rose asks, confused by his sudden appearance. She did not yet know of his true identity.

"This is Fiddler's Green." Morpheus says.

"You? You're a Dream?"

"I am." Gilbert nods. "I, I left my post here to experience life as a human being." He explains. "A life which I humbly offer in exchange for yours."

Morpheus feels his heart sink. You had tried to do the same. His Dreams were all trying to protect Rose Walker.

"I'm afraid that's not possible." Morpheus states. "For the Dreaming and the waking world to live, the vortex must die."

"Then what's the point of a vortex?" Rose asks. "Why do we even exist?"

"Honestly..." Morpheus can't answer for even he doesn't know.

"I have a theory," Gilbert starts. "When a human is at the center of the Dreaming, is it not to remind us that we exist because humans dream, not the other way around? The miracle of humanity itself should always be more vivid to us than any marvels of power."

"I cannot find it in my heart to punish you for leaving Fiddler's Green. But it is time you took up your appointed position once more." Morpheus says fondly.

"It would be my honour, sir. It was enver my intention to abandon my role."

"What was your role? Who were you?" Rose asks him.

"Oh, my dear, Fiddler's Green is not a who. It is a where. I was not a person. I was a place." He explains. "And after your death, of you stay in the Dreaming, visit me. Walk in my meadows and my green glades. Rest beneath my trees."

Morpheus smiles slightly at his friend.

"Farewell, Rose Walker. It was a privilege being human with you."

As Gilbert opens his arms, his form begins to drift apart, turning into many many butterflies that fill the air. The ground turns green with luscious grass, and the hills become full of life. The area is so green and beautiful.

It truly is a dream.

Morpheus stands there and looks at the young woman in front of him. If there was any other way he would take it. He didn't want to her hurt her. He didn't want to hurt you.

"I do not wish to take your life. But we all have responsibilities and this is one of mine."

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

"I am sorry."

"Just do it." Rose says. "Whatever it takes to save my brother and my friends. I'm ready."

Morpheus raises his hand, much like he did to the Corianthian. He stares at Rose, watching the way she accepts her fate.

"Stop!"

Morpheus turns and sees you standing there. You look flushed as if you had ran here. Behind you is Lucienne and a woman he does not recognise.

You stand between him and Rose. His eyes stare into yours with longing.

"Unity?" Rose looks at the other woman. Morpheus can't bring himself to look at anyone other you.

"This is Unity Kincaid," Lucienne says. She's not entirely sure the dream lord is listening, but he is.

"I am Rose's great-grandmother."

Morpheus moves his eyes from you to her. You remember to breathe now you are no longer looking at his deep, beautiful eyes. You find your footing and glance at the other women, trying hard to focus.

This tension between you and Morpheus was growing, and you needed to control yourself.

"According to this book, I was meant to be the vortex of this age." Unity holds up the little book.

When Lucienne found out who Unity was, they went through the book together. Lucienne did not hesitate to come to you and explain everything, stating there may yet still be a way to save Rose and fix your problem with Lord Morpheus.

"But because you were imprisoned and locked out of the Dreaming, that fate was handed down to my descendants."

"I don't understand," Morpheus mutters softly.

"You're not very bright, are you?" Unity sighs. "Come here, Rose."

Rose goes over to Unity. "I want you to reach down inside yourself and give me whatever it is that makes you the vortex."

"But how?"

"You're dreaming, darling. Anything is possible." Unity tells her softly.

Rose looks down at herself and then carefully inserts her hand into her chest. You watch with baited breath as she searches for that thing. Slowly, she pulls out what appears to be a glass heart with a storm swilling inside of it.

A heart you had seen before.

Unity takes it and holds it in her hands. "Thank you, Rose."

Morpheus regards the heart and then looks at Unity.

"I am the vortex now, Dream King, as o should have been long ago." Unity exclaims. "So, leave my great-granddaughter alone."

Unity looks down at the heart. Everyone else does, too. It begins to crack in her hands. A blinding light floods out of it, and Morpheus has to catch Unity to stop her from falling.

"Unity?" Rose speaks her name.

"What happened?" She asks.

Morpheus looks at her gently and speaks to her in a calm and soft voice. "You died. So that Rose might live."

"I'm so sorry." Rose looks at Unity with despair.

"No, don't be. I'm not." Unity tells her. "I was meant to have died a long time ago, Rose. But if I had, I would never have met my golden-eyed man, and we would never have had our beautiful baby girl, and you would not have been born."

You look at Unity with a sense of dread.

The look on Dream's face tells you he knows too.

"Wait, the father of your child had golden eyes?" Morpheus asks.

"I've never seen anything like them." Unity says.

"I have."

Desire.

"Goodbye, Rose, darling." Unity says. They hug.

"You and your brother are children of the Endless. You have suffered enough." Dream tells Rose. "You may leave this place. Goodbye, Rose."

Rose wakes up.

☆☆☆

You ruffle your feathers as you perch on your bed. He had kept the room. Despite everything, he kept the room. You were kind of glad.

Though you still weren't sure you wanted it. You were debating asking him if there was a way to remove your human form completely, but you were too scared to ask.

Dream was currently in his sibling's realm dealing with the fact that Desire had sired a child with Unity and had almost made Dream kill one of their blood.

It was a nasty business.

Still, Rose lives. Yet, you find yourself wondering if there was a way to take back your words. Granted, he didn't kill Rose, but you still said out loud you would never forgive him if he had. You can still see the pain in his eyes when you close your own.

There's a knock at your door, and you look at it, startled. Maybe if you keep quiet, whoever it was would leave. You had an inkling he had returned and was seeking you out. You were not ready to talk to him yet.

"I know you're in there."

His voice was like smooth velvet. It was sound you could never tire of hearing. You wanted him to read every book there was to you just so you could lose yourself in beautiful voice.

"Come in." You call out meekly.

The door opens slowly, and he steps in. Morpheus finds himself disappointed to see you in your raven form.

"I told you to get rid of this room." You say, looking up at him through your little beady eyes.

"Yes. I couldn't." He comes to stand beside the bed.

You both stare at each for a while before you speak again. "Did you need something?"

"We need to talk."

You feel dread full your tiny body. "Oh."

Morpheus breathes softly and quietly. "Person to person."

You knew he wouldn't let you hide in your raven form. As a human, you couldn't hide your feelings, your expressions from him. He would see you as you were.

With a flap of your wings, you transform. You sit on the edge of the bed. Morpheus' lips twitch slightly at the sight of you.

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

He takes a seat beside you on the bed, noteavjng a whole lot of space between you. His coat brushes along your leg. His hands settle between his knees as he looks at you.

"I have come to apologise." He says.

You look at him with caution. He supposes you have every reason to be wary. He does not apologise often.

"I was doing what I thought was right. What needed to be done to protect everyone and everything. To protect... you."

He watches the way your browser creases. The cute little knitting of your brows as you try and comprehend his words.

"I would never forgive myself if I ever upset you beyond forgiveness. You have been my most trusted ally from the very beginning, and without you, I am hopeless. I... I watched you die once. I do not wish to ever see that happen again. Flying off to look over Rose while the Corianthian roamed nearby was not your wisest choice. Nor do I fault you for having a heart."

You drop your gaze to the ground in front lf you.

"I... I wish to have you by my side for eternity. I wish you remain as you are, perfect in every way. I wish to hold your hand and see your eyes as they are now. I wish to call your name and see you smile at me."

He slowly reaches out, and you watch as his fingers slide of yours with such gentleness. His hand slowly cups your own and guides over to his lap where he covers your hands with both of his.

"I wish you to allow me the privilege of falling in love with you as I have recently found myself doing so."

Your eyes find his. His which are so blue and so full of stories and emotions. Your lips part as you stare at him intensely.

"Will you allow me that honour?"

"Huh?" It's the only sound you can find yourself making.

"Will you allow me to spend an eternity making it up to you? An eternity begging for your forgiveness and your affection?"

Dream does not grovel for anyone, but for you, he would get on his knees and beg a thousand times.

"What are you talking about?" You ask softly.

One of his hands leaves yours to reach up and caress your cheek softly. He looks at you so closely. His head is closing in, inch by inch. He is so close. So warm.

"I am asking for your forgiveness."

"You already have it," you whisper.

"Then I ask for your love."

You stare at him. "Love?"

"Yes." The word leaves his mouth so softly. You almost didn't hear it. "Can I?"

You inhale quietly. All those feelings, those new emotions, were starting to make sense. The way your heart ached for him. The way you wanted him to look at you. The way you needed him to speak your name.

You had been falling in love with him from the moment he first touched you in this form.

The way he held you down in Hell. The way he reached for your hand when the Corianthian was threatening everyone. The way he looked at you now.

"Yes."

Morpheus smiles as he leans in the rest of the way and lets his lips meet your own. He wraps his arms around you carefully and pulls you into his chest. He needs to feel you against him.

You return his kiss as your eyes close. Your hands come to rest on his shoulder and bicep. You lose yourself in the feeling of his soft plump lips.

When the kiss comes to an end, he rests his forehead against your own and speaks softly. "It will not be easy, loving an Endless."

"I know," you say.

He smiles. "Yet you'll love me anyway?"

"Yes. I don't think anyone could ever stop loving you, Morpheus."

He chuckles. Perhaps your words are true.

"I will look after you."

You shake your head. "It is not me who needs looking after. You need someone to keep you in check."

You both chuckle.

"Yes. Perhaps I do."

You lean forward and claim his lips again. Morpheus does not hesitate to pull you in close again.

☆☆☆

It is true what he said. It was not going to be easy loving Dream. Your love would be tested by ghosts of his past and unforseen circumstances.

However, that's a story for another time.

For now, his love is all yours. And yours is all his. Inevitable.

☆☆☆

TO BE CONTINUED WITH SEASON 2

@missdreamofendless

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@sitkafay

@snowsatsu

@ladyofketterdam

@thoughtsfromlayla

@modest-irish-goddess

@mystic-mara

@dreamingblueberries

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@modest-irish-goddess

@theyluvmimi

[shotgunbunny]

Cherry wine bunny looses her cherry

WC:2.6k+ GIF by dilfgifs

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

[dark! cult leader!Ari Levinson x airhead!Reader]

[warnings: will have dubcon/noncon, cult aspects, 6'6 Ari, Older man and younger woman, reader is over 18!, will have murder, violence etc. air head reader!, busty reader, basically bimbo reader!]

[warnings for this chapter!! NONCON/DUBCON?!?!? manipulation!! smut!! oral (f recieving)!! p in v sex!! virginity loss!! dirty talk!! spitting!! daddy kink!! breeding kink!! cream pie!! the truth is revealed!!]

Ari had taken you to your home, you stared as your heart raced. The lights inside all reflected a red from inside the house, it made you uneasy how the red shined off the decorated windows. You then took in the walk way up. It was covered in red rose petals, so many petals. It looked as if the drive was covered in a soft carpet. You turned your head to Ari and saw him gazing at the house with a smile on his face. Silence washed over the car and you watched as he parked the car. He turned staring at you so gently, he placed his hand on your knee and he leaned to place a soft kiss on your cheek. "Wait here my love, I don't want you stepping on any sharp rocks and cutting your feet open."

You heart was racing so fast, if you tried to escape the rose petal carpet of doom, then you'd have to tread across the rocks the covered the driveway. And it was definite that you'd slice your foot open. A way to stop you from running. You were cut out from your realisation by Ari opened your door. He walked towards you and undid your seatbelt. He then slid his large arm under your knees and behind your back. He then picked you up like you were nothing before he moved out the car with you in his arms. He kicked the door shut with his foot and glanced down at you before he let his love sick gaze settle on you.

"We're home my bunny. You're finally my wife, isn't life just truly amazing." You felt tears run down your face and burried your face into his shirt. He walked across the rose petals with you still bundled in his hold. He then fidgeted and opened the door. He placed you down, and turned to lock the door. You gulped, fear sinking deep into your heart. Ari turned a soft smile on his face, before he saw you tear soaked face. His smile dropped and so did he. You watched him drop to his knees before you, and he raised his hands up to cup your face wiping tears away.

"What's wrong my love? Speak to me bunny." You gulped and let out a few more tears. You let out a shaky breath before staring into his eyes and spoke. "Y-you trapped me forever! This is a cult! All this weird stuff, it's just a way for you to k-keep control! And I got caught up in the web of lies! You don't even love me!" Ari stood tall, his eyes now a sharp glare as he looked down at you. He tilted your head up with his thumb and forefinger, making sure his grasp was firm.

"Who said this to you hmm? You are free to leave whenever you want bunny. You have freedom, you tell me where you want to go and we'll go." You looked down silenced by his answer feeling your resolve slowly slip from his logic. He continued in a strong, gentle voice. "It's not a cult. It's a lifestyle we live in. We devote ourselves to God's and we are rewarded, just like every other religion. Would you question any other religion bunny?" You shook your head and Ari let his lips christen your head with a sweet kiss while his thumbs wiped your tears away.

He leaned down and you looked at him, "And my dear bunny, how dare you accuse me of not loving you. My heart has your name on it. It belongs to you. I love you so much that if I could I was steal the stars in the sky just so that you could wear them as a lovely necklace. Have I not shown you my love?" You gazed at him, you racing thoughts and heart settled. "You have! You have. It's just the wedding it was so-" "I'm sorry about that bunny, it's a Levinson tradition, and I promise you this part of the night makes up for it."

You heart started to race again at the look Ari was giving you. His eyes swirling with love and adoration. He leaned down and kissed you softly. His hand gently placed behind your head the other resting on your collar bone. His thumb stroking your skin. You leaned up wrapping your arms around his neck. He hummed and you felt him lick your bottom lip, you opened your mouth. Ari wasted no time in letting his tongue explore your sweet mouth. You could still taste the blood from each other but you could also taste mint from Ari. You let out a whine and Ari pulled away. A string of salvia connecting you both. You shared a loving glance before Ari swept you off to the bedroom.

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

Ari stood behind you, his blazer and tie now on the floor as he hurriedly stripped them from his body like they were burning him. You took your jewelry off while Ari took his waist coat off. As you were putting them on the dresser, Ari came up behind you and placed his hand on your hips before he glided them to the back of your neck. He let his hands travel across your exposed skin. Until they reached the zipper of your dress. You turned your head and saw the soft hungry look glimmering in his eyes. He placed his forehead against the the back of your head and he slowly dragged the zipper down, slowly so he could embrace everyone moment. Almost like unwrapping a present on Christmas but you were so much more.

After he reached the end he turned you and watched your slide it off. Now you stood before him in a veil and white lacey lingerie that was driving him crazy. He stared at you before gently grabbing your hands and guiding them towards his shirt where you started to unbutton it. All the while Ari was removing your veil. The soft ruffle of clothes being removed and soft breathing echoed in the room. You got to the last button and stared up at him with your doe eyes and as you unpopped the last button, he pulled open his shirt and then took it off throwing it with the rest of his clothes.

He kissed you, devouring your lips and lifting you up, he threw you on the bed and quickly unbuckled his pants and taking everything else off so that he stood before you naked. He looked so God like that you could do nothing but stare at him. You'd seen his cock a few times but you'd never seen him fully naked. Not like this. It was enchanting to see him to domainating and strong. He crawled onto the bed and began to nibble and kiss your skin. "You're so sweet bunny. I'm gonna mark every inch of you. You're Mrs. Levinson it's time you were covered in me."

He tore your sheer white bra open, your breasts popped out and Ari groaned as he took one into his mouth. While his tongue was circling your nipple you felt his hand move between your thighs and you opened them. Ari quickly moved your thong to the side and started to play with your button. You arched your began and moaned, Ari turned to your other nipple and suckled on it. All while his eyes stared at you, watching your reactions and getting harder by the second.

He pulled away and sat on his knees. He let his gaze drift from your star struck eyes down past your beautiful body to your covered pussy. You had soaked through the thong and Ari was about to snap but he had to remind himself to take it slow and memorise every part of tonight. He tore your thong off letting his gaze devour your wet cunt. "My pretty little pussy been dripping all this time huh? Don't worry bunny, Daddy's gonna show you that it was made to be eaten and fucked." You sight was glossy as your stared up and him and watched as he descended down to your pussy.

You felt his breath against your slit and shook knowing the pleasure that was coming. He placed his big hands on your thighs and he forced you to spread them. And then he let his tongue do a long lick from your tight hole to your clit. "Fucking delicious it's like honey every time." Before you could whine his lips wrapped around your clit and he began suckling while his tongue circled just like when he was sucking your nipples. But this was far better. You moaned and arched your back again. Ari let one hand be dragged down from your thighs to your tight hole where he shoved a fat finger in.

You gasped and threw your head back, feeling him move his finger in and out of your little cunt. He then shoved another finger in, stretching you. While he thrusting his fingers in, he took his face away and began lapping at your folds desperate to consume as much of your juice as possible. Your wetness was stuck to his beard but neither of you cared. He went back to your clit and added another finger. You whimpered at the stretch and felt your thighs shake and came all over his face.

Ari pulled away and licked his lips before he pulled his fingers out. He then wrapped his hand around his cock, spreading your wetness across it. He leaned down and kissed you, letting your tongues mix together. You felt his hard cock prodding against your thighs. He stared at you, "Are you ready to consummate our marriage bunny? Are you ready for daddy to pound your tight little cunt so hard that I'll ruin everyone other man for you hmm?" You let out a whimper.

He slid his cock up and down your wetness, letting his precum mix with your essence before he lined himself up with your tight little hole. "You gonna be a big girl for me now? Let daddy in your tight cunt." You whined, throwing your arms over his broad shoulders and digging your nails into them as he slowly pushed his tip into you. Tears gathered in your eyes and you let out a sharp cry when he tip popped into you pussy. You scratched his back, staring up at him. You both held eyecontact as he slid the rest of the way in. He stayed there looking at you letting your adjust.

"You were right bunny. It is a cult." You eyes widened as you stared at him and saw seriousness printed on his face. He then let his weight lay on you. You couldn't move and even if you could, you wouldn't Ari's cock would spear you and make you cry. "My family started it years ago." He whispered the dirty secret into your ear, as tears streaked down your face. "We're the Gods everyone has been worshipping. And you're one of them now. You're my little Goddess. My slutty little Goddess." "I don't wanna be." "Too late bunny. How about daddy makes this pussy feel good so he can show you the joys of being superior." Ari smirked down at you and thrusted his hips making you let out a whimper.

He slowly started to move his hips move listening to the melody of your moans, feeling your pussy tighten around him in fear was making him even harder. He had taken your virginity and now he was taking you. He groaned and he stared down at you. Your eyes closed and you mouth wide open. He couldn't help himself from spitting into your mouth. He brought a hand up quickly and closed your mouth, "swallow it for daddy like a good fuckin' whore." He watched your eyes hesitate before you swallowed. Even when you were scared you obeyed him because of how much you loved him. He groaned at the power he was feeling.

He let his hips move faster and moved his hand down to you button where he mercilessly played with it. You wrapped your legs around his waist desperate for more pleasure. He stared down at you, and kissed you, devouring your moans hoping somehow the melody would become his. He pulled away, his hair falling forward from the sweat gathering on his forehead. "I may have lied but bunny, I do love you. I fuckin' worship you. Always fuckin' have. You're all mine slut. You gonna let daddy cum in you huh? So then I can make you a mummy hmm? Let daddy make you a mummy."

He then focused on chasing his high, letting his cock hammer into you. His hips slamming against yours, his hand holding your waist bruising it from how strong his grasp was. His tip brushing deliciously against your gspot. Your eyes rolled back at the pleasure you were feeling. From Ari's relentless circling of your clit to him suckling your nipples all while his cock kept your pussy filled up and your head empty. Ari panted, "My goddess, My slutty little cunt, My everything. Gonna make you a mummy, gonna worship you everyday and your gonna keep daddy's cock warm everyday. Your gonna take care of daddy with your perfect pussy."

You felt your thighs shake, you were close from Ari's pounding. He let his dirty words fill the room. And you tightened your legs around him, humping back up at him. Your nails scratched deeply down his back making blood rush out. Ari let himself lower down your ear, his pace never changing. He whispered darkly, "Cum bunny." You let out a loud moan and coated his cock letting your pussy hug around him as you came. You clung to him tightly until you were done. You let your body fall loosely.

Ari then began to thrust fastly listening to your overstimulated whimpers, and let himself drown in the heavenly noise combined with you tight wet pussy. He groaned, feeling his balls tighten and let his thrust slow down so that they were now just hard and firm. He screwed his eyes shut and let out a shaky moan before he came inside you, filling you up. He stopped his thrusting when cumming, making sure he was all the way inside you so that all his cum was stuck inside you while you warmed his cock.

He collapsed on you and stroked some of your hair out of the way, smiling up at you. You started down at him tears sliding down your face and he tutted tiredly. "You lied to me." You whispered as angrily as you could, but exhaustion was draining you. A hum left Ari's throat, "I did. But don't worry bunny. You'll understand especially when you're pregnant. This is your life don't fight it or I'll punish you." You gulped and looked down at him.

"Did you really love me or was that a lie?" Ari's eyes shot up straight into yours, glaring at you. "Ofcourse I love you. I've fuckin' devoted my life to you. Don't ever fuckin question that again. I'm here filling you with my cum and you're questioning me, wife? You won't be questioning me when your fuckin' pregnant." You stared at him and he sighed before wiping your tears away.

He rolled you both over, his cock still burried in you and your sweet tear stricken face resting on his broad shoulders with his strong arms surrounded you. "Don't try and run bunny. They'll stop you." You shivered and nodded knowing that your fate was doomed. "Can I still go and see the world?" Ari let out a heart laugh. "Ofcourse you can, but I have to be there bunny. Just you wait until you see where I work, your cute little mouth is gonna fall open and your brains gonna stop working." You sighed, you had to think of a way to escape but got now you were far too exhausted. You let out a yawn and fell asleep on Ari letting everything distressing that just happened melt away into dreams.

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 6 | innocence

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, smut. language, religious imagery, mentions of parental loss. degradation (slut, whore), fingering, p in v (doggy). 18+, MDNI

word count: 5.6k

a/n: GUYS I FINISHED THE SEMESTER YAYYY !!!! i can finally pour all of my thoughts into silly little writing instead of memorizing medication names lmao

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In the winter, Choso came alive. The darkness that falls allows his own light to shine, at peace in the cold air encompassing his skin, chilling the world to its core - but not him.

After your conversation about his true nature, you feel even more comfortable with him, bridging the gap between you with trust, a path you now dare to walk; things have changed, but you couldn’t imagine going back to how they were before. In his honesty you uncovered a new piece of his soul, slowly working to complete the patched-together mosaic of his past.

He easily weaves his way into your life, the golden thread of his presence in every moment, every memory. When the first snow falls, you and Choso pull Megumi and Yuji out of school, taking them through town. The serenity of winter falls over the four of you as you walk in silence through the white-coated sidewalks. Both boys sip their hot chocolate, the heat warming their bodies as their small hands grip the cups. When Megumi’s whines of, “I’m tiredddd,” fill the air, Choso picks him up, carrying him the rest of the walk on his back.

A warm comfort fills you, a pleasant calmness within your soul, as you watch the pair before you. Your life - and certainly Megumi’s - hadn’t been easy. The loss of your parents spiraled you into instability, a constant earthquake beneath you as you both struggled to find your footing in the world. The moment the chaos seemed to lull there was another shockwave, sending you both reeling. But now, with Choso’s firm grasp around Megumi’s legs as he rests against him, it seems like things have finally settled into place.

Small fingers return your thoughts to the present as Yuji tugs at your coat. “Hey,” he whispers, a devilish smile pushing up his rosy cheeks, “throw this.”

Cold ice is suddenly shoved into your hand as he passes you a loosely formed snowball. Mischief crackles between the two of you as you grin, fingers closing around the snow. Flashing a wink at the boy, you plant your feet, readying your throw.

“Hey, Cho,” you call coyly.

The moment he turns around, your arm swings, launching the snowball at him, hitting him square in the chest. Before he can even react, Megumi squeals in excitement, a new energy bubbling inside him as his arms wrap around Choso’s neck.

“Oh no you didn’t,” Choso laughs in shock, tightening his grasp on your brother as he runs to a snowbank on the opposite side of the road. Ducking behind it for cover, he releases Megumi onto the ground. “Okay buddy, we gotta get them back,” he states. “How’s your aim?”

Megumi beams, any hint of tiredness behind his green eyes dissipated as his hands form the nearby snow into a rough sphere. “It’s amazing,” he giggles.

While Choso and Megumi hide behind the pile of snow, you and Yuji take the opportunity to build up your arsenal, preforming icy grenades and stockpiling them beside you. In unison, Choso and Megumi appear from behind their hiding spot, a flurry of white being suddenly hurled in your direction.

“Yuji, now!” you yell through giggles as you return fire, an onslaught of snowballs tossed at the two across the street.

“Truce, truce!” Choso finally proclaims, stepping out from their protective shelter with his hands raised, Megumi standing behind him with a grin plastered on his face as he matches the older man’s motions, his palms held in the air.

Laughs echo through the otherwise empty streets, leaving the four of you soaked and cold as the heat of battle dies down. Continuing your path towards home, Megumi returns to his place on Choso’s back as Yuji tightly holds your hand. Despite the cool winter air, your heart is warm.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As winter settles, Choso’s presence continues to grow, settling into the roots of your life. Which is why it’s no surprise that as Megumi’s birthday approaches, your brother absolutely insists on inviting Yuji and Choso, his pleas more of a demand than a request as he scribbles out a handwritten invitation addressed to both of them.

When the day of his celebration arrives, Choso finds himself in your apartment as you prepare to entertain twenty children. He’s busy in the kitchen, whipping up the cake Megumi requested to be “the most chocolatey chocolate with even more chocolate” while you tack streamers to the wall.

He maneuvers around your space easily, having grown familiar with it over the past few months - you’ve seen each other at least weekly, sneaking in visits between his work, even if it meant he’d come over just to hold you while you slept before he had to quietly sneak out to make another shift in the morning. He’s truly grateful for his body’s lack of a need for sleep despite the drawbacks intertwined in his vampirism, namely the ever-increasing frequency at which he consumes blood bags. Yet, it’s a trade he willingly makes if it means he’s graced with your presence. So, he takes all the time with you he can get. Every moment with him becomes cherished, a slowly growing gallery of your memories together. From the first day you met you felt at ease in his presence, your comfort only growing as the seconds together turned to hours, days, weeks, to months.

“Hey, could you c’mere for a second?” His deep voice tugs you back to the present as he beckons you to the kitchen.

In front of him lies a glass bowl, currently housing a chocolatey concoction. He takes the whisk he had been mixing with, gathering some of the batter and holding it out to you. Collecting some of the liquid on your finger you place it onto your tongue, sweetness immediately overtaking your senses.

“Holy shit, this is delicious, Cho,” you murmur in awe, licking your lips.

Immediately you poke your finger into the mixture, grabbing another glob before you shove it between your lips.

A smile graces his lips before he smacks your hand away as you reach back towards the bowl. “Thank you,” he chuckles, “but save some for the cake.”

You can’t help but laugh as he continues swatting away your attempts to maneuver your hands around his, ultimately forfeiting as you reach your hands around his waist and pull him into a hug. “I didn’t know you knew how to bake,” you hum, leaning up to place a kiss to his lips.

A hint of chocolate lingers on your tongue as you lean into him, his palms finding your back as he pulls you closer.

“You think I lived this long without picking up a few skills?” he smirks, amusement lacing his tone before pressing his lips back to yours.

Upon your confirmation that his work was sufficiently appetizing, he pours the dark batter into a pan and slides it into the oven. Gliding into the living room, Choso assists you in hanging up the remaining decorations, his height easily granting him access to nail the hand-made ‘Happy Birthday Megumi’ sign you two constructed the night prior into the wall.

Plopping down on your couch, you both alternate blowing up and tying balloons until they cover your floor. By the time you’ve finished, your apartment certainly looks festive, covered in various shades of green, Megumi’s favorite color, along with printed posters of his chosen dinosaurs.

There’s a certain innocence to it, a childlike wonder that fills your chest in warmth. When you were his age, your mom was trying to take care of you by herself - you knew she worked hard, that she’d give anything for you. And sure, that knowledge helps ease you now, but as a seven-year-old it felt impossible to grasp, like she was always just out of your reach. So it was no surprise you never had parties, never were celebrated like this; she felt ashamed of the life she provided you, an implicit knowledge that her work wasn’t enough.

She never asked you to care for yourself, but how could you not? When she’d come home late, exhausted, of course you learned to cook dinner; when she’d have to pick up extra shifts on the weekends, of course you learned to entertain yourself; and when she got called in on your birthday, despite the card she left on the table, despite the love she meant to shower you in, of course you learned to celebrate yourself.

It wasn’t her fault, really. She wanted a better life for you than the one you were granted, and you couldn’t fault her for that. You certainly couldn’t fault her for giving into the promises your father whispered to her when he returned to your life, promises of protection, prosperity, family. She craved it as much as you did, the safety of being cared for by another. And you couldn’t fault her when he left, again, the day she found out she was pregnant with Megumi.

Maybe it was too much for him, maybe he didn’t feel like he was ready, like he could provide what you needed, fill the hole that was left in your life where innocence should be. All you could hope is that Megumi never felt that; he deserved a childhood, he deserved the love you had to learn to give yourself.

As you stand back to admire the work you and Choso completed, banners coating the ceiling, balloons covering the floor, the scent of chocolate wafting through the kitchen, you can’t help but smile.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Children’s laughter fills the air, Megumi’s the brightest of all. He bounces between friends, smiling wide enough his cheeks hurt as he converses and plays. Every so often he runs up to you, face flushed in excitement, chanting “thank you, thank you, thank you!” as he throws his arms around you before returning to the chorus of his name from where his classmates sit on the floor.

Seated on one of the chairs surrounding your dining room table, a smile rests on Choso’s face seeing you interact with your brother, seeing how you care for him. Yuji is obviously ecstatic to be spending the party with his best friend, Megumi’s excitement similarly bouncing off him as he unwraps his presents. Choso hasn’t seen Yuji this happy - shit, ever? He can’t even remember the last time he’s seen him laugh like this, with such ease. Yuji had always been energetic, his happiness infectious, but he often seemed preoccupied with the emotions of others, worrying about what he could do to make them happy. At times Choso found himself thinking he was almost too mature for a child, too aware of the pain of the world, as though he was born with the duty to alleviate it. Which is why, as he watches his younger brother throw his head back in laughter, his pink hair catching the sunlight filtering in through the blinds as his cheeks blush a similar hue from the warmth of his joy, he admires the pure happiness in it, an untainted innocence.

When it comes time to sing ‘happy birthday,’ Megumi manages to blow out all seven candles in one sweeping breath, cheers erupting from his friends. Locking eyes with Choso, you exchange grins from across the room.

There’s a certain tenderness behind his gaze, one that makes your heart flutter. Something in your soul draws you to him, taking every opportunity for the rest of the afternoon to saunter past him, fingertips gently gracing his collarbone or the back of his neck. At every touch his eyelashes flutter, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips - your motions come second-nature, easy, as though being near him was your natural state of being. When the kids are off in the other room as they play with some new game Megumi got, you can’t stop yourself from caressing him, your lips leaving gentle kisses along his neck as you whisper how grateful you are he’s here, how lucky you are to have him, how stunning he is, how handsome, how sweet.

When your palms linger, your breath grazing his neck, a new flame ignites within him. In your flowy pink sundress, a reminder of the warmth of summer despite the flurries of snow falling outside, you look absolutely perfect, your movements so fluid, your skin so soft. Each stroke of your fingers along his arm makes him long for more, his adoration threatening to overflow, his love for you nearly enough to drown him.

Eventually, the party begins to dwindle. Yuji and Megumi leave together, taking Sukuna up on his offer to host the boys for a sleepover. Standing in the kitchen, you begin to clean up the mess left behind by the dozens of children that have finally cleared out from your apartment, a comfortable silence settling in. Suddenly you feel Choso’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind, his warm breath hitting your skin as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Hi, Cho,” you purr, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair.

“Been thinkin’ about you all night,” he hums, never lifting his head from between your shoulder.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, beginning to trail wet kisses up your neck. He’s not sure what comes over him, normally proud of his self-control, but something in watching you with Megumi has his heart swelling; beyond that, your lingering touches throughout the night, the sly smiles, the sweet nothings you whispered when nobody was listening, has had his mind fuzzy for hours. “Been thinkin’ about how bad I need you…” he trails off before he leans forward, his words carrying a certain desperation.

You giggle as his hands slowly make their way over your body, your heart beating in excitement at just how hot and bothered you had managed to get him. “Is that all, baby?” you taunt through a devious grin.

Slightly arching your back, your hips grind against him, evoking a low groan from his throat. The words are spilling out before he can stop himself. “Was thinkin’ about how much of a fuckin’ tease you are.”

A shiver runs up your spine at the gruffness in his voice, desire beginning to build in your chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you smirk, tilting your head to give him more space as he continues working his lips across your skin.

“I think you do.” His palms snake around your body, brushing under your dress as his fingertips drag along the outline of your clothed pussy. Even through your panties, the coolness of his skin makes you shiver, leaning back further into his touch. His lips curl into a smirk against your neck as he feels just how wet you are. “Because you can lie to me, but this cunt can’t.”

Heat floods your cheeks - he never acts like this, the unabashed directness - and hearing his crude words only emphasizes how absolutely and utterly desperate he is for you right now. He can feel it too, his standard eloquence gone as he falls deeper into the trance of his lust, one you had been slowly lulling him into over the past few hours.

A soft moan leaves your lips as his thumb brushes over your clit through your now-soaked panties, your knuckles turning white as your grip on the counter stiffens. His free hand tightens its hold on your hip, allowing him to press his growing erection against you through his jeans.

“I think you’re just needy,” you weakly hum as his thumb picks up its pace, rubbing agonizingly slow circles over your bud.

A low chuckle rumbles through Choso’s throat, a certain darkness to it you can’t see but can certainly feel. “Oh, I’m needy?”

The moment you open your mouth to reply, any sound dies in your throat as he suddenly pulls your panties to the side and inserts his middle finger into you. A choked “a-ah mmm” falls from your lips as he languidly pumps his hand in and out of your heat.

Grinding down onto his palm, desperate for any additional friction, your body knows that it’s not enough. “M-more,” you whimper, mindlessly circling your hips in an attempt to drive him deeper.

All Choso does is laugh, a breathy deepness to it that has knots forming in your stomach. Every motion is too slow, as though he’s purposely avoiding grazing his fingertips against the one spot that would have your legs shaking. “More?” he taunts, clearly taking pleasure from seeing you squirm. “I thought I was the one being needy, hm?”

“Cho, please,” you pant, eyes screwed shut. It’s nearly tortuous the way he moves, some cosmic retribution for how you had tempted him throughout the night, the universal scale finally tipping in his favor.

“Please what, darling? If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”

“I-I want your cock in me, please,” you stammer - you intended it to come out much more commanding, more in control, but the words end up breathy and desperate.

Again, Choso chuckles from behind you. Before you can process it, the sound of his zipper being undone lands on your ears as cold air hits your heat, your panties ripped down to your knees. The tip of his cock slides against your wet folds, making your hips rut backwards reflexively, a carnal plea.

“Tch, needy little thing,” he mutters to himself as you writhe under his grasp, your body now pressed between his chest and the counter from where you still stand in the kitchen.

After what feels like an eternity he finally slides into you, an involuntary moan leaving your lips as he stretches your walls so sinfully. His palms hold you firmly in place, preventing any movement as he bottoms out. But instead of moving, he stills, returning his lips to your neck and gently sucking on the space above your collarbone.

“C-Cho?”

“Mhm?” he hums, not bothering to lift his head from where he rests against your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” The words sound pitifully close to a whimper as they leave your throat.

“I’m doing what you asked, love, remember?”

Electricity courses through your body, your breathing picking up as desperation threatens to consume you. You can barely think straight with his cock inside you like this, his hips pressed against your ass; it’s so close to what you need, your salvation, yet for some reason he refuses.

Your feeble attempt at grinding your hips backwards fails as his hold on your hips tightens. “Sorry baby, but I wouldn’t want to risk doing anything else, since I was being so needy earlier,” he muses sarcastically.

A whine leaves your lips, your skin hot in lust. He’s punishing you, he has to be, pulling you from the heights of heaven into the ground until you feel dirtied in sin, left begging for more.

“Please, Cho, just move,” you breathe. “Move, fuck me, anything, please.”

“Aw, how sweet,” he coos, trailing kisses up your jaw. Your cheeks burn red beneath his cool lips, yet his breath is hot as it fans across your face. “Didn’t know this was all it took to have you begging like a needy slut.”

A wave of heat courses through your body, pussy clenching around his cock as the words hit your ears. Something in them has your mind dizzy, tension already building in your core.

“Holy shit,” Choso chuckles in awe as he feels the way your body automatically reacts, “you like that, huh?” His mind races, words spilling out. “Like being fucked in the kitchen like a whore? Couldn’t even make it to the bedroom, y’had to get dicked down out here?”

Another tsunami of pleasure crashes over you, your thoughts clouding and legs beginning to shake. A weak “mhm,” the sound already close to a whimper, is the only response you can muster.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, “you’re clenchin’ around me like you’re gonna cum already.” He suddenly adjusts, moving one hand up to grab your jaw and turn you to face him over your shoulder. Slowly your gaze manages to focus on him, the sight of your glassy eyes enough to make his cock twitch inside you. “Don’t worry, I know a depraved slut like you can take it.”

He can’t hold back any longer, finally pulling his hips back before roughly thrusting into you. After so long of teasing you, when his length finally prods against your walls, your eyes roll into your skull, a weak moan vibrating past your parted lips.

As he repeats the motion he tightens his hold on your jaw, pulling you into a rough kiss. His tongue swipes against yours fervently as his pelvis smacks against your ass. Gone is his precision, his reservations - all he knows is a feral need for you.

Moaning into each other’s mouths, he pumps into you. If it wasn’t for his tight grasp around your waist your legs surely would have given out by now, the ecstasy overcoming every muscle, every cell, within your body.

Pulling away for a moment a string of saliva connects your lips as he gazes into your eyes, their normal hue now nearly black through blown-out pupils. He looks equally fucked out, his bangs sticking to his sweat-coated forehead, cheeks flushed a soft pink.

A rough hand reaches over to your neck, the other trailing down your back, pushing you into a sinfully deep arch with your forearms braced against the cool marble of the counter. “C’mon baby, I know - hah - I know you can do better than that,” he breathes. Rising your hips slightly further off the ground, a guttural groan vibrates his throat. “Uh huh, juuuust like that.”

“S-so deep, Cho,” you whine out, overtaken at the sensation brought on by the new angle, his length absolutely ravishing your insides.

“Know it’s deep, baby,” he coos, “but y’can take it, yeah?” Bring a palm to your stomach, he finds the spot where his tip presses through your skin. “Feel me right here?”

All you can do is loosely nod, knees buckling under the pleasure, immensely grateful for the tight hold of his other hand on your hip and the table for providing a shred of stability.

His actions are greedy, thighs clenching with each pump into you. Grasping at the path to heaven, he claws his way up the stairs until the gates stand before him. Each thrust another step towards salvation, each choked moan a call for redemption. He’s never felt such electric desire, an insatiable need to consume every ounce of you.

The lewd sound of skin on skin fills your otherwise empty kitchen before being broken by Choso’s deep rasp. “You’re all mine, y’know that?”

Your thoughts are slow, too focused on the burning pleasure to give a more coherent response than a weak, “mhm.”

It’s enough for him, though, the affirmation sending waves of warmth through his body. As your bodies meld into one, he knows it: you are his, and he is yours.

His motions become increasingly erratic as he pulls you both closer and closer into the height of ecstasy. Faint little repeats of ‘ah, ah’ leave your throat with each thrust, knocking the air from your lungs each time his cock hits deeper. Your chest heaves with each forceful breath, unable to move your gaze from his.

He can tell you’re getting close as he leans forward, angling his cock somehow further into you. His words slur together, his standard clarity muddied. “Y’gonna make a mess? Y’gonna cum f’me?”

You whine a soft “mmm”, his voice making it harder and harder to form full sentences. All of your nerves are on fire, heat building and building within your chest as your walls begin to clench around him.

A smirk plays across his face as he murmurs, “Gonna let me finish inside you? Let me fill up this filthy cunt?”

All you can choke out is a weak cry of “p-please,” the combination of his words and actions enough to throw you over the edge. Tidal waves of bliss wash over you again and again and again, your legs shaking beneath you - certainly they’ve now given out as Choso takes over carrying your body weight. As your cunt flutters along his length he loses himself, pumping thick ropes of seed into you as he buries his head into your neck to muffle his whines.

Both of you are left panting, your head falling forward in exhaustion as his arms wrap around your torso to hold you up. In contrast to the roughness of his body just moments prior, he peppers gentle kisses along neck, your collarbone, any inch of skin he can find.

His breathing finally slows enough to speak. “Y’know I don’t actually think you’re a slut or anything, right?” he asks hesitantly.

A soft giggle bubbles from your lips into the now still air of your apartment. “I know, Cho.” Turning to face him, you see an earnestness behind his gaze, full of endearment. Leaning up you place a peck to his cheek as you ruffle his now-messy hair, your fingertips trailing over the contours of his jawline. “And for the record,” you slowly kiss him before pulling away, “there’s nothing wrong with being a little needy.”

“I know,” he blushes, a bashful grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “I just…sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to do with all the love I have for you. It feels like it’s eating me from the inside but I just keep feeding it more and more and more until there’s nothing left of me in there. But honestly, I don’t even mind - I’d happily give myself to you every day until the end of time if it means you’ll be happy.” Pausing, he shifts uncomfortably before sighing. “See? Like that, I didn’t mean to ramble, or get so serious, I just-”

Cutting off his nervousness, you press your lips to his, hands cupping his firm jaw. Warmth blankets your skin as you melt into his touch. Pulling you in closer, your body melds to his, souls blending.

“I love you,” you murmur into his parted mouth, “so much.”

“I love you too,” he whispers.

Pulling away you lean back against the counter, a soft smile plastered across your features as he gingerly lifts your panties back into place. “Now, will you help me actually clean up from the party?”

Choso grins, reaching down to pick you up as your legs wrap around his torso through a surprised squeal. “Of course,” he laughs as he spins you around, “just let me clean up my beautiful girl first.” Carrying you down the hallway, your shared giggles echo through your apartment.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Days continue to shorten as the cold bite of winter settles, now a familiar gnawing inside your chest whenever you find yourself outside in the darkness of late December. Choso, of course, remains unbothered by the cold, consistently offering you jackets or mittens or anything he can think of to share warmth with you during your limited outings. Instead, the two of you find yourselves inside more and more, spending nearly every free moment together wrapped in blankets on your couch. Since Yuji and Megumi began their winter break from school, you take the opportunity to celebrate the close of the prior year with the four of you in your apartment.

New Years celebrations were never something you thought much of, often brushed aside as an afterthought. What is there to celebrate, anyways? The passage of time? The chronic aging? The loss, pain, and sadness of the past twelve months? The idea never made sense to you until now, when you finally have others to share the moment with.

Which is why, on December 31st, you find yourself drumming with excitement. Megumi and Yuji’s shared energy certainly has something to do with it, you think, as the duo runs from room to room, verbally reporting how many hours, minutes, and seconds remain until midnight.

Choso tries to follow them before their unending enthusiasm becomes too much for even him, opting to lay on the couch next to you until the boys tire themselves out. When they finally return to you, panting through grins, Choso takes the opportunity to share the New Year’s traditions he has collected over his lifetime (one he never explicitly specifies the duration of in front of Megumi and Yuji, of course).

He details superstitions, their corresponding tales captivating you and the boys as his eyes glimmer in recollection. The four of you attentively eat your soba, giggling under your kitchen counter as you pop grapes into your mouths, and silently wrap coins in tinfoil before placing them outside on your balcony. The magic behind the motions fills you with glee, a shared belief that your behavior can finally be doing something good.

Around 9:50 p.m., you find yourself on the couch, Choso sprawled on the opposite side with Yuji and Megumi lying between you. The boys’ eyes grow tired, slow blinks growing increasingly longer as a New Year’s Eve countdown plays softly from the television. The announcers are preparing for the actual countdown, one that replays every hour to account for audiences from various time zones. Your gaze meets Choso’s, an idea silently shared between you. Glancing around quickly, you confirm the absence of any visible clocks from the couch before enacting your plan.

Yawning dramatically, you stretch your arms out, garnering the attention of Yuji and Megumi. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s already almost midnight,” you muse, allowing the words to hit the air.

Megumi and Yuji almost immediately perk up, a brief burst of energy as they turn excitedly towards you. “No way, already?” Yuji squeals excitedly before grabbing Megumi’s shoulders. “We made it, we stayed up!”

Megumi giggles, overjoyed at their shared accomplishment.

“You sure did,” Choso’s deep voice fills your apartment as he smiles. “Look, they’re about to start counting down,” he observes as his gaze falls to the TV.

The boys cheer in excitement, Megumi’s hands clapping joyously as they attentively watch the numbers flashing across the screen. “Ten, nine, eight,” they begin.

You and Choso join in, chanting with them. “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!”

Cheerful laughter erupts from the four of you as Megumi runs to you, wrapping his small arms around your body in the tightest hug he can manage. Yuji follows similarly, launching himself at Choso as he catches him on his lap.

“Happy new year,” Megumi murmurs into you through a soft grin, his futile fight against sleep becoming increasingly challenging with each passing second.

“Happy new year, buddy,” you smile, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Now, let’s get you guys to bed, hm?”

“Okay,” he hums, resting his head against you as his eyes flutter closed. Looking across the couch, you see Yuji out cold against Choso. As his eyes meet yours, you both smile contentedly.

Tucking the boys into their makeshift beds on the couch, you and Choso retire to your bedroom. Illuminated by warm lamplight, his dark eyes seem to sparkle as they flit across your face. Cool fingers trace small patterns along your back as his other hand absentmindedly plays with your hair, the comforter soft beneath your skin.

The remaining hours to midnight pass easily, and before you know it the sound of fireworks breaks the tranquil silence you found yourselves in. Glancing to the clock resting upon your bedside table, a bright “12:00” shines into the darkness of your room.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Under the flashing lights of fireworks you seem to glow, absolutely radiating beauty. Choso similarly had never understood the point of celebrating the closure of a year, the date one that primarily signified nothing more than the passage of time. Throughout his extended life he had been forced to watch those he loved pass away, plagued with the finality of senescence. Each year more lights went out, in spite of his best efforts to keep them illuminated, to prolong their flames; yet, every time, his attempts remained futile.

Over time, he detached himself, as though ignorance could protect him from the unrelenting march of time. He willingly purged his mind of dates that served to remind him, forgetting his own birthday, the anniversary of his family’s death, anything that recalled the tortured memories of his past. Maybe if he could remove himself from his own existence it wouldn’t be as painful when he was forced to confront the loss of others’.

Yet, as your eyelashes flutter, your cheeks pushed up as you softly grin, the smooth skin of your fingertips tracing his collarbone, he’s overcome with the notion that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. Every moment with you seems to slow, the seconds stretching as he silently gazes at you. In all his years he had never felt like this, this alive. Finally, he found something worth looking forward to, the fire of his love bright enough to warm you both.

The crackle of fireworks returns his attention to the present, adoration flowing from his very soul. “Happy new year,” he whispers.

“Happy new year, my love,” you hum.

Placing your lips to his, he kisses you gently, a newfound tenderness in his actions. He’s unhurried, patient, allowing every second to slowly pass you by.

Falling into a comfortable sleep, your thoughts wander to all the things the future holds, the moments you have yet to experience. All the time you’ll get to spend with Choso. Yet, you can’t seem to shake the nagging fear in the back of your mind, the whisper of darkness clouding your peace. How many more years do you have left? When will your flame go out?

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[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Now that I've had a smoke and touched grass...

Feels like this took forever to finish even though it halfway wrote itself. Didn't wanna make you guys wait too long because that cliffhanger was cruel even for me honestly.

I know where this is ending, but I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to take to get there. I'm estimating two to four more chapters, not counting a silly epilogue and a follow-up oneshot.

Anyway, here, have some shameless smut

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 10 of more than I planned don't ask

Wordcount: 3,970

First chapter and Previous chapter link

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. He has been allotted forty-eight hours to make his decision on the offer of becoming a Warlord, and you can do little but imagine what that means for you

Warnings n stuff: Very NSFW. Very yandere.

Taglist: @i-am-vita @nerium-lil @browneyedhufflepuff @madbadpadawan @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @littleleelee @dragon-bubs @animefreak818 @byysandra @lufemia @gizamalblythe @schanwow

Once again, you guys are amazing and I love you so much

A soft moan left your lips as he pulled his fingertips slowly down your neck, his command hanging heavily in the air around you.

“Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you stammered out in a trembling whisper.

“Good.” Mihawk curled his hand under your chin, tilting your head back, and brushed his lips to your exposed throat as he pushed his hand back into your hair, curling his fingers into the tresses to hold your head in place. “Good girl.”

You drew in a sharp gasp as he slowly pushed a finger into you, barely registering his pur of approval against the column of your throat as you tightened around the digit, arching your hips up toward his hand. He pulled in a sharp breath himself, tracing his lips across your collarbone, pulling his hand back down to your neck.

“I should consider myself lucky to have such an obedient little pet.” You bit your lip as he curled his finger within you, rubbing slowly against the center of that agonizing pressure and sending a strong, pleasurable throb through your clit as the bundle of aching nerves begged for his attention. “You seem close already. Are you?”

“Y—yes, sir,” you whimpered, gripping hard onto a fistful of his hair as his lips reached the swell of your breast. You fought to keep your breathing steady as you lifted your head, watching his slow descent.

“Oh…” You gasped as he grazed his lips across the stiff point of your nipple, lying your head back in a breathy moan when he sucked the sensitive protrusion into his mouth for far too brief a moment. “Oh, how unfortunate.”

You cautiously glanced down when he pulled his hand from beneath your panties, your heart throbbing, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“I had hoped to play with you a bit longer.” He wrapped a hand around your wrist, his grip firm, and pulled your hand away from his shoulder, shifting back up so his eyes were level with your own again. “But you might need to distract yourself first.”

You swallowed, glancing at his hand as he guided your own on a slow, almost torturous path don the deep lines of his abdominal muscles, before your gaze snapped right back up to his.

“I hope you don’t think I’m only depriving you for my own entertainment.” You were certain he was—or at least that it was a very great part of it. He left your hand to rest at the waist of his pants, just above the buckle of his belt, and pushed his arm between the two of you to take your other hand from his hair. “The longer you remain at the edge of abandon, the greater the prize will be.” You exhaled a shuddering breath as he brushed his lips across your knuckles, before he pulled it down to level it with his other. “And I intend to take very good care of my pet.”

You detected no lie in his gaze. There was still that glint of amusement, but there was something else burning there as you cautiously unhooked his belt with trembling fingers. He didn’t have to spell out what he expected of you, for you to focus on him until you had calmed down enough to continue—and, nervous though you were, you were in no way reluctant. You could feel the heat of his stiff erection through his pants as you pulled the button loose, keeping your eyes glued to his, watching the desire that quickly consumed his gaze as he helped you push them down his lean hips.

There was some degree of surprise there as well, as if he had expected you to be far more reluctant to relent to his instruction. Your hands trembled, trailing your fingertips back up his hips as he kicked the pants away, your breathing quick and uneven; watching how he closed his eyes with a slow sigh as you brushed your fingers lightly up the thick shaft, feeling it jump and twitch under your light touch—how he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when you brushed your other hand over the sensitive head, swore under his breath when you wrapped your fingers around it to drag the slick precum down his length.

As much as you ached for your own release, there was something even more exciting in watching his resolve melt away at your touch. You kept your gaze level with his face, stroking his rock hard erection slowly with both hands, waiting for him to open his eyes again. The subtle hitch in his breath when your gazes locked again was enough to spur you on, to strengthen your resolve a bit more. You bit your bottom lip lightly, deliberating for a moment, before speaking quietly.

“Should...should I use my mouth? I don’t—I don’t really kn—”

His breath caught again at your nervous murmur, far less subtly this time, and he cut you off by brushing his lips briefly to yours. You tightened your grip as he pushed his hips toward you, parting from the brief kiss with a low groan and throbbing hard in your hands. You felt his hand wrap tight around one of your wrists a moment later, stopping the torturous motion of your hands, and you watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Yes.” His breath was hot against your lips before he dipped his head back down and locked his lips to yours in a deeper, lingering kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth to tangle with yours for a moment longer, his fingers gripping your hair to hold your head in place. He regained enough composure to chuckle softly as his lips parted from yours, but the sound of it was a bit breathless as he combed his fingers through your hair. “You’re quite the quick learner, pet.

You were slightly taken aback at how quickly he pulled himself up to his knees, unabashed at his own brief loss of composure. He shifted his hands to your shoulder and your hip, guiding you to shift onto your knees in front of him, eyes half-lidded and rapturous, his breathing rapid and shallow as he pushed a hand into your hair and guided your descent.

But...something stopped you.

It wasn’t your nervousness this time—you were a bit too far gone for that, too wrapped up in pleasure and anticipation for that to stop you.

It was something else. Something about the way he had spent all this time teasing and taunting you.

That made you inclined to do just the same.

His low growl of protest when you turned your head slightly to brush your lips to his muscular abdomen instead was like music to your ears. You felt his cock throb against your cheek as he gripped hard at your hair.

You turned your head and brushed you lips low a the base of his thick arousal, reveling in his low moan as he leaned back against the wall of the daybed alcove behind him and loosened his grip to comb his fingers through your hair.

“...infuriating little thing…” he grumbled amid a slow sigh as you grazed your lips slowly up the stiff length, tracing the veins along its surface, staring up to watch his expression, watch how he gritted his teeth and tensed his shoulders. He drew in a sharp breath when you slowly dragged the tip of your tongue over the smooth, bulbous head, flicking your tongue teasingly as you lifted your eyes again and met his gaze, wrapping your hand around the base of his thick shaft.

“I only wanted to show my appreciation, master,” you said innocently.

You saw the flicker in his eyes this time when you addressed him so subserviently, the lust that it breathed to life in him, and you were briefly overwhelmed with the knowledge that you were in control—if only for a moment, you were in control, and it sent a thrill through you that you hadn’t expected or ever experienced before through every inch of your body. He sighed again and laid his head back as you stroked your hand slowly up, back down, rubbing your palm over the head with each pass. You kept your gaze on his expression, still staring up at him in some mix of lingering nervousness and curiosity, and decided to test the waters, to see just how far you could push your newfound control, speaking in a quiet murmur.

“Would...it please my master if I sucked on it?”

You swallowed, biting your lip anxiously at the sound of his strained chuckle, barely able to see his smirk with his head tilted back against the wall behind him. “Then you do mean to see me lose composure.” He moved his hand to the nape of our neck, gathering your hair there to pull it away from your face. “I’ll allow it for now.” he stretched his arm out over one of the horizontal dividers along the window, and lifted your head enough to lock his eyes with yours. “Provided you do a good enough job.”

You hoped that wouldn’t be an issue—were fairly sure it wouldn’t be, with his fingers curled in your hair, already guiding you down again slowly. You kept your eyes on his, enjoying the newfound thrill you found in the sight of his faltering confidence as you wrapped your lips around the head and circled your tongue slowly around it; in the sharp breath of air he drew in through gritted teeth when you gave it a hard, brief suck, his grip tightening around your hair.

You heard him sigh as he guided you further down his length, and glanced up to see him rest his head back against the wall again, his eyes slipping shut, letting himself become lost in pure bliss.

There was no doubt he would be angry if you finished him like this—he had already told you he wasn’t done with you. You kept your pace steady, slowing down or releasing him whenever you felt him tense or needed to take a breath, when you felt him tug at your hair or tighten your grip painfully wherever his hand happened to be resting on your body, resuming the sensual torment only when he relaxed again. You were sure you would be covered with bruises bty morning from your waist to your rear, black and purple abrasions in the shape of his strong hands.

When you were sure he was composed, that you were at no risk of pushing him over the edge, you decided to try descending further—slowly, tensing your throat swallow the thick shaft down nearly to its base. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth as you gagged, releasing it in a low, started groan as you felt his engorged cock throb hard between your lips, against the walls of your throat. His fingers dug into your hip nearly hard enough to break skin, and he jerked you up so hard by your hair that it drew a breathless cry of pain and alarm from you before his lips were crushed against yours to muffle it.

Your tension eased away amid the harsh, hungry kiss, and he pulled you forward to wrap your thighs around him with his hand resting against the small of your back. It slipped back to your hip as he withdrew his lips, pulling you down—until you gasped at the feeling of him pressing against your entrance. He pulled his hand down through your hair, leaving it resting against your jaw, watching you with hunger burning in his eyes as your own fluttered shut and you turned your cheek into the warmth of his palm, letting out a slow sigh against your parted lips.

“You’ll still tell me when you’re close.”

He punctuated the murmured command by brushing his lips to yours, almost gingerly. You lifted your hand to rest it against his, nodding shortly. You felt the pad of his thumb brush your bottom lip, still slick and slightly swollen, and reveled in the hitch in his breath and the throb of his cock between your thighs when you took the digit into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it briefly. He regained himself quickly as he spread your own saliva across your lips, and you opened your eyes at his light chuckling to find his yellow eyes alight with amusement, his gaze fixed on you.

“Such a deviant creature.” He pushed his thumb under your chin and pulled you forward by your jaw, so close you could feel the vibration of his murmur against your lips. “Do you take so much pleasure in trying to make me lose control?”

You your lip lightly at his smirk, but the way his gaze held yours made it impossible for you to avert your eyes away. He didn’t sound upset with you, didn’t look it—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t.

“Don’t lie,” he said teasingly. You swallowed...and gave a short nod—you had enjoyed seeing him lose his composure, however briefly. He laughed quietly again, and turned your head to brush his lips to your neck. “Naughty little thing.” You gasped as he pulled you down at your hip, only enough for you to feel the very tip of his erection beginning to stretch you open, wincing at the pressure. You knew it was going to be painful to take the full length and thickness of his cock—but you wanted it so badly now that it was difficult to care. “I ought to punish you for being so willful.”

In your frenzied desperation to feel more of him inside you, the threat sent a confusing wave of excitement through you that pulled a deep moan from your chest. He purred quietly against your neck, pulling his hand down to brush across your breasts, flicking his thumb across one of your sensitive nipples.

“I’m not sure I should let you come at all.”

But he pulled you down a little more, grunting as the sensitive head pushed into your tight entrance, and you whimpered as you contracted pleasurably around it—if he kept going this slowly then maybe it would hardly hurt at all.

“If I should even give you the pleasure of fucking you.” A little further, perhaps an inch, his slow, shaking sigh as he held himself back burning your neck like fire. “Or if I should just pull you off of me right now and take you back down to the dungeon.”

“N—no—” You gasped as he pushed his hips up, his fingers digging into your hip, holding you in place to push slowly into your body. “P—p-please don’t—master—” You shook your head quickly, swallowing as his lips trailed across your collarbone. “I-I’ll be good, I promise,” you breathed, lowering your gaze to watch him push your breast up, watch his mouth nearing the swell of the soft mound of flesh. “P...please…”

He purred quietly again, letting it drift into a few chuckles. “Oh, perhaps since you asked so sweetly,” he murmured. His lifted his eyes to yours briefly and added, “Soon, dear.”

You nodded quickly, so distracted by his mouth that you couldn’t have anticipated what else might be coming—he suddenly wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking at it hard, and your surprised moan rose into a cry of pain and alarm as he pulled you roughly down by your hip, thrusting his forward to meet yours, burying himself inside you. His low groan was muffled as he relinquished only a little, briefly pressing his forehead against your collarbone, grounding himself before taking the sensitive protrusion back into his mouth.

You hooked your arm around his neck, gripping at his shoulder with your other hand, your thighs shaking around his. His skilled tongue dancing across your nipple, the euphoric shockwaves coursing through you, mingling together with the pain and deep pressure of feeling him fully inside you, stretching you wider with each deep thrust….

It was all far too much.

You would definitely come soon if he didn’t relent, and he showed no sign of doing so as he shifted his attention toward your other breast, grazing his lips across your sternum and brushing a light, wet kiss to the stiffened nub at its peak that made you cry out.

“You’re awfully sensitive,” he breathed, tugging at your hip to guide your motion, to pull you repeatedly down onto him, ensuring your swollen clit ground down against the hard plane of his pelvis each time he rolled his up to meet you. He was trying to make you cum, trying to force you to defy him—to make you lose control, as you had so enjoyed doing to him. “You can’t be so close again already.”

You could only nod, unable to form any words between the quiet whimpers and brief, sharp moans that left your lips in time with each thrust.

“No wonder your so damned tight,” he growled out through gritted teeth. You gasped as he lifted his hand to grasp at your jaw and pull you into a deep, crushing kiss. He groaned into your mouth, and you met his tongue with your own in an answering moan when it delved between your lips. He broke away, only to trail his lips across your jaw.

“Ah—I—” You cried out as he lowered his head to brush his lips across your nipple again, flicking his tongue over it lightly, tightening around his cock as the pressure threatened to burst into the waves of euphoria you so desperately craved. “I’m c—c-close, ma—mas—”

“Are you really?” he teased. You tensed your thighs, fighting against it when he didn’t relent in the slightest—digging your fingertips into his shoulder when he only sped up, letting out a breathless chuckle in his amusement. “Surely you’re bluffing.”

“I—n-no, sir—I-I swear—”

He pulled his hand down the place of your stomach, and you let out a breathless cry at the pleasure of his fingertips pressing down against your overstimulated clit, as the small bud twitched and jumped beneath his firm touch. From his purr of approval he must have felt the involuntary response beneath the pads of his fingers.

“I suppose you aren’t,” he murmured in your ear, and you could all but hear him smirking. “I do still owe you a reward for how adeptly you used your lovely mouth.” He brushed a delicate, tender kiss to the corner of your lips, and lowered his voice even further. “Then you may ride me until you finish.”

You sighed shakily as he slowed his quick, hard thrusting, loosing his grip on your hip and letting you take control. His breath left him in a slow sigh as he curled his arm around your back, lifted his hand to brush your hair out of your eyes and back behind your ear. You rolled your hips slowly, hooking your other arm around his neck as you fought to catch your breath, savoring how he throbbed and twitched against your tightening walls, how the round head rubbed so pleasurably against the center of arousal within you.

“That’s it,” he sighed, and brushed his lips to your neck as you moaned softly, lying your head back. “Nice and slow. No need to rush.” You deepened the soft kiss he pressed to your lips, dragging your fingertips down the hard plane of his chest, his murmur a warm vibration against your swollen lips. “Enjoy yourself as long as you wish, pretty girl.”

Now that he was finished tormenting you for your audacity at breaking his composure, his sole focused seemed to shift to dragging out your pleasure for as long as possible, letting you use him to your heart’s content.

And drag it out you did—you had no idea how much time passed, only that your body was growing weak from both immeasurable ecstasy and overuse, that your breathing was growing more labored by the minute, that there was a subtle flush staining even his high cheekbones as his breath shuddered out from between his lips. You lifted your hand, stroking your fingertips lightly across the flushed skin as he trailed his lips up your jaw.

He was close to the edge as well—you noticed it abruptly, from the lust flooding his gaze to the rock hard rigidness of his cock, throbbing and jerking within you with nearly every unbearably slow stroke. He was fighting the compulsion of his own release only to ensure your own pleasure at this point.

“C...close now,” you forced out on a trembling sigh—and added quickly, “s—sir.”

He gave a quiet growl against your jaw, his lips still ghosting over your skin there. “I should think so,” he murmured. “I have been depriving you for the better part of the past hour.”

You cried out as he pulled you down hard, thrusting his hips up to slam into you with an answering groan, immediately increasing his pace again—and you did as well as he pushed his hand between your bodies, rubbing his fingers against your clit, leaving you trembling all over at the swelling pressure beneath his touch, swelling until it was ready to burst.

“Now,” he breathed, wrapping his arm tight around you to grip your ass and hold you in place as he thrust into you, harder and harder, grunting and pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. “Come for me now. Let me feel it.”

“I-I—mmph—” You gasped as he bit down on the tender skin, groaning himself as he sped up even more, every deep thrust threatening to shove you straight over the edge. You felt your clit tightening, your thighs trembling as you drew closer, closer, unbearably close, your own voice far away and unfamiliar in its heightened pitch. “I—m-master—I’m—”

You barely heard his deep groan under your own sharp, unrestrained cry as the ecstasy of your release flooded through you—barely felt the pain of his hand digging into your hip as he thrust into you one final time and filled you with his own intense orgasm, pulling you slowly onto him to ride the waves of shared euphoria, his low, shaking moans vibrating in the crook of your neck. Your thighs continued their trembling even as the rest of your body slowly relaxed, as you rolled your hips to match his slow, deep strokes, your moans dissolving into breathless whimpering.

You lifted a shaking hand into his hair as he brushed a kiss into the crook of your neck, against your shoulder, your jaw, lifting his own hand to the nape of your neck to pull your lips to his for a slow, deep, sensual kiss. His eyes remained closed when his lips drifted away, his breathing nearly as labored as yours. He pushed his hand further into your hair, and the sensation of his fingertips brushing across your scalp drew goosebumps all over your body, sent a small shiver down your spine.

“You’ll join me in my chambers tonight.” Your breath caught when he opened his eyes, leaving them half-lidded as he kept your gazes locked, his forehead pressed lightly against yours. “I want my darling pet warming my bed, not chained and hidden away in the dungeon. You’ll behave, won’t you?” He lifted a hand to your cheek as you nodded quickly in agreement, brushed his thumb lightly across your bottom lip, his own lips twitching into a ghost of a smirk as he rubbed his hand slowly along the soft curve of your hip. “Good girl.”

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it. 

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves. 

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

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CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady. 

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon. 

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull. 

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set. 

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right. 

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped. 

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him. 

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything. 

The two of you, like grief and the mountain. 

-

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself. 

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be. 

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled. 

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he���s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking. 

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs. 

A friend, indeed. 

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots. 

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?” 

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were? 

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face. 

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one. 

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you. 

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship. 

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand. 

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe. 

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk. 

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small. 

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can. 

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts. 

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down. 

“What’ve I told you?” He barks. 

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian. 

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame. 

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his. 

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate. 

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially. 

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years. 

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly. 

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face. 

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins. 

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest. 

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes. 

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go. 

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.” 

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.  

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company. 

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night. 

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated. 

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue. 

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half. 

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man. 

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly. 

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep. 

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it. 

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward. 

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears. 

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal. 

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.  

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here. 

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

-

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions. 

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber. 

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons. 

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now. 

Your desire. 

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?” 

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still. 

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again. 

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher. 

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically. 

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now. 

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor. 

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that— 

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man. 

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive. 

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand. 

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting. 

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words. 

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive. 

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust. 

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want. 

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does. 

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.” 

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs. 

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh. 

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you. 

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display. 

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury. 

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence. 

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.” 

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him. 

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact. 

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls. 

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him. 

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand. 

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears. 

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard. 

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter. 

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before. 

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it. 

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

 If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him. 

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

-

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String. 

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other. 

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid. 

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you. 

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight. 

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath. 

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles. 

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself. 

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

 Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Bloody Sword

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, bloody sex, fingering, profanation, smut, angst, violence, beheading, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of the moment of their nuptials and coronation itself, hearing only the loud thumping of his heart, a host of doubts running through his mind. He had waited so many years for this moment that he decided it couldn't be real, that something had to happen to shatter it all.

He thought that her younger brother would not bend the knee, that he would have to kill him and then she would hate him, that he would have to take her as his wife by force and watch her wither and fade before his eyes for the rest of his days.

He could not describe the relief he felt when he heard the loud words from outside the temple of young Lord Walford announcing that he was relinquishing his claim to the crown, only to see his sister a moment later in the gown he had gifted her, red and black, the colours of his house.

He lifted his chin higher, looking at her with a kind of pride − she looked beautiful and dignified, not a trace of fear or doubt on her face. She was looking only at him − he could see in her eyes that she was doing this of her own free will and he allowed himself to be enveloped at last by the peace he so much desired.

The crown that Criston had placed on his head appeared heavy and uncomfortable, but he thought that was what it was meant to be, to remind him that nothing was certain and given forever, that he had to be vigilant, that he could not afford to put his mind to sleep like his father.

Riding his horse towards the fortress amidst the cheers, he imagined with a tightened throat that his mother was already waiting for him there, ready to throw herself into his arms and embrace him, telling him how proud she was of him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, knowing it would never happen.

That night her body and her closeness blurred in his mind the weight of his crown, the grief of feeling lonely and empty, her warm hands clenched on the skin of his back as he rooted into her again and again, his lips joined with hers in lazy, hot, sticky kisses, her soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their arms.

His restless nights were filled with silence and warmth; he was finally able to sleep again, and although he was sometimes awakened by nightmares, seeing and feeling her body snuggled into his, he only sighed with a sense of relief, pressing his face into her hair, thinking only of her scent and the softness of her body until his eyelids closed again.

To him, his wife was like a lit candle in the dark, cool chamber of his heart, emanating a warm, pleasant light that did not blind him, but showed him the way, made him regain his sight.

Watching the helpless efforts of the ladies of the court to catch his attention, he felt amused − their desperation made him grin ironically, causing them to blush in embarrassment, their cheeks rosy with shame.

They did not comprehend his nature, the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind, his coldness and distance, his bottomless desire to remain in the shadows, to hide even as he remained king.

His wife understood him, his need for solitude, allowing him to spend his days on his duties, patiently waiting each day for the evening when they were reunited.

Although he would never admit it openly, he adored missing her, adored suffering at the thought that, however much he wanted to, she would not come to him without a reason, would not interrupt his training or council, would not seek his attention, focusing on her own affairs.

A few hours of anguish without her presence each day was enough that when he saw her lying in his bed, bare, waiting for him, he would simply sink into the pleasure and relief of her body.

Being deep inside her, he felt safe.

She was his refuge − inside her he would hide when the heavy crown he carried on his head overwhelmed him.

Apart from her, he had nobody and trusted no one.

It seemed to him that she was a lost part of him, that years ago something inside him had shattered into pieces and it appeared that what was left of her fitted into his parts, creating something entirely new and satisfyingly certain.

He appreciated the strength of her character, her maturity and her wisdom, the fact that she knew when to be silent and when to speak, that she never undermined his authority, that she always listened to him with concentration, advising him as best she could.

"All Lord Marrey wants is gold coins. He flaunts his wealth and his position at court. However, that is not what worries me, but what will happen if someone dares to offer him a better price."

She said wrinkling her eyebrows, her face turned to him in profile − she gazed thoughtfully out of the window into the night, stroking her arm involuntarily, her body clad in a richly decorated gown of blacks and reds, her beautiful shoulders bare, her sleeves reaching almost to the ground.

He lifted his gaze to her face, stirring with his hand in his goblet the remnant of wine that was left there, only to lift it to his lips and tilt it, drinking all that was in it, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"What do you propose, wife? Should I, in your opinion, kill or lock up anyone who might betray me in the future?" He asked coolly, leaning against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood, stretching out on it comfortably, the wine he had drunk so far making him feel warm.

Although he tried for a moment to focus on what she was saying, his gaze stopped on her bare back, emphasised beautifully by the bold line of her gown, wondering if she had been walking around the fortress like this all day, letting the guards shamelessly stare at such a large part of her exposed flesh.

He licked his lower lip at the thought, running his hand over his chin musingly.

"Aemond." He heard her impatient voice and felt himself shudder, lifting his gaze quickly to her face − it was extremely rare for her to speak to him like this − she only did it in private and only when he frustrated her with something. "His case really worries me. If you wish, I'll speak with him myself."

He pondered her words in silence for a moment, tapping his fingertips against his armrest.

"And what are you going to do? Ambush him?" He asked impassively, crossing his legs with a loud creak of his chair, leaning to the side with a loud sigh of fatigue, looking at her back again.

Just like when he had the mask on, he could watch her all day from hiding, look at her expression, her profile, her long eyelashes, her eyes and mouth, her agile, light movements full of dignity and serenity.

While he was like an aggressive flame burning everything, she was like the surface of a lake, letting him extinguish himself in the coolness of her reason, in the tenderness of her heart, making him manage not to cross the thin line that separated him from madness.

"I can propose that his daughter become my lady in waiting, and also suggest that I help him find a suitable candidate for her husband." She said calmly, playing with the three ruby teardrop necklace that adorned her beautiful long neck, his gift to her after their wedding night.

He loved fucking her when she was wearing nothing but this, the colour of their red combined with the black of her hair and the light of her body beneath him made them glow with fire in his eyes, the same kind he felt when their bodies connected in a tight, sticky, hot embrace.

He hummed under his breath, lowering his head, looking away, staring at his hand, playing with his fingers.

"Do as you see fit, wife. I will not interfere with your choice of ladies in waiting or the reasons that guided you." He said lowly, rising from his chair with a loud creak of wood and approached her with a confident, lazy step − her eyes grew large, a warmth and trust in her gaze, something that invariably surprised him.

He grasped her chin in his palm and lifted it slightly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Let's go to bed. There are a few things I want to convey to you. Among them, what I think of your bare back."

The next day there was to be, as there was every month, a gathering in the throne room, the lords and the townspeople could bring their issues and problems before him.

His Queen, to his satisfaction, willingly attended these meetings, at first standing by his side.

Later, however, he found it undignified that his Queen was not allowed to sit for so many hours, so he ordered a smaller throne to be created and placed next to his, on which she took her place from then on.

She never interjected without being asked, only speaking up when he requested her opinion in public, which was often when the matter was delicate, involved someone's hurt and misfortune and required a more understanding, compassionate approach.

He was pleased each time to hear that the words coming from her mouth were thoughtful, filled with wisdom but also with empathy and concern, without sounding hysterical or despairing, maintaining the solemnity of the situation.

He knew that outside the walls of the fortress, despite the fact that many lords were hostile to her, the people of the kingdom feared and respected him, but it was her they loved, seeing in her gestures of mercy and her support for the poor her value, which he also recognised.

He raised an eyebrow when a woman was brought before them, surprised that from afar he could see how unnaturally green her eyes were, her gaze sharp and assured, her black hair loose, her dress, though the garb of a typical bourgeois woman, perfectly accentuated her mature, feminine shapes.

"Your Grace. This woman I present before you is Alys Rivers, better known to some as the Witch of the East. She is known to foretell the future. I have brought her here because I thought the skills of someone like her might be of use to our King." Said Lord Ronwell, the same one who expected him to marry his daughter.

He refrained a grimace of amusement with the last of his strength, finding it difficult to restrain himself from glancing at his wife, knowing that a fire that could burn cities down probably shone in her eyes.

His words seemed to him a poor excuse for what he had been trying to do for a long time, which was to lessen her influence over him as Queen, to divert his attention towards another woman.

He hummed under his breath, crossing his legs, stretching comfortably on the throne, deciding he would take his time with the situation − the thought of his wife, whom his guards were surely thinking of at night, being jealous of him pleasantly tickled his ego.

"Speak, Alys, Witch of the East. Foretell me my future." He said with a sneer, cocking his head − he heard his wife let out a quiet breath of air with impatience.

She knew why he was doing this, that it wasn't even about this woman, that he was teasing her.

Alys Rivers walked boldly forward, climbing step by step higher, startling him and his wife, a brazen look on his face. He pressed his lips together, feeling discomfort and rage, wondering whether to stop it or not, and then the woman spoke.

"Your Queen will bear you a son with dark hair, a future King, beloved by the kingdom. You will have six children, but only two with your wife." She said softly, looking at him with a slight smile. He felt a squeeze in his throat, involuntarily glancing sideways − his wife was pale, her eyes open wide, her lips clenched into a tight line.

He laughed, running his hand over his face, unable to believe that she had allowed herself to say such a thing in her presence.

"And the daughter of which lord will experience the pleasure of carrying my children inside her?" He asked with a sneer, guessing that she had surely been ordered to say such a thing.

"I shall receive that honour, my King." She said with a sensual smile and he froze, lifting his gaze to her in disbelief, looking at his wife again, regretting that he had allowed her to speak at all. He licked his lower lip, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen, looking away with rage.

"Hold her." He said dispassionately to his guards, rising from his throne − they immediately grabbed the woman by the shoulders and forced her to kneel, her gaze changed, her confidence gone from her face, her breathing loud and ragged.

"− my King − I −"

"− give me your sword −" He ordered dryly, extending his hand to Criston, who looked at him horrified, but reached for his blade without a word and slid out his weapon with a loud clatter of steel.

"− please, my King, have mercy − I have been ordered to say so −" She mumbled out, seeing the determination and coldness painted on his face.

The most important thing he had learnt over the years of observing people was when they lie.

When she stood in front of him she was not at all frightened, what she said was not uncomfortable for her − she truly believed that with her words he would destroy his wife's trust in him and eventually become his lover.

He was not going to rely on fate in this matter.

However, it was not his opinion or her plea that mattered to him. He looked over his shoulder at his wife's face − she was staring at him, pale, her eyes red, full of tears, full of pain caused by this cruel humiliation she had suffered because of him, her breasts rose and fell quickly in a shuddering breath, her nostrils twitching restlessly.

I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to offend my Queen.

He had never lied to her.

"Who ordered you to say such things, woman?" He asked impatiently, leaning the tip of his sword against the stone floor, placing his hands on the hilt, towering over her, complete silence reigned around them.

The woman swallowed loudly, no longer daring to look at him, feeling that he stood over her like an executioner.

"− Lord − Lord Ronwell −" She mumbled quietly, all around them he heard sounds of disbelief and argument − someone shouted that Lord Ronwell was a traitor, the man however shook his head.

"This woman lies, my King!" He said enraged and horrified, clearly not suspecting that the situation would take such a turn.

Loud arguing and shouting echoed around him, which quietened immediately as his blade swished through the air and the woman's head tumbled down the stone steps to the floor below, several ladies of the court squealed loudly, horrified by the sight.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said extending his hand with a sword towards Criston, surprised and horrified, his tunic all dirty with blood.

He turned to look at his wife's reaction − she was staring at him with her eyes wide open, her lips parted in disbelief, the heat in her gaze from which his cock throbbed hard.

She wasn't disgusted or afraid of him.

She understood that he had defended her honour.

That he had done it for her.

"My Queen. Forgive me that you had to listen to those disgusting words. Take her body and let us move on." He said indifferently, sitting down on his throne again, expecting them to continue as if nothing had happened.

His wife surprised him as soon as they were alone in his chamber, clinging greedily to his lips, grasping his cheeks in her hands − he groaned low, feeling the throbbing in his breeches, reciprocating her kiss with a loud click.

"− let me wash my hands − they're filthy −" He breathed out into her mouth, but she shook her head, grasping his hand in hers and pressing it to her face, in her eyes heat, longing, gratitude and desire from which he felt himself get completely hard.

His thumb, all slick with the blood of this brazen woman ran over her lower lip − he shuddered when he felt her run her moist tongue over his skin.

"− fuck −" He growled, grabbing her jaw with his hand, clinging aggressively to her lips. She bit him and he groaned low, surprised, lifting her gown, hitting her bare buttock with all his strength. "− how dare you − how fucking dare you treat your King like this −"

He hissed, turning her violently to face the table, clamping his hand in her hair, forcing her to bend over, her cheek pressed against the table top. She panted loudly along with him as he lifted the fabric of her gown with a swift movement, revealing her naked hips before him, her womanhood all pink and swollen, glistening from her moisture.

"− fucking knew it − my little wife is bloodthirsty, hm? − isn't she? − so jealous −" He gasped feeling his heart pounding like mad − he slid his finger deep inside her without warning and groaned weakly, feeling how her walls clenched around him, how aroused she was, her thighs trembling whole before him.

"− please, husband − please, I need it −" She mewled sweetly, innocently, her face and buttock dirty from the blood from his hand − there was something frightening and at the same time so arousing about the sight that he felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− what do you need? − speak, sweet wife, your King listens to you intently −" He said mockingly, sliding his finger in and out of her, once in a while pressing and massaging the spot hidden between her folds, each time bringing out of her a loud, pathetic cry, her body trembling all over, her lips parted wide in pleasure.

"− g-gods, take me − fuck me − please −" She begged desperately. He gasped low at her words, unable to deny her, sliding his finger out of her, quickly untying and lowering his breeches − she whimpered loudly when his swollen manhood slapped against her buttocks.

"− quiet − lay still and let me in −" He growled, with a sure, deep thrust of his hips pushing the head of his cock into her hot interior. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and began to slam into her with a loud moan of relief − she whined loudly in pleasure, clenching her fingers on the table top, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyebrows arched as if in worry.

"− gods, you're leaking − the sight of me beheading that whore made you so fucking wet? − hm? −" He gasped, rooting into her even faster, squeezing her soft buttock with his hands, watching with delight how his fat, swollen manhood stretched her tight, fleshy core with his every thrust.

"− p-please, don't stop, keep going −" She mewled, responding with her body to the movements of his hips, her wet, hot muscles sucking on him greedily, wanting to keep him inside − he was horrified at how sacrilegious and intense this experience was.

"− I'll kill anyone − anyone, gods, just say the word − I'll give you everything −" He burst out and she sobbed loudly. He felt a wave of pleasure shake her body, her walls were clenching around him so tightly he was running out of breath − he slammed into her like mad, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− my beloved King −" She whimpered with difficulty quivering all over, his heart pounded so hard he felt like it was going to rip his chest open, a convulsion shook his body.

"− just like that − oh, fuckkk −" He exhaled, clenching his eyes and tilting his head back, panting hard, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his seed spilling deep inside her at last.

They were both breathing loudly and shaking, unable to believe how strong their fulfilment was − he put his hands on either side of her head, trying to calm himself, his cock twitching all over deep inside her.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked horrified, breathing heavily, reminding himself that they had fucked each other so hard that they could barely get the words out.

He sighed in relief sliding out of her when she nodded, he heard her hiss quietly. He stared for a moment wordlessly at the trail of his spend that trickled down her thighs, his hand reached up to her hot buttock and squeezed it tentatively.

"Let's take a bath."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[justice4gyeongsu]

━━━ 'CHAPTER SEVEN' [WHEN DAWN BREAKS]

SYNOPSIS ➢ when can someone break free from their own history or will they become forever trapped in the abyss of their own mind?

PAIRING ➢ lee suhyeok x male!reader

AU ➢ enemies-to-lovers au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; classism, assault, near death experience, alot of angst, embarrassment, some fluff, some sensual energy, drowning, reoccuring ptsd, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

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"kick her off, you idiot! she's got your foot!" suhyeok's frantic voice echoes down to cheongsan, who's struggling to shake off the girl's vice-like grip. meanwhile, you frantically scan your surroundings, your eyes locking onto a narrow window sill mere inches from your left foot. you gulp nervously as you gaze into the classroom, where zombies press against the window, their vacant eyes fixed on you.

you carefully place your foot on the tiny ledge, desperate to gain a foothold. you slowly begin to transfer your weight, easing off the rope to give cheongsan a chance to grab another loop. but the girl clinging to cheongsan's leg makes every move a battle, her grip tightening as she refuses to let go.

"are you kidding me? push her off, you moron! she's got your leg!" suhyeok's exasperated voice rings out, prompting you to roll your eyes in frustration. "i think he's aware of that!" you shout back, your voice tight with tension, as you press yourself against the wall, clinging to the surface for dear life. you struggle to calm your ragged breathing, fearful of losing your balance and tumbling backward.

suhyeok's voice echoes down again, laced with worry. "are you trying to kill yourself?" but you're too annoyed to appreciate his concern. "i'd give you the finger, if i wasn't busy trying to survive!" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm, as you strain to maintain your precarious hold on the wall.

suhyeok's patience had worn thin, and he declared, "i'm coming down!" but cheongsan vehemently protested. "suhyeok, don't be stupid!" you had joined in, yelling at suhyeok in a desperate bid to stop him, as he recklessly reached for the ledge, his footing precarious. one misstep would send him plummeting to certain death. cheongsan's warning came just in time, "look up!" and suhyeok glanced upward to see a zombie looming above him, its jaws gnashing wildly as it snapped at his head. the creature lost its balance and tumbled down, but not before making a desperate grab for suhyeok.

in a heart-stopping moment, suhyeok made a split-second decision, one that could prove disastrous. he leapt into the air, abandoning his hold on the ledge, and grabbed the rope where you had been just moments before. his actions left you aghast, wondering if he had just sealed his own fate.

suhyeok swiftly slid down cheongsan's back, his feet flailing wildly as he kicked at the zombie's hand, desperate to dislodge its grip. the creature's hold finally faltered, and it crashed to the ground, its body thudding against the floor with a sickening crunch. cheongsan groaned, his voice laced with relief, "you can stop hugging me now," as suhyeok burst out laughing, the tension momentarily broken. but your own precarious situation quickly snapped you back to reality. your legs screamed in protest, your muscles burning from maintaining your tenuous hold on the wall. "i'm so glad you guys are having a moment," you called out, your voice tight with urgency, "but can you speed it up? my legs are giving out!" the words tumbled out in a desperate plea, your body crying out for relief.

the laughter abruptly ceased, and cheongsan swiftly began his descent, his movements fueled by a sense of urgency. suhyeok grasped the rope, his arm stretching out towards you like a lifeline. "come back on the rope, and we'll go down together," he urged, his voice firm and resolute. you had no time for pride or protests, only a desperate need for safety. you hastily shuffled back towards suhyeok, your good arm grasping the rope like a liferaft. "fuck, i don't think i can hold myself," you admitted, your head shaking in defeat, your body screaming in exhaustion.

your strength was waning, your muscles trembling with fatigue, and your grip on the rope felt tenuous at best. you knew you couldn't hold on for much longer, and the thought sent a surge of fear through your veins. "baresu, come on!" daesu's voice echoes up from below, a beacon of urgency. the others' faces appear in the window, their eyes wide with concern, but you're too exhausted to appreciate their worry.

"thanks for the concern, guys," you mutter, your voice laced with sarcasm and fatigue, as suhyeok assesses the situation before speaking. "just put your arm over my shoulder and wrap your legs around my waist," he suggests, his eyes locking onto yours with a determined glint. "i can go down with both arms free while you hold on. can you do that?" he asks, his voice low and steady.

you cringe at the idea of being helpless, but your body betrays you, screaming in exhaustion. you hesitate, pride warring with desperation, before surrendering with a defeated sigh. "hurry up," you grit out, your voice barely above a whisper. suhyeok swiftly moves in, his arm wrapping around you as you duck under it, your arm encircling his neck. your cheeks press against each other, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cold dread coursing through your veins.

“okay, i'm gonna lift my legs,” you alert him with caution, “go ahead, you got it.” he tells you gently. you can't help but feel your stomach drop at the encouragement, quickly ignoring the feeling you wrap your legs around him and lean your body as closely as possible. he began descending down the rope as slowly as possible.

as you wrapped your arms around suhyeok's neck, his toned body pressed against yours, sending a flush of heat coursing through your veins. your ears burned with a sudden rush of blood, and you struggled to ignore the thrill of vulnerability, of surrendering control to someone else. it felt intoxicating, this sense of reliance, of knowing he'd take care of everything.

you couldn't help but savor the moment, hooking your chin over his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart. "try not to move," he whispered, his voice low and husky, as he carefully navigated the final steps to the window sill.

with a gentle ease, he lowered you down, and the others rushed to assist, carrying you into the room as if you were fragile, breakable. suhyeok slipped in right behind, his eyes never leaving yours. you settled into a chair, taking stock of the room, ensuring everyone was safe, accounted for.but your gaze was soon drawn to the familiar sight of nayeon and gyeongsu embroiled in another heated argument, their voices hushed but their body language screaming tension. the familiar dynamics of the group were a comforting constant, a reminder that even in chaos, some things remained unchanged.

"what's wrong with you?!" gyeongsu's voice boomed through the broadcast room, his words reverberating off the walls like a thunderclap. "suhyeok's still out there, fighting for his life, and you want us to just...just shut him out?!" his tone was incredulous, his anger and disgust palpable. the room seemed to vibrate with his outrage, the air thickening with tension as he confronted the unthinkable: leaving suhyeok to fend for himself.

"am i a criminal for wanting the window closed?" nayeon shot back, her voice venomous, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"how can you be so selfish?" gyeongsu countered, his voice rising in outrage, his words dripping with disgust. "i can't stand you, you stupid welfie!" nayeon snarled, her words a vicious hiss, her contempt and anger boiling over. you leapt to your feet, ready to defend gyeongsu against her verbal assault, but he was quicker. with a fierce intensity, he slammed her back into her seat, his eyes blazing with fury.

"what did you just call me?" he growled, his voice low and menacing, his words trembling with restrained violence. the air seemed to crackle with tension as he towered over her, his anger and hurt pride simmering just below the surface.

"nayeon, grow up," you say, your voice authoritative, your eyes flashing with frustration. "you're just a spoiled brat who can't doesn't have any friends, always resorting to insults to get attention."

"oh yeah?" nayeon shrieks, her face reddening with rage, her hands clenched into fists as she glares at you with pure hatred. "yeah!" you affirm, your eyes locked on hers, your jaw set in defiance, as you walk around the table, closing the distance between you, your footsteps echoing through the room.

just as it seems like the confrontation is about to escalate into physical blows, ms. kim bursts into the scene, her voice stern and commanding, her eyes flashing with confusion. "hey, knock it off! what's going on here?" she demands, her gaze darting between you and nayeon. "he hit me," nayeon whines, her voice dripping with false innocence, her eyes welling up with crocodile tears. "only because you called me a welfie," gyeongsu admits, his jaw clenched in anger, his eyes blazing with hurt pride.

"is it not true?" nayeon asks, a proud smirk spreading across her face, as if daring anyone to contradict her, her eyes glinting with malice.

the room falls silent once more, the tension thick and heavy, like a storm waiting to break, as everyone waits for the next move, the next word, that could ignite the powder keg of emotions.

"ms. kim, you better intervene before I do," you whisper urgently, your voice low and menacing, as your fist begins to shake with restrained anger. your eyes narrow into slits, fixed intently on nayeon, your mind racing with the countless times she's bullied others, including gyeongsu. nayeon, the master manipulator, had always flown under the radar, her toxic behavior masked by a charming facade. but you saw through it now, and your protective instincts kicked in, fueled by a fierce determination to stand up for gyeongsu and others like him, who'd suffered in silence.

gyeongsu's courage in the face of her relentless bullying had inspired you to take a stand, to confront the toxic behavior head-on, no matter the cost. and now,, you knew you were ready to face whatever came next.

"you can't say shit like that." cheongsan scolds, his voice disapproving, as he shoots her a stern glance. the room falls silent, as everyone waits for the fallout. "what's a welfie?" ms. kim asks, her voice innocent and curious, but laced with a hint of warning. the silence stretches out, uncomfortable and oppressive, as no one dares to answer.

when ms. kim asks again, her tone firmer, suhyeok hesitantly speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper. "it's...a person on welfare. welfie for short." his answer quiet, as he looks down, embarrassed to even know the definition. the word seems to take on a life of its own, a toxic label that reduces a person to a mere stereotype. suhyeok's cheeks flush with shame, as if he's complicit in perpetuating the hurtful term.

ms. kim's eyes widen in shock, her expression a mix of disappointment and disapproval, as she turns to nayeon. "nayeon, that was absolutely wrong. don't ever say that again," she scolds, her voice firm but laced with a hint of sadness.

then, she turns to gyeongsu, her expression softening slightly. "and gyeongsu, when you hit people, you're the one who ends up losing." her words are meant to be cautionary, but they fall flat. you scoff at ms. kim's words, your disgust, "that was wrong?" you repeat, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "she knows it's wrong, she's not a child!" you point at nayeon, your finger accusatory, your eyes blazing with anger.

nayeon rolls her eyes at you, her expression unrepentant, as if she's enjoying the chaos she's created. ms. kim tries to intervene, her voice calm and soothing. "guys, we shouldn't be fighting at a time like this. especially when things might go back to normal."

but you're having none of it. "maybe they won't," you mutter, your eyes locked on nayeon, your glare piercing. with that, you turn and walk away, leaving the tension and drama behind, and plop down next to joonyeong, your movements a clear sign that you're done with the conversation.

joonyeong looks at you with concern, his eyes asking if you're okay. you nod slightly, still fuming from the exchange.

ms. kim tries to regain control of the room, her voice firm but gentle. "let's focus on the task at hand. we need to figure out our next move." but the tension lingers, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. nayeon smirks, her eyes glinting with triumph, as if she's won some twisted game. gyeongsu looks down, his eyes avoiding everyone, his shoulders slumped in defeat. suhyeok watches the scene unfold, his expression a mix of discomfort and understanding. and you, still seething with anger, wonder how things escalated so quickly, and how you can possibly work with these people to survive.

"wait, the internet - it still works, right?" joonyeong asks, his voice laced with a mix of hope and desperation, as he quickly gets up and hurries to the computer. everyone follows, huddling around the screen like a lifeline, their faces etched with anticipation and fear.

you take a moment to glance down at yourself, your mind racing with a plan. you reach inside your makeshift vest sling, your fingers closing around the identical shirt you'd hidden there - the one you'd hid near your injured arm. without drawing attention to yourself, you slip away from the group, making your way to the broadcasting room. you push open the door, slipping inside before quietly shutting it behind you, careful not to arouse anyone's curiosity. alone in the room, you place the shirt on the table in front of you, your eyes fixed on it as if it holds secrets. you glance behind you, ensuring everyone is still distracted by the computer screens, their faces bathed in the glow of hope.

the room is dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of equipment, as you stand there, lost in thought, the shirt a tangible connection to the mysteries you're trying to unravel.

you struggle to undo the knot with one hand, but it's proving to be a herculean task. the knot seems to have tightened with time, and your fingers fumble with frustration. minutes tick by, and your progress is zero. just as you're about to give up, the door creaks open, and namra slips in, her presence as quiet as a whisper. "hi," she says softly, her voice a gentle breeze in the tense room.

"hey," you respond, your eyes locking onto hers, your mind racing with questions. why is she here? what does she want? namra's eyes hold a hint of curiosity as she gently closes the door behind her, the soft click of the latch echoing through the room. the space seems to shrink.

"i came because...you were struggling," namra explains, her voice barely above a whisper, as she gestures to your shoulder, her eyes filled with concern. "um, i'm fine-" you start to protest, but your words are cut short by her gentle insistence.

"i can undo it for you," she offers, her hands reaching out as she walks closer, her movements fluid and graceful. you're taken aback by her sudden proximity, and a realization hits you - you've never actually spoken to namra before. you've sat next to each other, shared silences, but never exchanged words. it's as if you've been living in parallel universes, until now. "thanks," you nod, a sigh of gratitude escaping your lips as you surrender to her kindness.

namra's hands work deftly, slowly but surely undoing the knot.. she gently removes the vest. she places the vest on the table, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent understanding passing between you.

"i can do the rest, thank you for helping me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as you try to process the unexpected tenderness of namra's actions.

she responds with a small, enigmatic smile, her eyes sparkling with a hint of warmth, before turning and walking out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. you watch her from your peripheral vision, seeing her approach suhyeok, her lips moving in a whispered conversation. you can't help but wonder what she's saying, and why. your gaze falls to your shirt, and with trembling fingers, you begin to undo the buttons, each one revealing a little more of your scarred skin. your mind starts to wander back to the rooftop, to the moment when you'd lost all hope, and cheongsan's words had brought you back from the brink.

you remember the feeling of paralysis, of being unable to move or escape, and how cheongsan's encouragement had given you the strength to take that first step down the rope. you had been ready to give up, to surrender to the darkness, but he had saved you, pulled you back from the edge. the memories come flooding back, and you're transported to a place of raw emotion, where the scars on your skin seem to pulse with a life of their own.

the uncertainty of suhyeok's fate had lingered in the back of your mind, a nagging doubt that refused to be silenced. maybe, just maybe, it had been a factor in your prior decision-making. but before you could explore that thought further, the sound of the door closing interrupted your reverie. you turned, expecting to see namra's gentle smile, but instead, suhyeok stood in the doorway, his hand still grasping the doorknob, his eyes locked on yours. speak of the devil, indeed.

your eyebrows arched in surprise, confusion etched on your face. what was he doing here? suhyeok's gaze wavered, as if questioning whether he should enter or retreat. "namra," he said, his voice low, his eyes flicking towards the outside, "told me your arm is pretty bad." you followed his gaze, looking out into the main room, where namra was now intently focused on the screens, her expression a mask of concentration. the others were equally engrossed, oblivious to the subtle dynamics unfolding around them.

suhyeok's words hung in the air, a gentle concern that seemed to bridge the distance between you "um, yeah," you reply, your voice a little softer, as you glance down at your arm, the memories of the injury still fresh. suhyeok's eyes follow yours, his expression sympathetic. "do you need help with anything?" he asks, his hand still on the doorknob, as if hesitant to enter further.

you shake your head. "i'm fine, thanks." suhyeok nods, but doesn't leave. instead, he takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. "namra said you were struggling with the vest," he says, his voice low and gentle. you feel a flush rise to your cheeks, surprised by namra's concern, and suhyeok's willingness to help. "yeah, it was stuck," you admit, feeling a sense of vulnerability wash over you. suhyeok nods, his expression understanding. "let me help," he says, his hand reaching out, as if to assist you further.

"namra already helped me, thanks," you say, as you glance down at your arm, now free from the vest. suhyeok's hand hesitates in mid-air, before he slowly withdraws it, a hint of an awkward smile on his lips. "i mean, uh i can help you change your shirt," he suggests, he walks over and tells you to sit down. you try to decline his help but you were told to stop being so stubborn.

“im not stubborn,” you glare at him. suhyeok's eyes sparkle with amusement as he says, "oh, really? not stubborn at all?" his voice dripping with teasing sarcasm. you feel a flush rise to your ears as you sit down, trying to maintain your glare, but it's hard to resist suhyeok's playful charm. "no, i'm not," you insist, trying to sound convincing, but your voice comes out softer than intended. he then kneels in front of you with the cleanlier shirt.

suhyeok chuckles with a smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he begins to help you change your shirt. he begins unbuttoning the rest of the buttons you didnt get to finish. then sliding the shirt off of your shoulders carefully. his fingers brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "well, if you're not stubborn, then why are you making this so difficult?" he whispers, his breath tickling your chest.

you shiver at the sensation, trying to focus on the conversation, but it's hard to think straight with suhyeok's hands on your skin. "i'm not even doing anything," you protest, trying to sound convincing, but your voice is barely above a whisper. suhyeok's smile grows wider as he pulls the shirt down your injured arm.

his fingers lingering on your skin. "oh, really?" he teases, his eyes locked on yours, full of playful desire. suhyeok's gaze falls upon your shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, his expression betrays him. concern etches itself on his face, but he swiftly masks it. he sets your discarded shirt on the ground beside him, his movements deliberate. his eyes wander, as if drawn by an unseen force, to the gentle curve of your waist and the toned shoulders that seem chiseled from marble. the smooth expanse of your skin beckons, but he tears his gaze away, his jaw clenched in restraint.

"does it hurt?" he asks, his voice low and gentle, as if fearful of causing further pain. "no, it's fine," you reply, your words a whispered assurance. suhyeok's eyes flick back to your shoulder, his brow furrowed in empathy. "okay," he says, his voice still soft. his hands brush against yours, sending a spark of electricity through the air, as he pulls the new shirts sleeve up your arm. slowly pulling the shirt all the way up your arm until it rests on your neckline. the tension in the room dissipates, replaced by a sense of warmth and camaraderie. you feel a connection to suhyeok, a sense of shared understanding that goes beyond words.

your eyes lock onto suhyeok's concentrated expression, his face inches from yours. the proximity sparks a sudden flashback to that chaotic day when changhoon's grip had you trapped, and suhyeok's steady gaze had been your only lifeline.

memories come flooding back, and your eyes widen in response. you shake your head, trying to clear the haze. "i can handle the other arm myself," you say, your voice firm, as you swiftly rise to your feet. suhyeok mirrors your movement, standing up in surprise. "what, are you sure?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concern, as he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

suhyeok's voice breaks the silence. "y/n," he begins, his pause a heartbeat of anticipation. "that day when," he continues, but you interrupt, your voice a swift blade cutting through his words.

"would you just stop?" you say, the command sharp and precise. the words die on his lips, his mouth frozen in a silent "o". his eyes flash with surprise, a spark of emotion that quickly fades into a mask of restraint. the silence that follows is oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocates the air. the unspoken words hang between you, a tangible presence that refuses to dissipate. his eyes flash with a mix of surprise and concern, but he nods slowly, his jaw clenched in restraint. the silence that follows is oppressive, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. you can feel the weight of that day bearing down on you, threatening to crush you beneath its burden.

suhyeok's eyes never leave yours, his gaze burning with a quiet intensity. you can sense the questions simmering beneath the surface, the words he longs to say but dares not speak. a collective gasp echoes from outside the room, followed by a chorus of fearful whispers. faces press against the classroom window, eyes wide with alarm. you swiftly cover your arm with your shirt and grab your vest, then brush past suhyeok, making a hasty exit from the broadcasting room. the door swings shut behind you, but not before you catch joonyeong's worried voice.

"what was that?" he asks, his tone laced with concern. you turn to see the glass window you had climbed through earlier now shattered, the metal hose swinging ominously, shattering another shard of glass. murmurs of distress ripple through the crowd. "did someone not make it in?" wujin asks, his voice trembling. cheongsan's response is firm, but laced with a hint of fear. "no. no one." the group's anxiety on edge as they struggle to process what's happening.

he cautiously approaches the window, scanning the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. gyeongsu trails behind him, dismissing the commotion with a wave of his hand. "it's alright, it's just the wind," he assures, but his words are swiftly proven wrong. a body comes crashing down from the window above, snagging on the rope and dangling upside down. the figure thrashes and snarls, its twisted face contorted in a feral grimace. cheongsan stumbles backward, caught off guard. "look out!" gyeongsu yells, his voice piercing the air.

cheongsan scrambles to his feet, grabbing a decrepit mop from the corner. with a surge of adrenaline, he begins pushing the zombie out of the window frame, its limbs flailing wildly as it's forced back into the unknown. cheongsan's face contorts with effort as he struggles to dislodge the zombie, his arms straining with each futile push. gyeongsu rushes to his side, adding his own strength to the task, but their combined efforts yield nothing. the zombie's grip on the window frame seems unyielding, its twisted fingers digging deep into the wood.

"give it!" suhyeok exclaims, his voice sudden and sharp, as he wrests the mop from cheongsan's grasp. the stick's end swings wildly, striking gyeongsu in the face with a loud thwack. gyeongsu's head snaps back, his eyes widening in shock.

suhyeok swiftly breaks the mop's end, the wood splintering with a loud crack. he fashions a makeshift spear, the jagged end glinting in the dim light. with a fierce thrust, he impales the creature through its mouth, the zombie's jaws frozen in a silent scream.

he shoves with all his might, but the zombie's grip is unyielding. its arms flail wildly, the fingers scrabbling against the window frame like claws. "if that thing gets in, we're all dead!" you shout but ms. kim's voice rings out, her words laced with urgency, as she silences your curse with a stern "shush". her eyes are wide with fear, her face pale. in a flash, gyeongsu seizes the internet box, its cords dangling like entrails. he hurls it with full force at the zombie, the box crashing into its skull with a loud crunch. the zombie's grip falters, its fingers slipping from the window frame.

the boys converge at the window, their faces pressed against the glass as they gaze out at the aftermath of the girl's fall. a collective sigh of relief escapes their lips as they take in the sight of the zombie's lifeless body, its limbs twisted at an unnatural angle.

congratulatory pats on the back are exchanged, a silent acknowledgement of their shared survival. "that was scary," gyeongsu exhales, his voice laced with residual fear. but the momentary reprieve is shattered by nayeon's trembling voice. "hey, your...bleeding," she stammers, her hand shaking as she points a quivering finger at gyeongsu.

your gaze follows her gesture, and your heart skips a beat as you notice a tiny trickle of blood seeping from gyeongsu's nose. the crimson droplets trace a path down his pale skin, a stark contrast to his otherwise ashen complexion. "gyeongsu..." you trail off, your voice laced with shock and concern. the room falls silent, all eyes fixed on gyeongsu's bleeding nose, as if willing the blood to stop.

gyeongsu appears eerily nonchalant, his expression a mask of calm curiosity as he gazes at the concerned faces surrounding him. "i am?" he states, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, as he touches his nose, feeling the trickle of blood. his eyes light up with realization, and he lets out a low chuckle. "right, it's because suhyeok hit me with the fucking mop," he says, a hint of mirth dancing in his eyes. but his casual demeanor is short-lived, as nayeon's reaction turns from concern to outright fear. "stay back! stay where you are!" she exclaims, her voice shrill, as she takes a step back, her eyes wide with alarm.

"you were bitten, weren't you, gyeongsu?" nayeon's voice cracks as she speaks, her words hanging in the air like a damning indictment. her eyes, wide with fear and suspicion, bore into gyeongsu's skin, as if searching for the slightest sign of infection.

the room plunges into silence, the air growing heavy with tension, like a physical presence that presses upon their skin. the shadows on the walls seem to twist and writhe, as if nayeon's words have awakened a dark and sinister reality, lurking just beneath the surface. the group's collective gaze falls upon gyeongsu, their faces etched with a mix of fear, suspicion, and morbid curiosity. the only sound is the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within. gyeongsu's nonchalant demeanor begins to falter, his eyes darting around the room, as if searching for an escape from the accusatory spotlight.

"i wasn't, i just said that!" gyeongsu protests, his voice rising in a whine of disbelief as he frantically cleans his nose with the back of his hand. "didn't you see suhyeok hit me?" he asks, his eyes wide with indignation, as he gestures to the spot where suhyeok had struck him with the mop. you chime in, attempting to defuse the situation, "i saw it, he got him with the mop." but your words fall on deaf ears, as nayeon continues to back away, her loud, shaky breaths filling the air like a panicked animal.

her eyes remain fixed on gyeongsu, her pupils dilated with fear, as if she truly believes a zombie stands before her. gyeongsu's expression twists in frustration, his patience worn thin by nayeon's histrionics. "what is your fucking problem with me?" he snaps, his voice low and even, but laced with irritation, as he takes a step forward, his eyes locked on the pink-sweatered girl. "you were bitten!" nayeon shouts again, her voice echoing off the walls, as she backs away further, her hands raised in a defensive gesture, her eyes darting towards the wall behind her, as if searching for an escape route.

"oh my gosh, enough!" you exclaim, your voice firm but calm, as you point to gyeongsu's arms, which are visibly free from any gashes or blood stains. "check his arms," you instruct, your tone brooking no argument, as if daring anyone to dispute your logic.

cheongsan quickly obliges, hurrying around the table to grab gyeongsu's hand, his eyes scanning the skin with a practiced intensity. "he has a scratch, but that's it. no bite," he announces, his voice confident, as the group gathers around to inspect gyeongsu's arm. you add your own observation, your voice building on cheongsan's declaration. "he also couldn't have gotten a nosebleed that fast, he would've gotten it in like a minute or two," you reason, your words dripping with conviction, as if daring nayeon to dispute your expertise.

the group leans in, their faces a picture of intense scrutiny, as they search for any sign of infection. gyeongsu's arm is turned this way and that, his skin examined with the precision of a forensic expert. the silence is palpable, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above, as the group holds its collective breath, awaiting the verdict.

"done yet?" gyeongsu challenges nayeon, his voice low and even, but laced with a hint of irritation. "i said, are you done with me now?" he shouts, his patience finally wearing thin, as he throws up his hands in exasperation. but before nayeon can respond, joonyeong's voice cuts through the tension, his words sparking a new wave of concern. "wait, that means the computer's gone," he says, holding up the keyboard like a tangible proof of their loss. the group lets out a collective sigh of annoyance, their faces etched with frustration. "couldn't you have thrown something else instead of the computer...?" daesu retorts, his voice laced with incredulity, as if gyeongsu's actions were utterly reckless.

gyeongsu stands up for himself, his eyes flashing with defensiveness. "what was i supposed to do? it was trying to get in," he protests, his voice rising in justification. but daesu quickly intervenes, his tone softening as he places a calming hand on gyeongsu's shoulder. "you're right, you did good. don't be mad," he says, as the group's tension slowly begins to disappear.

daesu strides to the back of the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls, as he approaches nayeon, who still stands frozen, her eyes fixed on some invisible point. "hey, nayeon, end this already and say sorry," he says, his voice firm but gentle, as if coaxing a wild animal from its hiding place. nayeon's gaze slowly rises to meet daesu's, her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance. "why should i?" she questions, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a subtle challenge.

daesu's expression twists in incredulity, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "he did it to save us all," he scoffs, his voice laced with exasperation, as if the answer is blindingly obvious. "why can't you say sorry?" he presses, his eyes locked on nayeon's, his gaze piercing but not unkind. the room falls silent, the air thick, as the group waits with bated breath for nayeon's response, their faces a picture of anticipation and concern.

"because i'm not sorry," nayeon continues, her voice unwavering, her eyes flashing with conviction. "i saw everything. i saw the creature grab you. i'm right. he could be infected." she insists, her words dripping with a stubborn certainty. you roll your eyes in exasperation, but before you can speak, ms kim intervenes, her voice firm but measured. "nayeon, enough."

cheongsan steps forward, his voice calm but stern, his words laced with a quiet authority. "nayeon, i know you've always had issues with gyeongsu, but i think you're really crossing the line now. this is about life and death. we can't afford to doubt each other." jimin's face twists in disgust as he sneers at nayeon, his eyes flashing with contempt. "she's always like this," he mutters, his voice dripping with disdain. you shoot nayeon a withering glance, your patience wearing thin, your eyes sending daggers her way. the group's collective frustration with nayeon's behavior is palpable, the air thick with tension, as if her stubborn refusal to back down is a weight dragging them all down.

"gyeongsu, you're going to wait in the recording room for ten minutes," ms. kim announces, her voice firm but laced with a hint of empathy, as she turns to face him, her eyes softening slightly.

you look up at ms. kim's back in utter disbelief, your mouth agape, as if the words have knocked the wind out of you. the room seems to spin around you, the faces of your friends blurring together in a kaleidoscope of confusion.

"i know it'll be hard, but at least it's better than people thinking you're infected," ms. kim continues, her voice gentle but resolute, as if trying to reason with an unseen force. as if ms. kim is daring anyone to dispute her decision. the room falls silent, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above, as the weight of her words settles upon the group like a shroud.

"no one else thinks i'm infected. it's only her," gyeongsu explains, his voice laced with frustration, as he gestures towards nayeon, his eyes flashing with exasperation.

you hop off the desk you were sitting on and walk over to the window, your movements fluid and deliberate, as if trying to put some distance between yourself and the tension. you sit down on the windowsill, your eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you.

"that means she thinks you're infected too," you point out, your voice matter-of-fact, as you nod towards ms. kim, who stares at you for a moment before turning back to gyeongsu, her expression unreadable. "would you please do it?" ms. kim asks, her voice soft but insistent, as if trying to coax gyeongsu into agreeing.

gyeongsu reluctantly nods, his eyes flashing with resentment, before standing up and heading towards the recording room. "i'll do a full hour, just to be sure," he mutters, his voice barely audible, as if trying to convince himself. ms. kim turns to nayeon, her eyes narrowing slightly. "and if nothing happens, you'll apologize, right?" she asks, her voice firm but controlled, as if daring nayeon to disagree. nayeon hesitates, her eyes darting around the room, before nodding slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "yes..."

he flips off daesu with a dismissive gesture, his middle finger raised in a defiant salute, before closing the door behind him with a soft click. the sound echoes through the room, a subtle reminder of the tension that still lingers. you gaze out the window, your eyes scanning the desolate landscape, where zombies still roam free, their moans and groans carried away by the wind. the streets are empty, devoid of any signs of rescue, no firetrucks or ambulances in sight. the day is almost over, and you're still stuck here, trapped with a group of people you barely know. you sigh, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on you. it's been boring, completely and utterly boring, a never-ending cycle of fear and monotony. ms. kim's voice cuts through the silence, her tone forced and cheerful. "meanwhile, we can try to clean ourselves up," she suggests, her smile looking more like a grimace, as she surveys the group.

everyone slowly gathers around the table, some sitting, others standing, while suhyeok claims the table as his own, sprawling across it with a languid ease. they begin to clean themselves with the leftover tissues on the desk, a futile attempt to restore some semblance of normalcy to their disheveled lives.

you ignore ms. kim's attempt at conversation and continue to gaze out the window, your mind still seething with anger and frustration. the fact that ms. kim let nayeon's paranoia sway the group into locking up gyeongsu still burns within you, a simmering resentment that refuses to dissipate. jimin's voice breaks the silence, his suggestion a gentle attempt to steer the group towards a more productive path. "how about...we talk about what we know so far. so we can be more prepared for...next time."

the group murmurs in agreement, their voices a soft hum of assent, as they begin to think, their minds racing with possibilities. "maybe they're drawn to smell," wujin guesses, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty. "they do always go after you," wujin teases daesu, a mischievous glint in his eye. daesu sighs, his expression deadpan. "i don't smell," he answers seriously, his tone firm but defensive.

"you sweat a lot, daesu," jimin points out, his voice tinged with a hint of belief, as if wujin's joke has taken root. "i sweat, but i don't smell," daesu denies again, his voice firm, his eyes flashing with a hint of annoyance.

"i think they're more attracted to sound, if anything," daesu speaks up, his voice measured, as if weighing the evidence. "this isn't like the movies," joonyeong counters, his tone dismissive, as if daesu's suggestion is too simplistic.

you sit, frozen, your leg bouncing with pent-up energy, your eyes fixed on some point outside, unblinking, as if mesmerized by your own anger. your jaw clenches, your mind racing with thoughts of nayeon's accusation, the word "welfie" echoing in your mind like a challenge. ms. kim's gaze falls on you, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if sensing the turmoil brewing inside. but before she can speak, hroryeong calls out, asking a question, and ms. kim's attention is diverted. its not long before your anger boils over, and you stand, your movements swift, as you head towards the recording room. you push open the door, and ms. kim's voice follows, "y/n-ah..." but you cut her off, your glance a brief, curt acknowledgement, before you step inside and close the door behind you, shutting out the world.

gyeongsu looks up at you, confusion etched on his face, as you walk over and sit down in the chair in front of him, your movements deliberate and calm. "i can't stand being out there with her," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret.

gyeongsu's expression changes, understanding washing over him, and he nods almost imperceptibly, knowing exactly who you're referring to. "you can't be in here, i might turn," he says, concern lacing his voice, as he nods towards the room you came from, his eyes clouding with worry.

"you're not gonna turn," you scoff, your voice firm, as if trying to convince yourself as much as gyeongsu. "so stop being stubborn."

you begin to play with the book in front of you, flipping the pages with a restless energy, your eyes scanning the words without really seeing them. gyeongsu looks away, his jaw clenched, and leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on some point above your head, his expression a mask of resignation.

the group gathers at the window, their faces pressed against the glass, eyes fixed on the recording room door as it closes behind you. they watch with bated breath, their movements frozen, as if waiting for something to happen. "y/n, really went in there?" daesu asks, his voice laced with incredulity, as if he can't believe his own eyes. wujin, still seated at the table, his expression calm and collected, states matter-of-factly, "he's upset."

hroryeong's curiosity gets the better of her, and she turns to wujin, asking, "how do you know?" wujin clears his throat, his eyes flicking towards ms. kim, who watches him with an expectant gaze, as if waiting for some hidden insight. the group's attention is focused on wujin, their faces a picture of anticipation, as they wait for his response.

"we were, um, close when we were younger," wujin begins, his voice hesitant, as if unsure how much to reveal. "y/n-ah usually gets quiet when he's really upset about something," he continues, his eyes clouding with memories. "and then he'll storm off. won't talk to whoever made him mad," he explains, his tone matter-of-fact, as if describing a familiar pattern. the group's gaze drifts back towards nayeon, their faces a picture of understanding, as if pieces are falling into place. wujin's cheeks flush with a sheepish grin. "a while ago, he didn't talk to me for almost two weeks because i said his painting wasn't as good as mine," he confesses, his voice laced with embarrassment. the group's eyes widen, surprised by the triviality of the offense, and they exchange knowing glances, as if thinking, "that's what caused such a big rift?"

the group's murmurs of understanding are interrupted by daesu's dramatic outburst. "that's cruel," he states, his hand flying to his heart, his eyes wide with mock horror. wujin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, a wry smile spreading across his face. "look, i was like 10 and i was jealous. i didn't know better," he explains, his tone defensive, as if justifying a past transgression.

meanwhile, ms. kim's gaze drifts towards the recording room, her eyes fixed on the back of your head, as you sit engrossed in a book, your arm propped on the table, your fingers idly flipping through the pages. she notices gyeongsu's mouth moving, his lips forming silent words, and assumes that the two of you are speaking, a look of quiet satisfaction crossing her face, as if relieved that communication has been established.

"wait, what? i live a few blocks down from that street," you say, your head jerking up from the book, as if the coincidence is too much to process. gyeongsu's eyebrows shoot up, his expression skeptical. "huh, you live there too? how come i never see you when i head to school?" he asks, his tone laced with curiosity, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. you shrug, your one shoulder barely rising off the chair, before answering with a nonchalant air, "i'm usually late to school." you return to scanning the book, your eyes scanning the pages with renewed interest, as if trying to escape the conversation.

gyeongsu hums in response, a soft, contemplative sound, before his gaze drifts back to you, his eyes clouding with a mixture of concern and trepidation. "is that why you can't stand nayeon?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard through the soundproof room. "because you're also on welfare..." he trails off.

knowing exactly what gyeongsu was getting at, you avert your gaze, your eyes drifting towards the floor, as you begin to bounce your leg nervously, a telltale sign of discomfort. "i can't stand her because she's a birdbrain," you state, your voice laced with a hint of defiance, as if daring gyeongsu to disagree. gyeongsu's lips twitch, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he attempts to hold back a smile, clearly amused by your blunt assessment. you smirk at him, a mischievous glint in your eye, before you both erupt into laughter, the tension dissipating like magic. "that is something i can die agreeing with," gyeongsu says, his voice choked with mirth, as he shakes his head in wonder.

you push your hair out of your face, your hand brushing against your forehead, as you laugh again, feeling a sense of freedom in this moment, enjoying the easy camaraderie that's developed between you. the two of you have been talking for almost 30 minutes now, getting to know each other, and it seems that your newfound friendship has been sparked by something as simple as sharing the same class and living district. the connection feels effortless, like you've known each other for years, not just minutes.

"hey, uh, i just wanted to ask, uh..." gyeongsu begins, his voice hesitant, as if unsure how to broach the subject. your eyes dart towards him, leaving the book forgotten, as you sense a vulnerability in his tone. "yeah?" you ask, your voice encouraging, inviting him to continue. gyeongsu fidgets with his hands, his fingers intertwining in a nervous dance, before he shakes his head, his eyes dropping. "nevermind," he leans back, his voice barely above a whisper, as if retreating from the conversation.

but you sense a lingering unease, a feeling that he's struggling with something, and your curiosity gets the better of you. "what is it?" you lean forward, your voice gentle, probing. gyeongsu's smile is awkward, his eyes darting away, as if seeking an escape. "nothing, sorry, it's none of my business," he mumbles, his tone dismissive. but you're not deterred, your mind racing with possibilities. you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the promise you made to be different, to be brave, starting today. "yes," you speak, your voice firm, decisive. the silence that follows is odd, gyeongsu's blank stare a testament to his surprise. "yes?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion, as if seeking clarification.

you nod with a head held high, your chin tilted upwards, as if daring him to question your conviction. "i said, yes," you repeat, your voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. gyeongsu's eyes narrow, his gaze scrutinizing, as if seeing you for the first time. your whole demeanor seems more confident, your shoulders squared, your posture relaxed, yet assertive. "are you sure-" he begins, his words trailing off as you say his name, your tone firm, but gentle.

he nods, his eyes never leaving yours, before proceeding to rub his chin, a thoughtful gesture, as if weighing his next words. "so, uh, how'd you know?" he asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. you glance down at your vest, lying on the table, as if the answer lies within its folds. "i met a guy," you begin, your voice measured, "and i realized he made me feel...different." you pause, searching for the right words. "it's the same way you know you like girls," you explain, your tone patient, as if teaching a child. gyeongsu nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression thoughtful. "i see," is all he responds, his voice laced with a hint of understanding.

but then, his gaze changes, a glint of suspicion creeping into his eyes, making you raise your eyebrows, surprised by the sudden shift. "do you think i'm-" he starts to ask, but you cut him off with a shake of your head, your hair swishing behind you. "no," you quickly answer, a hint of amusement in your voice. "sorry, but you're not my type," you add, your tone playful, teasing. gyeongsu's face falls, his eyes widening in mock offense, making you laugh, a joyful sound, that fills the room with warmth.

"well, fuck..." gyeongsu states, his voice trailing off into a chuckle, as he shakes his head in amusement. "no offense," you wave him off, laughing again, the tension dissipating like magic. "is there someone here that's your type, then?" he asks, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, as he nods towards the outside room. you glance back, your gaze drifting towards the group, and your heart skips a beat as you see suhyeok's back facing towards you, his muscled frame relaxed against the desk, flanked by wujin and daesu.

your stomach sinks, as if heavy with lead, at the thought of revealing the truth to gyeongsu. "um, i don't know," you lie, your voice hesitant, as if searching for an escape. "i don't really know everyone," you add, trying to sound nonchalant. gyeongsu's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing, as if seeing through your facade. "oh, come on," he teases, his voice laced with amusement. "you've known wujin since you were young," he says, his tone playful, as if trying to coax the truth out of you. you laugh, a nervous sound, before tossing the book at him, as if deflecting his question. the book sails through the air, its pages fluttering, before gyeongsu catches it with a grin.

"i mean, when i was younger, i maybe had a crush on him," you begin, your voice hesitant, as if confessing a long-held secret. but before you can continue, gyeongsu interrupts, his voice triumphant, "i knew it!" you put a hand up, palm facing him, as if to stop his train of thought, your eyes pleading for him to listen.

"but," you continue, your voice measured, "i realized it was just adoration. i wanted to be like him, not like-like him," you explain further, trying to clarify the distinction. gyeongsu makes a skeptical sound, an "ajussi" noise, his lips smacking in disbelief, as if he's not buying your explanation. he leans back in his chair, with his eyes narrowing, his gaze piercing, as if trying to see through your words, his expression a picture of playfulness.

"hey, um, was that rumor about you true?" gyeongsu asks, his voice hesitant, as if unsure how to broach the subject. but before you can even process the question, let alone respond, you're both interrupted by cheongsan's sudden entrance. you both turn to see his sheepish figure standing in the doorway, looking like he's just been caught doing something mischievous. "sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," cheongsan says, his eyes darting between you and gyeongsu, his face flushed with embarrassment. "y/n, is it cool if i speak to gyeongsu... privately?" he asks, his voice trailing off, as if unsure if he's overstepping.

you nod before he even finishes speaking, and get up from your seat, heading towards the door. you look back at gyeongsu, flashing him a warm smile. "i'll see you out there," you say, your tone friendly, as if reassuring him that everything is okay. gyeongsu gives you a smile back, his eyes crinkling at the corners, before turning to cheongsan, who's watching you both with confusion etched on his face.

"you guys seem close?" cheongsan questions, his brow furrowed, as if trying to understand the dynamics between you and gyeongsu. gyeongsu lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging, before responding with a laugh. "you don't even know," he says, his tone playful, as if there's a whole story behind his words.

as you step out of the recording room, you're immediately enveloped in a sea of stares. everyone's eyes are fixed on you, their faces a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. you ignore them, refusing to acknowledge their attention, and make your way to the chair at the back of the room. you sit down, trying to appear nonchalant, but you can't shake off the feeling of being watched. you glance around, noticing that everyone's still staring at the glass window of the recording room, their faces pressed against it like they're trying to get a glimpse of something fascinating. but then, you feel eyes on the side of your head, boring into your skin. you turn to glare at nayeon, who's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. you can't help but picture the most grotesque thing - her being eaten by zombies, her flesh torn apart, her screams echoing in your mind.

you wish, for a fleeting moment, that you could somehow 'accidentally' get her bitten, just to get her out of this group. you imagine myungwhan's, changhoon's, and gwinam's faces superimposed on hers, staring at you and laughing. your neck grows hot with rising blood pressure. nayeon looks away, her eyes dropping, and stands up, her chair scraping against the floor. you breathe a sigh of relief as she walks away.

just then, cheongsan walks out of the recording room, looking frazzled. "he doesn't wanna leave," he says, his voice exasperated, as if he's been trying to coax someone out of the room.

“why not?” wujin asks, his voice laced with curiosity, as he turns to face jimin. “because someone needs to apologize to him,” jimin responds, her eyes flicking back towards the recording room, where nayeon is now sitting, her eyes darting nervously across the room. everyone's gaze follows jimin's, their faces filled of anticipation. “you said it yourself, you would apologize after 30 minutes,” ms. kim speaks up, her voice firm but gentle, as if addressing a recalcitrant child. her words are directed at nayeon, who looks like she's been caught red-handed. you let out a deep sigh, feeling your frustration grow, as you rest your head back against the wall. you're trying everything within your power to not leave the room, to not storm out and escape the unjustifiable truth.

“all right,” nayeon says finally, her voice barely above a whisper, as she gets up from her seat and heads towards the recording room. she closes the door behind her, the sound echoing through the silent room like a promise.

“i don't get why she has to close the door,” namra states in a quiet tone, her voice barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. you turn to your right, surprised to see namra sitting beside you, her presence a gentle intrusion into your introspection. you hadn't even noticed her sit down, too caught up in your own mind. you slowly look back at the door, your eyes confirming what namra was saying. the door is indeed closed, a physical barrier between them and the rest of the group. a sense of unease settles in the pit of your stomach.

you both seem to have gotten a bad feeling about something, a shared intuition that something is off. you can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong. a few minutes later, which seemed like an eternity, gyeongsu comes running out of the recording room, his face red with rage, his words heated and angry. he shouts at nayeon, his voice echoing off the walls.

"what did you do?" you jump to your feet, your own anger ignited by gyeongsu's outburst, and shout at nayeon, who stands calmly, a proud smirk still plastered on her face. gyeongsu explains, his words tumbling out in a furious rush, how nayeon didn't just refuse to apologize, but actually belittled him even further, her words cutting deep. the boys quickly move to intervene, separating gyeongsu from nayeon, and escorting him towards the window, hoping the fresh air will calm him down, diffuse the tension. gyeongsu's chest heaves with anger, his fists clenched, as he struggles to contain his emotions.

“i don't understand,” ms. kim says, her voice laced with confusion, as she looks at nayeon with a mixture of puzzlement and concern.

“of course you don't understand,” you mutter under your breath, your voice barely audible, as namra helps you put your sling-vest back on, her hands gentle and supportive.

but this time, ms. kim's ears are sharper, and she catches your whispered comment. “what was that?” she questions, her tone firm, as she stands up straighter, her eyes narrowing slightly. you roll your eyes, feeling a surge of frustration, before turning away, not wanting to engage with her, not wanting to explain yourself. you'd rather walk away, leave the tension and the drama behind.

ms. kim turns back to nayeon, her expression stern, her arms folded across her chest. "you promised and said you were going to apologize to him," she scolds, her voice firm but disappointed. nayeon shrugs slightly, her face impassive. "i did nothing wrong," she states, her voice dripping with defiance.

your leg begins to bounce restlessly as the words from both the boys and girls start to ring in your ears, a cacophony of accusations and anger. "you only think about yourself," jimin spits at nayeon, his words venomous. and suddenly, your mind is transported back to a time when you were younger, hiding behind a creaky door, watching in horror as your dad was threatened by loansharks. one of them had said the exact same phrase, their voice dripping with malice. "you only think about yourself," they had sneered. you feel a lump form in your throat as memories come flooding back. you had cried silently, too afraid to move, too small to stand up to them. the helplessness washes over you once again, and you feel like that same scared, powerless child.

“that's enough. quiet, everyone,” ms. kim steps in, her voice firm but calm, trying to restore order to the chaotic room. but your heart is still racing, your breathing heavy, as the memories continue to flood your mind. namra, sitting in the corner, notices your distress and whispers, “y/n-ah..?” her voice soft with concern. but your mind is still spiraling, trapped in the past. you remember how those men had only stopped tormenting your father when he stopped fighting back, his body limp and lifeless in the sink. your 13-year-old self had crawled to him, shaking him, calling out to him, begging him to wake up. your sobs had been so loud, you're sure the landlord could hear you, but they chose to ignore it, leaving you alone in your despair. the memory of that helplessness, that helplessness, washes over you again, and you feel like you're drowning in it.

“appa! please!” you cried, your voice hoarse from screaming, your body shaking with sobs. suddenly, your grief and despair turned to anger, and you began hitting him, over and over, on his diaphragm. not to save him, but out of rage and frustration. “why? why couldn't you just do something? why?” you shout, your fists pounding against his chest, your words echoing off the walls. it was as if you were trying to punish him for giving up, for leaving you alone. but then, somehow, miraculously, god decided to answer your pleas. your father woke up, choking on water, his body convulsing as he turned to the side and began heaving and gagging. you turned upward, your eyes closed, and thanked whatever higher power was watching over you at that moment. you felt a mix of relief, guilt, and shame wash over you as you realized your father was alive, but also that you had hit him out of anger. the complexity of your emotions was overwhelming.

“you're all so annoying,” nayeon says with a scoff, her voice dripping with disdain, as if she's above all of them. “what if i'm finally right about this? will you all finally admit i saved you, huh?” she taunts, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and triumph.

meanwhile, namra stands up, her movements slow and deliberate, as she notices you staring at the floor, your eyes welling up with tears. your leg is bouncing up and down, a fast, jumpy motion that betrays your inner turmoil. namra's expression softens as she takes in the sight, her eyes filled with concern and compassion. she walks towards you, her footsteps quiet, as if trying not to startle you, her presence a gentle intrusion into your distress.

the memory of that fateful day comes flooding back, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. you had decided to confide in your dad about the bullying at school, hoping for support and guidance. but instead, he just sat there, his eyes glued to the TV, ignoring your pleas. you called out to him, your voice shaking with emotion, but he didn't flinch. he only turned off the TV and looked down at the ground, his silence deafening. you called out to him again, desperation creeping into your voice, telling him you couldn't take it anymore, but he remained silent. then, he turned to you, his face a mess of bruises and swelling. his lip was split, his eye blackened, and his expression was one of defeat. you looked away, unable to bear the sight. "that's what happens when you fight back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of his own weakness. the memory of his face, battered and broken, flashes in your mind, and a single tear-drop falls from your eye.

you stand up, the chair scraping against the floor as you slide it back. everyone turns towards you, their eyes filled with concern and curiosity. "y/n-" namra starts to say, her voice trailing off as she looks to ms. kim, seeking guidance, before turning back to you, her expression softening as she takes in your demeanor. your hand in a fist. “i cant do this anymore,” you sigh shakily, you words barely audible. before you walked past everyone and slid the rooms door open and shutting it behind you. you hear everyones yells for you as you begin walking down the empty and dark hallway only being lit by the moon.

“no!” suhyeok shouts, his voice echoing through the room as he rushes to the other side, but onjo quickly intercepts him, holding him back. ms. kim swiftly moves to block the front door, her expression firm. “i'll go get him! everyone stay here!” she commands, but before she can even turn the handle, nayeon's laughter cuts through the air. nayeon points a trembling finger at gyeongsu, her eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and triumph. “looks like i was right all along,” she says, her voice dripping with malice. and that's when everyone turns to see another catastrophe unfolding before their eyes. gyeongsu's nose is bleeding profusely, his eyes taking on a milky white hue. his skin is grayish, his movements slow and jerky. he's turning into a zombie.

the room falls silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the students as they watch in horror. ms. kim's eyes widen in shock, her hand still on the door handle. suhyeok struggles against onjo's grip, his face contorted in a mix of fear and desperation, the students frozen in terror as they realize their worst nightmare is coming true.

[flametrashiraarchive]

You are the mistress of a house which proudly serves the demon slayer corps. Sanemi is a frequent visitor and likes to come to you for rough stress release... you're not supposed to catch feelings for him.

Content Guidance: NSFW. This story literally starts mid-bang. There is a bit of degradation and explicit sexual content.

Chapter One.

If you didn't know every bit of your anatomy before, fucking Sanemi Shinazugawa whenever he feels like it has definitely taught you. Over the past six months he's made damn sure that you know– and feel the ache in– every muscle in your body.

"Had enough?" He gasps against your spine as he pulls out of you and finishes on your ass for the second time this afternoon. His mouth is hot and vicious, leaving bruising kisses across your flesh.

"No." You twist your fists into the bed sheets as your aching pussy throbs needing his cock again. It's been a long time since you could pinpoint where one orgasm ended and the next began. It's all just one painfully pleasurable blur. You glance over your shoulder to meet the Wind Pillar's wisteria-purple stare. "Keep going. Keep fucking me."

He bares his teeth in a feral grin, snapping his hips against your ass as he pounds into you again. "Needy little slut, aren't you?"

He always takes you from behind.

If it were up to you, you'd watch him throughout; that firm, taut body of his nothing less than a thing of beauty when he's glistening with sweat and growling in pleasure.

But it isn't up to you. Your view is dictated by the callused hand in your hair, pushing your head down until your whimpers are muffled by the mattress. He's always so rough with you. If it didn't feel so damn good you'd think he was punishing you for something.

But, if he ever gave you the choice, you'd like to face him once, clawing like a demon at his firm flesh and sinew, kissing that cruel mouth of his like you've craved since the moment you laid eyes on him. Sanemi never, ever kisses your lips. Every other inch of you, yes, but never there.

As the mistress of the house– a house which so happens to proudly display the wisteria crest, inviting members of the demon slayer corps to stay and rest while their needs are tended to– giving in to these particular whims of the wind hashira isn't strictly required, but they feel far too good to deny him.

"Say it!" He barks at your back as he pounds into you, his heavy balls slapping against you as though they're somehow pissed at you too.

He tugs your hair, lifting your face from the mattress long enough for you to groan, "I'm your needy little slut."

"Yeah," he grunts before a quiet laugh escapes him. "Yeah. My cock feels so fucking good, doesn't it? You can't get enough of it, huh?"

You nod as his thrusts send goosebumps down your back. A fresh wave of pleasure crashes through you as you climax again, crying out in pleasure as he reaches around your hip to strum your clit with his rough fingers.

You cry out, "Oh God, Sanemi! Never stop fucking me."

He laughs, letting your head fall back down onto your forearms before he pulls his dick out of you and drags a desperate whimper from your lips.

But you needn't worry. As much as he likes to tease, this man prides himself on your pleasure. No sooner has his dick left you than his tongue takes its place, feasting on your pussy as though your orgasms are the key to eradicating demons from the earth. He fucks you with his tongue, as he reaches his hands around you; one pinching your nipples, the other stroking your clit when his tongue is inside you.

This fucker with his magical dick and clever, cruel tongue. You could swear that a couple of hours ago you were bickering; some petty verbal sparring match over something trivial. And you know deep down he can't fuck you forever (although he seems to have the stamina for it). He's leaving just as soon as he's through making you come. He'll be setting off on a new mission… but tomorrow just so happens to be your birthday.

Your heart clenches at the thought of spending it filled with worry that Sanemi is off dying in some forsaken demons' lair. Not that you care… honestly. There's really nothing between you. Just sex. Mind blowing, meaningless, addictive sex. Right?

You let out a sigh, and Sanemi stops licking you.

"What's wrong?" He demands, slapping your ass cheek and leaving his hand right where it lands, cupping your aching flesh. "You pass out or something, huh? I don't hear you whining for once."

Placing your hands beneath you, you lift yourself until you're kneeling, before shuffling around to face him. A flutter in your chest stirs up as you drink in the sight of him: scarred and undeniably handsome, wild, white hair, the familiar ferocious look in his eyes which most likely means he's confused, affronted or both. You'd never say it aloud, but you're pretty sure God denied him eyebrows because he already looks permanently pissed off enough as it is.

"It's my birthday tomorrow," you say.

"I know." He licks your slick from his lips, turning his head away from you and staring at the floor beside the bed. "What do you want me to say? Happy fucking birthday?"

Reaching out to cup his jaw in your hand, his name leaves your lips. "Sanemi…"

He catches your wrist, fury flashing in his eyes until he looks away again. "What the hell are you doing?"

Good question. To be honest, you aren't entirely sure. Your fingers flex against empty air, craving the touch of his skin. This…is new.

Every other time you’ve been together, you’ve been perfectly content with just sex; he barges through the door, cursing as he slips off his belt, you bend over and gladly give him the stress relief he needs. Sometimes you might share a post-coital sake, or make small talk over dinner before he heads back out on the road. You’ve never wanted to touch him before. Not gently like this.

His throat flexes. "Do you want me to make you come again or not? If so, get your ass back in the air. If not, I'm leaving."

You chuckle, suddenly, somehow finding yourself endeared hopelessly to this man who's about as adept at expressing himself as a rock. "How about… How about we try it face-to-face one time before you go?"

He grimaces. "What the fuck? Why?"

"Because I think you're hot," you say gently coaxing his face back toward you. "And I want to look at you."

You might've missed the twitch of his lips if you weren't so fixated on them. For a moment you think he might smile, but it's quickly replaced by his familiar glower. "No."

"Not even for my birthday?" You say with a slight pout. "Don't you want to look into my eyes while you're fucking me?"

"No." He gets off the bed and stands, putting space between you. A moment later he's collecting his discarded clothes and hurrying to dress.

It's hard not to be offended by his urgency. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. That's reason enough."

You nod, dropping the subject. As rough as he can be, he's always respected your boundaries, and he deserves no less. "Okay. You're leaving right now?"

"I don't want to look at you. You're just a hole for me to fuck, understand?"

Your lips snap shut at the same time as his, the room seeming to tilt on its axis as his words pierce through you.

That's a new level of shittiness, even for him. A crackle along your spine accompanies your rage, your proverbial hackles raising. But before you can say another word he's gone.

As the days pass by, your anger bubbles away beneath the surface of your skin, a thousand retorts finding their way to your tongue far too late.

But before long, the anger fades giving way to something you could never expect.

Fear.

Fear that he won't be back, that you'll never get to retort. Fear that he's gone.

As much as you need to tell him that he was never anything more than a cock to you, and that there's nothing he could give you that can't be replicated with your own fingers, you need him to be alive to hear it.

But months pass and hope fades. Other slayers come and go; mostly polite, tired, and grateful for your hospitality. You ask about the hashira, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but you’re met with nothing but disappointment and the occasional fearful gasp at the mention of his name.

Sanemi Shinazagawa seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Until the day a Kakushi arrives, gasping for breath and spattered with blood.

"Fetch a doctor," he commands you from behind his veil. "We're bringing in a wounded hashira. He needs urgent medical attention."

You don't need to be told twice. Your home and your family have long served the corps, the wisteria crest painted on the door letting all demon slayers know they are welcome to shelter, rest, and request whatever they need from you. All slayers. Even the arrogant shitheads.

Your heart pounds as you run through city streets, and down back alleyways where the dawn's light has barely reached.

A hashira. A wounded hashira. In your home. Could it be him?

You both hope and dread it's Sanemi. It's a maelstrom of feeling; a desire to see him, even though you despise him, and although you've seen him bloodied and bruised before, you can't help but fear that this time might be worse. And yet, the thought of him needing you as something other than "a hole to fill" gives you a sort of satisfaction.

As you beat your fists against the doctor's door and wait for him to answer, you try to organize your thoughts. Above all else, you are the mistress of the house, and duty bound to tend to this hashira, whether or not they turn out to be that vile, obnoxious, eyebrowless son of a–

"Ready," the doctor announces, snapping you from your reverie. "Let's go. It sounds like there isn't time to waste."

Confusion furrows your brow until you notice the kasugai crow flying out of the house and after him.

Cold fear pools in the pit of your stomach. Maybe the hashira's condition worsened after they sent you. Maybe they didn't think you'd make it in time to save the wounded slayer.

"Hurry! Hurry!" the crow squawks. "There isn't time to waste."

"This way." You lead the doctor back through familiar paths back to your home , through shortcuts you've known since you were a child.

Your heart races as your home comes into view.

Chapter 2

[livesworthlivingau]

Lives Worth Living Chapter 24

ISAT/Two Hats spoilers below! CW: Negative self talk.

"I... I heard you had a bit of an... 'episode'?" (Loo-... Vale asked, looking to you with a nervous glance. You finish pouring their cup of tea as they sat at the table, pausing for a second while looking away.)

"Y-Yeah... I... I found your star..." (You say, looking down at their chest, seeing a bit of that scar through their clothes. They bring a hand up to place over it, lowering their head a little.)

"... I'm sorry to have caused you so much worry." (You sit down across from them, staying silent for a moment before finally forcing some words out.)

"What happened?"

"... I made a wish... I wished for a life of my own, so you could keep yours and I wouldn't need to steal it from you... Of course the Universe couldn't just give me what I wanted without having a little fun first though, so it sent the star in my chest supernova~!" (They begin to explain with that oh so familiar smile plastered on their face... Despite them looking so different, you'd still recognize it anywhere.)

"So I had to tear it out of my chest... It hurt worse than anything I've felt before, even worse than swallowing it and feeling it burn out my insides... I did die for a moment there I think, if Nille hadn't been there it might have stuck." (They note with a playful smile, finally lifting their tea to sip it.)

"N-Nille?!" (You weakly shout, not having expected to hear her name during all of this.)

"Oh! Yes, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? After I... well.." (They fall silent for a moment, looking to you then away again... You lightly place a hand over your heart for just a moment, you both knew what they were referring to...)

"After that, I ran and ran and ran... And ran straight into Nille... Heh... Imagine that, running from my problems, only to run right into the person you all were looking for..." (You lower your head a little, unsure how to respond to that. They seem to notice this.)

"Sorry... These are my problems, not yours. Regardless, we started travelling together, and she's been helping me... figure myself out, I suppose? Where I fit in this universe now that there's no going back..."

"L-Loop-" (They wince heavily at being called that, you quickly cover your mouth with your hand.)

"S-Sorry... Vale, I... You'll always be welcome here." (You offer, you know the gesture probably won't mean anything, but it's the truth, and they need to know that.)

"... I don't think the others will feel that way when they learn what I did to you..." (You both fall silent for a while after that. They were right, your family loved you too much to just let that slide... but did they have to know?... Could you keep lying to them forever?...)

"Stop, Stardust... I know that look..." (You perk up, looking back over at them... you forgot how bad you got at hiding your 'thinking' faces over the years.)

"It has to come out, they deserve to know... and I deserve whatever punishment that brings..." (You pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts, trying to find some sort of solution to this. You look back at L-Vale, come on, get that into your head, VALE! VALE! VALE! They look really distressed about this. You lay your hand on the table, offering it for them to take. They blink a bit, looking back up at you, then your hand again, hesitantly bringing theirs up to lay onto it. You give theirs a firm, comforting squeeze.)

"I thought I'd lost you... twice now... I won't let a third time happen." (You say, as confident as you can through your raspy voice. They give a slight smile in response, squeezing your hand back.)

"Thank you, Stardust... I'll do my best to make things work this time..."

(You both sit in silence yet again, occasionally sipping your teas, it was a bit more of a comfortable quiet now as you were just glad to have them back.)

"So what happened to your voice?"

"... Do you remember when I said the island's name?" (They suddenly choke on their tea, coughing and struggling for air as it went down the wrong pipe.)

"Stardust?!" (They shriek with worry. You wince some, shrinking into your seat a bit again.)

"Long story... Really bad nightmare after losing you..." (You try to explain succinctly, They seem especially worried about the mention of a nightmare, furrowing your brow and tilting your head a bit.)

"What?"

"... What?"

"Why do you... did something happen?"

"N-No? Whatever do you mean?" (They stammer out, quickly bringing their fake smile back... You sigh a bit, but drop it for now.)

"So, you've been travelling with Nille?"

"Yes, she's really quite something else." (They chuckle a bit, a soft smile on their face now.)

"Yeah she is... she got me out of a few bad spirals..."

"Oh, right, she would have been there for all that time, wouldn't she?..." (Vale brought a hand up to the back of their neck, rubbing it lightly, seeming to be nervous about what they were going to ask.)

"... Was she happy?"

"Huh?"

"During that time... was she happy?... Did she have a good life with you all?..." (They looked back down at their cup, staring into the tea for a minute, you were a bit stunned, unsure what to even say to that until they look up back up at you expectantly.)

"... Y-Yeah?... Sorry, did you mean something specific or?"

"... Tell me about it, please?" (The look on their face almost looked... desperate?)

"O-Okay... Uhhh... Her and Bonnie opened a lil restaurant in Bambouche eventually? Her and Isa hang out a lot, they've got a lot in common actually." (You say with a bit of a chuckle, sipping at your tea to help soothe your still sore throat. You peek back over at Vale, who was looking away nervously... a light blush across their face...)

"V-Vale?..." (They jump back to attention, quickly shaking the look and blush away.)

"Yes~?"

"... D... Do you..." (You blink a couple times, trying to piece things out before the realization finally hits you like a boulder.)

"YOU AND NILLE?!"

"Wh-What?! Wh-What about us?!"

"YOU LIKE NILLE?!"

"TH-THAT'S PROPOSTEROUS!!"

"Oh that's so cute!! You two would be so good together!!"

"Sh-Shut up! Th-That's just ridiculous!!"

"Then why are you blushing so much~?" (You grin wide, their face nearly lightless from how deep the blush was. They looked furious, about to yell, only for your comment to completely shut them up, crossing their arms with a frustrated pout.)

"hehe... She never wound up with anyone by the way... I think she said something about never meeting the right person?"

"... Not like that's changed..."

"Hey..."

"J-Just... just drop it please, Stardust... She's far better than I deserve anyhow..."

"... I'm sure we both thought the same about Isa..."

"... You're the one who earned your happy ending, not me..."

"Vale... Come on, you know that's not fair to you..."

"Just drop it... There's nothing more to discuss..."

"... Does she feel the same?"

"Drop. It."

"Okay! okay!" (You surrender with your hands up and a slight chuckle. Your face falls to rest in a content little smile.)

"I'm really glad you're back, Vale." (They roll their eyes a bit in response, sipping their tea curtly with annoyance, causing you to laugh weakly again.)

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 27

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo X OFC

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Warnings: Discussions about intimate partner violence, suicidal ideation, mental health struggles, drug abuse, and alcohol abuse.

Chapter Quote: "I got to snuggle some baby goats."

It took everything in me to hold back the sob that threatened to escape the instant I heard Dieter’s voice. I momentarily placed my hand over my mouth to hold it in and compose myself. I let out a shaky breath as I tried to find my voice. 

“Dieter?” 

I could hear his stuttered breathing on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was battling with his emotions too. 

He cleared his throat, “Yeah… it’s me.”

I sighed loudly into the phone as the tears started to slide down my face. I felt like my brain had completely shut down on me, unsure of what to say but also feeling the urge to say everything all at once. It was so overwhelming but also awkward since we had not talked in so long. There were still so many things up in the air between us. 

“How’ve you been?” He asked, sounding unsure of himself. I felt like he didn’t know what to say either. 

I sniffed loudly as I wiped at my face, “Umm, I’ve been ok. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling good. Normal, I think…then again…I’m not sure I really know what normal is,” we both laughed nervously.

“I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I can confidently say that at least,” he added. 

I smiled. It was nice to know that he was feeling better. It helped dampen some of the worry I had been feeling. 

“How are things going, otherwise?”

“Well, I got to snuggle some baby goats during group therapy this morning. I kinda want one now.”  He sounded unabashed about this revelation. 

“Of course you do,” I said in response, shaking my head and chuckling at the thought. 

“I gotta new roommate two weeks ago…Gordon is his name. He’s an interesting guy…he uhhh…” he stifled a laugh before continuing. “He said he came here because the wall outlets were talking to him. Like, full conversations. They finally stopped after he got his meds sorted out. Made me feel a little better about my issues.”

I was a little dumbfounded, “Ummm, I’m not sure if I should laugh about that or not…” Dieter snickered, “He jokes about it now, so I think it’s ok.” 

It felt good to hear him laughing again. I had missed that sound more than I realized. I really missed his voice in general. He sounded different. Better, lighter almost. It was a sound I wanted to commit to memory. 

“Umm…so Gabby said you didn’t take that job offer?” His nervousness had returned with that question. 

“No, I turned it down.” I started rubbing at my shoulder with my free hand as I moved to sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Why? It sounded like an amazing opportunity”

I sighed, now rubbing at the crease between my brows, “It was, but it’s not where I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. I would’ve had to give up too much and I don’t feel like I’m in the right headspace to do that.”

“I hope it wasn’t because of me…”

“No. I mean, I guess I can’t say no. You’re part of it…but my life is here. I can’t leave Lauren or even Gabby and Alex at this point. We’ve all gotten so close. And like I said, I’m not in the right headspace for that. I would’ve been spending a lotta time alone and I don’t wanna do that right now. It just wasn’t where I felt like I should be. I didn’t feel any kind of excitement over it at all, so I turned it down”

I suddenly felt vulnerable revealing that to him, questioning if I should have. I didn’t want him to worry about me when he needed to be focusing on himself. 

“Are you sure you’re doing ok?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise. I’m just…I-” I huffed, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure if it was ok to finish that thought. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about how he was feeling or make an ass of myself. 

I heard him chuckle quietly over my flustered response, “I miss you too.” 

I was instantly calmed by his words, my anxiety about where we stood easing some. I let out a shy laugh at his declaration, tears still running down my face as I sniffled out, “You do?”

“Of course, I do, so fucking much… I - I’m sorry I haven't called you. I wanted to make sure I had a clear head when I did, and then I didn’t really know what to say after everything that happened.”

I heard him inhale sharply before he spoke up again, there was a tapping noise, like he was drumming his fingers against something.

“Listen, I’ve only got a few minutes left before they cut me off for today, but the reason I called…” 

He paused, clearing his throat nervously, “Umm, so I wanted to see if you would be willing to come here and do a session with my psychiatrist and me…”

“Of course, when?”

“Whenever you can. Just uhh, call my case worker and she’ll get it scheduled.” 

I could hear him shuffle around before he started cursing under his breath. 

“Well, I was gonna give you the number but now I can’t find it...Gabby should have it.” 

I couldn’t help but to snigger at him. He was still a little bit of a hot mess, which I loved about him. 

He followed up with an exasperated “sorry” about not being able to find the number before he let out a quiet laugh at himself. It felt like part of it was his nervousness too. 

“I’ll text her to get it as soon as we hang up and I’ll call immediately.” 

I could hear him sigh in relief before a beeping noise broke into our conversation with an automated message giving a one minute warning. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow if they’ll let me…or at least as soon as they’ll let me,” I said in a rush. Suddenly feeling the pressure of our limited time. I still felt like I had so many things to say to him. 

“I would like that. I…I really can’t wait to see you…” 

His words trailed off, shaking slightly as he was hit with another wave of emotions. 

“I can’t wait to see you either,” I replied with a quivering voice. 

After a moment of silence, there was a clicking sound as the line disconnected. I held the phone against my forehead, trying to get my breathing back to normal. Once I was able to focus my thoughts, I sent a quick text to Gabby to let her know that Dieter had called and that I needed the number for his case worker. I half expected her to call me, but thankfully she didn’t. She replied back quickly with the number and that she was happy he finally reached out. She followed that message up with another asking me if I was ok and if I needed to talk about it. I appreciated her offer, but I was good for now and let her know as much. Once I finished texting with Gabby, I dialed the number for the case worker, suddenly feeling nervousness forming in the pit of my stomach. 

“Sanctuary Hills, this is Sharon,” the polite, yet comforting voice answered.

“Hi Sharon, this is Natalia Cohen…” She cut in before I could continue. 

“Oh, Talia, hi. I’ve been expecting your call. Dieter told me he was going to be calling you.” 

I let out a nervous laugh, slightly taken aback by the familiarity in which she said my name. It made me wonder how much he had talked about me. 

“I assume you’re calling about an appointment for a family session?” 

I didn’t know why, but it stirred something in me when she called it a family session. Technically, I wasn’t his family, but they were treating me as if I were. I could feel the tears prickling at my eyes again as I exhaled out a breathy “yes” in response.

“That’s wonderful news, I know he’ll be overjoyed to see you.” I could hear the smile in her voice

“I can’t wait to see him either,” I replied, still trying to keep the emotions out of my words.

“Alright, let me have a look at the schedule. Dr. Rosenberg did ask that you be prepared to be available for at least a week for additional sessions, if possible.” 

“Additional sessions?” I was confused. I couldn’t recall if the same thing had been asked of Gabby, which caused my anxiety to flare.  

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal for that to happen. It’s mostly educational sessions for family members if they’re willing to participate.”

“Oh, ok. That doesn’t sound so bad.” I laughed nervously. 

“When would you like to come in?” she asked with a calming tone.

“As soon as you can get me in is preferable.” I started tapping on the table as I waited for options, listening to the clicking of a keyboard on her end. 

“How about 10 AM the day after tomorrow?” 

“I’ll take it,” I said a little too eagerly. The anticipation of seeing Dieter again was starting to get to me. 

“I have it scheduled. In case you do end up staying for additional sessions, we have apartments on site for patient families. So, you won’t have to worry about lodging. We don’t want you stressing about that while you’re here.”

“Oh, that’s…nice. Thanks for letting me know.”

“When you arrive for your session, come in the north entrance with the blue awning and they'll get you checked in. It’s a different entrance than where you would have come in before.”  

I thanked her and our conversation ended soon after that. Afterwards, I sat staring out the kitchen window, feeling the anxiousness settle into my gut. Not knowing what to expect was always the worst for me. It was like that call had started a countdown, to what, I wasn’t sure. I could only hope the end result would be something positive. 

The morning of our session, I had a ridiculously early flight so that I could be there in time. I decided to keep things simple with minimal makeup, a messy bun, sunglasses, sneakers, skinny jeans, and one of Dieter’s button up dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. I had raided his closet while I was at his house cleaning up. It was something small, but being wrapped in his scent or wearing something that belonged to him brought me some comfort during my time without him. His clothing quickly became a staple in my casual attire. 

I was so anxious about seeing Dieter again that the flight didn’t faze me like it normally would have. Though it was an hour and a half, it seemed much quicker as the minutes continued to count down and the distance between us shortened. I could feel myself getting more worked up the closer I got. By the time I acquired the rental car and was on the road to the facility, my chest was heavy. Breathing was getting harder with each mile that passed. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I sat gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands and taking deep breaths. I wasn’t even sure why I was so nervous, it’s not like I knew what Dieter was planning to talk to me about. However, deep down I had a fear, though most likely irrational, that he was going to realize he didn’t really want to be with me after this. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that a second time if it were to happen. Without permission, the tears started to streak down my cheeks, and I felt like I was going to be sick. 

After a few more deep breaths, I slammed my fist down on the stop of the steering wheel out of frustration, “Fucking hell, get it together Talia.”  

My head dropped back onto the headrest as I squeezed my eyes shut, still taking deep controlled breaths. After several minutes passed, I let out a slow exhale before opening my eyes. Feeling more relaxed, I did a quick check in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like a complete mess before exiting the vehicle to go inside. 

I was starting to have an out of body feeling as I went through the check in process. I couldn’t really remember walking to the building or anything the lady behind the desk had just said to me as I sat down in the lobby to wait. After a few minutes, one of the receptionists called my name and led me through a secure door down a long hallway. We passed several offices that had glass inserts in the doors with shades. Most of the shades were pulled closed, however, I noticed one was open. As I approached, I glanced inside and was met with a familiar figure sitting in a high backed desk chair in the middle of the room with his head leaned back and eyes closed as he spun back and forth, his legs bouncing ever so often. He was sitting on the opposite side of a desk from a woman who was possibly in her fifties, with graying hair and a kind face. Though, she did have a slightly overwhelmed look about her as her eyes met mine through the glass. 

I stopped briefly, watching him wave his hands animatedly as he talked incessantly, never raising his head or opening his eyes. I felt a small smirk sneak across my face. He was nervous too. I could tell. My eyes flicked back to the woman, who was watching me watch him with a soft smile on her face. 

My attention was pulled away by the receptionist, who was now at my side waiting for me to continue following her. 

“He’s been driving us all crazy this morning. I think poor Sharon is getting the worst of it. He’s beyond excited that you’re here today.” 

I chuckled at the thought before continuing down the hallway. I was led into a spacious office. It was modern and white with floor to ceiling windows on one side with nothing in sight but nature. All the furnishings were earth tones of brown and deep reds and oranges. I noticed there were a lot of plants filling the space, which added a homey feeling, in a strange sort of way. It also struck me how there were different seating areas on either side of the room. One had a small couch and cushy chair positioned in front of it, while the other had four cushy chairs sitting closely together in a circle. Each of the seats were adorned with soft looking pillows in various shades matching the space. There was a traditional desk setup in the center of the room with two chairs placed in front of it. Each area felt carefully designed to meet specific needs.   

Moments after entering the room, I was greeted by Dr. Rosenberg who first shook my hand, then pulled me in for a loose hug. 

“Talia, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you the last couple of months.” 

It took me by surprise, though I felt like it shouldn’t have. There was a certain familiarity and kindness that everyone seemed to have toward me. Everyone had been very warm and welcoming thus far. It was comforting to know this was the type of environment that Dieter had been in. 

I gave her a tight lipped smile as she led me over to sit in one of the four chairs in a circle. To my surprise, the chair spun slightly as I sat in it. Dr. Rosenberg turned hers to face me directly, so I did the same with mine. I had managed to stay composed thus far, but my nervousness was starting to show as I reached up and rubbed at my shoulder. The psychiatrist was silent for a moment as she watched my movements. I stopped, sat up straight and placed both hands on top of my crossed legs to keep from fidgeting. 

I’m not sure why, but I felt the need to appear like I had my shit together. I took a minute to study her as she gave me a soft smile while she continued to get settled, grabbing a notepad, file folder, pen, and glasses from the small table next to her seat. She was probably in her early fifties, maybe late forties. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she was dressed in business casual attire. I could tell she wanted to appear professional, but not uninviting. She was also definitely looking at my body language very closely, which was making me feel antsy. My therapist used to do that, and I hated it. I mentally smacked myself over my thoughts. I was already putting up walls and we hadn’t even started talking yet. 

“Well, it’s been an exciting morning around here. Dieter is definitely happy you’re here. He was asked to leave his group session this morning because he couldn't focus. He’s been bugging poor Sharon ever since.” She laughed and smiled affectionately at her words.

She was trying to get me to relax. I knew that I looked too tense. I let out a breathy laugh as I sat back further in the seat, trying to appear less uptight, but I didn't think it was working. She gave me a sympathetic look suddenly, “You’re nervous to see him.” 

It wasn’t a question. Looking down at my hands, I chuckled to myself briefly before clearing my throat to speak, “Yeah, I guess I am. I just…don’t know what to expect.”

“That’s a perfectly normal feeling. It’s not unusual for family members to worry if their loved one is going to be different after treatment. Is that some of what you’re feeling?”

Her question took me by surprise, “Ummm, maybe. Sort of...maybe not so much about him being different…more about him feeling differently.” 

She nodded, “I understand. I can’t say that he won’t be different. His personality may present differently, more calm, less emotional or moody. He will feel differently in that he won’t be cycling from one extreme to the other, emotionally. As far as how he feels ABOUT things, that isn’t going to change just because he’s stabilized. Does that make sense?” 

I gave a tight nod, “Yeah, it does.” It didn’t do anything to ease my anxiety though because I still didn’t know how he really felt about us. She eyed me for a second before continuing.

“So, I’ll fill you in on my plan for today. First, you and I are going to chat about Dieter’s diagnosis. Once we’re done, I’m going to bring him in for the session. After that, you and I will have a follow-up meeting to discuss the path forward. Does that sound ok to you?”   

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I started to chew on my bottom lip while she flipped through the file in her hand.

“Great. Just so you’re aware, Dieter signed release forms for you to have access to his medical and treatment information. Nothing is off the table, so if you have questions, ask. He made it clear to me that he wants you to know everything and wants you involved as much as you want to be.”

I paused briefly, shocked by that information. I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, “Ok...I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She smiled before continuing, “Alright, let’s get to it then?” She raised her brows at me, asking permission to proceed. I motioned with my hand to continue.  

“So, he’s been formally diagnosed with mixed episode Bipolar I Disorder (BD). In simple terms, bipolar disorder is when someone experiences extreme behavioral or mood changes. The extreme highs are called manic episodes, and lows are episodes of depression. Most people with BD go through highs and lows over an extended period of time. Someone with mixed episodes, like Dieter has, tend to experience both highs and lows simultaneously or in a rapid sequence with no recovery time.”

She paused, giving me a minute to digest her words. I couldn’t say I was surprised by the diagnosis, it actually made a lot of his behavior make sense. When I didn’t speak up, she continued. 

“I think what happened with Dieter…he was put on a lot of medication. Antidepressants in particular can be very tricky for someone with BD. It can cause an increased risk of mood destabilization when the antidepressants are not taken with a mood stabilizer. He was on pretty much everything but a mood stabilizer. You add that in with not sleeping, not eating, drinking, anxiety, and episode triggers…it’s a recipe for disaster. Sometimes being improperly medicated like that can trigger suicidal ideation and even psychosis. Honestly, he was fighting a losing battle.”

I leaned forward in my seat, placing my elbows on my knees while I rubbed at my face. I felt anger bubbling in my chest. 

“Why didn’t his therapists or doctors catch what was happening?”

“One reason…lack of experience. BD is also incredibly hard to diagnose because it shares symptoms with so many other more common disorders like anxiety, depression, PTSD, and ADHD, which is what he was being treated for. That’s not to say he doesn’t have those things as well, but if he does, we need to take a different treatment approach.” 

I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief. “Wow, that actually kind of blows my mind.” 

“I know… and I’m surprised that no one thought to look into it, given his family history. It can be hereditary, and BD does have a high suicide rate. Given what happened with his mother, it should’ve been considered. Also, the fact that he experienced trauma in dealing with that incident...trauma often causes the onset of symptoms.” 

I sighed heavily as the tears started to pool in my eyes, “This actually…kind of pisses me off that he had to go through all of this needlessly. He fucking hated taking that stuff because of the way it made him feel.”  

“That brings me to my next topic...It's been hard to get a baseline with him. I feel like a lot of the things he was experiencing were side effects from all the medications he was on. I can’t really rely on his history before he started the medication because he was using recreational and prescription drugs and drinking heavily to self medicate, which could have been making things worse for him during that time as well.” She paused briefly to gauge my reaction, “I assume you knew about his past substance abuse issues?”

“Yeah, he’s mentioned it…What does all that mean?”

“Well, it’s hard to know exactly what his actual symptoms are right now. So, to start, I’m doing the bare minimum. I’ve started him out on a low dose mood stabilizer called divalproex sodium. It’s actually…an anticonvulsant that’s normally used to treat seizures rather than a typical mood stabilizer like lithium.”

I drew my brows down together in confusion, “Why a seizure medication?” 

“That medication increases the amount of a chemical called gamma-aminobutyric acid in the brain. It works to block certain transmissions across the nerves in the brain and creates sort of an overall calming effect. That particular medication often works best for patients that have mixed or rapid cycling episodes. Lithium typically doesn’t get the job done in those instances. He seems to be doing well on it so far. We’ll give it a few more months to make sure everything else is out of his system and reevaluate.”    

“So, he went from taking half the pharmacy…to one thing?” 

“He did. He seems pretty set on limiting the medications as much as possible. He’s been spending a lot of his time doing cognitive behavioral therapy, interpersonal and social rhythm therapy, and psychoeducation to help him manage his symptoms and learn about triggers and that sort of thing. He’s been very invested in it, and it seems to be helping.”

I sighed, starting to feel overwhelmed, “I don’t know what all of that is. I mean, I know cognitive behavioral therapy but…” I shook my head in confusion. 

“No worries, if you decide to continue with the family education sessions you’ll learn about that stuff. I know it’s a lot to take in...”

“Yeah, it is, but I’m happy that he’s hopefully on the right track now.” I took a couple of deep breaths to try and relax some as I continued to process things. 

“One last thing before I bring Dieter in...I know you two were no longer together before his hospitalization and you haven’t really had a chance to work things out. His preference is to stay with you when he leaves treatment. I do want to be able to manage his expectations if that isn’t going to be the case. I don’t want you to feel like you have to allow that if you aren’t ready to take all this on. I want you to know that you can say no.”

I was taken aback at her directness, but also appreciated it. I actually felt like I was warming up to her some and feeling more comfortable with opening up to her. I didn’t hesitate with my response, if anything, I said it with conviction, looking directly into her eyes as I spoke. 

“There’s no question in my mind about him coming home with me so long as he wants to. I’ve known from the start that he was struggling with his mental health, and I promised to support him through it. A new diagnosis doesn’t change anything for me. I’m all in for this.”

Dr. Rosenberg gave me a warm smile, clearly satisfied with my response. “Now I see why he says you can be a force to be reckoned with.”

My eyebrows shot up at her words as she again took me by surprise, “Dieter said that?” I chuckled at the thought as I leaned back in my seat, surprised that was the wording he chose. 

“He’s said a lot of things about you, all positive, of course.” She laughed quietly to herself as she set her glasses on the table. As she stood, she announced she was going to go get him for our joint sessions. 

After Dr. Rosenberg disappeared out the door, I could feel my anxiety returning. My chest was starting to tighten again as my heart beat a mile a minute. Instinctively, my right hand moved to rub at my shoulder. Was he going to be upset about how easily I gave up on us? I didn’t know how he couldn’t be. It didn’t sound like he was planning to end things for good even though that thought kept crossing my mind. It was clearly my pessimism and self-doubt seeping in. The thought of being completely open and vulnerable in this setting was making things worse too. I wasn’t a fan of having an audience, but I needed to get over that and not build up my walls right now. I propped my arm on the rest of the chair and started to rub at my forehead as my leg began to bounce. I couldn’t make myself stop the fidgeting no matter how hard I tried. 

After several minutes passed, Dr. Rosenberg returned with Dieter following behind her. His head was down, clenching and unclenching his hands as he walked. As he approached me, he finally looked my way through his lashes. He gave me a small smile that widened as his eyes dropped down to my shirt, obviously noticing I was wearing one of his. I gave him a shy smile in return. He sat down in the chair directly in front of me as Dr. Rosenberg returned to her earlier spot. 

It was clear he was nervous by the way he couldn’t keep his hands still and how the heel of his croc kept bouncing off the tiled floor. He would only occasionally glance in my direction as we waited for Dr. Rosenberg to get settled again. I took the opportunity to study his appearance. He looked so much better compared to the last time I had seen him. His light gray t-shirt was no longer loose looking around his fit torso. His pale skin had been replaced with a golden tan. His hair was longer and as wild as ever, framing his scruffy and patchy beard. His chocolate brown eyes looked clearer than I had ever seen them and were filled with nervousness and anticipation. 

Once Dr. Rosenberg was ready to start, she filled Dieter in on what she had discussed with me about his diagnosis. She then encouraged him to take the lead going forward and discuss the things he wanted to speak with me about. He rubbed his hands together nervously, briefly chewing on his bottom lip before he met my gaze to speak. 

“So, you’re…ok with that diagnosis?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what he meant and gave him a confused look. “Like, it doesn’t freak you out or anything? I know it’s a lot to deal with.” 

“Dieter, the diagnosis doesn’t change anything. You’re still you. Why would it bother me?”

“I dunno, I’m just afraid that at some point you’re gonna realize how big of a mess I am and run away from it all,” he said sheepishly. 

I chuckled, leaning forward in the seat with a teasing smile, “I realized how big of a mess you were a long time ago.”  He scratched at his chin as a smirk formed on his lips.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen the worst of it and I’m still here. My feelings for you haven’t changed. You don’t have to worry about that from me.”

His eyes turned glassy at my words as he pinched his brows together, looking downward at his hands in his lap. 

“I don’t deserve you, not after the way I treated you…the things I said. I was such an asshole to you.”

I bit at my bottom lip, shaking my head before speaking, “None of that matters to me. I know you weren’t completely yourself when you said those things.”

“No, I wasn’t but I still knew what I was doing and saying. I apparently tend to self-sabotage things. Some of the things I said, using your past against you, I knew it would hurt you. I wanted the words to hurt so you would let me go. I knew you wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Why though? I don’t understand why you felt the need to end things to begin with. Why was I a burden to you?”

His eyes widened at my question, brows shooting upward as he shook his head from side to side, “No, no you weren’t the burden…I was. I’m sorry I made you think that. I know the night I called, I wasn’t making a lot of sense. I…I hadn’t slept in days, and I was such a fucking mess.”

He licked his bottom lip and chewed at it for a second before continuing, “I could see how you were having to completely change everything about your life to accommodate me and my work just for us to be together. I knew it was eventually gonna be a problem and cause you stress because it was affecting your job. I didn’t wanna ruin your life that way. You shouldn’t have to cater your life to mine, it’s not fair. I love you too much to do that to you.”    

“Dieter, it wasn’t always gonna be like that. It just happened to be shitty circumstances caused by the remote location. If we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, I could’ve worked without issue. We just weren’t prepared for the challenges that came up. This is a learning experience for both of us. We’ll know better for next time so I can plan accordingly…and it wasn’t like you weren’t making changes to meet me halfway.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. He sighed as he leaned back in his seat, nodding in agreement. 

“I know that now, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly…obviously. It all made sense at the time.” He rolled his eyes, frustrated with his behavior. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“It was more than that though, I knew I was spiraling out of control. I could fucking feel it happening and didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t wanna tell you what was going on because I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you would drop everything and fly back to Canada to be with me.”

“You’re damn right I would’ve… and I should’ve done that anyway.” I could feel my emotions catching up to me, my eyes filling with tears as I looked down away from him. 

“I fucking knew it…in my gut that something was wrong, and I did nothing. If I had just done it…came up there anyway, this probably would’ve gone differently. I could’ve helped you through it, but no…I was a fucking coward. I gave up because I was selfish and wanted to protect myself. I didn’t even try because I was too afraid that I would end up in a dark place again if you didn’t want me to be there with you.”

The tears were streaking down my cheeks by this point. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. I had so much anger for myself that it was making me feel sick. Dieter stood from his seat, closing the few feet between us, then got down on his knees on the floor in front of me. He moved to grab my hands in my lap, but hesitated. I reached up and grabbed his in response.

“I’m sorry I put you in the position to even have to think that. It should’ve never happened. I should’ve been communicating everything with you instead of pushing you away. This whole fucking mess is my fault…I wanted to reach out so many times after that… to try and fix it, but you seemed like you were doing ok so I didn’t want to upset you again.”

The tears were streaming down his face now as he took a minute to try and compose himself. 

“I thought I could move on and just deal with things the way I used to…by numbing the pain. That’s when I started drinking heavily again. Then I saw you at the restaurant, and you looked so fucking amazing…and I was such a dick. I was so angry with myself for that. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I had everything and fucked it up. My behavior after that night was reckless. There are days I can’t even remember because I was drinking so much. I just wanted to not think about it anymore.”

He pulled his hands away, looking down at the floor before wiping at his face. When he raised his head again, the pain in his eyes nearly made my heart stop. I reached out to cup his cheek, but he leaned away, seeming to need space.  

“The night that video of you was posted online…several people sent it to me. I didn’t watch it at first because I didn’t think it would mean anything…but when I finally did…”

He put his hand over his mouth, letting out a quiet sob, before continuing. 

“I could see how bad you were hurting…how bad I hurt you. What I did to you…I hated myself for it because you didn’t deserve that. It also reminded me of what I was missing out on because of how beautiful you sounded and looked…and that fucking song.” 

He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He sniffled and wiped at his face again before continuing.  

“I stayed up all night, watching it on a loop on the tv. I almost called you then, but stopped myself. I drank until I had nothing left instead. Then, when I ran into you the next morning, I could see how fucking broken you were. The way you looked at me…it fucking crushed me. I bought more alcohol and went back to the house. I don’t really remember much after that.”

He shook his head for a moment, pausing to take a few deep breaths, wiping at his face again. 

“I don’t even remember calling you…and…even after everything I did, you still came to me. You could’ve easily told me to fuck off and I would’ve deserved it, but you didn’t. I know I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t. You saved my life…I feel like you’ve been doing that ever since New York. When I say you’re my light in the darkness, I fucking mean it.”

I started sobbing into my hands. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hands around his neck as he moved to hug me. We sat there in an embrace for some time before I started mumbling into his shoulder. 

“I was so afraid you were gonna hate me for giving up on you so easily. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. Just know that it had nothing to do with you…I clearly still need to work on my own shit.”

He hugged me a little tighter as he buried his fingers in the back of my hair, “That thought never crossed my mind. Don’t even worry about it anymore.”  

He finally pulled back, wiping the tears away from my cheeks with his thumbs as he did so. We gave each other tight smiles as we locked eyes. He turned away, toward Dr. Rosenberg, who I had completely forgotten was in the room, and asked for some tissues. She picked up the box from her small table and handed it to him as he stood. He handed me several and took some for himself before handing the box back to her. She motioned for him to have a seat. As she turned to set the box back on the table, I noticed she was looking a little glassy eyed too. 

We all sat in silence as her eyes shifted between us. Dieter and I glanced at each other, confusion on our faces as we looked back toward her. She chuckled before she spoke.

“I’m not even sure why I’m here. This is literally the first family session ever where I didn’t have to intervene or lead a conversation. You two don’t seem to have any problems communicating, so I’m not sure how you ended up where you were.” 

We both smiled widely at her, surprised and appreciative of her honesty. Dieter spoke up with a chuckle.  

“I think between my fucked up brain and the distance…it didn’t do us any favors. We’re always at our best when we’re physically together, I think. Everything goes to hell when we aren’t. Clearly that is something I need to work on.”

Dr. Rosenberg nodded in agreement, “Well, I hate to separate you two again, but we are running short on time, and I want to have a chat with Talia about the plans going forward. Dieter, I’m pretty sure you have another group session coming up so you better head that way. You think you can focus enough for this one?” 

She raised an eyebrow in his direction as he laughed and nodded. He stood, quickly shuffling over to lean down and give me a hug before exiting the room.  

Dr. Rosenberg wasted no time getting back to business, “Talia, part of his treatment is making sure he has the support he needs when he gets home. That’s why we offer support to caretakers as well, because technically, you will be his caretaker as the only other person in the household with him.”

I knitted my brows together, confused about where this conversation was going. 

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know you have a traumatic history because Dieter has mentioned a few things. I don’t know the details, and I get the sense he doesn’t know it all either. I feel like whatever happened with your ex-husband is still affecting you. Is the dark place you mentioned something that you would be willing to talk to me about? Anything you tell me about yourself is confidential, just so you know.”

I sighed heavily as I ran both hands over my face, “So you picked up on that, huh?” I laughed nervously under her gaze. 

“You’re right, I haven’t told him everything. I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but after the last few months, I’ve realized that I just locked it away and pretended it didn’t exist. I tend to do that with a lot of things.” She gave me an encouraging smile, clearly picking up on my hesitation as I paused to gather my thoughts. 

“So, the last few years of my marriage, I started drinking heavily after finding no way out of the hell I was living in. The constant mental and psychological abuse was wearing me down, especially after I realized what was happening. When I tried to talk to Justin about a divorce, he would just tell me there was no way out because he wasn’t ready to give me up.” I paused briefly… focusing on something outside through the window. “I uhh, came home early from work one day and found him with another woman that he worked with. He of course said it was my fault, because I wasn’t giving him what he needed in the marriage. I knew what he was doing…and I was determined not to let it go because I felt I had a legitimate reason to end things at that point. I TOLD him I was leaving. I was done asking. When I started packing a bag, he hit me. The first time ever. I mean, he had shoved me around some, but never hit me across the face like that. He told me there was no leaving… that he would just find me and bring me home. Said no one would believe me or help because all of OUR friends knew how I was.”

“Talia, what did saying that out loud just now make you feel?”  

My eyes drifted over to meet hers, “I don’t really feel anything.” 

She arched a brow, “That’s because you're dissociating. I want you to focus on me as you speak and feel what you’re saying.”  

Fuck. She wasn’t going to let me cheat my way through this like my therapist did. I pinched my brows together as my eyes teared up again. I had to face this. I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. When I opened them and met her gaze, she nodded for me to continue. 

“He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t really have anyone to turn to. He made sure of that. He left after our argument, said he was going out with the guys. I doubt that’s where he went though. As soon as he left, I started drinking. I remember…feeling lost and pretty fucking hopeless after that. I couldn’t believe he hit me, and I was scared it would happen again. I never saw myself as someone who lets their husband abuse them…I felt disgusted over it. I must have drank a lot…because I can’t remember the rest of that night. I - I woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. I guess when he came home, he found me passed out in my own vomit.”

I started tapping on the arm of the chair as the tightness in my chest returned. The tears trickled out again. 

“When Justin finally came to see me, I told him that I was done. If he didn’t let me go, I was gonna find a way out…one way or another and I would make sure everyone knew it was his fault. Given that I had just put myself in the hospital, he took me at my word and agreed on a divorce. I guess he was afraid of what I would do.”

“What did you mean by that?”

I gave a half smile, “I honestly don’t know. I wonder that myself…what I was capable of. If I could’ve done anything.”

“What happened after you both agreed to the divorce?”

“Well, when I was still in the hospital, I reached out to one of my best friends that I grew up with, Lauren. We had kept in touch, even though I actively worked to put up a wall between us so she wouldn’t know what was really going on in my life because I was so embarrassed over it. She didn’t hesitate…she was at the hospital within the hour, and I told her everything. I stayed with her for a few weeks until I got my life sorted out. I don’t think I would have been able to do it without her. Of course, Justin continued to torment me by dragging out the divorce for over a year. It got pretty nasty.”

“What effects do you feel like that experience had on you?” She asked quietly. 

“Experience.” I chuckled. “I didn’t realize twelve years of hell could be considered an experience.” 

She gave me a sympathetic look before I continued, “I mean, I lost myself. I didn’t know who I was. I was who he wanted me to be. After I left him, he was still in my head with everything I did. What I was wearing, how I fixed my hair and makeup, things I said. I couldn’t do some of the simplest things without hearing his voice telling me I was doing something wrong and having a fucking panic attack over it. I couldn’t make decisions…and yes, I would still drink to numb my feelings and calm myself down. Only this time, I knew exactly how much I could drink without taking it too far.”

“Are those things still an issue for you now?”    

I shook my head, “No, I mean, I did all the cognitive behavioral therapy and the sessions. I eventually got to a point where the negative thoughts stopped. I think Dieter had a lot to do with that…he kind of helped me see myself in a different light…but I do still have anxiety sometimes and I think I’ve reverted back to ignoring my feelings… compartmentalizing everything and pretending it’s not there. Throwing myself into work and staying busy to keep my mind occupied. I’ve been doing that instead of drinking the feelings away.” 

Dr. Rosenberg leaned forward, placing her elbow on her knee with a pensive look on her face.   

“Talia…would you be willing to stay for the next three weeks to work through some of this with me? It would be outpatient treatment…a couple hours a day. You can stay in one of our apartments.” 

I sucked in a quick breath. I certainly wasn’t expecting this, but at the same time, I almost felt relieved. My gut told me I needed it and I knew I couldn’t go on the way I had been because I was eventually going to self-destruct if I didn’t take better care of myself. I knew I couldn’t fully be there for Dieter if I was still battling with myself. I sat staring at my hands as I thought through the offer. I could still work remotely, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I raised my head to meet her eyes, “Will Dieter know what I’m doing?”   

“Only if you want him to.”

“I don’t want to saddle him with my shit right now…I don’t wanna mess him up.” 

“Honestly, I think he’s stable at this point. I think he could handle whatever you wanted to share with him. If you wanted, we could even do some more joint sessions, or he can just be there for support if you want him to be. It’s all up to you really.”

“What would you do?” I asked, letting out a stuttered breath with my question. She took a minute to consider her response, biting on the inside of her cheek as she did so.   

“I don’t think it would be bad if you shared everything with him. The more open you are with one another, the better. Communication is going to be a huge factor in keeping your relationship healthy and happy. At least if he knows what’s going on he can support you, just like you support him. Also, if he needs help processing through things, we can help him with that while he’s here…but again, it’s your decision.” 

“Yeah, I mean he knows most of it anyway…Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll stay and I want him involved.”

She gave me a bright smile, “I’m actually really happy to hear that. I think this will allow you to build a solid foundation going forward. I’m excited for your future together. I can tell that you both care deeply for each other and I really want your time here to be successful.” 

I gave her thanks for the opportunity she was giving me. I’ve known for a while that I had things that I needed to work on but didn't really know where to start. The fact that Dieter seemed so at ease with her and was doing so well gave me some comfort and the courage to jump in head first. 

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of educational sessions to help me learn about bipolar disorder; the triggers, coping strategies, and lifestyle changes to minimize stress. I even had an opportunity to learn more about Dieter’s medication and possible interactions and side effects so I would be able to spot them. He had asked that I be involved with his Interpersonal and Social Rhythm therapy, which was designed to help him build a daily routine of healthy habits to manage his moods. Given his job, sometimes a routine was almost impossible for him to keep, but we learned strategies to deal with that when confronted with it. It was all very helpful for the both of us.

I had my sessions too of course. He sometimes set in on them if we were doing something particularly hard that day. His presence helped keep me grounded and got me through a lot. He was taking time to learn about ways to help me cope better and we worked together on effective communication skills. 

Dr. Rosenberg recommended that I start keeping a journal to help me work through my emotions. I was iffy about it at first, but Dieter was also doing it and he loved it. He was very encouraging about it. It was something that I had come to enjoy doing after a few days. We had even taken to having a shared journal between us to better communicate our feelings, which Dr. Rosenberg loved the idea of and encouraged. 

Even though Dieter and I weren’t able to spend a whole lot of time together during those three weeks, I could always feel his presence and support. It’s what kept me going through it all. I don’t think I would have had the strength to do it without him. By the time my last day of treatment came around, he was given the all clear for discharge. It was both nerve wracking and exciting to know that we would be going home…together.

A/N: How excited are we that these two are finally back together? How badly did this chapter hit the feels? Did you cry? If you did, hopefully this will be the last time...unless you are a happy crier. There may be happy tears later. 😉 How are we feeling about Dieter's diagnosis? Does it change how you view some of his past behavior? What about that revelation from Talia? I mean, are we really surprised though; the girl has had a complicated relationship with alcohol throughout the whole story. How do you think things are going to go when they get back home? Do you think they will pick up where they left off or have some growing pains? We will find out in the next chapter. 😁 I am 100% failing at life and did not get the Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post done. I need to do a little fact checking and didn't have the brain power for it. However, once I get that ready, it will be posted HERE. The topic for Deconstructing Dieter Bravo Part 3 will be his diagnosis. I will tag all the usuals in the posts once it is ready. Hopefully you will find it to be educational. 💜 👉 I do want to share some details on upcoming projects that will be released for the holidays. I am participating in the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. I have received my gift prompt, and you may be excited to know that you will be getting a Dieter Bravo one shot from me by Christmas. I already have some ideas swirling around for it and it's not related to any current fics. It should be fun. Be sure to follow the #pedrostoriesgift23 hashtag to check out all the awesome work that will be included for the event. If you would like to be tagged on this one shot, let me know in the comments. 💜 As usual, I have included the chapter mood board below in case you missed it.😘

Next Chapter

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @pedrostories

Let me know in the comments below if you would like to be added to the tag list.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(13)

Lies Are Weak Foundations

description - In the hunt to retrieve Robert, y/n will be shown much more truth than she ever could have expected.

word count - 2.9k

warnings - incepting an idea against someones will, suicide, allusions to child abuse

a/n - fun fact, in the original plan for the story it ended on 13 chapters so I added one extra because I believe in the unluckiness of that number. Butttt then the chapters became too long so I was breaking them up anyways so the story would have actually never been 13 chapters.

Previous Chapter Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

“Do you trust me?”

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

Dark.

LAYER FOUR: LIMBO

A crushing wave layers over my throat and the chill seeps down over every inch of my skin. I gasped in search of breath, feeling my position was not helping my desire to not drown. The sun bled my eyes but I could not direct myself out until a pair of arms wrapped around me. They dragged me up and out as I spluttered everywhere. Dad collapsed onto the beach still holding me close to him. I pressed up and took in the world around me. Skyscrapers crumbing down to be forgotten. The majesty around screamed of futility. But their memories thrummed in the air. I curled my fingers through the damp sand in search of a foundation to stand up on. Tiredness gave way and the sand was not a strong enough footing. I fell down once more. Dad stretched out his hand to me. With slight hesitation, I grasped it and we used the others weight to pull ourselves up.

“You all right?” a nod was all I could offer.

“This is your world?” my words whispered out the unspoken agreement.

“It was.” His firm tone matched his serious face. I tried to show no fear but he was still my father. “This is where she’ll be.” Another wave crashed over, stinging my ankles, and I could only hope my shiver was from that. “Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him.

We began to walk and passed over to the expanse of industry. It looked uncommon from the beach we had been on moments ago. And the distinctness was felt by the clench in my chest. Where I once felt free now controlled me. The chains I felt inside me could be traced to my mother’s hands.

“You built all of this?” I asked my father who walked through with predetermined confidence whereas I dragged behind stunned into carelessness. It seems the further we walked the stronger the structures stood. Their thoughts were concrete and had not succumbed to time…yet. “This is incredible.” I breathed out through a laugh of disbelief.

“We built for years. Then we started in on the memories.” Dad responded.

My skin bristled and a thousand eyes were trained on our very movements.

Dad stopped.

I stopped.

James and Philippa played in the streets, supplanted into this created memory.

Tears burned at my lids and I wanted nothing more than to run over and clasp them in my arms. But my feet stood stock. They were not real. They were not real. They’re at home. We can go home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“This was—”

“Our neighbourhood.” I finished his thought when the familiar image struck my heart.

“Places from our past.” He continued. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and drew my attention to a building to the left of us. The house looked out of place and it’s nostalgia did not match the ingenuity around us.

“Recognise?” He teased and squeezed my shoulder in comfort.

“The apartment.” I smiled through my words. I could feel every muscle relax and suddenly I was free of the links that had bound me for years. Behind the linen curtains, shadows danced around a thought. I was transported back and could feel the shadow of myself return and with it the innocence I had failed to keep.

“You reconstructed this all from memory?” I slurred out over the lump in my throat.

“We had lots of time.” His whisper was enough prompting I needed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We entered a sleek apartment complex. The cleanliness seeped off it like a fume.

“We’d always wanted to live in a house but there was something about buildings like this.” I audibly agreed. “In the real world, we’d have to choose.”

We entered the elevator and Cobb’s hand pushed out for the right number. The doors slammed in front.

“How are we gonna get Robe—Fischer back?” I asked whilst fidgeting with my jacket sleeves.

“We’re gonna have to come up with some kind of kick.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna improvise.” He readied his gun in his hand and I assessed his moves with fear. “listen, honey, there’s something you need to know about me.” I met his statement with confusion. I looked on to my father and struggled to think what he could have possibly kept from me when we had been each other’s all for the past years. And what was so horrifying that I didn’t know. “About inception.”

The doors opened and the warm light of our house bled into the steel of the elevator. Dad raised his gun to stalk forward, primed.

“An idea is like a virus. Resilient. Highly contagious.” We walked further into the hallway, with each step feeling like two, and the walk back even longer. “And the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define…” Dad raised his gun as we finally made it to the largest room. “Or destroy you.”

The head of the table was occupied and the limited view did not stop me recognising my own mother. The closer I came to her, the less assured I became.

“The smallest idea such as ‘Your world is not real’.” Her voice sung the air and its tones were all too familiar to my ears. If my father hadn’t blocked me I could have crumbled right into her arms. “Simple little thought that changes everything.” She turned to face us and a smile tugged at my lips when I could see her beauty once again. “So certain of your world, of what’s real. Do you think he is?” she jutted her chin to my father but directed her question to me. “Or do you think he’s as lost as I was?” My eyes bore over his frame and my face fell at the question I had already asked.

“I know what’s real, Mal.” My dad spoke as if approaching a skittish horse. He pulled out the chair waiting for him and sat down so their eyes could meet.

“No creeping doubts? Not feeling persecuted, Dom?” She perched on her arms to lean towards him. “Chased around the globe, by anonymous corporations and police forces?” She then turned her eyes towards mine. “The way projections persecute the dreamers.” When our eyes met, they were filled with sympathy and I felt that this Mal had somehow seen my whole life. Through the eyes of my own father.

She grasped his head in her hands. “Admit it.” She persisted. “You don’t believe in one reality anymore. So choose. Choose to be here. Choose me.” Her words pierced me as believing in one reality meant forgetting another and her words of disbelief to my very existence were too near in my mind. And I flinched at every word in attack.

“You know what I have to do. I have to get back to the children. I have to take Y/n home.” Dad soothed Mal’s passionate heart. “Because you left us.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You’re confused, our children are here.” Her eyes pierced the side of my head. “Our real children.” From behind I heard the giggles of the projections of James and Philippa. “You would like to see their faces again, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m gonna see them up above, Mal.”

“Up above?” She laughed out at the apparent foolishness of the term. “Listen to yourself. These are your children. Watch.” She leaned back and announced to the room. “James! Philippa!”

Their faces twitched and both my father and I flinched away and hid our eyes, fearing that our truths could be confused.

“Mal, please don’t do this.” My father pleaded, knowing her game. “Those aren’t my children.”

“You keep telling yourself that. But you don’t believe it.”

“No, I know it!”

“And what if you’re wrong, and I’m what’s real.” Her desperation seeped through her words. “You keep telling yourself what you know.” She mocked his stubbornness. “But what do you believe?” She whispered out. “What do you feel?”

“Guilt.”

I snapped my gaze to my father. His word choice confusing me.

“I feel guilt, Mal. And no matter what I do. No matter how hopeless I am, no matter how confused, that guilt is always there, reminding me of the truth.”

Mal’s face stoned. “What truth?”

My breath stuck as I waited for either one to admit what hung in the air unsaid.

“That the idea that caused you to question your reality…came from me.”

I gasped. Blood froze in my veins. My bones seemed to melt.

“You planted the idea in my mind?” Mother questioned, her tone more hushed than when she had certainty.

“What is she talking about?” I spluttered out still holding out on the idea of another explanation.

I could not force my father to meet my gaze.

“The reason I knew inception was possible was because…I did it to her first. I did it to my own wife.”

I choked on my own sob which fought to break through.

“Why?” I gasped out.

“We were lost in here. I knew we needed to escape, but she wouldn’t accept it. She had locked something away, something deep inside. A truth that she had once known, but chose to forget. And she couldn’t break free. So I decided to search for it. I went deep into the recess of her mind and found that secret place. And I broke in… and I planted an idea. A simple little idea that would change everything. That her world wasn’t real.”

“That death was the only escape.” Mal finished, her eyes still downcast.

“You’re waiting for a train.” I began reciting what I had heard all of my life. “A train that’ll take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you… but you can’t know for sure. Yet it doesn’t matter.”

“Because you’ll be together.” My father continued.

“And then you woke up.” I remembered watching over their lithe bodies resume life. I struggled to realise all that had proceeded. And all that would come to follow.

“But I never knew that that idea would grow in her mind like a cancer…that even after she woke…That even after you came back to reality… that you’d continue to believe your world wasn’t real. That death was the only escape.” I shuddered upon the memory and tried to scrub out the image of her lifeless frame on the table.

I couldn’t help but sigh in almost relief. The feeling felt wrong but I couldn’t help at relish at the answers for actions and words that had troubled me for years.

She broke into tears.

“You infected my mind.” She sobbed out.

“Mal, I was trying to save you.”

“You betrayed me.” She cried out. “But you can make amends. You can still keep your promise. We can still be together, right here, in the world we built together.”

The world rumbled in a mimic explosion but no flames could be seen. I jumped in realisation at Eames’ attempt to revive Robert. The lightning confirmed my fear.

“Dad, we need to get Robert.”

Mal whipped around to me and practically spat. “You can’t have him.”

“If I stay here, will you let him go?” Dad was still held in thought.

“DAD, NO!” I cried out at the thought of losing him too. “You can’t do that to me. Not me. Not again. I can’t do it again!”

“But you’d have Fischer.” He sincerely answered. I became confused through my screams. One look between us confirmed it. He’d seen it all. But he wasn’t mad, he seemed genuine.

“Fischer is on the porch.” Mal announced unable to hide the smile at her win.

“Go check he’s alive, Y/n.”

“No, Dad you can’t do this. Not for me.”

“Go check he’s alive. Do it.”

I hurtled outside, gun at the ready. The newly acquired wind whipped my body around and I struggled to stay straight in the face of the storm. I saw the barely conscious body of Robert. He was tied up and his mouth was gagged. I hurled his body up to lean against the balcony. I checked his body over for injuries and found nothing too concerning. His eyes met my own and the familiarity seemed to unleash his tears. I tried to soothe him but I felt ill-equipped in my own situation.

“He’s here and it’s time but you have to come now!” I shouted back.

“Take Fischer with you, all right.”

“You can’t stay here to be with her!” I screamed to permeate his stubbornness. Every part of my body was desperate to drag him back home with me and destroy whatever poison she had him under. “That’s not mum!”

“I’m not.” He stated. “Saito’s dead by now. That means he’s down here somewhere. That means I have to find him.” My heart loosened and I broke a smile. The thunder rumbled around us. “I can’t stay with her anymore because she doesn’t exist.”

“I’m the only thing you do believe in anymore.” She shot back.

“I wish.” He deeply exhaled in desperation to return to the time before. “I wish more than anything but I can’t imagine you with all your complexity, all your perfection, all your imperfection.”

I ripped down the gag from Robert.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” We both had to shout to be heard over the thunder.

“Look at you.” My dad continued. “You’re just a shade. You’re just a shade of my real wife.”

I caught Mal’s thumb stroke over a knife I had seen before. My arm pained once I saw the offending weapon.

“And you were the best I could do?” Dad continued to push. “I’m sorry, you’re just not good enough.”

“DOES THIS FEEL REAL?” She jumped up and slammed the knife down into Cobb’s thigh with murderous passion. But before she could raise it again, I grasped my gun and shot her. One bullet.

My body froze, gun still cocked. I couldn’t move from the position I’d found myself in. Thoughts ran around and infected each part of my body. Spiralling down I struggled to pull myself back up until a gentle tap hit the back of my thigh. And I turned around to find Robert manoeuvring himself into an uncomfortable position to merely comfort me in whichever way he could. My resolve crumbled when our eyes met, and I dropped the gun and launched forward to embrace him. To feel him close, if not for anything else.

Dad reached over to cradle Mal in his arms as she died. He gratefully acknowledged the gun in my hand and I smiled in agreement. It had to be me.

“Y/n I need to know if you can ever forgive me.” He choked out. “For this and for everything else. This life should have never been yours.”

“It was my choice.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“You think you could have stopped me?” I teased. “Don’t forget who I learned it from.” We both forced out a laugh.

“You know I think I finally understand you.” I announced, my voice rising over the thunder.

“The greatest mistake I ever made was letting you come with me that day.” My face fell. “And all the pain and suffering it has caused you.” I nodded in the most thanks or forgiveness I could force out.

“I would have done it again in a heartbeat.” I shouted. Dad looked up at me through his tears. I smiled through my next words. “Because I got to be with my dad, and that’s all that matters to me.” I searched to meet his eyes which had fallen once again so he felt my full meaning. “That we weren’t alone.”

I rose to stand and walked to stand on the precipice of the balcony.

“Mum couldn’t have been helped.” I stated. “But you came back to me.”

“I will always come back for you, darling.”

“But I won’t let you lose yourself, like mum did.” I pleaded with him through gritted teeth which held back my tears. At the next crack of lightning, I hurriedly lifted Robert up and braced him to be flung off the building, simulating a kick. But I stopped and turned back to the image of my father over my dying mother.

“I’m gonna stay.” I announce. “You need help to get Saito back.” He understood my fears and the possibility that he won’t come back but he merely smiled at my concern.

“No. I’ll be fine. You go with Robert. You need to be with him.” He lowered his voice and the sincerity in his words electrified the air between us. I softly smiled to match his own. Grasped Robert’s body in my arms. I leaned back and let gravity consume us.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A gasp awoke us both and the crack of the defibrillator drew my attention to Robert. I scrambled up and crawled over to his body. He jumped to life and his eyes shot open. They softened once they met my own and I could barely wait to embrace him again. Once we met in a hug, he weakly reciprocated and placed a soft kiss on my hairline. I leaned back and cupped his face, stroking his soft skin to commit it to memory.

“You need to go now. You need to see what’s in that vault.” My eyes flitted up towards the door and he stretched back to follow my gaze.

He clambered up and faced the door. His footsteps forward stalled. He turned back and faced where I merely watched.

“Will you come too?” He stuttered out as if afraid for my answer.

“Of course.” I confidently spoke despite my beating heart. I ran up to him and clasped his hand in my own. We looked at each other in newfound comfortability. We needn’t speak as we both knew that whatever was to come, neither one of us were facing it alone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ahhhh we're getting so close to the end!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67

[yuki-kazami]

Ok so me and some friends in a server were talking about Horn headcanons and I feel the need to write mine up because I love this insane wolf girl so much

Basically, my thesis here is that I think Horn is best compared to that old myth(?) where if the oil in a car's engine has not been changed for ages, if you do actually try to change the oil, the engine will just seize and die.

It's canonical that she's repressing everything, in her own files it states "However, we've gradually begun to worry for her. Who'll be there to ease her mind? She's transformed herself into the shield she bears, firm, steady, and seemingly forever to be the last one standing. But there's only so much time any armament has. When a human's forced herself to the extreme, and been stressed for too long, what will happen to her the instant the pressure on her disappears?" She's carrying an incredible burden and I think she just has to keep going or she'll collapse.

I imagine things like her and Cello dating, maybe even with Cello having gotten her the collar she wears. There's no way Horn is anything but haunted when she sleeps. Nightmares of Cello berating Horn for not saving her, for not shielding her from Mandragora. The collar gets more and more worn as the war goes on, as Horn throws herself into battle after battle, until finally, in an explosion, the clasp shatters, Horn desperately diving after it as it falls, catching the tattered strap. But rather than repairing it, she can't bring herself to admit that she deserves better, because it serves as a reminder of her own failure. So she instead takes the strap and sews it around her own neck, no more room for escape, no more tacit admission that she could take it off. She treats it both like the embrace of the person she lost and a brand to remind her that she couldn't protect her.

Imagining a night at the Exemplar camp where they explain to the new Victorian recruits that no matter what, you do not bring up Captain Horn's old squadron, no matter how badly you want to know what the Tempest Platoon was like, as the descendants of the original Exemplars. Not because it will retraumatize her, and not because she goes quiet or gets sad, but because she doesn't know what you are talking about.

"What do you mean? They're just on deployment elsewhere, I talk to them all the time. Did something happen? Should I be concerned?"

The first person who didn't get the memo on what is happening ends up getting slammed into a nearby wall as Horn starts hyperventilating, White Wolf in full effect. She nearly breaks his ribs for "keeping vital information about the safety of her squad from her", only to suddenly be broken off of the train of thought by a somewhat distressed looking Siege telling her about an "urgent necessary patrol" that only she could handle, and she seemingly did not remember the confrontation by the time she returned to camp, acting with her usual humor and camaraderie.

Gonna drop a Read More here because the next part involves some details from the end of Chapter 13, and a bit of Chapter 14 speculation based on a bit of details I've been spoiled on from the Anniversary Livestream:

Imagining Horn after the Victoria arc ends, panicked at the idea of there not being another battlefield for her to go to, another place for her to throw herself into the line of fire because that's where she belongs, it's what she deserves.

Imagining the way she breaks down when they finally stop her, the delusions she falls into as everything finally catches up to her all at once, when she realizes that she never truly left County Hillock in her heart. Bagpipe with a somber smile on her face as she tells her Captain what the other squadmates are up to, as Horn lays in her bed, recovering from her injuries. Misery, imagined to be an old commanding officer, playing along as he sits alongside her, wanting to be there for someone he cares about in a way he couldn't for Outcast. Therapy sessions, trying to help her work through this trauma before her infection grows worse, as she kept throwing herself into the Originum-coated remnants of Londinium. Her screams still echoing on those walls, the horror and rage that flowed out of her as she saw County Hillock once again made manifest, the Specter Force dominating her thoughts as she collapsed from her injuries.

She's just SO

She's going to break so hard when the war ends, and it's going to take her and the people who love her years to pick up the pieces. I love Rita Skamandros.

[winterchimez]

Redemption of Love - Chapter 4

SUMMARY: Choi Chanhee—better known as the Phantom of the Opera, has dominated the Paris Opera House with his lifelong partner, Christine Daae, for years. Until one fateful day, an incident forces them to be separated and never to be reunited again.

Decades later, you have begun your journey here at the famous opera house with the help of your fiancé, Lee Sangyeon. After several performances, it was then that you would come face-to-face with the renowned phantom himself, and he is determined to never let you go again, convinced that you were his long-lost partner whom he has not seen in many years.

It is now your choice to make. To give your heart to the once-forgotten phantom? Or to stand firm and marry the love of your life.

PAIRING: phantom of the opera Chanhee x singer f!reader x fiancé Sangyeon

GENRE & WARNINGS: phantom of the opera au, angst, supernatural, thriller, crime, fluff, time travel, reincarnation, major & minor character deaths, otome, pg-13

WORD COUNT: 2,635

A/N: and we're back with the series! im so sorry that it took me forever to update this, but im slowly getting back into it so pls bear with me as updates will be slow 😭 but i promise you she is not forgotten!! 💗

“Say, what makes you so attached to this Opera House?”

The male looked down upon the female lying peacefully in his outstretched arms. As the girl turned to focus all her attention on him, he couldn’t help but smile at the love of his life.

“Well for one, I built this place and have been residing here ever since. My dream and goal was to spread my love for music and performing after all,” he responded before planting a light kiss on the female’s forehead. 

“Was it your dream to ever make it this far? I mean, it has become one of the most famous theatres in Europe at this point.” 

“No, I have not. I am beyond grateful for everything that has happened up till now, and it is also thanks to you that made all of this possible.” 

The female immediately blushed before hiding herself in the crook of the male’s neck. “Stop, you know that’s not true.” 

“But it is,” he chuckled before gently pulling the female away as he locked his eyes with hers again. 

“I love you. Please stay by my side forever.” 

“Likewise. I love you too, Chanhee.” 

Chanhee? Who exactly was that—

“Y/N!!!”

You were returned to reality the moment you arrived in your dressing room. It must have been a long time running through the countless mazes to find your way back to the surface. Just when you thought it would be impossible to find your way back, that vision you just had suddenly flashed across your mind, something you couldn’t explain in words even if you wanted to.

Who exactly were the two people lying down on the field of grass in your vision?

More specifically, who was the man named Chanhee?

Before you could process your thoughts, you were greeted by the sight of your fiancé, who stood with his eyes wide open and jaw ajar, shocked to see you were back just like that. 

Sangyeon immediately pulled you in for an embrace, hugging you tight and making sure not to let you go anytime soon. 

“Where have you been, Y/N? We have been looking for you for two days straight!” 

Two days? You were gone for that long? 

Sure, you were glad to be back with your fiancé, but this time, you must ensure your message got across to Sangyeon. Pushing him away slightly, you grabbed both of his shoulders before staring right into his eyes.

“Sangyeon. Please. You have to believe me this time.” 

It has been several days since you returned to the Opera House, and things have been pretty quiet. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to convince Sangyeon once again even though you managed to recite all of your experiences from the beginning till the end—how a mysterious man emerged from the mirror and took you down into the depths of the underground Opera House, and how there was a maze full of passageways, up to the man’s lair down below. 

You tried your best to voice your concerns to the rest of the cast members of the Opera House, including Avaleigh, but to no avail. Nobody was going to believe your little stories—thinking that you were beyond exhausted to have come up with such hallucinations. 

Because of that, you decided there was no point in trying to prove everything, and you quietly resumed your performance for a couple of weeks. 

Until Madame Indivus finally made her grand return today. 

As all of you were rehearsing for the next show, the doors to the theatre burst open, revealing a rather upset Madame Indivus stomping her feet as she made her way up onto the stage. 

Immediately, she walked right up to you before pointing at you furiously, screaming at the top of her lungs. “What exactly is this mere country girl doing here? This is my show, my role!” 

Flustered, you couldn’t say a word until Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette had to step in to talk things out with Madame. It was pretty obvious that the whole conversation wasn’t looking that great—it was a rather heated one, to be exact. Mentally, you were already preparing for the worst to happen, and sure enough, it was right for you to do so. 

After that uneventful discussion, both Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette had no choice but to put you on backstage duty as Madame insisted that she was to have the lead role for the rest of the season and that you were in no way to take a step close to her at all. 

Upset would have been an understatement for you, especially when you have worked so hard to land the lead role yourself for the past few weeks. It was stripped off you almost immediately after you had not been under the spotlight for long. 

Depressed, you acted as if everything was alright as you continued your job backstage, giving the cast as much support as needed. 

At least I am still given a place here at the Opera House.

Little did you know that someone lurking behind the shadows was absolutely furious with the sudden change of plans. He was going to make sure that you got back up on stage, even if he had to choose violence himself. 

The hall was once again filled with way more spectators this time, especially when the infamous Madame Indivus was now back as the lead star of the Opera House. There was no doubt that both Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette were glad to have her back despite her manipulating the two owners most of the time.

You could only sigh as you arranged the props from backstage, thinking that your little glamorous era had abruptly ended just like that, and you’d never get to be back on stage anymore while Madame Indivius was here.

To make matters worse, Madame Indivus most likely seemed to be about getting her revenge on you since you “stole” her spotlight. Every time she returned backstage, you had to quickly fetch her a glass of water and polish her newly designed shoes for the performance. 

As much as you could defy her, you weren’t ready or wanted her to make a ruckus, which would affect all the crew members. Instead, you brushed it off while the anger within you slowly started to bottle up. 

Avaleigh tried her best to help cheer you up—encouraging you that you’ll just have to wait for the storm to pass, and it’ll be fine. You could only return a weak smile as you knew that she had to look out for you while focusing on her role as a dancer. 

In a blink of an eye, the show had already reached its climax, and Madame Indivus was about to head back out to stand at the centre of the stage to sing her final piece for the night. However, she would only receive countless murmurs instead of a standing ovation with her final performance for the night. 

A horrible and loud croak came out of her mouth instead of her singing the song, ruining the entire piece simultaneously. It was clear that Madame herself was confused with what was happening, but she decided that the show must go on.

In reality, the croaking sound only got worse and louder, and eventually, one of the curtains from the side of the stages came crumbling down and made a loud thump as it fell directly on the stage. 

The murmurs were now slowly turning into screams, and the audience was rightfully starting to panic and ready to leave the hall immediately. 

Madame tried to call them back, but only the croaking sound would emerge from her throat. It was as if her vocal cords had completely betrayed her. Terrified, Madame too ran backstage and straight down the hallway to her dressing room, leaving behind a whole ruckus and chaos to unfold within the Opera House. 

There was no way this could go on, for the Opera House’s reputation could be ruined forever. Just as you were taking in everything unfolding in front of your eyes, you were suddenly tugged on the shoulder by someone before you were dragged out to the stage.

“Child, you listen to me very closely right now. Go out there and give your best performance and stop the chaos,” you said. Turning back, you saw that the voice belonged to Madame Matilda, the one in charge of the dancers. 

“B-But, it’s all a mess right now! I don’t think singing would do-”

“Just listen to me and do it!” Madame Matilda silently screamed before she pushed you right onto the stage, gesturing you to start immediately without wasting another second. 

You weren’t too sure about what to do in the situation you were in—singing when the audience was leaving the hall in a panic state? You have got to be insane for doing that. 

But it seemed as if Madame Matilda was persistent, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She continued to wave her hands to cue you to start singing out loud at this moment. 

Taking a deep breath, you mustered up all of your courage and began to sing out loud, hoping that this could calm the audience and all the crew members down. 

Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while - please promise me you'll try. When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me

Sure enough, a few audience members turned their heads back towards the stage to see the former star of the Opera House singing with all her heart and soul without having a look of fear in their eyes. 

As you saw that you have captured their attention, you instantly regain the confidence you once had and continue to proceed. More of the audience began to turn their backs and eventually started filling the hall seats again, wanting to witness the sweet, young singer doing their very best to keep the show going. 

You weren’t too sure what was going on. Still, you definitely felt that your voice was getting louder each second and that your angelic voice was becoming a lot more prominent as you went on—turning the frightened look on all of the audience members into a smile. 

Soon enough, you finished the performance without fail and received a standing ovation from the now-filled hall. The audience was clapping harder than they had done in your previous shows and for Madame Indivus’s, making you bow profusely and repeatedly to show your appreciation. 

With that, Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette immediately went to the front stage to address the complications throughout the show and compensate the audience. Meanwhile, it was your cue to finally step down and head backstage, slowly making your way to your dressing room. 

As you opened the door to your room, your eyes widened at the scene before you. 

The long mirror was being pushed open again, leaving a clear view of the dark alleyway you had once been down there recently. A good amount of smoke came out from the mirror—making the atmosphere feel much more eerie than it already was.

And of course, the man with the mask was back—leaning against your chair with his arms crossed as his eyes fell straight onto you.

“Well, it seemed that Madame Matilda had done the right thing,” the man replied as he finally got up to walk straight towards you, making you retreat quickly and move to the side before he could touch you. 

Instead, he walked behind you and closed the dressing room door, leaving you trapped within the room you had always found to be your safe space. Adrenaline instantly rushed over you, and you quickly took a few steps back until your back hit the wall at the room's corners.

“W-Why are you here…?” You merely let out a squeak instead of asking a proper question. The memories instantly came flooding back when you were essentially captured by this guy and brought down to his lair. 

There was just something about him that made your skin crawl. Was it because of his aura or his demeanour? Or was it because he could enter your dressing room easily from the mirror just like that whenever he wanted to? 

Or rather, because you have once taken off the mask and saw the true horrors behind that shield of his? 

As much as you wanted to scream for help this time and especially call out for your fiancé, you just can’t open your mouth and say the simple word. It was as if this masked man had you under control, and you felt helpless in your situation. 

Slowly, the man was beginning to take a few steps forward, and this time, he was certainly walking straight towards you. It was too late for you to move now since you had been potentially cornered by the time he was merely inches away from you. 

This is the end of me.

You could only keep your eyes shut tightly as you kept muttering those words quietly, thinking that there was no escape and that this was where you would meet your demise. 

Or at least that was what you thought. 

“Christine, please come with me. Let me explain everything that has happened. I do not wish to hurt you,” the man pleaded. 

That came as a shock to you as you opened your eyes to see that he wasn’t the scary, creepy stranger that he was when you first opened the door. Now, there seemed to be sorrow in his eyes, and he slumped down as if he were in defeat. 

You weren’t too sure what to make of the situation, but as long as he wasn’t hurting you nor putting you in grave danger, that was all that mattered right now.

“P-Pardon? I really sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about-” 

“No no, Christine. You don’t understand…” This time, the man grabs both of your hands into his as he begins rubbing them slowly, intertwining his fingers with yours before tilting his head back up to look at you again. 

“Please…come with me…I need to tell you the truth…” It was evident that tears were beginning to well up in his eyes—as if he was going to crumble down anytime soon. 

“P-Promise me that you w-won’t hurt me?” You asked.

“Never Christine…you’re my one and only love…I’ll never hurt you nor cause you any pain…” the man continued and kept addressing you with that unfamiliar name. 

Given that the man had definitely calmed down, you figured that listening to what he had to say wouldn’t hurt, and you gave him a little nod.

Instantly, the man’s eyes lit up, and he made a little jump in the air, making you baffled by the sight that unfolded in front of your eyes. Enthusiastically, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you down back into the dark alleyway, assuring you that you wouldn’t be gone for too long and he was going to bring you back up again once he had cleared the air between you two. 

In return, you silently pulled a few strands of your hair and dropped them into the passageway—just in case anything happened, and that could be a potential clue to your whereabouts, especially for Sangyeon. 

As you both strolled down the passageway and ended up on the boat just like you had before, the masked man gently placed one of his hands on your cheeks and began rubbing them back and forth before he muttered something under his breath. 

“I’ll make you the happiest girl alive again, my love.” 

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