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kpop---scenarios · 2 days ago

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Whispers Of The Night (6)

Pairing: Stray Kids x Reader

Genre: College! Au, Vampire! Au

Summary: You just want to live a happy life, but currently, that wasn't happening. It's not until you meet 8 strangers who turn your life upside down and you discover what they are.

Warning: Smut!! [Oral; f. receiving, unprotected sex, choking, spitting] 18+ ONLY. MDNI

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: as always, @skzdust , my savior, thank you for all your help!

Previous Chapters

Taglist: @steddie-steddie @hongtyong @purple-bell @deadpool15 @purplelady85 @xomakara @wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @tsunderelino @iovecb97 @1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @yaorzu-blog @anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona @31maze13 @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited @hoesheez @stayatinykatsy @catlove83 @jeonginstulip @kaleigh-2002 @honeycombbaybee @hyuneyeon @flylis @kpop-choco @chloe-elise-2000 @eastjonowhere @stephanieeeyang @nightmarenyxx @0325tiny @m1nn1everse @igot7bulletproofmonstas

You didn't tell them you were leaving. You stared at what was supposed to be yourself in the mirror, but you felt like you couldn't barely recognize yourself. You had snuck out of the bathroom, glancing over at their table. They were completely immersed in a conversation so you took the opportunity to sneak out of the side door. The cool air felt nice on your skin, it helped cool down your rage, but the one thing you had a hard time wrapping your head around was why you were starting to feel so much rage when around them? This wasn't some little feeling of annoyance when someone makes a stupid joke.

This was a pure, full body, nothing more than just rage and hatred flowing through your body. You walked for a while until you made it back to the house. It was quiet, except for the faint sound of begging from Lilith in the basement. You dropped your bag on the floor, walking to the couch to sit down.

Your leg was still throbbing but you had been a little too terrified to look at it. You took a deep breath, pulling up the leg of your pants, you see three claw marks near your ankle. The scratches looked infected and your stomach dropped. You stood up, ignoring the pain, rushing towards the basement door, ripping it open. You stomp down the stairs, standing a good distance away from Lilith. Your chest is heaving, her back is still towards you. You can hear her giggling, her head hanging down as she begins to laugh harder.

“What did you do to me?” You yell.

She doesn't answer. She sits there, still laughing.

“What the fuck did you do?” You ask, your voice is a little quieter this time.

She doesn't answer. But her laughing stops. She doesn't turn around, she doesn't say anything. She only hums, ignoring you.

You turn around, walking back up the stairs, slamming the basement door shut. You stand there, your head spinning. You were tired, your body felt weak but felt like it was on fire. Whatever was going on with you, was taking its toll on you. You tried to walk towards the stairs to go to your room but it was like your legs were blocks of cement. Sweat dripped down your face as panic set in.

You wanted to call out for help, you wanted to cry but you couldn't and the more you tried, the weaker you felt. Until you felt nothing else at all, your body collapsed to the floor and everything went black.

“Y/N?” Seungmin yells, shaking your unresponsive body. “Y/N?” He calls out again, trying to do whatever he can to help you and wake you up.

The others rush in, seeing Seungmin hunched over your lifeless body, Chan sprinting into action to help you. He picks you up, rushing you upstairs to his room, laying you down gently on his bed. He knows you're alive. He can hear and smell the blood pumping through your veins. He breathes a sigh of relief, though he's confused about what happened to you. He checks your face, your neck, shoulders. You haven't been bitten. Your hands look okay, so what was causing this? He notices your pant leg pushed up ever so slightly more than the other one. He moves off the bed, kneeling at the end of the bed. He gently rolls up your pants a little more, seeing the three scratches he can only assume was left on you by Lilith.

“Fuck.” He hisses, slamming his hand down onto the floor.

You gasp suddenly and loudly, sitting up in the bed, looking around. You're confused, where were you? Your eyes slowly begin to focus, seeing Chan kneeling at the end of the bed, staring at you.

“What happened?” You whisper, laying back down. Chan stands up, swiftly making his way over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You left the restaurant without telling anyone.” He begins.

“I remember that.” You murmur.

“And then when you didn't come back to the table we started looking around for you. Seungmin found you first.” He says. “You passed out.”

“Oh god.” You groan.

“How long have you had those scratches?” He asks.

“Since… um.” You pause. “I found Lilith.”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” He wonders.

“I was scared to look. I didn't know what happened and I didn't want to look.” You say.

“You should have told us, y/n.” He sighs. “You haven't been yourself since that day.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, a slight change of tone in your voice. Chan detects it immediately. You were beginning to feel the anger build up in you again.

“You've been angry. Distant. You're not yourself.” He says.

“Like you fucking know me? I'm not fucking angry!” You scream, getting off the bed in a hurry, storming out of the room. You stomped the entire way to your room, slamming the door behind you. You were trying to control your breathing as you undressed, deciding you just needed to go to bed for the night. You slipped a long shirt over your head, not worrying about your shorts tonight. You crawled into your bed, Chan's words replaying in your head.

“you're not yourself. You're angry.”

You didn't want to admit it but you were angry. Whenever any of them were around, you were so fucking angry and you were sure it had something to do with Lilith, and you were sure Chan thought the same too. You tossed and turned for the first few hours until you finally felt yourself rest and relax.

Or so you thought.

“Y/n.” You barely hear, your body being shook awake, startling you.

“What? What happened?” You gasp, looking around. Your vision settles, seeing Chan standing over your bed, looking at you worriedly.

“You were screaming in your sleep. Are you okay?” He whispers. You're watching his plump lips move as he talks, And you wanted nothing more than to kiss him at this moment.

So that's what you did. You placed your hand on the back of his head, pulling him down. You could feel him go with it, his lips crashing into yours. You slide your tongue into his mouth, holding him closer to you.

Fuck you were so fucking needy right now and this is what you needed. Chan pulls away as you try to pull him on top of you.

“Y/N.” He breathes.

“Are you saying no?” You pant.

“No, that's not what I'm…” he pauses as you move the blankets off of you. You pull your shirt up a little, spreading your legs, showing him your lack of panties.

“Oh fuck.” He hisses.

“I need you Chan.” You say, pouting. “Don't you need me too?”

“Baby girl, don't say that to me. I've been trying to resist you.” He pauses, leaning in close. “Because once I get a taste, I won't be able to fucking stop.”

“Then don't.” You groan, lifting your shirt up over your breasts. You hear Chan take a sharp breath in as he stands up, undressing faster than you've ever seen anyone before. He stands before you, muscles glistening in the moonlight, his cock painfully hard.

“I don't think you know how long I've waited for this.” He says, pulling you off the bed. He lays down where you just are.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Ride my face.” He demands. You crawl onto the bed, hovering over him, nervous to lower yourself down. “Don't be afraid, let me make you feel good.” He says, pulling you down. You sit on his face, feeling his breath on your cunt. His tongue runs along your wetness, slowly moving up towards your clit. He doesn't stay there for long, licking up and down, with each pass picking up his pace, until he stays at your clit. He wraps his lips around your swelling bud, sucking on you, making your body jolt. His hands run up and down your thighs while you begin to rock yourself against his tongue. Your entire body begins to heat up, nothing but pleasure flowing through you. You can hear him moan from underneath you, the vibration from his lips making it feel even fucking better. You don't pay attention to how loud you are, Instead running your hands all over your body, playing with your nipple before moving up to run your hands through your hair as he brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

You move your hands down, gripping onto his head, riding his face hard, until your orgasm finally overcomes you, exploding through your body as you scream out.

With ease, Chan lifts you off his face, your body still shaking from your orgasm. You're exhausted already. “I'm not done with you yet.” He laughs, sliding up on the bed. He leans against the headboard, pulling you towards him. You climb on top of him as he holds his cock, letting you sink down onto him.

“Fuck.” He groans. You gasp as your pussy stretches out, feeling full and he is only half way inside you. Chan thrusts up, pushing his already pulsating cock as deep into you as he could. He leans forward, pressing his chest against yours. His cold hand gently grazes your face, moving down to your breasts. He leans forward, taking your nipple between his wet lips, swirling the tip of his tongue around it. You moan as you grind on his cock, your arms wrapped around him, dragging your nails across his back while you begin to bounce harder and faster.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groans.

“Chan..” you cry out, your head thrown back, eyes closed, while you ride him.

You feel him move, his cold hand grabs your haw, forcing your face towards his.

“You look at me while you're moaning my name.” He groans. He leans forward, placing his tongue between your breasts, licking up your chest, moving up your neck and to your jaw. He smirks as he grabs the back of your head, colliding his lips with yours. He harshly thrusts his tongue into your mouth, kissing you so hard.

Chan breaks the kiss, moving his hands under your thighs. He lifts you up just enough so he can move, slamming you down onto the mattress, his cock still inside you. You turn your head, crying out as he rams his cock into you, his large hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing.

“Look at me.” He moans. You can't hear him, you're in your own little blissful world.

He grabs your jaw once again, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes open, staring at the man fucking you hard, but not as hard as you know he can go.

“Open your fucking mouth.” He spits, his eyes moving from your face to your mouth, to your tits and back up to your mouth. You stare at him as he rams his cock into you, smirking as you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

Chan leans down slightly letting spit fall from his lips, landing on your tongue. “Swallow it.” He whispers, watching you intently. You put your tongue back in your mouth, smiling as you swallow his saliva, making him moan louder and fuck you harder.

“So fucking hot.” He groans, holding your legs above your head. He places his thumb on your clit, rubbing fast, wanting you to cum one more time for him.

You're screaming out as he rubs and fucks you, your pussy tightening around his cock until you cum again, covering his cock in your juices. Chan holds tightly to your ankles, his own orgasm just seconds away. A few more thrusts he cums, spilling his seed deep inside of you, breathing heavily as he slowly thrusts, milking himself of everything he has.

Chan pulls out of you, smiling widely as he walks naked to your bathroom, turning on the shower for you before he comes back to help you out of the bed. As you shower and clean yourself up, Chan puts his boxers back on, crawling into your bed to wait for you. You come out in your shirt again, making him frown.

“You better have panties on this time.” He murmurs.

“No promises.” You laugh.

You crawl into bed beside him, snuggling up to him. While you felt satisfied and exhausted you couldn't help but feel the anger bubbling up again and you were getting tired of it. Chan must have sensed it, he pulls you in closer to him.

“We'll get it figured out, okay?” He whispers. You nod your head, your eyes already closed. You really hoped they would.

In the morning you woke up… alone. You looked all around your room and there was no sign of Chan.

“What the fuck?” You mumble, rolling over to sit on the edge of your bed. So he fucks you, and then leaves in the morning? You knew it was a little irrational to be this angry about it but was it really so hard to stay until you fucking woke up? Honestly, the audacity of some fucking men. You stood up, not caring you were only wearing a shirt and no underwear. You ripped your door open, stomping down the stairs. You could hear whispers coming from the living room and they stopped as soon as you entered the room.

“Good morning.” They all smiled at you. Except Chan.

“You!” You yell, pointing at him.

“Y/N.” He starts.

“Don't y/n me! What the fuck?” You snap.

“Remember how I told you we'd get it figured out?” He asks.

You drop your arm. “Yeah.”

“Well we figured it out.” He sighs.

“And?”

“And we've got a problem.”

[If you enjoy my stories and would like to help me be able to keep writing, please consider commissioning a story or donating. It would help me out tremendously. You can buy me a coffee. Thank you, I love you all.]

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solxamber · 1 day ago

Note

Has anyone requested: Diasomnia, 3, hurt/comfort yet? If not may I request it?

Strength to Believe || Sebek Zigvolt

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "I'll always be here" ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Sebek's sword sliced through the air with relentless precision, yet his expression remained taut with frustration. The training grounds, bathed in the golden light of dawn when he started, were now drenched in the pale glow of moonlight.

He had been practicing the same intricate moveset for hours, his determination unyielding despite the clear strain on his body.

From your spot near the sidelines, you watched him with unwavering focus. You'd been there the entire day, offering cheers, water, and snacks at intervals, though Sebek barely acknowledged your presence.

"Don’t overdo it, Sebek," you’d called earlier, only for him to reply, “I must master this, for Master Malleus deserves no less than perfection!”

As the hours stretched on and fatigue set in, his strikes grew sloppier, his movements less precise. Even so, Sebek pushed himself forward, the fire of his ambition refusing to dim.

It was nearing 3 a.m. when he finally executed the sequence flawlessly. His blade danced through the air, his footwork aligned with perfect grace. When he stopped, chest heaving, the realization that he’d done it slowly dawned on him.

“That was incredible!” you exclaimed, rushing to him with a wide grin. Before he could react, you wrapped your arms around him in a jubilant hug. “You did it, Sebek! I knew you could!”

Sebek stiffened in your embrace, his cheeks warming at your proximity. As he looked down at you, exhausted and flushed but beaming with pride for him, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.

He replayed the day in his mind—the times he dismissed your encouragements, brushed off your care as unnecessary, simply because you were human. Yet you had stayed. You had believed in him.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hm?” You tilted your head up at him, still smiling.

“Why have you stayed here all this time?” Sebek asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost vulnerable. “I… I have not been kind to you. I’ve called you ‘just a human,’ dismissed your words, and yet… you stayed. You cheered for me. You believed in me.”

Your expression softened, and you reached up to cup his cheek. He froze, wide-eyed, as your thumb brushed against his skin.

“Because I care about you, Sebek,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I know how hard you work, how much you want to prove yourself. I’ll always be here to support you. No matter what.”

Your words struck him like a blessing, one he felt deeply unworthy of. His throat tightened, and for once, he had no retort, no haughty remark about his devotion to Lord Malleus. Instead, he swallowed hard and nodded, his usual bravado replaced by quiet gratitude.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “For believing in me. For staying.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing his cheek once more before you dropped your hand. “Always,” you promised.

Sebek let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with his hours of training. As he looked at you—your tired yet radiant expression, your unwavering support—he felt an unfamiliar warmth take root in his chest.

And for the first time, he wondered if his greatest strength wasn’t just his swordsmanship, but the person who stood beside him, believing in him when he struggled to believe in himself.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #Sebek #𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 holiday event

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movingmusically · 2 days ago

Note

Hi can I request an austin one shot where there is only domestic fluff

Author’s Note:

I decided to make this one a collection of sweet memories rather than flowing story.

Word Count: 4,596

Masterlist

The Little Things

The soft glow of the TV lit up the room as you nestled deeper into the sofa, your legs draped lazily over Austin’s lap. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between you, mostly forgotten as his hand moved in slow, absent-minded circles on your calf. The movie—a romcom you’d picked—was nearing its predictable, heartwarming ending, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention.

Instead, you let yourself sink into the quiet comfort of the moment. The warmth of his hand on your skin, the soft sound of his breathing blending with the faint hum of the TV—it all wrapped around you like a cocoon. You could see the subtle curve of his lips, the way his head tilted back as he absently traced patterns on your leg. The simplicity of it made your heart ache in the best way.

Your mind drifted to the smaller moments, the ones that didn’t make grand romantic gestures but settled in your heart all the same. It was those moments, more than anything, that made you realise just how deeply you loved him.

The first time Austin cooked for you felt like a glimpse into a part of him you hadn’t seen before. It was early in your relationship, it had been a casual invitation to his place—nothing fancy, he’d said—but when you arrived, the smell of cedar and herbs greeted you before he did. You found him in the backyard, standing near his prized wood-fired pizza oven, the flames dancing warmly behind him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he’d said, flashing you that easy smile as he turned a cedar plank over in his hands, the fillet of salmon already resting on top. “Thought I’d keep it simple tonight—just some salt, pepper, and a little lemon. Let the wood do the work.”

You’d perched on a chair nearby, watching as he moved between the oven and the small outdoor prep station he’d set up. He worked with a careful ease, sprinkling fresh dill over the fish and checking the temperature inside the oven with practiced precision. It wasn’t just cooking; it was something closer to art.

“You’re really into this, huh?” you teased, trying to keep your voice light, though the sight of him so focused and content made your chest ache in the best way.

He glanced at you, that boyish grin creeping across his face. “It’s the smell,” he said, motioning to the oven. “The wood, the smokiness—it reminds me why I got this thing in the first place. Plus, it’s kind of a win-win. I like making it, and you get to eat it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “So selfless of you.”

When he finally set the plate in front of you, the dish was both simple and beautiful—a fillet of salmon, perfectly tender, paired with roasted vegetables he’d tossed with just the right amount of seasoning. You’d taken one bite and practically melted into your seat.

“This is incredible,” you said, meaning every word.

He leaned back in his chair, a look of quiet satisfaction settling on his face. “Good,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

That night had stayed with you, not just because the food was delicious—though it absolutely was—but because of the way he’d shared it with you. The way he’d talked about the smoky cedar and the simplicity of salt and lemon, like it wasn’t just a meal but a piece of himself.

It became something of a tradition after that, his cedar-plank salmon making an appearance on birthdays, anniversaries, and lazy Sundays when he just wanted to do something special for you. But no matter how many times you’d had it since, nothing quite compared to that first night—watching him cook under the stars, the wood-smoke curling through the air, and the way his smile lingered, like he knew he’d made an impression you wouldn’t soon forget.

Another memory bloomed, soft and sweet, as if it were happening all over again. It had been at a small gathering—friends, music, and the low hum of conversation filling the room. You’d been sitting beside Austin, your hand resting on his knee, when someone mentioned party tricks.

“I don’t have one,” you’d said with a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Unless embarrassing myself counts.”

Austin had grinned, that easy, mischievous smile you loved so much. “I’ve got one,” he’d said casually, reaching for a napkin from the table.

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied, already folding the napkin with practiced precision. His fingers moved quickly, twisting and creasing with a focus that drew the attention of everyone nearby. The group around you leaned in to watch as he shaped the plain napkin into something delicate and intricate.

By the time he finished, he held out a perfectly crafted rose, its petals soft and curved, the stem twisted just enough to look real. “Voilà,” he said, offering it to you with a little flourish.

You’d stared at it for a moment, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You’ve been hiding this from me?” you teased, taking the paper rose from his hand.

“I can’t give away all my secrets at once,” he said, his voice low and playful.

“Where did you even learn this?” you asked, holding the rose carefully like it was something fragile.

He leaned back with a grin, crossing his arms like he was about to tell a story he’d been waiting to share. “There was this kid at my sister’s high school—cool Brazilian guy, leather jacket, the whole vibe. He used to sit in the corner of the cafeteria making these for the girls. I was enamoured with him and begged him to teach me.”

You laughed at the image of teenage Austin, wide-eyed and determined to learn this one oddly specific skill. “And did it work? Did you impress anyone?”

His grin widened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Well, you tell me.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, shaking your head. “Yeah, it worked.”

The rose from that night had been the first, but not the last. Over time, you’d quietly started saving them, stashing them in drawers, on shelves, even between the pages of books. There was a small collection now—each one a little different, depending on the material he’d had to work with, but all of them unmistakably his.

Every time you looked at them, you thought of moments like that night. The way he made something so simple feel special, the way his hands could turn an ordinary napkin into something extraordinary, and the way he always managed to make you feel like the most important person in the room.

From there, your thoughts drifted to the day you moved into your first place together. It had been chaos—boxes everywhere, carefully chosen vintage furniture waiting to find its place, and a list of things to do that seemed endless. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, the two of you had tackled it with a mix of determination and laughter.

“I think this couch is going to be perfect here,” you’d said, stepping back to admire the mid-century piece you’d hunted down at a vintage store.

Austin had tilted his head, considering it. “Yeah, but it’s missing something. Maybe a throw or a few pillows to make it feel less… serious.”

You’d grinned at his unexpected but very valid opinion. “Who knew you had such strong feelings about throw pillows?”

“I contain multitudes,” he’d replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The best part of that day, though, had been painting the walls. You’d insisted on doing it yourselves, ignoring the advice of friends who told you to hire professionals. Armed with rollers, brushes, and a playlist you’d both curated, you spent the afternoon covering the white walls in a warm, inviting shade that instantly made the space feel like home.

Austin, of course, couldn’t resist turning it into a competition. “I bet I can get my wall done faster than you,” he’d declared, already reaching for his roller.

“You’re on,” you’d replied, narrowing your eyes.

But your friendly rivalry quickly devolved into chaos when you “accidentally” flicked paint in his direction. He’d retaliated, and before long, you were both covered in streaks of colour, laughing so hard your sides hurt.

At one point, he’d grabbed you around the waist, smearing paint on your cheek as you tried—and failed—to wiggle free. “Guess this means I win,” he’d said, his voice low and teasing.

“You cheated,” you’d accused, breathless with laughter.

“You started it,” he’d replied, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, leaving a faint smudge of paint behind.

When the walls were finally painted—more or less successfully—you stood together in the middle of the room, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the windows, bouncing off the still-drying paint and making the space feel alive.

“This is going to be amazing,” you’d said softly, slipping your hand into his.

“It already is,” he’d replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he glanced around the room. Then his eyes settled on you, his smile softening. “We make a good team.”

And in that moment, surrounded by your collective mess and the beginnings of what would become your home, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place.

You shifted slightly against him, and his hand slid higher, resting lightly on your knee. His touch pulled you back to another memory, one that still made your heart ache in the best way.

The time you’d caught a nasty flu and spent days feeling miserable, wrapped in blankets on the couch. He’d insisted on looking after you, keeping your water glass full, bringing you soup, and tucking you in with the kind of gentleness that made you cry when he wasn’t looking. He never once complained, not even when you’d been at your worst.

You’d tried to tell him not to come over, insisting that you didn’t want him catching whatever awful bug had knocked you down. But Austin being Austin, he’d ignored you completely. He’d shown up at your door with a grocery bag in one hand and a determined look on his face, like this was a challenge he was more than ready to tackle.

“You’re supposed to be avoiding me,” you’d croaked, your voice hoarse and your face pale as you stood in the doorway, a tissue clutched in your hand.

“And you’re supposed to be resting,” he’d countered, breezing past you to deposit his bag on the kitchen counter. “Now sit your stubborn ass down and let me take care of you.”

It was hard to argue with someone who was already unpacking cartons of orange juice, a medley of medicines, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. You shuffled back to the couch, your blanket trailing behind you like a cape, and collapsed with a groan.

Over the next few days, he didn’t just look after you—he made it an art form. He was everywhere, refilling your water glass the moment it ran low, heating up soup (always homemade, never canned), and checking your temperature every few hours. When the coughs kept you up at night, he sat beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back until you finally fell asleep.

The first night, he’d perched on the edge of the couch, but by the second, he’d given up entirely and joined you under the mountain of blankets. “You’re already a mess,” he’d teased, tucking you in against his chest, “what’s a little more exposure?”

You’d felt awful—feverish, achy, and more than a little embarrassed that he was seeing you like this. But he never made you feel like a burden. If anything, he made it seem like taking care of you was exactly where he wanted to be.

And then there was the moment that really got to you. It was late, and you’d just had a coughing fit that left you red-faced and teary-eyed. He’d come back from the kitchen with a mug of honey-laced tea, his brow creased with worry as he knelt beside you.

“Hey,” he’d murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re okay, baby. Just sip this for me.”

It was the way he said it, soft and steady, like nothing else in the world mattered except you getting better. When he kissed your forehead, murmuring that you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. You’d turned your face into the pillow to hide them, but he’d noticed anyway, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, your voice thick with emotion. “Just… tired.”

“I know,” he’d said, settling beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

And he had. Through the chills, the fever, and the endless rounds of tissues, he’d stayed. Even when you’d insisted he should go home and get some real rest, he never once wavered.

It wasn’t the grand gestures that had stayed with you—it was this. The quiet patience, the way he never flinched when you were at your most unlovable. The way he cared for you so selflessly, like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. It was then, as he sat beside you in the dim glow of the living room lamp, his hand resting on yours, that you’d realised you loved him more than you ever thought possible.

And then there was the music. It was one of your favourite things about him—how he could sit down at the piano or pick up his guitar and make the world feel quieter, softer, more whole. He didn’t just play; he felt the music, letting it flow from his hands like it was a language only he truly understood.

You’d seen him lost in those moments countless times, and each one made you fall a little harder. The way his brow would furrow in concentration, his fingers gliding over the keys or strings as if they were an extension of himself. He’d sometimes hum along, his voice low and warm, or glance over at you with a small, knowing smile, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.

The first time he’d played for you, really played, was late one night when neither of you could sleep. You’d wandered into the living room, finding him at the piano, his fingers tracing a melody so soft and delicate it felt like a lullaby.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you’d asked, padding over to sit beside him on the bench.

He shook his head, his eyes still on the keys. “Thought I’d work some things out here instead.”

You’d leaned against his shoulder, listening as the notes filled the space between you. After a moment, he glanced at you and started playing something familiar—a love song you’d heard a hundred times but had never sounded quite like this. His voice joined the piano, raw and unpolished but filled with something that made your chest ache.

“Don’t stop,” you’d whispered when his hands paused on the keys.

He smiled softly and kept playing, the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sitting beside him, your head against his shoulder, you’d felt something click into place—something you hadn’t even realised was missing.

Another memory surfaced, this one more chaotic but no less cherished. It was a lazy Sunday, one of those perfect, unhurried days where time seemed to stretch endlessly. Austin had picked up his guitar, settling on the couch with it balanced against his thigh. You’d sprawled out next to him, your head resting on the armrest as you watched his fingers pluck out a soft melody.

“What’s that?” you’d asked, your voice light and curious.

“Not sure yet,” he’d replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Just messing around.”

As he played, you started humming along, letting the music carry you. Emboldened by the ease of the moment, you started to sing—a brave but ill-advised decision given your complete lack of pitch.

Austin’s hands stilled, and he looked at you, his brows lifting in exaggerated surprise. “Well, that’s… something,” he teased, his grin widening as you smacked his arm.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, though you were laughing despite yourself.

“I’m not!” he insisted, his voice thick with mock seriousness. “It’s unique. One of a kind, really.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you’d said, nudging him with your elbow as you tried to suppress your own giggles.

“Laugh? Never,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated sincerity. “You’re… breathtaking.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he started playing again, you kept singing—off-key, out of rhythm, but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it. And despite—or maybe because of—how bad it was, he never stopped smiling.

Eventually, he’d set the guitar aside and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re a terrible singer,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with affection. “But I love it anyway.”

You’d laughed, leaning into him as the room filled with the quiet hum of love and music and the kind of joy that only came from being completely, unabashedly yourselves. Even now, the memory of it made your chest feel warm, like you were still wrapped in his arms.

The memory made you smile, the warmth of it settling deep in your chest. Your legs were already draped across Austin’s lap, but when he caught the shift of your weight, he tugged you closer, his hands gently guiding your hips until you were nestled against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the way his fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles on your thigh gave away his affection.

You shook your head slightly, not ready to share just yet. Instead, you leaned further into him, your hand resting on his chest as you let the steady rhythm of his breathing settle you. The quiet hum of the movie faded into the background, and your mind drifted to another moment, one filled with warmth and love, ready to unfurl like the pages of a favourite story.

The memory came to life so vividly that you could almost feel the warmth of the kitchen that day. You’d wanted to surprise him, determined to bake a cake from scratch despite your distinct lack of baking skills. The result had been… well, let’s just call it memorable. The cake was lopsided, leaning precariously to one side, and the icing—meant to be a smooth, glossy finish—looked more like it had been applied with a paintbrush by a distracted child.

But you’d worked so hard on it, painstakingly piping “Happy Birthday, Austin” across the top in wobbly letters that looked more like a first grader’s handwriting than your own. By the time he came home, the kitchen was a disaster zone—flour dusting every surface, chocolate smudges on your cheek, and a pile of discarded attempts at icing in the sink.

When he saw it, though, he’d grinned from ear to ear, like you’d given him the world. “Did you make this?” he’d asked, his voice full of awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d gone to the trouble.

“Well, I tried,” you’d admitted, your cheeks heating as you gestured to the cake. “It’s a bit of a mess, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he’d cut in, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you, ignoring the faint taste of sugar and flour on your lips.

That night, you’d sat across from him at the table, watching as he took his first bite. “This is amazing,” he’d declared, his blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. You knew it wasn’t—the cake was dense, and the icing a little too sweet—but he’d eaten every bite like it was a Michelin-star dessert.

After dinner, you’d put on one of his favourite songs, a soulful track that filled the space with a gentle rhythm, and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me,” you’d said, already pulling him toward the living room.

He’d let out a small laugh, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe you. “You baked me a cake and now you want to dance? You’re spoiling me,” he teased, but his hand was already sliding into yours.

The hardwood floor was cool under your bare feet as you stepped into him, his arms wrapping around your waist with an ease that made your heart flutter. He led you in slow, unhurried circles, the two of you moving in quiet synchrony as the music washed over you. There was no rush, no reason to impress—just the feel of his hands on your back and the warmth of his body close to yours.

At one point, he spun you out, his grip firm but gentle, and when you twirled back into his arms, your balance faltered just slightly. He caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping tighter around you as he grinned down at you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Can’t have you taking a tumble on my birthday.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, his eyes bright with affection as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good thing I’ve got you.”

The two of you swayed together again, his hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulled you closer. The song shifted into its final notes, but neither of you moved to let go, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a second skin.

“Best birthday ever,” he’d whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your ear as the music faded into silence. And you’d smiled, knowing that no gift, no cake, no grand gesture could ever mean as much as this.

The warmth of his hand on your thigh pulled you back to another moment, one of your favourites—those lazy mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Austin had always been a perfectionist when it came to his coffee, treating it less like a beverage and more like an art form. The La Marzocco espresso maker he’d splurged on sat proudly in the corner of your kitchen, gleaming like a piece of fine machinery. You hadn’t understood the obsession at first—not until you saw the way he lit up when he started his ritual.

It usually began with him weighing out the beans, his brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the scale to the gram. “You’d think I was performing surgery,” he’d joke, but there was no denying the satisfaction on his face when he got it just right.

Then came the tamping, the careful precision of his movements as he pressed the coffee grounds into the portafilter. “You’ve got to get it evenly compressed,” he’d explained once, his tone entirely serious. “Otherwise, the water doesn’t extract it properly.”

You’d leaned against the counter, watching with equal parts fascination and amusement. “So you’re telling me there’s a wrong way to make coffee?”

“There’s a right way,” he’d corrected with a grin, reaching for the Minor Figures oat milk. “And trust me, this is worth it.”

The steam wand hissed as he frothed the milk, his hand steady as he tilted the pitcher just so. “Barista blend,” he’d said once, holding up the carton like it was a prized possession. “It froths better. Or so they tell us.”

You’d teased him mercilessly about his dedication, but secretly, you loved it. There was something oddly soothing about the whole process—watching him lose himself in the craft, his focus so intense it made your chest ache.

When he’d handed you your first latte, the artful swirl of a heart floating on top of the foam, you’d been stunned. “You’re kidding,” you’d said, cradling the mug like it was a masterpiece. “How did you even do that?”

He’d just shrugged, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Takes practice.”

It had become a tradition after that—Saturday mornings spent in the kitchen, him perfecting his craft while you lounged nearby, content to let him spoil you. Sometimes he’d try new designs, laughing when they turned out more like blobs than flowers, and other times, he’d pull you into the process, teaching you how to steam the milk or tamp the grounds just right. You weren’t nearly as skilled as he was, but you didn’t mind. The way he’d stand behind you, guiding your hands, made it impossible to care about anything else.

And then there were the quieter mornings, when he’d bring the coffee to you on the couch, his own mug cradled in one hand as he settled in beside you. “Perfect cup,” he’d say every time, even when the foam was less than ideal or the milk wasn’t quite as frothy. It wasn’t about the coffee, really—it was about the way he shared it with you, the way he made the simplest things feel like rituals worth treasuring.

The memory lingered, warm and comforting, as if you could still smell the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air. You let it settle in your chest for a moment longer before the sound of Austin’s soft chuckle pulled you back to the present.

The movie’s credits had started to roll, but neither of you made a move to get up. His fingers continued their lazy circles on your thigh, and his other hand reached for the now-empty popcorn bowl, setting it on the table without a word. You tilted your head to look at him, catching the soft, sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because words didn’t feel like enough to capture the depth of what you were feeling. Instead, you smiled and shifted closer, draping your arm across his chest and pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

“Just thinking about us,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

“Yeah?” His hand moved to rest on your back, his thumb brushing soothingly against your shoulder blade. “Good things, I hope.”

“The best,” you replied, your smile widening as you closed your eyes.

You felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re all I need, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you tightened your arm around him, your fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of his shirt as you let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat guide you back into the quiet comfort of the moment.

The warmth of him, the ease of being wrapped up in his arms, and the soft glow of the TV fading into the background—it was everything you loved about him distilled into one perfect moment. And as your thoughts settled, you realised that no matter how many memories you’d made together, this one—this quiet, ordinary moment—might just be your favourite yet.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #fiction

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magical-reid · 2 days ago

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The Mark of Us

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompt: 20: I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.”

Summary: In the cold, shadowed Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy confronts his darkest self, tormented by his past and the weight of the Dark Mark. Despite his self-loathing, the reader refuses to abandon him, offering unconditional support, and declaring that even in his worst moments, he is still the most beautiful person they've ever met.

The Room of Requirement had conjured itself into a cold, dimly lit space tonight, its walls echoing the weight of the secrets it had witnessed. The usual warm, inviting glow was gone, replaced by shadows that flickered faintly with the low fire burning in a corner. You stood near the doorway, watching as Draco paced with restless energy, his back hunched under the invisible weight he carried.

He hadn’t said much when he’d dragged you here, his hand gripping yours with enough force to make your fingers ache. His silence, normally icy and calculating, was now fractured and sharp, like he was holding something inside that might rip him apart.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said suddenly, his voice rough and flat, the words slicing through the tense quiet.

“Then why did you bring me?” you asked, your tone steady despite the storm building in your chest.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face you. Instead, his head tilted forward, blond hair falling over his eyes. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t decide whether to curl into fists or stay open.

“Because I’m selfish,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wanted—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. “Forget it. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Draco.” You stepped closer, heart pounding as you tried to decipher the emotions rolling off him like crashing waves. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he barked, spinning around. The sheer anger and desperation in his eyes made you take a step back. “You don’t understand, alright? You think I’m someone I’m not. You look at me like—like I’m still worth something. But I’m not. I’m nothing. Worse than nothing.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his voice, but even more by the tears that threatened to spill over. “You’re not nothing, Draco. Why would you—”

“Because I’ve done things,” he hissed, his voice breaking, “things that you can’t fix with kind words and blind loyalty.” His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon. “You don’t know what it’s like to—to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look in the mirror. To know every choice you’ve made has only made things worse for the people you care about.”

“Then tell me,” you urged, stepping closer again. “Let me help you—”

“You can’t!” he exploded, yanking up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark was stark against his pale skin, black and malevolent, twisting like a brand that refused to let him go. It seemed alive in the dim light, a cruel reminder of what he’d been forced to become.

Your breath caught, not in fear, but in heartbreak. Draco’s arm fell to his side, his sleeve still bunched around his elbow as he looked away, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“There,” he said bitterly. “That’s who I am. A coward. A Death Eater. My father’s son.”

He turned his back on you again, his hands trembling. “Do you still think I’m worth saving now? Or do you finally see what everyone else sees?” His voice dropped, hollow and cold. “A monster.”

Your heart shattered at the raw pain in his words. You could see the way his shoulders shook, how he was trying so hard to hold himself together even as he unraveled. The boy who always prided himself on control was breaking right in front of you, and you refused to let him fall apart alone.

You stepped forward, gently placing your hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. Slowly, you turned him to face you. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a kind of despair that made your throat tighten.

“Draco,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your own tears threatened to spill. “I could see the worst parts of you and still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

He froze, his breath hitching. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered, his tone almost pleading, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your words.

“I do.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you even as his eyes darted away, ashamed. “You think this Mark defines you, but it doesn’t. I see you, Draco. Not the choices you regret, not the mistakes you’ve made. You.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the walls he’d built so carefully over the years crumbling with every moment you held his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” he croaked, his voice breaking completely.

“Maybe not,” you said, your lips quirking into the smallest, softest smile. “But you have me anyway.”

That was all it took. He let out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he reached for you, his arms pulling you close like you were the only solid thing keeping him from drowning. His face buried in your shoulder, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was his quiet, broken cries and the soothing words you whispered in his ear.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, your hand threading gently through his hair. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe it might be true.

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auguryofjellyfish · 1 day ago

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i read something that made me think deeper about Kamimura's death and how i feel about it....Tsuno's death left me catatonic on friday because i love her deeply, but Kamimura's got wedged in my gut like a shard of glass. or: why Kamimura's death feels worse to me than Tsuno's.

it mostly comes down to the matter of his potential as a person and the circumstances of his death put together.

Tsuno…she had already found herself. just as some other characters, we have met her after she had already grown into herself, and "completed her arc". she knew who she wanted to be and worked tirelessly to uphold that ideal. she had loving family and friends and lived her best life, one that brought her fulfillment. she kept being herself in the killing game. connecting, caring, and loving with all her heart. she remained true to herself until the end.

she died doing what she's always have…trying her best. losing her is deeply tragic because she shone so brightly in life. she didn't manage to do everything she wanted, and it's not like she didn't have problems or flaws, she could have grown further. she didn't die with 0 regrets. it's not like she was done, no, nowhere near. but she was complete.

but..Kamimura... what…did he have? years of suffering and depression, multiple suicide attempts, shaky and uncertain future. barely any family, no friends. Kamimura entered the killing game having almost nothing. but that's not the worst thing.

it's that he was just starting to grow. the killing game and the motives made him absolutely miserable but at the same time...he was starting to form positive relationships. he had started to accept at least some level of support, after years of having to be independent. and obviously, there's Ken- who, if they all had gotten out, would 100% have stayed in Kamimura's life.

he contemplated his life and his dreams. he set a goal. even if small, he was still looking forward. he was starting to become more connected, to gain things he didn't have before...ever so slowly, he was starting to change...and i'm sure, despite his cynicism and ever-present struggle, despite the possibility of dying at any moment...that deep down, the littlest seed of hope for his future was just starting to grow.

and then he died.

it's not only him. it's also his massive unrealized potential. unexpressed feelings, unsaid words. un-lived life. he didn't manage to build a life that brought him satisfaction. he didn't…he didn't manage to do a single thing with his life that he wanted. he was nowhere near his full potential. he died as he lived and he's just gone and he got NOTHING. JUST after he was presented with the hope of his life possibly becoming different.

if Tsuno was at her best, a beautiful tree in full bloom cut short, then Kamimura was a little sappling slowly unfurling, and then getting stomped on and set on fire.

and you know what the worst part is? it didn't need to happen.

none of the previous deaths needed to happen, but they were forced to. this time, nobody snapped. nobody made a mistake, it was an active choice. there was NO good reason for him and Tsuno to die. just one person's selfishness, not even only to save their own hide but to also cause suffering. Tsuno's death was senseless and cruel but compared to Kamimura she at least retained some dignity. he didn't HAVE to be disrespected even in death, body torn apart and desacrated, like he was NOTHING. but he was, for the sake of a convoluted ass bullshit fucking plan.

yes, someone would have to die eventually with this motive. yes, not traumatizing hasegawa this badly thus incapacitating him would have added more risk for the culprit. idgaf. i'm not this upset that he died per se, it's that he died like this without being granted peace in death, with Hasegawa and everyone else unable to say proper goodbye because Kamimura's body's in fucking pieces.

#tetro danganronpa pink #i hope none of this comes off as criticism of the writing it 100% isn't #it's all through watsonian lens

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unholywriters · 2 days ago

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Chapter Five - New Teachings, new Friend

╰┈➤ Paring: Demon!changbin x male!demon reader

╰┈➤ Tags: poly!stray kids, poly!chan, poly!felix, poly!changbin, poly!hyunjin, poly!seungmin, poly!lee know, poly!jeongin, poly!han, possessive stray kids, demon AU, Sin AU, royalty AU, talks of hell, demon mentions

╰┈➤ Word Count: 7k

╰┈➤ Parts: teaser, 01, 02, 03, 04

╰┈➤ Taglist: @a-short-ass-disappointment @gnusihcom @felixneverbadd @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn @midlike

╰┈➤Summary: After waking up to see changbin and Chan standing above the coffin. The house now being filled with celebration before having to leave. That's when chan had to explain what was to happen next and refusal wasn't an answer so he made sure Changbin stayed near despite felix being near. So y/n was now stuck with changbin, but not everything is horrible now is it?

Sitting in the now dark room was confusing to me. One moment I was slowly getting pulled out the coffin by Changbin, he was alone and told me not to think too much about everything. But my mind was racing, I had just killed my family, but it felt short lived, like I should have done more to make them feel pain but I can't do too much. But I still felt dizzy while trying to get used to everything once again, like trying to take my first steps but the last look I saw on Changbin's face was like he knew I wouldn't have made it. Making me think of what Chan had said when I woke up in that pile. But when I woke back up, the room was dark. And everything felt stiff. But I kept my head up high and moved out of the bed. I rocked just to make sure I was awake before sitting up. Holding the edges of the bed felt like something was burning, looking down I see I was burning the bed when trying to keep myself steady. I didn't want to fall, but I needed to keep myself steady before standing up. I wonder if this is how new demons felt when they woke up for the first time. Trying to get a grasp on things once again only to feel like they had to start all over again.

The fire was spreading, but I felt at home in it. Like it was giving me energy, like I could do anything if I put my mind to it long enough. With one forceful push I stood up, but I could feel the surrounding fire bursting higher, making a loud whoosh sound behind me while I kept myself steady on the ground. Focusing on my breathing I looked at the door, my eyes now adjusting to the darkness, like I could see everything despite no lights being on. But then my ears got filled with sounds, I could hear people still chatting as if they were questioning things. Maybe questioning if I was going to wake up still or if this entire thing was a waste of time. Trying to focus on one thing, I heard footsteps coming closer while I tried to walk to the door. Trying so hard to get the ringing over with because it was messing with my head by the time I heard the door open. Looking over with a quick head turn, I saw someone’s outline. But after blinking a couple times, I could see it was changbin who seemed to be confused even. “Y/n? You.. woke up?” He sounded confused but also a bit…happy I think?

“Was I supposed to actually die or something?” I asked, I think sounding more annoyed than I already was. The ringing was getting to me but it died down slowly, fading into the background like everything else now that I could stand up more easily and just walk, nothing seemed to hurt anymore but I was used to the dark room, I can imagine the light's are still on downstairs and everything is loud as ever, but for now everything felt quiet. Like they were trying to listen in to the conversation just to see where it would go. “No, it usually takes longer than 30 minutes for a new demon to wake up but you woke up in just 10. The fastest one to wake up was I- the youngest who woke up in 15.” I could hear him getting closer, squinting my eyes to see him reaching his hands out to me, maybe to help me walk so I can understand things but I wasn't entirety too sure. “Is that why everything went quiet? Are they listening like I can hear them?”

He froze for a minute, almost like he wasn't thinking I wouldn't be able to hear things for now, maybe I wasn't supposed to but it just happened like nothing else was wrong. “You have a lot of things figured out given that you have had nothing demon related prior. can you see me in the dark?” “As if the lights were one but they aren't.” I could feel his touch while he lead me out of the room, walking to the door into the hallway. It felt like walking on a tip rope but it was still manageable. “Then the lights downstair might blind you for a while. I'll have to show you when the party is actually over.” “There's still more with this?” I thought that by now almost everyone would have left since I done the main show, maybe not to everyone's liking but just enough to keep them satisfied while they return to what they were doing any other day or even before this was all planned. What else was there for me to do? Show them I can barely walk and stand anything too bright as if I just woke up from a long sleep and the sun was now flashing in my eyes?

“Not a lot, it will show itself when we get downstairs.” Walking down the stairs seemed to somehow help with balance, but the room was still bright. But I could handle it even with the sounds piling back up like when you have headphones back on and everything is trying to play out at once. With there being very little what I can do but I handled it. Looking around everyone seemed to look at me with a curious look, like some were surprised to see that it was actually me, some wanted to see what else I could bring to the table, like watching a pawn slowly become more than a knight, but a queen. Though I do like the sound of that, I wasn't sure if it would be everything I'm thinking it would be from the start and I'm not sure if I want to push that, or rather if I have a choice if I don't want to push anything anymore. “Chan and Hongjoong are outside talking with hyunjin, I'll guide you there to make sure you don't fall.” I wanted to tell him no, that I could handle it since it felt like getting drunk when I was home alone. But this was more intense the way I get at home, but he stayed close while I walked.

Slowly getting the pop in my steps back felt like owning the stage again in its own way and that's what I liked to do when I would walk. Outside seemed to feel different somehow, like there was a pressing weight of tension waiting to see if anything would be different, but they weren't at the window spot I saw hongjoong at before getting here. Changbin took me to the garden that seemed to be private since no one else seemed to go back there without reason. It felt weird walking back there, but when we got further down, I saw hyunjin looking down while being tied up. His wings were being forced opened with chan having to stand to the side, his stance looked angry while someone else seemed to hold a sword that hongjoong was holding out to them. “Now what in the fuck is happening here?” I opened my mouth before changbin could, seeing hyunjin whip his head up to look at me, chan slowly looking over and relaxing. Hongjoong looked curious while the man with him, he seemed to look a little angry, but curious as well. “Oh thank you fucking flames you woke up.” Hyunjin looked more relived as his wings were able to now finally be lowered.

The robe vanishing from his hands while Chan moved closer to him. Helping him stand up while having a look that screamed worry, but I could see, no I could smell fear, something I don't think anyone else could smell. “Oh well, seonghwa you have an entire place to do cutting. Send the sword back home.” Hongjoong let out a small sigh, almost sounding disappointing while the taller man next to him let the sword vanish into flames before keeping his arms behind his back. Chan taking hyunjin away from the two, Hyunjin hissing while trying to move his wings since it seemed to have been painful being there in waiting for so long just to see if I was going to wake up or not. Hongjoong begun slowly walking over to me, that man staying behind him like he was waiting for another order, Changbin kept his arm over me, trying to keep me closer behind him while also making sure he looked as big as possible to keep the two of them far back as he could in this instance. “Alright alright, we won’t scare them too much come seonghwa, wooyoung still wants to make sure his best friend is still alive, then after that we can head home. I know you're itching to tear someone in half, aren't you?”

I watched them walk to the gates that came to the garden, hongjoong having a skip in each step while that taller man just kept walking. Looking back at the other two, Hyunjin stood up, his clothes still looked just fine, his hair being a mess, his eyes being wide while he was slowly calming down. Chan seemed to whisper things in his ear, making sure he was helping hyunjin calm down more before letting him go while me and changbin slowly got closer. I had questions; I wanted to ask so much but I knew the only person who had those answers would most likely be Chan, and he had his hands full and I knew better than to mess with someone trying to keep someone they see as family. Slowly looking over, even changbin looked worried as he got closer, trying to make sure he really was fine before we would've had to returned. But Hyunjin slowly stood up, shaking the hair out of his face before rolling his shoulders. Like this was just another day, and he was getting through it. Cracking his neck some while letting out a relaxed sigh before looking at all three of us, but focusing back to me. “All of this will be explained after we make a talk for the others alright? Don't worry about me till afterwards if I don't start jumping around.”

The moment he started walking, Changbin went after him. Watching him he wrapped his hands around Hyunjin while the two were walking to the gates to join the others while I turned to Chan. He slipped on his mask to cover his mouth, but I could still se his eyes despite how hard his expression looked. “So, I take it he's not really the best friend or brother?” I wanted to break the silence, he didn't seem like he wanted to move, that making himself move would take more energy than not. So I slowly got closer, remembering that this is someone who the others respect and that I'm now tied to. He looked at me, almost like he didn't want to answer but I didn't stop staring at him. Wanting to see if there was anything I could do despite how late I felt like I was. What would’ve happened if I too late, would I have been killed out of anger, anyway? I mean I would've done that in his shoes, probably make it show just because one of my closest friends got hurt. Watching him, he slowly let out a breath before getting tensed back up again. “He’s technically my brother, since our sections are close. But he likes to make bets, not just deals. And if he gets his way, he makes it brutal. The last thing he cut from my crew, it was the youngest tongue and I was too late to get to him because of a trap. It took him years to grow it back and feel comfortable talking to him, or even anyone again. If you didn't wake up, he would've lost his wings in a slow way that takes years to grow back. And hyunjin adores his wings, it would've taken him decades before he grew them back, maybe longer or shorter to forgive you.”

He didn’t look at me, but I have to remember something, these guys aren't just demon’s but Sin's, by the looks of it. “I would've let him torture me till he thought it was enough. Might not replace the pain, but I didn't think I fell back asleep after everything. What happened?”

“You climbed out of the coffin but everything was awakening at once. You were practically trembling while trying to get yourself together but it was taking such a toll that before anyone else reacted. You just screamed, if anything you shook the ground and broke the windows, making the guards even fall to their knees along with some demons. You almost made Hongjoong kneel, he was pissed so many people saw that but when you stopped, you just fell. You didn't move, didn't tremble and didn't even shake like most. But you just laid there till we got you inside.”

He sounded more impressed while staring at me while I was confused; I caused that much damage? I had a feeling that everyone here could handle things, but was my scream that bad? Did anyone else from the outside even hear that? “Changbin told me that for me to stand up and already see in the dark and hear everyone was advanced for me is it, really?” “Yes. Most panic because everything is dark, they can't see or hear anything and assume they're dead and panic till they slowly hear someone.” it made me curious, what else was I able to do if someone was there to help? Would I have to figure things out for myself? Well I doubt that, with how many boys in this group someone would end up teaching me about something's before letting me figure things that fit myself. But the question is who would bother with that? Since I haven't met, everyone yet still but clearly things happened and it was slightly rushed since some of them haven't really met me yet and tonight was more of a first- or well second impression of me.

“What happens when we get back?” Without saying a word, we walked back to the main place, he was silent still but as we got closer, I saw the others standing in the middle of the large living room, hyunjin showing off his wings as happy as he could while looking at us. I felt weird now, the eyes were on me and I could hear the whispers more, looking around at people and seeing how they stopped talking. Changbin was right, I must really be surprising her people here after my last performance. One of them got closer, his face seemed more serious, his hair slightly covering his face while rolling his shoulders, slowly taking my hands into his while we stood closer. “Sorry we didn't get to meet before this, my name is Minho, but everyone else calls me Lee know. It’s a pleasure to actually talk to you.”

I wanted to say something, despite the smile he was giving me, one hand felt warm and the other one felt cold, it felt weird but I don't think I had time to ask a question, our attention was moved to the top of the staircase, Chan standing there like he was used to having to give speeches even after something happened, makes me wonder how many times he's had to do this, only at the end of it all just to go back home and let it out in his own way.

“Thank all of you for coming and helping all of us welcome a new demon into the world of hell. One that seems to hold more promise than some expected, I hope the next time any of us ever meet, you can see just how much things have changed in the years to come.” The cheers were loud, like they those loud random rings you'd sometimes get in your ears even when your note doing anything to get be getting them in the first place but I stayed put. Lee Know was keeping me closer while we all were looking at Chan, who was slowly looking around the room but not so much at us. He was keeping his head up high despite everything that could happen at this moment. I was still nervous, what if someone wanted to ruin this? Or was this just because I was so used to my family doing the same thing that now I’ve just accepted that it could happen anywhere else if I was present and someone wanted to embarrass me just for the fun of it?

But despite all of that it was like people were slowly glowing, like as if they were walking into a fire and this was now their time to say goodbye and plan more things. It made me curious as I watched some of them before looking down; it wasn't them that was being surrounded by fire; it was us. I wanted to scream, thinking I was going to burn but before I could even do that. I was Now standing in a garden; it was larger than the one hyunjin was in; the flowers were more different, but so was the air. It was hot, but I wasn't sweating it just had that feeling of it. But I also felt lighter, but that didn't erase the confusion I still had. The sky wasn't blue anymore; it was a bright red yet it looked like there would be stares in the sky, bringing a sense of white to the sky that was filled with the sounds of faint screaming and flames burning in the distance. I was in hell, the place they say where screams are never ending and no matter where you look there is nothing but torture, fire and screams.

I wanted to let out another scream, like something was wrong but then I felt a squeeze. Whipping my head around faster than I thought, I looked over to Lee know, his eyes now a dark red but he also just seemed more relaxed than he was a few moments ago. “Me and Changbin will explain everything, you burned my hand without thinking, probably assuming I was trying to keep you warm but then you burned the floor. Your abilities are free flowing and we needed to get you somewhere that wouldn't burn. But this helps, since you would've had to come here by the end of the night.” He explained, letting go of my hands to shake off some embers that fell to the ground and fix his tie. I felt embarrassed somehow, like how do I end up nearly burning someone and not realize I'm doing it? Wouldn't I just get hotter? “And don't worry about the screams, we figured it would be better to walk you to the main house instead of just appearing inside, this is just the front walkway. It also gives us time to explain things without overwhelming you. Since your abilities are going to be tied to your emotions, it's best not to get you overwhelmed for the time being.”

I looked around the place, more so taking in the flowers and the path. The flowers looked like they would never die, blowing in the wind despite their bright colors, they were letting off embers that flew away. It was like those large field scenes you see in movies where you just have to look around and slowly take it all in before you move. This is going to be part of me now, makes me wonder if the church people my mother wanted to impress ever thought I would be the one on the other side of the spear they claimed would endlessly kill me for my ways of living. I walked with the two; they stayed in front of me and let me walk on my own; I was happy since this meant I could mess with the flowers more on the walk there. But I was also making sure I was paying attention and wasn't getting too side tracked not to listen or anything in that nature.

“This is our section of hell, Chan calls this side Maniac since we have a larger number of those who aren't…truly there but always thought nothing would hurt them and they could get away with their actions. But since we all have our own smaller sections to run trough, you'll have lessons from each. Which was how it was supposed to go but Hyunjin and I brought up how confusing that would be. Sure you’d only see us in your dreams but that would've made things more confusing from the start, and we don't have time for that.” Lee know seemed like he had his speech planned out, knowing what to say and when so I didn't have as many questions as I would before we would return. “I have a question though.” “Ask it. We have time.” “It's about hongjoong and the ones with him, what about them?” I looked at the two of them, Changbin turning to Lee know as if he didn't know if my question needed to be answered. Maybe I should've waited, but him and the ones he's close with are going to be a problem, maybe even more so than I was thinking.

Lee Know gave a nod, like the two of them were going to o back and forth talking about everything and now it was changbin's turn to talk. “Hongjoong is more ruthless, our sections are close, but different. He's friendly which helps in his favor when he’s talking to people, some spill things to him he doesn’t need to know but nearly all demons know better than to give in with some words he says.” “The what about the one with pink hair? He seemed more deadly/” “you will hear this name a lot, but that one is Seonghwa, also known as his right-hand man and isn't scared to get dirty, and I mean covered in blood and guts, and would still walk like nothing were to happen. He's dangerous because Hongjoong got cocky for picking someone he wanted. Someone who wouldn't fear those in power, but even he struggles to keep Seonghwa in check because he fears no one. Despite most of us being considered being stronger, he would still fight and nearly kill any of us for fun. Which is why when you and me got to hyunjin I moved you behind me, knowing if Hongjoong leaned closer to you, Seonghwa would've launched thinking it was a sign to scare or attack you just to show you a glimpse of what you would do. But not even we know what you c5na do or how to stop it if you were wanted to protect yourself, which I imagine you would, and that would've made things a mess from the start.”

We stopped and the two of them turned to me, changbin looking worried while Lee know was trying to conceal something, maybe the same worried look but was waiting on me to process everything just so I can make sure I'm not going crazy or freaking about that but I was just trying to put pieces together. “So he took seonghwa when they were human and basically molded him-they- into what he wanted but he basically made a weapon that doesn't even listen to him?” “He wanted to show Chan that he could make even the most kindhearted of people into people who would toy with your emotions while torturing you, but he went so far with Seonghwa that them feeling pain is something even he can barely do, but over the eons seonghwa has toned down. But no one really wants to challenge him still since his moves and fighting are unpredictable despite him only being second in command to a demon lord.”

I could only listen at that, someone who could fight the others despite his own strength I could only look before taking the sight of the house now in front of me. It was like those large one story mansions that were more spread out inside of stacked into a well-thought out plan. At least no one ever misses out on their steps even for one day. Despite the surroundings, the place was a bright and pure white, like it was reflecting what people have lost when they have arrived, their innocence. Even stepping on a step, it was marble. I never seen something like this, it was polished, like someone had just gotten this done and had to make a run for it before they were to be caught by the rest of us. It was something interesting, but I still wanted to know what exactly was I supposed to do here. Besides learn other things, couldn't I do that at home? Without losing a job I worked so hard to enjoy?

“You will come here every day, since you need to get used to this and other things. Before your shows and days off, yes we are using those. Demon's don get days off to sit around there is always something to do. And since you need teachings Changbin is one of the best teachers we have for combat and such, fighting chan wouldn't go easy on you and it would piss you off, it does for everyone. Think of it like classes, expect some of them might not be fun at all and you will be very annoyed that it feels like you have no free time. But you need to understand, these are important so you aren't left with a million questions but hold them in so you can't express things and don't get hurt trying to figure it out. That is the main goal here, and it's going to sound like we're talking a lot with very little actions. But they are important.”

Lee know seemed to have this more practiced out than changbin was prepared for, I think his mind was still racing and he was now having to deal with me on top of things he was already doing and or worrying about before I got here and now things were about to get more chaotic. But I gave him a nod before trying to look inside the house like a curious cat, I wanted to see what was in there. What all would be in there before anything else and where would I go if I tried to stay here. How would that even work if I had tried to stay there? Would it be like entering a castle? Maybe one of those that are left crumbling and your just left to wonder what all happened here and how? The doors seemed locked shut and I don’t think either of them are going to be opening it just yet. But something still didn't feel right about anything. Like something was wrong, and no one was telling me and I needed to figure it out without saying so.

I took one step back from the large windows and tried to focus on my surroundings. What was I missing that felt like it was right in front of me? I moved my hand around and it felt like ripping through paper. It made my eyes widen, quickly turning around with my hand still out and seeing how fast everything was changing. I looked to see that Lee know was vanishing as if he were never here, his face never changing despite his body doing so. The surrounding field became nothing but burned grounds with fire crackling under. The house had disappeared from view and I was at the edge, like if I tried to open the door, I would've fallen into the flames just under me and that would’ve been it most likely. Moving back as fast as I could, I moved my hand down and looked around to see changbin. He had a more stern look while he watched me, like that one teacher that gave you a test and wanted to see if you would fail it or surpass his expectations. His face stayed cold as he raised his head up, arms stayed behind his back before slowly walking over.

The embers flying around from under his shoes as if they were bringing more light just so I could see his face more. His dark brown eyes changing from dark brown to red with each step till he got close enough but still leaving some room between us. “I was wondering if you would notice something before falling and actually dying this time.” How was I supposed to react to this exactly? I can't swing at him even if I wanted to, he looked more focus so any attack would've been pointless if I tried to. So I stood up straight, attempting to make myself look taller than I actually am despite him leaning down closer to me just to make sure our eyes stayed locked together. “What was all of that?” I tried to make my voice sound steady, watching a grin form on his face despite how innocent his face looked, head titled to the side like a cat just watching you do something in the corner knowing they can't talk to you.

“An Illusion. Well, minus the questions you asked about Seonghwa, those are real. But the house? You may be close but that is something you have to earn to see, it doesn't exactly look like that. It is true, you will be there, but you will be limited to the rooms needed for the day ahead before getting to see anything or anyone outside. Since we don't need you to be distracted for your studies and teachings.” His voice, it reminded me of honey, on the surface it was smooth and easily spread out, having a glow to it that made you want to focus on it but honey is sticky, if dried up it can even become to get out of no matter how much you try ti get out of it.

“So where are we exactly now?” “We're at the demon house, don't get me wrong. Just in one basement. This is where we fight and make sure you can tell when things feel wrong. Seonghwa is tricky and enjoys pushing new demons like you to the limit so he can kill you. Knowing hongjoong can barely keep up and would one day get surpassed if he isn't keeping up, but you need to stay strong and be able to tell when something is wrong.” Rolling his shoulders in his coat along with his neck, I watched it vanished even before he turned to look at me. His eyes having a dead look despite the redness in them, fire reflecting off of him like it was kissing him, but his arms showed a different story. Like they were ready to protect him or show off if they needed to and I needed to find a way to be prepared for what was about to come my way whether I wanted to.

The hard part of this is going to be fighting in heels, trying to stand my ground and making sure I don't get knocked off if he plans to throw attacks to me. But damn can I at least change first? I'm still in the outfit they gave me earlier at the party. I wonder if people are watching just to make sure I'm not just a pretty demon and that I'm actually having to do things. It makes me wonder about Seonghwa, the look in their eyes while they looked at hyunjin. like they were enjoying watching him slowly shake waiting for me. The way he didn't need to smirk or grin because his eyes showed it all. I don't know what it was, maybe me thinking about it and seeing how he looked up at me and Changbin when I finally said something. But when I finally blinked I was holding Changbin's hand, not in a loving way but as in me holding his fist, my eyes wide as I looked up at him but tried to keep the shock to myself.

His face stayed the same, but he raised a brow along with hearing a sizzle, it was his hand burning and mine getting hotter. But the color wasn't red like fire, it was black. With nothing there to bring any form of light into the flames, just a void that would move around flames would do. It made him pull away and look at his hand, there was a quick moment where he looked more surprised than me before keeping his face neutral once again, it made me wonder was that hurting him? I wanted to ask him a question, but something told me to duck, to get out of the way before he gets closer and I did. In doing so, I saw him appear with his hand like he was ready to grab me but I ducked down before he could, rolling over my outstretched leg and away from the edge. I turned to look at him; he looked more surprised, his head turns being slow. Like he was waiting to see if I would do anything else but I didn't know what I was doing or how even. I just had that feeling like if I didn't move, something would happen.

He said nothing for what felt like an hour, staring at me as if he were collecting his thoughts before he even thought about trying to say anything. But what could I do? “You're not doubting your instincts. But you move faster than you think you do. You're learning fast, but you also don't have a clue of how you're doing it.” I slowly stood up, looking at him while he slowly but fully turn to meet me. He sounded curious, maybe trying to see if anyone was trying to give warnings to his moves but how would they know what he was going to do? I highly doubt he does the same things repeatedly before trying to attack someone. It wouldn’t make any sense of him to do so. “Then again, given the things you’ve went though it makes sense you've learned to actually trust yourself quicker than others and then ask questions later just to be sure to see if it's even safe to do so. That's not a bad thing to do, in fact it even benefits you.” Holding his hand out, swirling flames around it like water, he created a spear, nothing too sharp but I can imagine nothing too dull either just to make sure I put effort into it.

Tossing it over to me, he did the same thing again and held one himself, dragging the sharp end across the ground while pacing slightly but his eyes never once leaving me. “What do you mean?” “Your used to being on your toes when you know the situation is tense, so if you need to pounce you can, if you need to run you run. But if you need to bite, you bite.” I wanted to relax, to put this weapon down and just ask how does he know these things about me when this is my first time talking to him, but he moved fast and attacked again, but this time spear in one hand with the other behind his back. Yet somehow the spear, no. Somehow I was stopping each movement, each time a hit was made, even if it was close and I didn't attack, it was still close and I was mainly trying to push him back, which was hard to do given his size and everything. I wasn't making progress, but one thing was clear to me, he was struggling to keep me in one spot since he was having to keep his eyes more focused on me and barely anything else.

I don't know how, but before he could strike once again, and he was moving quickly, but I kicked him back, causing him to stumble a bit before looking at me again. His shock showing more while I just stood there, spear in both my hands while I was trying to keep myself steady on the heels I was wearing because holy shit was that sharp. Maybe that was why he was surprised, because the heel was sharp and I used it to my advantage and kick him back so I can get some space between us and just overall keep him on his toes. This went on for what felt like hours, the weapons never changed the entire time but it was clear we were going until one of us felt tired or feel to our knees and couldn't get up. But it wasn't me, who was backing down, well no that's really a Lie. I was close to it despite changbin not using anything other than a spear and determination in his eyes.

I think I broke a heel at some point and kicked my shoes off but that was a dumb move, once I could actually feel the ground is when I wanted to give up, my feet were burning, the pain wasn't something I'd think would bother me but I haven't been near fire this close. But changbin being the man he is, he kept me distracted to the point I almost forgot about it till he made our spears vanish and picked me up off the ground. My feet now cooling off but the cool air was both relaxing and painful to feel but I didn't mind it. I could rest now and I was happy with it. I got to live out a dream of mine, being carried by a man with buff arms like a princess. “We went longer then I thought we would, you make this way more exciting than I thought would happen.” I wanted to tease him about it, but when I blinked we were back in my room after what felt like so long without being in here. I wanted to jump in joy because I missed my bed so much.

He slowly set me down, I turned to him with a smile and an offer. “Wanna stay for some food?” Within minutes, his serious Demeter had changed, and he was excited, his clothes changed from their serious all black to some fuzzy pj's while he ran me some shower water since I had a feeling I would fall asleep if I took a bath right now, but he was more than happy to help with cooking something to eat. I don't remember what we made, not because I was tired and felt like the day was driving me crazy, but because he was being silly and it was hard not to laugh and I didn't know if he was always like this or if was because I offered food and us to relax on my bed since that was the only place I wanted to be. I was just more than happy to be home after everything.

??? POV

200 years. It has been 200 years before another demon had come into the picture of everything here, the last demon that was here I ate slowly. Watching them lose their mind and didn't know who to trust despite being warned so many times. Falling for my lies and charm like it was a spider web they just couldn't see it, despite the screams of other bugs warning them. But they were always sweet to eat, finally so broken they had no fight left in them despite having no soul, but still. Eating them was amazing, but this one…y/n… the first one in such long showing up. I almost wanted to laugh when I heard about that stupid party. I didn't want to go, but I had to out of respect and so I went, I smelled him the moment he walked out of the car and got close enough to us. Sure they were handsome, but I was used to seeing handsome men around and most I couldn't touch so what was the use? Them killing their family was boring, there wasn't any flare to it, just stabbing and them passing out. But when they tried to get closer, I wanted to be a tease and act like I was going to kill him, but that scream…

That power, that feeling was something that shocked me, they fell back asleep and I wanted to eat hyunjin's wings just to watch him try so hard to stay confident with no wings to show off. It was something I always thought of doing, but he came back, he looked pissed and I wanted to laugh at it, but I didn’t And then watching him fight, it almost was cut too short before they were fighting changbin like he wasn't so much stronger and taller than him. But he made it worth the watch, the way they moved, jumped around and simply just pushed him back was enough to keep me interested. Mostly those who touch the grounds give up because the pain is too much but y/n had a point to prove clearly. I like you y/n. I want to eat you after you've been broken beyond saving.

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hrizantemy · 22 hours ago

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Nesta tipped the glass to her lips, letting the amber liquid pour down her throat. It burned, a scorching heat that clawed its way to her chest, but she welcomed it. The fire was better than the cold in her bones. Perhaps you can find it in yourself to try a little harder this year. Cassian’s words echoed in her mind, his tone clipped, as if her very existence was a weight he had grown tired of carrying. Harder. She should try harder. She swallowed the thought with another gulp, slamming the glass down on the table and motioning for a refill.

The tavern was dimly lit, its walls steeped in the scent of ale and desperation, a haven for people like her—people who didn’t want to be found. Nesta traced the rim of her glass with a finger, her gaze unfocused as the memories clawed their way to the surface. Every word he had ever thrown at her, every look of disappointment, every time he’d turned his back and left her standing there. It felt like drowning, except the water was inside her, filling her lungs with words unspoken, emotions unchecked. She wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough at all, and no matter how hard she tried, it never seemed to matter.

The liquor wasn’t numbing enough. The pain still burned beneath her skin, blistering, raw. Nesta grabbed the next glass, tilting her head back and pouring it down in one motion. Her throat ached, but she didn’t stop. Maybe if she drank enough, she could bury his words, bury the weight of expectation that pressed down on her shoulders. Her chest heaved as the alcohol hit her system, but the world didn’t quiet. It just spun faster, his voice still ringing in her ears. She couldn’t try harder—didn’t he see that she had nothing left to give?

“Another,” she rasped, her voice cracking as the bartender hesitated. She lifted her gaze, steel and fury shining through the haze of drink. The glass was filled without question, and Nesta wrapped her fingers around it like a lifeline.

He was right. Gods, he was right, and that knowledge cut deeper than any insult or dismissal ever could.

What had she been doing? Bedding strangers whose faces she couldn’t recall, whose names she never bothered to ask. Letting their hands roam her body in the dark, trying to fill the hollow void that never stopped growing. She drank and drank, night after night, hoping the burn of the liquor would drown out the noise in her head, the suffocating emptiness in her chest. But it never did. It only left her emptier, colder, and aching in ways she couldn’t name.

Her fingers tightened around the glass as she stared down at it. She wasn’t just drinking to forget—she was drinking to stop feeling altogether. As if, one day, if she poured enough poison down her throat, it would finally kill her. And the men… they were no better. She wasn’t looking for love or even comfort. She was looking for destruction, inviting it into her bed, letting it tear her apart piece by piece. Maybe if she ruined herself enough, no one would expect her to try. No one would expect her to be anything but the wreck she had become.

Nesta downed the drink, her throat burning, her chest tight with shame. He’s right, she thought bitterly, blinking against the hot sting of tears. Cassian had every reason to look at her the way he did, to speak to her like she was a disappointment. She was a disappointment. To him, to Feyre, to Elain, to herself. She slammed the glass on the table and rubbed her hands over her face, wishing she could scrub away the self-loathing, the memories, the person she’d become. But it clung to her like a second skin, impossible to shed.

And so, she ordered another drink, even as the realization clawed at her chest. He was right, but what does it matter? She wasn’t sure she had anything left to try with.

The glass hovered near her lips, her hand frozen as the memory surged, unbidden and sharp. Cassian’s voice, rough and unapologetic, echoed in her mind. “Your sisters love you. I don’t know why, but they do.” The words had been meant to cut, and they had. Even now, in the haze of drink, the wound throbbed fresh and raw. She took the shot, letting it burn down her throat, but it did nothing to quiet his voice. They love you.

Nesta didn’t know why, either. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as her mind spiraled. Feyre, who had risked everything for them, who had clawed their family out of the dirt with blood and sacrifice. Elain, soft and gentle, who always reached for Nesta even when Nesta recoiled. They deserved better—better than her scorn, her sharp words, her silences. She had been nothing but a weight dragging them down. A sister in name only.

Her chest tightened, a wave of self-loathing crashing over her. Why did they love her? What was there to love? She had never been kind like Elain, or brave like Feyre. She had been a barrier, a wall of thorns, cutting anyone who dared get too close. That wasn’t loveable. It was cruel, and yet… they stayed. Feyre, with her patient words, her endless understanding. Elain, with her quiet smiles and unwavering belief in Nesta, even when Nesta didn’t believe in herself.

Another drink. She tilted her head back, but this time the fire didn’t soothe her. Instead, it sharpened the ache. Cassian’s words rang out again. “I don’t know why.” Neither did she. It felt like a curse, their love, binding her to guilt she could never escape. If they loved her, she should try. She should be something worthy of that love. But instead, she kept drowning herself in drinks and men and excuses, hoping it would all end before she had to face the truth: she didn’t know how to be the person they thought she was.

She set the glass down, staring at the table through blurred eyes. They loved her, and she would never understand why. Maybe if they didn’t… maybe if they gave up, she wouldn’t feel this weight. This guilt. This unbearable need to try harder. But they hadn’t. And that was why their love cut deeper than Cassian’s words ever could.

She wanted to scream, to tear at her skin, to make it stop. She wished she could disappear, sink into the nothingness she felt clawing at her insides. Maybe if she were gone, if she could just fade away, her sisters wouldn’t have to carry the weight of her failures. They could forget the wreck she had become, the one who drowned herself in everything that might kill her, who couldn’t even love them in the way they deserved.

The thought clung to her, dark and suffocating. She closed her eyes and imagined it—fading away, slipping into the shadows until there was nothing left but brittle bones and rotted skin. She could picture it, her body wasting away, the ache of it turning to nothing, the world forgetting she ever existed. There would be no more burden. No more guilt. No more pain.

Her fingers tightened around the glass, but the cold, empty feeling inside her only deepened. Perhaps that would be better. Better than this. Better than living in a world where she was loved by those who deserved more than her. Better than facing every day knowing she would never be enough.

Nesta’s fingers gripped the edge of her glass as the thoughts of disappearing, of becoming nothing more than a hollow shell, pulled her deeper into the dark corners of her mind. She could almost feel the weight lifting, the world fading, when the sound of low voices broke through the haze. Fae males. Men—no, males. The word still grated on her tongue, as if their very presence was an insult to her existence.

She didn’t have to look up to know they were there. She could feel the shift in the air, the unnatural tension that followed them wherever they went. Their gaze was heavy, predatory, like they were measuring her, appraising her as if she were some prize they could claim. Their footsteps were slow, deliberate, the sound of boots on the wooden floor a reminder of their arrogance. Fae. So confident in their own superiority.

Nesta’s jaw tightened, a bitterness rising in her throat, but she didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge them. She couldn’t, not when she could already see it—what they wanted. They didn’t even have to say a word. The way their eyes lingered on her, like vultures circling a carcass, was enough. She could feel their eyes crawling over her skin, assessing, judging, already plotting their next move. They wanted something. Something from her, something she couldn’t give.

The sneer on their lips was unmistakable, curled with the kind of disdain that only those like them could master. She wasn’t worth their time, but they wanted to remind her of that.

Her fingers tightened around the glass, the liquid inside sloshing slightly as her temper flared. The pain in her chest, the weight of her guilt, pushed against the anger rising within her. How dare they look at her like that? How dare they think they could judge her? But they always did. Always had. Men, fae, it didn’t matter. They all saw her the same way—nothing more than a thing to be used, a thing to break.

She could feel their presence like an oppressive weight pressing down on her. They hadn’t come for her, not really. Not yet. But they would, if they could. She could see it in the way they waited, hovering just outside her reach, as if they knew she was vulnerable, knew she was broken and ready to be pushed further into the abyss.

Nesta’s heart beat a little faster, the anger building, and for a moment, just a moment, she wished she could tear them apart. The glass in her hand was cold, too cold, and she slammed it down on the table with a force that made the table rattle. She didn’t look at them, didn’t let them see how much their presence affected her. She refused to give them the satisfaction. But inside, beneath the anger and the self-loathing, there was the lingering burn of something else—fear.

Fear that she might become just what they thought she was. Fear that one day, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from becoming nothing more than a broken thing, discarded and forgotten.

The males were still lingering, their presence thick in the air, like predators circling a wounded animal. One of them, taller than the others, with eyes that gleamed in the dim light, leaned in slightly, his voice smooth and low as he spoke.

“You look like you could use some company tonight,” he said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “How about I buy you another drink, sweetheart? You shouldn’t be drinking alone.” His words were not laced with malice or mockery—no, this was flirting. Simple, smooth, and utterly confident in the way only Fae males could be.

The phrase, the offer, should have made her recoil. Normally, it would have. It would have been the perfect excuse, the perfect reason to indulge in something fleeting, something that would distract her from herself. She could already feel the familiar rush—the heat in her blood, the need to feel desired, the thought of throwing herself at them, letting their hands touch her, the bed waiting to swallow her whole.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything. She didn’t want to slip into someone’s bed just because it was easier than facing the ache of loneliness and emptiness that gnawed at her insides.

Nesta turned her head, meeting their gaze with a coldness that burned hotter than the alcohol in her veins.

“No,” she said sharply, her voice hard as stone. “I don’t need your company.”

Her eyes locked on theirs, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she held her ground. The weight of their flirtations, their glances, slid off her like water. She wasn’t about to be one of those broken women they could parade around, a prize to be won with empty words and smiles.

The taller male’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, not willing to push her too far. They weren’t rude, just persistent. Still, he didn’t flinch or scowl. He tilted his head, and the look he gave her was unreadable—admiring, even. His voice dropped lower, a touch warmer, as if to soften the rejection.

“Alright, no drink then,” he said, a subtle chuckle in his tone. “But if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to the counter, the clink of glass in the background filling the silence. They lingered a moment longer before moving away, the spell broken.

But she didn’t feel relief. Just the hollow echo of the choice she had made, the sting of the emptiness still there, still gnawing, still pulling at her heart.

Nesta’s gaze drifted back to the glass in front of her, the amber liquid swirling inside, taunting her. She could feel the burn in her throat from the last one, the warmth spreading through her chest, easing the ache, if only for a moment. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was the only thing that made her feel something other than the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her.

How many drinks, she wondered, before it was too much? Before her limbs turned to lead and her head spun in that hazy, welcome blur? How many before she would stagger out of here, the world tilting and swaying, and maybe just keep walking until she couldn’t walk anymore? Or until the bartender decided enough was enough, his eyes hardening, his patience thinning. He’d seen too many people like her—broken, drowning in their own misery, and he’d know when it was time to cut her off, to stop serving the poison.

Her fingers gripped the glass tighter, her knuckles white against the cool surface. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to steady herself or trying to hold on to something—anything—that could keep her grounded. If she drank enough, maybe it would all go away. Maybe the silence, the thoughts, the pain that never seemed to leave her would finally vanish into the depths of the liquor. But she knew it wouldn’t. It never did. The haze always lifted, and the reality would crash back, sharp and biting.

She took another sip, the warmth spreading again, her throat burning with each swallow. But this time, she didn’t feel the rush. It was just the same empty feeling, stretched out and stretched thin. It would take more. It always did. More and more, until she didn’t feel anything at all.

Her eyes flicked back to the door, the place where she could slip out and disappear into the night. She could do that—just leave, walk into the dark and keep going. It felt like the only way to escape, the only way to free herself from this. But she didn’t. Not yet. Not tonight. Instead, her eyes fell back to the drink. One more. Just one more, she told herself. One more and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t feel so damn empty.

Nesta felt the presence before she saw her, a shift in the air, a subtle pressure that told her someone had closed the space beside her. She assumed it was the male from before—the one who had flirted, the one who couldn’t seem to take a hint. She was ready to turn and shut him down once again, her words sharp, cold, something that would push him away, make him rethink whatever he thought he could have with her.

But when she turned, it wasn’t him.

Instead, she was met with a woman—dark hair, green eyes that gleamed in the low light of the tavern, her gaze steady, searching. She stood there, an aura of quiet confidence surrounding her. For a moment, Nesta was frozen, her mind briefly unsure of how to react. She didn’t care for any more company tonight, especially not from anyone who might want to pass their pity on her.

She almost sneered, almost opened her mouth to demand what the woman wanted. What? Another person here to stare at the broken thing, see if it might be worth their time to fix?

But before she could speak, the woman cut in, her voice smooth and warm, not at all what Nesta had expected.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked, her tone light, almost playful, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No pity, no judgment, just a simple offer.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, the defensive wall inside her going up as she turned her gaze back to the drink in front of her. “I already have a drink,” she said, her tone clipped, not bothering to look at the woman directly. She could already feel the woman’s gaze on her, sharp and assessing, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need anything else from anyone tonight. Especially not some stranger offering to buy her a drink as if she couldn’t take care of herself.

The woman, however, didn’t seem deterred. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling slightly into a knowing smirk. “A better drink than that,” she said, her voice smooth, like she was offering a challenge, an unspoken dare.

Nesta’s chest tightened, her protective instincts flaring at the woman’s casual dismissal of the drink in her hand. She could feel her hackles rising—Who does she think she is? She wasn’t about to be judged for her choice of poison. It wasn’t anyone’s business how much or how little she drank, or why.

“I don’t need your charity,” Nesta snapped, but her words seemed to slide off the woman like water.

Without a word, the woman slid into the seat next to her with an ease that suggested this wasn’t her first time at this bar. She gestured toward the bartender with a quick flick of her fingers, two fingers held up. The bartender nodded almost immediately, already moving to prepare whatever drink the woman had in mind.

Nesta watched, her eyes narrowing slightly as the woman’s confidence seemed to radiate, an air of someone who belonged here, who had made this place her own. She didn’t look like someone who was trying to win favor or sympathy. She simply acted like she was above it all, in the way only people who had spent enough time in places like this could. A regular. Nesta could tell without even needing to be told.

Moments later, the bartender set a fresh glass in front of her, the amber liquid sparkling in the dim light, the scent of it far richer than anything Nesta had been drinking tonight. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t a cheap attempt to drown everything out. It was… something else.

For a brief second, Nesta felt the stirrings of curiosity, but she quickly squashed it down. She wasn’t about to be impressed. She didn’t need anything from this woman, certainly not a drink she didn’t ask for.

But the liquid in the glass shimmered, calling to her in a way that no bottle had before. Still, she kept her eyes trained on the woman, her voice steady. “I’m not interested.”

The woman simply gave a little shrug, not taking offense. “You can drink it or not. Up to you. But if you keep staring at it like that, I’m guessing you’re a little interested.”

Nesta didn’t respond, but she felt the heat of her own gaze still lingering on the glass. Something about it felt different—more… real than the numbness she had been swallowing down all night.

Nesta couldn’t help it. Her eyes flicked back to the glass the woman had set in front of her, the temptation lingering in the air between them. She didn’t trust easily, but the woman’s casual demeanor, the way she didn’t push or pry, made her wonder. She leaned in slightly, her voice low but curious. “What is it?”

The woman grinned, a flash of teeth that suggested she wasn’t just offering something because she had to—she was offering because she knew the answer would pique Nesta’s interest. She threw back her own cup with a practiced ease, the liquid disappearing down her throat in one swift motion. “Try it,” she said, her tone light and unbothered, as though she had done this a hundred times before.

Nesta hesitated for a moment longer, but the woman’s lack of hesitation, the way she made the act so simple, gave her a certain reassurance. It wasn’t anything suspicious. She wasn’t trying to poison her, wasn’t trying to trap her with some strange concoction.

With a breath, Nesta picked up the glass, her fingers gripping it firmly as if it could somehow ground her. She raised it to her lips, glancing at the woman again, who was still watching her, calm and expectant.

And then she took the drink, letting it slide over her tongue.

To her surprise, it didn’t burn. Not like the harsh liquor she was used to, the stuff that felt like fire in her throat. This went down smooth, almost velvety, with a warmth that seemed to settle deep inside her, but not in the way she expected. It didn’t numb her, didn’t drown her thoughts. It simply… eased them, like a soft breath after holding it too long.

She blinked, her eyes wide, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She had expected something jagged, sharp, something that would sting. But this… this was different.

“That’s…” she started, the words catching in her throat, unsure of what to call it. It was better than anything she had expected. Better than any drink she’d had in ages.

Nesta set the glass down slowly, the warmth still lingering in her chest. She glanced at the woman beside her, feeling the stirrings of something unfamiliar—something like appreciation, but she quickly pushed it down.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said, her tone clipped but not ungrateful. “But I’m not interested in whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely between them, the space heavy with the unspoken. Whatever the woman’s game was, Nesta wasn’t here for it.

The woman didn’t falter. She simply smiled, her green eyes flickering with something akin to amusement, but there was no mockery there—only curiosity. “And what is this, exactly?” she asked, her voice light, her smile growing a little wider, as though she was playing along.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, almost annoyed at the question. Wasn’t it obvious? She wasn’t interested in anything more than the drink. She wasn’t about to spill her entire life to a stranger who bought her a drink. She wasn’t about to let this woman weave some web around her and make her feel like she needed someone.

Nesta straightened in her seat, her eyes locking onto the woman’s with a steely gaze. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make this clear, but she did. Perhaps it was the way the woman had looked at her, the calm yet knowing way she had spoken.

“I’m not interested in women,” Nesta said firmly, her voice carrying a sharp edge as she narrowed her eyes, daring the woman to say something.

The woman paused for just a heartbeat, a flicker of amusement crossing her features before she let out a low chuckle. It wasn’t mocking, but it was certainly amused. “I didn’t think you were,” she said lightly, as if the idea itself was more of a joke than anything serious.

Nesta blinked, her brows furrowing at the response. The woman didn’t seem offended, didn’t seem disappointed. She wasn’t exactly offering anything, but she wasn’t withdrawing, either.

“You’ve made that clear enough,” the woman continued, taking a slow sip from her own glass, her eyes twinkling with that same calm amusement.

Nesta could feel her defenses rising, instinctively. She wasn’t interested. She wasn’t about to be cornered into something she didn’t want, no matter how charming or confident this stranger seemed.

“I said I’m not interested,” she repeated, her tone cool, measured.

The woman shrugged, completely unfazed, as though she hadn’t heard the challenge in Nesta’s voice at all. “I heard you,” she replied, smiling in that easy, knowing way. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly, though.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the woman. Friendly didn’t usually mean this—whatever this was. And she wasn’t about to get tangled up in something she didn’t understand. Still, there was something about the woman’s calmness, her lack of expectation, that made Nesta second-guess the walls she’d been so intent on keeping up.

She didn’t have time to figure it out, though, and for now, she simply decided to ignore it.

“Whatever,” Nesta muttered, her voice softening only slightly. She grabbed her drink again, swirling the liquid absently, wanting to push the moment away, to move on.

But the woman just smiled again, an easy, nonchalant smile, and took another drink. She wasn’t going anywhere, and Nesta wasn’t sure whether that annoyed her or comforted her.

Nesta sat back in her chair, her fingers wrapping tightly around the glass, almost as though she needed to hold it to keep herself grounded. She could feel the tension pulling at her chest, an unease that had been there since she first entered the tavern, and it seemed to swell with every passing minute.

Without saying anything more, she tipped the glass back and drank, the harsh burn of the liquor searing down her throat. It was exactly what she needed—what she wanted—that familiar, biting sting that cut through the numbness and reminded her of everything she was trying to forget. She didn’t want the smoothness the woman had offered, didn’t want any comfort, didn’t want to feel something that might make her weaker. The burn was sharp, unforgiving, and it was the only thing that didn’t lie to her.

She savored it, the fire crawling down her throat, coating her insides with a heat that made her feel something—anything—other than empty. This was familiar. This was something she could handle.

For a while, there was nothing but the quiet of the tavern, the soft clinking of glasses, the murmur of voices in the background. The woman didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more drinks or any kind of consolation. She just sat there, calm and still, her own glass empty as she watched Nesta with an unreadable expression.

Nesta didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. Instead, she focused on the glass in her hand, letting the alcohol do its work. She could feel her chest tighten with every sip, but it wasn’t the same tightness from before. It was the pain she was familiar with, the kind that made her forget everything else for just a little while.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but neither of them filled it. No questions, no prying. The woman had said her piece, had given her the drink, and now she just waited, like she understood what Nesta needed without asking for anything in return.

Nesta didn’t know how long they sat there, but eventually, the burn from her drink started to fade, and her mind drifted again, though the ache in her chest lingered, sharp and unrelenting.

When she finished the drink, she set the glass down with a heavy hand, the sting still there, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the gnawing emptiness.

The woman didn’t ask if she wanted more. She didn’t ask if she was okay. She just watched, her eyes steady but not intrusive, as though she knew Nesta wasn’t looking for comfort, not yet.

Nesta pushed herself up from the table, the weight of the drink still heavy in her gut. She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t owe the woman anything—no explanations, no goodbyes. Her feet were already moving, the familiarity of leaving this place, of heading back to her apartment, already setting in. Back to the emptiness, the silence, the cycle that would pull her down once more.

She wasn’t sure how many more nights she could do this—the drinking, the spiraling, throwing her guts up and lying on the floor afterwards, feeling like nothing more than a body that was just taking up space. She had spent too many nights doing exactly that, and she was sure tonight wouldn’t be any different.

As she turned, ready to walk away, a voice stopped her.

“There’s music here in a few days,” the woman’s voice rang out, calm and unbothered, like she’d been waiting for this moment. “You should come.”

Nesta froze for a heartbeat, irritation flaring within her. Music? What did that even mean? She didn’t want music. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She didn’t want to be a part of anything, not anymore. The woman’s voice was light, almost playful, and Nesta glared at her over her shoulder as though she might reject it out loud—tell her she didn’t need the invitation, tell her she didn’t need any of this. But she didn’t. She just stood there, her jaw tight, her chest seething with frustration, but no words came.

After a long, tense moment, Nesta simply turned and walked out. She didn’t owe the woman anything. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

The cold air hit her as soon as she stepped outside, sharp and biting, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the numbness that had settled in her bones. She walked, slow and steady, back to her apartment, the same apartment that had become her tomb of silence. The same apartment where she would drink herself into oblivion, and then fall to the floor, letting the sickness overtake her, just to feel something.

The woman’s words stayed with her though, trailing in the back of her mind. You should come. As if that could change anything. As if she could just show up to something—anything—and feel normal.

But no. Nesta didn’t want to feel normal. She just wanted to disappear.

Nesta didn’t know why she was here, a few days later. She had thought about it more times than she cared to admit, but now that she was standing at the threshold of the same tavern, she still wasn’t sure what had brought her back. She wasn’t interested in the music, wasn’t interested in anything except the pull of something different—a fleeting idea that maybe, just maybe, it could drown out the usual noise in her head.

The door swung open, and to her surprise, the sounds of laughter, shouts, and the unmistakable chords of violins filled the air. It was nothing like the quiet murmurs she was used to, nothing like the heavy silence that followed her every move. This was different. This was alive. She could hear singing now, voices rising and falling, a blend of joy and celebration.

The tavern was bustling with more people than she remembered, their faces flushed with drink, their laughter sharp and full of life. The energy was infectious, swirling around the room like an unexpected storm. It wasn’t the place she had left a few days ago, full of quiet and shadows. It was alive with music, and the difference hit her like a slap to the face.

Her eyes darted to the woman she had met before, standing near the bar with her back straight, a small smile on her lips as she watched the crowd. She didn’t seem surprised to see Nesta at all. In fact, there was a kind of knowing in her eyes, as though she had been expecting this.

Nesta hesitated in the doorway, the familiar feeling of wanting to retreat clawing at her. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong in the bright, noisy chaos that filled the space. She was used to being a ghost, to hiding in the shadows. But the music—it tugged at something deep inside of her, something she couldn’t quite ignore.

A violin solo rose above the noise, sharp and quick, its notes dancing through the air with ease. Nesta found herself following the sound, her feet moving almost on their own, carried by the force of the music. For a moment, she almost forgot about everything else—the emptiness, the pain, the heavy weight of everything she had been trying to outrun. The music was something else entirely. It was something she couldn’t control, and it was pulling her in.

As if on cue, the woman caught her eye and gave a subtle nod toward an empty seat near the bar. The invitation was silent, but it was there. Nesta didn’t resist. Instead, she moved forward, drawn into the unfamiliar warmth of the room, toward something that might just help her forget for a while.

The woman’s eyes followed her, but there was no judgment there—only something close to understanding. Whatever had made Nesta step foot back into this tavern, back into this world, it didn’t matter now. The music was all around her, and for once, she let it take the lead.

Nesta took a seat, the unfamiliar warmth of the tavern sinking into her skin as she settled onto the stool. The noise, the music, the laughter—they buzzed around her like a hive, and for a moment, she couldn’t find her place in it. But she stayed, her gaze flickering to the woman who had watched her since she walked in. The woman’s smile was knowing, unbothered, and she said simply, “You came.”

Nesta didn’t respond at first. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why she had come either, but she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. Instead, she set her jaw, staring into the crowd. “I want a drink,” she muttered, cutting through the noise with a sharpness that was all her own.

The woman chuckled, a low sound, almost amused by Nesta’s bluntness. She didn’t say anything further. Instead, she raised two fingers to the bartender, who nodded, a familiar gesture that made Nesta’s stomach tighten.

The drink came quickly, the same smooth liquid from the other night, dark and rich. No questions, no hesitation. Just the same drink, placed in front of her as though it had been waiting. Nesta didn’t even think twice this time. Her fingers wrapped around the glass, and she brought it to her lips without a word.

The liquid slid down her throat with ease, no burn this time, just the gentle heat that followed. She felt it settle inside her, just like before, and for a moment, she let herself feel the warmth spread, filling the empty places. There was no rush, no frantic need to drink more than necessary. This time, she didn’t fight the smoothness; she let it flow.

It wasn’t what she expected, but it was enough.

As she sat there, drink in hand, the music began to pull at her in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the background noise of a tavern anymore. The violins sang with such passion, such depth, that they seemed to reach into the spaces she had buried deep inside herself. The melody twisted and turned, a lively dance, full of sharp highs and soft, aching lows. It felt like the music was alive, like it was telling a story—one she had no words for but understood in the very marrow of her bones.

The singing added to the spell, a woman’s voice rich and velvety, rising and falling with each note. It was like the words didn’t matter as much as the feeling behind them, the emotion woven into every note. It was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that made Nesta’s chest ache, in a way that made her feel the weight of everything she had been pushing down, the things she had tried so hard not to feel.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, listening. Time seemed to stretch and bend in the face of the music, each note pulling her further from the suffocating fog of her own thoughts. For a few minutes, maybe longer, Nesta let herself just exist in the rhythm of it, in the sound that wrapped itself around her like a cloak, pulling her into the world of this moment and away from everything else.

It wasn’t like anything she had felt in ages—this simple, unguarded beauty. And for once, it didn’t make her want to run. It didn’t remind her of her failures, or her pain, or the emptiness that always lingered. For a fleeting moment, it was just the music. And it was enough.

As the music swirled around her, a memory tugged at the back of Nesta’s mind, unbidden and sharp. It was the music from those old balls, the ones her mother and grandmother had insisted she attend. The memories were laced with the same melodies, grand and sweeping, full of grace and elegance. There had been a time when she had danced—though not for herself. The swirling gowns, the dimly lit halls, the heavy eyes of those who watched her, all judged by an invisible standard that only ever seemed to tighten with each misstep.

The music then had been beautiful too, but it was different. It was a command, a weight that pressed down on her shoulders with every step, every twirl. She had danced not because she wanted to, but because she was supposed to. For her mother’s approval, for her grandmother’s nod of satisfaction, for the image of perfection they had so carefully constructed. The laughter of others had filled the air, but it wasn’t real—it had been for show, just like everything else.

Nesta could almost hear the old voices in her head, echoing warnings about how she had to look, how she had to move. Don’t mess up, Nesta. The words had always come with the promise of punishment, should she falter. It wasn’t the joy of dancing she remembered. It was the tightness in her chest, the fear that gripped her every time the music started, reminding her she was never enough. Never enough for her mother, for her grandmother, for anyone.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shaking the thoughts from her head as the music in the tavern continued to pulse around her. This isn’t the same, she reminded herself. This music isn’t for anyone else. It’s just… beautiful.

For a moment, she wanted to believe that it could be for her too. That it could be hers to enjoy without the weight of expectation, without the constant pressure to perform. Just a fleeting thought, quickly crushed, but for a moment, it was there.

The tavern’s music wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t a command. It was simply there, unfolding into the air, something raw and unrefined, as if it was meant to be felt, not controlled. And that was something Nesta hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long.

She hadn’t realized it, but there was something about the music that felt oddly comforting, as though the tavern had been holding onto a secret she hadn’t known.

“I didn’t know the tavern played music,” she said, glancing over at the woman beside her, her voice quieter now, almost as if she was breaking a silence she hadn’t been aware of.

The woman, still calm and unhurried, raised an eyebrow at Nesta’s comment, her smile soft. “They do, every so often,” she replied, her voice warm but matter-of-fact. “Live shows. People sing or play—whatever the night calls for.” Her eyes sparkled with some private amusement, as though she knew something Nesta didn’t. “The tavern’s been here long enough to pick up a few things.”

Nesta took a moment, her eyes flicking over to the woman sitting beside her, studying her with a renewed curiosity. The first time they’d met, the noise, the haze of her thoughts, had clouded her perception, but now, in the quieter lull of the moment, she noticed more.

The woman’s dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, rich and glossy, like the midnight sky on a cloudless night. Her eyes, a striking green, seemed to catch the light from the candles around them, almost glowing with a depth that made Nesta feel like there was more to her than just the casual demeanor she presented. Her features were sharp, but not harsh—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that pulled into a knowing smile, always one step ahead, as if she understood the silence between them without needing to fill it with words.

She didn’t dress like the others in the tavern—there was something deliberate about her look, as if she stood apart. Her clothes were simple yet elegant, dark, and tailored to fit her form, but there was an air of confidence about her that made her stand out even in this crowded space.

The woman’s gaze turned to holdNesta’s for a moment, the weight of her green eyes steady and unwavering. For the briefest instant, Nesta felt the air shift, as if the woman could see straight through her. The kind of look that pierced past her carefully constructed barriers, leaving something vulnerable in its wake. It made her uncomfortable, and instinctively, she averted her gaze, her eyes drifting to the glass in front of her, pretending to focus on the amber liquid.

After a beat, the woman’s voice broke through the silence. “What made you come back?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of curiosity, like she was waiting for the truth to slip through Nesta’s lips.

Nesta’s answer came easily, a lie that slipped out as if it had been rehearsed, though she knew it wasn’t the real reason. “The drink,” she said, her voice steady, the words a smooth mask over whatever truth lurked behind them.

The woman chuckled softly, a sound that felt knowing, almost as if she understood the lie without needing Nesta to say more. She didn’t press further, though, letting the laughter fade into the background as she returned her attention to the music, tapping her fingers lightly on the table, as if the conversation had never been about anything other than the present.

And Nesta? She let the lie hang in the air, retreating back into the melody, letting the smooth rhythm of the song fill the empty spaces where her words had fallen short. It was easier this way, pretending that the drink had been the reason she’d returned. It was simpler to let the music carry her away than confront whatever had brought her back to the tavern in the first place.

Taglist: @litnerdwrites

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #anti night court #anti morrigan #anti nessian #sapphic nesta

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hippolotamus · 1 day ago

Note

"How can you act like nothing happened?" + buddie if it inspires u <3333

Hi, April! Indeed it did inspire (just took a hot second to get all the details and i hope you like it) 💖🫶

What happens to them after? Buck had asked Dr. Salazar. They just go back to their same old lives? Go back to being the same old people?

Some do.

When he was in her office, posing that question, he doesn’t even consciously know if he had Eddie’s experience in mind. Well, one of Eddie’s experiences.

The soul shifting instance of Eddie falling in the middle of the street like a ragdoll. Not to mention the others. Eddie being buried alive under forty feet of earth. Eddie being trapped in a burning house, surrounded by fire on all sides.

Buck’s had his fair share of near misses, they all have. So why does Eddie’s nonchalance bother him so much now? Is it because this time Buck actually died? For ‘three minutes and seventeen seconds’, Eddie corrected Chief Williams. He previously told Buck ‘you think you’re expendable, but you’re wrong’.

One time Buck asks what death was like for Eddie, and he answers as casually as if Buck asked about his day.

Then I thought ‘this is it’. This is the last moment of my life. He shrugged. Then I woke up in the hospital.

Buck barges through the front door. No knocking, no checking if Eddie has company. He finds him folding towels at the dining room table, humming to himself.

“Hey, Buck. Wasn’t expecting you… today.” Eddie trails off as he notices Buck’s demeanor.

“How can you act like nothing happened?”

“Excuse me?” Eddie pinches his brows together in that way that Buck knows he’s flipping through a mental rolodex of recent memories. “Is this about the casserole last week? Because of the-”

“What? What about the- you know what? Nevermind, that’s not why I’m here.” Buck folds his arms across his chest, adding, “But we’ll come back to that.”

Eddie nods slowly, hand drifting to the laundry basket to pick up the next towel. “So, why are you here?”

“Because, Eddie. You told me I wasn’t expendable. You made me Christopher’s legal guardian if something happens to you.” He sniffs, angry that his emotions are choosing now to break loose, after weeks of feeling numb. “For Christ’s sake, you knew exactly how long I was dead.”

The assertion makes Eddie flinch, makes him stare a hole into the floor, astutely avoiding Buck’s gaze.

“But you- you never wanna talk about it. Not when it comes to you.”

“Maybe,” Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, he cocks his head in annoyance, and Buck knows he’s onto something. He’s struck a nerve. “Maybe, because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh no? Y- you get shot down in Afghanistan, buried alive, shot again in LA, have a fucking breakdown and there’s nothing to talk about?” Buck steps forward, standing directly in front of his best friend, forcing him to look up. “Okay, well what about Chris needing therapy after the tsunami? Huh? What about going to dispatch because – you thought – Chris didn’t want you to be a firefighter anymore? Hell, that eventually got you to patch things up with your old man. But all those other things? Just another day in the life of Eddie Diaz. No need to stick around, folks, nothing happening here.”

“Christopher is different, Buck. He’s my son.”

“And you’re my best friend. My partner.” My person, he doesn’t say, wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Doesn’t that mean anything? We’re all just supposed to deal with it if it’s you, and pretend to live our same old lives?”

Eddie purses his lips, backs away. He doesn’t even look in Buck’s direction when he says, “Please leave.”

Buck freezes. “What?”

“Get out, Buck. Before I do say something and we both regret it.”

He could fight back, keep prodding at the singular bruise spread across both of them. He wants to, wants Eddie to yell and scream. Something. Anything. In the end Buck isn’t sure why he doesn’t. All he knows is that in the space of a breath all the fight leaves him. All the fire and outrage deflates, making him feel emptier than before.

When he reaches the front door, Eddie still won’t look at him. So he listens and turns the handle, walks over the threshold. He keeps going until he reaches the jeep, until he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, until he’s several streets away and sure no one will see him. Then he crumbles. He falls apart, wracked with sobs he knows will leave his body hollow and aching later.

And he wonders- should he have kept pretending, too?

send an angsty prompt

#these boys have soooo much to answer for #buddie #buddie ficlet #hippo gets mail #angst prompt #open ending #hippo writes #lonelychicago #april tag 💞

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ilovegeorgie · 3 days ago

Note

Hello :) if you’re taking requests, do you think you could write an enemies to lovers George imagine? I haven’t seen many on here :( Any storyline would be great x

do you want to know a secret?

george harrison x reader

genre: angst (?

warnings: enemies to lovers i’m not sure what to put here :/

summary: so basically geo is kind of a prick in this one..

a/n: hiii :D ik there’s not much geo stuff here, so here it is, thanks for requesting and hope you’ll like it!! (i think this is the longest i’ve ever written lolll)

the first time they met, she thought he was the most enigmatic guy she’d ever seen. dark eyes, sort of quiet, and the kind of attitude that practically screamed he wasn’t interested in making new friends. unfortunately for her, her job as the studio’s secretary often meant running errands for him and the other beatles.

paul was the first to talk to her, always tossing her a cheeky grin and a “thanks, love,” whenever she fetched his tea. john cracked jokes at her, but she could dish it right back, and they quickly befriended. even ringo, had her laughing within days.

but george? that was another story.

whenever she entered the studio, it was like the air shifted. he’d stiffen, barely look at her, but after one particularly long day, when she accidentally spilled a bit of tea near his guitar case, he snapped.

“for christ’s sake, can’t you be more careful?!” he shouted, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

the room fell silent. paul looked up, john raised an eyebrow and ringo’s fingers stilled on his drumsticks.

her usual instinct would’ve been to fire back, like she usually did, but something about george’s tone hit a nerve. her lip wobbled, and before she could stop herself, tears pricked her eyes. she muttered something about needing a break and bolted out the door.

as she rushed down the hallway, her breath shallow as she tried to steady herself. her mind raced, replaying the moment over and over. why did he have to be so cruel? she knew that she didn’t deserve that. her head pounded with frustration, but all she could do was sit in her tiny office and try not to cry.

a few minutes later, the door creaked open, and she looked up to see paul leaning against the doorframe, with a more serious expression than usual.

“you alright, love?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of concern.

she wiped her eyes quickly, though the red flush on her cheeks was still evident. “i’ll be fine.”

“don’t let george get to you,” paul added, stepping into the room. “he’s got a bit of a temper, you know that.”

“i didn’t mean to upset him,” she muttered, a knot of guilt forming in her stomach. “i just… i didn’t expect him to go off like that. not over something so ridiculous.”

paul frowned, crossing the room to sit on the edge of her desk. “it’s not you, really. he’s just… he’s got his own stuff going on. doesn’t make it okay, though.”

she shook her head, trying to brush it off. “i don’t want to make a scene.”

“you won’t,” paul reassured her. “but you don’t have to take his shit either. he’ll come around. he always does, eventually. george just doesn’t know how to deal with people sometimes, especially girls you know?.” she chuckled, even though the sting of george’s words still lingered.

back in the studio, the tension in the room was palpable. george, was immersed in his own world, visibly avoiding everyone’s gaze. john was leaning casually against the piano, his eyes flicking between george and the door she’d just exited.

“nice going, george,” john muttered with a smirk. “you really know how to make a pretty bird cry.”

george’s face flushed with irritation, his fingers stilling on his guitar. “i didn’t mean to-”

“doesn’t matter what you meant, mate,” john interrupted, his tone suddenly sharper. “you’ve got to be a little more careful with your words. not everyone’s gonna take it the way you want.”

ringo, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up. “yeah, george, that was a bit much, don’t you think?.”

george clenched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable. “i just-”

“you just need to chill out,” john said, cutting him off. “honestly, i don’t know what your problem is with her. she’s done nothing but help, and you’ve been a right arse to her.”

a heavy silence followed. george stared at the floor, his fingers nervously tapping on the guitar’s frets.

...

she had returned to the room, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, she could hear the conversation inside. paul had said george would come around, but did she want him to? the harshness he’d shown her still felt raw, and despite paul’s comforting words, the last thing she wanted was to be the target of his irritation again.

george looked up, his eyes locking with hers for the first time since the incident. she could see the apology there, though it was still buried beneath his stubborn exterior. he stood up from his seat, running a hand through his hair as he walked toward her.

“i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “i know i shouldn’t have snapped like that. it wasn’t your fault.”

she didn’t respond right away, the anger and hurt still simmering inside her. “no,” she said quietly, “but it was your attitude.”

“i know.” his voice softened. “i’ve been a bit of a prick, haven’t i?”

she didn’t smile, but the edge in her chest loosened slightly. “a bit.”

he exhaled a frustrated breath and looked at her, his eyes earnest. “i really am sorry. i don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

there was a long, awkward silence between them. he was waiting for her response, but she wasn’t sure what to say. there was still a part of her that wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much he had hurt her. but another part of her, the part paul had helped her recognize, understood that this was george’s way of trying to make things right.

she then nodded. “alright,” she said, keeping her tone cool. “but next time, try not to yell at me over tea.”

george gave her a half-smile, though it was tinged with regret. “next time, i’ll keep my cool.”

…

the next few days were strange. it was as if the tension between her and george had turned into an invisible wall, one that neither of them wanted to acknowledge but both could feel. whenever she walked into the studio, he would avoid her gaze, as though he was afraid to engage too much. it was like things were back to normal.

the silence between them, the coldness, left her with a sense of unease that tortured her. paul and john had noticed it, of course.

“george,” john called out one day with a grin. “you’re giving her the cold shoulder, mate. what’s wrong? didn’t you guys reconcileated or something?”

george’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t respond. instead, he focused on tuning his guitar, the only sound in the room the sharp clicking of the tuning pegs. john snorted, nudging paul, who only shrugged, clearly unsure of what was going on.

ringo, strangely, wasn’t laughing or joking about it. he noticed the change too, and though he didn’t say much, the way his gaze lingered on george said everything.

and for her, she hated it. every time she entered the room, she was aware of george’s avoidance. he’d give her a half-hearted nod or mutter a quiet, “alright,” but it was all surface-level. it was like he regretted everything he'd said, like he couldn’t bring himself to make amends properly.

it was getting to her. she had never been one to sit in discomfort, and now she found herself practically pacing in the corridors, waiting for an opportunity to confront him.

and that opportunity came one morning, a few days after the incident.

she was walking into the studio with a stack of papers in her hands, ready to pass them off to paul, when she noticed george at the far end of the room. his back was turned, his guitar slung over his shoulder, and he was staring out the window, lost in thought, or at least pretending to be.

“george,” she called.

he stiffened at the sound of her voice, but didn’t turn around. he knew she was there; he always did.

“george,” she repeated, stepping closer, “we need to talk, now.”

there was a long pause, the silence between them hanging thick. he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his shoulders were tense. after what felt like an eternity, he spoke without turning to face her.

“what’s there to talk about?” his voice was quiet, almost dismissive.

she bit back the sharp response that immediately came to mind. she had no intention of backing down now. “why are you avoiding me?”.

he was silent for a long time, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. but then, in a voice so low she almost couldn’t hear it, he said, “i don’t know how to fix this. i’ve... made a mess of things.”

her stomach twisted at the vulnerability in his words, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “you’re not going to fix anything by pretending i don’t exist.”

george sighed and finally turned to face her. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice more sincere than ever. “i really didn’t. i... i don’t know how to explain it.”

“explain what?” she asked, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “explain why you snapped at me over something so small? or explain why you’ve been avoiding me since? because, trust me, it’s not helping.”

he ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted, like he was struggling to put his feelings into words. “i didn’t want to-” he stopped, took a breath, and then finally, “i didn’t want to make you think i like you.”

her brow furrowed in confusion. “what.. what do you mean?”

“i’m not good with this kind of things,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought if i kept my distance, it would be easier. but it’s been hell, alright? i was scared” he paused, visibly frustrated with himself.

she blinked, for a long time, she had only seen george as the distant, guarded man who kept his emotions close to the chest. she never realized just how much he struggled with it all.

“you... you’ve been avoiding me because you’re scared?” she asked, her voice softer now, the anger slowly fading.

“what im trying to say is..,” his gaze dropped to the floor. “i know it sounds ridiculous, but the truth is that i like you. a lot. have done for ages.. i didn’t know how to deal with it. i didn’t want to make things more complicated than they already were.”

a heavy silence hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken words. she could see the fear that he had been hiding beneath the surface now. fear of rejection, of making things worse, of crossing a line he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross.

she let out a slow breath, her chest tightening. “george, i'm not some fragile thing you have to avoid. if you’ve got a problem with me, just talk to me about it. you don’t have to shut me out.”

he looked down at her, his expression softening. “i didn’t want to hurt you.. i’d like to make it up to you. if you’ll let me.”

“you did hurt me,” she replied. “i suppose we can figure it out..”

for a long moment, they simply stood there, and finally, george nodded. “i’ll try. i promise.”

she met his gaze, and for the first time in days, the wall between them seemed to crack, even if only slightly. “well,” she said, offering him a small but genuine smile. “i suppose i can give you another chance.”

#george harrison #the beatles #george harrison x reader #beatles #the beatles x reader #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr

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violetflowers55 · 1 day ago

Text

Hot & Cold - Chapter 4

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: As much as you want to move on from last night, Phosphorus is making it really hard by looking so hot during battle. He even ends up saving you during battle, so you thank him later on in the bathroom.

Notes: Deviation from canon timeline and events from here on out.

CW: graphic violence (not as graphic as the show), more burning. very minor smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexi pulled up to Nina and The Bride’s location, and everyone rushed into the decrepit mansion looming ahead of you. Inside, you found The Bride, chained up and duct taped.

“It’s a trap of some sort!” Phosphorous shouted.

You all fanned out, preparing for an ambush any moment. After seeing no signs of anyone, Flag ripped the tape of The Bride’s mouth to ask where they were.

“They’re gone!” she shouted.

They bickered for a moment until G.I asked her where Nina was. G.I ran to find her while Phosphorus melted the chains of The Bride.

“Circe and the Sons attacked you… and then they just left you here alive? Why would they do…”

Realization hit you all at the same time.

“Everyone, back to the castle, now!”

You all ran back to the van and got in, this time trying to accommodate for Nina’s new bathtub. Alexi sped off towards the castle, literally running one of the Sons over when you arrived. The Bride and Flag went out guns blazing, casually walking as they shot down the Sons. One guy with a machine guy tried to shoot down Phosphorus, and you watched as he stood to the side and melted the bullets before they even got near him. He lunged forward, punching through the guy

“Shish Kebob!” he laughed as he set the guy on fire.

Fuck, that’s hot.

Distracted, a bullet hit you square in the chest. You looked up to see a 30-year-old loser with a gun standing in front of you. A mixture of shock and horror spread across his face as he watched the bullet fall from your chest, like he had just thrown a coin at you.

“Ow,” you said, walking towards him. Really, it felt like an extra hard flick, but that still pissed you off. For the first time since you had been incarcerated, you let your skin turn to steel. He kept shooting as you walked towards him, but every bullet bounced right off you. As you got closer, he started to run, realizing his gun couldn’t hold you back. You reached out your hand, extending your metal whip from your wrist and wrapping it around his neck. To your delight, he screamed like a baby as you pulled him close. Using his own gun, you shot him point blank in the chest. Poetic justice.

A shout came from behind you as another basement dweller tried to slam the back of your head with the butt of his gun. You whipped around, relishing the fear on his face before you uppercutted him. Your steel hand sliced through his jaw deep into his head. His limp body fell to the ground with a squelch as you removed your fist. God, it had been too long since you took out some asshole men.

Another battle cry started to approach you, but was cut off before he reached you. You turned to see a Phosphorus burning straight through the head of a guy holding a grenade. Releasing the guy, he looked back at you, admiring your new look.

“You should really wear that more often.”

Even in the middle of a fight, he couldn’t stop flirting with you. Before you could retort, bullets began raining down on you. The two of you took cover with the others behind the water fountain.

“You know, most people say thank you when someone saves your life.”

“Not now!”

“That’s ok, I can think of a lot of ways you can thank me later. Wink” he whispered in a low voice, pointing at his face.

Luckily, G.I interrupted the conversation.

“Are these Nazis, General?”

“Yeah G.I. These are Nazis,” Flag answered, seemingly happy G.I’s obsession with Nazis could be put to good use.

A grin grew across G.I’s face as he began shooting like crazy. His abdomen detached and he flew up in the air. Seeing him switch to three guns on each arm, Flag shouted at everyone to hit the dirt. You knew he wouldn’t injure you, but you followed suit anyway. G.I spun around, shooting endless bullets, laughing gleefully over finally being able to shoot Nazis.

Suddenly, with a flash of purple light, he exploded. You gasped as the air cleared to reveal Circe.

“Well, that’s enough of that.”

She blasted the bunch of you by the fountain, sending you flying a few feet. She flew straight for the princess’s bedroom. You started to rise to chase after her, but Weasel beat you to to it. Just as quick as she flew in, she fell back out the window with Weasel on her. Laying on the ground, he viciously scratched away at her back. Phosphorus walked over to her and lifted her chin up.

“I love a good barbecue,” he said before pressing his palm into her face.

Goddamnit, why does he have to be so hot while torturing people?

“You wanted monsters, you got monsters,” The Bride said while Flag watched on in horror.

Eventually, the two stopped and Circe was secured to be sent back to… wherever she was going to go. The princess ran out of the castle, heading straight to Flag and throwing her arms around him. She kissed him, very passionately, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Thank you,” she broke away from him to address the rest of you, “Thank you all so much. I do not know how I can repay you for saving my life.”

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s our job,” Flag responded.

“No, I must do something… a banquet! Yes, we will throw you a banquet to thank you all.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Ilana, but I need to get Circe back to America and these guys back to Belle Reve.”

“We just saved a princess’s life, and our thank you is going back to prison?” Phosphorous angrily chimed in.

“Hardly seems fair,” The Bride agreed.

“Maybe next time we should just let her die. We’ll just go back to prison either way,” you added.

The princess giggled, amused by everyone’s antics. “Surely they have earned one more meal of non-prison grub?”

“Jesus Christ, fine! We’ll stay for the banquet. But we’re leaving right after.”

Everyone made little noises of excitement, even The Bride. Ilana hugged Flag, then ran back to the castle, presumably to order her servants to prepare a banquet. Flag turned to you, looking at your blood-covered hand and blood-stained clothes.

“You need to clean up first.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opted for a full shower to fully cleanse yourself. The showers at Belle Reve sucked, so you took an extra long time in the shower, enjoying the normal water pressure and steaming hot water. You even treated yourself to their fancy shampoo and conditioner. After all, you helped save the princess’s life. You’d earned fancy shampoo.

When you fingertips started to wrinkle, you forced yourself to step out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You stared at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair and inspecting the fading burns on your neck.

A knock on the door interrupted you. You shouted back that you were in there, but the door swung open. Phosphorus walked in, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell Phosphorous?! I’m in here! What if I was on the toilet?”

“Then at least you wouldn’t be wearing that towel,” his words were teasing, but his tone seemed serious. He stood by the door, hands in his pockets.

“Ugh. What do you want?”

“You never thanked me for saving your life,” he moved behind you, looking at you in the mirror.

“Because you didn’t save my life.”

“Really? A grenade exploding right on you wouldn’t put you out of commission?” He moved closer, placing his hands on the countertop on either side of you. Yet, he didn’t touch you. Somehow, that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more than if he was touching you.

“Injure me, maybe, but it wouldn’t kill me.”

“Mm. Then you can thank me for saving you from being injured,” he leaned in close to your ear, still staring at you in the mirror, still not touching you.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“It’s ok if you can’t say the words. I can think of a few ways you can thank me,” he slid his hands towards you, finally touching you.

You gasped as he ran his hand up your stomach and cupped your breats. Even through the thick towel, you could feel his heat. He pressed a kiss right below your ear, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, watching for your reaction. Seeing your slack jaw, he pulled your towel down, groping your bare breasts. You moaned as you felt his handprints burn into your skin. He pressed his pelvis into your behind, exciting you even more. Then, he suddenly stepped back, disconnecting from you. The sudden lack of touch was dizzying.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he moved toward the door, the teasing tone in his voice returning.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out as he opened the door. You thought maybe that would get him to stay. As he left, you could’ve sworn he was actually grinning. He closed the door behind him, leaving you wet and horny.

“Goddamnit,” you cursed him as you unwrapped your towel to get back in the shower, deciding to put the detachable showerhead to good use.

#dr phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus #dr. phosphorus x reader smut #dr. phosphorus fanfic #dr. phosphorus x reader #x reader creature commandos #creature commandos fanfic #creature commandos #dr. phosphorus #rewatching g.i die for this was painful

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