#tw: head banging reference

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ugh I love how the Streetkid Chris AU shows his parallels and differences to Kauri so well.

I wonder if Jake may be expecting Chris to be a little more like Kauri, and how that preconception alongside Chris being a little older and having his pill dependency vs seeing the "statue boy" in the rain will change things. Jake is very nonjudgmental so I think he'd quickly adjust to taking him how he comes, but this is a much more guarded Chris than he's used to. Plus Antoni is clearly worried about him being in the home.

Also, from Anon: please forgive me for storming into your asks so soon after you've posted already. but i am sobbing please write a continuation for streetkid chris (if you want to)

Streetkid Chris AU: One | Two | Three | Four

-

CW: Brief references to dubcon, heavily internalized ableism, conditioned fear response, panic attack, meltdown with stimming that causes injury, head banging

The pills kick back in about halfway through Baldur fumbling through helping Kauri to create a bed from a pullout couch. He's had some water and a handful of crackers, in the kitchen. Kauri had pulled him into the living room and moved around the space like it was his own, pulling sheets out of a closet door Baldur hadn't even noticed yet, along with pillows that he dropped unceremoniously onto the floor before he told Baldur how to take off the couch cushions and then pull the folded-up mattress on its metal frame out. Like watching paper, he thought, that you've made snowflakes out of when you open it up.

The twinge of pain he feels when the thought comes to him makes him wince. He keeps smelling something in the oven that makes his mouth water for a familiar taste he can't remember. It's locked tight back behind the white lights in his mind, and Baldur tells his thoughts to swerve away as fast as they can, to make the pain stop threatening to take over.

He's lucky.

The pills are working.

His mind is moving slow, but it's listening to him at least. It's like syrup pouring out of a bottle onto a stack of pancakes, so slow your hand is shaking with impatience, waiting for the promised sweetness that doesn't come. He feels clouded over, wading through fog, but it's a comfortable way to be. It's being good, to be like this.

Like mornings spent lying in Sir's bed, staring upwards at the ceiling or maybe beyond it, without thinking anything at all.

It's easier, this way.

Safer.

"So, there you go," Kauri says, standing back with his hands on his hips. The couch has become a cozy bed, with a half-dozen pillows and four blankets piled up high. Baldur could sleep there for days, and as long as the pills kept coming, he wouldn't even notice he wasn't moving. "Will that work? We'll have to share, though, is that okay?"

Baldur swallows. "I-I don't, um-" No. No no no. Statue boy, he reminds himself. Good boys are statue boys. Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do. His fingers twitch, just once, and then the fog of the pills smothers his fears and presses them down. The prickling energy that bursts out of him when he's sober is safely held back. He pictures his racing mind running out of air, limbs slowing, lungs expanding just once more and then no longer. "I don't mind. I... don't like to sleep alone."

"Yeah." Kauri's face briefly goes strange, like it's been emptied-out of feeling. "Me neither. Never have. Alone is-"

"-bad," Baldur finishes, in a whisper. "No one wants you."

"Right. Yeah. They taught you that, too, huh?"

"No one wants you... then you're not real," Baldur says. He can feel his handler's hand heavy on the back of his neck, like a ghost breathing against his ear.

"... Shit. I guess even the worst shit was just part of the program, huh?" Kauri stares down at the couch-bed for one long moment of heavy silence, then he inhales sharply and laughs, empty and hollow. "We're just fucking dolls in the toy store for rich idiots to pull the legs off of, aren't we? All the same, come in the same boxes-... never mind. I'm having a weird day." He shakes himself like a dog shaking off water. "Just ignore me being weird, it happens sometimes."

"Yeah," Baldur murmurs. "Me, too. Happens... to me, too." Baldur hears an echo of someone screaming in his mind - maybe himself - but the stab of pain doesn't come. He manages to smother the memory before it can come together enough to hurt him.

Kauri takes a deep breath. "Okay, so. Weirdness steadfastly ignored, we'll just settle in and then when dinner is ready-"

The front door opens, and Baldur spins on his heels, hands slipping behind his back. Position One is thoughtless, effortless, instinctive. He always met Sir in Position One or Position Two, depending on the day. Kauri, though, doesn't slip into any position - he just smiles, wide blue eyes sparkling with a warmth Baldur has never seen in him before.

The man who walks inside isn't that much older than Baldur, but he's huge. Tall, and heavily muscled, built like the handlers who could pick Baldur up like a child and force him back against the wall or onto a table no matter how he kicked or fought, until he learned not to fight any longer. He has close-cropped ashy blond hair trending towards light brown, pale skin, and his own face lights up as soon as he sees Kauri, returning the sunshine looks they give each other.

It hurts.

Baldur's never had anyone look at him like that.

"Hey, Kauri," The man says, in a deep voice that sounds like the warm summer nights when Baldur sleeps out in the park and doesn't get cold at all. Then he looks over to Baldur, still standing in careful position, and some of the warmth fades. "Woah. Who's this?"

"Friend of mine," Kauri says, and he grabs Baldur by one arm and pulls him closer, careless of how he stumbles. Once they get close enough, Baldur can smell the tall man's cologne. It's a good smell, kind of woodsy. Not at all like Sir's, which would feel like it stuck inside of Baldur until it was all he could smell. "This is Chris."

"Hey, Chris," Jake says. His smile is back in place, but it's more polite. He holds out a hand, and after a delay, Baldur realizes he's supposed to shake and sticks his hand out. "I'm Jake Stanton."

Baldur catches the way his eyes drop, seeing the barcode on the inside of Baldur's left wrist. Nothing in his expression changes at all, but something of the fizzing tension in the air does. Baldur swallows around a tightness in his throat.

Those eyes are back on him-

Oh. Jake's eyes are blue, too. Like Kauri's but not like his at all.

"WRU, Facility 001, Designation Romantic 223499," Baldur says automatically, to the unspoken question he thinks he sees there.

"You don't have to do that here," Kauri says in a rush, putting a hand on Baldur's back. "It's not like that."

"It's... always like that," Baldur says. He thinks he sees interest in Jake's face, curiosity, and maybe that's who he'll have to give his body to, to earn dinner and the couch bed to sleep on. He can do that. As long as he keeps his mind untethered from his body, he can move his hips and arch his back and make all the sounds and drift inside of himself until it's over.

"Not here," Jake says, voice deep and gentle. He won't be so bad, Baldur thinks. He'll be slow about it, not like the ones who don't care if it hurts. He won't have to lie as hard to make it believable that he enjoys it. "You don't do that here." He turns back to Kauri, and it feels like light moves behind a cloud when his eyes are off of Baldur. "Where's Nat?"

"Up in her room," Kauri says, shrugging. "And Antoni-"

"Is here," The feline-eyed man says from the bottom of the stairs. Baldur blinks, then jumps - a half-second delayed. He hadn't even heard him come down, even though the stairs are creaky in such old houses. "I can talk to you about something?" Those dark eyes briefly rest on Baldur.

There's no warmth in them.

"Huh? What's up?"

Antoni pauses. "In my room, please, Jasha."

Baldur's heart chills. Even through the pleasant fog of pills, he can hear the coldness there. And he knows it's about him, he knows it. He's done something wrong, wrong enough to be talked about. Like handlers outside his door, talking about what he did wrong and what they'll do to make him sorry. He chokes on the fear of it - consequences hurt so much. He must have been caught swaying, or touching, or making sounds that are against his rules.

"... sure, Ant. Just a sec." Jake frowns. He leaves his sneakers on a mat by the door and follows Antoni up - the stairs creak when he walks up them. They're already talking in low voices that don't quite travel.

He hears Antoni's voice, a soft, Not sure it is a good idea for him to be here.

He did something wrong.

Suddenly, Baldur can barely breathe. His vision is blurs of color, shadow and light. His fingers twitch again, and this time they don't stop. His head is full of a crashing noise that even the pills can't hold back.

He's in trouble. He did something wrong. He's in trouble, and they'll come back down and ask, Do you know what you did, darlin'? And he'll have to guess, and he always guesses wrong.

The games are always rigged for him to lose.

You don't learn any other way, sweetheart.

His breath gets halfway down his throat and stops there. It's stuck, and he wishes he was so drunk he blacked out, or so high he slept for the next few days, until whatever he's done wrong blows over and they forget to punish him, or maybe just punish him but he doesn't remember it.

His heart beats so loud inside of him, blood rushing in his ears. His eyes go to the wall, and he can quiet the chaos inside him if he can get to it, but his feet are stuck right here to the floor. He can't. He can't, it's against his rules, he has to be good, be a statue boy, be silent be still but being still hurts so fucking much when he's scared-

Kauri isn't looking at him. He watches the two men go, thick eyebrows a little furrowed. "I wonder what that's about. Antoni can be so weird, sometimes, I swear-" He breaks off and turns, looking at Baldur. He must see something there. He must see the terror in wide green eyes, the white showing all around, in the way his fingers are shaking, how he can't quite stop bouncing on the balls of his feet with the need to get to a place he can curl up and hide, or hit his head on the wall, until the chaos quiets and he can think again.

The pills are supposed to stop this.

They don't.

"Chris?"

He flinches violently backwards when he realizes Kauri is right in front of him, has somehow moved without him seeing. Those long-fingered hands are warm, palms on either side of his face. Those big blue eyes are looking right at his, reflecting him there in Kauri's pupils. When he flinches, Kauri pulls away, and Baldur misses the warmth of touch the way he used to miss darkness when he lived always under white lights.

"Hey." Kauri's voice is soft, slow and gentle. "Hey. Chris, what's wrong? Talk to me?"

There aren't words. He can feel them, there are words, but they're trapped behind teeth on top of tongue. They shift, dipping beneath the surface before he can get his mouth around them. He can't use any of them at all. His hands move, shaking, to twist and pull at the hem of his shirt, but-

No-

Have to be still-

He can't.

He can't be still. He can't be the statue boy, the fear is too strong. And if he can't be still, he'll be in even worse trouble. It's a cycle, a loop of warm ocean water sucked up into the hurricane. It's ash blocking out the sun, killing all the dinosaurs. He remembers the dinosaurs. He remembers the asteroid hit the earth, and the planet was swept by fire burning everything that survived the strike. He remembers that his mind moves like objects in space, impossibly fast and dangerous, because it isn't allowed.

"Chris?" Kauri's swimming in and out of his awareness. He knows there are hands on him, leading him to the couch bed. He feels, distantly, the softness of pillows as his back rests against them. He knows as if staring from the top of a mountain that Kauri is speaking to him in a voice like the clouds rolling in far below.

He can hear other voices, too, but they don't make it through the haze of panic. It's derailed everything. The pills aren't helping, they're making it worse. He can sense the comforting warm blanket of being high just out of reach, and instead it's all terror, overwhelming, flooding the plain.

He knows his mouth is moving.

He can hear himself, tinny and small and from a distance too far to cover, saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't be mad, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I'm sorry, please don't be mad over and over again. He tries to be still. He hits his head on Kauri's shoulder and that strikes new terror, so he hits his head harder, then he bites - he buries teeth into skin that he only belatedly realizes isn't his when Kauri makes a sound of pain.

It's a cycle.

He's circling, he's a hurricane, his mind is dangerous and his body is wrong and it has to be stopped.

He can't stop.

He wails, half a scream that he tries to catch and pull back. The sound dips and drops, it becomes a low, wordless moan, over and over and over again. It rises from the person inside of him who used to exist before he signed his life away and they wrote a new him onto the body of the old one.

He used to be someone else.

He used to be someone better.

He used to make noises like this, before they made him stop. Before they made sure he knew that rocking - he's rocking, he feels himself sway forward and back, his fingers twisting and pulling at fabric, moving and moving to calm the rising chaos and violence inside of him - would lead to pain and fear. Before they taught him to take every pill he was given until his body was quiet and still and good for them, for the handlers for Sir for anyone who wants to fuck him or put a hand on his head and make him choke.

The thick clay shell they made him build up around himself, though, has gone brittle.

It shatters.

He rocks and rocks. He hears the sounds he is making like they belong to someone else. He feels tears, hot and burning as they track down his cheeks, cooling rapidly to drip onto his shirt, onto Kauri's shirt and neck when his face buries itself there. His sounds vibrate against Kauri's scarred collarbone. His fingers are gripped into Kauri's shirt now, holding so tight the threadbare fabric rips and his fingertips brush the heat of skin beneath. There are other voices besides Kauri's, but he doesn't listen to them, he can't listen to them or the fear will rise again.

Kauri is talking to him.

His chin is on Baldur's head, and he's talking, murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I've got you, I've got you, honey, it's okay," over and over and over again. One hand is on the back of his neck, a gentle weight that starts him falling back down to earth.

He rocks with Baldur.

The hurricane starts to wear itself out, spinning and spinning but the wind dies down. He's falling out of the eye onto the ground. The noise inside his head is agony but it's agony he can hear over and around. He doesn't know how long it's been. The rocking is gentle, endless and soothing, and Kauri's other hand rubs up and down his back like-

His mother-

Someone he can't remember used to do when he did this, a long time ago.

"It's okay. You're okay. You're okay," Kauri whispers.

There are other voices, but Baldur can't hear them or he'll be a hurricane again. He keeps his thoughts on Kauri, on the rock of their bodies together, on the weight and warmth of someone holding on to him until he can come back down to earth.

The eruption stops, the flow of rivers bright orange and red and white with heat cooling to dark, solid, safe.

His bones stop burning, his head stops pounding with the noise inside of it.

Kauri is still rocking.

"I've got you," His low voice whispers, too deep for his delicate shape and size. "I've got you, Chris. Let it out, you're okay, I've got you. I've got you."

He struggles to remember how to make the feeling inside him into words, manages to whisper, " Don't-... don't go-"

"I won't," Kauri promises. His arms are tight and strong around Baldur's shaking, skinny body. "I won't. I'm right here. I'm right here."

"What the hell-" Jake's voice interrupts. "What the hell happened?"

"Why... why is he-" That's Antoni, who wanted to talk, who was talking to Jake about him. His voice is shaking, though, his accent thick and heavy. "Why he is yelling so loud-... you can make it stop? The-... screaming-"

Baldur stiffens.

Stop.

Silent.

Still.

Be good.

Good boys are statue boys, good boys-

The thought breaks apart when he hears Kauri's voice crack loud like a whip against the tile floor. "Probably because the two of you decided to go goddamn gossip. Get the fuck out of this room before I take a cast iron to your faces, you assholes."

"Shit." That's Jake, he thinks. Baldur hides against Kauri's neck until he can't possibly see their faces. The anger, the hate, how they'll be planning his punishment.

But then... footsteps.

They leave.

They go.

Because Kauri told them to.

"Let it out," Kauri murmurs, once they're alone again. "Let it out. Whatever you gotta do, you do it. I'm staying right here."

Baldur tightens his grip on Kauri's torn shirt and starts, finally, to cry. The last of the hurricane falls as tears when the wind dies, draining the terror from him to soak into Kauri's shirt.

"I, I bit you," He whispers, when the words are there. When throat and teeth and tongue work together, finally, to form them. "I'm sorry. I... I, I bit you-"

"No worries," Kauri says, right against his ear. "Didn't even draw blood. Trust me, you're not the first guy to bite - probably not even the tenth - and you won't be the last. But, just between us... I think you're probably my favorite."

Baldur starts to cry again.

This time, it's not a hurricane at all. It's summer showers, welcome warm rain soaking into a thirsty dried-out earth. He cries until he's emptied-out of the fear, until all that's left is hollow like cracked clay warming in the sun.

Like grass growing between dinosaur bones.

He used to know about that.

Someone who lived in his head did, anyway.

But he knows about it, too.

Baldur didn't.

But... Chris does.

-

[magics-neptunes-things]

Bang, Bang.

Hi guys!

So this is from this request and it won't be an happy one. It might contain some medical things who aren't right, but I'm not a doctor even if I made some research to write something logical.

Please enjoy and thanks again dear anon for your perfect request ♥

Also no proofreading for now, sorry!

TW : Fight between lover, gun, shooting, bleeding, hospital, coma, sadness and a lot of angst.

Champion’s league finale. You are playing with your team against Barcelona and more specifically your girlfriend’s team. The Spanish are looking for another cup to continue to break all the records, but your team is very motivated to stop them. It would be the first Cup for your club and for you, too. It’s not ideal playing against your girlfriend honestly, but you knew when you start dating that it was a risk to take.

Alexia and you are together for more than two years now, your forever crush becoming reality at a point during the Euro and when Alexia did her ACL. It’s not easy being away from your girlfriend, even if you are playing in Manchester city with some of your national teammates and friends (Laia Aleixandri and Leila Ouahabi).

The game is tough, at the end of the ninety minutes, each team has scored two goals. At the 93 minutes, you manage to take the best on the defender who is marking you, using your full speed after having received a very good pass from Laia. You can hear the crowd screaming, City’s fans encouraging you while Barcelona’s fans are booing. But when you are facing the keeper, you shut everything and send a cannonball in the upper corner of the net. The keeper can’t do anything.

You don’t have time to register that you just scored 1 minute before the end of the adding time, your teammates tackling you on the ground. This is a mix of jersey, hair, hug and pat on the head for several seconds, before the referee ask you to go back to your position to start the game again.

She made you play two minutes more to catch up the time you lost while celebrating, but Barcelona don’t score. Then the whistle resonate in the stadium and you just won the UEFA Champions League. Not knowing how to react, you stay still for many seconds, before someone jump on your back to train you in a group hug.

You don’t stay a long time though, you want to check on Alexia. You easily find your girlfriend sitting on the ground, her jaw clenched. There is no one around her, so you chose to go to see her. You promised each other that you won’t be resentful to the other, whatever the ending of this game is.

So you think nothing more than being a recomfort to your girlfriend when you arrive next to her.

“Hi” you say softly.

You don’t know if Alexia realized your presence before you talk, but the eyes she lays on you aren’t really friendly. But you decide not to stress about it, kneeling next to her to put a comforting hand on her arm.

“You played very well. I’m so proud of you for the way you leaded your team. And this goal was something else.”

You smile, referring to the second goal, a real banger from Alexia. She doesn’t answer anything, so you just continue talking.

“You can be proud of yourself too, you know? You did everything you could and gave all you could. It’s –“

“Can you please shut the fuck up?”

Alexia doesn’t look at you when she cuts you, but you can tell how angry she is just with the tone of her voice. You are surprised enough to stay quiet and she continues.

“Don’t act like you have all the merits on this win. Your team is lucky that some girls are injured and that we don’t have our usual team playing tonight. If we had all the players, we would have crush you. Don’t take your win for what it’s not. You are just lucky, this has nothing to do with talent.”

Well, you didn’t expect that. Alexia has always been supportive of you, but more generally she always has been respectful and fair play to her opponents. You realize that there is Leila and Patri standing behind you when Alexia gets up to go somewhere else.

“Alexia.” Patri says in a tone of reproach.

But your girlfriend doesn’t answer anything, still walking to the Barcelona’s bench. You can only look at her leaving, stunned by her reaction. You take Leila’s hand who helps you to get up.

“Don’t listen to her” Patri says before hugging you. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you” you mumble.

Leila hugs you tightly too, not without looking at Alexia with reproach too. After that, the ceremony has a bitter taste for you, to be honest. It can’t be seen on picture, you are smiling between Alanna Kennedy and Laia, raising the cup or kissing it. Or being kissed on the head by Laia.

But in reality, you just want to talk to your girlfriend. She didn’t look at you when she passed between the two lines of your team when she goes to take her silver medals. And then she just went to the locker room, not even watching you raise the cup. It hurts, as much as her words did.

But you try to be understanding, you know how bad your girlfriend deal with the idea of losing anything, probably taking all the mistakes on herself. You manage to catch her, hair down and wet, before she leaves with her teammates to take the bus to go back to her hotel.

“Alexia!” you call her.

You don’t see her sigh and roll her eyes, which is good otherwise you probably will be hurt a little more. She was walking with Irene and Ona and turn around to look at you. You already talked with the two others after the game, so you smile back at them when they smile to you before leaving both of you.

“What do you want?” Alexia says harshly.

You are a little stunned, by the tone of her voice and the question. But you don’t say anything, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach. Alexia never talked to you that way. You almost never fought since you are together.

“Talk to you? Can we at least have some minutes together?”

There is a moment of silence.

“No. I don’t want to talk or see you right now.”

********

The celebrations are strange after that. You make all the efforts you can to keep a smile on your face and not ruin your teammate’s joy. Alanna and Leila are looking at you with intensity and you’re pretty sure that Leila told to Alanna what happened between you and Alexia. But you manage to keep them away from you enough to be able to leave as soon as Kerstin.

You tried several times to call Ale when you go back to your hotel, but she doesn’t answer. You prefer to think that she’s asleep and not ignoring you. You send her a message after that, hopping to have an answer during the night or in the morning.

You didn’t.

The morning after, when you wake up, you realize that there is no message from Alexia. Your social media are full of notifications but nothing from your girlfriend. You haven’t post anything either, not wanting to upset your girlfriend even more.

You were supposed to stay in Paris, where the finale was played, together for two days before going back to Barcelona. But with Alexia not giving you any news, you are really scared that she chose to go back to Barcelona without you.

After reading the list of your friends in the Barcelona’s team, you chose to try to call Ona. You can’t help but smirk when you hear Lucy’s voice instead of the Spaniard. But your friend comes several seconds after, and you are finally able to ask if she has news from Alexia.

You are relieved to learn that she’s still in Paris, and even more when Ona accepts to make you sneak in the hotel. Your plan is to go buy some flowers and chocolate for your girlfriend; this is her guilty pleasure. You discovered that during the first weeks of dating her.

After some research, you chose the best chocolate shop around your hotel and go to it to buy some. You take some time to select them, being sure that Alexia will enjoy every single one of them. When you are happy with it, you pay the box but add a cute white teddy bear sitting next to the cashier. No one seems to recognize you, which you are glad for. Like this you can take all the time you want.

You decide to walk to go to the florist, situated between the chocolate shop and Alexia’s hotel. The weather is great, sunny but not too hot. It’s still hotter than Manchester though.

The florist is very nice, and you look around while she’s serving other people who were already here when you arrived, right now it’s a family with a small girl smiling at you. You love the smell in here. The roses are amazing, and you ask the florist something with red roses in it. You look at her ease to make a wonderful bouquet with amazement.

“Tout le monde les mains en l’air !“

You hear the shout before you see the man, but the sweet florist’s face is suddenly very white. You don’t understand what was told, so you turn around to look what is happening.

There is a man with his face hidden behind a mask who is pointing a gun in your direction. You are glad that the family with the cute toddler left.

“A genoux!”

You don’t understand and you have to look around to know what he’s asking. The other raised their arms and are now kneeling, while you are still standing without moving.

That seems to make the man very mad. When you turn your eyes to him once again, he says something that might be a swear word. Then there is a sound of gunfire and the pain you feel is worst than anything you felt in your life.

You hit your head hard on the ground and suddenly the people around are screaming, but you don’t understand why. They are talking in French, and you have trouble to understand anything. It seems to you that the man got the money he wanted before leaving. The rush in your ears is very unpleasant and when you look at your chest, you realize that there is a big, red spot on your white shirt.

Suddenly there is a woman kneeling next to you, grabbing your face to make you look at her. It’s the florist.

“Hey! We called the ambulance, they are coming, ok? Stay awake, please.”

“I need to call Alexia” you breath, while taking your phone from your pocket.

“OK. I’ll press something on your stomach to stop the bleeding, ok?”

You just nod. Your hands are shaking while you open your phone, and your vision is blur when you look for your girlfriend’s number. It’s not hard to find though, she’s on the top of your list. You let the phone ring for several longs minutes before accepting the fact that Alexia won’t answer.

“She’s maybe still asleep” the girl points.

“No” you whisper shakily. “She’s mad at me. Those were supposed to be gifts for her”

“I’m sure she’ll love it”

You start to have trouble to breath. You close your eyes and try to take a big breath. You start to feel anxious too. Are you going to die without having heard your girlfriend’s voice a last time? Without being able to tell her how much you love her, how much she means for you?

You suddenly feels very tired, you understand what it’s mean. Fighting to open your eyes, you look for the woman’s eyes before talking. It seems like you don’t speak very loud, because she leans on you to understand.

“Will you tell her that I love her? Please. She always meant the world to me and I’m sorry that she’s so upset. Will you tell her?”

The woman’s eyes are wet when she talks to you.

“You will tell her yourself, Sweetheart.”

You know you won’t be able to. So you need her to promise you.

“Please. There are no words strong enough, but I love her more than anything. Will you give her my presents too? I wrote a card with the bear”

Your words are hard to pronounce, but you manage to say every single one of them, being sure to be understand. The woman nods and you feel relieved.

“I’m sure she loves you too.”

The woman cup your face and you decide to believe her. You close your eyes again and let yourself being wrapped by the memories you have with Alexia. The best of your life.

********

Alexia is sitting in a chair, her head in her hands. Everything seems unreal. Her eyes are red from crying, her throat is dry, and her head is pounding painfully. And she wonders if her breathing will be normal again at a moment.

She feels awful.

She was the worst girlfriend in the world for you and you never deserved it. You took the time to find her to talk to her even if you were probably drunk with the adrenaline of the win. You said sweet words to her, took the time to comfort her and she still had this behavior.

To be fair to her, she was really trying to find a way to come back to you to apologize. She was showering when you tried to call her after being shot, not knowing that you already made a plan with Ona to come to her.

Then, she received the worst call of her life. She’s the number one on your emergency calls so the hospital you were transferred to call her as soon as they could. It was three days ago, and she never left this room since.

You had a surgery and when she arrived in your room at first, you weren’t even here. Then they bring you in it and she learned that you probably won’t make it. But it’s been three days, and you are still here, your brain seems to still work correctly, and your heart is still beating.

You lost a lot of blood though and several of your organs got touched by the bullet. You are healing and it’s only because you are an athlete and in a very good shape that you are still alive.

Just when she thought that nothing could get worse, she received a visit that she didn’t except. She frowns at first when a cute girl entered your room with a teddy bear, a chocolate box and flowers. But then the florist explained to her what you ask her to do and that the precise moment where Alexia lost it.

You parents and Alexia’s mother join you in the hospital to be there for you, but for Alexia too. Ale’s mother never managed to get Alexia out of your room. Alexia sleep on the chair, Alexia eats the awful hospital’s food, Alexia takes shower in the bathroom of your room.

Sometimes she cries, sometimes she just looks at you. No one never heard her voice since she’s here. She’s so hurt that she feels like she can’t speak anymore. She only speaks to you when you both are alone. She’s so hurt, too, that she wants to rip her heart of her chest.

Alexia lost track of time, her mother and your parents left several hours ago now, and the sky is dark. The bips from the monitoring are still in the background, but Alexia doesn’t pay attention to them anymore. Unless they are making strange sounds, like yesterday. Your heart was suddenly in great difficulty.

The nurses explain to her after having stabilized you that it’s because your body need a lot to heal, and it could be hard for your heart.

The Spaniard keeps thinking that her behavior probably had hurt your heart so much that she’s responsible of your state. She is wrong of course, even if she was bad after the game, it’s not in any case of her fault.

When Alexia raises her head again to look at you, you are still with your eyes closed, your skin paler than ever. You are Spanish too, you have a natural tan skin, but now you look… ill. Alexia hates it.

“Mi Amor” she whispers while taking your hand in hers, her throat hurts when she talks. “I know you are doing everything you can to heal and come back. You don’t know what your life means to a lot of people here. Your parents, your family, your friends, your fans… Me, of course. But I don’t know if you steel want me after everything that happened. You got hurt because of me.”

If she wasn’t a little shit, you wouldn’t have been in this flower shop. That’s what she shouts to her sister when Alba tried to make her leave your room. Tears are rolling again on her cheeks, and you would probably kiss them if you were awake.

“I am so sorry. I’ll give everything to be at your place. I’m not able to ask it, but please come back. I need you so much. I don’t know how I am supposed to continue without you. You weren’t at Barcelona, but it’s seems like you are everywhere every time. Everything makes me think about you. I need you. Please. I’m so sorry.”

Alexia lost her father several years ago and it was heartbreaking, of course. Her father was her model when she was younger. Her guide. But you, you are the love of her life and she is convinced that she won’t survive your lost.

“Take the time you need to heal and then I’ll do everything for you to forgive me.”

Tears are rolling freely on her face, but she doesn’t care anymore since a very long time. She rather kisses your hand, relieved to feel the warm of your skin on her lips. Alexia frowns slightly while looking at your fingers though. They had to remove the ring you were usually wearing on your finger; the one Alexia offered you for your one year together. Alexia wears it around her neck on her chain, her fingers being too big to wear it on her finger.

“I love you. I’ll stay with you every second until you wake up.”

She means it and she did it. Even when they were other games played, she never left your side. They talked about transferring you in England, where you live, but Alexia refused, and your parents agreed with her. They never doubt about the love Alexia had for you; you never hide from them how good Alexia treated you during your time together.

You weren’t really aware of that to be honest. You were somewhere over the rainbow, far away from your girlfriend and the one you love. Even if it isn’t the case for Alexia, it’s better for you. Seeing Alexia’s distress would probably break you. You sometimes feel lighter, but you like to think that it’s the time when Alexia takes your hand or kiss it.

********

“We would like to make her try to breath without monitoring. We need to see if she’s able to breath alone.”

“No.”

Alexia’s answer is harsh and cold, but her mother puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her. Your mother is more diplomatic about her answer.

“Isn’t it risky?”

“Everything is risky” the doctor says, trying to ignore Alexia’s glare. “But her organs are better, and we need to revise her treatment. We will stop the monitoring for an hour, and we will check her oxygen constantly during the process.”

“What if she stops breathing?” Alexia asks.

“The chances are very rare. In fact,…”

“What. If. She. Stops. Breathing.”

Your father smirks when your girlfriend talks again, carefully articulating each of her words with cold anger. He always loved Alexia and he probably loves her even more right now.

“We will put her back on monitoring and try something else.”

Alexia snorts and crosses her arms on her chest. She hates that idea; she hates the idea that they are putting you in danger without any reason. She doesn’t say that it’s bullshit just because her mother is here and she is always careful about the words she chooses when Eli is around.

“I won’t leave her side a single second” she rather informs your medical team.

She doesn’t when they try, her eyes being on the screen with the indicator of your oxygen in your body or on your chest, watching it raise every single time. When one hour is passed and you are still breathing normally, she feels a little better. The medical team decided to let you like this for now, wanting to see if you can make the night.

The night pass and you are still breathing. Then a whole day.

“I’m so proud of you” Alexia whispered against your forehead before kissing it softly.

She explained to her mother how she treated you the next time you saw her, the guilt was eating her alive. Her mother didn’t try to tell her that she’s wrong to feel that way, Eli agreed with Alexia about how bad she was. She nevertheless comforts her daughter with words she knew were true. She remembers to Alexia how much you love her and that you still went to grab her presents before wanting to come to her.

Three days without monitoring and you are still breathing like you are peacefully sleeping. They are still feeding you with your catheter but other than that you don’t need anything to be alive.

Everything was fine and that’s why she panicked when you start to whine suddenly. Hands shaking, she jumps from her chair looking around before pressing the button to call the nurses. She doesn’t know what she managed to say, but the nurses start to talk way to fast in French, one of them taking her phone to call the doctor.

“What is happening?” Alexia asks, her breath almost impossible to take.

“We need you to leave the room for a little time” one of the nurses asks her.

“No way!”

“Alexia…”

Eli’s voice makes her daughter looks around, but the blond doesn’t move. She just shakes her head, informing every single person in the room that she won’t leave you. Bad or good news, she will be here. She needs to be here.

The three women don’t have the time to convince Alexia a little longer, because the doctor suddenly comes into your room, talking in French too and Alexia wonders if she will explode from frustration soon.

She sees several monitors coming into your room too and when your mother-in-law comes to your girlfriend to pass her arms around her shoulder, Alexia looks at her with lost eyes.

“Is that it? Is she dying?” she whispers.

Eli feels her heart break, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know. She just cups her daughter’s face and keep her face on her chest. Eli doesn’t move when Alexia grip her arms pretty hard, tightening her daughter even closer to her, trying to protect your girlfriend from another lost.

The next minutes were agonizing for your girlfriend, and she can’t open her mouth when the doctor comes next to her. She doesn’t understand all the bip from the different monitors around you. She doesn’t know if you are still alive or not.

“She is ok” he says at first, having learn to understand Alexia through the days, and your girlfriend feels like she might faint from relieving. “I think she is trying to wake up. The next hours will be decisive.”

After that, Alexia sits even closer to your face to have a better look at you. Every night her mother goes back to the house Alexia rent for her and your family so they can be close to you.

She hasn’t sleep since more than twenty-seven hours when you move again. But this time you open your eyes and look around. You seem scared, your eyes looking around you.

“Sh Bébé, can you hear me?” Alexia whispers after having regained some composure.

Her hand is on your face, soft like a feather. She manages to calm you quickly and you nod very softly. Alexia sees it anyway.

“You are at the hospital. You are safe, ok? Just try to breath a little slowly.”

You keep looking at her, trying your best to calm yourself. You don’t know how many minutes have passed before you swallow your saliva and open your mouth.

“No. Don’t talk. Keep your energy, ok?” Alexia whispers again.

As your memories come back, you are relieved to see that Alexia is by your side. She looks like she hasn’t sleep or eat in the last two weeks, but you don’t leave her face with your eyes, even when she moves to let the doctor and nurses check several things on you.

You tiredly let them do what they want with you and Alexia never left you with her eyes either. She watches the medical team to be sure they are doing things right with you. When they talk to you in English, you are way to tired to understand what they are saying. Luckily, your girlfriend is here to translate in Spanish.

“They want to know if you are hurt somewhere. Don’t shake your head, just close your eyes two times if you are hurt and one if you are ok.”

You blink slowly one time. You are not hurt, you are tired. Your answer seems to relieve everyone around and you close your eyes to rest when they are talking in English again. Alexia answers something and you trust her to make things right. They are talking for several minutes before the silence is here again.

You open your eyes suddenly, scared that Alexia has left too. But she’s here, typing on her phone, informing your parents and family that you are awake. She seems surprised to see you watching her when she puts her phone down.

“I thought you fall back asleep” she says softly, turning her body to look at you. “Do you want to drink?”

You blink once and she almost run to get you a glass of water from the bathroom. If you were able, you probably have laugh at her. You hope to have a little of water in your mouth can help you to talk. Alexia uses the buttons of the bed to make you seat and is very careful in every of her move to help you drink.

“They said a little bit at time”

You oblige and the feeling is amazing honestly. You look at your girlfriend and you focus on your sentence before talking, not wanting to waste any energy.

“Did you get my presents?”

Your voice is awful, but it’s not a surprise. You don’t really know since when you are here, without talking. But you need to know.

Alexia turns in your direction and suddenly her eyes are wet with tears and her hands are shaking.

“I did. That sweet girl came in here to give them to me the first day. The flowers are here” she points them. “Thank you, even if you shouldn’t needed to get me any of this. We will talk about it later, but Y/N/N I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. You are the sweetest and most perfect girl in the world. And I love you more than anything.”

“Alexia…”

She puts her finger on your lips, putting you in silence.

“Keep your energy for when your parents are coming.”

You roll briefly your eyes and for the first time in weeks, Alexia smiles. Not her sometimes awkward smile, who makes you think about that Friend’s episode where Chandler is supposed to smile for his engagement’s pictures. You always teased her about it.

“I love you more than anything too” you whisper when she takes her finger back. “Stay with me?”

“Of course I will”

You don’t know that she never left your side since you are here. Just like her mother several hours ago, she cups your face with extra care before stroking your hair. Right to her words, Alexia never left you for a second and wait for you to be able to go back to Barcelona for your recovery.

********

Several Months Later.

“What would you think about me coming to play in England?”

In shock, you spit out the pudding you were innocently eating. Like every morning since your hospitalization, Alexia and you are talking over FaceTime while you are eating your breakfast. Like always, Alexia just came back from her morning jogging and is eating her breakfast too.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you ask, the choc passed.

“Me playing in Manchester? I really want to be close to you. I hate being so far away from you and being able to have you in my arms only for two weeks every two months.”

You probably are dreaming or hallucinating. You look at your girlfriend on your screen like if you were waiting for her to tell it’s only a joke. That’s what you are waiting, to be honest.

“Alexia, you will die in the English weather” you point. “And they are eating pudding and beans on a toast for breakfast here, I don’t know how you would survive.”

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes – just like she hates you do – and seems suddenly to find her tortilla very interesting.

“Don’t you want me there with you?” she asks with insecurity.

Since you got shot, you sometimes have the impression that she’s just waiting for you to break up with her. Something you will never do, how in the world are you supposed to live without your reason to breath?

“That’s not the point Cariño” you assure her with a smile. “I would love to be able to wake up every morning next to you.”

“What is it then?”

She’s almost pouting and you want to squeeze her cheeks with your hands.

“There is something I haven’t talked to you about.”

She looks panicked when she raises her eyes on your, turning your head back on you so quickly that you wonder if she hurts herself.

“What?”

“Don’t be mad, ok?” you begin, starting to eat your porridge again. “But I might have received an offer from Barcelona. I haven’t talk to you about yet because I wanted to be sure that it’s a real offer and that they are serious about it. City seems ok with me coming back to Barcelona, but nothing is signed for now.”

“Do you want it? Coming back?”

You look at your girlfriend thoughtfully. You understand where this question comes from, Alexia just wants to be sure that you are not doing things for her, but for you and your career.

“I miss Barcelona. I miss the Spanish weather, I miss my family… Sure I’ll miss Laia and Leila and the RFEF is still shit, but I want to give it a try.”

“Ok” Alexia smiles.

You can see that she’s thinking about something, but you don’t pressure her to talk. You know that it will comes when she will be ready. You finish your breakfast, talking about everything and nothing while Alexia looks at you from the corner of her eyes. The thoughts haunting her mind come out loud several minutes later.

“Are you going to go back to your parent’s?”

“Like living with them?” you raise an eyebrow before continuing when Alexia nods. “No, of course not. I’m 24 years old, I’m way to old to live with my parents again” you laugh softly. “Why?”

“I was thinking that there’s enough room in my closet for both of us. If you want it.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” you smile tenderly.

“Yes, if you want to?”

“I would love it, Ale.”

______________________________________________________________

To be honest with you I wanted to make R died but I can't stand a sad Alexia.

[peachesofteal]

Dr.Riley’s getting attached. I can see him cancelling his day and slipping out of the back, wanting to make sure Clover gets home in one piece.

psych au - 18+ - tw for mental health, alcohol, ptsd, psych hold, references to suicidal ideation, psychologist Simon Riley losing his grip. Note: where I live, an M1 is a 72 hour psych hold. So that’s how I wrote this. Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

It's not crossing a boundary, it's just taking care of her.

He repeats it over and over in his head, slinking a block behind you in the shadows. Old practices, tactical operations and operating procedures revive in his blood, his steps turning silent, ghostly.

This is fine.

It's not. He knows it. His education, his license, his practice, they're all at risk now. The work he's put in over the years, threatened by your existence. And yet-

He can't stop thinking about you. Like an illness, a cold, ice filling his chest, he can't shake you.

He's this close to putting you on a seventy two hour hold. He could see it in your eyes today, the agony, the decay of your will to keep trying, keep living. You didn't say it out right, but he knows.

He's been there. He recognizes it.

He wants to know how much you're drinking. The rule of thumb is usually what the patient says times three, maybe four, but with you it's hard to tell. Alcohol will only push you to the bottom of your will to live faster, an old rusted chain wrapped around your ankle, attached to an anchor at the bottom.

It's the first time he's hesitated putting someone on an M1. You're not a danger to others, sure. But to yourself? You're lethal.

This is how he convinces himself to follow you home.

Your building is nice. There's a lobby, an elevator, and the floor has been recently waxed, shiny with something reminiscent of chemical and lemon peel. The front door is secure, which gives him a sliver of relief, though it wasn't a challenge for him to get it open.

It would be for others though.

He's not surprised to see your door is bare. No welcome mat, no wreath, not even a door knocker, like everyone else's. Its bare bones, as he expected, not really a home, just a place you come and go.

He should stop.

Instead, his fist bangs against the door on its own accord.

Your eyes are wide when it swings open, fingers curled around the knob in a death grip. You’re a little off balance, tipping against the frame, and he chalks it up to the surprise. “Dr. Riley?”

“I- I needed to follow up with you.” Your mouth tugs into a frown, confusion flickering across your face. You’re in a ratty t shirt, sweatpants, and you look so damn tired.

“You make house calls now?” Fuck.

“I’m concerned.” He’s scrambling, trying to tug free some words that will make this make sense, something that will make this situation professional in any capacity. “Needed to make sure you got home. You said you weren’t feeling well, remember?”

“Oh. Right. I um, I’m fine. I’m just tired.” He peeks around your shoulder. Your apartment is mostly bare, a shell of a home, a place you sleep between missions, he’s sure.

You shiver, and hiccup. His eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?”

“N-no.” He leans in, pinching your jaw between his fingers and forcing your face upwards to his. This close, he can see the dilation in your pupils, your struggle to focus, but most importantly, he can smell your breath.

Whiskey.

Well, that’s it then.

“Go sit down,” he orders, turning you into the apartment and forcing you over to the couch. “This is over.”

“What’s over?”

“This. ‘m not going to let you self destruct, or die.” He sends a text discreetly, glancing back at the screen when he gets an affirmative.

“What’re you doing to do? Babysit me?” You scoff, but he shakes his head.

“You need help, Clover.” He keeps his voice soft, as soft as he can manage so to not spook you, like you’re a scared animal caught in his path.

“I’m fine.” Your hands are trembling, but you maintain the facade, and he only shakes his head. He needs a distraction, something to eat the time with.

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

When the knock and the door comes, your breath catches. “Who is that?”

“Clover,” he says gently, “we’re going to get you help.” He opens the door to reveal the paramedics, and your face falls.

You know. He knows you know.

“No,” you back away, your head shaking back and forth. “No, you- you can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” your lower lip trembles, and he approaches slowly, palms out. “Please.” You’re panting, sweating, eyes wild, snapping to the door. He steps in front of your gaze, holding a hand up to the medics, telling them to stop their advance. If he can get through to you he can make this easier, less traumatizing, less terrifying.

“If you run, I will catch you.” He warns sternly, and you gulp.

“Dr. Riley, please.” You’re pleading, tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. It burns in his heart, agony ripping through him.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” A syringe is passed to the hand behind his back, and he pops the cap off when you’re looking away.

“You can’t do this- please don’t do this to me.”

“Clover, I can’t trust that you won’t hurt yourself baby.” Baby. It slips out and he bites his tongue. “This is for you, and I know you don’t know that right now-“

“NO!” You scream, hands balled at your side. “I’m n-not going, I won’t go. You c-can’t make me.”

“I can. You know I can. I want to come with us willingly, okay? I don’t want to sedate you.” You’re terrified now, still backing away, panicking when your back collides with the wall. You pivot towards the door your bedroom, springing into a leap, but he’s faster, snatching you around your waist and dragging you backwards.

“No! STOP, nonono-“ you kick your feet, twisting, thrashing, trying to knock the back of your head into his nose as he curls around you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers it against your ear-

And plunges the syringe into your arm.

[taelophone]

Strings° . ° .

Guitar Player Joost Klein x Reader TWs: Penetration, Oral (r receiving), Joost is kinda a bully, overstimulation, sliiiiight hand kink it’s barely there, RPF!! W/C: 2684 A/N: First time writing smut, idk if I liked doing it😭 I feel a little bit embarrassed? Or maybe it’s shame, i am NOT sure but ill still probably write it for you guys

“So when you go to play, you put your fingers on the fretboard…and these strings. Like this.”

For the last 50 minutes or so, Joost had been trying to teach you the guitar basics. You sat together on your shared bed, with your legs crossed around one another as he explained a guitar's different parts and components, making sure you knew what he was referring to when he said certain pieces of info.

You watched his fingers closely, admiring the way they bent and pressed on each string. His blue-green tattooed knuckles caught your attention more than the lesson ever could, reading the same numbers you had seen every single day.

“Like…this?” You murmured, copying his hand placement on your brand new electric.

“Yeah, like that.” He nodded, strumming his fingers along the steel wire, creating a light and lively sound from the strings. “That’s an A chord.”

You nodded, holding your pick a little awkwardly before plucking the same chord, being a little bit more gentle with your strings. “Like that?” You asked, glancing up at him for approval.

“Very good, that was great schatje.” He beamed,  giving you a quiet round of applause. “Alright, now let me show you uhh…D chord. Yes.” He nodded, immediately diving into an explanation of the chord.

Unfortunately for Joost, his voice fell on very deaf ears.

All you were focusing on was his face. The pretty mole at the bottom of his lip seemed to speak right over his voice. It commanded your attention like some sort of ray of light, begging you to stagger towards it like a moth to the moon.

And then his hair, oh dear god don’t even get me started. It sat so perfectly on his head, his bangs messily clipped away with one of your pink flower clips. He had long since dropped his attention back to his star-shaped guitar, trying to demonstrate where to put your fingers.

But all you could think about was where he could put his fingers.

“You’re not watching.” He murmured, catching on to how spaced out you were.

It didn’t take him long to glance at you, tilting his head in faux curiosity. He left out a soft chuckle that almost sounded like a scoff, giving you the faintest smirk ever.

“You’re not watching.” He repeated, gripping your jaw firmly and lowering your gaze so it stared at the guitar stationed in his lap.

“Sorry sorry sorry, what were you saying?”  You murmured, feeling the apples of your cheeks grow flush with fever.

“Put your fingers here,” he murmured, waiting for you to mirror his hands with a smug smile.

You nodded, copying his hands and then nodding.

“And then you skip these two…and strum from the third.” He nodded, running his finger along the strings.

You nodded again, this time a little slower as your brows furrowed in concentration. You copied exactly what he did, but for some reason, your chord sounded unstable; almost like it was vibrating against the wood of the fretboard.

“Ah. That’ll happen.” He nodded. “Push down harder with your ring finger.” He muttered, poking your knuckle playfully.

“Mhm…” you hummed, pushing down a little more but still yielding the same sound.

You frowned, rolling your eyes before taking a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” You huffed, immediately sensing yourself losing motivation little by little.

“Don’t stress about it, schatje. Guitar is…not easy.” He giggled, immediately remembering all the many times he had been so desperate to break his guitar and never return.

“You just have to learn what works best…C’mere.” He murmured, setting his guitar on the floor and reaching over to you, lifting you up from under your shoulders.

“Oh. Okay.” You snickered, letting him place you in his lap.

“Alright, so,” he began, propping your guitar back up in your lap, and placing his hands over yours.

His hands were soft, but the pads of his fingers were rough and calloused due to years of practice.  The very definition of rough around the edges, and every second you spent with him felt like heaven.

“Alright, back to D chord, ja?” He smiled, resting his chin on top of your head. He placed your fingers in the appropriate place, keeping his firmly on yours.

“Your ring finger. It’s not pressing hard enough.” He rasped, pressing your smaller digit on top of the wire. Not enough to hurt, but enough to hold it still.

“If you can’t keep it still, it‘s gonna move.” He reminded. “That’s what’s making that weird noise.”

“But that’s uncomfortable…do I have to press that hard?” You asked, furrowing your brows in slight annoyance. 

“Guitar is uncomfortable.” He smiled. “So yeah, you do.”

“I’m about to drop this guitar, I swear to god.” You huffed, strumming the chord again, noticing how much better it immediately sounded. 

“See? Much better.” Joost smiled, patting the side of your leg. “Just when you were about to quit. Look, you’re getting better.”

You had to admit, you almost laughed at how quickly you had calmed down when you heard the correct note and not that nonsense you played earlier.

“Alright, we’re gonna do it over again.” Joost giggled, releasing your hands but keeping you in his lap. He leaned back slightly, propping himself up on the palms of his hands.

“Start from E. I’ll help you if you mess up.” He smiled.

“Wait…E was this one?” You murmured, placing your pointer on the 4th string, middle on the third, and ring on the second.

You glided your pick across the strings, nodding when you yielded a bright and fun-sounding strum. 

“Good job!” Joost smiled, giving you another quiet applause. “It’s not so hard, see?” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your midriff.

“You literally just said it was hard earlier?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I lied.” He giggled. “Guitar isn’t really hard, but I am.”

“Oh wow.” You giggled, maneuvering your hands around the guitar to pluck different chords experimentally.

“Now do C7.” He giggled.

“No, I hate you, and I hate C7.” You groaned, rolling your eyes. 

It wasn’t really a hard chord, considering he was still showing you the basics, but it was annoying. Your fingers didn’t like positioning themselves so awkwardly.

“C’mon, you can do it. Learning is a process.” He assured, resting his chin on your shoulder instead so he could monitor your hands.

You sighed, fighting the urge to throw the guitar and play the little game of finger crochet you had been playing for almost an hour now.

“Nope…this finger goes here,” he corrected, immediately moving your hand. “Try again liefje.”

“Nope. I quit.” You huffed, letting go of the guitar completely.

“No, don’t do that.” He laughed, raising his eyebrows with slight shock. “Giving up isn’t good, you’ll never learn. Just try again.” He urged, fiddling with the bottom of your shirt.

“Maybe I’m overreacting…” you sighed, picking up the guitar and assuming the proper position again.

You played the chord over and over again, pressing and tweaking with the wires repeatedly to try and get it right but it was impossible to focus.

“Joost, move your hands, I can’t play like this.” You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” He teased, gently squishing and prodding at the fat of your breasts. “You can play just fine, I’m not blocking your hands.”

“I’m not blocking your hands!!” You mirrored in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, intending to mock him but giggling through your words.

“You can play just fine, look!” He protested with a wide grin before pinching your nipple between his fingers gently, earning him a small whine.

“Close enough, sounds like B major.” He giggled, sticking his tongue out impishly.

“Y’so mean, feeling on me while I’m trying to…learn guitar..” you muttered, still trying to pluck your notes as he attacked your neck and chest.

Your breathing grew labored, and your focus flew out the window. You had always admired Joost’s hands, but there was nothing better in the world than to have them on you.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, lifting the bottom of your shirt slightly.

What a blessing.

“Yes.” You said, a little quicker than you would have liked to admit. But shame is just a social construct.

“Thank you,” he purred, lifting your shirt up in the same breath.

Joost’s hands squished and prodded your delicate and sensitive skin, being as gentle as possible as if you were the softest of angels.

“You poor thing…can’t even concentrate on playing…” he cooed, grinning evilly as your guitar slid out of your lap and onto the floor below with a sharp thud. “I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

His small, patronizing tone and soft smile would have been annoying if it was anybody else, but it was hard for it to be anything but attractive when both of your heartbeats drowned out the afterthought of shame.

“You’re beautiful” he murmured, sucking purple and blue hickeys on your neck, holding your head still by placing his hand firmly on your jaw.

“Lay down, baby. Let me help you” he urged, slowly lifting you from off of his lap and setting you down on your sheets.

Joost was a gentle man, no doubt about it. No, probably not a gentleman, but a gentle man. He took his time with you, running his hands up and down the plush of your thighs.

“I love you” he reminded, pulling down the waistband of your sweatpants.

He leaned down, trailing kisses from your sternum to your lower stomach. He was so slow; his pace was killing you with how feather-light and leisurely it was.

“Joost, c’mon, please..” you whined, reaching your hand down to tangle your hand in his hair.

“Be patient…” he smiled, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. “Good things come to those who wait.”

He kissed the soft skin of your womb before flattening his warm tongue against the fabric of your panties, relishing in the way you twitched at the contact.

“Don’t run,” he chuckled, holding you by your thighs.

“I’m not running…” you snickered, rolling your eyes at him as you ruffled his hair a bit.

“Not now,” he smiled, pulling your simplistic panties down with his canines. “But you probably will.”

And without any warning or signal whatsoever, Joost latched onto your cunt, lapping and sucking your poor and achy clit.

The sounds were filthy; wet and slick slurps mingling with your pants and moans. You tugged at his hair, making any sort of effort you could to ground yourself.

“I know, I knowww.” He hummed, sending vibrations straight to your sensitive core as he held your free hand.

He was so persistent, his head not disappearing from between your thighs even once. He tugged you closer to him, wincing a little as you kept a vice grip on his hair.

He peers up at you, his two-toned brows furrowed slightly as his eyes gaze into yours with heavy lust and admiration. 

His tongue feels delicious against your weeping folds, his other hand leaving your thigh to bully your sensitive bud.

The room around you was fading to white; your senses became overcrowded with the many factors screaming in the room.

The sinful sounds of Joost eating you alive like he was a starved man, your tiny tears that pricked your waterline, the whines of Joost’s name filling the little amount of empty space left between you and the 4 walls of your room, all of it.

“Joost—! Please, 'm gonna-“

“I know.” He murmured, giggling into your cunt as he pried your entrance open with his two fingers, which was more than easy due to how wet and pent-up you were.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat and the world faded into a blank slate of white, a loud and abrupt whine ripping through your vocal cords. But that didn’t stop your boyfriend, no! Never.

Even after your orgasm had crashed against you like a tidal wave, Joost didn’t even slow down. Not one bit.

He continued to suck and tease your now overstimulated clit, giggling subtly at your little cries of pleasure.

“You can take it, I’m not done” He mumbled against your entrance. 

He was so hard it hurt; at some point, he was beginning to wonder if he was just eating you to try and alleviate the ache in his boxers. But it didn’t matter, you tasted too good for him to even think about prying his mouth away from you.

“Mmh, je smaakt lekker” He hummed, working his fingers in and out of you, abusing the spongy spot against your walls that had you crying for more.

He knew your body like he knew his guitar; what keys to press, where his hands should go, and how to keep himself from breaking anything that shouldn’t be broken. 

“Joost—! Can’t…Can’t, ‘s too much!” You stammered, laying your hand flat on his head as you tried to push him away.

“It’s too much!” He mocked, coaxing you into one more orgasm on his tongue before giggling and kissing your trembling thighs.

“Het spijt me, vergeef me alsjeblieft.” He smiled, pulling your pink flower clip off his head so he could take himself seriously before pulling down his sweatpants.

“You wanna hold my hand?” He offered, letting you weakly find purchase in his larger palm.

Everything about Joost was big, which is funny enough considering his name meant small. His hands, his legs, his height.

And that large size carried through EVERYWHERE, making sex a tight squeeze.

He slid his boxers down, just enough to let his light blush-pink tip spring free, angry and neglected as pearls of clear dribbled down onto the sheets.

“You okay?” He asked, swiping his length across your shiny and sensitive folds. “I won’t do anything until you’re ready…”

You nodded, lacing his fingers gently between yours. “Yeah, you can, it’s ok” you nodded, smiling at him softly.

Joost nodded, lining himself up with your entrance.

He squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pushed into you, whining quietly as he buried himself in your welcoming warmth.

You don’t even recognize your sounds as your lips part to make way for broken and breathy moans. 

He gave you slow but deep thrusts, not wanting to accidentally hurt you. His right hand found purchase under your hip, holding you steady as his hips met yours again and again.

“Just like that…there you go.” Joost huffed, picking up the pace with his hips.

His dick bullied its way through your entrance, intimidating and prodding that spongy spot up against your walls over and over again.

Breathy moans and low groans fell from you and Joost’s lips. His fingers holding your hip pressed into your skin were sure to leave little bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers.

“I love you…” He rasped, staring down at where you connected.

It was a sinful sight; a murky white ring around his glistening dick. He smiled, biting down on his lip before leaning down to kiss you.

You were so close— just teetering on the edge as your tongue danced with Joost’s. He swallowed your moans like they were liquor, throwing back shots that burned down and kept him giddy and satisfied.

“Almost there, baby…” he murmured, letting go of your sore and barely-bruised thigh to rub small and tight circles on your clit.

Oh, it was so over for you.

With one loud screech of Joost’s name, he clasped his hand over your mouth to save you a noise complaint as you painted him white with your release.

Joost let out a heavy, guttural moan as he shot hearty splurges of white right through your womb before collapsing on top of you, panting right next to your ear.

“You’re so pretty, I love you so much.” He slurred, kissing your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Your guitar lay forgotten on the floor, counting the beats of silence per minute as the pair of you drifted off to sleep.

[hybridirl]

cat & mouse.

18+ only, please!

vi x f!thief!reader

a/n: hello everynyan!!!!!! u can call me star. so i’m finally getting around to writing fanfic again! woohoo. *** not story accurate *** i kinda wrote the last part half asleep so sorry chat if it seems a little rushed

brief summary: you steal from vi and she shows you what happens when you fuck with the wrong girl.

tw / rough, DEGRADING, strap on, use of y/n, **DUBCON**, KIDNAPPING, theft, BEATING, spitting, CHOKING, strap referred to as her penis

intentional lowercase. wont be proofread. probably won’t ever be proofread.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

she ran through the streets, her boots stomping against puddles hard. her breathing was heavy as she her haze flickered around to make sure she was getting as far away as she could. she made a sharp turn, down the alley, to the right, she thought to herself.

she took a glance down as if to make sure the bag she stole was still in hand. it was. a little smirk played at her lips. this little bandit wasn’t as rusty as she thought she was. she quickly looked behind her and saw a clear coast. her footsteps slowed and settled and she took a moment for her breath. she leaned against the brick walls of the alley, sliding down to sit. she put the bag in her lap, her fingers finding the button. she fumbled with it slightly as her hands trembled from adrenaline. her eyes widened and glistened as her fingers gently pulled the cover away.

“woah,” she gasped in awe, but only for a moment before she heard a loud thump and feeling her body fall to the ground.

—

when she awoke, her hands went to rub her eyes. as she moved her muscle, she found it difficult to move her arm. she tugged at it, and her eyes flickered around although they were still blurry with sleep. her wrists were bound, as were her legs she found out as she looked down.

fuck! she found herself thinking. her brows furrowed in panic. she thrashed against the restraints as her chest heaved in worry.

“h…” she started to shout, but her voice was hoarse and her throat sore. where the fuck am i? she thought desperately to herself. it was a simple room. one bed. a few decorations. someone’s home. she was tied up on a chair in someone’s home?

she didn’t have to wait for long to know whose home it was as her eyes caught a brooding figure lurking in the corner. she almost squeaked as she tried to shuffle away, but the chair and restraints held her tightly in place. she couldn’t recognize the figure considering the darkness of the room.

“please,” she found herself shakily whispering, “please, don’t hurt me.” she swallowed hard as she watched the figure shift their weight as they stepped closer and out of the dark. the moon was shy that night, the light barely reflecting off their features. she recognized the face; she had stolen from this pink haired person that day. “i’m sorry!” she gasped at recognition. “i’m sorry, i- i—“

“shut the fuck up,” her voice growled. she yelped as the woman kicked the chair over, her head banging against the floor. she groaned in pain as her head began to throb. “messed with the wrong fucking girl.” she grunted as she kicked her arm harshly, earning another cry. “you think you can fucking steal from me? who the fuck do you think you are? i’ve been in this goddamn business long than you’ve been a-fucking-live.” her foot landed on the younger woman’s stomach, knocking the air out of her. she could feel her skin stinging and blood flooded the area under, creating a dark bruise in just a few short moments. she yanked her hair back, forcing her to look up at her. “tell me what the hell your name is.”

she let her jaw drop as she tried to speak, but only groans escaped.

“ah…” she panted, tears falling out her eyes. “…y/n.”

“y/n, huh?” she growled and dropped her head harshly, making her head knock against the floor once more.

“you know what kinda shit i would’ve been in? huh?” she asked with sheer rage in her voice, slapping her face to force an answer out.

“i- i’m sorry!” she cried, shaking her head every which way. “please, stop, i’m sorry!”

“fucking girl,” she hissed, “i didn’t ask you to apologize, i asked you if you knew what kinda shit i’d be in. now, answer me.” she clenched her jaw with her hand, her cheeks squishing and puffing.

“i don’t know!” she replied with that fish face, her words coming out weird and wrong. the woman spit at her, watching her flinch and her eyes shut as the spit made contact with her eye. her eyes shut tight and her face scrunched in disgust. she thrashed her head as she tried to move out her grip. “please!”

“tell me why i should forgive you,” she growled, deep and menacing. she released her grip and circled the chair that lay on the ground like a predator.

“i don’t know,” she heaved, “please, i- i was just trying t-to survive, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. it won’t ever happen again, you won’t ever see me again, i promise…” tears left, a faucet unable to be turned off. snot dripped from her nose and her lips swelled with blood.

“i bet you’re goddamn sorry,” the woman whispered, her eyes filled with hate as she stared into the younger woman’s. “you’re gonna pay me back. you know that? you’re gonna pay for trying to steal from me.”

she nodded slowly, whimpers leaving her throat. she bent down, lifting the chair and setting it up straight. her eyes went fuzzy as blood pressure dropped.

“i…” she breathed shakily, “…i’m sorry, i’m sorry…” her eyes fluttered, wanting to fall unconscious as her body throbbed painfully.

“i know you are.”

“i’m so sorry.”

“i said fucking know.” she raised her foot, watching as the kidnappee flinched. she chuckled almost darkly as she used the tip of her shoe to spread her thighs.

“what are you gonna do to me? whatever you want me to do i’ll do it, i promise i’ll do it, just don’t hurt—“ she cut herself off as she froze, feeling the pressure of her shoe’s sole meet her heat. she used the tip of her shoe to press against the top of her vulva, pressing against her clothed clit.

“that shuts you up? shoulda done this way before. but you deserved that shit,” she growled as she pressed her foot harder. she tried to lift herself up while she squirmed. it began to become painful, the pressure on that sensitive bud.

“please—“

“please what? stop? more? does it hurt?” she mocked the younger woman’s small voice at the end, a chuckle leaving. she leaned in, her breath hitting her ear. “i’m gonna fuck you, y’know. hard. teach you a goddamn lesson.” she swallowed and squirmed a little as she watched the pink-haired woman shrug her red jacket off.

“d-don’t,” she gasped, “hurt me.”

she rolled her eyes and her belts came off easily. she dropped one and kept the other; her hands formed an almost tear drop with the belt and her arm pulled back, slapping the belt against her thighs. she screamed and looked up with these poor little eyes. the woman tugged her pants down and climbed out of her boots. she glanced at the pool of clothes.

she felt her heart race as she watched the woman.

“please,” she whimpered. she was unsure of what she wanted. this woman had just beaten her, and now she wants to have sex with her? this whiplash was hurting her brain and clouding her thoughts.

the woman pulled her shirt off. she noticed the lack of bra, her breasts perky and nipples growing erect. she broke eye contact with her breasts and they flickered to her eyes.

“your turn,” the woman growled and tugged at her shirt, tearing and ripping it to reveal her bra. “hiding from me, huh?” she reached behind her, and the young woman arched her back to give her better access. she unclasps her bra, watching as her bra fall and her breasts free from their confines. “fu—ck, yeah.” her hand cupped the young woman’s jaw and her fingers cupped her breast. her fingers tweaked a nipple while her mouth engulfed her other nipple, feeling it harden as she sucked.

“miss,” she whined a little. the woman’s gaze flickered upward just for a moment before her fingers flew to the button of y/n’s pants. she tugged them downward, along with her underwear. she wriggled a little as the cold air hit that heat between her legs.

“hell,” she mumbled and her fingers immediately went to feel. her finger pad pressed against her the young woman’s clit, causing a whine to escape from her throat.

“please, miss, i- i’m-“

“needy?” she finished her sentence while rubbing soft but tight circles on her clit. “i gotta taste you.” she tugged at the tail of the rope, freeing her legs from confinement. she pulled her lower from the chair with her ankles, a painful and uncomfortable angle as her arms outstretched behind her while her ass sat right at the edge of the chair. the older woman’s nostrils flared as she inhaled the musky scent of her cunt. “oh, shit… haven’t had any pussy for so long. forgot how… mm…” she let her voice trail as her tongue met with y/n’s clit. her fingers gently pulled back the hood of the sensitive bud to reveal the entirety of it; her tongue swirled circles around it, making her hips gently rock and her legs tremble.

“miss—“

“vi. say vi,” she groaned into her pussy, the vibrations making her jump.

“vi,” she whimpered, her hands clenched as her walls clenched around nothing but air. vi chuckled when she noticed, so she brought her fingers to it. she gently circled the entrance with her middle finger and slowly dipped it into her canal. she curled her finger to bump and massage her g-spot while her lips sucked at her clit. y/n moaned desperately, her back arching and her arms aching from the position.

“tha—t’s it,” vi said between a suck. her teeth gently grazed the small button and she watched her shake and tremble. she pulled away and chuckled at her needy squirms for friction. “hold on a minute, cupcake,” she teased with an evil smirk on her face. she stood up, y/n’s gaze following her as she rummaged through a nightstand. she watched as she pulled out a harness, and a dildo. a pretty damn big one. it was skin colored, matching hers, with a light pink head. it was thicker and veiny, and all y/n wanted to do was have it in her mouth.

she felt her cunt drool and her hole twitch.

vi slipped into the harness, making it tight around her waist so it bumped her clit just right.

“you’re staring, you little thief,” she growled and stepped closer and behind the chair. she unfastened the ropes, letting her arms fall free. y/n gasped with relief.

she gasped as vi picked her up with ease, tossing her to the bed as if she were a toy.

“fuck, this little cunt is begging for me,” vi laughed mockingly. “you’re so fucking horny.” she cupped y/n’s pussy and watched her squirm. she rubbed her vulva with her hand, then gave it a tight, sharp slap. she jumped and stared with a pouty face. “wha—t? you deserve a punishment for stealing from me.” she tapped the dildo against her cunt, the head of the cock tapping right against her engorged clit.

“mmf, please,” she whined, her back arching, “in me.” vi’s mouth met the space between y/n’s breasts, kissing and sucking at each side.

“be patient. lemme take a look at you.” she hissed in admiration and brought her finger to a needy nipple, rolling it between her index and thumb. she brought it back down to her hip and aimed the cock at her entrance, slowly intruding into her tightness.

“oh, god,” she found herself moaning out. “…vi.”

“that’s right,” she egged her on, “take this fucking cock.” the stretch was delicious and foreign and yet so familiar. her legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her in closer. her hips began at a steady rhythm as she found the right pace for both y/n and herself while the harness scraped against her engorged, needy clit.

but, she needed more.

and of course what she wants, she gets.

her hips increased, as did the pleasure on her clit.

“vi!” she yelped as she felt the cock pummel into her deeply, bumping and scraping her g-spot rhythmically and relentlessly. “vi, vi, vi!”

“scream my name, you fucking slut,” she growled beastly, “stupid goddamn thief.” she brought a harsh hand to her face, watching as she winced and gasped. “take it. take it. take it.” her hands wrapped around her throat, cutting off her bloodstream just slightly to her head.

her vision went a little fuzzy but her pleasure went in overdrive, seeing so many different colors and her eyes focusing and unfocusing and oh! she was cumming. hard.

she practically was sucking the dildo in, her walls contracting so harshly around it. she cried out, her arms flailing as they tried to find a place to stay. her back arches and her body shook.

“fuckin’ look at you! coming undone on my cock like the dirty little disgusting slut you are!” her hips continued, brutal and relentless until her own climax. she came hard too, riding it out desperately to ease the aching and pounding of her clit. “oh, fuck…” she panted, pulling slowly out her wetness; the dildo glistened with her desire.

“again?”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh. 

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life. 

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror. 

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears. 

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself. 

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference. 

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares. 

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths. 

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them. 

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good. 

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious. 

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde. 

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number.  “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse. 

She’ll make sure not to lose it. 

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world. 

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval. 

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers. 

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again. 

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes. 

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish. 

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood. 

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks. 

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is. 

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious. 

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know. 

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself. 

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning. 

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief. 

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?” 

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.” 

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly. 

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family. 

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.” 

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them. 

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed. 

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up. 

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it. 

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true. 

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe. 

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time. 

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No!” 

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck. 

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her. 

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing. 

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.” 

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction. 

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe. 

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance. 

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished. 

She almost….she almost feels calm. 

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now. 

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one. 

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side. 

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome. 

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question. 

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

[pfhwrittes]

"you love him. you've loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later." TW: references to transphobic bullying, angst, fluff, allusions to offscreen smut, alcohol mention, menstruation mention. pairing: kyle x ftm!reader

1.5k words of childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers. as always i've barely edited it so typos and errors may remain. edit to add: a massive thank you and shout out to @gemmahale for cheerleading me with this one and reminding me to trust my instincts. i love you a lot.

-- you love him. you’ve loved him since he first shared his curly-wurly during break time at primary school. head over heels puppy love. your mum teasing you with a “my little girl with her first boyfriend!” despite the way it makes your cheeks burn (and something twist inside your chest) when you both stand shyly together at 3.15 hand in hand waiting to go home. 

you love kyle when he’s the joseph to your mary in the nativity. you love the way the teatowel your mum leant his mum slips into his eyes and causes him to laugh and forget his next line about needing to find an inn. you love him when he wraps you up in a big hug when missus king takes a photo of you both as your mum cheers the loudest from the back of the little crowd in the assembly hall. 

you love kyle even when you both grow up and go to secondary school at 11, split up into different form groups and different timetables. you love him even more when he folds you into his little band of miscreants, “one of the boys” he says with a cheeky grin that warms you all the way through.

you love kyle when he chooses you first for the biology practical lesson, flicking little slithers of onion at you to make you laugh, despite the way anna-marie looks you up and down and whispers something cruel about how “he just pities the he-she” loud enough for you to hear. 

you love kyle when he skives off school with you the day your period takes you unaware. he sneaks in through the kitchen door 15 minutes after your mum leaves for work, a battered curly-wurly and bottle of oasis clutched in one hand and his rucksack in the other. you love him when he settles onto the sofa, dragging your duvet over the two of you, flicking the telly on so you can both watch bargain hunt together. 

you love kyle the day he cuddles you into his chest, completely uncaring about the way your snot and tears mark his t-shirt as you sob, both of you curled up on your bed. you love him so completely when he listens to you stutter out that you think you’re not really a girl. you still love him when he pulls away for the first time, a tiny frown on his face. you still love him when he doesn’t reply to your text asking him if he got home alright later that night. 

you still love kyle when he starts ignoring you in school, no longer coming to find you during lunchtime. you still love him when he doesn’t laugh along with harry when you trip during design tech but he doesn’t stop james hissing “freak show” as you rub at your hip from where you banged into their table. 

you still love kyle even when your mum sits you down at the kitchen and asks you how you feel about moving schools at 16. you still love kyle when you ask her “but what about kyle?” and her voice catches when she offers you a gentle “oh love” with wet eyes. 

you still love kyle when he stumbles into you at mattie’s house party when you’re both 18, a shocked look on his face when he takes in your close cropped hair and wispy facial hair on your cheeks, despite the fact you haven’t spoken in years. you still love kyle even when he calls you the wrong name and your mumble gets swallowed up by cheers from the kitchen as someone spots kyle in the hallway. you still love kyle when you spot him crowd mattie’s older sister georgia up against the bannister and kiss her breathless before leading her up the stairs with his hand on her waist. you still love kyle when you end up sobbing into alex’s neck, their hand rubbing your back gently as the dew from the front lawn soaks the knees of your jeans. you still love kyle even as alex murmurs that “you should just forget him babe” into your hair as you sob anew.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle the next time you run into him, many years later when you pop into the pub under oath from mattie to meet her for a quick pint to catch up. you recognise the shape of kyle’s smile even if he is partially turned away to grin at a man with broad shoulders and a slightly flattened mohawk standing next to him at the bar. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when he catches you looking and his smile slips momentarily as he offers you a tiny nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his friend. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle even when your eyes keep drifting over to him and the other three men in the corner booth as mattie fills you in on everything you missed during your years travelling around australia. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when you bump into him again in the same pub the following week. literally bumping into him as you turn away from the bar with a pint in your hand. kyle steadies you with a hand on your forearm and you feel your heart soar before plummeting into the sticky carpet at your feet. you pull your arm away from him and your drink sloshes over the rim of your glass as you offer him a tight smile before stepping to the side. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle, but you can’t help but feel the warmth of his hand long after you’ve rejoined mattie and alex at your table. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but a thrill goes up your spine when he asks you if he could “have a word with you, mate” as he joins you in the beer garden the week after that. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but your heart aches as he stumbles his way through an apology. you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he makes you stutter out a surprised laugh when he talks about his friend soap knocking some sense into him. 

you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he texts you asking if you want to join him and his sisters for a chinese. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he hands you his vegetable spring rolls without asking. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when after dinner he leads you up to his childhood bedroom and he kicks his dirty socks under his bed like you’ve seen him do many times before. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when your ribs ache from laughing and he’s wearing that beautiful grin. 

you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he slips into the open seat next to you at the pub, his arm slung over the back of your chair, much to the matching shocked expressions of mattie and alex. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he takes alex’s frosty demeanour on the chin. you fall in love with your friend kyle again when he responds to mattie’s pointed rhetorical “you know you broke his heart, yeah?” with a small squeeze to your shoulder and serious “i know, i was a fucking idiot.”.

you fall in love with kyle again when his hands shake on your waist as he leans in to kiss you outside your house under the flickering glow of a streetlight. just like you hoped he would so many years ago when you were both teenagers. you fall in love with kyle again when he pulls away to take in your stupefied expression and he asks if you’re okay, if he can kiss you again. you fall in love with kyle again when he gently turns you around so he can push you up against the front door to trail sucking kisses down your neck as your keys hit the doormat with a tinkling sound. you fall in love with kyle again when you ask him to slow down - wait - please - as he’s reaching for the top button of your jeans. you fall in love with kyle again when he traces gentle fingers over the scars on your chest, adoration in his eyes.

you love kyle when you trip over your boxers and his shirt the following morning as you stumble to the bathroom. you love kyle when you slip back into bed and he sleepily nuzzles into your neck. you love kyle when his phone blares his alarm from the back pocket of his trousers near the door to your bedroom 30 minutes later. 

you love him. you’ve loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later as he presses a kiss to your hair. you love him. -- taglist: @kaadaaan

[ukeshik]

Nerd eren who is in love with you, but hides it, and he is also in a long puberty...

TW: 18+ content, a lot of jack off, cumshot, Dirty fantasies And you, who don't suspect anything.

Nerd eren who sits with you in class every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and just tries not to look in your direction once again, because he starts blushing because of how nice you are to him.

Nerd eren whose voice trembles every time you turn to him, asking for a pen that you forgot at home.

Nerd eren who can't look at you without a slow-growing boner in his pants when you try to start a nice conversation with him. After all, you sit at the same desk with him almost every day, and this strange boy is afraid to talk to you. And you're just trying to be nice and make friends with him.

Nerd eren who runs to the bathroom from the classroom when he realizes that he can't stop staring at your damn tits that are looking right at him. Every time he curses you for loving cut-out blouses that don't hide your gorgeous breasts and inserts a cleavage between them for everyone to see.

Nerd eren who tells Mikasa at every break after sharing classes with you that he hates you. But for what, he doesn't say.

Nerd eren who planted a Valentine's Day card in your locker, and just sat silent when you showed this Valentine to him in class, asking if he knew whose handwriting it might be, because, of course, it was not signed.

Nerd eren who is already tired of jerking off almost every day at you, imagining you in his mind, opening your Instagram photo where you are leaning forward and winking coquettishly at the camera. And your boobs are almost falling out of that damn sweater.

Nerd eren who imagines cumming on your face and chest, as you sit on your knees in front of him in some cute white or light pink underwear, before licking the head of his cock, looking straight into his eyes with your Bambi eyes.

Nerd eren who is afraid of you when you greet him in the hallway if you happen to meet outside of class.

Nerd eren who would like to ask you out, chat with you, hold your hands and hug you, but he is too embarrassed about you and afraid of rejection, and also afraid of you and your sweet friendly aura, because he thinks that you are so cute with everyone besides him.

Nerd eren who almost screamed and ran away from you when you asked him to help you figure out a topic that you missed because of your illness. Thank God you offered to work out just by calling FaceTime, because he couldn't stand a personal meeting.

Nerd eren who was a tough nut to crack at the beginning of the call and was even able to chat with you, but as soon as you turned on the camera and appeared in front of him in this homely look, with a bun on your head, soft pajamas and no makeup, all his composure disappeared in a flash.

Nerd eren who didn’t turn on the camera during the call, referring to the fact that his room was very dirty, although his room was almost always in order thanks to his mother who was always banging him.

Nerd eren who turned off the microphone during the call and already reached inside his house pants and grabbed his cock, closing his eyes and listening to your ringing voice while you were telling some story unrelated to the topic of the lesson.

Nerd eren who cum into his hand in just a few minutes, quickly running his hand along the entire length, with difficulty periodically answering you into the microphone in a heavy voice so that you would not think that he was left.

"Eren, are you here? Eren? I can't hear you."

"Yes... I'm here. It's just... headache. Ah..."

[saintsbuffy]

You’re an angel, i’m a dog.

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Lucanis/Rook/Spite

TW: injury detail, sexual references, references to abuse, ptsd and depression.

Word count: around 3000

Chapter: 1/?

1 - MIDNIGHTS

— Rook finds herself unable to sleep, Lucanis is always awake.

It’s midnight in the lighthouse when Rook is wakes. Her deep breaths and rapid heartbeat fill the silent chamber as she places one hand to her damp chest whilst the other clutches a dagger from beneath her pillow.

With a final shaken breath as her body comes to full consciousness she pushes herself up off the sweat soaked sheets and tosses them into a pile in the corner along with her loose bed shirt. Moonlight reflects off the stone walls and it shines through the stone cracks and under the curtain of her balcony window.

You are alive, you are safe, you are not alone.

Rook repeats to herself, a phrase in broken Dalish that has brought her comfort since she was a babe.

Her voice hardly a whisper as the wind begins to howl. A clash of thunder groans against the stone as the wind picks up. Another clash, and this time it’s accompanied by a downpour of rain that blows the balcony doors open in a flash, dark blue drapes flying out towards her as the glass and metal bangs against the wall. Without thinking Rook is across the room in one swift movement pushing her entire strength against the doors and she plants her feet firmly against the cold stone fighting the wind until it the force of her body is enough to hold them closed. She fumbles with the dagger letting her hand fall for just one moment until she can secure it through the two handles.

A faint caress of pain beings to bloom at her side as she pulls back from the door and lets out a string of curse words inspecting the temporary fix. The doors appear to hold - only rattling slightly against the floor to ceiling glass as the storm continues on. The first flash of lighting illuminates her room for one swift moment as Rook closes her eyes and holds her hand out willing the storm to stop. Her naked body illuminated by light, she feels the familiar burning sensation followed by warmth as power hums beneath her skin.

Once, she could bend the elements to her will without so much as a second thought but tonight she is begging them to listen, praying to the gods that the storm spare the building she has come to call home.

It had been three months since she’d left the only place she’d ever known. All it had taken was one mistake, one moment where she had lost control and her entire life had changed in a night. Stormborn her mentor had called her, daughter of the sky. The Grey Wardens had raised Rook, fed her, adored her, given her a roof over her head and sword in her hand. She’d been taught how to hunt, fight, kill.

They had taken her in for no burden but their own, a child less than a few weeks old, alone and half frozen to death found in the rubble of an Elven village. It hadn’t taken long for them to recognise the power she had been born with, not only had they found a child with no family or allegiance to mould into whatever they desired but they had found a weapon.

The Wardens had used her to their advantage, honed her powers when it suited them and cast her out when they could no longer control her. She was so young when they had first taken her out on a mission, keeping her at arms length and under close control as she had given instructions. They had watched in awe as the rain choked their enemies.

Finally the burning in her fingertips dulled as the rain began to calm, the pounding noise of droplets against glass now a steady drum instead of a raging fist. Tonight the elements had given her grace, a compromise of the destruction her nightmares often brought.

There would be no more sleep for Rook tonight.

She dressed quickly in an oversized black shirt, fingers too weak to tie the front. Without an undershirt or armour to keep it in place the lace hangs open just above her breasts. She pulls on some loose trousers a few shades lighter than her shirt and a pair of beaten lace up boots slowly as her head throbs. The cloth bandages wrapped around her ribs have held at least, lifting her shirt slightly to check, she can see in the fading light the wound at her side appears to have just strained against her stitches and not ripped open.

The hallway outside her chambers is empty as to be expected, initially she had chosen the room furthest away from everyone in the hopes of keeping her nightmares - and the damage that usually came with them as far away from her companions as possible. Varric was the only one fully aware of her situation, he knew what she had done and had made a deal with the Wardens, most likely saving her from a life of exile or worse. The last thing she needed was to have another group of people fearing her. Though no matter how much time she had spent trying to get to know her companions - some more than others she had come to realise that everyone had their own reasons for being here and their own secrets to keep.

Using the remainder of her strength she manifests a flickering ball of white energy that floats above her palm to light the way. Rook makes her way down the winding halls and staircases that separate her rooms from the heart of the Lighthouse. With no direction in mind she lets her body choose which turn to take, passing the library and the dining hall, the training room and observatory until she has passed all that is familiar to her.

Theres a slight change in scenery as the walls become older, full of more crumbling brick and walls bare of decoration. If her memory of the tour she was given is correct this must be one of the lower levels where those who live and work in the lighthouse slept, and faint chatter of hushed whispers and snoring flows through the walls, doors lining each side as she continues her exploration trying her best to keep her footsteps light as she turns down each path refusing to admit that despite knowing pretty much all of the upper levels of the Lighthouse by heart now - she might be a little bit lost.

Up and then back down another staircase she moves trying to retrace her steps, legs sore and muscles aching until finally she faced a dead end and a singular door at the centre of it. The door itself is small and unassuming - some sort of storage cupboard if she had to guess, with no desire to investigate further Rook turns to go back as the orb of light in her palm begins to vibrate her power humming in alarm. With a snap of electricity and faint sliver of purple smoke her light is gone leaving her in almost complete darkness.

Rook’s hand drops to the waistband of her trousers expecting to find the familiar metal of her dagger at her side only feel the empty space and memory she had left it behind to secure her windows shut. The only light in the corridor is a faint glow seeping out from underneath the door that stands before her accompanied by the faint sound of metal clinking and something fizzing.

Shit.

With no weapons and magic that refuses to obey her at least she can always count on her firsts and years of gets training for protection, even if her body feels like it could keel over at any second.

She clenches her fists by her sides and takes two strides towards the door before kicking it open letting the wood splinter as it swings hitting the back wall with a crash. Upon first glance she has entered nothing more than a storage closet but as her entrance into the room deepens the glamour begins to fade away revealing that this was or is some sort of living quarter or study.

Her eyes adjust to the low light as her vision darts around to take in any threat that could be waiting for her. Stacks of books line shelves that looked like they might collapse at any moment, candles are piled upon trays covered dripping wax that are awkwardly balanced on top of old food crates, a large table is at the centre of the room with glass vails and bottles of varying sizes and colours scattered across the stained wood.

Her inspection of the room is cut short as the sound of glass breaking followed by a grunt that tears her gaze away from her quick inspection. The glamour is completely gone now and a person draped in shadows is silhouetted at the other end of the room. From the noise they just let out and the lack of urgency in their movement it seems they are more irritated than alarmed by her abrupt entrance. Her light going out must’ve activated some sort of warning barrier.

Back hunched over his desk- half seated half standing against a patchy velvet armchair is Lucanis Dellamorte, the Antivan Crow they had recruited only a weeks after Rook had first been brought here.

“Do you kick down the door of every room you enter?” He grunts not giving Rook a chance to answer or even taking his gaze off the pages covering the table infront of him. “You owe me a new door.” Lucanis’ adds eyes snapping up from his work.

Brows furrowed and black eyes narrow Lucanis glares up as he throws down the remainder of his broken glass jar, it smashes into tiny shards on the table as the rest of the black liquid bubbles and hisses until all that remains is a mark singed into the wooden table. The smell of sulphur thick in the air.

“I-“ Rook starts an apology on the tip of her tongue and yet as usual her stubbornness is pushed to the surface. “How did you do that? My magic, it’s like I hit a wall in the corridor and it just…it just stopped.”

Her tone more an accusation than a question, nobody had ever been able to stop her magic like that before, she could barley manage it herself.

Lucanis heaves a breath of annoyance and pushes his hands off the table to stand, flipping over the book to a close before facing her. She can’t see his face but takes in the old shirt, fitted trousers, tan skin and messy hair tied back from his face. A contrast to his usual attire.

“I was in the middle of something if you couldn’t tell, why are you in my room?” Sleeves rolled up his forearms and fingertips stained with the same black powder from his shirt he gestures from the mess on the table to Rook standing in the open doorway. The frustration is clear on his face now, from his clenched jaw to the sideways look of disgust and those dark rimmed eyes.

“You sleep here.” Rook states looking behind him to a sad looking cot bed pushed up against the wall covered with a thin blanket and one flat looking pillow that she was certain was just a pile of rolled up clothes. Lucanis crossed his arms in response. “Like I mean, this is your bedroom?”

Come to think of it, out of all her companions she had never questioned where Lucanis spends his personal time nor did she care. At social gatherings he was always last to arrive, first to leave, only concerning himself with short pleasantries and small talk. Occasionally discussing books with Emmrich in a corner. She couldn’t count the number times she’d gone for Tea in Neve’s quarters or walked around the grounds with Davrin, everyone had welcomed her to her new home with open arms but she’d never even considered where Lucanis might sleep or do whatever it is that he does when everyone goes their separate ways.

There’s no answer again, he just continues to glare at her looking right through her the way he has since they first met. In all the time they’ve worked together, trained together, searched for information and slain enemies over the past months she’s sure those two sentences are probably the most conversation they’ve since their very first meeting when he essentially called her an insolent child and refused her help. If it hadn’t been for the others she was sure he would have never have agreed to come back with her.

“It’s just-“

Rook pauses choosing her next words carefully, suddenly aware she is in his space, has disturbed whatever he had been working on and practically kicked his door down for no reason.

This Lighthouse was supposed to be her fresh start and so far all she’s managed to do was blow up a few enemy hideouts, not get her new companions killed, yet and piss off the guy that’s possessed by a demon.

“There’s plenty of empty rooms, why do you choose to stay down here? I mean even Emmerich has his own quarters and he’s got like bones and stuff everywhere but in a decorative way and Taash has the most comfortable bed-“ She gestures to cot in the corner trying to keep the judgement in her tone to a minimum, desperate to fill the silence.

“I do not care who’s bed you spend your free time in.” He scoffs running a hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant.” Rook can feel her cheeks heat slightly, thankful for the low lighting. “You are not the only one who wishes to sleep alone, Rook.” His accent sounds thicker when he’s annoyed, the way he says her nickname sounds like poison upon his tongue.

Rook feels her chest tighten, she shouldn’t be here, she should’ve left the moment she realised this was his room. Turning back to inspect the damage of the door she pulls down the sleeves of her shirt suddenly conscious about her lack of dress, her long hair that’s that’s come free from its braid and no doubt the exhaustion and embarrassment that’s clear on her face. “My apologises, i’ll leave.”

“Wait.” Lucanis orders, she can hear him walking towards her but he does not close the distance all the way.

A flick of his wrist, and the same smoke from before blows past her moving her hair over her shoulder as it slams the door shut with force but the lock does not latch.

“You know, your room is almost directly above mine spare the space of a few floors.” Lucanis is almost directly behind her now but leaves enough distance so that she is just beyond arms reach. She can feel his breath on her bare neck as the scent of smoke and coffee grows stronger.

Rooks breathing becomes shallow once again, she’s not afraid of him despite every one of her senses screaming at her telling her to leave, to run. If not fear pushing against her ribs then anticipation? shame? She’s exposed here, her mind is going too fast to understand what her instincts are trying to tell her. He’s powerful, with years of experience on her, it came down to it Rook knows she stands no chance against him especially not after the week she’s had.

They work together, of course he has no reason to want to hurt her. Other than the title of Mage Killer that makes her skin crawl every-time she hears it. The man has had more than one chance to kill her if he wished, just two days ago an accident in battle ended up with her in the infirmary. She was too focused on clearing the bridge so the villages to flee that she hadn’t seen the creature watching from the tree, if the arrow in her side had been poison it could have ended her. Death would be too easy for the assassin. She was just a girl after all, a reckless failure. Nobody would miss her.

“Your little storms are rather impressive no? It shook almost the entire building tonight.” He raises a brow watching her back stiffen but she doesn’t move away from him. “You are very powerful.”

The way he says that last sentence makes her body still, her hand still outstretched to where the door where the handle would’ve been. There’s no fear in his tone when he says it, no disgust or anger, no awe or compliment, just fact. You are very powerful. She was.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, but I really should be going.” Rook snaps back to reality a single glance back at him before moving to make her exit.

Lucanis considers letting her go, but there’s something about this girl that goes against his everything he has even known, he kills her kind of a living and yet. There’s something deep in his bones calling for him to make her stay. She is like him, an outcast amongst her own people, surrounded by friends and yet utterly alone. The hairs on his arms come to a stand as he feels the familiar presence at his side. A cold gust of air fills the room as the candle light flickers. Jaw clenched, nails digging into his palms Lucanis knows there is no fighting this when it comes. It was painful the first time but the ripping sensation in his chest comes easier than breathing now.

“I do not sleep well either, stay.”

When Lucanis speaks, his voice is not his own for his demon self has returned and in truth, Spite never left.

end chapter notes -

Rook is a femme presenting Grey Warden Mage cast out from her people. In this fic I use she/her pronouns but i’m trying to keep them as non descriptive as possible, feel free to imagine Rook as you wish. This is written before game release some things may contain potential spoilers, non canon events, i will try my best not to mischaracterise him.

you can find this story on ao3 linked below or follow me on twitter @/saintscain for updates and more lucanis brainrot posts

[hxney-lemcn]

Heart to Heart — Edgar Allan Poe x gn! reader

summary: reader meets Ranpo's rival at Kyouka's welcome party, and seems to keep running into him. What happens when they both realize their feelings?

tw: mentions of suicide (Dazai smh), Poe thinks reader is pretty/beautiful (I do think these terms are gender neutral), mentions of death (?) (they're on a murder case with Ranpo)

a/n: I LOVE HIM! But it's so weird to write for Edgar Allan Poe as I had a unit about him for one of my English classes (this is why I mainly refer to him as Poe 💀).

wc: 3.7k

Master List

Your eyes trailed over to the mysterious man who sat where the clients normally sat. You had seen Ranpo greet him before swiftly leaving. You also noticed the mischievous gleam in his green eyes as he passed you by. The man, whose brown hair had a purple tint under the office lights, had been left sitting there with his adorable pet raccoon for over thirty minutes. You weren’t the most extroverted person, but even you felt a slight tug to include him in the party that was currently being held. 

You dearly hoped he liked cake as you approached the awkward man with two plates with a slice of cake on each. You had briefly recalled Yosano speaking of encountering a Guild member who met this man's descriptions. He had the power to entrap others in his novels and seemed obsessed with Ranpo. She had spoken of him comically, brushing him off as someone who wasn’t a threat towards anyone, and seeing him now you couldn’t help but agree. Although for the life of you, you couldn’t remember his name (or if Yosano had even mentioned it).

“Uhm, hello,” You greeted him. You couldn’t see his eyes through his bangs, but you were still able to see the comical surprise that shifted over his features. His face flushed a bright pink as his head shifted to look anywhere but you. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” You pointed towards the seat across from him. His shoulders scrunched up, causing his raccoon to fuss and jump down. 

He began to stammer over his words, mumbling things you couldn’t make out for the life of you. Placing his hands over his face, he stopped trying to speak and shakily nodded his head. Against your better judgment, you found yourself endeared to him already. You found his fashion choices worked for his aesthetic well, and his bangs covering his face seemed less like an edgy choice, and more of wanting to be hidden from the world. His shy personality and pet raccoon had also made him easier to adore. 

Sitting down, you placed the plate on the table in front of him, “I hope you like cake, if not, there’s tons of other snacks.”

“Th-thank you,” He stuttered out, picking up the plate with a reverence you didn’t understand.

That was how you met Edgar Allan Poe. You found yourself enjoying spending time with him, asking him about his pet to find a connection. It was weird, where you normally had trouble keeping a conversation with someone, it felt easier with him. You suspected that it had something to do with the fact that he was the one struggling in this situation. Conversation flowed easily, as your topic had switched from pets to mystery/horror novels. You both had more in common than you thought, and he even offered you a novel to read (that alone took up most of his courage…and you hinted that you’d like to read one).

“The Tell-Tale Heart,” You repeated. “Sounds interesting.” It seemed like any form of praise, even the tiniest, had caused Poe to short circuit. You had just said that the title of his work sounded interesting and he felt his heart pound faster. He was quickly forgetting why he was here in the first place, enraptured by your attention. The first time in years, he felt like beating Ranpo had taken the back seat, as he now wanted your approval as well.

“Wuuaaa~” Loud coos had grabbed both of your attention. Kyouka was currently holding Karl, the other members crowding around her to also see the raccoon. Poe ran over, hiding behind the other side of the table, trying to coax Karl away. A bright grin took over your features at the display before you. Joining Poe by his side, you patted his shoulder, hoping to comfort him a little. After all, Karl seemed to be loving the attention.

It didn’t take much time for you to see the recluse again. After the welcome party for Kyouka, you missed the chance to exchange numbers to stay in contact. Poe had managed to slip away in the chaos of cleaning, which left you feeling a bit downtrodden. But being Ranpo’s work partner had its perks…sometimes. To your utter surprise, Poe was at the end of your destination. Ranpo had snuck up behind the poor man, scaring the daylights out of him. Poe had become even more flustered when his eyes met yours. You waved at him in greeting, but he had quickly switched to asking why Ranpo was here.

That was how Poe ended up joining you both. You noticed how Ranpo gave time for Poe to figure it out. You had a hunch at the party. The fact that Ranpo had invited Poe, only to leave him, and now how he was trying to help Poe solve the crime. They were friends, or as friendly as it can get for a riverally. They almost seemed like siblings, bickering about who was better. 

“What do you think?” Poe asked, softly calling your name as he turned to you. You paused, you hadn’t paid a lick of attention to the current case, as usually Ranpo would solve it quickly while boasting about his ability. But now that Poe was here, and Ranpo was giving him a chance, he was looking to you for confirmation. 

For being someone in the Armed Detective Agency…you weren’t much of a detective. Yes you enjoyed reading mystery and horror novels in your free time, but you had joined the agency due to having nowhere else to go. Your ability had caused you too much trouble when you were young as you couldn’t fully control it. Even under Fukuzawa you still would have troubles. That’s why you were partnered with Ranpo, as your use of your ability was only used in emergencies. 

As much as you didn’t like to be chalked up to a mere guide, you found yourself more as a mediator since Ranpo would tend to upset others. Ranpo and you worked well together, your personalities complimenting each other well, and if someone took their anger (originally aimed at Ranpo) out on you, Ranpo would quickly shut them down and leave. 

You glanced at Ranpo, hoping he’d give you a slight hint at what was just said, but he only chuckled as he watched you both. With an anxious tone, you asked Poe if he could repeat himself. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind too much, repeating his process and conclusion with pink cheeks. If only you could see his eyes, the way the dark purple shined with hope of your approval. Perhaps an awed look would take over your features at his brilliance. 

“But then she would’ve had to be alive at 2pm, didn’t they say the time of death was 1:30pm?” You asked, genuinely confused. Scratching at his cheek, Poe gently informed you of how the suspect managed to kill her. It was quite convoluted and hard to imagine actually happening, but Ranpo clapped, approving of the conclusion (albeit a bit backhandedly).

“Wow,” You blinked in awe. “You both are so smart.”

“You should expect nothing less from the world's best detective!” Ranpo exclaimed, already leaving the scene. Suddenly, your praise for Ranpo evaporated. Turning to Poe, you hadn’t expected the blissful expression that painted his face. Karl rested around his shoulders, also seeming pleased. 

“C’mon,” You gestured to Poe to follow you with your head. “Let’s celebrate this together.” Poe had never felt this warm before, the way you smiled at him so sweetly made him feel warmer than the sun that was shining down on you both. He followed you (quite obediently might I add), feeling himself fluster further as you pulled him to walk beside you instead of slightly behind. You continued to point Ranpo where to go as he led the three of you to your usual cafe. 

You ate your favorite dessert, trying to ignore how flustered you currently felt. Ranpo was rambling about something or another, you were more focused on the raccoon that was currently nuzzled into your cheek (you knew Karl was begging but you could indulge yourself in his furry affection). Although you slowly felt your attention drift to the dark brown haired man that sat beside you. His gaze felt like it was piercing through you, and you weren’t sure how to react. Even though it set your nerves alight, you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention of the pretty author. 

Poe really didn’t mean to stare…I swear. He just couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every instance he’s with you, you seem to be more beautiful than he remembered. He wasn’t sure why, this was his second time talking with you after all, but each glance at you and his breath seemed to be stolen all over again. Not to mention how Karl seemed to favor you over him already. Poe understood, as from what he’s seen of you, you’ve been nothing but sweet. He’d nuzzle against you if he were a raccoon too. 

You had managed to get his number that time (more like Ranpo made a scene about why you both should switch numbers). Yet you found yourself hesitating. What would you even say? Then, like a light bulb went off, you remembered a certain promise Poe had made. Quickly, you texted him, asking him if he was free. You wanted to read that short story he mentioned the first time you met. 

Poe on the other hand, anxiously awaited a text from you. He couldn’t even focus on the novel that he was writing to challenge Ranpo. His eyes kept drifting to his phone, hoping it would buzz. Though the longer you took to text him, the more he started to doubt himself. Why would someone as amazing as you be interested in someone as lowly as him? You were Ranpo’s work partner, you already were surrounded by the best, what could he offer you? Poe slouched as these thoughts consumed him. You had shown him a light, and now he felt like he was drowning in his darkness once again. 

“Meow~” Poe’s phone buzzed. He perked up, quickly fumbling with the phone to open it. He had changed your ringtone and message notification sound the instant you mentioned you liked cats (this made him almost swoon as he also likes cats). As Poe read your text, he felt himself fluster (a feeling he was starting to get used to in your presence). Scrambling, Poe quickly made sure he had the story, a giddy yet nervous feeling consuming him. You were to both meet this weekend, and he was going to give you a copy of The Tell-Tale Heart at a cafe (similar to the one you went to before but a bit more quiet). 

…

You sat idly in a seat, watching the crowds pass by through the window. Tapping mindlessly at the table, you only looked up when a gentle bell chimed throughout the small shop. You smiled brightly as you waved Poe over. He shuffled over, taking a seat across from you, head bent down shyly. The waitress quickly swooped in, taking both your orders before leaving. An awkward silence fell over you both, and you realized that this was your first time together alone (in a sense). 

“This is for you,” Poe muttered, sliding a small book over the table. You lit up, picking up the small work and admiring the cover.

“Thank you so much!” You thanked, paging through the book briefly before closing it once more. You kept in mind the fact there was a personal note in the front, you’d have to read that later. 

“There’s a few other short stories as well,” Poe rambled slightly. “Th-they’re only a few pages in length so it wouldn’t have made much of a book alone.”

“You’re spoiling me,” You teased, placing the dark covered book aside (not wanting to accidentally ruin such a heartfelt gift). Both your food and drinks were placed in front of you not much longer. Poe felt his heart set aflame as you treated his work so gently, like it was something you genuinely cared for. If this counted as spoiling, then he’d write you anything you could ever ask for. 

It was that same night that Poe started to finally mull over his feelings for you. They had grown and had grown quickly. He felt himself shrink as he hunched over his current work in process, mind drifting towards you. There was no way he could’ve fallen for you (and so quickly). He’s a reclusive author trying to prove his worth, he had no time for silly distractions. (Who was he kidding, he was already dreaming up domestic moments he’d die to have with you). 

…

Ranpo found it funny at first. For the best detective, he was quite oblivious about others feelings (if he even cared), but even he couldn’t deny the fact that you both were head over heels for the other. It started to get grating over time as Poe was no longer focused on his rival. How Poe would blush as he looked towards you for approval, how he would stutter at your praise. It was so foolish, Ranpo really didn’t understand why Poe acted like such towards you. You were just another baby like the rest of the world, you just happened to be a baby that Ranpo cared about (not that he’d ever admit that).

Soon, Ranpo found your actions boring. The way you’d beat around your feelings, never admitting the obvious. It reminded Ranpo of how he felt before he met the President. How everyone was so sneaky about the truth, until the President made him realize people were really just that stupid. Ranpo couldn’t help but sigh at that thought, you both were terribly idiotic. 

“They’re just too caught up in their own feelings,” Dazai sighed, holding his head up in his hands. “How I envy Poe, to have someone to commit suicide with so readily.”

“I’m not commiting suicide with Poe,” You walked in with a deadpan. You weren’t sure why you or Poe were the topic of conversation between Dazai and Ranpo, but you didn’t like where it was going.

“Your tale of love is so-”

You swiftly slapped the back of Dazai’s head, warmth blooming on your cheeks. Were they saying you and Poe were romantically inclined? The thought alone made your entire body heat up (it would be hard to deny you felt affectionate towards the quiet man). 

“I’m sorry to disappoint but my love life is still as dull as ever,” You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of the snack you grabbed.

“It’s so obvious how you and Poe feel for each other,” Ranpo complained, a bored look on his face. “You’re too busy looking at your phone to witness my brilliance.” 

“Shut up!” You grumbled, face feeling like it was on fire. Were you really on your phone that much? 

“Ahhh~ There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dazai teased, a carefree look on his face. “Love is an extraordinary feeling. It’s only a shame when you don’t act on it.”

“That’s why a double suicide-”

This time Kunikida threw a pen at Dazai’s head, cutting him off. Kunikida’s glasses shone under the light as he pushed them up. “Stop trying to get them to commit a double suicide and do your work.”

…

Dazai’s words rung in your head. Although the context was spurious, they had some truth. It would be a shame if you and Poe had feelings for each other and neither of you acted on it (Lord knows Poe wouldn’t). So you decided it would be up to you, and what better than to write a love letter? It would be easier than to say it in person. Which is how you ended up hunched over your desk at home, once again viciously erasing what you previously wrote.

You couldn’t put your feelings into words. You weren’t terrible at writing, as writing reports on the daily had made you try different styles to keep your brain from turning into mush. Yet at the moment all your knowledge seemed to flow right out of your mind. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but you didn’t want to undermine your feelings either. You felt frustrated as the paper crumpled at the amount of times you had written and erased it. 

After what felt like forever, you finally settled on what you had written. It was short and sweet, it got your feelings across and it couldn’t be misinterpreted as anything but romantic (you literally ask him on a date at the end). 

You gave it to him when you met up in your weekly hang out. You both had agreed to it, greatly enjoying each other's company. It wasn’t always out in public either, as sometimes you’d go to his place (or vice versa). You were going over to his place, as he wanted to continue to work on his novel (but he didn’t mind if you joined him). It was a perfect opportunity to not only reread his book, but to hide the letter somewhere he would find it. 

Everything was going well, Poe had made some tea (mainly for you but you forced him to join you). Karl was resting on your lap, making happy chattering noises as you gently pet him. The atmosphere was warm and comforting, you couldn’t ask for better company (don’t tell that to Ranpo). You didn’t notice anything was off until Karl jumped off your lap, making you pause your reading. A white envelope was clasped in Karl’s jaws and you felt your heart drop. It was too late, the raccoon was faster than he looked. 

Adrenaline rushed through your veins, fight or flight reactions kicking in. Of course yours was freeze (you couldn’t be more grateful for the President’s ability as otherwise yours would have activated by now). Poe paused in his writing, setting his fountain pen down as Karl sat on the desk, placing your love letter down in front of his owner. You silently glared at Karl, what a little traitor. Poe’s head rose slightly towards you, and you quickly shoved your nose back into the book. 

Poe hesitated, unsure of what to do. Was this yours? Had you sent Karl as a messenger or was Karl up to his mischievous schemes? Poe didn’t want to invade your privacy, but perhaps you wanted him to read whatever was inside? Was this even yours? Maybe it was something Poe had written and forgot about (he could be quite forgetful). Once again, Poe looked over at you, and once again he caught you watching him. He felt himself fluster, deep down enjoying your attention on him. 

You hadn’t said anything, and you clearly acknowledged he had the envelope…so perhaps it was okay for him to open it. Hesitantly, he grabbed his letter opener and cut through. With shaky hands, his mind came up with ideas of what could possibly be written (his favorite idea was a love letter). He felt himself get giddy at the thought of you pouring your feelings for him out on paper for him to read. His heart beat faster as his eyes took in the lovely letter you had written. He felt like he was going to burst into flames at the forwardness. You wanted to go on a date with him? His mind felt like it was melting, how could someone like you be interested in him? 

You, on the other hand, watched from the safety of your book. You bit your lip to suppress your smile at Poe’s flustered state. You don’t think you could ever get over how cute he was. It felt even better that it was you he was flustered over. He buried his face into his hands, Karl tilting his head curiously. You on the other hand were sitting on the edge of your seat. Would he respond? Would he ignore it? It felt awkward that you were in the room when he read it, it was supposed to be when you were away!

“I-is it true?” Poe asked weakly. You almost missed it if you weren’t so tuned in to his reaction.

“Yeah,” You nodded, finally closing your book and placing it in your lap. “Don’t…feel pressured to feel the same way. I understand if you don’t.” You weren’t sure where your doubt came from, even you couldn’t deny how Poe acted around you. Yet you still felt like he might not want something like that. 

Poe fidgeted with the papers that laid before him. Suddenly, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper, quickly writing something down. You watched in slight wonder mixed with anxiety. What was he doing? Was he really ignoring you? Or was he replying? You fidgeted with the pages of your book, saying nothing as Poe handed the paper to Karl. Without hesitation, Karl made his way back to you. Standing on his hind legs, Karl placed his paws on your knees, paper resting in his mouth. You grabbed the paper, eyes stumbling to read over the words.

Poe really had a way with words. You thought his short stories were amazing, yet it was hard to breathe as you read his feelings for you. Your skin warmed at the sweet words he wrote of you. Finally, at the end, he had agreed to the date. You tried to take in deep breaths to compose yourself, you felt as flustered as Poe looked. 

“Show off,” You pouted, unsure how to react otherwise. You tucked the paper into your book, you would be sure to keep that safe to reread again. It wasn’t fair how he managed to make you feel fluttery and turn your insides into mush. 

Poe shrunk into himself, covering his face with his hands once more. He was just so cute…you couldn’t let him get away with such a crime. Standing up, you stood on the opposite side of his desk, leaning over while dragging his hands away from his face. Poe began to stutter, fumbling over all his words as now he felt like his brain was not only mush, but draining out of his head. 

Finally, you placed a short kiss on his cheek, “I look forward to the date.”

[jagibee]

Call Me Luna

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 8

5,994 Words

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter as an apology for taking so long but also bc it was originally supposed to be two chapters and I just couldn’t find a good split point😭, and I did change the story title bc I got bored with Stray Pack but this is the same story and plot, and I’m sorry but my taglist is at its limit (which I didn’t even know existed?) so if I didn’t tag you on this post, it will be on the reblog!

Also, Happy Birthday to the love of my life who isn’t in this chapter nearly enough, but will be in the next chapter. Bang Chan, you have brought me a light and inspiration that I haven’t felt in a very long time and even if you have no idea who I am, you will always be the one for me🖤

Also

Nobody:

Me with the foreshadowing in this chap:

Let’s get started!

TW: references to sex, mentions of spanking (not necessarily sexual but could be interpreted that way)

…

You all settled down so that they could get through recording. Felix was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, just as a small precaution in order to prevent any more growling. On your other side was Jisung and Seungmin sat on Hyunjin’s other side, providing extra padding against alphas. Chan and Changbin were both at the sound table and Minho was currently being recorded, so you didn’t have to worry much about them getting too close anyway, at least, not at this exact moment. Jeongin himself was settled at Felix’s feet like a trusty guard dog.

You, Chan, and Felix had all taken off your scent blockers as well, which helped to calm Innie down.

Minho was the last one recording, so everyone was a bit subdued. Changbin had paced around a bit while being sure to keep enough space between him and Jeongin. When the youngest alpha had recorded, everyone in the room held their collective breath, but he seemed to be doing fine.

Next to you, Jisung had leaned down so he was laying down on the couch with his feet splayed out in front of him, body posture indicating that he was zoning out, but one look at his eyes told you that he was paying rapt attention to what was happening in the recording box and at the table.

On your other side, Felix leaned his head against you and pulled out his phone instead of watching the older boys.

He pulled up Twitter and started scrolling through. You wanted to give him some privacy, but curiosity got the best of you. It’s not like he’s actively turning his phone away, you told yourself.

Once the word ‘caretaker’ caught your eye, you gave up the pretense and shifted even closer. The movement caused Felix to notice and he tilted his phone so you could see it more easily. “They’re sort of all over the place with the caretaker news.” He told you, deep voice soft as he tried to not interrupt the others. “Some people are really supportive of it but of course there are some people who think that either caretakers are sasaengs who manipulated the system so that you could be close to us, or that you’re going to steal our attention away from our fans.”

“Both of those statements are true, also, did I forget to mention I’m a spy from Dispatch meant to expose your secrets?”

Felix giggled and you let your eyes scan over the comments.

Maybe if y’all stanned TXT this wouldn’t have happened🤷‍♀️

tell this random weirdo to stay away from my lixie!!!!!!!

YALL IVE CONNECTED THE DOTS THE CARETAKER IS THE ONE IN FELIX’S BUBBLE POST

Reading over the last one, you bumped your shoulder lightly against Felix. “What exactly did your bubble post say?”

He frowned. “It just said ‘lunch with a new friend’ with a yellow heart emoji. It’s kind of impressive that they did actually connect the dots.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Well, at least people probably won’t recognize me out on the street just from my hand.”

Felix smiled and went back to scrolling, giggling at a semi-professional debate about what Lee Know would give up for the rest of his life between pudding or butt hunting.

Said pudding lover and butt hunter then finished recording, striding out of the recording box as Chan spun his chair to face the rest of the room. Changbin rolled his own chair across the floor until it stopped in front of Minho, who grabbed it and spun it so he could sit in Changbin’s lap. Changbin squeaked in surprise but didn’t make any signs of protest when Minho brought the younger’s arms to wrap around his waist.

“Alright,” Chan began, “I think it’s pretty much a free day from here on. I know Jisung has a vocal lesson and Hyune wants to talk to Y/N, but other than that, I’ll be in the studio and Minho is going to be going over choreography so if anyone wants to join either of us, feel free.”

“But not too free, I need a break from you degenerates sometimes.” Minho retorted from where his head lay against Changbin’s shoulder.

You missed what Chan said in response as you leaned across the back of the couch behind Felix to consult Hyunjin. “You wanted to talk to me?”

His wide eyes met yours then quickly moved to Felix’s hair as Hyunjin started twirling it nervously between his fingers. “Yeah. Chan-hyung said we should talk about my h-heat. Especially since it comes so quick after Felix’s that we might not have enough time between our heats to properly talk.”

You could hear the other members join Chan and Minho’s discussion, but your focus remained on Hyunjin. “That’s a good idea,” you murmured, “But you don’t want Chan or another member to sit in with us?”

He shook his head, glancing back at you and biting his lip. You didn’t want to push him when he was so clearly nervous so you nodded and turned back to the others.

Right next to you, Jisung was declaring that “this group is not a democracy, hyung”.

“Sungie, you are the one person in this room that has a strict schedule today.”

“Don’t you start with me, Kim Seungmin-”

“Okay, okay!” Chan raised his hands. “I think that’s enough. So, Han will go to his lesson, Jinnie and Y/N will talk, Seungmin and Felix will come to the studio with me, and Bin and Iyen will go with Lino to the dance studio. Wait.” He paused and turned to you. “Is it okay to have Innie with the two members he’ll be aggressive towards?”

You considered it for a moment. “I think it should be fine. It might actually be better, hypothetically, since Innie won’t have to deal with either of them getting too close to Felix, so I think he’ll actually be less aggressive.”

“If my aegi-alpha gets too aggressive, I’ll just give him a good spanking.”

Chan turned to Minho and stared at him, narrowing his eyes while his knuckles turned white from his grip on his chair arms.

Instead of retracting his statement or apologizing for it, Minho simply basked in the attention, leaning back against Changbin and crossing his arms with a smirk on his face.

You glanced at Jeongin to see his reaction, but he was a bit preoccupied with Felix’s fingers running through his hair. Innie’s eyes were shut as he leaned his head back in between Felix’s knees.

You felt like you were intruding on a special moment, so you looked up and your gaze met Chan’s. He had a soft smile as he glanced from you to the two boys.

He blinked as if coming out of a trance and cleared his throat. “So, everyone know where they’re going?”

“Wait, hyung!” Jisung’s hand shot up in the air like he was a student eager to be called on. “I know you told us that we can be comfortable around Y/N-noona, but exactly how comfortable is that? Like, is it the same level as we are with our managers, or our makeup noonas or what?”

Chan smiled at him and swiveled his chair to face him more directly. “Since Y/N’s job actually involves a little more… familiarity with our group, especially when it comes to our emotional and physical health, I figured that we could be a little more open with her. She knows about our relationship and everything. The company did ridiculously thorough background checks and she’s signed several NDAs, so we can be as honest with her as we want.”

Han scooted forwards until he was barely on the couch and gestured with his hand for Chan to come closer. When Chan rolled his chair over, Jisung leaned to whisper in his ear. Whatever he said caused Chan to giggle. “Yes, we can kiss in front of her.”

“Oh.” Jisung blinked twice. “Well, in that case…” He grabbed Chan’s collar, pulled him close, and planted an obnoxious, cartoon-level, lip-smacking kiss right on the alpha’s lips.

Chan sputtered and his ears burned as he pulled away. “I meant- why did- you didn’t have to kiss me now!”

“Nope.” Jisung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand theatrically. “But I enjoyed it.”

…

Once everyone had reapplied their scent blockers and straightened themselves up, you followed Hyunjin out of the recording room.

Instead of going to the small meeting room like you did with Chan and Felix, Hyunjin led you in the opposite direction you had come from.

He fidgeted with his hands as he walked you rode down the elevator. First, they fiddled with his jacket buttons, then his rings, then tapped against his thighs.

It was obvious he was nervous, but you didn’t want to make him even more so by pointing it out.

The two of you made your way into a room and you realized that it was the same small dance studio you had met Hyunjin in.

He stopped in the middle of the room and frowned at the wooden crates you had all sat on last time. “I guess we could move them so we sit across from each other, that seems the most professional,” he murmured while rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your mind blanked for a second before you refocused. “Well, this doesn’t have to be super professional. No one is grading you,” you joked. “Here, we can even chill on the floor if you want.” You brought some cushions from a stack in the corner of the room and brought them to the middle of the crates.

Hyunjin smiled at you and adjusted one of the cushions before sitting down on it.

You placed your own cushion on the ground across from him and pulled one of the crates over so you could use it as a back rest.

You sank down and Hyunjin smiled at you politely. “Where should we start, noona?”

You pulled your bag over and pulled out the file on him and his bandmates. Handing it over, you told him, “What Felix and I started with was going over the information the company gave me so that you know what I know and you can tell me if there’s anything wrong or anything big that the company doesn’t know or didn’t share with me. I don’t want to be overly nosy or creepy or anything, but as a caretaker, it’s important that I know things that relate to both your physical and mental health. Also, client confidentiality applies in my job, so I couldn’t tell your company anything even if I wanted to, unless it involves you hurting yourself or others.”

Hyunjin blinked at you wide-eyed, the file bending slightly in his tight grip. Then, his eyes narrowed and his lips pouted slightly.

You felt your own fists clenching around the straps of your bag at the sight, but you collected yourself when he started to speak.

“I thought you were hired by the company. Doesn’t that make them your client?”

Your smile widened at him. “What a smart question!” At this, you could see the corners of his mouth flicker up. “The company is my employer, but they hired me to be a caretaker for you, not for the company. If I had to be a caretaker for everyone in this entire company, I would scream.” You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Could you imagine if I went up to JYP and asked him to tell me about his sex life?” You shuddered theatrically.

Hyunjin let out a startled exhale which quickly morphed into full-on cackling. He threw his head back and clapped, leaning backwards and almost falling over which only caused him to laugh harder. You giggled along with him, relieved that the slight tension was dissolving.

Once you two managed to mostly calm down, he looked at you with his hand hovering in front of his mouth. “Oh my god. “‘“Oh my god”’”. Eugh!” He scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out in disgust, which just set off another round of laughter for both of you.

You took some deep breaths and noticed Hyunjin doing the same. You both smiled at each other and he ducked his head as he went to pick up the file he had dropped when he started clapping.

He flipped through it and got to the page with his information. As his eyes scanned the page, his smile slowly faded.

“Not particularly possessive of my nests? The only reason I’m not possessive is because they’re my pack! My m- my band! They’re always welcome in my nests! I may not be as protective as Felix but it’s not like I would let just anyone in!”

Noticing his distress, but most notably, the lack of a distressed scent, you realized that you both still had your scent blockers on. You took yours off and allowed your calming scent to sweep the room. It wouldn’t be as potent to Hyunjin while he had his own scent blockers on, but you hoped he could sense it nonetheless.

You didn’t want to touch him without his consent, so you gently pushed the file down, away from where it covered his face, gaining his attention and making it easier for him to see you.

You smiled at him. “Hey, Hyunjin. You want to take a deep breath for me?”

He blinked at you twice before nodding and inhaling. He held it for a second before his cheeks puffed out as he exhaled.

“Good job! Now, I know that you’re probably upset since the company is making these assumptions about you based on limited information. I would be, too. But, since you aren’t exactly inviting your managers into your nests, does it really matter what they think about you?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he considered it. After a minute, he shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t matter. And the ones whose opinions you do care about know that you keep the nest open to them because you trust them and love them. I promise you, they don’t think any lesser of you because of the way you keep your nests.”

Hyunjin’s tense eyes softened around the edges. “I guess… that makes sense.”

Your voice took on a more teasing tone. “Do you not believe me? I could call Chan right now, and I’m certain that he would march on down from his studio just to tell you how wonderful your nests are. And I’m certain that your other packmates would be right behind him.”

Hyunjin smiled shyly as he traced a shape on the ground that vaguely resembled a heart. “Yeah, they would.”

You tapped on the file still in his other hand. “Now that that’s settled, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Hyunjin put the file down on the floor and rested his hands on top of it, like he was trying to press it into the ground. He turned his head to look at the wall of mirrors next to you and you could see him swallow. His eyes flickered back to meet yours and you could see the pure vulnerability in them. “Since you’ve been so upfront and honest with all of us, I figure I should return the favor. I… In Korea, male omegas- or, just, omegas in general, I guess, are sort of taught to hide their heats? Or, not hide them exactly, but it’s not something you really talk about? Not even with other omegas. We’re pretty much taught that heats are signs of weakness or that they’re gross to talk about, so you sort of pretend that they don’t exist, even when we would get a week off of school or work.”

He paused to look down at his hands and you waited while he took a second.

“When Felix first came over, obviously there were a lot of cultural differences between Australia and Korea. He would casually mention how he was nervous about spending his heats here. Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung helped him the most, not just because they’re the oldest, but because Chan could sympathize with the change in culture and Minho… had a lot of omegan friends back in Gimpo when he was growing up. Even when Felix got used to spending his heats here, he still never really stopped talking about them. Of course he didn’t say anything when we went out in public or anything like that, but he never tried to hide it around us.” Hyunjin’s mouth curled up at the corners. “There was this one time when we were in the dressing room and he was complaining about his pre-heat cramps loud enough for all of the staff to hear. Changbinnie-hyung’s face was so red,” he snickered.

Suddenly, his face sobered up. “I really wish I had been there for him more. As the other omega in our pack, it should have been me, but at that moment, I just felt… all I felt was shame. Shame for him, for letting other people know that he had heats, shame for me, for being the other omega and being afraid that people would think that I would talk about my heat in the same way, shame for the poor staff members who had to listen to that,” Hyunjin took a deep breath. “But then, one of the coordi-noonas came up and recommended a good painkiller brand, and one of our managers told Felix that they could buy some ice cream on the way home, and I… I was so amazed. Talking about anything related to heats was supposed to be this horrible, embarrassing thing, but instead, Felix just got sympathy and support.”

Hyunjin looked back up at you and stared deep into your eyes. “I know that I don’t like to talk about my heats, even after seeing that and being with Felix all this time, but I know that you’re here to help me and my pack, so I’m going to do my best to not be ashamed anymore.”

You took Hyunjin’s hands in yours. “Thank you so much for telling me. I really-”

You were suddenly interrupted by his stomach doing its best impression of a whale song. His eyes widened before he hid his face in his hands. “Talk about embarrassing and shameful. I guess we forgot to eat lunch.”

You cackled and stroked his shoulder in what you hoped was a soothing way. “Well,” you giggled, “should we get some now? I’m pretty hungry, too, now that you mention it.”

Hyunjin’s hands slid from his face as he looked back up at you. “Hmm. I’m kind of craving something sweet.” He turned until he was lying on the floor with his face turned towards the ceiling.

As you scooted over to lay down beside him, he sat up and stared at you with his eyes lit up. “I have a genius idea! Have you tried any good Korean snacks since you moved here, noona?”

You thought back to everything that happened since you got off the plane. “Uh… not really? There were some chips or something in the hotel room but I didn’t want to spend the company money on ridiculous stuff like that.”

Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. “Even if you did eat them, it wouldn’t really count. Expensive places always overcharge for mediocre things.” He set his hand back on the floor and turned back to you. “Do you know what this means?”

“That I need to order more of my own snacks from home before I run out?”

“No!” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of mirth in them. “Well, yes, noona, you should definitely do that. And order some for us to try. But we should raid the vending machine and have a taste testing! I even stole Binnie-hyung’s credit card this morning, so we can use that!”

You giggled at his enthusiasm for both having a taste testing and using his member’s money to pay for it. “I’m up for it if you are, but if Changbin finds out, I’m pinning everything on you. He’ll probably go easy on you, anyway.”

Hyunjin shrugged, his expression somewhere between fond and smug. “Yeah, he’ll definitely go easy on me. Especially when I tell him our pretty noona coerced me into it. He’ll understand. How am I supposed to say no to that? Anyway, we could also get some snacks to drop off at the dance studio after we’re done with our taste test, I’m sure that Changbin-hyung and Innie would be glad for a snack break.”

“I- okay.” You stuttered, trying not to fixate on the phrase “our pretty noona”. “Let’s do a taste testing. Lead the way to the vending machines.”

After reapplying your scent blocker, you both made your way down two flights of stairs and down a long hallway before you came to the vending machine. Hyunjin explained that there was one closer to the room you were in, but that this one had better snacks.

You stopped in front of the vending machine, a little surprised at how high tech it looked. You were more used to ones with sticky buttons that refused to take your dollars more often than not and that you would occasionally have to shake to free your snack. This one had a whole mini snack elevator.

“Let’s see, Innie likes these cheesy crackers, Changbin-hyung will cry if he finds out we used his credit card and didn’t get him anything, so let’s get him the barbecue chips, and this is Lino-hyung’s favorite pudding…”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you watched Hyunjin mutter to himself about his bandmates’ snack preferences. “You’re so considerate of your packmates,” you told him.

He blinked at you in surprise, like he had forgotten you were standing there with him. “Ah, well, it’s really more of a survival tactic. I have had one too many pudding lectures from hyung, so if I show up with the wrong one, who knows what he’ll do to me?”

Back in the studio, you spread your bounty around the two of you, like you were preparing for hibernation. The three snacks for the boys in the other dance studio were carefully set off to the side, so that neither of you would mistakenly eat them.

“So,” you started, “I know the nest thing sort of threw you off, but is there anything else you think I should know before your heat? It can be anything, things you like to avoid, your favorite things to nest with, things you like to eat,” you asked, shaking the bag of chips you were currently eating from. They were a bit different than what you were used to, but still pretty good.

Hyunjin hummed around a ring-shaped gummy. “Well, I like to do laundry before my heats and then get my members to scent my stuff. I just feel a bit icky when I’m not sure when the last time I washed something was. Felix likes to bake during his preheat, which is sort of perfect because I eat more than usual during my preheat, so I can just eat whatever he made and put in the fridge. But I don’t like eating during my actual heat. As for the stuff in my nest… I have this scarf that Seungminnie bought for me once when we visited Paris. And Lino-hyung gave me a scrunchie that he drew a bunch of Jureumis on that I like to wear on my wrist. Also, Jisungie got me a dumpling plushie that also has a hot water bag inside. I have some other things from the members, too, but those are the first things that come to mind. Most of the other stuff is pillows and blankets. Felix likes fluffier blankets in his nest, but I like the smoother, silkier ones. And I love having my members in my nests with me. Also, I have at least three fans going on at the same time because I hate how hot I get. I do react a bit… dramatically when my members accidentally move something in my nest, which sort of confuses me a bit because that really only happens during my heats.”

You quickly brought out your notebook and pen and scribbled down all the information Hyunjin had given you. As you wrote semi-legibly, you did your best to talk to him at the same time.

“Well, that’s definitely a heat-brain thing. Do you only feel anger or annoyance at your pack when they move your nest around or is it something else, too?”

Hyunjin stopped chewing and set down the bag of candy. “I guess… it does hurt a bit. At first. And then I growl or nip them or something like that.” He shrugged dismissively.

“And that hurt, could it be that your anger is sort of a way to get around it or cover it up?”

He looked up to meet your gaze and squeezed the plastic package so it crinkled. “That… it could definitely be that, I suppose. I think… my brain is sort of telling me that my packmates are changing my nest because they don’t like the way I arranged it.”

You nodded and set down your notebook. “Well, I know that no matter what I say, during your heat, your omega is still likely going to react like that because you don’t have the same level of brain processing power as you do when you aren’t in heat, but maybe, hopefully, you’ll feel less guilty about it afterwards. Hyunjin, you know that your members love your nests. They don’t want to move it or change it, and from what they’ve told me, they always try to move carefully so that they don’t offend you. They also understand that you’re protective of your nests and that you react, as you put it, dramatically. They know that that can be a risk to stepping into your nest, but I am sure that it’s worth it to them. Even if they get nipped or growled at, they made the choice to enter your nest and they obviously think that it was worth it if they come back again and again.”

Hyunjin watched you with wide eyes before his face broke out into a soft smile. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Plus, Lino-hyung bites the others enough that they should be able to deal with me if I bite them once or twice during my heat, even if I bite them a bit harder than he does.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and leaned backwards until he was lying down. “I can’t believe I’m in a relationship with those losers.”

You smiled at him, glad that he could go from serious topics to more light-hearted ones. You grabbed another candy bag and a question formed in your brain.

“What exactly does the company know about your relationship?” You asked, tearing open the packet, this one with cartoon purple lizards advertising how “de-liz-cious” the gummies were.

Hyunjin hummed, popping a chocolate-covered cracker into his mouth. Once he chewed and swallowed it, he passed the bag to you.

“The company knows that we help each other through our heats and ruts, that’s why they had you sign a bunch of NDAs,” he told you, “but they don’t exactly know about the actual relationship between us. They know Hannie and Lino-hyung go out together, but they don’t know they’re actually going out together. They know Binnie-hyung flirts with me, but they don’t know that I flirt back when the cameras are off. They know that Chan-hyung and Felix sleep together a lot but they don’t know that they sleep together a lot.” He paused. “And I mean a lot. Honestly, most of the time, sleeping seems to be the last thing on their minds. Horny losers.” He shook his head fondly before refocusing. “The company tells us to play things up for the camera a bit for fan service, but what they don’t know is that we’re actually toning it down.” He finished with a smirk.

You grinned. “Wow. So they don’t know you’re in a relationship at all?”

“Nope. Just our families and some of our friends know. And now you, noona.” Hyunjin rolled over and stretched his arms out. “I guess we are pretty affectionate towards each other around our staff, but I think the whole 8-members thing actually throws them off. Poly packs aren’t as common as they used to be, so it probably hasn’t even occurred to them. They likely assume that some of us are together, just in couples, but they’ve never asked us outright, I think they’re fine with acting ignorant as long as we don’t let them or the public know anything.”

You had collected all of the empty snack bags and were about to throw them away while Hyunjin stretched his arms above his head. “So, is there anything else you want to tell me? I feel like we covered a lot, but just let me know if there’s something else.”

Hyunjin had moved on to stretching his back but paused to smile at you and shake his head. “No, I think we talked about everything we needed to, noona.”

“Okay.” You collected your notebook and bag before shoving the extra snacks in there as well. “Do you think now is a good time to interrupt the dance practice?”

Hyunjin stood up gracefully and sighed. “It’s always a good time to interrupt dance practice. I think Changbin-hyung and Innie will be eternally grateful to you.”

“Not you?” You questioned. “You picked out the snacks and it was your idea.”

He waved his hand dismissively as you made your way out of the dance studio and into the elevator. “They’ll be grateful for about five minutes until they conveniently forget it. Or they’ll ask me why I didn’t come and save them earlier.”

The elevator ride was silent, but much more comfortable than when the two of you had been in the same elevator earlier. You stepped out into the hallway, following Hyunjin until he came to a door on the right.

He peeked in through the window and smiled before gently opening the door.

The song and dance they were doing weren’t as intense as some of their other tracks and routines, it was a B-side they recorded earlier that day, and were still dancing to the guide version, but you could see that they were putting in the exact same amount of effort, no matter what the tempo or sound quality was. Their moves were soft, almost floaty, but they were still very deliberate and precise.

You saw Minho’s eyes glance at you and Hyunjin in the mirror from where he was at the front of the formation, but he gave no other acknowledgment of your presence.

I.N and Changbin also noticed you, but they were less smooth about it. Changbin faltered in his movements and Innie fell behind rhythm.

“Yah, finish up the song, brats. Then we can take a break.”

At Lee Know’s words, the other two seemed to come alive, dancing with more energy than before. The song wasn’t much longer, and their positioning for the ending pose almost made you laugh out loud. Of course, the dance was meant to be for eight members, and there were quite a few missing, so there was Minho and Innie posed together on one side of the studio and Changbin all alone on the other side. Evidently Hyunjin shared the same thoughts as you, but didn’t keep quiet about laughing, even as you two clapped politely.

“Oh, my Binnie-hyung, are you lonely over there?” Hyunjin teased.

Changbin unfroze from his pose to flop down on the wood floor, all splayed out and breathing heavily, but focused on Hyunjin. In a high-pitched voice, he called out, “Yah, Hyunjin, I’m always lonely when I’m away from you!” He wriggled on the floor in a way that you guessed was supposed to be cute, but his obvious lack of energy made it seem more like a fish flopping around on land.

Hyunjin giggled and walked over to Changbin, squatting and grabbing the alpha’s outstretched hand as he murmured something you couldn’t hear.

Innie had flopped down as well, almost mirroring Changbin as he took deep breaths. Minho had walked over to turn the music off, and then sat on the couch with a water bottle.

Seeing that he was mostly okay, you turned back to I.N. “Hey, little alpha. Do you want me to bring you your water bottle?”

Jeongin let out a loud groan that echoed around the studio. “Oh my gosh, noona, you are seriously my new favorite person. Yes, please. It’s the green one.”

You walked over to the wooden counter and retrieved the green water bottle. You spotted a blue and pink water bottle next to it and, deducing that it was Changbin’s, you handed it to Hyunjin to give it to Changbin before you headed back over to I.N.

You squatted next to him just as a loud groan pierced the air. “Y/N! You are welcome to stay with our group for the rest of our lives! I’m going to produce a song about you and sing it at every single concert and award show!”

You smirked at Changbin’s words as Innie thanked you for his water. “Just for brining you your water bottle? At least wait until you see what Hyunjin and I brought in my bag for you.”

Changbin sat up like he was possessed. “What do you have?”

You walked over to your bag and unzipped it, pulling out the barbecue chips Hyunjin had picked out. You tossed them over to Changbin, whose eyes widened as he caught them and read the label. “Yah, Y/N, how did you know I liked these?”

You shrugged as you made your way over to Minho, pudding in hand. “A certain omega packmate of yours might have told me. It was actually his idea, so make sure to thank him.”

Hyunjin had fully sat down next to Changbin, but now, Changbin tackled him onto his back and wriggled the two of them around like happy earthworms.

Minho smiled and thanked you as you handed him the pudding before peeling it open and lying down on the couch. You weren’t entirely sure how safe it was to eat the pudding like that, but he seemed confident in his abilities, like he had done this before, so you left him to it and walked over to Jeongin with the cheese crackers in hand.

Innie had been staring at the other two members, his expression one of disgust, but you could see the fondness sparkling in his eyes. “Gross,” he stated, as Changbin started kissing all over Hyunjin’s face.

“Hopefully, you’ll find this a little less gross,” you told him as you handed him the crackers.

His eyes lit up as he took the packet from you. “Thanks, noona.”

You zipped up your bag and threw it to the other side of the room. “You should be thanking Hyunjin, he picked them out for you.”

Jeongin frowned as he ripped open the snack package. “I don’t need to thank him. If anything, this is what I deserve as compensation for dealing with him.” His eyes wrinkled with his smile as he stuffed a cracker in his mouth. “Oh, thank you, noona! I’ve been extra hungry all day for some reason.”

You smiled and were about to respond when you were interrupted by Hyunjin flopping down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Yes, thank you, noona. I’m really glad that you’re our caretaker. We haven’t known you for long, but I can tell that we’re going to love you.”

…

Sorry for any mistakes, I edited this and posted it in my college’s parking lot😭

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[kunajou]

when you called me, i became your flower🌷 ↳ g. satoru x g. suguru, g. satoru x reader, g. suguru x reader ♡ ↳ angst. ↳ tw: death, mention of an afterlife ♡ self-indulgent (I'm still trying to cope HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN NOW. my blue-eyed king). ↳ reference the scene in deadpool 2 with wade and vanessa. I love that scene when he's trying to get to her but he can't. ↳ previous part › Satoru goes south ❣

It takes everything in Satoru not to force himself through the barrier protecting you and Suguru. It takes all his strength not to scream and yell until you realize he’s there. There’s nothing worse than being the outsider looking in and right now, Satoru is on the verge of giving up everything if it means he can be with the two of you. Noting you’re sitting across from each other, he finds it a little odd you’re here, together (especially when you’ve never met each other formally). Though it makes his heart soar with butterflies when he thinks of his best friend and wife getting along.

Satoru glances around the room you’re hold up in, realizing this place resembles yours and Satoru’s shared living room as the early morning sun beams illuminates the entirety of it. As of right now, you don’t seem to sense his presence. Your voices are muffled but he can tell you’re in a deep conversation. He wonders what you’re talking about since he can’t make out what you’re saying to one another.

He tries to call both of your names but to no avail. He wishes there was a way to get to you two because his whole being yearns to be with you both. He’s tired, ready to be done with everything that comes with being labeled as ‘the strongest’.

Hell, even banging his fist against the barrier does nothing.

All he wants is to lay in your arms while you tell him how good of a job he’s done. Let him know how much you missed him and how much you love him. He doesn’t want to go back not when he can have both of you here.

With him.

In paradise.

“Please…” Tears threatening to spill over when he falls to his knees, fist balled on his thighs as his head hangs low. It’s unfair. What should he do when he can’t even get to the two of you for comfort? That’s all he’s yearning for! All he needs. He’s never thought of himself as weak but right now, he’s as exhausted as he’s ever been.

He wishes he could be with both of you in this afterlife. Wishing to be a part of your little bubble and it's breaking him the more he's forced to be apart from you. He’s missed you so damn much. The way you would laugh at the most random things, leaving him to figure out what it was that made you so giddy. Hearing your delicate laughter always made his heart soar because it always gave him a little piece of utter bliss. A piece of peace, if you will. Your smile, always genuine and pretty. He finds himself being forced to watch you grin at Suguru whose smile is one Satoru hasn’t seen in ages. His last memory of his friend was one he wishes he could erase but it’s written in the stars at this point, a part of their history.

And in this moment, his heart begins it’s descent when he realizes you’ve both found peace without him.

He tries to call your name again but still doesn’t get an answer. He tries to call Suguru’s name this time as his head whips in the general direction Satoru’s voice is coming from. His heart drums against his chest as he watches the man get up from his spot only for his smile to fade when he walks over to you instead of where he’s stuck standing. Suguru whispers something into your ear, unsure of what was said until you turn in Satoru’s general direction as well.

He can feel both of your eyes on him. He knows you know he’s there now and only then does the barrier begin to open. Your eyes light up with a burning as you’re quick to run and jump into his arms. Catching you with ease. He holds onto you like you’re going to disappear as he lets himself be vulnerable. He lets the tears fall. He lets his mind go numb.

He lets himself be surrounded by you.

“‘Toru.” You hiccup, holding him tighter as he reaches for Suguru to come closer too.

“Satoru…” Suguru smiles but it immediately drops once he reaches forward to caress Satoru’s cheek and Satoru leans into it with a shaky sigh. The look on Suguru face let’s him know that he’s going to drop a bombshell that he doesn’t want to hear.

Not right.

“Don’t-”

“You have to fighting, Satoru. They still need you.”

“No.” Satoru frowns, noticing how you’ve step back to stand in front of Suguru as he places his hands on your shoulders. Why did it feel like you were going to force him out. What is going on? “What? N-No. No! I’m done. I don’t wan-”

“It’s not your time, Toru...” You sigh, growing increasingly antsy as Satoru takes a few strides to stand in front of you.

“We’ll be here. It’s just-”

“No. Don’t make me go back.” You feel horrible, knowing he wants nothing more than to finally be able to rest but you know you’ll have your forever. Now is simply not the right time. “I don’t want to go back. Please…”

“It’s not up to us, though I wish it was.” You wetly chuckle but he can hear how broken you sound (especially since he feels the same). He’s on his knees, hugging and clutching onto you. His face is pressed into your stomach as he remembers you were going to be parents. How excited he was when he found out. You don’t know that he knew. He wanted to surprise you but he knew you were unsure on how to tell him. Unsure if he would be accepting since you hadn’t talked about them before.

Of course, the night before he could tell you over a candle lit dinner, you were called in for a mission. The curse much stronger than you and able to over power you. He still hasn’t forgiven the higher up’s for sending you when they knew you weren’t equipped to take care of.

“Satoru.” Suguru kneels next to his friend as you continue to run your fingers through his snow white hair. You notice he’s beginning to relax (more of less) as he grips your shirt tighter. Suguru kneels beside him to gently rubs his hand up and down his back as he takes the other to unravel Satoru’s blindfold. His finger under his chin, he looks Satoru in the eyes as he wipe the shed tears away. “You have to go back.”

You knew it was going to be a fight to get him to understand, kneeling down to be in front of your husband too. You get him to look at you now as his eyes are just a blue as the last day you saw them. It still leaves you speechless to this day how beautiful he is. You want to kiss his frown away, knowing you won’t get the chance again.

At least, not for a while.

“Tell me you love me.” He stares at you with so much conviction, though he knows you don’t hold any ill-will toward him. “Please. Both of you. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you. I’ll always love you.” You wistfully smile, grabbing his hands to clasp them together. You give them a squeeze before gently kissing his ring. Leaning in closer, you chastely kiss his lips as he lets himself be pampered. When you finally pull away, he chases after you but only until you place your index finger to his lips to get him to stop. Your gaze holds the moon and the stars and as he gazing into your eyes, he feels the burning love you had for him. You still have for him. “My eternal flame, my love. Know that I don’t blame you. None of what happened is your fault.”

Satoru nods, reaching back for Suguru’s hand.

“I loved you, My one and only.” The three of you get up from the floor as Suguru pulls him into a tight embrace. Satoru holds onto him as if he’s going to disappear into thin air. Not wanting to let go and not wanting to go back just yet. He knows he won’t have a choice in the matter since it’s not his time to die but… he just needs this.

Being lonely even when you’re surrounded by people is a wicked existence.

“Go.” You hum, turning your back to Satoru. You don’t want him to see you break down more than you have already. Before he knows it he’s being yank back through the barrier as he blinks rapidly, a blinding white light scorching his eyes from how bright it is. He tries to make out where he is. It’s cold, he can feel the metal stick to his skin as he takes a deep breath before wincing when a sharp pain surges through his stomach. He doesn’t dare move, confused because he was just with you and Suguru.

Where is he now?

It isn’t until he sees a mop of long brown hair hang above his face, brown eyes staring back at him as she smile mournfully.

“Sho-…?”

“Welcome back, Satoru.”

© KUNAJOU 2024 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED! PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARISE -and/or- TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK! thank you for reading! & remember: you nice, keep going.❤️ comment(s)/reblogs(s)/like(s) are totally welcomed!

[eldritch-spouse]

Bro that whole fucking thing where Admin got stuck in a wall and fucked by the staff was POGGERS!!!!!

Can we get vice versa? As in TCE staff getting wall fucked??

TW: Noncon.

In reference to this post.

You know who loves this, don't you? Santi. It's not his first time "getting stuck" in a wall, and it won't be his last. He'll readily perk up upon being touched and you can probably hear him moaning and begging from the other side. Whether you choose to stuff his ass or suck him off, Santi's having a great time and he hopes someone shows up to fuck his face too. He wants you to call others, wants to be taken advantage of viciously.

Morell is dying. Like actually dying inside. The way he tenses as soon as you feather a hand over his ass, cursing obscenities through the wall, banging on it with his fists. Oh, there'll be trouble. You may get him to quiet down and hear him moan quietly if you only choose to touch his cock, but put even just a finger up his ass and this man will try to buck you off like a rabid bull. Make sure he cums from it so Morell is forced to admit anal isn't all that bad.

Gallon can't really get stuck in a wall. What could happen is that he'll take a small eternity to wedge himself out of a tight spot. In that span of time, he can easily angle his body to avoid penetration in certain spots, but he's still likely to get fondled in general and shudder about it.

Grimbly is also another one you should be careful with. Even if he looks small and helpless, Grimbly has sharp and fast legs, you'll get something punctured if he doesn't like where things are headed. Fortunately, so long as you're moderately gentle, Grimbly's happy to mewl and lean into what's being done to him, cock leaking between his clenched legs.

Patches is hard in very little time. He shudders and gasps at the first touch, though might very quickly turn to begging and rasped cries. Part of him hopes he's absolutely torn apart, that you'll crush his balls and slash his skin, carve little messages there. Of course, you should punish him for finishing when things barely get started too.

Nebul will despise this day for the rest of his unlife. Because lots of people want to put him in his place, most of all you probably. You'll be able to hear his threats and feel the wall rumble with the intensity of his voice, but he's helpless. The only way Nebul can resist is by keeping as quiet as possible. And he clings to that viciously.

Vinnel is deathly afraid that somehow, someway, someone might succeed in ripping his suit- Which is unlikely. People will hump and try to free his cock, but he won't let them, spending the whole time berating whoever touches him for being gross little things who would pathetically grind on him. It's the only line of defense he has while he desperately tries to keep his erection from showing too much.

Belo is panicking so hard. Everytime he's touched, he puffs up and booms threats at whoever's there. And honestly, you'd need a sturdy fucking wall to keep him in place. He squawks and tries to lean away from touches to his slit and cock, trembles when his ass is spread and hopelessly goes limp at some point, asking for forgiveness from Krulu when he starts to take pleasure from his own assault.

Fank-e can honestly just demolish most walls. But. He might not, for some reason or another, maybe to prevent anything from falling onto his visor. He can and will take most of whatever's done to him giggling, enjoying it even. Until someone figures out how to remove Fank-e's cock/robussy and runs off with it. Then he'll get mad.

Sybastian is another one who's panicking, mostly because he hates the sensation of feeling trapped. He's going to try to shift into different things you'll have difficulty fucking, but if you assure him it's just you and you're not going to do something wild, Sybastian will actually spread his legs so you can touch him better. Do get him the fuck out of here though.

There's absolutely no wall that can keep Krulu contained. And even if you could, are you ready to seal yourself into a fate worse than death?

[falling-star-cygnus]

If you're still looking for billy angst ideas I got something what if he got heavily injured got close to powering off and muttered something like "I don't wanna die." Or something like that

Or he actually did die/power off but by some miracle powered on again and then insert everyone's reactions

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE -> the way i shot up out of my bed and ran to my computer to write this is genuinely insane considering my athleticism abilities [which is to say none]

i don't get a lot of asks, so when i do it always makes me kick my lil feetsies

TRIGGER WARNINGS: robot dismemberment, murder [implied], brief suicide idealization [doesn't finish the thought], kidnapping [i don't write it but he's clearly not there willingly], dehumanization [referring to Billy as an 'it' in a derogatory sense]

"Nicole."

She chokes on nothing but air and nearly drops her phone in the process. What the hell, why did Anby feel the need to do this her. Appearing from the shadows like some sort of cheesy apparition was only funny when other people got spooked! She'd been texting the Proxy!

Anby, at least, waits for her older sister to settle down again before continuing:

"Where's Billy?"

Why would I know!? Nicole narrows her eyes at the smaller girl, pursing her lips in thinly veiled indignance. It wasn't her job to track her teammate's whereabouts off of missions. Or even on missions. They were capable people.

"Huh? I don't know. Why?"

Something about Anby's appearance throws her off.

Her white bangs are looser, tickling her chin and shoulder and out of that itty bitty braid that kept it out of her face. Come to think of it, Nicole hadn't seen her with that braid since yesterday morning...

Weird.

"I wanted him to redo my hair," she answers, placid as ever as she rolls the little green cap between her fingers, "Nekomata hasn't seen him either."

"Oh- Well, I can redo it for you, Anb-" "No thanks, I know how to do it."

Nicole can feel a vein twitching somewhere in her forehead. She loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved-

"Then why ask."

There's a sort of tentative silence that follows as the smaller girl fidgets, almost suffocating and sticky and wrong- Anby was uneasy about something... and that never boded well.

"...he's been sad lately. Like a dog that can't go outside when it rains."

Odd comparison, but I suppose it's fitting.

Nicole hadn't noticed anything particularly different about the android. He had been a little less energetic, maybe, more content to just... sit quietly in the company of the other Hares..

Oh god, he'd totally been acting like a sad dog.

"I thought doing my hair again might cheer him up," Anby continues, like she hadn't just made the older Demara feel slightly guilty for not noticing sooner. They all lived together.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Nicole decides to ask, despite the cloying sense of dread settling in her stomach like cement. "Did he go somewhere recently?"

A voice throws in her two cents in her other ear, "I saw him heading out yesterday, around 12!"

"Ack- Nekomata!"

Why was everyone trying to give her a heart attack today!?

"Oops.. Sorry, Nicole! But Billy promised he'd bring me back mackerel! And then he never came back."

"Billy wouldn't break a promise."

The sword wielder says it matter-of-factly, in the same tone she would use to insist that a boss theme was about to play. Or like how someone would say the sky is blue.

She wasn't wrong, though, Billy didn't break promises. Not the ones he makes to them.

An awful feeling of impending doom washes over the three.

Nicole clears her throat. Time to be the boss:

"Let's think about this, did he mention where he was going at all? Or when he'd be back?"

They all check their messages. Nothing.

Call history. Blank.

…emails? All spam.

Of course.

Don't panic, Nicole reminds herself, He could just be... hanging with Wise! Or that wolf guy.. uh.. Von something?

Anby was getting antsier with each failed clue, her fingers twitching and curling into intermittent fists by her sides. Nekomata was trying to act unaffected, but her ears were tilted back just slightly too far.

"Urgh... OK!" the two smallest members of the Hares jolt at the sudden exclamation, but the boss is too busy dialing Billy's cell number to care, "if he won't come to us, we'll go to him!"

The number rings, and rings, and rings- the android always answered on the fifth- and rings, and rings, and-

Click.

"Well, well~ You sure called faster than I expected. Has it even been 24 hours yet?"

That... was not Billy.

-><-. . .-><-

He didn't know how this happened.

Or- scratch that, he did, but... why? He thought-

"I thought we were friends," the android shouts to the retreating figure, his arms captured by two giant mechanical palms "Really? I mean- seriously? Oh, that's hilarious. And sad." Billy can feel his energy draining, but he doesn't go quick enough to miss the final parting words. "You're the least missed Hare, man, and the cat's only been there a week."

Was that.. true?

No. Nekomata had- Nicole cared- Anby would miss..

him.

Would they? He was still trying to formally befriend the Thiren girl, Anby could do her own hair now, and the Boss- would she even notice?

If he wasn't so sure coming online would cause a spike of pain to ram through his throat, he'd shake the thought away. Nicole would notice! At mission time... probably. Or when she needed him.

How long would that be, though?

Unfortunately, Billy's not allowed to spiral any further when an insistent tap-tap-tap scratches at his face plate. He fizzles into painful consciousness with a groan-

With a groan.

With-

...why wasn't he making any noise?

Any attempts made to speak- to vocalize this awful sparking in his throat- end in silence. Billy 's eyes widen, and from his peripheral he can catch the odd glimpse of wiring sticking out under his chin.

...No- no, no, no- no no.

Raucous laughter breaches his sensors, and suddenly his face is pulled up to see the same man that had betrayed him- grinning and amused.

"What's the matter, android," he jeers, releasing his face to drop something on the ground, "Cat got your tongue?"

That 'something' bounces once before landing in a sizzling, unassuming lump right before Billy's glitching eyes.

...his voice box.

-><- . . . -><-

Anby snatches the phone out of Nicole's hand.

"Where's Billy," she demands, shocking the other two Hares silent

She can't bring herself to care at the moment, the way rage is boiling under her skin. Her voice has never been particularly emotive, neither has her face, this she knew intrinsically. A fact of her life that she didn't care to fix.

But Billy was her friend.

Billy understood her. He did her hair whenever she asked, tried to protect her when she didn't need it- not because he didn't think Anby was capable but because he wanted to. Billy explained things she didn't want to, gave her an in to conversations-

"You really care about this thing?" "Billy's not a thing. Where is he." Anby would not ask a third time.

The voice on the other end snickers, amused for some unfathomable reason. And it's like Nicole can sense her impending neurosis, because she pries her phone out of the smaller girl's hand.

"We won't ask again," she emphasizes, fully in Boss mode now, "Why do you have Billy's phone?"

"Calm your tits, ladies."

Nekomata hastily pries the phone out Nicole's hand before it can be crushed.

"What I mean is- relax! Look.. if it'll make you feel better, I'll return it to you. Er- it's parts anyway. Hah!"

It. He was calling Billy... an it.

Something dark poisons the room.

"Just kidding! Anyway- Keep better track of your things, Hares! Finders keepers, you know?"

Click.

...

"Anby. Nekomata."

The girls stand at attention, awaiting the instructions sure to follow their stormy faced Boss.

"We're going to Random Play."

-><- . . . -><-

...everything hurt.

His throat, what was left of his right arm, what was left of his left leg, his torso where red wire hung out like streamers.. The traitor- because it brought some sort of vindicative relief to call his tormentor that- hadn't been joking about selling him for parts. At all.

Pieces of prior 'conversations' looped themselves over and over again like a broken record- a snake eating it's own tail- and at this point Billy couldn't tell if it was his own busted thoughts or if the man had taken his mind too.

"Wow~ an android with a pain threshold.. that's rare. You can feel all of this then?" Billy, of course, couldn't answer with any more than a twitch as pliers hacked away at his wiring. "Bet we'll get a pretty penny off you then."

"I don't really get the point of androids, you know? This tech could be so much better utilized for prosthetics."

"Called your buddies earlier." That had sparked the most reaction out of him so far, that got him to raise his head with worried eyes. "Oh-ho! What'd you get excited for? They're not looking for you."

His voice box still sat on the ground in front of him, mocking as it hissed out sparks from time to time. At least that could still make a sound.

Were the Hares... really not coming for him? Would there be anything left to find if they did?

Billy could hardly open his eyes as it was, even if the Hares could find him in this Hollow- would they even want him around if he couldn't do anything?

Maybe... it would be better if he just-

The metal doors screech open again.

-><- . . . -><-

The tacky feeling of blood, whether caked under her nails or smeared over her cheek, would normally bother her.

This she wears as a badge of honor.

They had been lucky, all things considered, to have connections to the former Phaethon siblings. It still took too long, in Anby's opinion, but Belle and Wise had found the seller that had listed- for a lack of better phrasing- Billy's parts.

"'Ethically sourced' my fine ass!" Nicole had shouted at the monitor, barely restraining herself from grabbing it and shaking.

Anby flicks her blade to the side, watching disinterestedly as blood splatters against the scorched pavement.

"Alright, you guys," Belle- in Eous' body- piped up, "Billy should be behind this door."

What's left of him, goes painfully unsaid.

None of them want to open the door, not when it could confirm a truth they've blatantly ignored the possibility of. Billy could be nothing but wires and lost data behind these doors.

Schrödinger's Android.

Anby takes the plunge and shoulders the creaky metal open.

At first, she's worried that they had the wrong warehouse. The inside is dark- quiet- and she can't immediately see anything with the rubble blocking the way further inside.

That was fine, Nekomata was the only Hare that could marginally compete with her in speed anyway. Sooner than she could really blink- or think about it- the smaller Demara finds herself atop the rubble pile.

There he is.

Billy is in the center of the warehouse, powered off and forced to his remaining knee by robot palms clamped around what's left of his limbs. The wires in his torso hang out like entrails, frayed and stripped at the ends and wrong.

Anby trips over herself to get to him, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she finally- finally reunites with the android.

"Billy," she breathes out, watery and insistent as she presses her bloodied hands to his cold face, "Billy, wake up. We're here."

Please wake up, please don't let this be for nothing-

Familiar, warm, yellow eyes finally flicker open. It's a struggle, both to watch and to experience probably, as the Hares' big brother reluctantly comes back online.

Reluctantly. Billy shouldn't be reluctant.

There's no talking, no glitchy recall of her name, not even a whisper of pain- or any sound- as his eyes widen disbelievingly at her. Billy shouldn't be quiet.

This was wrong.

Something sparks in the corner of Anby's eye, and the realization that comes with it makes her wish she had done more than dull her blade. Billy's voice box, crudely ripped out and left in plain sight...

"Anby, did you find him?"

The android's warm yellow eyes somehow widen even further at the sound of Nicole's voice and Nekomata's footsteps. When the two come into view, the faceplate under the smaller Demara's hands trembles.

Anby recounts what she learned, making sure to keep her hands on Billy at all times as the reunited Hares' get their metal teammate free. Obviously, he can't walk- he can barely support himself- and they should really wait to celebrate until they're out of the Hollow, but...

"Billlly," Nicole all but sobs as she pulls the android into a hug he can't reciprocate, "you idiot. We were worried sick about you! You're never leaving the base without telling one of us ever again!"

Nekomata joins in from behind, wrapping her thin arms with exceeding amounts of care around Billy's torn neck. She doesn't say anything, but the way the Thiren girl buries her face into his synthetic hair says enough.

Anby hadn't re-braided her fringe since noting his disappearance and the loose hair sticks uncomfortably to the blood on her cheek as she bullies her way under his remaining arm. Belle stands off just slightly to the side, touched by the family reunion but unwilling to interfere with the tender moment.

The Cunning Hares' had missed their resident big brother deeply; now that he was back, they weren't ever letting him go again.

AND THERE SHE IS!! FINITO, EL FIN, FINIE! sorry if the ending was kinda rushed, but i hope you enjoyed! lmk what you thought and, of course, if there's anything else you want to see me write or elaborate on!

[hp-hcs]

1.3k words of the author bullying blaise zabini just for the plot (Chapter Three of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. the painting? dear jesus fuck. that’s my trauma. watching that scene when i was like, thirteen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Without further ado, Blaise snatches up the fucking doll, stomping upstairs with the doll carelessly dangling by one porcelain arm. Reaching Y/N’s bedroom (of course the freaky doll has its own bedroom, why wouldn’t it?), Blaise opens the door with much more force than necessary. He pauses in the doorway, taking in the room that the L/Ns had so carefully decorated—as if it were an actual child’s room—with brightly colored bedsheets, cartoon animals painted on the walls, and toys scattered everywhere.

He aggressively chucks the doll onto the rocking chair in the corner, (“The reading chair,” the L/Ns had cooed. “Y/N just loves when we read them bedtime stories”), and shuts the door as he leaves, digging through his pockets for the skeleton key the L/Ns had left the boys and locking the door with a resounding clack!

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he tries to calm his racing heart. Drawing the key back out of the lock and tucking it away safely, he makes his way back downstairs on shaky legs.

He pointedly looks down at the floor as he passes the painting of the L/Ns.

Returning to the living room, his friends stare at him with wildly curious expressions.

“You okay, man?” Draco asks slowly, tilting his head.

“You guys aren’t getting popcorn tonight,” Blaise says with finality, his voice cracking on the last word. Blaise Zabini is not the kind of person to waver while speaking.

The boys don’t press the issue.

They instead scoot over, making room for him to join their blanket pile on the floor as they start the movie. Once he’s settled in, Blaise focuses on watching Cady Heron fumble her way through high school and tries to push the fuckery with the doll out of his mind.

~~~ Passing through the main narrow hallway, Blaise precariously carries a stack of antique books, liable to disintegrate at just the wrong glance. The rain is still going strong, a sudden clap of thunder causing the hallway’s oil lamps to splutter feebly. Cursing under his breath, Blaise sets the books on a decorative hall table and fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. Just in time, another crack of thunder seems to shake the whole house, the lamps giving off one last sad spark of light before giving up entirely.

His thumb slips against the flint wheel a few times before the lighter finally flickers, a flame catching on the wick. The tiny pinprick of light in the otherwise murky and oppressive hallway does nothing to light up Blaise’s surroundings. Moving the lighter around slowly, so as not to accidentally catch anything in the old house on fire, he slowly makes his way down the hall, immediately banging his hip on a console table.

Cursing again, Blaise swings the lighter around, looking for any more furniture boobytraps attempting to further maim him.

Then, a soft sound could be heard.

Blaise freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s the unmistakable sound of a child crying.

Holding the lighter out in front of him like a weapon, Blaise takes a hesitant step down the hall towards the sound. The flame of his lighter then glints off of something hanging on the wall, a very large glossy wooden picture frame.

It’s the damn painting.

Frozen in place, Blaise can’t do anything but stare up at the imposing painting in terror. In the meager light, the L/Ns faces all look demonic and twisted.

The sobbing gets louder, closer.

He glances down the hall towards the sound, his heart pounding in his chest, before glancing back at the painting.

A hand shoots out from the canvas and seizes him around the throat, sharp nails digging into his flesh and squeezing squeezing squeezing-

~~~

Blaise wakes up in a cold sweat. Heart practically beating out of his chest, he breathes heavily, every one of his senses on overdrive, screaming at him to get out of there.

The clock on the TV stand glows a comforting green, whispering the time as an early five in the morning. The sun has only just begun to break over the horizon, gentle morning rays leaking through the decorative bits of stained glass at the top of each of the windows and casting warm shades of colors over the ceiling.

Mattheo lays stretched out next to him, dead asleep and hogging all of the blankets. Enzo and Draco fell asleep on each other, in a way that looks terribly uncomfortable. Theo is sprawled out across all of them, his head on Blaise’s knee and half of his body sandwiched between him and Mattheo. They must’ve fallen asleep before the movie ended, because the little DVD logo box slowly bounces across the screen, avoiding the corners like the plague.

Blaise scrubs his hands over his face, looking around the inviting and entirely non-threatening room. Really, the house is rather cute, in its own charming way. Like how a grandparent’s house is always tacky and poorly decorated, yet still perfect and homey nonetheless.

Knowing there was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep, Blaise carefully moves Theo’s head onto a blanket, sliding out of the group pile and standing up. His knees snap crackle and pop as he grunts to himself, shuffling to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

The kitchen is even cuter in the sunlight, with pale gingham curtains framing the window above the sink and cross-stitch frames dotting the walls. As he flicks the start lever on the coffee pot, he takes the opportunity to look around the room. Tacky linoleum floors? Check. Kitchen towels with embroidered kitschy sayings? Check. Live laugh and fucking love, everybody.

Blaise leans against the counter on his forearms, listening to the coffee pot hum. Taped onto one of the kitchen cabinets in front of him is a faded polaroid of a family in the outdoors, the woman and man grinning widely at the camera while the young child in the foreground appears to be mid-laugh, clinging to their father. The scrawled handwriting at the bottom describes the photo as ‘Y/N’s 9th birthday at the lake!’

Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks over the photo again. He hadn’t recognized them immediately, but sure enough, the woman and man in the photograph are the L/Ns. They look so much younger and happier in the polaroid, the weight of life having yet to set in.

Caught up in his thoughts, Blaise barely notices when the coffee pot dings to let him know that it’s done. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulls down a few mugs for him and the rest of the boys. He glances down curiously when the coffee pot continues to hum.

His brow furrows as he taps at the machine with a fingernail. The coffee maker splutters indignantly and beeps again, then goes silent.

But the hum continues.

Abandoning his quest for caffeine, he peeks out into the hall, wondering if one of his friends had woken up. He peers into the entrance of the living room from the kitchen doorway; he can see the still-bouncing logo on the otherwise mute TV, and his four friends still sprawled out on top of all of the blankets.

But the hum continues.

He steps a little further out into the hall. He can now hear distinctly that the sound is coming from upstairs. Looking back at his abandoned mug on the counter forlornly—and mentally cursing himself for being insatiable in his curiosity—Blaise slowly starts up the stairs.

Once he reaches the top floor, the sound grows louder. It’s clearer now too. Blaise can tell that it’s not a hum.

It’s a child’s sobs.

Eyes widening, his gaze immediately latches onto the door of Y/N’s bedroom.

Surely not.

Holding the skeleton key retrieved from his pocket between shaking fingers, he slides it into the lock and twists, the door slowly creaking open.

The doll is still sitting in the chair, exactly as he left it.

He sighs in relief.

It’s a doll, dumbass. You’re just being paranoid. The war just left you on edge, that’s all.

He turns to leave, to go back downstairs and enjoy his coffee, when something catches his eye.

The doll is crying.

A single tear tracks down its face, hanging still for a moment before dripping off of its porcelain chin.

Blaise stumbles backwards, dropping the key with a clatter. He tugs the neckline of his shirt down frantically, feeling the phantom hand from his dream wrapping around his throat once more. He could swear he feels those damn nails again, slicing into his skin.

Watching the doll with bated breath and terror-stricken eyes, Blaise waits a long moment before another tear runs down its face, running down the bridge of its nose from its forehead.

Wait.

Forehead?

Blaise slowly looks up at the ceiling, a bit convinced that if he looks away from the doll for too long, it’ll lunge. He releases the breath he’s holding when he sees that the ceiling has a leak, rainwater from last night’s storm dripping down. Down from the seam of where the shut tight pull-down ladder to what must be the attic—or some kind of storage space—meets the rest of the ceiling.

It’s just an old house. There’s no crying dolls, no monstrous paintings. Just a wacky old house with wacky old owners.

Yep. That’s all.

~~~

Chapter Four <3

[wallflowerwritesstuff]

Memory Lane (i.)

After Caleb and Grandma's demise, you're left with more questions than answers.

Zayne finds himself in the same boat, questioning the past and whether fate or man has led you both to where you are now.

TW: Mentions of Illegal Experimentation/Blood/Injury, References to Large-Scale Tragedy (Chronoshift Catastrophe), Implications and Direct Reference to Death of Characters, Temporary Character Death (Past), Canon-Typical Violence in a Canon Divergent Timeline

dividers by tsunami-of-tears here on tumblr :)

He hadn’t wanted to go. 

There wasn’t a bribe in the world strong enough to convince him back then to go to the center willingly, let alone spend his days there when he could be more productive elsewhere. Even as a teenager, Zayne had preferred structure to his day, his parents insisting this would still be structured, just…different. His parents seemed to have forgotten one important detail when attempting to convince him. 

Zayne hadn’t ever been a fan of different. 

And yet, for reasons outside his control, he’d ended up sitting in Ms. Josephine’s office away from prying eyes and hushed whispers, reading books he’d brought along and eventually, some of hers when he’d completed his own. It was a quiet time apart from hearing the faint footsteps of people walking in the hallway and the occasional beeping of machines. When it wasn’t, however, it was ear-piercing. Zayne remembered freezing up when screaming voices and loud banging were heard outside the door, listening and hoping the noises in the hallway didn’t devolve into something more serious.

He wouldn’t have been able to see it coming with how the shades were always closed in her office.

“It isn’t as bad as you’d think,” she had reassured after finding him glued to where he sat. Her gaze had been weary, deeply apologetic, and full of concern. “Being here, I mean. I question why I’m here, too, sometimes, but fate works mysteriously. Don’t you agree?” 

‘No’ he’d thought at the time while gazing into his mug, the feeling remaining years later as Chief in the hospital where he’d met you for the first time officially. 

Because you, in true Hunter fashion, had come crashing into his office with information that even Zayne hadn’t known about. Information that reframed much of the childhood he'd once regarded fondly apart from the usual missteps.

What he once believed had been coincidental and lucky now felt contrived and shrouded in doubt and skepticism. The lingering questions he’d always held close remained unanswered, only proceeding to spur on the theories swirling in his head. 

Theories that he’d know would cause you undue pain, though you’d probably attempt to smile and insist it was better to know. You’d avoid his eyes if the time ever came for him to tell you his thoughts on your peculiar childhood, doing your best to put on a strong face until you were no doubt alone. 

He wondered how often you’d cried with no one to support you, positive it was more times than you remembered. Not only because you often wept in your sleep, but because your memory has always seemingly been an ongoing issue.

And yet…

You hadn’t forgotten anything since Ms. Josephine had found you at one of the local shelters. 

Your memory had been above average, almost photographic, in fact. Your ability to pick up on whatever you put your mind to after observing once was impressive. It was how you’d become such a reliable hunter despite your young age and unordinary heart.

He had made it known during your first check-up he hadn’t been thrilled about your career choice…but he also couldn’t help but feel proud of you after watching you nearly lose the light in your eyes as a child. You were thriving and had grown even more stubborn when talking about what you wished to achieve. This only provided more fuel to Zayne’s suspicions. 

Despite what Ms. Josephine had insisted, memory loss had never been one of the conditions you'd suffered from.

It was a symptom.

A symptom that often only occurred in extreme cases such as childhood trauma and situations in which a person had—

Inhaling deeply, Zayne removed his glasses. He used his fingers to dig into his eyes in an attempt to ease the ache, though dry eyes still burned beneath closed lids. 

He wouldn’t go further down that train of thought, knowing it was nearly impossible for it to be true. For one, you were still here. Still breathing, talking, laughing, worrying, and caring about him while not offering the same basic courtesy to yourself.

His inkling would never serve as definite proof that something had happened to you, meaning that pointing fingers and making baseless accusations would only send him backward rather than toward the answers he sought. 

You know, by helping her, you help yourself. 

The statement, to this day, confused him.

He wondered why she’d entrusted you to him when he'd partially failed already. He hadn’t kept contact with you, her, or Caleb after getting early entry into his program, though he’d never get a chance to ask about it now. He could only attempt to make up for the lost years by making sure you were safe, fed, and aware of the fact he’d support you wherever you went. 

(it was working almost too well if every flutter of his heart whenever spending time with you meant anything.)

If he wanted, he could approach it as logically as he did everything else since you were now both adults—spare the feeling of helplessness that only grew as time began to trickle like water through trembling fists. But that would only confuse you, perhaps even make your impulsive nature grow tenfold like gasoline tossed into an open flame. 

Zayne knew that the answer had to be somewhere, though. Perhaps he’d missed something back then, too carefree despite his attempts at remaining diligent and in control. 

Leaning his head back, he shut his eyes, letting out a soft exhale and beginning to search. His memories had to be a step in the right direction, even if he’d vowed to leave the past where it belonged. 

Because for you, the rules were worth breaking.

No matter the consequence. 

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