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astraystayyh · 4 months

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Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33.

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago.

Day 17.

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade.

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores.

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands.

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from.

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you.

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.”

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head.

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again.

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you.

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you.

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19.

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement.

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.”

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask.

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently.

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?”

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.”

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment.

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé.

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out.

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms.

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope.

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto.

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating.

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in.

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back.

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night.

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you.

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?”

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure.

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles.

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door.

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place.

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up?

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you.

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-”

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.”

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you.

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach.

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls.

Day 22.

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart.

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.”

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.”

“I can try.”

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles.

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him.

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle.

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago.

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?”

“Of course. I promise you.”

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear.

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers.

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm.

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road.

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart.

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light.

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.”

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words.

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face.

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression.

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running.

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again.

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content.

“You did.”

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands.

“Of course.”

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.”

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.”

Day 26.

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads.

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more.

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin.

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest.

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought.

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.”

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within.

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals.

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door.

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for.

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you.

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.”

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more?

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were.

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks.

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart.

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words.

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle.

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words.

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side.

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder.

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second.

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing.

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips.

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly.

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends.

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?”

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.”

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out.

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle.

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs.

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks.

“N-nothing,” you stammer.

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you.

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you?

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out.

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And he loves you.

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for?

How many more days do you have to love him back?

Day 30.

Minho is sick.

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face.

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind.

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented.

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow.

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on.

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers.

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering.

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you.

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet.

“Anything.”

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly.

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to.

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm.

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you.

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows.

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted.

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds.

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days.

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again.

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean?

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep.

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name.

He prayed you’d call his too soon.

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean?

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips.

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of.

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways.

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh.

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?”

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh.

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card.

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify.

“Hey, yn!”

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them.

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run.

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey.

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat.

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by?

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be.

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both.

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all.

Day 33.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?”

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him.

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table.

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here.

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines.

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger.

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.”

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you.

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.”

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?”

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yn, he brought you back to life.”

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?”

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core.

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table.

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder.

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around.

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it.

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart.

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room.

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind.

“Minho?”

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to.

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again.

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho.

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one.

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?”

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Text

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #konig x reader #könig mw2 #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends #just friends fic

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box-milk · 24 days

Text

You are not mine

Pairings ~ Alessia Russo x batlle! reader

Genre~ angst

Warnings ~ infidelity, angst no happy ending, short.

"I love you, Victor but you are not mine"

All your fight was gone. The anger faded, and the sadness stepped in. Your reality was cruel, but it's one you would have to live with.

You sat cushioned on the off-white carpet surrounded by happy memories in now broken picture frames and the shredded pieces of the wine soaked wedding dress. You nursed the last bit of the grape wine and allow yourself to fall into a trance of what use to be.

Your mind travelled until the realization of when everything began to collapse set in. Ignorance allows you to turn a blind eye on the tensed touches, fake smiles, and shifty eyes when both of you were in public and canstant change in fragrance all after the ring was put on your finger.

Looking at said glistening ring, you chuckled at yourself the clear fool for ignoring the obvious warning signs all because you didn't want to be alone. The irony of it all is that you stand to be alone regardless.

°•°•°•°•°•°

An angry gasp wakes you from where you slept on the floor, disgruntled you sat up and allowed the flickering shadow like figure to become whole. This is probably the only time in a very long one that you saw pure emotion from the older woman, even if it's raw unwarranted anger.

"Before you attempt to release your unjust anger, remind yourself if it's fair."

Alessia has never felt this cold even in England's gloomy weather, but when your emotionless voice hits her ear, chills tickle her spine, and she knows she's about to suffer a great loss.

Lost in the blist under another woman's sheets, she didn't consider the repercussions of her actions, but the light had already brought out the secrets hidden in the dark and there was no amount of fixing that she could do.

Alessia gets confirmation that you're aware of her infidelity when you pass your phone to her weakly, and she reads the chat between you and her team's vice captain. Staring at her, the screenshots of erotic photos and text with the other woman.

Taking a deep breath, the young striker is formulating words sweeter than honey in hopes that she could convince (deceive) you into staying with her. You pay no mind standing on your shakey feet stretching away the days misery.

"I'm not interested in your explanations. There's absolutely no justification for what you did to me, I honestly don't believe I gave you a reason to step foot out of this relationship. I did all I could so you can swallow all your deceitful words. I'm no longer the fool that believes you."

The weight of the cold silver ring feels heavier than it actually was in her hand. The realization of what could have happily been reflected in the palm of her hands.

"Ona is coming to get me, and I'm going back to spain. There is no need to worry about hiding anymore."

"Wait, no, this isn't what I wanted."

"But it's what you deserve. As sad as it is, you have to realize this is your doing, and I unfortunately won't stick around to be second best. It's not fair."

Alessia selfishly wanted to erase what you knew to change her ways, to return faithfully to you, but she knew the gut-wrenching truth ends with her losing you.

You knew she didn't deserve tenderness, but she was all part of you knew. Gently placing both palms and her wet cheek, your attempt to whip away her guilty tears fruitless as they're quickly replaced by fresh ones. You gaze into the ocean blue one last and place a kiss at the corner of her lips.

"Te amo alessia pero no eres mia."

An:

A fic written by me that I actually like? Yes sir!!!

#woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x y/n #arsenal wfc #arsenal women

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the0doreslover · 8 months

Note

Hey, I wanted to ask if you take requests!! If you do would you do Theodore x Reader angst to fluff

where like Theo gets jealous because of a rumor and paranoid thinking Reader will leave him for someone else (you choose who) but In reality it was all just made up from some girl that has a crush on Theo

And at the end he apologises multiple times to Reader because he didn’t let her explain

If not just ignore this! Have a great day.

shadowed trust

Theodore had always been a bit of a paranoid guy, but he had never been this jealous before. He sat in the Slytherin common room, his brow furrowed as he read the newsletter. The rumor had spread like wildfire, and now it had even made it to the papers.

Theodore couldn't believe what he was reading. The words were etching into his mind, The rumor suggested that you, his girl, his darling was growing close to someone else. Someone he knew all too well, someone he had considered a friend – Adrien pucey.

It was as if a wand had been plunged into his heart, and he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Theodore had never been one to easily trust others, but he had allowed you to breach the walls he had built around his heart. You were the one person who had made him believe in love again, especially after his mother, and now it felt like that love was slipping through his fingers.

That night Theodore couldn’t put himself to sleep his mind kept going back to the possibility that the whole time he was thinking of you with nothing less that love and adoration you were thinking of adrien, the supposed rival. He couldn't fathom the idea of losing you, of waking up one day to find that you were no longer a part of his life. The anxiety clawed at him, making it hard to breathe. He had to talk to you, had to know the truth, even if it meant facing his worst fears head-on.

That evening, he found you standing in the astronomy tower, a place were the two of you shared the most fond memories. You looked up and saw him approaching, a smile lighting up your face, but it quickly faded as you noticed the turmoil in his eyes.

"Teddy, what's wrong?" you asked, concern lacing your voice.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Is it true, what they're saying about you and adrien?" He couldn't bring himself to utter adriens name, the bitterness seeping into his words.

Your eyes widened in realization, and you quickly understood the source of his distress. "Theo, that rumor is false," you said earnestly. "I can’t believe you would even believe that, i don’t have feelings for anyone else. You're the one I love."

He stared at you, he wanted to believe you when he saw the sincerity in your eyes. But his insecurities quickly replaced that sight as he unfolded the paper that he pulled from his hoodie pocket and showed you the page that had a picture of two people in a heated situation.

“are you being serious? theodore you can’t even see their face!”

“when did you start thinking about him?”

“theodore what is wrong with you?”

“was it when we were on our first date?” he continued

“theo stop-“

“was it when i first said i love you?”

you stared at him in shock as he continued listing scenarios while walking closer to you.

“was it when i first made love-“

you didn’t want to listen anymore, your hand came and swiftly slapped across his face.

“don’t speak to me till you come to your senses” you scoffed with glossy eyes.

theodore seethed as he watched your figure walk away

The next day at breakfast was rough, you were sitting with luna while theodore sat with his friends

Draco crossed his arms, looking at Theodore with concern. " So you're letting baseless rumors ruin your relationship? You should trust her. i don’t know why i even have to tell you that"

Blaise nodded in agreement. "We all know how much you care about her. Don’t let something as stupid as rumours break a good relationship mate"

Pansy chimed in, "Theodore, i’ll give this to you bluntly, Y/n is my best friend and you really fucked up, i heard about everything last night she came back to our dorm in pieces and if you actually believe these rumours... Honestly you’ve made a right mess of this one"

Theodore sighed before noticing the familiar face of adrien on his way out the hall

It was him he should be angry with.

“You’re right” he started

“i know” pansy smiled

“i should be mad at adrien!”

before anyone could react theodore had gotten up and stormed out the hall where he had saw adrien.

“Oi Pucey”

“hm?”

Before adrien even registered who called him theodore’s fist had connected with his cheek.

Adrien was flung back and theodore didn’t even blink before jumping on top of the boy and beating him.

Ignoring the cheering crowd that had now formed the fight seemed to be getting worse as blaise and draco had now come to intervene.

you watched next to pansy in disgust as the boy you loved was beating a poor boy who hadn’t done anything.

adrien got a good few punches in near the end before finally they had been separated.

Theodore couldn’t hear anything as he felt himself getting more angrier by the minute. He stared back at the crowd and for a second his eyes met with yours before you turned away in disgust and dragged pansy along with you.

theo and adrien had both been taken to the infirmary with a strict warning from mcgonagall that if they do much as touched each other again there would be serious trouble.

they sat in silence for a few minutes before theo broke it.

“just tell me if they’re true”

Adrien looked taken aback by the sudden conversation. "I don't know what you're talking about, mate."

"Don't play dumb," Theodore snapped. "These rumors about Y/N and you. Tell me the truth."

Adrien hesitated,"I didn't start the rumors, but I heard people talking about it. I thought it was just gossip, nothing serious."

Theodore's anger shifted into frustration. "You should have put an end to it, not let it spread like wildfire."

Adrien looked remorseful. "I know. I'm sorry, when marissa asked me if there was anything going on i should have been more stern."

Theodore clenched his jaw, his anger dissipating as he realized what had happened "Marissa? Slytherin Marissa?”

“yeah”

“the one who has had a crush on me since second year!” he raised his voice a little bit

“oh shit! mate you need to apologise to y/n”

Just then, you entered the infirmary, carrying a tray with ice packs and ointments. You didn't say a word but walked over to then handing them an ice pack.

“madame pomfrey wanted me to give them to you” you said bluntly before making a move to walk away.

Theo wasn’t stupid he knew that madame pomfrey could of given it to them herself but he wasn’t about to question anything, he was just happy you had come to see him even if it was just to make sure they were still alive. He grabbed your hand quickly stopping you from leaving.

"Y/N, i’m sorry”

you didn’t say anything, instead you turned around and took the ice pack from him and placed it on his new forming bruise

“i should of trusted you”

You continued to apply the ice pack without meeting his gaze.

“i was being irrational and i know you would never cheat on me. I don’t deserve you, even now you’re here helping me”

you finally met his eyes

“i love you y/n”

“i love you too”

“i promise i won’t ever let a stupid rumour by stupid marissa get to me ever again”

“wait… marissa started this rumour? i’m going to bloody kill her” you spoke for the first time making theodore laugh

“it seems we’re both the jealous type no?” he grinned

a smile finally broke out on both your faces as he leaned into you, his lips meeting yours for a short sweet moment before adrien cleared his throat.

“piss off” theodore groaned before yanking the curtain around his bed and pulling you back into him.

#harry potter #hogwarts #fanfic #x reader #slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini #lorenzo berkshire #pansy parkinson

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grxndprix · 6 months

Note

Hey gorgeous! I love your writing! Its beautiful <3

I wanna request something like apologetic noncon? Like yan! Doesn't think its ok but still does it, whispering sorry to the reader, telling them that they're sorry for doing this but it's for their own good!

Would love it more if it includes a bit of breeding kink! Please write one on either Yuji or Yuta from jjk! I think they'll be like the that!

Lots of love♥️

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞.

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 — 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘰𝘬𝘬𝘰𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘺𝘶𝘶𝘵𝘢 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘵𝘸 — 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦/𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘨?, 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵

Snowflakes painted flourishing kisses to the Tokyo streets. White specks of the substance coated all pavement and surface, and wandering eyes remained fixated on the sight. Winter days always felt so— Right. Like not a single thing was wrong about it, everything was just perfect.

Such is the rapt glaze to [name]’s eyes. She was beautiful in every way imaginable — From the way her varsity jacket was much too big for her figure, to the scrunching of her nose at the bitter cold, to the little shivers of her body — She was the walking personification of what Ananke stood for. Temptation incarnate.

The girl’s long lashes blinked languidly up at the building in front of her. She wan’t sure whether or not to head in, especially since the neighborhood was a bit shady— But the cold was too much, her nose was turning pinkish, and yet her nerves still stopped her from taking another step. She didn’t want to see him right now.

‘Him’, pertaining to the boy she liked for about two years in high school. This was his apartment complex, she knew that, but he was also the only person she knew in this area of Tokyo. Surely he would let her crash for a bit, at least until she could call someone for a ride, right? From what she recalled, the boy was kindhearted and always willing to help, as much as she hated to ask in the first place.

[name]’s fingers brushed stray strands of hair away from her face, pushing her bangs back as well — White sneakers stepping into the lobby, already making it into the elevator before she even registered the decision. Her eyes trailed up to look at the floors passing by, unsure whether she’d chosen the right number or not.

She leaned back on her heels, puffing out a cold breath of air. Even inside the building, her breath still slightly froze over. She prayed the man’s apartment would be nice and toasty.

Another breath and the elevator dinged to signal her destination. She stepped out onto the floor, immediately warming up. Her body felt the hot air from the heaters all around the walls, fingers less numb, brain less foggy, and nose less stuffy. Her eyes didn’t feel like bags of weight either.

The floors were soft, red, velvet carpet. She observed a few of the paintings on either side of her, realizing her apartment wasn’t nearly as nice as this.

[name] vaguely recalled the correct apartment number, having come over to study a few times. Those were all fuzzy memories by now though. She was an adult that hadn’t seen him in 2 years — She didn’t like him like that anymore. The girl wouldn’t mind being friends, however, and that was the most probable outcome of the ordeal. Plus; she already fancied someone else. Her best friend (and roommate), Maki Zen’in — Honestly, [name] was completely enamored with her.

The girl ran a hand through her hair. A low buzzing started beneath her skin. Maybe it was the purple-ish ochre of the walls, but she’d come to realize how it smelled strangely of metal the closer she got to the room.

Pungent — And, addictive. She stopped in front of the door, momentarily allowing hesitation to stop her. But still, she knocked.

No answer besides the sound of things clattering inside.

She knocked again— And this time, the door swung open quicker than she could blink. Wintertime was odd, because for a moment, the boy’s eyes flickered with a burning bloodlust— Gone with a blink.

Okkotsu Yuuta was a kind man. His gunmetal blue hues flicked from her nose up to her eyes, but it hardly took a second for the brightest grin to light up on his face. His smile lines — and eyebags, she noted — crinkled upward, canines glinting under the overhanging lamp.

“[name]—?!” He sounded almost breathless, surprised, but most of all, happy to see her.

The fact that she’d never told him her name in highschool went right over her head. [name] mirrored his smile, pupils dilating at the sight. “Yuuta!” A chuckle slipped past her lips, pleased that he remembered her at all. Maybe, if fate would have it, they could really be friends.

“Ah— Please, please, come in! It’s freezing out in the hall— Man, they really should get heaters—” He offered with a chuckle of his own, noiret hair bouncing while leading her inside. His cheeks were decorated in a slight pink. She deduced it was from the cold.

They had settled on the couch — Fireplace burning, heater on, hot chocolate in their hands. [name] didn’t really want to leave at this point, it was too cozy. Like a fox to its burrow, an eagle to an aerie, something about this just felt so right. She ran a ringed hand through her hair, hoping she looked somewhat presentable.

She’d changed a lot since high school, and in the best way possible, she hoped he would see that.

“Awh, man, I really wasn’t expecting to see you today! N-Not that it’s a bad thing!” He was quick to correct, cheeks darkening pink again, “I just— I haven’t seen you since our senior year, so this was a really nice surprise��” The man rubbed his nape, laughing airily. [name] noticed how even if his mannerisms hadn’t changed, he looked a lot more— Well, different. His hair was less ragged and way better kept. He had a very lean physique, visible despite his oversized clothing. His gaze was a bit sharper now, and his voice—

Overall, he had changed quite a bit. [name] wondered if he noticed the little things about her too.

“No, it’s okay sweetie!” She held back a laugh at his flustered expression, “I was originally going to stay in the lobby to call a friend, but it was too cold down there— And, ah, I remembered coming here to study a few times, so yeah! I really hope I’m not imposing.” It was [name]’s turn to look bashful, eyes averted to the table.

“Don’t even worry about it! I’m happy you’re here, it’s a chance for us to catch up, y’know?” That same kind tone, that same raspiness and gentleness — Yuuta hadn’t changed that much, she supposed. He was still that same shy, soft-spoken guy he’d always been. It was endearing in its own way.

A sip of her hot cocoa, “You’re right… How’ve you been, then? Like you said, it’s been a while.”

Yuuta hummed, sipping at his drink as well. “Well… I’ve been pretty good all in all. Being a sorcerer is a lot of work, so I still have a bunch of missions but besides that, I’d say I’m living a pretty laidback lifestyle right now.” He smiled earnestly, “What about you, sweetheart?”

The petname would’ve garnered the same reaction from her if she hadn’t seen the way his eyes flicked down to rake her figure, then back up in a blink once more. Her hands absentmindedly tugged the coat tighter around herself, willing her mind to remember his kindness and hospitality. Self-conscious — She was imagining things. “Honestly, same for me. I’ve been holding up alright after quitting the whole sorcerer thing— I’m glad it’s going well for you though! My part-time job’s really fun, and a lot less, well y’know, life-threatening.”

She emphasized her words with finger quotations, earning a laugh from the man next to her. She didn’t catch the way he watched her lips wrap around the edge of the mug with the focus of a man releasing his arrow. [name]’s tongue swiped along her bottom lip, and Yuuta’s smile illusioned straining.

As their conversation continued, the banter grew more and more light-hearted. It sounded like they were long-time friends rather than just-meeting-again acquaintances. The girl would laugh at the boy’s little jokes or comments, and he would smile at each and every word out of her mouth.

Things were winding down, clock ticking faintly in the background. The fireplace was still crackling with newfound energy, and 3:26 A.M. flashed along [name]’s phone screen. Her body felt light, that low buzz from before returning tenfold, movements sluggish and less thought behind them. A little height to her psyche.

Yuuta picked up on every little twitch and movement of her figure, every single word out of her lips, every little reaction she had to offer. It was almost ritualistic — [name] would yawn, or sigh, or laugh, and Yuuta would blush, or giggle to himself, or grab a pillow to put on his lap.

3:27 A.M. She should’ve been home hours ago. She can imagine Maki’s terror to coming home to an empty apartment, completely barren— Oh, right. She was supposed to get groceries for the two of them.

[name] hadn’t even realized how close Yuuta was by now. His arm was slung over the rear of the couch, fingers ghosting along her back at times. His breath painted butterflies along her neck every now and then, eliciting shivers and another tug of her jacket. Tighter just wasn’t tight enough.

The girl stretched her arms out in front of her, ignoring the way they trembled just slightly. She made a move to stand with confidence akin to a mortal in front of deities. “Well… I hate to cut this off right now, but I really should get going… My roommate is probably waiting for me back home.” She didn’t look him directly in the eyes— Couldn’t.

Yuuta hardly wasted a beat before standing up too, hand casual in its place around her waist. “Oh, are you sure? It’s really late, sweetheart… Don’t wanna wait until morning or something?” His eyes innocuous and slightly off-putting as he tilted his head, [name]’s trepidation blossomed into something worse. She waved him off, subtly realizing her movement to get out of his hold didn’t do anything.

“Nah, it’s fine! Like I said, I don’t wanna worry my roommate… Thanks so much for letting me stay over hon’, this was really fun.” [name] reached for her phone, ready to call Maki now that she had WiFi— Only to find that her phone… wasn’t… on the table.

Huh.

A pair of hands gently guided her waist to sit back down, a bit too close to his own frame, she realized. Silence settled over the pair — But something else settled in her stomach too. Pit-like, heavy, dread.

One of those hands rubbed circles on her thigh, the other still slung around her hip and under her jacket. It was intimate. Too intimate. Black hair and gunmetal eyes, soft pink lips — Proximity closing in, she felt her breath hitch. The sluggish drive beneath her movements was getting worse, eyes blinking languidly. She was losing herself.

“Y’know…” He began, “Being a Jujutsu sorcerer’s helped me keep some discipline. I think I’ve subconsciously created some rules for myself, and it’s a ton of use, honestly.” Yuuta rested his chin on her shoulder, gentle smile transforming into something more sinister.

[name] felt her body shiver under his ministrations, only nodding so everything would end faster. He would stop talking, let her go, and she’d hopefully never have to see him again—

“Rule number one, and this is the one that’s saved me a bunch,” There was an odd glint in his eye as he sat up straight again, grabbing her mug of hot chocolate to drop it on the floor. She flinched at the sound of it shattering, hand instinctively reaching out to grab it— But it slipped right through her fingers.

It felt like time stopped when the liquid, previously in the mug, shrivelled up and morphed into some kind of powdery substance.

“Never drink anything you didn’t make yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes flashed a brief electric blue, just before his hands found purchase on [name]’s wrists. The couch creaked under their weight as she cried out in the spur of the moment, a cracked whimper that hardly made it past her lips.

Everything blurred together. He had wrangled her into the perfect position, carrying her over to his room and tossing her onto the bed. Hardly another second, and he was on top of her once again, wrists pinned above her head. Yuuta’s bangs mingled with hers when he leaned down to press their lips together, tongue easily slipping into her mouth.

The headboard groaned with their movements. Sighing quietly to himself, his face decorated in cupid blush — He pulled back from the kiss to pepper the rest of her face, wet with tears, in more gentle adorations. “Ah, ‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry sweetheart—” He mumbled over and over again, way too high on the feel of her to really process much else.

In her drunken stupor, [name]’s body couldn’t do much to stop him. It seemed only her lips were working their purpose, spouting pleas for him to “Stop, please, just stop—”, to no avail.

She felt her jacket get slipped off her shoulders, even more panic aroused within her now. In a matter of seconds, all clothing covering her top half had been discarded among the floor. Yuuta’s hands found purchase on her breasts, kneading them under his fingers and pinching the pebbled nipples as his lips went further down her torso.

Teeth bit into her collarbones, neck, tits, stomach — Eventually reaching her sweatpants as well. The girl hadn’t stopped pleading for one second, weakly tugging at his hair to stop him, but it only earned a satisfied groan from the boy.

His canines tugged at the hem of her bottoms, eventually working them down so he had a fresh view of her pretty panties. He couldn’t hold back another low groan, it coming out as more of a whimper if anything. The guilt was eating him up inside, but he had to do this. For [name]’s own sake.

Yuuta dragged a slow finger through her clothed folds, relishing in the jerk it earned from her body. He tugged the panties down, finally, and wasted no time in latching onto her clit with his mouth. The whimper that followed was less quiet now, moreso delighted as he licked up every last drop from her folds. It didn’t matter how much she was squirming, his strong hands held her thighs firmly in place.

He worked his expert tongue along her clit, occasionally dipping into her hole — But it wasn’t long before his fingers worked their way inside instead. Two fingers scissored her apart, gasps and cries filling the room at the utter pain that didn’t evolve into pleasure. Her body wouldn’t move an inch, trembling under all the stress but unable to fight back at all.

After the third finger was added, and he was sure she was all ready, Yuuta pressed her thighs to her chest, releasing his cock from its restraints with a low hiss. Apologies were already bubbling on his tongue, dragging the tip through her dripping folds with satisfying ease. [name] couldn’t help it — She was sobbing by now, begging him to stop, that if he quit it right now and let her go, maybe they could forget about this—

But he was already pushing into her, a string of curses leaving his swollen and puffy lips. His eyes were bright and electric-kept, cheeks ever so bright pink. Hardly a second of still hips before he was rolling into her in quick and harsh thrusts, bed shaking with the force. “Shh— Please, please— I’m sorry, ‘m so, so sorry sweetheart— You’ll understand later, you’ll get it, I promise—”

There were a number of things he said that rendered [name] speechless every time, that low buzz in her skin growing into white noise — It blocked everything else out of her ears.

“Been— Fuck— Been watching you since h-high school— Ngh—” He pointed his thrusts even deeper, canines digging into his bottom lip. “Noticed how b-beautiful you were, but you always— covered yourself up around me. Tugged your— Your sleeves down, sucked in your stomach— It always had me so confused– Haah, fuck,” He cut himself off with another sharp thrust, whimpering again when her pussy unconsciously clenched around him.

“You’re beautiful, [name]. Why don’t you— See that, h-huh? This was the only way to make you see it, to help you understand just how—” He rolled his hips up to meet hers, leaning down to lock eyes with her own as well. “F-Fucking perfect you are. ‘M sorry, so sorry it had to be like this, but it’s okay. We have all the time in the world.”

Yuuta’s words were a perfect dissonant harmony to [name]’s whines and pleads, trying to tune out anything he said. His pace grew sloppy as his hips stuttered, climax nearing. The girl’s eyes widened in pure, utter terror.

“Once I give you a child, y-you’ll learn how to love yourself along with them.” His words were final, despite how her eyes had widened to the size of saucers. Pace increasing drastically, earning high-keening whimpers from [name], Yuuta finally shot ropes of white into her walls, coating it in such heavy amounts of the thick liquid it started to seep out of her cunt.

Heavy breathing rang out in the room, painting it in a cacophony of blissful tears. The girl’s face was decorated in sweat, tears, and some of her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her bare chest heaved up and down, eyes shut tight as she wouldn’t dare meet Yuuta’s gaze. Not in a million goddamn years.

The boy ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to pull out as he laid next to her. She couldn’t move anyway, so he just pulled her close and rested his chin atop her head. [name]’s eyes were dulled over, lips quivering as tears still poured forth, as if she was still processing the entire thing.

He’d thought that once it was over, he might need to cry everything out, not even be able to go forward with his plan out of pure remorse, but, — In the aftermath of it all, he felt every ounce of guilt wash away.

Love has its sacrifices. Some people are just willing to give up more than others.

𝘱𝘭𝘴𝘴𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘥 𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘬 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 ☆

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ghosttrolls · 3 months

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Watching Danny phantom is like. You have a boy in high school who suddenly has the power to protect his town from the otherworldly evils that are slowly creeping into the normal world, and though the town he lives in does not initially believe these evils exist at first, they slowly come to admit that it's true: the town has been under attack, but this one kid has been defending the entire place this whole time for them. He keeps this responsibility a secret from his parents, and the town does not know who he really is, because he fears how they would react, and he fears for their safety. So he chooses two people to tell, and they work together as a team to bring down bad guy after bad guy.

And then watching Trollhunters is like. There's a high school boy who suddenly gains powers to protect his small hometown from the otherworldly evils that slowly encroach into the public eye, and though at first the population doesn't believe these evils are real, they slowly realize that the town has been in danger for a while, and this one teenage boy has been protecting them this whole time. He keeps this responsibility secret from his mom and everyone else in his life for as long as he can, out of fear of what they'll say, and of putting them in danger. He chooses two friends to tell his secret to, though, and together they are able to save their town over and over.

Watching Danny Phantom is like, hey there's this old guy that is trying to insert himself into Danny's life as a guidance figure. This dude has a crush on Danny's mom hardcore, which is a bit awkward - WAIT A SECOND? He's also EVIL?? This older man who sometimes appears as a mentor and sometimes as a rival is the only adult person who knows Danny's secret, who he truly is. And they fight over that fact constantly.

Watching Trollhunters is like, there's an older man in Jim's life who's trying to offer him guidance, which is cool. He asks Jim if his mom is single, and that's awkward - WAIT HES AN EVIL BAD GUY??? Suddenly this guy appears in Jim's life not only as a mentor but often as a rival instead, and is the only adult who knows Jim's secret. They fight about that secret constantly.

Watching Danny Phantom is like, hey this episode results in his parents finding out his secret about his powers. At first they're shocked and scared for his safety, but they warm up to the idea pretty fast. We love you anyway, they say. We're here for you, we're so sorry you were so scared to tell us. But there's a larger problem, one that will end up wiping their memories. Promise us, they say, promise us you'll tell us again after the memory wipe. We will support you forever and always. Their memories get wiped. Danny does not tell them his secret again. They have to find it out for themselves in the last episode of the show.

Watching Trollhunters is like, in this episode Jim's mom finds out about his powers. At first she's shocked and scared, because she witnesses first-hand the danger he's been putting himself in, but eventually she relaxes that fear as she realizes he's good at his job. You've always been my hero, she says. But there's a bigger problem, and to fix it her memory will get wiped. Promise me, she says, promise me that after my memory is gone, you'll remind me. The burden is too big to carry on your own. I don't want you to lie anymore. Her memory is wiped, and Jim does not tell her. She has to recover her lost memories on her own.

Watching Danny phantom is like. Something made him this way. The burden feels heavy. He tries to undo it, he tries to live a life without it. He takes his powers away and walks around town like a normal kid. But everywhere he goes, he sees people who need help, and feels this tug. He realizes he couldn't just stop helping people, so he goes and gets his powers back. He made himself into a hero this time.

Watching Trollhunters is like. Someone made him this way. He starts regretting all the danger he's put his friends and family in, and all the mistakes he's made, so he wishes he never had powers. That wish is granted. But after living his life as a normal teenager for a while, he realizes the town can't win against the evil without him. He needs to step up and be the hero. And so he picks his sword back up again.

Watching Danny Phantom is like, why do they have an episode where they have to take care of flour sacks as if they're babies?? I don't remember that being required in high school.

Watching Trollhunters is like, oh great, TWO MORE episodes where they have to take care of flour sack babies. Where does this situation in high school cartoons come from anyway??

#ghostly posts #danny phantom #trollhunters #jim lake jr #danny fenton #tales of arcadia #*spongebob hands* MY RECOLLECTION OF REALITY TRIP MIGHT BE OFF #I HAVENT WATCHED DP IN YEARS. SORRY #also to be clear I am NOT hating on the creepslayerz arc #I just find it weird. the flour baby thing.#I LOVE the creepslayerz arc!!

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magneticflower · 3 months

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When is it not raining in Ketterdam?

I got rather inspired and wanted to draw Kanej since it had been a while. It snowballed into me also writing a little thing to go along with it. I hope you enjoy both sjsj. The rest of the writing will be under readmore~

It almost feels like old times, being out on the streets of the Barrel in the wee hours of the morning instead of at the Crow Club to meet her. Almost. Except he wasn't making his way through the Barrel to scout out a target or to discuss intel without the risk of being heard with her, and they weren't teenagers anymore. He was heading towards the docks for a goodbye. It wasn't the first time he had done so in the last five years, and provided her Saints kept watch like she said they did, it wouldn't be the last.

He made his way down to berth twenty-two and could already see her waiting for him at the railing on the side of her ship, her familiar figure silhouetted by what streams of moonlight could make it through the smoggy sky that encased the Barrel most evenings. He preferred the times when she was silhouetted by the sunsets that only seemed to be visible when she returned, but he couldn't begrudge her for leaving to where she was at her best. He just hated how he felt in the hours leading up to and after her departure. Kaz pulled himself together just fine after, but he had never entirely managed to shake himself of those hours. Maybe one day.

"Punctual as always, Kaz," she said as he made his way to stand in front of her along the railing.

"I know how you like your sleep. I won't keep you long."

"I don't mind losing some sleep, not if it is for you. Saints know I have done it plenty of times before."

"I distinctly remember several instances of you grumbling about that."

Inej rolled her eyes, "Are you trying to keep this brief because you've got somewhere you would rather be, Kaz?"

No, there wasn't a place in the Barrel that he would rather be than right here, right now. Perhaps only his office, but only if she was there with him. "I am trying out being considerate."

"Not what I asked."

Kaz exhaled through his nose, "You know the answer to that, Inej."

Luckily for him, she wasn't keen on being as obstinate as he usually was, so instead of insisting on a real answer, she simply asked, "Then why are you so far?"

He eyed her momentarily, "How could I be closer than I already am while on the dock?"

Inej's eyes looked down and his own followed suit. "Are you telling me you want me to climb up those crates?"

She looked back up, "Well, I may or may not have had my crew leave those right there for that very reason. Come to whatever conclusion that gives you."

"It was raining earlier. They're wet."

"When is it not raining in Ketterdam?"

"Right now."

"Kaz." She gives him a familiar look that tells him she is done with the back and forth. He either does it or doesn't. Of course he does it.

"If I fall on my ass climbing these..." he muttered as he made his way up the boxes to fulfill her request to come closer.

Inej laughed, "If you do perhaps you'll gain greater appreciation for what I used to do for you. At the very least you will leave me with a great memory to reflect on during the less than favorable nights when I'm gone."

Kaz was too busy making his way up to give a retort. It wasn't as if these were particularly difficult, they were just a few measly crates, but his leg never liked this sort of weather and it was proving to stand by that.

"Now that wasn't so bad was it?" She said once he fully made it up, no unceremonious fall to be had.

"It wasn't particularly good either. We're not teenagers anymore," he countered, shifting his weight to better accommodate his leg.

Inej rested her arms on the railing so that she could lean closer to him, a grin on her face. She still had to look down at him even though he stood on the crates now. Regardless, they were closer, just like she wanted. He had wanted it too.

"You're only twenty two, Kaz, you're hardly ancient. Besides, you are the one that declines to simply come on the ship when we say our goodbyes. I know you said it is because it might wake the others, but one day you will have to oblige me, since you are giving being considerate a chance." He knew the last sentence wasn't just a request to come aboard for goodbyes. One day she wanted him to come with her. Maybe one day he would.

"It would be louder. I am not the Wraith."

"No, I suppose you are not. You're just the crow that keeps coming by because she didn't have the good sense not to feed him," she retorts, leaning forward a little more.

"I don't recall you giving me any information recently, Wraith."

"I suppose not," she said as she moved her hands down to place them on either side of his face to prompt him to lean up as she leaned closer to him as well, "Give me a minute to think of something," she finished as she closed the gap between their lips. It was soft and slow. perhaps because the two knew that this was where the goodbye started.

Almost as if Ketterdam couldn't handle the silence of their moment, Inej began to hear the pattering of the beginning of the rainy morning ahead of her. She pulled back, though only enough to stop the kiss, but not enough to let the rain hit his face. Not enough to ruin this.

"Kaz, it's raining."

"When is it not raining in Ketterdam?"

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows fanart

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abiiors · 1 month

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persephone - matty x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is kinda loosely based on the myth of persephone and also this is just one interpretation of it, obv several exists in the media :) and like matty's barely hades lmao, this is mostly just the connection of persephone, demeter and spring ♡ cw: this contains themes of parental neglect, dysfunctional families, emotional abuse/neglect and alcoholism, and they're very much PRESENT and DETAILED. this isn't angst but it's def bittersweet (emphasis on the bitter whoops) wc: 5.1k

the first word she learns is “mama”.

she has a faint memory of this—a woman with shining brown hair, smiling and cheering at her. everything is blurred around the edges and filtered in through a haze. everything has a foggy white quality to it but the woman’s eyes are crystal clear and looking at her, focused solely on her. she has a memory of others laughing and clapping along, encouraging her to say the word again and again.

mama.

the brown haired woman looks tired—she’s young and, looking back, barely even an adult. but the woman smiles at her and coos along. “mama,” the woman says in an exaggerated baby voice and points to herself.

“mama,” she babbles again at the woman she now recognises as her mother. the woman gives her a bland smile, playing with her almost absently. the woman even lets her grab onto her fingers and bite on them—not that it counts much as biting, she barely has teeth at this point.

the next memory she has is of an older man with a freckled happy face and salt-n-pepper hair. he throws her up in the air and catches her until she’s giggling and breathless and light as air. he's often at their dining table, peeling pomegranates.

mama says she can't eat them yet—they're of course a choking hazard for a baby her age. but the old man peals it for mama, because mama looks happy when she sits next to him and pops the seeds into her mouth, sighing at the sweetness.

“these are delicious, daddy,” mama says to him and he smiles at mama with all the tenderness in the world.

when mama needs a break from her, he takes her to the nearby pond, and lets her touch leaves and rocks. he points at the tiny things in the water and says a word she barely recognises.

fishies.

he clicks his tongue and waits for her to imitate the word, but she only claps her hands and says “mama” again.

the man laughs. “let’s get you home to mama then.”

the younger woman gets mad at him when they get home though. mama grabs all the treasure—their entire day’s hard work—and puts it away somewhere where she can never reach it again.

the man grumbles about it too but she’s far too young yet to understand words and tone, much less full blown fights. all she knows is a distinct sharp feeling of fear when mama snatches her away from the old man’s hands and puts her away in a room alone.

there are white bars around her that she can’t climb, even though she cries and cries and screams for mama. even when a pungent smell fills the room and she feels uncomfortable wetness in her onesie.

but mama doesn’t come. and the old man’s voice can’t reach her anymore. there’s only the sound of her cries and an eerie music box lullaby that plays on repeat as if it would ever be enough to pacify her.

mama doesn’t come for hours.

years later, she’d know why mama can’t be bothered.

the last time she calls her mother “mama” is when she’s seven years old.

it’s rained all night and the backyard is wet and muddy. mama grimaces the moment she looks out the window but for a seven year old girl, it’s the most fun thing to ever exist. mama makes a sound of disgust when she runs outside, whooping with joy and slipping and sliding in the mud.

all she wishes for is a companion now—a sibling or a dog or a cat, she’s not picky. a friend works too, but she’s not entirely sure where someone gets those.

“if you get mud on my carpets, i swear!” mama shakes her fist from the back door but she can’t care less.

she’s drenched in mud and having way more fun than she’s had in days. so much so that she doesn’t even realise when mama shakes her head and goes back inside.

the winter chill is almost gone, there’s even a few little saplings sprouting from the ground and she can’t wait for the whole backyard to be filled with weird little weeds and wallflowers. she can’t wait until it’s warm enough to sit outside in the afternoons and make her little witchy potions from mud and weeds and flowers and see if any butterflies would be curious enough to land near her. (or maybe even on her like they do in the movies she’s seen!)

she forgets the movies for a moment, though. today is the best day a girl could have.

her grampy—her grandpa—is supposed to visit too, and she knows he’s going to bring treats; sweet honey from the hive on their farm or tiny red strawberries that dribble juice down her chin. she knows he’ll sit in their kitchen and peel her a pomegranate (she can eat those now!) and tell her about the new calf on the farm. (she’s asked this story twice now but it only gets better each time) it’s all so exciting that she even forgets about her aversion to the kitchen for a bit, forgets how a pit opens in her stomach every time she has to be in the kitchen with mama.

she can’t wait for the after, but right now she runs through her backyard again, whooping and cheering and smiling.

she’s slipping and slipping, just like before. the fence comes closer, her little mind tries to calculate the distance, her feet try to slow down but the mud’s grown too slippery and she just can’t stop, can’t put her arms up in time.

her jaw collides with the fence with a sickening crunch. pain flares in her mouth along with the sharp coppery taste of blood. it almost makes her gag and she tries to spit it out. something white falls on the ground, covered in blood—her first tooth, the one that’s been loosening for days.

she stays curled on the ground, covered in mud, sobbing and spitting out more blood until her saliva runs clear, then she somehow shuffles inside, hoping mama would have a magic fix.

mama’s eyes widen the moment she walks in, dried mud crusted around her feet, blood on her chin.

“what the fuck?!” mama yells, the glass in her hand jostles dangerously and the dark liquid inside almost splashes out. mama’s words also have an unnerving, slurred quality to them but she’s too much in pain to care.

“what’s wrong with you?!” mama screeches again and gets up. through tears, she manages to splutter out what happened. she shows mama the tooth, (girls in school have told her about the tooth fairy) but mama only smacks her hand away.

“i told you not to get mud on my carpets. who’s going to clean them huh? not you, you’re useless. you’re all useless.”

more tears fall on her cheeks and she looks at mama, horrified. but mama slams the glass hard enough on the table that a crack goes through it. she’s worried mama’s going to yell at her more, but mama only yanks the mop from the corner and waits for her to move out the way.

she takes the hint, grateful it didn’t get worse. she tries not to get the mud onto anything else but a little gets on the bathroom tiles anyway.

under the hot water, she finally lets her sobs free and scrubs her little body until the skin is all red and raw and stings from the temperature of the water. until each stream of the showerhead feels like a bb bullet.

then she gets on her hands and knees and scrubs the bathroom floor clean, occasionally flicking her tongue over the now-empty spot where the tooth used to be. it tastes vaguely salty, and it still aches but not as much, definitely nothing in comparison to her jaw which is turning a nasty shade of purple. her tooth’s still safe on the counter, though—free of blood and mud now. gleaming white.

at least that’s the saving grace of the day. at least she’ll get a visit from the tooth fairy.

grampy cancels his visit—his knees hurt, mama says—but she tries not to be miffed about it. she’ll make sure to get grampy something nice with the money from the tooth fairy.

that night she gingerly places the tooth on the bed, carefully places the pillow on top so that the tooth is protected from all sides. nice and snug.

then she closes her eyes, dreaming of tiny fluttering wings and shiny pennies. but the tooth fairy never visits at all.

her mum ages rapidly in a decade. by the time she’s seventeen, her mum’s already gone grey—unravelling at the seams, fraying with each passing day. not that anyone’s seen her mum in days. or months even. her mum’s not coherent enough to hang out with people most of the time.

she’s started spending less and less time at home. it helps to have a part time job on top of school—a place that delivers chinese food. a couple guys from her school work there too, not that she really knows a lot of them. except one.

matty.

he’s the one person she’s ever considered a friend.

the one person who’s been worthy of that title.

matty’s all casual smiles and laughs—he flirts shamelessly and kisses people on the cheeks when he gets drunk. he offers her fags and spliffs even though she always denies them. he nicks leftover chinese so they can eat it in his car, giggling and laughing, way prouder of their heist than they should be.

the food tastes better when she’s with him. everything’s better when she’s with him—even the shitty, off-brand beer he keeps buying. with him it tastes like expensive champagne. not that she knows what champagne tastes like to begin with, but she imagines the bubbles settling on her tongue feel like his laugh spilling from his lips. she imagines it tastes like the sparkle in his eyes.

matty looks at her differently too—she’s not stupid, she knows what interest looks like.

she’s been the object of fascination since she turned thirteen and developed boobs seemingly overnight. she shies away from attention most of the time—wears t-shirts twice her size, keeps her hair a bland brown. she barely even looks at boys or men who tell her she looks mature for her age. but when matty looks at her, it’s different.

when matty looks at her, she wants to be seen.

“you sure it’s okay for us to be out so late?” he asks one night when they’re sat in his car. the world around them has already gone quiet—it is a school night after all, she should be in bed too. but she sees the cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and for a second she forgets to respond. matty quirks and eyebrow and she realises she’s been staring at his mouth.

“my mum won’t mind.” her response is a bit curt, but she leaves it at that. there’s no need to mention that her mum’s probably drowning in wine by now, tripping and spilling the liquid onto floors and sofas and carpet.

“she must be chill,” matty hums to himself and takes a drag of his cigarette. she watches him hold it into his lungs, some of it escapes through his nose and curls around his face.

she keeps quiet, unwilling to get into that topic of conversation.

“i’m thinking of dropping out,” matty says quietly once the cigarette turns into a tiny stub. his voice is carefully neutral, monotonous. she whirls to look at him, jaw practically dropping to the (dirty) floor of his car. matty stares straight ahead, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

images flash in front of her—walking the school corridors alone, eating lunch alone, doing her homework alone. working at her job alone.

alone, alone, alone. no one but her mum around her again. that wretched fucking woman occupying every atom of her existence.

“did you h—”

“i heard you.” her voice has gone quiet now but there’s an edge to it that doesn’t go unnoticed by matty.

“and?”

“and what? if i said no, would that convince you to stay?”

she doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. certainly not so selfish. but an ugly feeling bubbles up so deep inside her that all the excitement from before just dies—all the butterflies from just a moment ago, now dead and rotten, making her feel nauseous.

“no but—”

“i don’t want to tell you why it’s irresponsible, matty. frankly, i don’t know if i believe that myself but… it’s… it’s big.”

his face falls further and further the more she speaks. with each word she wants to press a hand to her mouth, wrap it around her throat so it would strangle everything else that’s about to come out. with every word she wants him to tell her to just shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. but matty only looks at her and a different sort of quiet spreads around the car.

“you think this… this thing you’ve got going on. music. you think that’s enough?! you play for fucking retirement homes, matty! you play for old people who probably won’t even remember what they heard twenty minutes later. and you want to–what? you want to leave your education incomplete? you want to leave a-levels and school and your job? you just want to…leave?”

which is the real problem.

he gets the luxury of leaving.

she gets the misery of staying.

“thanks,” he says dryly, trying to roll his eyes. she catches the extra shine they now have, she catches the way his throat bobs. and suddenly the car is so stifling she can’t stand it anymore—can’t stand the taste of the nasty, cheap beer and the too-salty, too-greasy chinese they’re eating and she can’t stand the cliche, indie rock music playing at low volume.

she can’t stand him anymore.

“i need to go,” she says curtly, wiping her hands on her jeans and already halfway out the door when matty grabs her wrist.

“wait—”

“what.”

“n-nothing.” it’s the first time she’s heard him stutter, first time he’s ever said something without sounding completely sure of himself. “let me just drop you home.”

it’s also the first time he’s offered to do that.

“i have my bike.” besides there’s no need for you to see the state of the house right now, no need to come across that belligerent woman in case she’s still conscious.

“it’s late.”

she can’t really argue with that logic. it is almost 11 at night and she might not live in a very shady neighbourhood but it’s still not the safest at this time of the night. still, she doesn’t want matty driving her around and dropping her home. that feels too vulnerable. besides, she just wants to be away from him.

he’s leaving anyway, she might as well start practising that from now on.

“i’ll text you when you get home,” she mumbles and forces her wrist out of his hand.

she’s out of the car and slamming the door shut before he can even protest. she’s marching across the empty road and to her bike before the absence of his warmth registers, before her body realises that she can no longer feel his skin against hers.

before she really has a chance to let anything sink in.

matty honks and she hisses.

“what!”

“i’m following you home.” and then the little shit rolls up the window.

she has half a mind to stubbornly wait him out, see how long he stays if she just refused to move but that’s a stupid plan. like it or not, it’s happening. he’s following her home.

like it or not, she’s going to have to let him.

“i’ll only accept your apology on one condition.”

it’s two days later that they’re back in his car—her with a guilty conscience, matty with a smug smile.

“ugh, if you’re about to be a boy about it!”

“you haven’t even heard me out yet!”

the pit in her stomach shifts, the hollow cavity catching in her throat until she has to forcefully clear her throat and blink rapidly. it’s not that she’s completely forgiven him for wanting to leave, she hasn’t completely given up on that yet either. but she realises the way she went about it was perhaps…a bit shitty (okay it was definitely a lot shitty)

“spring dance”

“what?!”

the words jerk her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost forget about everything else for a second. the spring fucking dance.

matty healy, the boy who nicks chinese food and drinks cheap beer and wears ripped, skinny jeans wants to go to the spring dance.

“right don’t look at me like i’ve asked you out to a strip club—”

“that’d be more in character—”

“oi! just… let me speak!”

and so she shuts up, puts her hands under her thighs so she won’t impulsively chew on her nails while her crush is…trying to ask her out.

matty rolls his eyes at her and the fond smile on his face takes her breath away.

“i want to do it. i want one last cheesy school experience before i…” he trails off, maybe not wanting to finish that sentence for her sake. or maybe because it affects him more than she thinks. “and i want to do it with you.”

“me? ooh like i’m special or something.” she tries for it to be teasing and playful, but the words come out sounding so hopeful that it knocks the breath out of her.

“don’t pretend,” matty’s voice goes all quiet then. serious too, and suddenly he can’t meet her eyes. “don’t pretend like you don’t see it.”

“see what…”

there’s a lot in her life that she pretends not to see—half the things at home, sometimes her failing marks, sometimes the way other people look at her and whisper. but he is the one person she can’t pretend with. can’t pretend to not see the way he looks at her and acts around her. can’t pretend to not notice the way his touches linger and his smiles last longer.

even now, she can’t pretend like he’s not looking right at her lips, leaning in a smidge at a time. wishing she’d close the gap.

involuntarily, her eyes flutter shut. anticipating.

she wants to feel it so fucking bad—his hands on her waist, his fingers on her skin. she wants to feel his faint stubble against the palm of her hand, his lips on hers. most of all she just wants to feel him close, to feel his breath on her skin.

matty jerks away and a loud horn of a car breaks the spell.

“fucking dicks!” matty rolls the window down and yells at the retreating figure of teenagers in a car, one of them even flips him off and next to him she seethes.

fuck this, fuck everything. why can’t she just have nice things.

why must someone come and ruin it every time.

it takes them both a minute to breathe and settle down and meet each other’s eyes again. even then there’s a slight pink tinge on his face that makes him look adorable.

“sorry about that…” matty mumbles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “so…spring dance?”

“i’d love that.”

she hopes the smile she gives him is genuine. she hopes he sees it plain and simple all over her face—all the words she hasn’t said and cannot say.

matty smiles wide. “then i forgive you.”

and it’s like a weight gets lifted off her chest.

“you look pretty,” her mum’s eyes roam over her body, eyeing her from head to toe, flicking over certain places again and again until she almost feels naked—like the blush pink fabric doesn’t even exist. like her mum sees right through her.

years of this has taught her that it’s not a compliment. if anything, it’s just another trap, so she focuses on her reflection in the mirror and smiles with as much warmth as she can muster. “thanks!”

her mum reeks of wine already, maybe even a little weed but it’s nearly not enough today which is surprising. she would have expected her mum to be at some bar by now.

“i’ll be a bit late. don’t worry i have my keys though.”

then she scoffs to herself. when has her mum ever worried?

“who’s taking you? to the dance.”

“wha–? oh. uh, just a few friends. only met them recently.” she winces, trying to get the last of the curls in place, trying not to be too cagey in front of her mum. she doesn’t want her mum to think she’s hiding something—mostly because it never ends well, and she can’t be arsed to deal with another screaming match right now. not when there’s a ball of anxiety and anticipation in her chest, wound so tightly that it’s slowly choking the air out of her lungs.

she just wants to be outside. she just wants matty to see her, to call her pretty and maybe even kiss her.

she just wants this one night with him.

just one.

her mum huffs and stumbles into the room. everything about this woman wants to make her shrink away—the days old stink of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes, the grime under her fingernails, her beady stare…

even when her mum’s fingers twirl around her curl, she fights not to shrink back, to slap her mum’s hand away.

“you look pretty,” her mum repeats. “prettier than i did when i was your age.”

her stomach churns at the cruel edge to those words but her mum isn’t done yet. “huh–not so easy to be pretty with a seven month pregnant belly. like a fucking whale…”

and there it is.

her fault that her mum was robbed off having normal teenage experiences.

“right, mum,” she smiles shakily, “need to get going.”

it’s almost a miracle that her mum doesn’t say anything else. mum just backs away and lets her gather her things. she quickens her pace, heart beating in her throat, hands trembling when she picks up her small purse.

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay

“don’t spread your legs for that boy.”

she freezes in place, almost out the door.

“wha—”

“act dumb again and i’ll make sure you never see that boy again.”

“mum…” she swallows harshly, prays that the tears pricking her eyes don’t spill down her cheeks. then she nods and books it out of there. better to go before her mum changes her mind.

better to go before leaving becomes impossible.

matty makes her forget all of it.

the moment she sees him, the shakiness in her limbs disappears, her heart thuds in her chest for all the right reasons. he’s in a suit. a fucking suit that makes him look all grown up and handsome but then his unruly curls go all over the place and suddenly she’s laughing with the boy she’s had a crush on.

no matter what he wears and what he looks like, he will always be that boy.

the school auditorium is full of flowers—some fake, some real. all the girls around her look stunning, dressed in colourful pretty gowns. it’s all spring incarnate.

all night he dances effortlessly, twirls so many people around him like he’s friends with everyone. and maybe he is—he’s certainly always been so much more popular than she has. she should be the one leaving.

but she also can’t help but stare. she wonders if he is a daydream, something her lonely mind conjured up during hours filled with boredom or after long, exhausting fights with her mum. and suddenly, he is looking right at her. sweat makes his white shirt stick to his body in the most flattering way possible, makes his sweaty curls fall into his eyes until he can barely see straight.

stop ogling!

“staring is rude, you know?” he walks—no, saunters—over to her. suddenly, there’s not enough air left in the giant school auditorium.

“you’ve been staring too,” she counters. and she’s right. all night she’s caught his long lingering glances that make her feel like she’s coming alive.

like a flower blooming in spring.

“you kinda make it hard not to stare.” so does he, she thinks. but everything, from his half smile to his relaxed posture, tells her not to inflate his ego further. she stifles the faint blush creeping up her face and shakes her head bashfully.

“come on,” he says.

at first, she doesn’t realise what’s happening. then he whisks her away to the dance floor and her shriek of surprise turns into one of delight. she has never danced like this before but that night they dance till her heart pounds in her ears, till she can’t stand straight anymore. then they sway softly, in spite of the rock and roll playing in the background.

“you’re beautiful,” matty smiles at her, sincere and real.

if she discovers anything about herself that early spring night, it would be her love for dancing. it’s a feeling she’s never felt before—something that almost feels like…freedom. it’s foreign at first, all the blood coursing through her body at the speed of lightning. she tries to keep track of how many times she shrieks and laughs and jumps in excitement. all of it until matty picks her up and twirls her around.

round and round until she’s breathless and light as air and fucking free.

somewhere after that, she loses count. at the end of the night, her dress clings to her and matty can’t stop staring. can’t stop letting his eyes roam all over her until he’s grinning himself. his smile is boyish. perfect. and just as she’s getting self-conscious, he pulls her closer.

“you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

next thing she knows, matty is holding her softly against the wall and kissing her bare neck. he softly caresses her waist through her dress and she shivers against the warm spring breeze. she can feel him shaking too, almost like he’s…nervous to do anything more. to actually kiss her and shatter the moment. she can’t have that, can’t let this moment slip through her fingers.

“kiss me,” she pleads and matty moves in an instant, his warm mouth capturing hers. like he was only waiting for her permission.

his lips are a little chapped. far from perfect and yet electricity zings through her all at once. if it weren’t for the wall, her legs might have given out from under her. she might just be a heap on the floor, surrounded by all the spring flowers.

matty kisses with such reckless abandon that it steals her breath away. kisses her until her heart swells in her chest, ready to burst. her fingers tangle themselves into his hair and she kisses him back with everything in her. she can’t care less about how public this is, there’s only him in this moment.

only the two of them on a warm spring night suspended in this one moment.

she almost whines when matty pulls back. annoyed beyond belief that he’d pull away now.

“mat—”

“it’s late.”

“it’s not!”

“it is, love.” suddenly his voice has gone gentle, almost quiet. matty pulls his old phone out of his pocket (with the screen cracked and all) and holds it in front of her. the screen flashes with 11:17

shit where did all the time go?

matty makes no move to untangle himself from her arms, still pressed against her. in her ead she forms a childlike grudge against his phone. if it weren’t for it, they would have never known what time it was…

“i hate this.” her voice comes out thick with tears and something wet hits her nose. “i don’t want to go, i don’t want you to go. please.” but even then she knows how unfair it is to put him in this situation.

matty’s caresses her cheek, wiping away her tears, smiling at her like she’s the most gentle precious thing in the whole world.

and maybe she is. in his world.

“you’ll finish school too,” he says, voice a low murmur, “and then you have a uni to attend. so much shit to do. god, you’re brilliant enough to get everything you want.”

but it’s you i want. still she doesn’t say it. not just yet.

she nuzzles his palm instead, placing a soft kiss on it. “i hate spring. i wish it was autumn instead. i’d be starting uni at least.”

“and you will,” matty reassures again. “you’re going to do so many things.”

“you won’t be here to see them…”

and there it is, all the things she’s been holding deep inside laid bare. matty looks at her for a long time and smiles sadly. “who said that? i’d find you, we will keep in touch. isn’t spring meant to be about new beginnings and all that? so why don’t we start a pact?”

“that’s a silly idea,” she teases but even then she’s eager to know what he means.

matty ignores it. “stay here for spring and summer, finish school. i’ll find you when autumn comes.”

“you’d really do that?”

“who’s gonna help you move into uni halls huh?”

through tears she laughs. only matty could make it sound so exciting. only matty could make her hate it so much less.

she doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so she kisses him instead. he tastes like peaches, mint and something sweet. the very first boy she’s ever loved. the boy she will always love.

he’s leaving soon, she knows it. who knows maybe she will wake up tomorrow and he will be gone. she feels all that passes between them and she tries to send all her longing and all her yearning down that bond. for a brief second she is determined to make matty stay through sheer willpower.

but that would be the most selfish thing she’s ever done. and so she smiles and lets him go.

matty might be leaving but she’ll always have this one warm spring night. even as the clock inches towards midnight and a new day threatens to arrive.

for a brief moment she wonders if she can make time stand still. this one moment stretched into eternity.

but the minutes tick by anyway. and tomorrow comes anyway.

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#spring fics #seasons #the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you

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sleekswosobession · 1 month

Text

but i didn't did pour the whiskey

barça femeni x reader

overview: they said getting over addiction wasn't easy, what about when no one knows? what about when relapse happens after a whole year?

A/N: my requests are sitting... but I can't get to them and im really sorry, ive been so busy atm and dont got much modivation for em'

TW: alcohol addiction, self-hatred, relapse, course language, actual detail instead of me brushing over it

!! viewer discretion is advised, i suggest only mature audiences read this !!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In all honesty, you'd seen the signs. You'd known the inevitable was coming. The feelings of urge that you'd felt a year ago when trying to stop. You had stopped though, so you ignored it. Then it became more real. To the blank stares at the crates in the stores, rather than the hatred you harboured before after finally being ‘better’.

To walking and judging if you should buy it or not.

To blinking tears out of your eyes, wondering why you'd think that in the first place.

Because why would you, you were better now. Right? That's what you'd told yourself anyways.

It kept amplifying over the course of a week. Until you couldn't take it, until everything you'd worked so hard for for the past year came crashing down. All those memories of countless nights pacing, crying, yelling over a stupid fucking substance fade away.

Guilt. That's all there is. Guilt.

Guilt for betraying your past self who had cried for hours, who felt like she was going psycho over not having a single drink.

But, you can't find it in yourself to stop drinking it. It's just one beer, how harmful could it be? Said by the words of a true fucking alcoholic.

So, you do the only thing you can think of and cry. Cry until your face is numb, your throat burning with every breath, cry until your lungs can't take in any oxygen anymore.

Cry until you feel like you've felt something.

Then when you did stop crying what did you do? The only option you thought you had. Drink more.

- - - - -

You knew you looked like shit, you felt like it too. Your face puffy from the numerous breakdowns the night before, your eyes red from the tears that had an endless flow, dark rings under your eyes from the restless 3 hour sleep you'd got.

Also not to mention the headache you'd acquired. Knowing that only last year if you'd drunk this much, you'd only start to feel something. That's not something to be proud of.

You try your hardest to make yourself look even the slightest bit presentable, getting rid of the puffy face with a shower and taking paracetamol to take away the ache in your skull.

This would do enough to convince them you were fine, it's not like you were the loudest or most obnoxious person on the team. Preferring to observe everything with a smile.

What you didn't consider? Your captains. You're only 22 so even if you're techincally an adult, they're still over 7 years older than you.

So you walk into the lockeroom for training, silently making your way to your cubby as usual. Until, you feel a tug on your sleeve. Alexia is standing there, worry etched into her features.

"You ok? It looks like you've barely slept." Her voice is low and quiet, something you were eternally grateful for.

"Yeah, just a rough night. Thanks capi." You don't lie, but you don't tell the full truth either. She can sense this but doesn't say anymore, allowing you to go back to getting ready.

You take the time to rethink of the previous night, the regret you'd felt immediately after taking the first sip. But, the feeling of being unable to stop.

No matter how much you'd told yourself it was nothing, you know this isn't the end.

You push the thoughts away, clearing your mind of any thoughts before walking out onto the field ready for training.

- - - - -

It was the same people you saw watching you; Alexia, Marta and Mapi. It wasn't every second but enough to showcase they knew something was wrong but just didn't know what.

You had joined in the summer from your old club in Italy. No one knew of the past you'd had with alcohol. It's not like you made an effort to tell them either, they respected your choices not to drink when going out and you didn't need to bring up topics that were from before even moving to Barcelona.

Maybe if they knew, you'd have someone to confide it.

Somehow you'd managed to hide it from your old team as well, but considering the close relationships that Barcelona had with each other you doubted it would be shrugged off as easily.

When training was finally over, you were quick to slip away. As the thoughts and need of what caused you in this melancholic state start to reappear in your mind.

Not now, why after so long did you have to collapse now? When the peak of your career could potentially be around the corner.

You want to survive like a normal person, you want to be able to do things without relying on a fucked up liquid. Why did it have to be you?

And why?

Why is the only thing you can think of to soothe these thoughts, alcohol?

- - - - -

You stare blankly at the open carton, hesitation as you ponder if you should give in or not. Should you drink it? Part of your mind says yes, part of you yearns for it. The rational side says no, and to stop before it's too late.

But wasn't it already?

So you give in. The burning down your throat a painfully familar comfortality.

In a depressing way it makes you more aware of your surroundings, the beer bottles scattered in the room. Liquid all over the floor and on your things. It bothers you, but you can't bring yourself to clean it.

So you sulk, going over past memories. You'd never considered yourself a sad drunk, always being happier and finding a way to goof about while drinking. Then, very rarely toward the end of recovery getting angry. Never sad though.

Times change, people change. You thought you'd changed, but that kind of addiction? It never seemed to leave. Waiting until you're vulnerable to attack. Like an incurable disease.

Before you really comprehend it, the whole box of beers you'd bought yesterday are empty and strown across the floor.

You reach a point of feeling nothing, a numbing feeling brought by guilt, the alcohol making everything seem hazy. Your phone is ringing, but you can't bring yourself to answer. You can't bring yourself to care.

- - - - -

Knocking at your door brings you out of the limboed state you're in. You figure they'll leave soon, and the knocking stops after a minute. Until the door opens revealing the three who had been watching you in the morning.

Alexia is the first to you, the others take in the state of your apartment and walk around elsewhere.

"Hey." It's all she says, but enough for tears to fall from your eyes. You can't bare to look at her face, so you keep your eyes glued to the floor.

"Come on, look at me." She uses her hands to guide your chin so you're looking straight at her.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." She pauses, "Let's sober you up first." You don't argue, and follow her orders. Exhausted, you pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow.

- - - - -

Waking up was easier than you'd thought it would be, your head not pounding as much as in the morning. It made sense though considering you'd drank less than the night before. There were pills on the side table with a glass of water which you take easily.

The sun is setting so you must have slept for a couple of hours by this point. When you walk into the living room you notice all the rubbish gone, the floors are clean and there's no reminisince of beer anywhere. Alexia, Marta and Mapi are talking quietly amongst themselves and look up once they realise you're awake.

"Come, sit." Mapi pats next to her. You nod silently walking over.

"Would you mind explaining to us what happened? I know you’ve said before don't drink, so this is very new. If you don't want to talk that's also fine but I don't want to see you hurt." Alexia says, she doesn't pry but she does make her point known.

"Ok, but please can you do no talking while I explain? I'm not sure how much I can take if I don't explain it all in one." You're not sure why you opened up so easily, maybe because you desperately craved for someone. Anyone.

"Last year, I was an alcoholic and I can't tell you really when it started. It was to take all the weight and pressure off my shoulders originally, but it turned worse. I just kept drinking regularly and when I tried to settledown, I realised I couldn't. So I didn't stop. It worked for me."

"Then as the season moved on I realised I did desperately need to do something about it but I was just so scared of what people would say to me. How would they react?"

“So instead of getting proper help I did it myself.”

"I got rid of all traces, didn't go out as much. It was horrible. I thought I was going crazy. I wasn't ok at all. I'd obviously relapsed a couple times when trying by myself to recover but it gave me more determination. I'd say it took like 3 months before I truly felt like I was clean."

"Then, I'd had the oppurtunity to play here and it's like everything went away. I should've known better." You sigh.

"Known what? Did you know you were going to relapse again?" Marta asks carefully.

"I saw the signs but ignored them, when I did give in... all I felt was regret, I still do. I think that's why I drank the rest if I'm going to be honest." You look away, not daring to look at any of them.

A pair of arms engulf you, large hands pushing your head to the persons chest.

"Listen to me, we can help you. You won't ever have to do this alone, not while I'm here ok? I don't know much about this, but I'll try. We all will." You start sobbing into her chest, clinging your fists tightly into her shirt. A way to thank them without words.

Because the belief they had in you made you feel like you could do it. Even in these drowning times.

—————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed fic, this may not be accurate to everyone but this is my experience with battling addiction to alcohol and i write it because i too relapsed after a year recently

this was more for also for awareness and just know that you aren’t alone in anything, if you feel you need someone to talk to i’m always here :)

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader

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motherloads · 8 months

Text

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

Disclaimer: I absolutely love Jenny in the film! Too bad I like writing miscommunication. No bashing of Jenny!

The reader was supposed to be brooding and menacing? But she’s a wreck with a symbiote lol.

My spanish is also pretty meh in writing despite being Mexican myself. I speak better than I write! Pls keep that in mind ◡̈

Summary: The reader watches on the sidelines as Jenny and her longtime crush, Jaime Reyes become close to one another. Being Milagro's closest friend, she dreads when she has to come over and see the lovebirds.

But who says her little friend would allow this to happen? And who says what she sees is true?

->Pairings: Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

-> Use of (Name).

-> Marvel/DC crossover (mentioned Eddie Brock, Peter Parker, and relations to other fic)

->Warning: So much miscommunication, murder talk, and spinal cord removal :(

Once again, please ignore grammar mistakes.

⋆｡°✩

I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean? When you gonna ditch that stupid, you got? It's me you should be seeing.

"Are you just going to continue to stare?" Milagro questions her close friend, who stares at her brother with a pair of love-sick eyes. "Dude, just go talk to him."

"Can't really do that," Her friend hums in response, "Look, Kord is walking over to him. Now he's going to have the brightest smile ever and then they'll hug Then she's going to pat him on the back and start helping him with your house remodel. Look! They're doing it!"

Exactly at that point, Jaime laughs as Jenny pushes him over, grabbing the paintbrush on her own and assisting him with the cream-colored outer walls. Jaime shakes his head in response, nudging her back.

"So what? I'm his sister, and what I can tell you is that they are NOT together. They're just really good friends!" Milagro explains, quieting down when Jaime looks over. "Come on, clear it up. I don't want to see my best friend so sad."

"I'm grieving," She pouts, lowering herself into the chair, "You don't see what I see. They are definitely together."

"Si no lo preguntas, nunca vas a saber," Another voice exclaims. Both girls turn their heads to her mother who shakes her head at them. "Don't be shy! I don't want my future daughter-in-law to lose her chance."

Feeling her face heat up, she looks away from the older woman's words. "I know he's your son, but I can't. I'm sorry."

Maybe if you weren't such a pussy, you would have gotten the guy. Does the K-dramas we watch together not mean anything?

The sudden voice caused her to jump straight into her seat. Narc had been quiet since she had arrive at the Reyes’ house hold. She hadn’t expected them to speak at all since he rarely did when she was at their residence. At first, it was off putting to never hear the familiar voice, but she slowly grew used to the silence.

Born out of wedlock from the original symbiote, Narc had been the symbiote who had begun their stay before she arrived in this Universe. They were the only connection she had to the life she once had. Or was it the other being stuck here as well? She wasn’t sure, she ignored all contact to the woman connected to her in more ways than one.

"K-Dramas are not real, idiot." She hissed under her breath.

"Did you say something, Mija?" Mrs. Reyes questions, resting her hand under the woman's chin. "You often talk to yourself, just like little Jaime."

"Mama!" Jaime calls out, "I'm not little anymore! Come on, don't tell her that!"

"You are little, cabrón. Don't you remember the incident? Naked con tus chiquito huevitos." His Uncle Rudy cackles, "Don't you remember that, ama?"

Their Nana shakes her head in response, smiling broadly at the memory. Milagro begins to laugh as well while Jenny sits beside the girls with a small nod in the direction of (Name). She returns the gesture, crossing her hands as she ignored how hard her heart hammered.

"I'm lost," (Name) murmurs, "So, so lost...But anyway, I have to head out. Thank you for having me!"

"Come by anytime, (Name)." Jaime grins, walking up to her and hugging the girl tightly, "Just remember to ignore anything they say about me, okay? Don't want them ruining anything."

"They're your family, I don't think they are capable of doing so," She pats his back, looking down at Milagro who fake kisses the air in front of her. Jenny seems to notice as she raises her eyebrows at the duo still hugging.

"You can let me go now, Jaime." (Name) murmurs into his ear, "Don't want her getting the wrong idea."

Jaime pulls away, smiling at the girl in front of him. His eyes flickered down for a second before he looked back at her, "Sorry?" She smiles sadly at him as she moves towards her vehicle. She refuses to look at the family behind her as she hears the conversation pick up again.

I think we should kill her.

"Absolutely not. There is a new hero here, Narc. We can't just murder a well-known figure and expect to get away with it." She groans, buckling her seat belt. She looks back at the family once more as she shifts her gear to drive.

We've done it once. And we can do it again.

"I don't think killing the Green Goblin counts for anything! He was already crazier than us, so the headlines were thanking us!" She exclaims.

His brain was nasty anyway.

⋆｡°✩

"Do you think Blue Beetle is cool?" Milagro asks, absentmindedly moving her straw around in boredom. "Personally, I think he's a huge nerd. What do you think?"

"Who says you can bother me on my shift?" (Name) frowns, cleaning the bar top in front of her, "And how did they let you in?"

"I have my ways," Milagro grins, "Answer my question. I need to know."

"I think he's...unique? From the news I have seen of him, it's obvious he is of Hispanic Descent. His suit is otherworldly, so I'm assuming it's some kind of alien tech he is using. Definitely not Superman, though." (Name) shrugs, moving the alcoholic beverages aside as she begins assisting the bartenders alongside her.

"Do you think he's cute under his mask?" Milagro leans closer, "Would you date him?"

I would eat him.

"I wouldn't eat him," (Name) responds instead. She pauses as the conversation around her began to quiet down. Some stared at her while others whispered to their compadres nearby.

"I...didn't ask that? I asked if you think he's cute and if you would date him. Dude, where the hell is your mind thinking right now?" Milagro whispers, eyeing the men nearby, "God, I’ve always hated this bar. A bunch of chismosos who are almost always cheating on their wives here. They're always eyeing you too. How do you handle that?"

"First, I can't tell if Blue Beetle is cute based on his voice. Second, I wouldn't date him since I am sooo hung up on your brother." Milagro snorts. "Lastly, this is the only bar that offers the minimum wage. I can handle drunk men well, I've always had."

The conversation began to pick up again as most began focusing on the news displayed in front of them. Blue Beetle was shown on live television, fighting off rogue soldiers from Victoria Kord's force. Despite the woman being long gone, the impact she made had not quite disappeared.

"I knew you were still into him! I say you ask him out! You ain't a homewrecker if he isn't in a relationship!"

"Didn't you say Kord and Jaime kissed? That your whole family cheered for the couple?"

"A fluke! It's a fluke I swear, but it is complicated! Just ask Jaime, please? It would be so cool for us to be family."

"If our lives are ever in danger at this very bar, then I'll ask." (Name) turns away from Milagro's eyes, "That means it will never ha-"

Her voice gets cut off when bullets begin hitting the bar's windows, causing the occupants to duck down to safety. Many of the drunken men tried to escape but most were quickly shot down by the bullets.

Milagro screams, ducking down into a crouch as the bullets continue. (Name) ignores the danger as she maneuvers her way through the destruction. She grabs Milagro, forcing the girl to look her in the eyes. "I need you to hide behind the bar, okay? The bullets won't get you. We will protect you.”

"W-who's we?" Milagro cries as (Name) pushes her behind the bar. There was silence for a moment as screams echoed in the bar. "(Name)? Where are you going?" She pushed Milagro down, moving her way from the bar corner as she looked at the bodies around her. Many men stayed below tables, looking at her in fear as she counted the people alive.

"Nobody get up. It’s not ove-" Her words get cut off when bullets pierce through her whole body. She is flung against the countertop as a bullet pierces too close to her heart. She hears her name being called out as Milagro tries to find her way to the woman.

She smiles at the tear-stained face in her vision. The fear in the other girl's eyes was evident as she continued to scream her name. At that moment, smoke bombs are thrown through the window. The screams had begun to mesh together, the fog covering the vision of the little who were still alive.

She feels the blood oozing out of her mouth, the familiar metallic filling up her mouth. She sputters, not being able to breathe.

It's your turn.

My turn.

Shoes stepping on glass were all everyone heard as the perpetrators stepped through the mess they caused. They held their gun up in return, moving through the fog stealthily. As they communicated with one another, they grew unnoticed by the thing they had angered.

"Find the Reyes girl. She is to be left alive." One spoke up, "Kill every survivor." The main soldier calls out. They await the confirmation of the others but they hear nothing. "I need an affirmative."

The soldier gets smacked in response, feeling themselves recoil from the weight against their body. When they look down at the unfamiliar weight, they begin to scream.

The weight crushing them was there comrade. Left unrecognizable with no head in sight. The blood wafts through their mask. They begin to gag as they try to pull the body off of them. They freeze up when a bloodied helmet rolls closer. Empty and dented, the helmet hits their shoe with a loud clank.

The fog begins to clear up, displaying the mess left behind. The soldier tensed when they noticed the bodies presented around the room. Many hung from the lights, their necks cracking from the added weight of their helmet. Others were hazardously thrown against tables. One had a table leg pierced through their helmet.

"Why must humans be so selfish? Is this fun for you, you pathetic piece of shit?" The soldier whimpers in response, turning their eyes away from the figure crouching in front of their face.

The creature, despite crouching, was still overlooking the only soldier left alive. The disarray and multi-color of the night sky reflected back to the onlookers who began to murmur about the new being. They tilt their head and leaned closer to the soldier, their bright, soulless eyes stared into the helmet. They licked the sharp smile forming from the fear they felt radiating off the soldier.

"Unlike the Blue Beetle, we do not care about the lives of our victims. What do you think happens next?"

"W-What the hell are you?"

"If you must know, my host has named us Narc. Will you beg for your life now?"

The Soldier rips their helmet off, looking at Narc with a look of fear, "Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'll never do this again, please!"

"He had once told us the same. You are just like the others. Pathetic. Unworthy. A perfect meal."

A scream is ripped through his victim's vocal cords as Narc bites down. Blood seeped through their mouth as they ripped out the spinal cord in one sharp turn. Narc stands, spitting their leftovers to the side.

"Hey, ugly!" A voice called out, "What the hell are you doing, man?"

Narc cranes their neck towards the entrance of the bar, watching as Blue Beetle floated at his place. They both stared at each other, unmoving.

"Blue Beetle!" A voice calls out, Milagro moving from her hiding spot to the blue-and-black-clad hero. "My friend is gone! She was just--where is she?" She turns her head towards Narc, who stares down at the shaking girl.

"Get away from it!" Blue Beetle yells, flying through the bar as he centers himself between Milagro and Narc. "Take it up with me and not the civilians!"

"He just--he ate all the soldiers--" Milagro gasps, stepping behind Blue Beetle, "I saw what he did--"

"You--What the hell are you?" Blue Beetle points his palms toward Narc, who continues to stare in silence.

"Does my figure scare you? I can hear your heartbeat." Narc cranes their head towards Milagro. Blue Beetle blocks her from their eyesight. “Worry not, we do not hurt the innocent.”

With those words, Narc feels their familiar bulking figure die down to their less impending figure. The duo are lost for words at the new figure presented in front of them.

"I'm so sorry I think I misgendered you--" Milagro's eyes stayed pinned to the pair of boobs Narc had.

"Where's (Name)?" Blue Beetle turns his head around, "Khaji-Da says she is still here! She was working, right?" His questions are to Milagro.

None of the three seemed to notice the survivors running out of the bar.

"She is here. With me." Narc hums, moving closer to Blue Beetle, "Is Khaji-Da your symbiote?"

"Symb--what? What do you mean (Name) is with you?"

"Jaime Reyes. You are a host are you not?"

"Stop avoiding my questions! Where is she?! How do you know my name--That is not my name! I do not know Jaime Reyes. Do you?"

"I have known of the scarab on your back since the beginning. Do not worry, (Name) remains clueless, for now."

"Why are you saying her name as if you know her?" Milagro questions.

Narc purrs, tilting their head closer to Blue Beetle who stepped back hesitantly. "We have known each other for a long time. We are bonded together until she dies. She is my key to survival in your world. She is me. I am her. We are one. We are Narc."

“Like Narcotics? Did she get you from a drug? She doesn’t seem like the type to do drugs.” Milagro questions, stepping closer to the duo, “And why are you so close? I can smell you from here!”

“We are host and symbiote. We am not from here, you see. Your alien won’t know of us.”

Milagro and Blue Beetle share a look, communicating with silent words. Blue Beetle lowers his hand, allowing Narc to step closer. The symbiote smiles, their purrs growing louder.

“I see why she likes you.”

With those words, Narc sinks into (Name)'s skin, leaving the woman defenseless from the eyes of her long-time crush and friend. She drops to the floor, her wounds patching over themselves with a familiar goo.

Blue Beetle drops to the floor, bringing (Name) close to his body. He rocks her back and forth as Milagro stumbles beside him. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tears that disappeared has formed all over again.

"Why didn't she tell us? Why didn't she tell me?" Blue Beetle, now Jaime who removed his helmet. He leans his forehead on the woman and murmurs into her hair. He kisses her temple as Milagro continues to cry.

"Why didn't she tell us her hero name is literally short for Narcotics?!"

⋆｡°✩

(Name) awakes to a horrible headache splintering her head. She groans as she shifts closer to the warmth of an unfamiliar body. She nuzzles in closer to the warmth, groaning at the light against her eyelids.

"Narc turn off the lights...I feel like I've just been shot." She moans, gripping her blanket tighter against her body, "I'm going out with Milagro later. I have to go buy cat food..."

"Milagro is taking care of Eddie, don't worry." A familiar voice whispers against her head, "Just go back to sleep. I'll block the sunlight."

"Thanks, Jaime..." Processing the name that came out, she jumps away from the warmth. She stares at Jaime, who stares back in equal shock and sleepiness. His hair was a mess, pointing in different directions. She presses her hand to her mouth, gasping behind it.

"Oh my god. We didn't have sex, did we? If so, that would be awkward because you are my best friend's brother and you literally have a girlfriend. I can't even get drunk so it's impossible for me to forget--oh my god am I in your house?"

"Hey, Hey," Jaime soothes her, smiling at the woman freaking out in his bed, "We didn't have sex and we were not drunk. You were...shot multiple times and some things came to light, but it's okay now, I promise."

"I'm still sleeping in your bed though! You could have left me, being shot doesn't stop me! We were holding each other?! What would Kord think if she saw this now?" She grips the unfamiliar sweater covering her body, feeling her legs shift through from under the sheets and hit against Jaime's.

"Jenny? What about Jenny? We aren't...We aren't dating if that's what you're worried about." Jaime grabbed her by the face, locking eyes with her who looked anywhere but him. "I can't just leave you when you were hurt."

"Milagro said you two kissed."

"We did once have feelings for each other. But it's long gone now, it was just a...heat of a moment kind of thing." Jaime brings her cheeks towards his chest, which she just noticed had nothing covering him from her eyes. Her hands stopped short on his stomach. She felt his stomach flutter in response.

"Besides, I like someone else. I like you."

She feels her heart stop at his confession.

Knew it.

"No shit." She exclaims, looking up at Jaime who smiles down at her doe-like look.

"I do." He whispers back. They both stared at one another until he leaned closer to her face. She felt his breath fan her face as she wrinkled her nose.

"You stink." She snorts, moving her hands to the back of his neck. He laughs at her words.

"Yours smells much worse. Now, come here--" She cuts him off, smashing her lips to his. He holds her waist, bringing her to sit on his lap. Her tongue finds his, leaning closer as her hand moves to stay on his chest. Biting his lip, she softly sucks it lightly. She opens her eyes to find his eyes half-lidded, enjoying the moment.

When she pulls away, her lips find his neck, kissing down to his collarbone. Pulling her hand back to his neck, she inhales his scent.

"Couldn't have waited until I was asleep. You are always like this. The same exact way with Peter Parker."

They both jump at the new voice, turning their heads towards Narc who floated their head around the room, reading the boxes that held different items. She turns her head to Jaime, eyes wide, waiting for him to begin screaming.

"Narc-uh. They explained more about your origins with each other. After finding them standing in a bloodbath, Milagro and I thought the worst had happened but someone--something told me to let Narc explain."

"They told you about our.... situationship?" She questions, gripping onto Jaime's bicep. "You're supposed to be running away--not making out with me!"

"And you! You aren't supposed to be out. You're grounded!" She growls, pulling Jaime's face into the crook of her neck, "You told him everything, huh? Why can't you ever keep secrets? She'll be angry our cover was blown!"

She ignored the look Narc gives, opting to continue her rant, “Asshole, is it because I’m not letting you meet Red Robin? You know it isn’t allowed!”

"The other youngling saw you get shot. Was I supposed to act as if I ate you instead?"

"Actually, yes! Nobody is supposed to know, you promised. We promised Eddie."

"You made a promise to your cat?" Jaime's muffled voice questions. Despite the situation, he bites her neck. "Who is Peter Parker?"

She glares at Narc, who innocently whistles. "No one Jaime, he is no one."

"Former boy toy." Narc responds instead, "Hell of an amateur kisser."

"You kissed him! Not me!" She turns to Jaime, pulling his head back to stare at him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why they're acting this way. I'll go right now, seriously. I don't want you in our mess."

"Relax," Jaime comforts, grabbing her hand that stayed on his cheek. He smiles at her, "I can protect myself. Look--"

She felt him shift from under her, watching in shock as his body began to be covered by a familiar suit she had seen countlessly on television. Everything except his face was covered in armor. Whilst she analyzed the markings on his suit, Narc moved closer as well.

"Does your scarab only speak to you?" Narc asks, "It is unlike anything I have seen on my planet. Do you feed them as well?"

"They aren't really fed? They don't need sustenance. Khaji-Da only talks to me in my head so they're like a second voice...and planet?"

"This is going to be a long talk," She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "At least you don't have to feed them human brains..."

"What?" Jaime recoils, looking at the two with wide eyes, "I'm sorry? Brains? Like Zombies? The Walking Dead? Like zombies from The Last of Us?!"

"I thought you told him everything!"

"I would never tell of my eating habits! Humans are judgemental!"

#blue beetle #blue beetle x reader #jaime reyes x reader #milagro reyes #symbiote #marvel universe #dc universe #crossover #i lauv xolo #reader insert #lol y r ppl so messy

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lussiane333 · 1 year

Note

Do you know that audio on TikTok where it's like "not in front of the baby" and there's a slasher listening from the closest or something then they have to intervene? Can we get angsty story with bo, rz mikey, and tommy listening into that then the slasher kills the husband but moves the baby so they're looking away from the murder first then the reader falls for them and they're a happy family with the slasher and their baby with a dead abusive husband. I'm sorry this is long I'm a angsty slut 😁 also I love you sm💋

Of course, thank you for your request! I don't really know what audio you meant but I saw angst and decided to do this, hope you like it!

Slashers protecting their future S/O

RZ Michael Myers

When Michael saw the way your husband is talking to you, threatening you, he got very vivid memories of his childhood.

How little boo was crying in his mom arms when Ronnie was throwing things around, yelling and even hitting his mom countless amount of times.

Michael didn't like this. He hated people in general, but what he hated even more was domestic abuse. His first initiative was to slaughter you two and leave like he always does, but when he saw the little kid clinging onto you, crying and screaming, you backing up from your what it looked like drunk husband, his plan changed.

"Please, let's not do this here.. let's just-"

"Let's just fucking what you dumb whore?!" He spat and siddled over to you.

"Not.. not in front of her, please.." You walked away and quickly put your little girl in a crib, preparing for the man in front of you to beat you again.

"Don't stand in my fucking way! Take that little bastard and get out of my fucking house!"

You pushed him and yelled, "How can you say things like this about your child?!"

"Fucking bitch!" He grabbed ahold of your hair and threw you to the ground, kicking your stomach as you went quiet.

That was it.

Michael bursted into the room, breathing deeply and quickly, he looked to his left and saw that the little child was still crying. He grabbed the nearest blanket roughly and covered the whole crib.

'Little one doesn't have to see it' Michael thought to himself..

Everything went so quickly that you didn't even have time to react to a stranger in a mask who just broke into your house as he grabbed your husband by the neck and squeezed it so hard that you could see his eyes popping out from the ground you were still laying on.

After he stabbed your husband numerous times, Michael looked down at you and saw that you were now hiding behind the crib. He slowly walked up to you and noticed that you had your little daughter in your arms.

He couldn't kill you. He didn't want to. He knew he wouldn't do it even if he wanted to. He was mesmerized by you.. So beautiful and and protecting your own as much you can.

Soft "Thank you" was what brought him back to his senses.

The baby girl was looking at him too, she didn't cry anymore and it seemed like his mask was what caught the little one's attention.

He then grasped your dead husband's body, looking back at you one last time, Michael promised himself that he would come back.

Bo Sinclair

'Not in my fucking town' was the last thing on Bo's mind when he heard your begging. He kicked the museum door open, aiming his gun at your so called husband that had you slammed against the now broken mirror, his hand holding a piece of glass under your neck. Bo noticed your look the moment you were shushed when trying to apologize for barging in the church like that earlier.

The man backed away from you as he clutched the glass in his hand and you looked at Bo. Surprised and scared expression was displayed on your face. Quickly, you walked over to the side.

"Take 'er and and go to the station i'll be there in a sec" Bo said, his eyes not leaving your husband.

You didn't hesitate and took your crying baby girl in arms and ran out of the museum.

"Don't you fucking dare to leav-" gunshot.

"Ow! Fuck! You bastard!"

Bo was on him right away. Punches, kicks and curses were thrown, Bo grunting in anger. The lifeless body of your husband on the ground, blood on Bo's hands and everywhere weren't the main worry now. You were. When he imagined the things that you've probably been through, he wanted to bring that dead bastard back and torture him over and over again.

You were standing, leaning against the counter and waiting for Bo to arrive.

Your daughter had calmed down and was sleeping in a stroller. You thought about calling the police, but when you remembered that gun in Bo's hands, deep down you hoped that some bullets would actually go through your husband..

The police were out of the question, and there wasn't any signal anyway.

You freaked out when Bo walked in covered in blood.

"It's.." he cleared his throat before speaking again. "I took care of it"

You were lost for words and felt the sting of tears in your eyes.

"What am I going to do now.." It hurt to talk, it hurt to think, everything hurt.

Bo came over to you and pulled you closer. "Hey s'alright, shhh now.. Let me take you both to my place hm?"

"But what about-"

"No one's gonna find out anything"

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me"

10 minutes seemed like forever as you walked up to his house. You didn't know this man beside his name. He was a stranger to you and could be a possible danger too. You also didn't know if it was despair that made you feel protected in his presence, but it strangely felt good.

You sat down on the couch next to Bo and he shuffled closer. His arm tightened around you as you rested your head against his chest. Bo gently stroked your hair as he looked down at you.

"It's just.. been a while since I felt safe" You looked into his eyes and Bo sighed. You were far from safe with him, but he didn't want to see that broken look on your face ever again.

"Stay here tonight, I promise I won't let anything hurt ya" he said.

You agreed, and Bo felt better just for a moment before he thought about the fucked up things in (t)his dead town. But he knew he wanted to protect you, protect you both.

Thomas Hewitt

You've had enough.

You no longer wanted to endure the change of mood from one day to the next. You didn't want to be blamed for everything bad that happened anymore.

You were tired of being someone's punching bag, especially when you didn't deserve it. And above all, you had a child that you wanted to raise.

You ran into a family on your way to Texas. You were truly lucky. When you stopped at a local eatery, you met an older woman that was very nice to you from the moment you entered. In response to your question, "If there's any house near that could be rented?" You were left disappointed.

"Oh honey, you won't find much in this town, why you're in need of a home?"

You didn't really care anymore, so you told the nice foreign woman some things about your life. How you took your baby and ran away from your abusive ex, and that's why you're looking for a new home and a job.

For a while, she looked like she was thinking about something before speaking again;

"Maybe I could help you both but.. I don't know if it's a good idea.."

"Please Mrs. Hewitt, I don't have much but I will pay you with all i have, if you know of anything.."

"Alright, alright! You can stay with us in the house, at least I won't do everything alone, I could use some help"

You met the other family members who didn't seem to be as thrilled with your presence..

So you stayed with the Hewitts, you helped around the house like you promised and everything seemed alright for a few weeks.

One evening, unfortunately, someone pulled up in front of the Hewitt's house.

In the middle of your conversation with Thomas, that was kind of one sided, you were interrupted by a noise from outside.

"Y/N?!" "Y/N! Get the fuck out, I know you're in there!"

You would recognize that voice anywhere, it was your ex.

When you went downstairs, Luda Mae was peeking through the window and Hoyt already had a shotgun in his hands.

Luda Mae looked over to you and spoke;

"Send him away, nobody needs him making such a mess here"

You took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Meanwhile, Thomas also came downstairs, holding your baby in his arms.

'How could she ever love a man that she didn't trust fully and felt like she didn't even know?'

'How could a man with practically everything he ever wanted to have treat it like it doesn't matter?' Thomas'd never understand.

"What are you doing here? I told you I don't ever want to see you again!"

"Stop this bullshit, pack your things we're going home from this shithole"

"You're going home, I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"I said-"

"And I said no!" You yelled and that provoked your ex.

He grabbed your hair and started to pull you towards the car.

Thomas had already given the baby to Luda Mae and he angrily grunted something like; "Go upstairs" , Before running outside with a hook.

"Who the fuck is this freak face" Was the last thing you heard before Thomas jabbed the hook into your ex's neck and ripped it open as he fell to the ground, dead. Thomas then looked at you, his chest rising up and down, he moved his head to the side, gesturing to you to go back inside. You gave him a soft smile and went in without a word. He knew that if someone tried to hurt you or your baby ever again, they would end up exactly like this, if not worse.

You became his the moment Luda Mae brought you home, and you didn't even know it.

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whxre-bxby · 9 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing.

I can't get an idea/senario out of my head so if you have the time, could you please do a poly recom squad x recom reader where reader gets kidnapped by Jake and the metkayina clan as retaliation for the recoms kidnapping tuk, lo'ak and tsireya. Then they refuse to let reader go even after they got their kids back because jake want to know how they're alive and he kinda hurts/scares/threatens reader and then the recom squad come to rescue her. And when they're on base again they won't stop worrying about her and maybe some smut?

(Thank you for this idea! It had people waiting for this to release)

"Vengeance Turns To Desire"

Recoms (Quaritch/Lyle/Mansk/Lopez/Prager/Ja)x Recom Y/N

A/N: sorry for always eliminating our lady recoms. This is by far the longest fanfic I have ever written and I lost my mind while writing countless times. Eat it up.

Masterlist

Summary: Jake captures Y/N, inflicting pain on her to get answers. But the recoms refuse to leave her there so they go and rescue Y/N. Once back in safety, emotions and feelings spiral out of control.

WARNINGS: smut, ANGST, violence, blood, injuries, fluff, hurt/comfort, penetration, double-penetration, unprotected sex, voyeurism, smut with multiple people at once, blowjobs,

Word Count: 14,771 (50 pages, holy shit I know)

In the military, everything is ordered and organised. There is a structure in the daily tasks of an individual. A plan. And things are meant to go according to plan.

Today, things did not go according to plan. Everything is utter chaos.

I’m Y/N. A recom soldier, with the sole life purpose of successfully completing my assigned mission along with the rest of my squad. That mission is to hunt down and kill Jake Sully, a man who once lived among us and who, a few years back, decided to switch sides. Now, Jake is a Na’vi in an Avatar body and no longer a human.

We marines aren’t human anymore either. Our old bodies died and we are artificially made Avatars who have been given the deceased soldier’s memories. It’s why we exist.

Since we are the RDA’s front-line combat team, we were sent out into the world. To explore Pandora as fake natives and find Sully. Our mission status was progressing and reached a peak when we stumbled upon what we assumed were Jake’s kids in the forest. Unfortunately for us, we didn’t manage to keep them hostage for long. He and his partner attacked us, taking back their kids except for the human boy. The Colonel found him injured and on the ground. But he was alive, so the mission was called off for the day. At least we were able to bring back some source of information, even if not every soldier who left the RDA base returned home…

Time went by fast when one’s life is on the line. Things also got more challenging when we realised that our enemy left the shared biome we were in. So we had to continue our search and use other tactics to get information out of others. The recom team was running out of time, so violence became a favoured option. Morals were already long forgotten. It seemed as though it was either our life or theirs.

We found Sully and his family near the coastlines of Pandora, cowering away in a clan of a different kind. The Na’vi that lived here were different.

Jake introduced the RDA to the ocean Na’vi, which added them to the blacklist the RDA ran. He didn’t seem to know that he endangered all of them too.

Very soon, our mission had no structure. We were acting on instincts and instincts alone because often, we couldn’t assume what was awaiting us. Pandora often fired many cruel surprises our way.

In the end, one thing led to another and we were on a ship, fighting off the savage natives that had found us. Quaritch had three more kids that most likely belonged to Sully or at least someone close to him, handcuffed to a rail on deck. He seemed to like the hostage trick, probably hoping Sully would give up his life for theirs.

That’s what is happening right now. I’m standing on deck, along with the Colonel, Lyle, Prager, Z-Dog, Mansk, Lopez and Ja. We are all that’s left of the Deja Blu team.

I’m holding an assault rifle in my hands, keeping my eyes trained on the approaching Na’vi in the distance. No matter how unsure I feel about all of this, I have to stay composed and focused. I faintly hear the Colonel talking to Jake through the earpiece one of the kids had. He seems to be trying to lure him out on his own in exchange for the kids. Everything is finally seeming to go well. Jake is coming to us alone and for once, we are in control of the situation. Or at least that’s what we think. There’s a deadly silence on board the SeaDragon for a while. One which is abruptly ended when a Tulkun comes crashing out from the surface of the ocean, landing on the ship. The sudden action stuns everyone and causes all the Na’vi in the distance to take the opportunity of our vulnerability and attack.

My heart is pounding in my chest when I fall to the ground and see the huge whale struggle on board. My instincts scream at me to attack it, so I do. Swiftly sitting up, I raise my arms and aim them at the gigantic creature. Without a second of hesitation, my fingers hold down the trigger and I’m firing at it, soon realising its skin is unpenetrable with bullets. That doesn’t stop me from trying to find a weak spot though. Chaos breaks out as I start hearing shouts and screams around me. The rest of the team is on the other side of the Tulkun, separating me from them.

A sudden surge of panic flows through my body and my heartbeat picks up, but I continue to do what they are. Attacking the hostile animal.

But that doesn’t last very long. Its tail fin lifts into the air as it tries to move and slams down next to me, making me roll to the side to dodge it. I see it lift from the corner of my eye again before it collides with the deck once more, this time breaking the ground beneath me. In moments, I’m on my feet, trying to move away from the broken-off part of the ship but before I can even comprehend what happened, I’m thrown off board and into the water. The whale’s strong fin swung against my middle, effortlessly knocking me off my feet and causing me to be submerged in water.

My weapon swung in a different direction and I can’t see it anymore. But that isn’t my main concern at the moment. I’m running out of air and my lungs are aching, forcing me to swim up to the surface to breathe. I feel weighed down and still in shock from what just happened, but I manage.

My head breaks through the surface of the water and I gasp for air. A small sense of relief manages to prevent my heart from pounding through my skin and out of my chest. I swim in one spot for mere moments, thinking about how to get back on the ship. But in that same moment, I watch that option die out when something sharp closes around my calf and pulls me down into the ocean again. I can see how I’m being distanced from the surface and the light. A look of horror paints my face and helplessness makes me feel like I’m already drowning when I turn around to see a water Na’vi on some sea creature, pulling me after them. The animal whose head looks similar to that of a crocodile has its mouth clamped down around my leg. A small trail of blood, oozing from my injury with the speed that it’s swimming through the water. The Na’vi occasionally turns around and soon, I realise I’m surrounded by them. But they don’t let me go. The animal keeps its teeth sunk deep into the flesh of my calf. My vision starts to blur and grow darker because I’m running out of air again. But looking up, I realise how far away from the surface I am. I wouldn’t even be able to swim that in time. So naturally, everything starts to fade and I lose consciousness, assuming this is my death.

Day One:

My ears are ringing and I hear faint, muffled voices as my eyes start to open. Finally, I’m met with light once again. My lungs are calmly inhaling and exhaling unlike before and I feel myself sitting on the ground. A ground which seems very unfamiliar to me.

In front of me, I watch as my awakening seems to stir restlessness and start a commotion. The figures which I now realise are Na’vi have all stood up and backed away from me.

I groan in pain, pushing my back off the wall behind me. My hands want to come up and palm my forehead to ease me back into reality but they can’t. My movement has been restricted while I was out and only now can I feel the tight rope binding my wrists together.

The voices are talking in a language I don’t understand. Must be Na’vi. My legs are outstretched before me and my eyes stop when I properly see my wound. It’s big. The bite marks are visible and my blood has stained my skin and soaked the unusually woven floor beneath me.

Another figure walks in but my mind is too hazy after everything that has happened to properly pay attention to my surroundings. Tiredly, I let my head fall back against the woven wall, trying to focus on my breathing instead of the pain in my right leg.

“See that Quaritch? That’s right. I got one of y’er soldiers.” I hear someone say in English. My weak body responds and my ears twitch forwards. I open my eyes, looking through the small strands of hair shielding my face to see… Jake Sully.

Suddenly, my body seems to properly jolt awake and my heartbeat picks up again, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Sully had captured me.

I stare up at him in shock, finally having the strength to look around and take in my surroundings. His stare is hard and he seems to show me no mercy.

I also notice he’s holding what looks like a camera in his hand and he’s pointing it at me.

The Na’vi around me have stepped out of the camera’s frame while I was coming to my senses and now I can recognise his partner. I think her name is Neytiri. A harsh glare covers her expression.

“You know what I want.” Jake snarls, pressing the radio call button he has around his neck. He seems to be talking to Quaritch through the earpiece.

“Give me my goddamn kids otherwise I’ll kill ‘er.” Sully says and I can hear the desperation in his voice. The threat is loud and clear.

I watch helplessly as he draws a knife from the holster around his torso and walks right up to me. Instinctively, I want to move away and I struggle against the ropes. My leg moves and I whine out in pain, clenching my teeth together to stay silent. It is best to stay silent in hostage situations.

Jake crouches down next to me and points the camera at my trembling leg.

“See? I ain’t joking.” he adds, gripping my ankle and lifting my leg. I gasp, sinking my own teeth into my bottom lip. Unfortunately, that doesn’t prevent the pained whimper from leaving my mouth. I don’t want them to know I was in pain. I don’t want to seem weak.

He looks at me, taking note of my reaction before almost carelessly dropping my leg. I throw my head back and clench my eyes closed. My lips are pressed together, muffling my cry.

Jake points the video camera at my face and I glance into the lens before looking away in shame. His hand comes up and he grips my jaw, tilting my head to the side to show a wound I had on my neck before doing the same on the other side. Quaritch must have said something that made Jake smirk.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” Sully adds, digging his fingers against my jaw and forcing me to look up at him.

“I want all three of ‘em back by the end of today.” Jake snarls, roughly pushing my head away and letting go of me.

I smirk. Even with all the pain and horror, I manage to be myself.

Jake notices and continues to point the lens at me.

“Damn, all three?” I ask, before nodding with a grin. I didn’t expect them to get away with our previous three hostages.

Jake glares daggers at me. “Yeah, all three.” he snarls. “And I’m gettin’ ‘em all back too.”

“That’s three lives vs. one. You kidding?” I ask, before coughing lightly. “Don’t do it.” My eyes meet the camera lens again. I was talking to Quaritch, or whoever was watching.

I hear Jake growl before he adjusts his grip on his knife and presses it against my neck. It makes me shut up but I can’t loosen my facial muscles to stop my grin. The blade is pressing into my skin uncomfortably but not harshly enough to slice through my skin.

Jake is staring into my eyes and I can tell he’s in deep thought. Nevertheless, he looks enraged. His ears are flattened all the way back and he bares his fangs when he speaks.

“She’s gonna die here, Quaritch. I’ll make sure to make it last as long as possible.” Jake hisses, keeping the knife firmly pressed against the side of my throat. His ears twitch forwards when he hears Quaritch respond.

His eyes are focused on mine but he’s listening to what the Colonel is saying on the other line. Jake presses his lips together in a frown, harshly glaring at me one last time before nodding and pulling his hand away.

I exhale deeply in relief. A breath I didn’t know I was holding. Blood lightly trickles down my neck. Jake must have broken through a layer of skin with his blade. The cut burns but it is bearable.

Jake gets up from the ground, peering down at me before shutting off the video camera and turning away.

“I want ‘em back by tonight. And if anythin’s happened to ‘em-” Jake pauses, wiping his hand over his face in stress. “I won’t hesitate to kill her.”

Once again, he firmly nods before motioning something to Neytiri. She walks up to him and they both leave after she turns and looks at me once more. Disgust and hatred were emitted through her look. It’s very clear that I am not wanted here.

As they leave, I overhear them exchange a few words in Na’vi.

“Should we get her ready for the exchange?” Neytiri asks. Jake looks at her with a pause before answering.

“No.” he mumbles, and his answer surprises her. “We can use her against them.”

His partner looks at him with wide eyes and he shrugs. “She won’t leave here alive.”

His last sentence sounds like an order. One I cannot understand.

My sense of time is gone. I don’t know whether it’s still the same day or whether I had been out for multiple days. But it doesn’t seem to matter because I know no one will tell me anyway. What is confusing me is how the Colonel and my team managed to escape that hellish chaos alive and with the kids. But I have the rest of the day to think about that now.

After a few hours, I notice it’s dark outside. There are two armed Na’vi outside the odd-looking hut I’m in, but nothing is happening. I haven’t seen Jake since the interaction we had earlier. But I felt like I was waiting for him to come and get me. From what I understood from the talk he had with Quaritch, Jake wanted to trade me against his kids. An offer which still seems stupid to me.

We had already lost half our squad and Quaritch never seemed too moved by their death. So why would my life matter to him? I’m one person. An Avatar they can grow again if they deem it necessary. They have three hostages. Kids with information about everything we need to know. I think it’s clear that I’m not going back. But despite that, I stayed awake in hopes of Jake returning to bring me back to them. I want to go back. I don’t feel ready to die here. Not when we have so much to still see on this planet. Even though Pandora is our enemy, I’m amazed by the beauty of nature every time we go out. The power the forests hold.

Day Two:

Sunlight shines through my eyelids, making it impossible for me to continue sleeping. Wait- I slept through the night. The night that I was meant to return home if the deal worked.

My body jolts awake in panic and the sudden movements pain my leg, making me tense up and freeze. I look around me to find a once again empty room. Shit. I promised myself last night I wouldn’t sleep until I return to the RDA.

Hours went by and I was still left alone in the tent-like hut. Usually, when hearing waves softly crash and distant noises of animals and people, one would find the atmosphere quite relaxing. But the silence was almost eery to me. I was left alone with my thoughts and it made me sick. My body was sore from not being able to move and my calf muscle was throbbing with pain. The wound I had gotten was left untreated and I was being neglected. Not that I expected to be taken care of. I didn’t. But actually experiencing this is different to imagining how it would be.

My thoughts wandered. Jake wasn’t back. Perhaps the trade hadn’t worked. Maybe the RDA refused to give up the kids. If that were true, it doesn’t surprise me. That’s probably why I’m still here. Quaritch must have chosen to keep them hostage over saving me. I felt miserable and abandoned but if I were in his place, I would have left me too.

Perhaps the recoms took one look at my leg and decided I was basically already dead. A wounded soldier is useless in times of war. Why bother to help me?

Day Three:

I barely slept. Even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t rest. My entire body ached from not moving. My shoulders were becoming agonisingly sore from my hands being tied behind my back and my leg had finally stopped bleeding but it was swollen. The bite marks were deep and my blood looked infected.

A Na’vi came into my room. She was from the water clan but I didn’t mind because I saw she was holding water and food. The girl looked young too and somehow oddly familiar. As if I’ve seen her before.

Of course, she wasn’t alone. A large Na’vi followed her, holding a spear. His face and chest had tribal tattoos and he stood by the doorway, watching over the girl. Most likely her father.

More people walked in and I spotted Jake between them. He walked up to me and was hesitantly followed by a few kids.

His eyes scanned me over before he nodded at the girl next to me. She put the small basket down and gave me water while Jake discussed something with the man watching over the girl.

I gulped down everything in the bottle. Finally, my throat wasn’t as dry as before.

“Recognise them?” Jake asked me, motioning to the children. The girl next to me stepped to the side and kept a ‘safe’ distance.

I look at the kids one by one. I knew two of them were his because their skin was a darker blue than the rest. But in the end, he could have many kids we don’t know about. But yes, they do look familiar. Then again, I’m really not in the right state of mind right now to be thinking about things like that.

I stay silent and return my gaze to Jake.

He smirks. “These are the kids you took.”

My eyes widen a little more and I instantly start to examine them again. He got them back?

“They’re home and safe from you monsters.”

My ears flatten back at his remark. He wasn’t wrong but I didn’t like hearing it.

“What’s your name?” he asks, but I stay silent. He doesn’t need to know that.

Jake scoffs at my reaction before kneeling down next to me and pulling my dog tag out from beneath my torn tank top.

I watch him read my name before he diverts his eyes to look at me again.

“I tricked your friends, Y/N.” Jake snarled at me malevolently. “I got what I wanted and I have you.”

My heart sinks as I hear this information.

“If they’re still alive, I can tell you right now, they’re sure as hell not coming to get you.”

I felt sick to my stomach. The feeling of helplessness when your world starts to suddenly completely fall apart makes me feel like I’m drowning. It really was all over now. I’m going to live as long as they feel like it. But this is where I will stay.

The girl reappears next to me, holding fruit in her hands. She’s peeled it and is seeming to offer it to me but Jake doesn’t let her.

“No food for her.” he tells the girl and it makes her stop her movements and retreat her hands.

Jake glances at me one last time before turning to the other man.

“We need to keep her weak.”

The man nods and soon, they’re all leaving me with an empty stomach again.

Day Four:

My head is throbbing in pain. My vision is blurry and my body is numb. This is a different kind of torture that I am now realising I won’t last much longer in.

I have started passing out every few hours from dehydration and lack of sleep. Hearing the water beneath the woven floor had me envisioning I was drowning in the ocean again. Hallucinations were not uncommon either.

The guards at the entrance to the hut have turned around multiple times when I would gasp and scream. I once thought I was drowning and the other time I saw the recoms walk in and I genuinely thought it was all over. But they weren’t real. They faded away in seconds and I was alone again.

Later that day, Jake came back along with the man he was talking to before. Neytiri and another woman from the water clan entered as well.

My eyes widened when I saw an Avatar in human clothing walk in behind Jake. I thought it could be a recom but when I looked at his face, I realised I didn’t recognise him.

About an hour earlier I had heard a helicopter outside but I wasn’t sure whether I had imagined it. Apparently not. The Avatar looked like he was from the science department. He had tech equipment with him and started setting it down on the ground.

They were talking between each other for a while and I stopped paying attention. My mind was too hazy from the pain to listen.

But I came back to my senses a little more when Jake came up to me and started his questioning. He had the video camera with him again. Perhaps he wanted to show Quaritch my suffering.

“How are you alive again?”

“Did the RDA make you?”

“Why are you after my family?”

The questions overwhelmed me. I don’t know why he thought it was a good idea to interrogate me when I’m in such a bad state. But I couldn’t focus properly.

That bothered Jake, so he used force like he knew we would too. I answered only when I really couldn’t bare the pain he was inflicting on me.

In the end, I told them our mission and why we were alive. It’s not top-secret information anyway, it was pretty obvious really. We are out for blood because he betrayed us in our past lives. What does Jake not understand about that?

The session ended with tears staining my face and blood running out of my nose. My calf resumed its bleeding after Jake had purposefully irritated the deep wound to get answers out of me. The clan leader, his wife, and Neytiri didn’t look comfortable during the torture, but they showed me no mercy. I didn’t expect them to.

It’s only natural for them to hate me for what I am and for what I was.

Day Five:

I don’t feel alive anymore. I had been given more water but my body was weak. Nothing feels real to me and I’m surprised I’m still hanging on. I don’t have much to live for, how come I’m still here?

But I realise something is off today. The village isn’t calm. There’s a loud commotion outside. Big splashes of water and occasional shouting. It keeps me awake.

A little while later, a few Na’vi come into my tent but they pay me no attention. Usually, the people are wary of me but to these two, I don’t even exist. They seem to be in a hurry as they gather a few of their belongings. I watch them roll up mats and grab a few things before jogging back outside. Were they going somewhere?

This continued for what felt like a few hours until I noticed the noise slowly start to die down. The noises of animals gathering at the shore were heard. After a while, there was no noise anymore. I was left in complete silence.

Hours went by and there was just… nothing.

I thought that perhaps I was hallucinating about being alone. Or maybe I was dead and this is what I get after life. Neverending, loud silence.

I feel disconnected from the world. Like I can’t keep up because I don’t know what is happening. I can’t move and I feel so utterly helpless it breaks me. I feel disconnected from life.

I start grieving for myself. Remembering the gift of freedom I had before. Before I was restricted of almost all my movement.

I’m able to see the sun slowly set outside. My cramped-up body is slowly losing its power as the daylight outside dims. Everything hurts. My mouth is dry, my leg is putting me in agony and my breathing becomes heavy. As if there were a weight on my chest. My neck hurts from not being able to rest, my back hurts from not being able to stretch or readjust its posture and I can’t feel my tail. It’s all too much and my vision starts to black out once more. My completely numb body falls to the side and I lose consciousness.

The village has been abandoned by the clan. And they have left you alone with it. All huts are empty and there is no movement except for the small waves washing up on the coast.

To them, you were not worthy of life. You knew that but having to bare their treatment was worse.

Why they left, you do not know. But you’re too weak to worry about it. Your body is trying its best to keep you alive for as long as possible, but it is not doing well. You have not been nourishing it as well as you usually do and the sudden change has weakened your immune system. Your mentality and emotional strength are equally at a low because abandonment is not easy to deal with. There seems to be nothing keeping you in this world any longer. Quite frankly, you’re not sure whether those who you wish to see once more are even still breathing. Sully mentioned they had been tricked and could be dead. Perhaps you should join them, to escape this dreadful reality you’re stuck in.

What you do not know, is that the clan and the Sully’s fled for a reason. This whole time they had been documenting your suffering and sending it to the RDA, in hopes of being able to form some type of peace treaty. But seeing your treatment had the surviving recoms feeling furious.

The ambush Jake had set up on them to get the kids back had been seriously dangerous. Zdinarsk took a bad hit and in the end, the squad had to leave her lifeless body behind, as they had done with the others.

Everyone else survived.

When the recoms lost you on deck, many thought you were dead. It pained them because, to them, you were the brightest of them all. You of course never knew this, but you managed to keep the team’s spirit uplifted at all times. As humans, they had always had a special connection with you. A few new soldiers joined the recoms but the soldiers that were alive now you knew for a longer time. The Colonel included. You’re their youngest team member and they have always been protective of you. To the recoms, they wouldn’t be a team without you. You had brought them together. In the beginning, you were all strangers. You only knew Lyle from boot camp. And gradually, you unintentionally helped bring everyone closer. It was who you were and they admired you for it.

Seeing that you were alive gave them a huge relief but when they realised what hands you had landed in, it horrified them.

Quaritch was ready to fully arm his team and walk out to find you the second his interaction with Sully ended.

Ardmore prevented that from happening and Quaritch knew he had to listen to her. Instead, they prepared for the handover. Secretly of course, because the General would not agree to trade 3 hostages with valuable information against one wounded soldier.

They saw you in trouble so instantly, their mission objective changed. Screw Sully, he can wait. They had to get you back.

The full five days were spent planning what to do because the recoms panicked when they realised they weren’t getting you back from Jake. He had set up a trap for them which they fell into, due to their tunnel vision for you.

Now, they didn’t have a plan but they have vengeance, rage and fury. Enough of it to pump adrenaline through their bodies and make them dare to walk all the way to find you.

I didn’t plan on waking up again but hey, that’s not something I can control right? My eyes squint in irritation as my pupils are strained, trying to adapt to the sudden change of lighting. Light? It was meant to be dark. The sun had just set.

Confusion once again revives my body and I properly look around. My weak body lays on its side but my head manages to lift up. Why the hell is it so goddamn bright when the sky outside is dark?

A strong smell fills my nostrils, making me scrunch up my sensitive nose.

Smoke.

I’m inhaling smoke. One breath after the other it starts to cloud the hut I’m in, but I can’t move. My ears twitch and I hear something cracking to my left. Like wood breaking and falling. My eyes turn to look where the noise came from and I see the hole that has formed in the wall of the woven tent I’m in. It’s growing bigger and the floor is slowly breaking away. Outlining it are small flames, keeping the dry fabric ignited.

Fire.

The village is burning. And I’m in it. Why and how it’s burning I don’t know but the smoke is clouding my vision and filling my lungs, making me think this has to be my end. In complete defeat, I drop my head again, hoping to evade the polluting grey cloud but it doesn’t help. The need to cough clogs my throat but I’m too weak to inhale a big enough breath to be able to cough. So I just resume my position, waiting for everything to end.

You don’t move. You can’t. You’re wrists are still tied behind your back and your leg is still injured. There is no escape for you. You’re just hoping the smoke will finish you off before the flames reach you.

Outside your hut, loud shouts of orders are to be heard. But your ears do not pick up on them.

The fire has been set purposefully out of spite for what had been done to you. But the ones responsible for it, do not know you are still there. Once things started burning, orders were given to search the huts for anything and anyone. Best case scenario: you.

The smoke had knocked you out again because you weren’t receiving enough air. Time is running out fast.

Hut after hut, the recombinants find nothing, quickly running to the next one before the fire reaches it. The one you are in is on the far end of the village, so as not to inconvenience the previous inhabitants. You were a threat and they didn’t want you in the centre of it all. After all, you might bring them bad luck.

Everyone was busy, desperately hoping to find you but also dreading to find you in flames and blood.

Just before your roof was going to collapse on you, one soldier was fortunate enough to run past your hut and glance inside.

Lopez’s bare feet skidded over the woven fabric that the village was built with. It was dry and able to burn fast, so they all had to hurry.

He’s running from house to house, looking inside only to find abandoned objects and some furniture. His hope is slowly dying out as he starts to reach the edge of the coastal village. Lopez’s heart is beating fast and he feels dread weigh down his heart. What if they are too late? He should have paid attention to where you were on the ship. Not let you out of his sight. Then this would have never happened.

He’s starting to panic again, just like when he saw you crying on the screen.

Finally, he reached your hut. It looked just like any other hut and when he glanced inside all he saw was smoke. It was close to collapsing in on itself and Lopez was about to go and run to the next one when he saw a faint figure on the ground. It made him stop dead in his tracks and a soft breeze managed to clear the smoke from his view for a few seconds.

There you were.

Lying motionless on the ground.

His heart sank and everything seemed to stop for a few seconds before he was brought back to reality by the flames nearing you and the cracking of the roof above you. Without spending another second thinking, Lopez hurled his body forward, running straight up to you. He held his breath, examining you with wide eyes while his hands moved you around to see if you were alive. You gave him no reaction. He was ready to scoop you up but he quickly realised you were tied to a post which was attached to the burning wall.

Such cruel handling to such a beautiful soul, he thought.

He was quick to try and rip the rope but it wasn’t working. Lopez cursed himself for losing his dagger.

Luckily, Lyle, who was also searching houses, saw Lopez run into the smoke. He hasn’t seen him come out. It meant that either he had to go help his fellow soldier in case something had happened or perhaps, Lopez had found something.

Lyle reached the entrance of the hut, seeing nothing but a hunched-over figure. Recognising it as Lopez, he quickly entered and equally held his breath in the smoke. Both their ears were pinned back in tension and once Lyle saw you on the ground, he fell to his knees in an attempt to help you. He saw Lopez fighting the coarse rope and swiftly reached for his dagger, slicing through it to finally free you. No words were spoken, they knew what to do.

Without hesitation, Lopez quickly slid an arm behind your back and one under the legs, lifting you into the air as he got up. Lyle quickly lead the way, flinching when he saw the roof start to break. Both men are desperate to help you out of here so they run, with you in Lopez’s arms. Finally exiting the hut, they can breathe again but they don’t stop. Just as they start to return, the entire hut collapses in on itself. They found you just in time.

All other soldiers have been ordered to get off the burning ground and back onto the sand. They were gathered on the beach and the Colonel was looking for Lopez and Lyle. A soldier called out that he spotted them and the whole team turned to see them running with a body in one’s hands.

Immediately, all senses and attention were spiked. Was it you?

Lyle called out that they had you and a few soldiers dropped their things to go and help them where as the Colonel stayed put. The news overwhelmed him with the long-needed feeling of relief and he just stared at them, watching his highly trained marines carefully transport you to them. But there was one problem. You weren’t awake…

My head buzzed in pain from a mild headache I was getting while resting. But suddenly, as my senses return to me, everything feels different. I’m blinded by a bright white light as I once again, open my eyes. Am I dead?

I squint and the white light is above me. Yep, I’m dead. Heaven or hell, who cares. I’m not where I was and that’s all that really matters to me right now.

Ready to close my eyes again, my other senses heightened. With my vision gone, I can focus on my hearing and smell. I smell disinfectant and hear a constant beeping which is probably what is giving me my headache. It’s coming from behind me and I open my eyes, wanting to hit whatever it was.

Suddenly, the light is no longer blinding me and I recognise what looks to be a heart monitor.

A gasp is emitted on my right and I flinch, looking at the figure with half-lidded and tired eyes.

“Y/N! You’re awake!” The voice shouts in excitement. I recognise Prager and my eyes start to tear up.

I still had no idea what was happening but I was so happy to not be alone anymore.

Prager is barely sitting on his chair now that he seems to have placed next to my bed. He’s too happy for that. Next to him, Mansk is slowly lifting his head from his palm. The sudden commotion must have woken him up.

He looks at Prager who is holding my hand and when he notices I’m awake, his eyes widen in surprise. It starts to load into Mansk’s head that I’m alive and he sits up, leaning over me.

I’m very overwhelmed with everything around me.

“You’re dead too?” I mumble, suddenly coughing a little. A smoky aftertaste is left lingering on my tongue.

Prager tilts his head in confusion.

“Y/N, you’re alive.” he says, smiling again.

I shake my head. “No-” I say, pointing to me. “I’m dead.”

Prager chuckles at your existential confusion. He’s too overjoyed that your back he gets up and runs to the door.

“Colonel, Y/N’s awake!” he shouts through the hallway, standing in the frame of the door.

Mansk scoots closer, seeming to be in disbelief that I’m alive. He’s examining me, making sure I’m okay while now also comfortingly holding my hand.

(click here to see a picture I drew of this scene)

Only now do I realise where I am. I’m laying in a hospital bed in what looks like it could be the RDA’s medical centre. The recoms have their own hospital because the bodies are different.

There is in fact a heart monitor next to me and I have cannula tubes inserted into my lower arm and hand which are connected to an IV drip bag. It’s clear and filled with a saline solution. Probably best to cure my dehydration. I can feel a bandage around my calf. Finally, the wound must have been taken care of.

“How are you feeling?” Mansk asks. His ears are perked forward, giving me all his attention.

I slowly tilt my head back to face him.

“Like shit.” I mutter, raising my hand impaled by small, clear tubes and my bandaged leg to emphasize my point. He drops his head and smiles.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” he replies. But his smile is comforting. He seems to know that I must be doing better if I can curse and joke around.

Prager steps back into the room, allowing the Colonel to come in. Quaritch was out of breath when he walked in, his eyes never leaving me. He came to a stop in front of my bed. Behind him, the rest of the remaining team came in. Lyle, Lopez, and Ja stood behind their superior and their wide eyes watched our interaction.

“Y/N…” Quaritch breathes out as I look up to meet his gaze. He seemed relieved but his eyes showed me he was tormented with guilt.

“I’m so sorry.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Why was he sorry?

“Sorry? Why?”

Quaritch looks disappointed in himself, and his eyes flicker down and away from mine to stare at the pale covers of the bed.

“I should have been watching out for you. It’s my fault.”

My ears droop at the news. Sure, he was our Colonel and was in charge of us all, but it’s not his fault.

“Don’t say that.” I reply, not wanting him to feel let down by himself. “It’s not true.”

Your words are spoken softly as if you are trying to comfort him. He notices your tone, once again being reminded why you’re so special to him and the team. Helping others even at your worst. A great quality which will never cease to amaze him.

“We thought we lost you.” His saddened eyes meet mine again.

I smile, appreciating him showing me his caring side. Something Quaritch never did.

“Don’t get me emotional here, Colonel.” I chuckle before abruptly coughing again. “I don’t have enough water in my body to cry.”

A grin forms on my lips and my joking attitude makes him lightly chuckle. The others smile.

They spend the next few hours with you, talking to you about things and letting you get everything off your chest. You told them what happened from the very beginning to the very end. It made them furious but at least you were safe now. While listening, Quaritch had his ears pinned back and was gritting his teeth. Mansk couldn’t keep his leg still and was tensely cracking his knuckles and pressing his fingers into fists. Everyone was on edge when you described what Jake had done to you. They wanted to go and end him even more now but no one would risk the same thing happening again.

For the next few days, you were getting their full-time princess treatment. Obviously, they still had to work. This wasn’t some perfect fantasy where they would spend all their time with you and watch movies. It didn’t work that way. The RDA had to keep running and they were needed. But you were not forgotten.

They would each stop by every day, taking turns to make sure you were alright. While you still felt very weak, your body started healing and your strength was slowly returning. It was a miracle. One you would have never imagined could happen. Not after you thought you were going to die multiple times. Not even after you were ready to face death the last time. This job, or this life, was not for the weak.

Soon enough, I was slowly returning to my normal self. The doctors let me go after a week but I was still not allowed to participate in extremely physical activities like working out. Typical things for Marines. I just hope that I won’t forget how to do things once I’m really back.

One might think that moving around the facility during the day was the toughest part for me. Well, that’s not true. It was a struggle but what I was really battling with were the nights. Whenever I close my eyes, my mind starts remembering and picturing everything that has happened to me over the past few days. Sleeping in the hospital was dreadful. I think that’s why they let me out early. So that I could properly rest again.

With half of the original recom team gone, the dorms which we slept in were reduced in size. We were transferred to a shared room for the seven of us. The Colonel included. His private room was going to be used for something else. There would have been lots of complaining from his side if it weren’t for my sleep paranoia. I was going to share a room with them from now on and it relieved me. It meant that I wouldn’t have to sit through the night alone anymore and stare into the dark. I could perhaps even sleep peacefully.

The days went by quickly for me because I wasn’t assigned any tasks. I feel like I’m just wasting my time but Quaritch tells me it’s a part of the healing process.

The lights were shut off again and the room went dark. Normally, my heart would start racing but I could hear the soft breathing of Lyle behind me and Mansk on my left. We had our own beds, but even they were pretty close together. The Colonel slept across the room from me.

Surprisingly, I managed to fall asleep fairly quickly. Sleeping in one room with 6 fully grown marine men on your side is a pretty comforting thought for me. I knew them well and trusted each of them.

But once asleep, it didn’t take long for the traumatising memories to return. I dreamt that I was tied down again, stuck in the hut full of smoke. I could remember the exact pain in every area of my body and the aftertaste of the smoke in my lungs. But this time, nobody was there to get me out. The fire neared me rapidly and soon, the flames engulfed me. Out of fear, I woke up.

Quickly, I sat up from my previous laying position, breathing heavily as if I had been running. A sweat droplet ran down my forehead while my wide eyes saw that I wasn’t back there, but still safe in our room.

I heard a bed creak next to me and turned around, flinching away when I saw a figure sitting on the bed.

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s me.” I hear Lyle say. My eyes close and I let out a relieved sigh.

“Sorry for waking you.” I whisper, flattening my ears back.

“Don’t be, I wanna help.” He softly replies, walking to the edge of my bed. I look up at him and even in the dark, I can see his smile. Our new eyes really were something.

“Scoot over.” he whispers, gently taking hold of my blanket and lifting a corner. We knew each other well enough to know our boundaries. This was completely fine.

“The bed’s small. You won’t sleep well.” I warn him, still listening to what he said.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” he mumbles, slowly getting under the covers with me. “Just want you to feel better.”

I smile at him, before laying my head back against the pillow. “Thanks.”

Lyle loosely drapes his arm around my waist, pulling himself closer to me so that he won’t fall off the edge of the mattress. His hand feels the bare skin of my hip and he stops. His eyebrows furrow and he lets me go, using the same hand to lift the blanket.

“What are you even wearin’?” he asks. I groan against the pillow. I had sleep shorts and a comfortable sleep top on. It looked like a sports bra but it was actually cozy.

“It’s warm. And this is comfortable.” I mumble, not bothering to open my eyes.

“It’s cold.” Lyle corrects me, placing his arm back over me and pressing himself against my back. “But you’re warm.”

“Hot.” I smirk, nudging his foot with mine before closing my eyes again. He chuckles lightly and we go silent in an attempt to sleep again.

Unfortunately, that attempt turns out to be miserable because Lyle won’t stop moving around. His body twitches and he keeps readjusting his position.

Then the inevitable happens. I feel something semi-hard against my ass. With the dirty mind Lyle taught me to have, my eyes shoot open and I hold my breath for a second. To see if it really is what I think it is, I push back against it.

Lyle sharply inhales a breath and I huff out a sigh.

“You’re kidding.” I whisper to him unimpressed, turning my head to look at him from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he stutters, withdrawing his arm from me again.

“This is your help? Getting all worked up?” I ask with a chuckle and the intention to make fun of him so that he would joke back. It surprised me that he was getting hard around me. I never knew he thought of me in that way.

He doesn’t respond so I fully turn around to face him. Lyle's ears are flattened back and he looks not just embarrassed but regretful and ashamed.

“Lyle, I’m joking.” I say, noticing his expression.

“I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.” he whispers to me. Lyle glances to his bed and I notice that he’s thinking about getting up.

“Don’t you dare. I was comfortable.” I whisper-shout at him. He turns his head back to me, watching my moves to understand my reaction.

I turn around and lay back down, in an attempt to show him I wasn’t weirded out. The situation has my heart beating faster in my chest. Probably in excitement. I don’t think my steps through. All I know is that I felt comfortable and safe with him and I wanted to return to the position we were just in.

I lay still but my eyes are open and I wait for him to lay down again. Luckily, Lyle gives in and lowers himself back down. His chest presses up against my back once more and he keeps his arm on his side. He seems unsure whether to put it back so I gently reach behind me and pull it over my waist again, hugging his forearm against my chest.

Within seconds, I feel his tense body melt against me and I’m comfortable again. He hums behind my head and I close my eyes.

But now I can’t stop thinking about what could happen. I know Lyle still has his problem but he’s stuck here with me and can’t really sort it out. In a way, I feel bad for him. But only then do I realise, that his presence had me feeling warmer and more jumpy than usual.

His heavy, strong body was pressed right up against mine. There was no way he didn’t feel how warm I’m getting. Questions seem to slowly answer themselves when Lyle shifts again.

His arm tightens around my waist and he gently pulls my hips up against his. I don’t move, letting him set the pose. He holds me tightly against him now and my ass is pressed against his now hard erection.

I don’t know what to do but I’m no longer thinking about my actions. I just do them. My head turns to the side again to look at him. I hear him smirk and then suddenly, Lyle presses his face against the side of my neck, nuzzling his nose into my skin. This is new. All of this. Lyle and I have never been this physical.

“Lyle?” I ask, not sure what I’m asking or what I expect to hear as a response.

“I thought I lost you, Buttercup.” he mumbles against my skin. His other arm pushes through underneath me and he’s wrapped both his arms around me now.

I gasp when I feel his warm lips against my skin. Lyle starts pressing gentle kisses on my neck before he licks a small stripe and then catches the skin between his teeth.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, moving up so that he’s now hovering over me. He kisses my cheek and I look up at him with doe eyes. He’s being so affectionate it’s making me melt. The light speckles on our skin illuminate our bodies and I see mine in the reflection of his eyes. We stare at each other for a few long seconds before he starts to slowly lean down. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips and I let it happen. There was nothing wrong with this and no reason to stop. I missed him too.

Our lips meet and Lyle immediately starts to passionately kiss me. I sigh at the pleasant feeling, lifting my hand to caress the back of his head. Tracing my hand over his skin, I stop at his shoulders and feel the muscles flexing while he’s holding himself up. Lyle’s physique always looked good to me. Having his weight on me felt even better.

“Let me show you how much I missed you.” he whisper after we pull away. He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. I slowly nod and almost instantly, the gap between our lips is closed again. But this time, the kiss is more heated and Lyle seems more desperate.

My mind is hazy from my lack of sleep and sudden affection. My eyes flutter closed with every kiss and touch he gives me that time seems to speed by. Something I hate because I wish I could prolong this moment with Lyle.

His hands are caressing my chest and he glances at me for permission while letting his fingertips linger on the fabric of my top. This time I nod eagerly and Lyle listens, gently pulling the top over my head. He groans, letting his eyes scan me before quickly moving on to my shorts. I lift my hips and it encourages him to slip them down my legs, leaving me bare before him.

“You’ve always been so pretty.” he praised me, whispering the words into my ear. “Thought I’d never be able to tell you.”

“Stop, you’re making me feel special.” I grin, helping him pull his shirt off.

Lyle chuckles softly. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers his promises into my ear.

I smile, embracing him as he lowers himself back down. Suddenly, it seems like we’d both been touch starved and we couldn’t let each other go. I don’t know whether this is love or lust. Somewhere in between but we have a deep connection that’s igniting my skin with warmth.

Lyle stripped himself as well and he’s kissing down my chest. Our bodies are hidden under the blanket in case anyone turns the light on. But we were quiet enough not to wake others.

I open my legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him against me. I feel his aching hard cock press up against my bare pussy which was throbbing and becoming wet. Lyle’s body shudders in anticipation at the close touch and he can’t help but slowly grind himself against my folds. I bite my lip, exhaling shakily which his ears pick up on.

“Please-” I whisper, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“You don’t need to beg, baby. Anythin’ for you.” he softly replies, gently nibbling my ear before adjusting his hips to mine.

I feel the tip of his dick press against my entrance, carefully applying pressure to not overwhelm me all at once.

I nod up at him, and his lips part in admiration when he sees my lust-filled and half-lidded eyes staring up at him.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He whispers to me, knowing I’m still not up to my full health. I hum in response, feeling too blown away to form words already.

Lyle starts to gently roll his hips forward, thereby pushing himself into you. His mouth slowly drops open in pleasure, relishing in the way you’re squeezing him. The intrusion would normally make you tense up but you trust Lyle so much, you don’t stop him. Knowing he would never do anything to hurt you, you lay back and focus on relaxing yourself for him. Finally feeling so safe and good was such a contrast to how you felt a week ago. You needed this just as much as he did.

He blamed himself for what happened just like everyone else did. Now, he wanted to apologise and make up for it. Because he missed your presence so incredibly much before, he couldn’t get enough of it now.

Lyle finally bottomed out and he dropped his head against your shoulder in pleasure. Never had he felt this close to you, but he loved it. Even with all his built-up lust, his main priority is you.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, and suddenly Lyle already seems out of breath.

“Yeah, m’ fine.” I say and reassuringly tap his shoulder.

He gives me a small nod. Taking one of my hands Lyle carefully interwines our fingers and then presses our connected hands against the pillow next to my head. I sigh as he gently pulls out, pushing back in as carefully as he did the first time. He does this until he feels that I have relaxed more. Once Lyle starts to slowly pick up the pace, the movement inside me is feeling pleasurable. I start breathing heavily. Listening to Lyle’s uneven breathing and watching his lustful expression is really turning me on, making my pussy almost flutter around him.

I gasp when his tip hits a particularly good spot inside me. It makes me instinctively clench my legs around him and roll my hips upwards.

“That good?” Lyle teases with a grin, noticing my body’s response.

“Shit- Lyle…” I sigh, clenching my fingers down against his hand and raising my free hand to hold on to the pillow. I needed to dig my fingers into something.

Lyle seemed to not like that I wasn’t touching him and he thrust into me sharply, making my body jolt upwards. I look at him with wide eyes before resting my free hand on his shoulders. The pleasure is building up inside me, making me curl my toes and dig my nails into his back.

Lyle growls with a grin, continuing what he’s doing. He drops his head in the crook of my neck, starting to suck and gently bite down on my skin. Probably wanting to leave hickeys. I’m not going to stop him.

He didn’t speed up but he angled his hips in a way that sent shivers down my spine and made me arch my back off the bed.

“Lyle-” I whisper “I’m close.” My breathing is heavy and my words are barely heard but he catches them in time.

“You doin’ so well f’ere me, baby. So fuckin’ good.” he groans, resuming to nibble on my neck and collarbone.

My mouth drops open in bliss and I’m gasping and whimpering beneath Lyle.

He dips his head down once more with a smug smile, kissing me to keep us both quiet as our orgasms approach. It’s the best way to shut me up.

His thrusts deepen and I feel his abdomen nudge my clit every time he bottoms out. It’s enough to send me over the edge. My mouth hangs open again but Lyle continues to kiss me, muffling my silent moan. Not once do his movements falter. He rides out my orgasm until my legs stop clamping down around him.

“Where do you want it?” he asks between heavy breaths, looking at me with desperate eyes because he can’t hold it back.

“In me.” I whisper, pressing the side of my face against his. I hear him let out a muffled moan, pressing his lips together to not be too loud.

I missed him and everything normal so much, I needed this feeling of closeness. I was about to die a few days back so I really didn’t mind.

I gather my breath and Lyle speeds up his thrusts to push himself over the edge. To help him, I open my legs wider to give him better access. The next thrust makes him growl in pleasure and within seconds, his body spasms. Lyle bites down onto my shoulder, holding me down with both his arms and placing his body weight on me while he rams himself as deep inside my pussy as possible and shoots his cum inside me. He holds me down, not letting me move until he’s done.

Once he’s emptied his balls inside me, his grip on me loosens and we lock eyes once more.

Slowly, I lift my hand and cup his cheek. The small act of affection makes him smile softly and he presses his forehead against mine, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment. I smile up at him, unable to contain my happiness. I really liked him and I was happy this happened between us.

Lyle grinned down at me, seeming to read my thoughts. I pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips and then he slowly lifted himself up, pulling out. His hands traced my body as he prepared to lay back down next to me.

“So pretty. You’re mine baby.” he says, leaning down about to rest next to me once more before his movements stop.

“Don’t know about that, Corporal.” Said a voice from behind us. It spoke louder than we did and I immediately recognised it to be the Colonel. Quaritch was awake and had probably heard everything.

I gasp and Lyle freezes, staring at me for a second before sighing. He would have been surprised if you both wouldn’t have woken anyone up.

Quaritch walks up to my bed, glancing at Lyle before once again fixating his gaze on me. My hands are gripping onto the edge of the blanket, holding it above my chest. The Colonel is my superior and my face flushes in embarrassment in response to being caught doing that.

“Didn’t know you’d be this temptin’ sweet’eart.” He grinned, flashing his fangs. Quaritch was a bold man not afraid of judgement.

“I’m sorry sir, I-”

“Almost irresistible.” he mutters under his breath, making me stop mid-sentence.

Lyle is next to me, silently watching the situation unfold. He knows the Colonel well and is aware that he isn’t just having you to himself tonight.

Quaritch once again glances at Lyle and his gaze is more of a warning sign now. Lyle takes the hint, reaching for his sweatpants before moving off the bed. He looks down at me in a way to make sure I’m doing okay. I was surprised by the Colonel’s forwardness but Lyle was making sure I’m not uncomfortable. I know that if he would feel like I’m in danger, he would do absolutely everything in his power to protect me from that.

But it was Quaritch in the room with us. Definitely no stranger. I trusted Quaritch as well, I just had to be more respectful and presentable around him because he was a high-ranking officer.

“I was ready to kill Jake the second I’d see him.” Quaritch says, continuing to peer down at me. “Rip ‘im open and burn his body.”

If this is how Quaritch dirty talks then someone help me.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you, darlin’. I can promise you that with my life.”

His words are deep and while processing them, he steps closer. Quaritch sits down on the bed so that we are at eye level.

“I want ‘te make it up to you.” he says, gazing deeply into my eyes.

I watch him and his words send a shiver down my spine. Quaritch is very much attractive but he is also so much more intimidating than Lyle. I feel nervous being so exposed around him but something about the way he is so gentle with me and the soft look on his face makes me want this to happen.

“You trust me?” Quaritch asks. He looks so genuine and so real. As if he’d left the Colonel sleeping and what I’m seeing in front of me is just him as Miles.

“Yes.” I whisper, giving him a light nod. A small smile spreads across his lips. His large hand reaches up to my face and he twirls a small strand of hair that came loose around his fingers before gently tucking it behind my ear. I can’t tear my wide eyes from his. The amazement and surprise that this is happening is still astounding me.

“I won’t let you down.” he softly says, moving closer to me. “Never again.”

With that, he firmly presses his lips against mine, pulling my face to his.

I accept, letting my body relax against his.

Quaritch’s hands are on me, pulling me closer to him and within a matter of seconds, he’s hooked his palms under my thighs and has managed to tug me onto his lap. He was wearing nothing but his pants and I enjoyed the warm skin-to-skin contact our chests have.

The Colonel must have been watching or listening to Lyle and me because I felt his fully erect dick under me. It made me lose my mind. My fucking Colonel, the person I always look up to seems to have it bad for me.

His fingers dig into my hips and he presses me down against him, pulling away from the kiss and growling. I gasp, letting my eyes flutter closed while he grabs my queue, tugging my head back to expose my neck. His lips attach themselves to my neck as a small distraction while his other hand reaches between us and pushes down his pants.

He’s sucking and nibbling the skin of my neck, making me arch myself into him at the pleasant feeling. I’m not surprised that the Colonel is so skilled. A man of that age has a lot of experience. I just never thought I would be on the receiving end of it.

He pushes his pants down to his mid-thigh, far enough to free his aching cock from the restraints of the fabric. Once again, he forces my hips closer against his, pressing my already wet pussy against the sheath of his length. It’s warm and at this point, my core is too. Our bodies radiate heat while our senses are flooded with desire and lust.

His eyes seem to have turned a shade darker. Miles looks animalistic. His gaze is predatory, showing me his hunger and thirst for more. It doesn’t scare me though. He’s deeply buried in the moment but it’s still him who I trust.

His needs seem to be screaming at him and without further ado, both his hands latch themselves to my sides, lifting me up a little. I’m supporting myself by standing on my knees but it seems like Quaritch still wants full control, despite our position.

I feel his tip against my entrance. But this time mine and Lyle’s cum is slowly dripping out and onto him, covering his throbbing erection.

When I look up at him, Miles is grinning. There’s something so dirty about all of this but it’s just exciting me more. My thoughts are interrupted when Quaritch stops holding me up, guiding me down him until I’m fully seated on his lap again with him buried deep inside my pussy.

“F-fuck…” he curses, hissing the words through his teeth. “I knew you’d feel amazing.”

His whisper makes me shudder in anticipation. At this point, I didn’t even want this for my own pleasure. It felt great, but pleasing the Colonel was better.

He started to rock my hips against him, before eventually lifting and sinking my hips up and down him. Watching his expression relax and tense up in pleasure and listening to his grunts and pants was all I really wanted.

Perhaps I had missed him so much too, that I just wanted to please him and feel him close to me.

His pace grew harder. Even though Quaritch cares about me just as much as Lyle does, he isn’t as gentle. Only now do I realise how thankful I am that Lyle went slow with me. I would be in pain if he wouldn’t have been as careful.

“Miles-” I gasp in shock when I feel what I think is another orgasm approaching. This hasn’t happened before. I thought I wouldn’t be able to cum so quickly after an orgasm but it seems that Quaritch really can work magic.

“Come on baby, don’t hold back on me.” he grunts, enthusiastically bucking his hips up to meet mine. I hold on to his shoulders for balance, needing something to ground me through my bliss. It was slowly becoming too much.

Suddenly, his hand reaches between us and starts rubbing circles around my clit, occasionally pressing down on it and applying the right amount of pressure. I whimper, closing my eyes while my hips stutter in their place.

“It’s okay, I got you.” he whispers, pressing the side of his face against my neck while he continues to spear me down onto him. The light suddenly turns on, lighting up the entire room but we’re both too absent-minded at the moment to care.

Within seconds, I’m cumming around him. My pussy clenches in a way that makes Miles hiss and my knees go weak, no longer supporting my trembling legs, He curses before thrusting me down him as far as possible and spilling himself into me. His arm is snaked around my waist supportively, holding me to him as our orgasms rip through our bodies.

“There you go.” he coos into my ear, slowly stilling my hips and just holding me while both of us pant for air.

I cover my eyes, squinting from the sudden illumination coming from the lamp.

“Sorry.” I hear Lyle chuckle and I open my eyes to look at him. “Wanted to see your face.”

I just nod weakly, resting my head on Quaritch’s shoulder. I inhale his strong, musky scent and it comforts me, seeming to make all my worries go away. His arms were still cradling me and I could have fallen asleep like this. But it seems that others could not.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” Miles asks, carefully letting me go and pulling away so that he could look at me again. My eyes are half-lidded again but not from lust, from sleepiness.

“Tired.” I mumble, dropping my head flimsily.

“Can you go again?”

His words make my mind halt for a few seconds. I look up at him in confusion. Again?

He reads my expression before nodding his head, motioning to something behind me. I slowly turn around and with the light on, I see Mansk and Lopez are awake. Ja and Prager are awake too, but Mansk and Lopez are closer to us. They’re looking at me the way Quaritch looked at me when I was still with Lyle.

Lopez is standing and Mansk has moved off his bed. Quaritch caresses my waist before gently moving me off of him. I stare at him with wide eyes and he smiles.

“You’ll be okay. I know you can take it.” he says, slowly getting up. Quaritch does know me well enough to know my limits. Not sexual limits, just physical limits, especially in the gym. But it seems as though that has some similarity to this.

Suddenly, another bed is pushed together against mine by Lopez. Mansk is now standing next to me with his eyes on me.

“Hey princess,” he smirks and I swallow nervously. His smile widens and he looks up at Lopez before pulling his own tank top over his head.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Lopez coos, settling down on the now double bed.

“We’re gonna take real good care of you.” Mansk adds, sitting next to me. His arms tangle around me and he nuzzles his nose against my cheek, inhaling deeply.

“Ya smell so good.” he purrs and I just weakly lean against him.

Mansk and Lopez are both entranced by your scent. It’s sweet and lures them to you. But they can smell Lyle and Quaritch on you. Naturally, their instincts tell them to get rid of that smell and replace it with their own.

All the recoms are even more protective of you now than ever before. Not only because of what happened to you previously but also because you are the only female in the group now. You’re all that they really have now and can protect.

“I’m goin’ first.” Mansk tells Lopez who clearly has an issue with that.

“No fuckin’ way, I’m not waitin’ anymore. Been awake since the beginning, I can’t just fuckin’ watch again.” Lopez protests, making my ears perk up.

He’s been awake since the beginning? Maybe Lyle and I really need to learn to be more stealthy. Or not, this isn’t such a bad outcome either.

Lopez lays down, reaching for me and pulling me on top of him. I don’t bother to resist. Why would I?

Mansk doesn’t let Lopez take me away that quickly and within seconds, he’s behind me.

I’m on all fours, watching them and hoping they don’t start tugging me back and forth.

Behind my back, Mansk and Lopez exchange looks and scan the position we’re all currently in. Lopez grins up at him before directing his attention back to me.

“Hey, mami.” he smirks, running his thumb over my lips. I stare down at him and my partly fucked out expression has him grinning.

“We’re gonna try something, yeah?” he asks, and I just stare at him with confusion. I’m not even embarrassed about being bare in front of them all, so I can’t protest, I just listen and go with whatever they say.

“Give ‘er a safeword.” Mansk says behind me. His large hands are gently skimming the curves of my hips and ass before one wraps around my tail, moving it up to fully expose me to him.

“Say ‘red’ when you’re at your limit, okay baby?” Lopez explains, watching me with a devilish grin as I nod.

“Okay.” I whisper and he nods up at Mansk. Whatever they are planning, I assume it won’t be easy for me to take so I try to distract myself. Perfect, right in front of me. I examine Lopez’s tattooed chest of his toned body laying beneath me. I raise a hand and start gently outlining the inked words under his skin.

Lopez and Mansk are shuffling beneath and behind me. My distraction causes me to not notice them remove their pants. Lopez however feels the small touch and smiles up at me.

“You’re so cute, mami.” He whispers, making me lock eyes with him again. “Promise to make you feel good.”

I nod and he looks behind me again. They’re moving my hips and legs to try to position me correctly while I once again stare at Lopez’s tattoos.

There’s a pressure being applied against my core again, but now it feels normal to me I don’t even turn around to see what exactly they are doing.

Lopez’s hand comes up and gently wraps around my throat, holding me in place. I lean into his touch, letting myself be fully at their mercy.

Suddenly, I feel what I think is one of them push themselves inside me. I gasp, eyes shooting wide when I feel the burning stretch of my walls adjusting. My breath seems to get caught in my throat.

“Nnhgh-” I whine, clamping my teeth tightly shut and squeezing my eyes closed.

“Fuckk,” Mansk breathily exhales, steadying himself against my ass.

Lopez’s ears are strained back, his fangs are bared and his eyebrows furrowed in bliss. The realisation hits me. Both of them are inside me at the same time.

“Shit- you’re so tight baby.” he groans, placing his free hand on my waist and squeezing my flesh. Mansk is holding my lower hip and tail.

I’m struggling to breathe. My arms spread wider to the sides to support me in case they start moving. I ball my fingers into fists around the bedsheets, trying to deal with the pain.

“Give ‘er a minute.” I hear Quaritch tell them. He must be watching my expression. I see Lopez nod and I assume Mansk does the same. They weren’t planning on moving without your permission anyway.

My head drops and I calm my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply. It burned, causing tears to prick in the corners of my eyes. Mansk is gently rubbing soothing circles onto my belly while being hunched over me.

After a few minutes of that and Lopez whispering soft praises and compliments to me, the stretch is gone.

“It’s- better now.” I say with a small sob which I quickly swallow down so that it goes unheard. They trust my judgement, exchanging looks before my hips are nudged forward and they pull out, leaving just a little of their dicks inside.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, steadying myself on the mattress above Lopez once again before they thrust back in, in synch.

They share their rhythm, making sure to go slower to not overwhelm me. But I’m already overwhelmed. My core is throbbing from overstimulation and my eyes are tearing up.

But their touches are gentle. Their hands do not fail to pleasingly caress my body while they thrust into me. My hair is moved to the side to reveal the side of my neck that hasn’t been marked by either Lyle or Quaritch. Lopez presses his tongue against my pulse point before gently sucking his own hickeys into my skin.

Mansk groans behind me, letting his head fall back. I feel so stuffed, I know that if I even manage to have another orgasm, it will come quickly because they are reaching spots I never knew I had.

“Fuck, princess you feel so good.” Mansk praises me. “Doin’ so well.”

I whimper in response, feeling glad I can please them at least. This is turning into one big love-making session. I missed everyone so much and seems they did too, we just can’t get enough of each other.

“Shit- ‘m not gonna last-” Lopez growls. It must feel tighter than usual for them.

My body is being nudged forwards with every thrust.

“Come on, mami. Cum for us.” Lopez encourages me.

“I- I can’t,” I whine, feeling a tear spill from my eyes. Lopez wipes it away, holding my cheek to support my lolling head.

“You can do it, one more.” he whispers breathlessly into my ear. Under me, he starts to roll his hips so that they grind against my clit with every thrust. I whimper, instinctively pushing back against them which makes Mansk growl.

Their thrusts are more sloppy and desperate, signalling they must be close. Lopez doesn’t stop his rhythm and soon I’m on the edge of my third orgasm.

“I’m gonna-” I gasp “I’m gonna cum-”

“Fuckin’ right, let go, mami.” he grunts.

My moans spur them on and in seconds my entire body is shaking once more. The way my walls hug them makes it almost impossible for Mansk and Lopez to move and their both goners too.

“Grippin’ me so well, baby.” Mansk hisses, digging his fingers into my hips.

I’m seeing stars and my vision blacks out as I feel both men shoot their thick ropes of cum deep inside me, once again filling me up.

At this point, I’m panting again and my arms give out. I slowly go limp against Lopez, laying on top of him. Behind me, Mansk pulls out to ease me from the overstimulation. Lopez then follows and I’m wondering whether I’ve lost the senses in my legs. They won’t stop trembling.

“Holy shit.” Lopez mumbles, patting my back while my non-functioning body is close to either falling asleep or passing out again.

“That deserves a fuckin’ reward.” Lyle says, sitting on his bed.

“I’ll give ‘er a reward.” Ja says. His voice comes from somewhere behind me. My tail stops swaying as I replay the words in my head. I lift myself up a little and look at Lopez, then at Quaritch.

“You said one more.” I whine in protest to Lopez who looks at me apologetically. He himself then looks at Quaritch, seeming unsure whether I can actually manage another round.

Quaritch doesn’t say or do anything, leaving it up to me to decide.

“Only if you want to, Y/N.” Prager says, coming around to the head of the bed while Lopez slowly lifts me off of him. He looks at Ja who nods in agreement.

“I feel like such a slut.” I say, cupping my face in embarrassment and shame. I have never had intercourse with this many people right after the other.

“Don’t. You’re perfect.” Prager says, lowering himself onto the bed in front of me.

“Unless you’re into that. Then do.” Lopez jokes, biting his tongue and playfully slapping my thigh before getting up.

Mansk smirks and Ja chuckles.

“Can you go one last time?” Prager asks. He was such a sweet person. Even before, he would always check up on me, for example when it seemed like I was struggling in training.

I wanted to please him and Ja too.

I nod slowly, wiping a previously shed tear from my face. “Yeah. Just- please be gentle.” I ask him and Ja. Both men nod and Ja grins, taking his position behind me.

“Sure thing, baby.” Prager smiles. My head is spinning a little but I manage to hear them push down their pants. To my surprise, Prager stays in front of me.

I look up at him and he gently parts my lips with his thumb. Oh. Sure. Hopefully, I won’t choke and die.

“Watch the fangs.” I softly say, my voice a little raspy from the moaning. Prager nods, tracing one of my fangs with his finger before tilting my chin upwards to him. Ja is already covering himself in all the mixed cum from before, lubricating his member for easier access. It’s not really necessary because I’m stretched out for today but I’m letting him do whatever.

I open my mouth for Prager and let him just use my head and hold my jaw open. I’m barely strong enough to continue standing on all fours. Luckily, Ja tucks his arm under my waist to hold me up while the other presses down against the bed. His hips roll forwards and with a loud squelching sound, he pushes in.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. What’d they do to ya?” Ja huffs out a light laugh, watching the cum flow out as he replaces the empty space inside me with his dick.

“A better job than whatever you’re doin’.” Quaritch fires back. Prager chuckles, knowing he’s referring to the way Ja was covering himself in slick just moments before. Ja huffs in annoyance before returning his attention to me. His thrusts are a little harder again and I want to say something but my mouth is filled with Prager’s dick. He’s gripping a handful of hair around my queue to lift my mouth off his dick and push me back on it. I fight back any need to choke or cough and relax my body as much as possible, letting them use me any way they wanted. Perhaps, things went by quickly because my mind is so hazed and I’m so fucked out.

Just to add the cherry on top, I hollow my cheeks around Prager’s member, creating a suction that has his hips stuttering. To give something to Ja, I arch my back against him, spreading my legs open a little more to help him out. Both of them are grunting while my moans and whimpers are muffled. I can feel the cum dripping down my inner thighs. It spreads onto Ja’s every time he bottoms out and lets his skin slap against mine.

I’m surprised with how I’m managing things and I plan on just having them finish but then Ja starts to rub his fingers between my dripping folds. He moves them with the same rhythm he’s thrusting into me with and my eyes go wide. I flinch away from his touch because the oversensitivity is completely making me tremble again.

“We promise, this is the last one baby. Just one more time.” Ja whispers, speeding up his own pistoning hips.

I close my teary eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose to stay composed.

“Just for us-” he grunts. I’m not sure whether he expects me to nod or give him a thumbs up, but quite frankly, I am incapable of doing either at the moment. I just take it, knowing this is the last round.

He continues his rapid thrusts. Ja would have never thought he would see you like this. Everyone is on the same page about that. You all knew each other well but no one saw this coming. It just happened in the heat of the moment. That doesn’t mean, many haven’t fantasised about being with you before though. They definitely have.

Prager bites down on his lip to muffle his moan while I swirl my tongue along the base of his dick.

“Shit-” he whines, dropping his head back in bliss. His body tenses and he thrusts his hips forward into my mouth as far as possible before spilling his load down my throat.

Behind me, Ja slapped my ass which made me jolt forward and swallow down more of Prager’s length. I suckled on his dick while he came, making sure to ‘milk’ him dry, which made him shudder. Prager’s moan helped send me over the edge and I couldn’t believe I was cumming again.

Ja pulled me closer to him by the base of my tail, forcing himself as deep into my pussy as he can go before he himself finally experiences his orgasm.

The squelching and slapping sounds finally died down as they gathered their breath. Prager pulled out, holding my cheek in his palm to let me breathe properly too. Ja mimics his movements, removing himself from inside me. Both men gather themselves and return to their senses while I just collapse onto the bed, falling sideways against the mattress.

“Ah, shit. There she goes.” Lyle chuckles, but he quickly stands up to come to my aid.

I groan in a low voice, feeling how all my limbs go weak.

“How ‘bout one more round?” Lyle asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

I look up at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding.” I warn, knowing I cannot even move right now.

He chuckles again. “I’m only messin’ with ya.”

“Not funny. I think I need to go back to the hospital.” I grumble, curling my legs against my chest and rolling over to my side.

“You did so well, darlin’. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” Quaritch adds, standing next to Lyle and peering down at my weak self.

Mansk had gone to wet a warm cloth and he’s back now, carefully parting my legs to clean up the mess that was made. I let him roll me on my back to clean my thighs too. He smiles at me before passing the cloth to Ja who needs it too.

Lyle reaches for my clothes and with the help of Lopez, they put them back on me.

“Thank you.” I mumble while leaning against Lyle.

“Geez, no need to thank for this. What you did is something worth thankin’ for.” he grins, sitting me up slowly.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Quaritch says, bending over to pick me up. He holds me bridal style against his chest and I just hand there. My eyes are closing, so I don’t pay attention to where he is carrying but I remember my bed being on the other side of the room.

The other recoms stare as the Colonel carries you to his bed.

“That’s where she’s sleeping?” Ja asks.

“Yeah. Problem?” Quaritch responds, lightly snapping again.

“Not if it’s only tonight.”

Quaritch frowns at Ja before answering. “We’ll switch every night.”

No one complained about that rule. Everyone was tired and so we went to bed. I was already fast asleep when Quaritch lay down with me, resting me on his chest to ensure I wouldn’t wake up with another nightmare. The lights went off but I knew nothing bad could happen to me. Not with them.

(Writing this used up all my mental energy, I need a nap rn. Let me know if you liked it! If you spot any spelling mistakes, feel free to point them out and I will correct them)

Tag List: @ken-dala @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @numarusworld @number1gal @jatwow

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