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notmyneighbor · 2 months

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 6

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

Early morning. Almost time for Francis’ delivery route to begin.

“Good morning.” You look at the doppelgänger. His face is pressed into the living room pillow he’d borrowed from the couch, offering you the solitary one on the bed. A sleepy smile of greeting.

“Good morning, love.” His hand cups your cheek and you trap his fingers, turning your face to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I’m glad you stayed last night.”

“Me too.” Its earlier than you’d normally rise, but you kind of like it. That sense that the rest of the world is slumbering and the two of you have this time reserved just for you.

“Tell me to go get ready. I don’t want to leave this bed.”

“Go get ready. I’ll press your clothes for you while you take a shower. Get coffee going.”

“M’kay.” He sighs, sitting upright. Stretching his arms, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. A dog barks outside and someone hisses for it to be quiet. The replicant freezes, his arms dropping down sharply.

“Francis? What is it?”

“It’s not a dog.” He stands and goes to the window, edging the curtain back. “I don’t recognize them. Not from my squadron.”

“A doppel?”

“Yes.”

You sit up, the languid, cozy feeling evaporating instantly. Bringing you right back to reality. “Does the owner know?”

“No. They’re human.”

“Are they trying to come in?”

“No. But they sense something. That’s why they barked. They’re already halfway down the street. You’re safe.” He lets the curtain drop back into place.

“Didn’t you say no doppels would try to enter the building anymore?”

“Yes.”

You worry your lower lip. “That’s going to look suspicious to the DDD.”

“The DDD.” He says the name of the organization contemptuously. “I wish you’d leave.”

“It’s not just a job. It’s my career. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to help people. I promised I would.”

“You could do something else and still help people,” he mumbles. “Fine. If it’s going to draw more unwanted attention here, I can make certain some doppels do come in when you’re working.”

So much for the relieved idea that you and the residents would finally be safe and secure. “You can do that?”

“Of course.”

“And not let them harm anyone?”

“That is more than I can promise.”

So you’d still be putting the residents at risk. Encouraging it, even. You’d have to make absolutely certain never to let one inside.

“You’d be condemning your own kind. I’d have to call the cleaners if they threatened violence.”

“I’m aware. I have to keep you safe. If that means risking some other doppels, so be it.”

You leave the bed, walking over to the closet. Francis didn’t have many clothes aside from his work attire. He’d had few personal possessions in general from what you’ve seen so far in the apartment. Living so humbly.

The imposter rests a hand on your spine on the way past you to the bathroom, pausing to kiss your cheek. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes.” You select a shirt and pair of pants, folding the items still on the hangers over your arm. “I’ll be fine. Go get ready.”

The sound of the shower starting fills the background as you collect the folded ironing board from inside the closet and plug in the iron. You pad barefoot into the kitchen to get the coffee pot on, wearing one of Francis’ undershirts and your panties. You’re a little sore from the previous evening’s events. Internally. The times he had pounded into you deeply. The new bite on your shoulder. The swelling and redness seem to have dissipated. The mirror above the dresser doesn’t reveal anything too drastic looking. The puncture marks are almost invisible.

You’ve got the milkman’s pants ready when he emerges naked from the other room, still slightly damp from the shower. The brazenness still makes you blush. You know what he looks like nude by now, of course, but it feels different when it isn’t during intimacy. You watch the imitator rummaging through the dresser drawers to retrieve underwear and socks and a bow tie, secretly admiring the way his muscles shift in the warm yellow glow of the lamp, the curtains still shielding the window. You can smell the coffee brewing in the other room, easily pervading the entirety of the tiny apartment, and you inhale that enticing aroma deeply.

“So you mentioned earlier you’re in a squadron. Like a military sort?”

“Not precisely as you know it, but I suppose there are a few vague similarities.”

“What rank are you?”

“The equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, if you had to label it.”

You inch the work shirt further over the side of the ironing board to continue the pressing, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Where is the rest of your squadron?”

He shrugs. “Around,” he replies vaguely. You think he knows exactly where they are and he’s not willing to give them up. Still somewhat loyal, in spite of what’s happened between you.

“They don’t wonder where you are? Or vice versa? You don’t have some kind of a leader you have to report to?”

He pauses midway through pulling on a sock. “It doesn’t quite work like that. We are…autonomous, I suppose you would say. Working independently, but striving for the same goal.”

You hand him the shirt and he slides it over his shoulders after finishing with the socks. “So why have ranks at all then, if you’re all equals?”

“Because we’re not. Not everyone can do what I did. It’s still rare. There’s no way to instruct how to do it. It just…happens. Or doesn’t.” He finishes buttoning the front of his shirt. You help him with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Why did you choose Francis?”

“Opportunity. Nothing more. Sheer random encounter.” You step back as he pulls each pants leg on and stands, zipping and buttoning the fly. The belt is coiled on the dresser beside the black tie. “The best decision of my existence,” he says softly, his forehead bending to touch yours.

You’re so conflicted. He’d killed the man you’d loved. But in some ways was still the man you loved. Only not. An enemy you’re supposed to be guarding against, except he no longer seems to bear any malice towards your kind. Coexisting peacefully. But the cost of that. Oh, the cost.

“I can’t say I’m grateful for what you did. But I am glad it was you, and not someone else.”

His hand cradles your head and he draws you against him. You can smell soap and shampoo. Aftershave. Your arms tighten around him.

“What did happen? During that random encounter?” You ask against his chest.

“Why do you want to know the details? It won’t change anything.”

You draw back to see his face. “Consider it a weakness of humans. There is a car accident on the interstate. The vehicles wrecked, the passengers gravely injured. We slow down or stop to look, even after emergency services have been called, even though there is nothing left to be done. We can’t look away. We have to face it. Confront our fears head on. Grieve our losses. Knowing the truth of what happened is the only way to do that.”

“If I tell you, you’re admitting he’s gone.”

You chew your lower lip, hesitating. “I suppose that would be true.”

“If that happens, you won’t have any reason to be with me anymore.” He strokes a thumb over one cheek. “Is that really what you want?”

“I…no.” Your heart is beating madly in your chest. It would be like losing Francis twice, somehow. You can’t fathom it. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s best I don’t know. I won’t mention it again.”

After a time the replicant finishes dressing. The black bow knotted neatly. Belt secured. Wallet tucked into his pocket, followed by his keys. You’ve hastily gotten dressed in yesterday’s clothing. You’ll return home and get properly washed and changed before returning for your shift afterwards.

The imposter pours you both a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. Strong. The way you both like it. A little cream and sugar to kill some of the bitterness stirred in.

You’re standing by the front door now. The doppelgänger holds the milkman’s cap in his hands. He doesn’t like wearing it. You can tell. You pull it from his fingers and set it on his head. Tugging the brim down a little. Smoothing some of his hair back underneath. He really did need a trim soon. You’d never seen it get this long.

“Be safe today,” he says.

“You too.”

“Do you think I could get away with coming over tonight? Is your organization going to stalk me?”

“I’m hoping they’ll calm down after a bit. They are still watching you. Me. Us. So maybe wait a couple of days, make it not so obvious.”

“I don’t think I can manage a couple of days.”

“You’ll still see me in the booth.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know, Francis. If circumstances were different…I’m trying keep you safe.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Alright. A couple of days, then. Surely the weekend as well?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

He smiles. “Things looking up already. Alright, sweetheart.” He bends to kiss your mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

You exit the apartment and he locks the door. Still no one else stirring in the building yet. He ignores the elevator and begins descending the staircase. You follow him. He’s faster than you, his longer limbs making short work of the steps. Already nearly an entire flight down from you.

He pauses on the landing, looking back at you as you halt, fingers curled over the railing.

“Francis.” You rush down the stairs, throwing yourself at him when you reach the bottom, the momentum pushing him back against the wall. Planting kisses along the freshly shaved cheeks and jaw. “I miss you already.”

“Me too, love.” His arms envelop you and you bury your face against his shirt. Suddenly you find yourself wanting to cling to him desperately. So afraid for him. More than you were even for yourself.

It’s a relief when you see him return safely later that day; it’s all you can do not to open the booth and fling yourself back into his arms. But the camera mounted on the wall over your shoulder is a constant reminder. You’re being watched.

You’re not safe at all.

***

Saturday morning finds you standing in what was once an impressive garden beside your house. Now chock full of wildflowers and overgrown with weeds. Francis’ copy is beside you, kneeling down, his fingers raking the earth, pushing impatiently at the intruding vegetation. “The soil is still good. You could plant here again easily.”

“My grandfather would have been happy to see that. It just got to be too much for him to maintain. He had a hard time finding help for the farm. People lured into moving to the city. Better paying jobs. Fancier homes. A variety of exciting new stores to shop in. My parents both had that itch.”

“You’re somewhere in the middle.” He stands, dusting his hands off.

You nod. “I guess I am. I can appreciate the value of being in the city. The benefits. But I recognize the drawbacks, too. I love being here. It always feels right. I wish I could restore things to the way they were.”

“Maybe you could. Not to the extreme of running a business with employees, but to build it back up, little by little.”

“It would be a full time process.”

“You could do it. We could do it,” he adds softly.

“Is that really what you’d want?”

“I want you,” he says, his hands now seated on your waist, drawing you closer. He kisses you and you sigh contentedly.

“When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the world goes away. There is no DDD or invasion. It’s just us.”

“It could really be like that.”

“No one ever leaves the DDD voluntarily. And you’d be labeled a deserter, wouldn’t you? We’d be chased. Hunted down. There’s only one punishment for someone who’s a coconspirator.” It didn’t happen often, but occasionally there were stories of humans accepting bribes. Working together with the doppels. It did not end well for the humans making those bargains; did not end well for the invaders, either.

“We’ll keep running so they can’t catch us. To the ends of the earth.” He tugs on your hand and you allow him to, following him. Navigating through the overgrowth, threading through it to find your path. Moving faster and faster, a full jog now. Still anchored to the doppelgänger’s hand.

He halts abruptly and you collide with him. Both breathing heavily. He descends and you tumble down with him. You’re in a patch of wildflowers, their perfumed scent heavy in the air.

You lie together like that with your head pillowed on his chest, one arm tucked around you. “Did you ever have anything like this before? Was there someone else?”

“Never.”

You burrow a little deeper, satisfied with the answer. Would you have been jealous if he’d said yes? Strange to think that way. But yes, you would be, you realize. The concept of sharing, the idea of affection for someone other than yourself bothers you.

“Do you think you could ever find yourself caring for me? Not for the face I wear. What’s behind it, I mean. My true self.” Your head lifts, your eyes searching his features. “I want you to love me as much as you love the man. More than that.”

“You said…you don’t even have words for human emotions. They don’t exist for your kind.”

“They don’t. They didn’t. A change now. Evolution. Something unanticipated. That’s what the ache is, isn’t it? How terrible this feeling is. How wonderful. Paradox.” He pulls your face towards his, kissing you. “I need you, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”

You kiss him back. You can’t speak with words. It’s too overwhelming. Too confusing trying to separate the man and the invader. You’d been telling yourself all along it was your feelings for the former that had driven all your actions. That had been true enough in the beginning. But now. Now there were doubts creeping in. Wondering it wasn’t the other that you had feelings for. Could you really love a monster?

“Need to feel you, love, please.” The sound of his belt being undone. Dark slacks today now that he wasn’t working. Your fingers join him there, finding his cock already hard, leaking in anticipation. So hungry, so fast. Your body responding in kind, drooling for him.

You straddle his hips, the hem of your skirt bunched around your waist. Struggling to hold the crotch of your panties aside, to guide him inside of you. Gasping when you succeed. You lower yourself down onto him. The sun is warm on your back. You lift up slightly and sit back down. Impaling yourself again. Your hips roll back and forth as you lean down to kiss him. Rocking, sliding that prick in and out of your pussy. He slips completely free and you hurriedly snake a hand between your bodies, realigning him. The drag against your clit sending sparks through you. You keep the hand there, touching yourself, touching him. Feeling the heightened friction of the panties digging against your hand, against your lover’s dick. The nails of your other hand raking his chest through his shirt.

You kiss him, tasting the salt of the perspiration that has begun. It’s so hot. Outside. Inside of you. His fingers touch your cheek, seed your hair, hold your mouth against his as his hips lift to meet you. Driving him deeper inside. You look down at the man whose face you’d seen behind glass for all those months. Those dark, tired eyes on yours. Lick his mouth back open, enjoying the mash of the hand still between your bodies, grinding against the bundle of nerve endings. His lips at your jaw and throat and beside your ear. “I love you,” he whispers, and you shatter around him, your walls spasming, your body jerking through release.

It’s easy to say the phrase back to him when you’re in the height of bliss, just three simple little words that escape above his face, panted between noises of pleasure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hips snap up and you feel the jet of seed inside you. Your forehead drops to his, your arms and legs suddenly shaking. You dismount and drop down beside him, your face burrowing again.

“I meant it,” he says softly. “What I said.”

“I know. So did I.” It’s the truth, you realize. Somehow, the impossible had happened.

You’d fallen in love with a doppelgänger.

***

The weekend flies by.

You are back in the security booth once again the following Monday. Straightening out the desk once more. You really could not understand why your coworkers were so disorganized. You’ve nearly finished the task when you realize through your peripheral vision that someone has entered the apartment building.

Your head lifts to see Izaack Gauss.

Or what looked like him; your instincts kicking in once again. It’s most certainly a doppel.

The face has been perfectly replicated, the second floor resident’s exaggerated features all ones you recognize: the large cleft chin and wide nose, the thick dark eyebrows set above glacier blue eyes, that wide stretch of teeth just a little too large for comfort, becoming almost a rictus grin. One that doesn’t touch the imposter’s eyes.

“Good morning,” he greets you, sliding his ID card and entry request through the stainless steel slot at the bottom of the window.

You look over the identification first. Expiration date checks out, the image and name both correct. Your eyes flick up before you study the other document. On the day’s list. DDD logo present. Occupation of reporter correct. Address verified.

“May I come in? As you can see everything is in order.”

The ID card is still clutched in your hands. You tap it against the desk absently. You know it’s not really him. You just don’t have any evidence to support your suspicion yet.

“Let me just make a quick phone call to your residence.”

You lift the receiver off the hook, dialing the first number.

“I can smell him on you.”

Your hand freezes. “I’m sorry?”

The large nostrils flare and the suited figure inhales deeply. “All over you. Inside of you. He’s been there, hasn’t he? You’ve let him in.” Little burst capillaries spidering across his eyes now. A thin trail of spit glistening on his lower lip. “You could let me inside, too.”

You flip the plastic shielding covering the alarm down and slap the red button, the steel shutters instantly dropping down to cover the glass. Hanging up hurriedly and dialing a new number, the DDD operator answering you in the same calm manor they always adopt, assuring you the cleaners will be on their way shortly.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. You hear the sounds of the disposal team making their way inside. Yelling. Gunfire. Then silence. The alarm stops sounding. The steel shutter retracts. On the other side of the window, you can see a member of the DDD wearing a yellow hazmat suit. “The doppelgänger has been taken care of. You can return to work now.”

You nod, willing your shaking hands to be still.

***

“There was a doppel today.”

The piece of cake you’re chewing tastes like ash. It’s from your favorite bakery, a treat from your replicant beau. Washed down with an ice cold sample of the milk he delivers. You wish you could enjoy it. But your taste buds won’t cooperate. You’re still shaken from what had happened earlier.

“Yes. There were to be several. What’s wrong?”

“He knew about us, Francis.”

He sets his fork down slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

“He looked just like Mr. Gauss. The reporter that lives alone on the second floor. Paperwork checked out. But I could tell something was off right away. And he said he could smell you on me. In me. He knew what we’ve done together.”

You see the copycat milkman’s Adam’s apple move above his shirt collar as he swallows loudly. “And then you called the cleaners?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get a chance to say anything to them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“And the surveillance cameras?”

“Video feed only, no audio.”

A heavy sigh. “Alright. I’m sorry that happened to you. That was not a member of my squadron, I assure you.”

“You said they wouldn’t come near the building, because of the marks. Other than the ones you sent as decoys to fool the DDD.”

“I didn’t think they would. Honestly, I didn’t. I would never deliberately put you in harm’s way. You know that.” His hand reaches for yours across the tiny kitchen table in the third floor apartment. “Had to just be an anomaly. Had to be,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s trying to reassure himself as well as you.

“What if it’s not?”

He pushes back from the table, kneeling beside you, reaching for one of your hands and pressing his lips to it, holding it against his cheek. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear to you. I love you,” he says, and your heart flutters. The palm of his free hand rests somewhere along your ankle. Sliding up, bringing the hem of your skirt with it. He kisses your knee. The top of the joint. The inside. Stands and pulls you with him. Lifting you and sitting you on the counter, your skirt gathered in messy folds around your hips. His fingers dig into the sides of the underwear clinging to them, dragging them roughly down. He’s impatient, possessive. Scared, you think.

“I want to make a baby with you.”

“Francis…” Your sex throbs at the suggestion. Such a dangerous idea.

“I want them to know you’re mine. Fuck the DDD and fuck the other doppels.” His face moves against your throat, one hand on your hip as he thrusts into you, the other braced on the overhead cabinet behind you.

“I am yours.”

He huffs a moan. “You’re so perfect for me.”

You gasp when he reaches deeper inside of you, clutching the back of his shirt collar, your other hand at his waist, knees digging into his hips as he ruts against you. Your fingers travel to his hair, those cocoa locks that are growing curlier the more they lengthen. You have to cut them for him, or send him to a barber, or…

“Say it. Please, please say it. Do you want me to beg? I’ll do it. Please…”

You know what he wants. What he needs to hear. “I love you.” The wood behind you groans with the tension his hand places on it as he fucks you harder, faster. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” uttered each time he’s sheathed inside you.

Touching his cheek now, watching his mouth fall open, the kind of wonder in those dark eyes, as if he’s discovering you all over again for the first time, coming apart, waiting to be rebuilt. You both shatter and then there is silence save for the ticking of the clock mounted on the kitchen wall and the breaths you trade, a warm exchange of air in the scant space that divides you.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you

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clehame · 1 year

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i’m pretty sure studying abroad was a poor decision with regards to every single aspect of my life, but i’m saying this sick and tired and after a long day of being on a mandatory field trip i’ve been dreading all week so. grain of salt etc

#doesn’t help that i just finished listening to a self described cozy mystery audiobook set in oxford #& so now i’m nostalgic and utterly convinced i should have gone to england #but still. i am trying to be positive i am trying to keep an open mind i am Putting Myself Out There as much as i’ve been able #i’ve been talking to people i’ve been asking questions i’ve been making conversation i’ve been searching desperately for someone i like #but also like. if i could get my money back and go home right now. or go to a different program even. i would in a heartbeat #a diff program wouldn’t solve everything but it would solve the academic failure of this program #which is that i’m not interested in any of the classes i’m taking bc i’m trying desperately to take classes that fulfill major requirements #but that’s almost impossible here esp for psych which is the one i need credits for #and so on an academic level this program is a waste of my time and actually actively harming me academically and i very well might have to #take a summer class. bc i can’t meet all my requirements in time #and then on a social level. well it’s me #i don’t like anyone yet and of COURSE bc its fucking day 6 but i have talked. to so many people. and it’s so hard #AND on a culinary level i don’t like any of the food here and i have to figure out how to feed myself and i genuinely considered just buying #a pallet of meal replacement shakes and drinking those. but i don’t even know if i can buy those here #anyway it would all be fine if i was just lonely and didn’t like the food that’s to be expected im homesick #but this program is like actually literally negatively impacting my degree progress and i not only would be happier but would be on a much #more stable path to graduation if i wasn’t doing it #i wish i had picked a better program I WISH I WAS TAKING CLASSES. AT A LOCAL UNIVERSITY. IN ENGLISH. AND NOT AT A STUDY ABROAD PROGRAM #HQ WITH EXCLUSIVELY OTHER AMERICANS!!! WHAT IS THE POINT?????#personal #isa bcn

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qierxing · 11 months

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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

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buckybarnesb-tch · 11 months

Text

Alpha!Daemon Targaryen meets his Omega

The king had taken you in upon realizing that you were an Omega.

You were the daughter of Vaemond though he would never acknowledge you as his as you were just a bastard, though you were also the first Targaryen offspring of any kind that was an Omega in nearly 100 years. There were a few Alphas such as Daemon and Corlys but no Omegas.

Viserys ensured you were given the best education possible (considering you didn’t present until you were 14 and had lived as an orphan until then) and kept you close with constant guards, unwilling to risk a rouge Beta deciding that fucking a Targaryen Omega would be fun.

You became quite close with Rhaenyra and neither of you was usually seen without the other. You had arrived in the palace after being found by a guard in the street only about 2 weeks after the beginning of Daemons war in the step stones.

You had been told plenty about Daemon by your best friend who admitted she had had a little crush on him before falling in love with Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered quite a bit about the rouge Prince but for the most part you put it out of your mind.

You didn’t meet Daemon until 3 years later, you had settled into being a lady and for the most part gotten a handle on life in the capital, so of course someone would show up and turn it on its head. The smell washed over you almost instantly as he knelt down before the king, handing over his make-shift crown and you froze. You had always been tense around Alphas, it’s just common sense when you’re an Omega, especially one without any kind of defense training which you didn’t have since you had guards at all times but you do wish you could feel safer in knowing you could protect yourself, at least a little bit.

His scent though…it washed over you in waves and you were overcome by the rush of calm and need your Alphas scent delivered you. He was in the middle of hugging his brother when his body went stiff and you knew he smelled you too.

“Help?” You whispered to Rhaenyra, her looking over you and realizing what was happening fast.

“Are you sure? It could only be-“

“Your Omega brother! This is wonderful! Y/n is the only Omega in the castle, where are you child?” Rhaenyra pulled you down and through the side door, having avoided the guards who were listening to Damon’s shocking news.

“You do know you can’t avoid him, right? Daemon is…tenacious to say the least.” She teased and you smiled a bit as you both quickly made your way outside and into the gardens.

“I understand but I don’t want all of those people watching like it is their own affair.”

If anyone understood you in the world it was her, for the most part at least. You were only alone in the Godswood for about 5 minutes before you heard footsteps and looked up to see her father walking towards you with a battalion of guards.

“Go, it’s okay. Get back to your room, you’ll be safer there than anywhere else. I’ll handle my father, go!” She pushed you and you stumbled back before running through the bushes of flowers and trees, only just having looked back to see if she had followed when you plowed into a firm, hard body.

“You must be Y/n.” He spoke and you nodded your head cautiously, taking a step back but his face softened. “Don’t be frightened. I know my reputation but no harm will ever befall you while I am here lovely Omega.” His face was smirking but the thrumming bond that snapped in place the second you smelled each other was weighing down on you, pushing you to relax. “I mean what I say, you are safe my sweet Byka rūklon. I am your protector now.” (Little Flower)

He held out his arm, I suppose trying to be less intimidating and I enjoyed it quite a bit having heard the tales of Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes. Everyone said that you couldn’t help but feel fear when he stared down at you, an intimidating presence to say the least but all I felt from him in that moment was adoration. I took his arm after a brief pause and he smiled, his face relieving itself of that signature smirk and led me back to the castle. “Oh Good! You’ve found her brother.” The king spoke as he stood by the door with my guards who moved to stand behind me before Daemon stopped them.

“You two have been relieved of your duties.” They looked stunned for a second but given that its Daemon that said if they quickly took off before he decided to have their heads removed from their bodies for standing too close to me.

“Brother? You can’t possibly think you can protect her alone, you have duties to-“

“I very well could protect her alone! However I will choose guards to stay with her who won’t lose her in a throne room whenever she decides to go for a walk. I need men far less stupid and I will appoint them when we return to Dragonstone to marry. You’ll love it there Byka rūklon, I promise you. Let us go, the flight will take about 6 hours.”

“You’re leaving already? Daemon, don’t you think-“

“I would like to marry my Omega as soon as possible, you understand that brother. Nothing that need be too planned, we will marry in the ways of our ancestors. I will wait until you and Rhaenyra can be there, I’m sure my Omega wants her friend there, don’t you Byka rūklon?” I nodded quickly.

“Please? It would feel wrong without her…Alpha.” I added Alpha at the end, seeing how much he longed for it by the look on his face.

“Anything you want, always.” Daemon pulled me close to his chest, kissing my head and I welcomed the comfort he now delivered me, his scent flooding my senses and effecting me greatly. “Will you bring her things for her my dear niece? It will be greatly appreciated.” I could tell Daemon was rushing as he began moving again and I knew how much he hated these people and this place, pulling me towards the exit with the King and my friend behind to see us off I suppose. Rhaenyra had told me how much Daemon preferred Dragonstone to Kings Landing, less conniving, conspiring people there and one less Otto Hightower who I admittedly didn’t like either. Speaking of whom.

“Daemon, leaving already?” We we’re almost at the door to the front gates when he had cut him off, looking at me the entire time. He had always stared at me and struck me as the sort of Beta I needed to be protected from. My guards always kept me at least a good 5 feet from him making me incredibly grateful that they answered to the King directly and never the Hand.

“I would like to be back on Dragonstone with my Omega as soon as I can, not that it’s any of your business.” I could hear my Alphas distaste in his voice as he practically spit the words at him. As Otto took a step closer I tightened my grip on Daemons hand and he looked down at me curiously, seeing I wouldn’t take my eyes off of him and that seemed to be enough.

“Well we will certainly miss your presence in our halls my dear Omega.” Daemons hand was gone from mine so quickly I barely had time to look up before he was pressing him to the wall and choking the life out of him.

“Daemon!” Viserys shouted, watching his brother but keeping the guards from stopping him, turning his head to me.

“You think you get to call her that? You think that’s appropriate for you Beta?! No one calls my Omega that but me, you disgusting old bat!” Otto was making a choking noise and while I enjoyed it I knew I had to calm him now before the Hand lost his head. While Daemon would be in his rights to protect me, many would dispute it and we surely wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

I reached out, placing my hand onto his shoulder and while his muscles tensed for a second they quickly relaxed again. “Alpha. It’s okay.”

“Why do you fear him? Answer me quickly Omega.” He warned, his hand tightening and a quiet whine coming from Otto.

“I am uncomfortable with the way he looks at me, however the guards never let him close. All is well…Please Daemon? If you kill him leaving now is not an option.” I reminded, his hand releasing the man instantly and turning to me before he collapsed to the floor.

“His eyes will never linger on you again Byka rūklon, you have my word…brother. I will see you in a few days. Do not bring this snake with you.” He turned to hug his brother as Rhaenyra hugged me close.

“Hop on Syrax and come visit often, okay? You can stay a few nights, escape Alicent and skip your schooling with me.” I teased feeling her giggle as she held me.

“I promise. I’ll come a few weeks after the wedding.”

“Weeks?”

“You’ll be busy afterwards, trust me. I know Daemon. He has the blood of the Dragon, and it runs hot. Be safe, and good luck in the sky. Hold on tightly.” I was confused for a moment before understanding her meaning. I had always hesitated to get onto Syrax with her, scared of falling off but now it’s not Syrax I’ll be riding.

My hand was taken again and pulled out the door and towards the big red beast in the courtyard causing me to pull back, Daemon turning to face me and smiling at my nervous face. “It’s alright Byka rūklon, I won’t let you fall.”

“What about getting eaten before I even get onto him!?” He snorted, holding me to him tighter and leading me forward, the dragons eyes on me as we got closer.

“Caraxes understands more than you think, he feels what I feel for you and he would never hurt you because that would hurt me.” The white haired man took hold of my hand and held it in his with his other arm around my waist, holding my hand in his up to the giant scaly creature. “You are the only person other than me that he will feel the need to protect. All dragons protect their riders mates, but Omegas even more so.” He leaned into my much smaller hand and I felt his cold scales on my skin, Damon moving my other hand to stroke up his snout.

“Rytsas Caraxes.” I knew my pronunciation was shit but the Blood Worm made a purring noise that rivaled my own with how deep and lovely it was.

“That was wonderful. Has Rhaenyra been teaching you?” I nodded my head.

“So that we could talk without most understanding, especially the Queen.” I giggled, continuing to pet the Dragon who leaned his head into my body which would have knocked me over had Daemon not been behind me holding on.

“Lykiri!” Daemon commanded though he just continued leaning into me.

“It’s okay…I like it.”

“Hmm…just wait until you are carrying my child. He will never want to leave your side. Aegon the Conquerors Omega was nearly always with Balerion when she was with child, he was a protective beast. Knowing Caraxes you’re going to have an even harder time being alone.” He teased and while he meant to make me laugh it actually sounded quite nice to be honest.

“We’re going to be the best of friends, huh?” He trilled out a wonderful sound but unlike the sound a bird makes the ground nearly vibrated with it, it was so deep. “I think I like the sound of that.” I told Daemon whose hand traveled down from my waist to cup my sex through my dress making me gasp as my body became tingly.

“Then we’d better get started, shouldn’t we?” He spoke in my ear, causing my body to shiver excitedly. “I’m going to fill you up so full there will be no doubt that you are carrying my child, and no Beta will dare lay eyes on you again! You will spend the rest of forever filled with my children, Gods I want to fill this cunt so desperately! All mine!” He growled, his other hand now squeezing my tit as he kissed my neck roughly.

“All yours Alpha! Whenever you want, forever!” I was becoming very turned on but just as quickly as he started groping me, he stopped and lifted me over his shoulder roughly, climbing up onto Caraxes and placing me in front of him so I would not fall off.

“Hold on Omega.”

“You think!?” He cackled at my shout and I rolled my eyes.

“Riding dragons is what you will be doing the rest of your life, enjoy it, there’s no way to get away from it now.” His threat was playful but I considered it for a moment…I don’t think I want to get away from this. This is perfect.

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swallowtail-lotus · 3 months

Text

🔱Secret Lullaby {Poseidon x Goddess!Reader}🔱

Repost of my original post from my old blog.

God, just looking at him makes me want to kiss him 😍

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

You sat in the middle of your greenhouse, patting a small bunny that hopped in your lap. You watched the past few rounds of ragnarok with sad eyes, feeling dread inside.

Being the God/Goddess of peace wasn't easy.

You love humans and everything on Earth, as it is your home. Before you went to Valhalla, you used to live in a forest where no human dared to set foot in unless If they wanted a death wish.

Of course, you never brought harm to humans but you eventually left after Zeus found you and offered you to live with the gods.

Being the secretive being you are, you agreed but only if no deity disturbs you when you wanted to be left alone and to never let them know of your secret place.

So far, no God or Goddess has ever found your greenhouse. Even if they bothered to try, they couldn't find it. This was due to one of your masking spells, which was more effective to deities compared to the humans.

Thinking back on how the gods have tried to get answers out of you, but failed due to your ability to slip away fast enough. Those thoughts escalated to your past, where you were once filled with joy.

With your mother, who had lost her life to another God.

"I miss you, mother. So very much."

You thought, wiping away tears that slowly trickled down your face. You looked down at the bunny, who looked up and sat up. It leaned against your chest, trying to lean its face towards yours. You lifted the small bunny up and felt its face nuzzle yours, an attempt to cheer you up.

"Ah, thank you. I feel better now."

You cooed softly, patting its head with a sad smile. You felt something nudge your leg, something hard. You leaned forward to see a small harp near your right foot and a grey bunny pushing it towards your foot.

You held your hand over the harp, watching it levitate towards your hand. The grey bunny hopped on your right leg, nuzzling your waist while the white bunny copied the grey bunny.

"Such cuties."

You mumbled softly, watching them get comfortable on your lap and stopped to lay down. Your fingers hovered over the strings of your harp, slightly shaking from the sadness building up.

"Hope you're hearing this, mother..."

You muttered under your breath, strumming your harp slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drown in the melodic music from your strumming. You opened your lips to sing quietly.

Soon, the animals in your greenhouse started to gather around, watching and listening to your voice. Then, the plants started swaying slowly to the music. At the end of the lullaby, a voice brought you out of your thoughts.

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes shot open at the sudden voice, growing wider when you saw who it was.

It was none other than Poseidon, the Sea God himself.

You stared at the God before you, internally panicking, mainly about how he knew of your greenhouse. You placed the harp down nervously, fiddling with your fingers.

"I-I was just playing a lullaby. Umm, how did you find my greenhouse?"

You squeaked out, feeling yourself shrink smaller when the God took a few steps forward, not too close to you.

"... It wasn't hard to follow you. I've known for a long time."

He answered, his emotionless face along with his voice sending chills down your spine. You knew very well he never speaks much to any being, even to his brothers. So him speaking to you now of all times baffled you. Truth be told, he has spoke to you more times than anyone else. But hearing him ask about your main hobby was strange.

The reason behind that was most likely because you were a Ruler, the Ruler of Nature.

"So you have. Never expected less from you, of course."

You spoke, gripping your clothes so tightly. Poseidon raised his eyebrows slightly, his shoulders dropping.

"....."

He kept silent, staring down at you with his dull eyes. Your head was down, but you knew he was staring. The sound of his boots clicking away got your attention. You held the bunnies close to you, standing up from your seat.

"See you, Lord Poseidon."

You whispered. Poseidon stopped at the entrance of your greenhouse, giving you the side eye glance.

".... Goodbye."

Those was the last words he let out before leaving. You stood in silence, a confused look on your face.

"What just happened?"

#record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon x reader #ror x reader #snv x reader #poseidon x reader

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

Text

18+ / fem!reader

ok but bakugou with a bimbo!reader as a girlfriend?

honestly, he might seem mean, stoic and perhaps even humourless to others, however he simply adores you and turns all sorts of soft and gooey underneath all that hard exterior whenever he lays his eyes on you: his sweet little girlfriend.

you're just too precious not to love. all dolled up and smelling sweet like sugar and ripe summer fruit no matter the time of day or activity, you make him want to eat you right up just because of how simply adorable you are without even trying; outright make him want to lick his fingers clean right after. one after the other.

constantly getting lost and being so clearly ditzy, he insists on protecting you at all costs so that he can keep you close and, even more importantly, safe. he does that on the regular, of course - being a pro hero and all - however the skirts you wear despite the cold weather outside are so short that he feels the need to stand behind you in public even when he's not on the job; making sure that nobody can ever steal a peek of your cutesy underwear that you wear underneath.

those are for his eyes only, after all. only for his hands to touch and for his teeth to jokingly tug at until it's not all that funny anymore and thick tension rises between you.

and sure, bakugou knows that you're able to protect yourself from the perverts and the odd, borderline obsessed fans of his - to some degree. he's taught you some basic self-defence moves over the months, and made sure to beat it into your pretty little head that you are to keep the pepper spray - the one he got you as a "present" a little while after he'd reluctantly made your relationship official on live television - nice and secure in your comically small handbag, however the need to keep you from harm's way is simply too strong to ignore.

because clearly, you're just too naive to notice danger in a way he is able to. too nice to say a definite 'no' to a sleazy creep before it's a little too late. i mean, what if someone were to take advantage of you? hurt you? he couldn't possibly bear the consequences. not a man like him. no, no.

but it's okay, that's why you've got him - the big, strong pro hero, right at your side like a scary guard dog of sorts that will roll onto its back only for you. you've got his mean stare that he aims, oh, so expertly at the people that wish to bother you, but that he never, never points at you. his low hiss of warning that's accompanied with an even quieter threat of broken bones, which he always makes extra sure you can't hear him say, much less execute. his big, protective hand on the small of your back; thick fingers stroking, reassuring. his lips touching your temple whenever no one is looking, a mere ghost of a kiss placed on your skin as a silent reminder of his love for you. of his male pride and naturally embedded possessiveness.

and he actually does love you, he truly does. he loves how simple things with you are, how you just let him take care of you and spoil you rotten because you know it makes him feel needed; that it gives him purpose. how you run up to him, all eager and excited, and nearly throw yourself at him to squeeze him into a hug, not caring if anyone sees. how you bat your eyelashes up at him so sweetly as you touch his biceps and tell him how strong he is after he returns from the gym.

he loves how you always wait for him to come back after work even if he's told you a million times that you don't have to stay up, giving the big house a sense of home as you wash his hair for him after brushing him off with a giggle. loves how you scrub away the dirt and grime afterwards, and kiss every single one of his scars that dot his arms and chest inside the candle-lit bathroom, whose ambiance he can't help but find sort of corny even though he secretly enjoys it nonetheless.

and he also loves how much you blatantly love him in return, too. he loves your little good morning texts that are filled to the brim with sparkly heart emojis, as well as all of the surprise visits to his agency. he loves your lousy sugar cookies and your seemingly never-ending affection. how you never seem to even think about giving up on him, even if he's, let's be honest, an absolute pain in the ass.

and that's not all. he also loves how good you respond to him; to his touches. how you stare up at him with wide heart eyes whenever he's in the mood and his warm hands begin to stroke your body in a way that means something more. loves how you whimper so softly and mewl like a little kitten whenever he turns you around and mounts you like the big beast he is compared to you; red eyes watching as your pretty nails start clawing at the expensive bed sheet because of his slow, tired rhythm that reaches deep into your heart, soul, womb, but never your brain.

he loves how eager you are to please him. how you have absolutely no problem stroking his ego in the same way you also stroke his cock whenever he asks for it. how you open up for him any place, any time, with no trouble whatsoever; your body so pliant and soft just for him to devour.

he loves how his name sounds broken as you try to moan it out whilst you're bouncing on top of him and he spanks your ass and calls you a dumb slut. how your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pushes forward and puts you in a mating press a moment later. how tears roll down your cheeks as you choke on his length when he asks you to suck him off at the end, and how you accept a hefty amount of inches down your throat even if the mascara and glitter of your pretty make up makes your eyes burn.

and god, he adores how silly you look afterwards; completely fucked out of your ditzy mind as he cradles you to sleep, subtly ignoring how sticky you both are because of all the cum between your legs. you'll shower and change the bedding in the morning. he can't even be bothered to wipe away the sweat from his face, much less move you - that's how tight of a hold you've got on him.

and as he stares down at you, looking at your satisfied smile that's adorning your lips, katsuki thinks you're just so dumb. constantly giggly and almost painfully girlish, you're nothing but an airhead, really. much to everyone's surprise, however, he finds it sort of endearing.

you're his little airhead. and he loves you so much.

reblogs are appreciated <3

#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou x reader #biscuit drabbles

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signedkoko · 4 months

Note

i want to request you headcanon when Y/N is manipulated by a demon hostile to Vox (which may not be Alastor) to try to physically harm Vox against Y/N's will.

I'm sorry if my sentence has something wrong (_ _;)　

i'm Japanese so i don't have enough English skill

Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which a demon manipulates you into trying to harm Vox. Reader is genderneutral.

Warnings - Attempted drugging | Vox yells at you for a bit </3

You've been together for many years now, long since you shared vows and became a celebrity couple all of hell wish they could be

You'd developed a schedule together, waking up in each other's arms, taking turns cooking meals, and planning your next date night, vacation, outing, whatever distracted you both from the work ahead of you

Many people came and went in either of your lives—too many to track—so you came to trust those closest to you

Velvette and Valentino never went; the three Vees flourished while you watched, one of the many moving parts of the machine that pulled their franchise above all others

Neither of you would have expected it to be someone so close to you trying to ruin it all

Valentino had many people come and go in his romantic life, but only one returned again and again, no matter how much you and Vox hated him: Dia

He was Valentino's assistant, one that was obsessive—you knew it was unhealthy, but Valentino liked that sort of thing, so you stayed out of it

Every time you spoke to Dia, they always got too close, too personal, asked you if you were cheating on Vox, if you wanted Val, and if you'd ruin his relationship

It always escalated from there, so you avoided them

But obsessiveness doesn't go away so easily, and being Valentino's personal toy meant they had all the drugs they could ever want on hand

Even the kinds only demonic princes could handle

" Oh! Hey! "

Dia called out to you one evening as you were just entering the building, home from running some errands

They handed you a gift box, seemingly in a rush

" Val says its for Vox! "

Your curiosity was piqued, but you knew better than to go snooping into anything Val did

So you did as per with any mail and sat it on Vox's desk since he was out

His office was on a separate floor from where you lived, but you knew he was more likely to get more work done before coming to see you

Hours later, while cleaning up from a hobby of yours, Vox slammed into the house, startling you to the point where you dropped your things

" Did you think that was funny? I could have died! What the hell is wrong with you!? "

You were so caught off guard by his screaming that you were completely silent

" Had my auto scanners not gone off, I would have eaten that; it would have melted me from the inside out! Are you crazy??? "

" Vox please! What are you talking about? "

" I already saw the footage of you putting this shit in my office; you put your name on the tag and everything! The chocolates? "

" Chocolates...? "

You managed to connect the dots, covering your mouth

" Check the lobby footage, 1:20 pm-ish, please Vox! "

When he eventually rolled it back, he was just as frustrated

Hes a swearing mess for a moment, until he apologetically pulls you into him

He feels absolutely horrible; of course you wouldn't do that to him- hell, how would you even get your hands on hydrofluoric acid?

But as the guilt subsides with your comforts, he becomes more than frustrated

Fuck, he's absolutely livid

Not only did they almost kill him, but Dia tried to frame you

He can't imagine what might have happened to you had they been successful

" Stay home and don't let anyone in. I think it's about time Val gets a new side bitch. "

Author's Note - I hope I understood your request well! My requests were closed when you sent this in, but I liked the prompt a lot so I'll let it slide this once... Thank you 🖤

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #vox #vox x reader

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cantstoptheimagines · 1 year

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Curador (Muerte | Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Muerte aches at the sight of you whenever he comes home.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Soulmate AU; helping a lover with their injuries (includes mentions of blood); established relationship; takes place directly after the movie; writers’ law states that every time an animated wolf comes into existence, I must write a fic; in my opinion, we should be calling him ‘Muerte’, so that’s what I’m going with; a huge thank you to my dear friend, Yoshino, for helping me with the Spanish translations.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 639. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ You will receive the same injuries as your soulmate (unless deadly). ➳ Since Muerte is Death (straight up), why not make Life? I envision the Reader in this to be a spotted deer, who will be referred to as ‘Vida’. And who knows? I might turn this into a one-shot series if people enjoy it enough. Let me know what you think!

The slamming of a door made your ears twitch. You paused, eyes narrowing as you listened to the creaking floors within your home. A damp cloth was pressed against the corner of your lip, dotted with small specks of blood.

Footsteps slowly grew closer to your room. A quiet sigh escaped your lips when you realized who they belonged to. Having a lover with nearly silent movements did nothing but cause you panic sometimes.

You returned your attention to the small mirror in your grasp. A shadow moved about the room and a cloak was tossed next to you on the bed. Looking up at the towering figure in front of you, your gaze found red eyes staring back at you. More specifically, staring at the cloth against your lip.

“El gato lives,” he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers along your spine. “I have given him another opportunity to prove himself.”

A small smile made itself known, “Is that why your attitude seems so foul?”

He hummed quietly, ignoring your teasing remark about the infamous Puss in Boots, whom he had been chasing for some time now. His startling eyes were still zeroed in on the cloth.

“You really need to stop playing with your food, Muerte.”

His eyes snapped to yours. They narrowed into slits, shining with irritation. He snapped his jaws to the side, huffing loudly as he looked away from you. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing quietly.

His claws wrapped around the hilt of one of his sickles. The mirror was quickly tugged away from you and tossed onto the bed. Your head was forced to tilt backwards as the sickle’s sharp blade was placed beneath your chin.

Anyone else may have had fear coursing through their veins. You, however, weren’t worried at all.

Muerte stepped closer until his paw could replace the blade. The sickle was quickly returned to its sheath while he looked down at you with a blank expression. You allowed him to tilt your head back even further as he took up the space between your thighs.

“Cállate, Vida,” he ordered.

His claws wrapped around the cloth, finally removing it from your lip. It, much like his cloak and your mirror, quickly disappeared from sight. Your injury reflected his own, signaling to the world that the two of you were a perfect pair.

“It hurt when you got it,” you said. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

His expression softened. You leaned into his touch as one of his claws caressed your cheek.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he muttered.

You gave him a small smile, along with a shrug of the shoulders, in an attempt to make him feel better, “It’s okay. No harm truly done.”

His grip loosened, allowing you to take his paw into your grasp and hold it in your lap instead. He lowered himself to his knees. Due to his tall stature, kneeling allowed his gaze to become even with your own as you sat on the bed.

“Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso,” he continued. “Por tu bien.”

“I don’t,” you replied, squeezing his paw tightly.

His brow furrowed and his eyes searched for any sign that you may have been lying to comfort him, “Mi corazón—”

“It lets me know you’re still there,” you whispered. “It lets me know you’ll be coming home soon.”

He tried to hide a smile, looking away from you. That only lasted for mere seconds, however, since he couldn’t resist your gaze for very long. His red eyes explored your features. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the cut on your lip.

“Déjame ser tu curador,” he muttered, and then he kissed you again.

“Always, Muerte,” you whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek and pressing a gentle kiss against his nose. “Always.”

Spanish Translations, In Order of Appearance: ➳ Curador (de enfermos) — Meaning “healer (of the sick)”. ➳ Muerte — Meaning “death”. ➳ Vida — Meaning “life”.

➳ “El gato...” — “The cat...” ➳ “Cállate...” — “Shut up...” ➳ “Lo siento, mi amor.” — “I’m sorry, my love.” ➳ “Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso... Por tu bien.” — “I wish we had a less painful bond... For your sake.” ➳ “Mi corazón...” — “My heart...” ➳ “Déjame ser tu curador.” — “Let me be your healer.”

#2023 #vida y muerte #death imagine #death imagines #death x reader #death x oc #muerte imagine #muerte imagines #muerte x reader #muerte x oc #the wolf imagine #the wolf imagines #the wolf x reader #the wolf x oc #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots the last wish imagine #puss in boots the last wish imagines #puss in boots the last wish x reader #puss in boots the last wish x oc

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 2 months

Text

so...I have a new chapter of my Feyd-Rauta/Reader fanfic up and ready.

AO3 link: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 4 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

I also have it below the cut. It does require some content warning/TW and is NSFW/not safe for minors.

CW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/referenced incest, rough sex, blood and pain kinks, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter below the cut:

You wake up the next morning to the sound of the timepiece on your nightstand.

Idrisa had assumed correctly when she told you that just a half-tablet would help both with the pain and with getting to sleep later. For half an hour afterwards, you sat in the bath, staring at the opposite wall and hoping the warm water would add to your relief. Five minutes was all it took to start feeling better, your torn muscles relaxing, and half an hour to start feeling drowsy.

It took some effort, but you managed to get out, drain the tub, and clean your teeth before settling into bed, thinking about how this will be your nightly routine at least until you’re carrying his child. Who knows? You might be already.

You’re sipping from the water still left on your nightstand when Idrisa comes in with a tray carrying a couple of mugs. Over the past few days Idrisa’s learned that you like a bit of caffeine first thing in the morning but you’re not sure what the other mug’s for as she sets the tray down on the desk and hands you one. You sniff at the contents; it smells savory.

“It’s bone broth for you, Na-Baroness,” she explains. “I thought it might be nice. It’s not medication but it has healing properties of its own.”

Bones of what, exactly? you think as you accept the mug. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light, avoiding the direct question.

“Sore,” you admit after taking your first sip, and it tastes quite nice. “But what you gave me last night helped.” You expected your womanhood to throb, but there’s also a persistent ache in your legs, your hips, the undefined muscles in your abdomen.

“You still have more for tonight,” she says, “just in case.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you tell her. She looks away before trying to figure out what she could possibly say to that.

“I can’t help you with that part,” is what she comes up with. “But I can assist with almost everything else.” She turns to your closets and rifles through, picking out a few items for you to choose from. Over her shoulder she tells you, “You’ll be expected at breakfast in an hour. It shouldn’t take too long to get you freshened up.”

One of the few things you quite like about the Harkonnen Fortress is the emphasis on good hygiene. Of course, you have extra features to maintain that the rest of the Fortress doesn’t, but you brought the supplies and ointments needed for that and you know where to have more imported when you run out.

When it comes time to dress you decide on a combination of your own clothing and Harkonnen that doesn’t clash. A bit of a symbolic union of the Houses. You can’t help but think that people will have certain ideas of you today as a newly married woman who had, as clear as day to everyone, fulfilled all the marital duties expected of her last night. Your walk isn’t quite as stiff as last night, though, and if you just walk a little slower then your discomfort won’t seem obvious to anyone not looking for it.

Of course, everyone at breakfast will be looking for it; your family out of concern, your new husband and in-laws presumably out of amusement. It’s all you can really think about as you leave your chambers and descend for the Dining Hall. That and the look on your new husband’s face as he’ll undoubtedly want to assess the damage.

You manage a smile as Idrisa announces your entrance. There’s an open seat next to Feyd-Rautha that’s clearly meant for you and you take into account that your family has only just arrived and everyone’s watching you. Everyone but the Baron stands in respect as you keep your polite smile, the one that projects that nothing could bother you, and you greet the table.

To his credit, Feyd still displays the kind of chivalry your father would expect when in his presence. He stays standing when everyone else sits down so he can pull your seat out for you. The kindness of the gesture’s somewhat undermined by the look in his eye, gauging every movement, every minute detail, and it makes you feel naked again under his shark-like gaze.

You don’t look him in the eye as you sit down, nor when he pushes your chair in and takes his seat beside you, nor when you quietly thank him. You know he’s still watching you, wondering how effectively he’s broken you in already, like a pair of combat boots.

The table is laid with everything you could need as far as drinks, but as a courtesy it’s not until you sit down that food arrives, delivered on massive platters by slave girls in billowy white garb and whose biceps strain under the weight of each tray. You’re sure that the Baron’s patience is a pretense that he’s upholding to appear polite towards your family, not one that will continue after breakfast, especially when you see his enthusiasm when he digs in with the appetite of multiple men.

The food itself takes up most of his attention, but he does discuss trade routes with your father, who seems subdued and withdrawn. Father maintains his end of the conversation but doesn’t offer more and barely touches his food–the latter you can assume is because he’s put off by seeing the Baron eat, and you don’t blame him. Even with the bone broth from earlier you’re pretty sure you’d have more of an appetite if you didn’t have to sit close to someone who inhales nearly half of a spread meant for eight people.

You break away from that thought when Feyd-Rautha says, “Oh, so you don’t need to head back to Arrakis so soon,” and you follow his gaze to the entranceway.

Rabban trudges in, nose heavily bruised and in a splint. He nods in acknowledgement to your family, offering a brief salutation before taking his seat. He doesn’t respond to his brother, but quickly accepts a small glass of what you can only assume is whatever he was drinking last night. He pours it into a mug that he tops with coffee.

“I leave in the afternoon,” he says, addressing his uncle instead. “The spice is abundant.”

As they briefly discuss spice production on Arrakis, you shift in your seat. Sitting down, you’d quickly realized, is also uncomfortable, and you’re glad for your brother-in-law’s entrance causing a diversion.

It doesn’t last long, though. The Baron says, “It’s lovely that we get to reconvene again after such a fruitful wedding.”

Fruitful . You can’t help your blush and you’re sure everyone notices. You wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing and as the meal stretches on, the longer the worry of it eats at you.

It all goes understood, and for you it’s excruciatingly awkward, and everyone senses it, but no one mentions it. Rabban certainly wants to; you can feel it whenever he sneaks glances at you, and you’re certain it’s on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you. You don’t think he’s really lusting after you, though. He just happens to covet his sibling’s shiny new toy. It’s more than a little immature, given that he has nearly twenty years on Feyd-Rautha, and had come of age by the time his brother was born, but you think you can understand. You may love your siblings and they may love you too, but that’s not how the Harkonnens work. For them, siblings are a safety measure just in case the first one dies. They’re taught to fight one another for the approval of their parents–or in this case, their uncle–and are stripped of any sentimentality lest they become weak.

Oh, Great Mother. What does that mean when you do finally have a child? You’ll likely be expected to have more than one even if one is all you need to appease the Bene Gesserit.

You take a sip of water and avoid Rabban’s gaze. He probably would’ve been amused to see how slowly and gingerly you were walking earlier, maybe he would’ve bit down on a cutting remark on how you’d be a lot sorer if he’d been your groom.

Oh, Rabban definitely wants to taunt you over what you all know transpired last night, but he won’t. He can sense the power shifting within the family and if he wasn’t aware that his younger brother was their uncle’s favorite before, he certainly knows now and knows why. He probably just wants to go back to Arrakis where he has unquestioned power.

The Baron is once again the one who actually comes close to mentioning it. “With such a distinct change in environment I’m sure you’ll want to relax, especially once you’re with child,” he says. “We have an excellent system for that, some well-trained attendants as well who can provide things like massage, special baths. We can keep you comfortable.”

After last night, the concept seems nice, but you’ll go out of your mind with boredom if that’s all you have to look forward to. You want to know as much as possible about the planet you’re inhabiting and the family you’ve married into, no matter how gruesome the details. You doubt the Baron or your new husband probably had thought about that, and had just assumed you’d be content as a human incubator for the next nine months.

“That is a wonderful offer and one I’d be interested in another day, perhaps, but I was actually wondering where you kept your library? Maybe a room of archives?” you ask. “I’ve had some education about the history of the Harkonnen line and some of the infrastructure of Geidi Prime, but I’m interested in learning more.”

The Baron considers your interest in his people and his planet versus your dismissal of his original suggestion before saying, “We have a very fine library, young Y/N, and within it a room of records. Your attendant will know where it is and can accompany you whenever you like.”

“I can take her, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says immediately. “I can give her a proper tour.”

I know you can take and give a lot with your new little pet , you can practically hear the Baron think.

“If you prefer,” he says instead. “We still need to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

Right. Another gladiatorial “match.” The one in which you’re to paint your new husband’s–-admittedly chiseled–-torso beforehand.

“We have time for that,” Feyd says. “But I’d also like to show my bride the other parts of our Fortress, starting with the library.” He manages to keep his tone casual, but you can tell his rebuttal irritates the Baron. It’s almost comical, his surprise and annoyance that his nephew would want to spend any time with his wife other than the compulsory impregnation.

“Very well,” the Baron says. “You can show her the library after our guests have left.”

They’re already packed up, as it turns out. Worried about leaving you alone but eager to get back home, and perhaps ever so slightly assuaged by the fact that your new husband has some sense of decorum and that you seem intact. Not your virginity, of course, but everything else.

You excuse yourself to use the bathrooms, a sort of salon with individual cubicles and sinks but a larger sitting area with vanities and larger mirrors. You tilt your head at it, curious, because it implies that there are women of leisure on Geidi Prime, but there aren’t many that you’ve seen. A single girl stands near the entrance and gives a small bow as you enter.

You also don’t expect to see your mother when you leave your cubicle and head for the sinks to wash your hands.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking like she wants badly to speak but not sure what to say. You give her a small smile as you wash up. The girl’s quick to hand you a towel and patient to wait until you’re done drying your hands before accepting it back without a word.

They truly have people for everything , you think, looking after her as she scurries back to her post and drops the towel in a hamper before you can so much as thank her. You and your mother look back at each other.

“Father looks miserable,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Your father has a hangover,” Mother says.

“He didn’t seem drunk when I left,” you say, leaning one hand against the counter.

“He wasn’t,” Mother says. “He got drunk after you and your…husband…left for the evening.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. You open your mouth, exasperated, wishing you could explain how it feels to have everyone act as though you’ve been handed a death sentence that they put you up to. She takes your hands without a word and nods towards the salon.

“How are you feeling, really?” she asks once you’ve acquiesced and you’re seated across from each other.

“All things considered, fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look convinced. “Mother, I…” you try to articulate it. “I can’t say that I’m happy about this arrangement, but I’m going to have to live with it for years to come. If I act as though my life is over then it is.”

She looks down and runs her thumb over the top of your hand. “I kept preparing you for something like this hoping it wouldn’t happen,” she says.

“Well then, you did exactly right,” you tell her with a small smile that feels fake but one that she returns, however briefly. She sighs and looks down. “I’m grateful that you’re worried, and trust me, I am, too. But it would help more if you believed that I can survive this.”

Mother leans forward, eyes widening in hurt. “Your father and I wouldn’t have let you near that man if we didn’t think you’d survive,” she says. “The Bene Gesserit gave us their word that you will, and it’s the reason we’re here right now.”

You furrow your brow. Mother hesitates, glancing at the girl in her gauzy white dress, who remains standing and silent, not acknowledging your conversation. Mother needn’t worry; the Baron would never bother listening to a slave speak even if she had something to offer. When the girl doesn’t indicate that she’s heard anything, Mother continues.

“When the Reverend Mother spoke to us, she assured us that as brutal as he is, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen won’t defy Bene Gesserit orders to make sure you’re safe to have and raise his child. She also said that he has an ingrained sense of honor and loyalty to the Harkonnen line. He’ll ensure your survival and your children’s survival.” And even if survival is the best you can expect right now, you can still count on that.

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

The Na-Baron accompanies you when you see your parents off; neither his uncle nor his brother does the same. He offers you his arm and you could almost laugh at the formality of it, his entire behavior towards you when you’re both fully dressed juxtaposed against last night. He can play the perfect gentleman all he likes, but you won’t forget how he pressed you onto your stomach and fucked you ruthlessly. Still, you take his arm, appearing as his poised and docile new wife. He offers his final respects to your father but otherwise stands back at a distance, watching in silence as you hug everyone one last time. You wonder if he’s ever hugged anyone a day in his life.

He still stands, waiting, when they board their ship, when it takes off. He watches you watch until their vessel is no more than a pinpoint in the sky before he approaches you, arm extended again. “Shall we?” he asks.

You’re still trying to accept that it’ll be a long time before you see your family again, your correspondence with them likely to consist only of letters, and he’s probably waiting for you to speak when you have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t understand what you’re feeling and you doubt he cares to try. You just take his arm and he leads you to the Fortress library in silence.

“I hope you slept well,” he says finally.

“I did,” you tell him. “Although Idrisa had to give me a mild sedative to do so.”

You glance over at him and think that another man would feel guilt over hurting his new bride, but of course you’re stuck–for now–with this one, who keeps his expression neutral but who you can already see in his eyes both that he’s satisfied that he caused you pain and that he doesn’t care what methods you used to relieve it. At best, he’s indifferent to your pain given that you seem fine now.

“Good, because I’ll want you in my chambers tonight after dinner. Same procedure as last night. Your girl will collect you when it’s time.”

“Alright,” you say, and he waits for just a moment before you realize what he wants and add, “ husband .”

He glances sideways at you, as if to say, Good. You’re learning. Don’t get too confident, though. What he says, though, as you reach a set of double doors, is, “Everything and everyone here is at your disposal.” Just as you are at mine .

When he opens the doors and you get your first look, you can’t help but be impressed. Your impression of Geidi Prime was that it was hardly a planet of scholars, but the library is immense.

Feyd-Rautha notes your surprise. Not that he says anything, but you doubt he’s flattered by it. A librarian’s quick to appear at your side, head bowed, and Feyd snaps his fingers in his direction before gesturing forward. “Come with us,” he says, and gives a rudimentary tour of the layout, showing you the Archives room and different wings. It’s even more expansive than you’d realized, and you’re grateful for it. You’ve got your work cut out for you, you think as you see the impossibly high walls lined with shelves up to the vaulted ceilings.

How many of these have you read? you want to ask him but refrain as the tour ends.

“Make sure the Na-Baroness has everything she needs,” he says to the librarian. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, though. He looks directly at you, then beckons you forward with a simple curl of his hand. When you come forward he cups your cheek in that same hand, and his kiss is neither chaste nor passionate; it’s a simple statement that he’s claimed you. He’s marking his territory.

“See you at dinner,” he says once he lets you go.

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

You know what you want to read up on first.

There’ve always been rumors about the depravity of the House of Harkonnen. You’d heard a few of them regurgitated over the years. Some of them, like cannibalism, you’re reasonably certain aren’t true, but there are others you can’t dismiss.

Father implied once that the Baron’s voracious appetite for food was the least repulsive of his desires. You’d been too young at the time to understand what he was saying, nor were they for your ears as you’d been listening in, unnoticed, but you can’t help but think about Father’s disgusted tone, because you certainly know what he’d been implying now. Not that a Harkonnen-sanctioned record is likely to provide such details in their own library, but it’s a possibility you’ll have to consider even as the thought turns your stomach.

You start, though, with Feyd-Rautha. It takes pulling out several books and bound sheaves from a couple of different sections to get started, but a worthy investigation once you’ve found a comfortable place to spread everything out and get to reading.

You hadn’t realized that he was born not on Geidi Prime, but on another planet, Lankiveil. You had , however, heard about how his father, Abulurd Rabban, defected from the Harkonnen line and everything it represented, opting for a different sort of life on a distant planet with a Bene Gesserit woman who gave him two sons born eighteen years apart. This leads you into reading about Lankiveil, how it’s cold and water-based like your own planet. Its main source of industry is whaling, and it almost makes you laugh to picture Feyd in a raincoat on a dock. It’s just so far-fetched, the idea that he almost had a life very different from this one.

Of course, that was never going to happen. Rabban is infamous for one major act that changed all of their lives forever: as a younger man he killed their father for abandoning the bloodline and shaming the Harkonnen name. For the crime of patricide, he earned the moniker “Beast,” which he wears with pride. The Baron had already gotten his claws in his elder nephew by then, but Feyd-Rautha had still been a little boy. You’re not entirely sure how much he even remembers his father. You don’t know if they’re happy memories, or if he’d loved him. It’s still hard to imagine him ever having a childhood, but not only did he have one, his early childhood had been free from the Baron, from Geidi Prime, from the expectations of the House of Harkonnen and with two parents who you’re sure must have loved him.

It's an irrefutable fact that he’d come to Geidi Prime at the age of seven. And that is where rumor and fact intermingle. Some have claimed that Feyd’s mother sent him away for what she thought was his own protection; after all, she had never been on Geidi Prime nor known her late husband’s family, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her to assume that her son would be better off with his uncle. Some believe she sent him away as punishment or for her own self-preservation, sensing danger in him at a young age and fearing what he’d grow up to become. Others have insisted that the Baron had his youngest nephew taken away to ensure the possibility of another heir, having no sons of his own.

You pause only part way through when Idrisa come in and suggests you take a break, maybe retire to your quarters and have something to eat and drink to tide you over before dinner. Apparently no one will mind if you take whatever documents you choose back to your quarters.

“We are at the Na-Baroness’s disposal. Whatever she desires,” the librarian assures you when you ask, his head inclined in a bow and his gaze downturned. It’s still a foreign feeling, the way no one can bring themselves to look directly at you, their fear of you by pure association. You clamp down on that discomfort as you thank him and return to your quarters with as many documents as you and Idrisa can carry between you.

As you reach your quarters and get settled in again, you wonder about Feyd-Rautha’s mother and the theories behind the Baron taking over as his guardian. The first theory, you decide, is unlikely. If she knew that her lover had defected and renounced his lineage, she would’ve known why. He would’ve warned her about them, even if she’d never been and even if he hadn’t, the Bene Gesserit would have. The second theory is entirely possible; you have no idea what Feyd was like as a young child. You’d assume he was made rather than born, and that personality traits aren’t inherited, but perhaps the darkness was always there. Perhaps she’d felt that he was doomed to be an extension of everything the Harkonnen represented. Still not terribly likely, given his age, but possible.

What you can likely imagine, though, is the Baron simply plucking Feyd-Rautha from his home to collect and repurpose as his own. He’s never been married nor produced any children and to simply claim one from a deceased family member, knowing no one could truly challenge him over it, would be an easy solution for that. From what you already know about him, he probably wouldn’t even see it as kidnapping, just taking what rightfully belongs to him.

You’re aware that Feyd’s an orphan, but nothing as to why beyond Abulurd’s murder. You find that there really isn’t enough to go on as far as his mother’s concerned other than her Bene Gesserit training and identity as Abulurd Rabban’s concubine, until you finally find the date and cause of death.

Feyd’s mother, according to the records, died when Feyd was fourteen. She’d been murdered in her own home. No one was caught, which means that the culprit’s been fiercely protected. You’d be willing to bet real money that the Baron had someone kill her and take away the one motivation he’d have to return to Lankiveil. It would line up with something else that you read; Feyd’s mother’s murder would have taken place shortly after Feyd-Rautha had attempted to assassinate his uncle. It had been quickly thwarted and fourteen-year-old Feyd-Rautha had been punished severely but spared his life.

You can easily imagine the Baron killing the one family member left not connected to the Harkonnens so his young nephew would be so isolated that he’d have nowhere else to turn.

Are the lashes on his back part of the punishment he faced? It would make them just over a decade old. You’re still not sure about the scars on his inner thighs. He likes pain; could they be self-inflicted? Maybe done to him at his own request by a lover? There’s an intimacy to them that you can only hope was done in an act of passion rather than a punishment administered by his uncle.

Although, and it makes you feel sick to think about, that option is also entirely possible.

If they were self-inflicted, or done for his own gratification, you wonder if he’ll one day ask you to draw a knife on him as well. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’d be willing to; certainly rather him than you.

“Idrisa,” you start, looking up as she enters the room carrying what looks like a pair of black dresses. “How much do you know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to assassinate his uncle when he was a boy?” She hesitates. You wait.

“My apologies, my lady,” she says, looking down, “but I wasn’t in the Fortress then. It was before my time.” Instead of elaborating further, she holds up the dresses, one in each hand to compare. “The Baron wants you to dress in the traditional Harkonnen style for dinner this evening. Which of these would you prefer?”

You glance between the two. Both long, both structured, but one with paneling and a more elaborate bodice that looks like it would take more time to actually get in and out of. “That one,” you say, pointing to it. If Idrisa knows your logic behind your choice, she doesn’t bring it up. She just waits for you to put your documents away and after you’ve taken to the bathroom to freshen up, helps you get ready.

When you arrive for dinner, you’re almost the image of a Harkonnen lady, the only traits betraying you being your hair and eyebrows. As expected, the Baron is already eating and while neither he nor Feyd-Rautha stand for you when you enter, your groom does stand to pull your chair out once more as you reach the table. It’s a simple formality, you assume, to hold up the pretense that this is a normal marriage and as something he can easily take away.

“What did you think of our library?” the Baron asks when you sit down, accepting only one answer.

“Truly impressive, Baron,” you tell him. “A testament to the House’s power and resilience.”

If you were worried what he would think about you wanting to look into his bloodline and history, those worries were unfounded. After the exchange he barely acknowledges you the entire meal. He and Feyd-Rautha, however, discuss the arena and new spice routes. You quietly take everything in and watch them interact.

The Baron switches between backhanded compliments, mean-spirited little quips, and the occasional genuine compliment for his nephew. He oscillates between seeming to respect him as a man fit to ascend the throne and still undermining him as hardly more than a child out of his depth handling any conflict. Feyd’s frustration remains quiet, just beneath the surface, but palpable. He seems to know that the Baron’s toying with him, testing him constantly, wondering which new way he flatter him only to put him down again.

It’s also immediately clear that Feyd doesn’t like that you’re seeing him like this, that once again as soon as he’s gotten what he’s wanted he’ll abruptly send you away. Whatever control his uncle takes from him he can always claim from you.

He tried to kill him once, when he was much younger and weaker than he is now. What changed? Does he still think about killing him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?

You’ve long since finished eating by the time you realize that the men at the table have probably forgotten that you’re even there, so you clear your throat to get their attention.

“My apologies, but may I go to my chambers to prepare for the evening?” you ask, voice light.

You wait. Feyd-Rautha turns and gives you a small nod. “I won’t be too much longer,” he says, exchanging a cold look with his uncle. You don’t want to think about what they say about you when you’re not around, or what kind of innuendo the Baron will leave.

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

The second time of what you’re sure will become a nightly routine is a little less nerve-wracking, but not one that you’re looking forward to.

When you’re stripped down in his bedroom again you choose the same position, even as you feel like a completely different person than you were just one day ago. There’s no fear this time, just resignation. You’re not sure if it’s going to hurt again but it also doesn’t matter, won’t change anything.

He comes out of his bathroom in the same manner as last night, naked and only partially erect. The sight may not scare you anymore, but you still, unfortunately, find his body nice to look at. You’re getting used to everything else, as well. The black teeth and gums nearly made you flinch the first time; now you’ve accepted it as the only mouth you’ll kiss from now on.

He approaches the bed. “Lay back,” he says as he starts to climb into it with you. “Spread your legs. I want to check something.”

You blush, thinking, Can’t we just get this over with? as you comply and take a breath to calm yourself, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking directly at him. You try to tamp down the embarrassment at how exposed you feel.

He inspects the damage, his fingertips pressing against your swollen folds and eyes darting back up to your face at your sharp inhale. He gives your privates a more thorough pass-through than you were willing to give yourself last night. You blink, concerned, as he takes his hand and spits on his fingers.

Why would you? --you think for only a split second before he brings his fingers back down to your torn and stretched womanhood, circling your bud in lazy circles and keeping his thumb there before dipping a finger inside of you.

You instinctively clench around the digit even as it doesn’t actually hurt. “Relax,” he says, as if that’s something you can easily do in your situation. His thumb continues working your bud as he curls his finger inside of you, pressing forward, and you see his brief smirk as you whine, taken aback by the jolt it provides. He does it again, slipping in a second, and the stretch doesn’t burn quite as much, doesn’t pinch so much as it tugs. You glance between his legs to see that he’s filling out the rest of the way from the sights and sounds of you skewered on his fingers. That in itself makes you gasp and flush at the idea that this, warming you up and seeing you aroused, gets him going. In many ways this preparation is just as much for him as it is for you.

Just as last time, you sense when he decides, Alright, you’re ready .

He has enough decency to pause when he’s pressed all the way inside of you, because he still feels massive, and like there’s not enough of you to accommodate him, as though your insides need to rearrange themselves for this intrusion.

It doesn’t hurt as much as last night, you remind yourself. You breathe through your nose as you tremble and hold onto him, gripping his shoulders and remembering how he likes the way you “get your little claws in.” The rocking of his hips is steady and deep but not too rough, not yet. You whimper and adjust your grip on him, managing to breathe, taking in the way he slides in and out of your bruised canal. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’ll get through this .

As soon as he can sense that you’re adjusted he goes harder, faster, relishing the way your nails scratch down his back. You raise your knees up to his ribcage and squeeze, trying to get some leverage in.

It’s no real use; he controls the pace, grips your hip with his free hand and seems to like when your whimpers and moans are laced with discomfort, wordlessly begging for him to please slow down, be gentler. Even if he doesn’t force you onto all fours like last night, it still feels animalistic when he speeds up further, grunting against the flushed skin of your neck, keeping you locked in place around him until you feel him coming, shuddering as he fills you up.

For a moment he raises himself up from his forearms to his hands, looking down at you with an expression he can’t place, before drawing a few errant strands of hair away from your face and pulling out. You don’t look at him as he collapses onto his back beside you. Somehow you feel even more used than before, more like a warm hole than a woman.

The two of you lay together in silence as you wait for the throbbing to subside. It takes a couple of minutes, but when you start to feel better you sit up and slide your legs to the side of the bed. You won’t wait to be dismissed. You sense him turn his head to look at you but don’t acknowledge him. You’ll head back to your chambers, soak in another lukewarm bath, and take the second half of the tablet from last night, even if you don’t need it as badly. It’ll at least help you sleep.

You get up and head for his dresser, reaching for your clothes when Feyd-Rautha’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

You turn and look at him, your eyebrows raised. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet,” he says.

You give his still-softened dick a pointed look. “You look pretty finished off to me,” you tell him, and step into your slippers.

You realize you made a mistake as soon as you say it. Feyd-Rautha’s up and at your back before you can finish pulling on your chemise. He tears it off you, throws it to the floor and wraps an arm around your ribcage as he lowers his head to your ear.

“I won’t tolerate you questioning my own body or abilities,” he says. “If I say I want another go, then I’ll have one.”

You squirm, and he turns you around, pinning you to the dresser as he grabs your hair and tightens. You wince and try to push away from him, but he only grabs your wrist in his free hand and brings it down to the dresser.

“I won’t be disrespected in my own bedroom,” he says, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. It’s the first time he’s seemed angry with you; the harsh angles of his narrow face more pronounced, his eyes pale and pupils blown out, his full lips the closest you’ve seen to a thin line.

Maybe it’s you he’s actually mad at, maybe not. Either way, you’re the one he can take his frustrations out on.

Play along, you tell yourself. Even if he’s not going to kill you for insolence, he’ll find ways to make life worse for you .

“What do you want me to do?” you ask finally. His face seems to relax slightly, and you realize when his chest moves again he’d been holding his breath. After a moment he decides how he’ll punish you for your so-called disrespect.

“Kneel on the bed, hands braced on the headboard, with your legs spread. Make sure to keep ‘em there,” he says.

You slowly step out of your slippers and turn, walking towards the bed. The seconds that pass as you get into position are silent, agonizing.

You wait, and when you don’t sense him move any closer, turn your head to look at him.

He’s still staring, taking in his fill, before he strides forward and settles in behind you, one hand braced beside yours against the headboard, the other cupping your breast.

It doesn’t stay there, though. After giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure he moves his hand upwards, around your throat. Your first instinct is to freeze, wanting to move.

He’s not going to kill you; he’s just trying to scare you, you tell yourself, and it’s working. You try to breathe, calm your rapid heartbeat. He can taste your fear; he revels in it. He doesn’t squeeze but he deliberately leaves his thumb against your windpipe, his long fingers curled around your neck.

I won’t kill you but I easily can, he seems to say. Unarmed and naked I could still kill you in brutal fashions you’ve never heard of. And then he gently nuzzles against your hair, and the shift disarms you, makes you feel all the more helpless as you whine.

He releases your neck and you inhale, closing your eyes. His hand trails back down, squeezing your other breast this time, down your stomach and to the apex of your thighs. He idly strokes your bud, and it gives you a jolt despite your nerves.

“Who else has ever touched you here?” he asks. It’s not a threat, but you could easily picture him killing anyone you name–it’s also not lost on you how fucked up that is. Thankfully you can provide none.

“Just myself,” you tell him. He huffs, as if to say, Yeah, I thought so , before taking one of your hands from the headboard and guiding it back in between your legs.

“Show me how you do it,” he says, his hand over yours.

You flush with embarrassment, but comply, bringing your fingertips to your bud and pressing down in a circling motion.

He gives a hmm , as you trail your fingertips to your slit, collecting the combination of his spent seed leaking out of you and your own growing wetness before bringing your digits back to your bud, has you whimpering at the slick of it. He follows, hand tight over yours, learning your movements. Despite your nerves it’s easier to get slicker, and to your horror you find yourself rocking your hips up against both his hand and yours. You give a breathy whimper, unsure how your own body can betray you like this. He finally tightens his grip on your hand and moves it to the headboard, leaving you in shock as he spits on his fingers and takes up where you’ve left off.

He mimics your movements exactly, touches you the way you’ve touched yourself over the past few years, and yet it feels all the more exhilarating to have another hand there that you can’t help but gently move against his fingers, larger and so much longer than yours and yet so precise and deliberate.

Before you realize it his cock, stiff again, slides against the cleft of your ass. You gasp, wanting to turn around but he’s so close to you, chest against your back, and he grabs your hips to jut out further behind you, pulls you down his level, your thighs on top of his.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, withdrawing his hand from yours and settling back. You can feel your body flush, your nipples stiff against the air, holding onto the headboard as you sense him grip himself in his fist and press against you.

It doesn’t hurt this time when he pushes in. He can sense it in your moans, the way you’re wet and pliant for him, ready to take him however he comes to you. You almost hate it, that he can do this to you. That he probably could have from the beginning. He rolls his hips up into you, the glide and pressure of it only on the verge of discomfort, but a welcome ache, a stretch inside of you.

You reach a hand behind you, skimming along his flank, wanting to touch him, but he’s just out of reach and you drop your forehead against the headboard, your moans and whines spurring him on. He grabs your hand and presses it back against the headboard before giving a deeper thrust into you, one that would’ve hurt yesterday but the push of it provides a delicious throb now.

The tension builds. You can feel it like flames licking up your spine and belly, and he can hear it. Your cries become increasingly desperate, your own hips rocking back down to meet his. You hardly register that you’re doing it or why; your body takes over and makes the decisions for you. He brings one hand to fondle your breasts again, one after the other, before bringing it down to your bud, and you can only imagine how smug he must be feeling that not only does he have you exactly where he wants you, that he’s making you enjoy it.

It finally feels good. You’d almost assumed that it never would, but it does. If anyone listened in, they’d hear the unambiguous pleasure in every noise you make and Great Mother, does Feyd-Rautha draw a lot of noises out of you.

But then his hand comes back to your other hip, leaving you so close to the precipice and after several more thrusts he comes, grabbing your hips and pushing upwards with a harsh grunt against your hair. He spears you onto him, pausing, rocking his hips up once more, and once he’s certain that he’s finished pulls out, grabs your jaw, and turns his face as much as he reasonably can to yours.

He sees your stunned expression, can feel that you’re still throbbing and in need of some sweet relief, and nods his head dismissively towards the door.

“ Now you can go,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if you want to slap him across the face or pull him in for a furious kiss. He can see the warring impulses on your face and looks at you as though he’d be perfectly content with either, but still will react differently depending on which you choose.

You settle for a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and mashing your lips against his. You think that you’d like nothing more than to push him down and take him for yourself, for your own selfish pleasure like he did. You’re not entirely sure of the positioning but you’ll figure it out. You shift, managing to turn to face him properly before resuming the kiss.

He allows it, even responds to it, for a minute before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you away.

He tilts his head at you as if to say, ‘ Next time don’t question my virility or how I can make you feel, and maybe then I’ll let you come. ’

You bastard, you think, wondering how much he’s enjoying the clear indignation on your face. He likes provoking you, that much is certain, whether it’s fear or lust or anger. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, then, and so after some awkward shuffling you dismount the bed and pointedly look away from him as you walk to the dresser. It would probably be more dignified if you didn’t have his seed leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs.

You don’t bother to look back or say anything as you quickly redress and leave.

Neither you nor Idrisa speak as you head to your chambers, but as soon as you’re behind closed doors again you tell her that you’ll need a moment alone in the bathroom.

You’re grateful that she leaves you to it without an explanation this time as you glance in the mirror and the remnants of your blush that start at your hairline and follow down to your chest.

You shrug off your robe and turn on the faucet before finally, shamefully, bringing your hand between your legs and feeling the slick of him there mingling with your own slick and rub down, cursing Feyd-Rautha and cursing this planet and hoping that the sound of the running water drowns out your cries as you brace yourself against the sink, head bowed, and come, shaking and twitching, to the memory of his tongue and fingers against you, of him inside of you.

When it’s over you can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror was you wash your hands and turn off the faucet

You’ll need the half-tablet tonight. Not for pain, but because otherwise there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #feyd rautha smut #dune 2 #dune par 2 #feyd rautha x reader

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mvltisstuff · 11 months

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Evan Buckley & female reader - a fic where instead of the firetruck crushing buck’s leg, it crushes the reader’s leg instead and the reader is in the firetruck when it explodes and Buck & reader have been engaged for 2 years. Buck is worried and scared and panics when he sees the reader underneath the truck. He helps her through the physical therapy of getting back her leg strength and helps her through how she is told she may not be able to be a firefighter again.

lots of angst, heartbreak, sadness, anger, fluff too 💙

love ur 911 fics so much ❤️‍🩹

are you with me - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: i’m so happy you guys like my fics, i have plenty coming your way soon 🩶 btw this started off pretty strong and idk what happened toward the end w the quality

it’s never realized how much calamity one person can cause in such a large city. people get in their cars to go to work, they order a package, they stop at the store, and the last thing they expect is an explosion right at their feet.

over three million people in los angeles, and one forced 30 tons of weight onto y/n’s leg. it was just work. something she does every single day. of course, nothing in life ever remains the same, but this is really something you can never expect. you watch it in movies, or you hear about it in the news, only until it happens to you.

she knew the bones in her leg were crushed upon the impact, the engine thrown on its side. buck watched from a distance, being held back by the police. he would do anything for her. he wanted to tear this kid to shreds. he saw y/n’s broken leg under the truck and her head weakly lifting up. he could almost hear the pained gasps and whimpers from her lips. y/n, on the other hand, felt like she was in the center of the ring, the joke of this kid.

all the bystanders watched the scene unfold, the boy trying to summon the captain of the 118. it felt unreal. the noise and the truck shaking the ground they walked on.

buck thought he hallucinated the sparkling ring on y/n’s hand, somehow managing to remind him of the fight he was about to do. he vividly remembers the day he got down on his knee, bargaining the rest of his life to her and crying when she said yes. the whole team had been there, watching from a distance as her hand covered her mouth and lifted him from the floor. their wedding was being planned, every last detail needing to be perfect for the couple.

most people’s instinct would be to run away, but buck wanted to run toward the chaos. if y/n was there, so was he. his life mission has been to keep her safe, and knowing someone went out of his way to hurt her makes him go crazy. the exact moment that freddie was taken down with his overcomplicated vest, buck found himself running to her. he instantly fell onto his knees, seeing the ash and tears on her face close up.

she wished she couldn’t feel it, but she felt every part of it. she didn’t know anything. was her leg even connected to her anymore? buck moved himself closer to her so she could hear him over the murmuring of watchers.

“hey! hey, y/n,” he starts.

“it h-hurts so bad,” she whines, making him grimace himself.

“son of a bitch, ok. we’re gonna get you out of there, yeah?”

“please,” she begs, almost inaudible. buck stands up, calling for anyone he can to lift the truck off her, which was almost impossible with a few people around. hen was on the ground, connecting machines to y/n’s harmed figure.

“hang in there, y/n/n,” she says softly. “we’ve got you.”

despite his entire body weight being used to lift the ladder engine, it didn’t budge once. the only thing it did was echo the raw screams from y/n, poisoning bucks ears making his heart speed up. the adrenaline pumping through his system was making him think he could do it.

“do you have anything on the truck we can use for leverage?” eddie asks to a panicked bobby, trying to save one of his workers and best friends.

“it’s too heavy, it wouldn’t work,” bobby says as a light goes off in bucks head.

“more people,” he mumbles. “we need more people! hey! all of you, get over here and lift this!” he shouts at the mob of people observing the accident. not hesitating, the civilians sprint over and grab onto any part of the truck that they can.

y/n was in grievous pain, dreading the agony that would come when they finally lifted it. she was right, it was tormenting, releasing shrieks she didn’t know she had. before she could rethink everything, she was tugged from under and flipped onto her back. buck couldn’t peel his gaze away from the blood that has completely stained her pant leg and the parts of her leg that should be inside of it. complete shock and fear took over his body, but not enough to stand there with her the whole time. he watched chimney and hen bandage up her leg and move her into the ambulance, where buck sat next to her. hen was in the back with him, chim being the designated driver. unfortunately, y/n had been awake for the entire experience. from the second the engine flipped, to the second she was lifted into the ambulance. as much buck was grateful that she was awake, he almost wanted her to pass out. she wouldn’t have to endure this much pain, despite the morphine kicking in.

y/n’s hand twitched in bucks, “buck?” she grumbles out.

“y/n,” he makes note of her panicked state. “i’m here, you’re ok. i’m not going anywhere, honey.”

“someone should tell the city that we need a n-new truck,” buck laughs at her mind and how it works before running a hand through her hair.

“you don’t have to worry about that,” says buck. “you have no idea how relieved i am that you’re ok.”

“we’re getting married soon,” she realizes. “shit, we were supposed to get married soon-“

“shh, it’s all gonna work out, ok?” buck reassures. “i’d marry you no matter what, broken leg or not.”

“promise?”

“i promise.”

the hours sitting in the waiting room were grueling. maddie had left to be with buck, watching the entire scene go down on the news. even her heart ached, watching someone she already considers family have to face something like this. the whole team was anxiously waiting for the surgeon to come out and say she’d be ok. she held them together like a true family, being the most stable relationship they had. she was the part of the station that made their bond unbreakable. watching her vulnerable condition under that truck was almost intolerable. the time that she wasn’t in work felt like a missing puzzle piece.

weeks had passed since the bombings of LA, and buck had been there every single day. in sickness and in health, he hasn’t said the words out loud, but he swore to that since the day he met her. he knows that she would do the same exact thing for him, and he would spend every single day helping her.

y/n felt completely isolated in their small apartment, barely being able to leave the first floor. she craved work, she desperately awaited the day that she could return, but the injury in her leg hadn’t resolved. no matter how many times she tried to convince herself, she didn’t know if she’d ever be a firefighter again. at some point, she almost envied her fiancé for being able to go to work. he felt so bad for her, just wanting to give her her life back. the weekly doctors appointments were draining her of almost everything she had, every single one proving nothing. nothing that meant anything. the situation was completely out of anyone’s control, and she had consumed so much anger about it. anger at the doctors, the therapists, the kid, the 118, everyone around her.

buck was forced to sit back and watch, to act as a shoulder to cry on. he was the third crutch, the person she leaned on when she couldn’t stand on her own. there was no way in hell she could’ve done it alone. buck was the one to drive her to every appointment and helped carry some of the burden.

at the end of the day, there were two things that scared y/n the most. losing buck and losing her job. the two things that got her out of bed and the two things that gave her a true meaning. as time passed and every request to be back at work was denied, she swore her heart hurt more than her leg.

“y/n?” buck called out after arriving back home. she had been on the couch, watching another drama series about firefighters. “hi, how are you doing?” he asked when spotting her in the living room. she didn’t respond, just looked at the television with the volume low. he went and sat next to her.

“what’s wrong? did something happen?”

her eyes had already been bothered from tears of anger and frustration, and he could clearly see that with his own. “they called again.”

“wasn’t the answer you wanted?”

“i have been pushing myself every day for approval, and i have not gotten anything for it,” she says, dryly. “i have been killing myself to go back to what i love and why am i not getting anything?” her voice cracks.

“listen,” he tries to distract her from her own negativity and forces her to look at him. “i know you’ve heard this a million times, but you have to let yourself take the time to heal. if you go back too soon, you’re going to make it worse.”

her nose scrunches at bucks words, causing her to sniffle as he continues. “i know, it sucks, and i am so, so sorry. it’s just that none of us want to see you do more harm than good. we need you back as a firefighter, but i need you back to normal first. you’re worth so much more than this, and this injury is not going to take you out, we all know it.”

y/n opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out besides the small beginning of a word. she knows he’s right, but having to come to terms with that is the hardest part of it all. she begins to cry lightly again, her face in her hands as she leans forward. buck slides over, wrapping his arms around his distressed fiancé.

y/n took bucks advice, and now, she stands in the entrance of the firehouse. she walks in to see her uniform waiting for her in her cabinet, her gear untouched, and it feels like she was here yesterday. she feels at home here. buck follows her in, grabbing her hand and they restart the rest of their lives.

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heyidkyay · 1 month

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Three

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Another update this week?? I'm as shocked as anyone else, but hopefully this one will make up a little for the last! It's longer and a little less, um, idk, I can't say emotional?? because that would be a lie:/ Still, there are some developments! Also, it'll make sense a lot later but the 2nd image and the use of a Ride song are used in this one!

Hope you enjoy! Also thank you for all the love on this current series, it means a whole lot and keeps me writing xx

Warnings: similar to that of the last post! so pls look back there if you'd like to know!:)

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

“I said no.”

Stressed was a feeling beyond words at this point. The past couple of days all I’d had was press hounding at me, calling and texting, emailing at all hours of the fucking day. They wouldn’t let up, even after I’d stayed silent. Adi reckoned it was mostly down to Teddy’s involvement in the whole thing. I didn’t want to think much more about it, although I knew she wasn’t wrong.

“Give me a reason at least?"

I shot a scathing glare over my shoulder before turning back to the filing system I’d taken to reorganising. It was my first morning back at the studio since... yeah, well Finn had Teddy- another factor to my current load of stress- whilst Adi was off doing something or other. I hadn’t asked, fearful of putting more of a strain on her current friendship- relationship??- with Ross, so instead I’d just chosen to tidy and rearrange the entire setup we had going on here. Because that was perfectly normal. And not a fucking way to evade talking or thinking about the mess that was my life. Okay?

“I don’t need a fucking reason, I just don’t want to.” I retorted, hissing slightly when I suddenly cut my thumb on the edge of a document. I withdrew my hand quickly and raised it towards my mouth, letting my eyes slip close for a moment when I heard a footfall step closer.

“Let me see.” Jamie sighed, probably thinking I’d done something worse to my hand than just a papercut. To be fair, the cabinet was old. One of them filing types from the ninety’s that we’d gotten for a score down at some boot sale, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of us did eventually end up losing an arm.

I shook my head and pushed the cabinet drawer closed, “It’s fine, just a papercut.”

Jamie huffed an amused chuckle before settling down on the edge of the desk nearby. It was Adi’s, you could tell from the sheer amount of shit she had accumulating it.

“One thing after another with you.”

My head tilted towards him with a deadened expression, “Ha ha.”

The older man raised his hands up in a mocking surrender, showing he hadn’t meant any real harm. “Too soon?”

I kicked at the toe of the leather boots he wore in retort as I moved towards the kitchenette, aware that he was just trying to lighten my horrendous mood but not really in the right mind for it.

“You want a brew?” I asked, not bothering to give him an honest reply to that question of his. Too soon? Yes, that was all too fucking true.

“Have a coffee if there’s one going.”

I dipped my head in a slight nod, filling the kettle and setting it to boil before snagging the coffee often reserved for guests on the show from a shelf nearby.

Jamie moved to better face me on Adi’s desk as I did so, wearing that same expression he’d turned up in, all concerned and weary. It bothered me a bit, seeing as though it was all I had garnered since the press had had their field day with my life, but I could also understand why. They all just seemed to feel for the idiot stupid enough to fall into another of Matty Healy’s traps.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” He wondered around a light chortle at my demand, hands falling to rest between his thighs.

I gestured towards his face whilst I poured a splash of milk into my mug, “Looking at me like that, like I’m gonna break or something.”

With a sigh, he pressed his lips together. “You know it’s not like that.” I rolled my eyes in return but he just bounded on, “You know it’s not, I just care is all.”

I forced out a breathless chuckle, “That why you’re here trying to get me to hear him out then?”

To be fair to him, Jamie had come right out with it when he’d first popped by, having messaged me asking after my whereabouts earlier this morning. I’d told him, having spoken to him quite a bit over the last couple days, and then found him on the doorstep.

Jamie had been good with everything. He’d let me vent, rally against one of his friends and clients, question his own motives- and hadn’t even complained one bit. But now he was here asking me to give Matty a chance, a lot like he’d done that first time around in that small cafe all those months ago.

“I know you’re angry, you have every right to be.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry!” I immediately shot back at him, the rattle of the teaspoon ringing out as I dropped it into a mug, “I wouldn’t care if it had just been me he’d gone and fucked over! But he brought Teddy into this shit, Jamie. My son! So tell me, how am I supposed to hear him out after he’s done something like that and then lied about it? For weeks, mind you.”

Jamie looked back at me, wearing that ‘this meant business’ mug of his. I slumped at the sight, pressing my knee against one of the lower cabinets to continue stirring the drinks. I didn’t care, I didn’t care, I didn’t care.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mouse.”

My eyes slipped closed at his words and I took a second to just breathe. Because I wasn’t angry, not really. I was hurt and humiliated, and just so fucking sad. Fed up with it all, if I was being honest. Enough so that I knew that Jamie was being truthful here- and not just because it was a fact that I hadn’t spoken to Matty since things had fallen apart, but also because I hadn’t had the heart to ask Teddy about things yet. Or if ever.

The kid was four. Four, and asking after a man every night before he fell asleep and then as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning.

He knew something was up, he was smart like that. But what was I meant to do- to say? When I was just as confused as he was.

I’d ended up leaving him with Finn today, having had no other choice in the situation because the nursery was closed for an inset day, or some shite like that, and it seemed I had no other friends than the few around me.

Could quite literally count the lot of them on one hand.

But still, Finn and I’s relationship had still been rather rocky after that whole incident with him and Matty, and hadn’t improved since. In fact, he’d been a little unbearable about everything, always one to toot his own horn whenever he was right about something. But it was always slyly and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was a constant dig, like even when he wasn’t commenting on it he was still thinking it whenever he looked at me.

Which felt so horrible to think, let alone say out loud. He was my best friend. So I’d kept my mouth shut and just dealt with it, like I did everything else in life.

“He’s messed up about it.” Jamie then spoke, his voice having startled me a tad, breaking me out of my musings. He was watching me again, only when he did it, it didn’t feel as condescending as everyone else's. Like he understood my position. And I guessed that he probably sort of did.

“I bet.” I scoffed quietly, an airy titter escaping through my nose, and then I turned to toss my teabag away.

“It’s true.” Jamie shrugged, then nodded in thanks when I pushed a coffee his way. “He’s been ‘round Ross’s ever since shit hit the fan, hasn’t left the flat. Driving the lot of us mad, but he’s torn up, Mouse.”

Tongue in cheek, I wrapped my hands around my cup and propped my hip up against the counter, staring into the still swirling liquid. “Serves him right, I guess.” I replied with a soft shrug of my own, though we both knew I didn’t quite mean it.

Jamie looked over towards one of the windows to the right, most of them were either way too long or too tiny for the space, an odd build, but this particular one gave way to the skyline lying over the remainder of the city. I often wondered what the lower levels might look out at, thinking it was probably the majority of the surrounding buildings, and couldn’t help but feel a little thankful that we’d managed to snag this unit.

When he glanced back over at me, I took a sip and let him speak.

“A lot went on, that much I know, and it’s your choice how you deal with it. But, I saw the two of you. I saw him change. Which is stupid to say, I know, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He was different with you, he actually tried in other aspects of his life and not just with the band and the music. He looked genuinely happy.” He smiled softly at the eye roll I gave, but it didn’t appear to deter him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you didn’t fucking cure him. Don’t work like that, does it? But you helped. You and Teddy both.”

I looked away then, back towards the window, unable to really help it, and instead allowed my eyes to trail over the clouds which powdered the dusty blue sky.

“It was different. Things were different, and I know that there was love there. There couldn’t not have been. The way he looked at you…” Jamie shook his head ever so slightly as he breathed out, unaware of just how deeply his words had cut. But then he peered over at me and I found myself already looking back, air caught somewhere in the swell of my lungs.

“Don’t.” I choked out, the grip on my mug having tightened tenfold. “Just,” I shook my head.

Jamie put his coffee down on the desk and moved to stand, hands raised to convey he wasn't a threat. “I’m not saying this to hurt you more, love. Just telling you how I saw it.”

I licked at my lower lip, casting my eyes downwards. Our silence stretched and all could be heard was the odd car horn and chirp from beyond the walls of the studio, until-

“Anyone here?”

I blinked back the tears which had started to well in my eyes and sniffed, head shooting up just in time to spot a familiar giant ducking their head under the beam of the doorway, limbs following right after.

George entered but then stopped short when he spotted his manager stood by me, and I laughed to myself at the way the pair of them seemed to eye one another, before stepping in, “Didn’t hear you ring the buzzer.”

Kind eyes darted over to find my soft smile then, welcoming him in, and so George finally moved in closer, laying the jacket he wore to rest over one of the armchairs.

“Yeah, someone was just leaving and let me in.” He answered my unasked question, shrugging as he added, “Dunno whether they recognised me or if they just let anyone up.”

“Probably the second,” Jamie piped up, seemingly having broken himself from his previous bout of surprise, “This lot ‘round here don’t give much of a shit about crap like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but was glad to have a reason to smile slightly. “Or they spotted the BFG making his way over and wanted to avoid pissing him off.”

Jamie cackled whilst George just shot me a narrow-eyed look, “Hilarious. That pot just boiled?” He asked me as he wandered over. I nodded in turn and moved to grab him a cup, only faltering when he lowered my hand with his own and shook his head. “I got it.”

I dipped my head slightly, blinking before taking a step back to let him work. He made a quick go of it, rummaging around the cupboards briefly to find what he needed and only asking for the spoon I still held for some odd reason when he was near done.

Jamie appeared to have been watching him too, a calculating glaze to his eyes, and he chose that next moment to speak up, “How you been anyway, George? Not seen much of you lately.”

Something unspoken passed between them when George glanced over at him, but I couldn’t tell what.

“Good, busy.” Was what the taller decided on, throwing Jamie a quick smile when he crossed to toss his own teabag in the bin before settling on the counter to the left of me. “You?”

It almost sounded sarcastic, not how he said it but simply because he’d asked it at all, knowing everything that had recently occurred. It must have been a right nightmare for Jamie these last few days, what with him being the band’s main man.

Jamie just laughed though, goodnaturedly, though it was apparent that he was still trying to suss out what was going on, what with George’s sudden appearance. Seeing as I’d never once mentioned him to Jamie.

See, things with George had all started after that studio session Teddy had attended, followed by my wishing him a happy birthday just before Matty had gone and done what he did best. Wrecked it all.

Teddy had become all too smitten with the drummer since he’d first been introduced to the band and their many songs and music videos. He enjoyed the guitar he’d been gifted an awful lot, often playing with it and practising, but each time any sort of song played on the tele or the radio, or even in the car, it wasn’t hard to note the way Teddy instantly mimicked George’s swift movements, pretending to drum along to whatever beat heard.

George had messaged me on Instagram later that same day, seeing as how apparently Teddy’s appearance at the studio had stuck with him, and asked after him a little. It seemed strange worded like that, but George reckoned that Teds had a real streak of a musicality about him, even as young as he was, and wanted to see if Teddy would be up for learning some more.

Which had been a Godsend, honestly, what with how the next couple of days had gone down. I’d given him my number via dm just before the storm had started and then the afternoon that had followed the plethora of articles he’d called.

He’d asked how I was at first, almost consoling me in that easy way of his, so full of little words, which had been all too refreshing in truth.

I’d had texts and calls off of practically everyone I knew, even Ronan, the utter prick. And none had managed to soothe me quite like George’s had, seeing as the man had been there too. Not quite in my position, sure, but near enough. He’d even let a little of it slip when he’d popped on over that same day, bringing a bag of takeaway and a roll up drum mat as a gift for Teddy, who had been cooped up with me on the sofa for most of the afternoon.

The two of them had bonded over it rather quickly, Teddy having been caught off guard by George’s sincerity almost as much as I had been. But then I'd found myself getting to know the drummer too and very much appreciating the unnecessary gesture he’d made for me, even with the pair of us not knowing one another as well as we could have.

I had no idea what was going on between him and Matty, I hadn’t had the balls to ask, but he’d mentioned he hadn’t heard much of anything from him since the night of his party, as well as the fact that his girlfriend, Charli, had been just as annoyed with everything that had gone down.

I knew he’d be stopping by at some point today, we’d made plans to get lunch once he’d heard I was back at the studio on my own, but not recording. I reckoned he was concerned and this was his way of showing it, but it was hard to tell with him most of the time seeing as he’d made it out as though I was doing him a favour here. An effort I came to find I much appreciated.

“Work, you know how it is.” Jamie replied after a long pause. He was still standing in the same position he’d been in since George arrived, but seemed to move then, picking up what was left of his coffee and pouring what remained down the sink. “But I’d best be going, got a couple calls to make. You gonna be at the studio tomorrow?”

George hummed around his next sip, pulling away with only a dip of his chin. “Should be.”

Jamie smiled, nodding, “Good, I’ll let the rest of them know then.”

I caught George’s slight wince at that, though he didn’t protest his manager's comment. It made me wonder.

Jamie turned to me then, shucking on his jacket. I perked up, not having realised that he really was rushing to leave now. “Remember what I said, alright?”

I blinked, but then nodded. How could I forget? I wanted to ask, but instead said, “You don’t have to head out so quick.”

He sent me a reassuring grin as he flipped over the collar of his coat. “You won’t miss me much,” He then teased before roping me into a hug, “Weren’t lying when I said I had a couple calls though, so it’s best I get out of your hair whilst I still can.”

I smiled softly at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle and nodded before following him over to the door, “Stay safe.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, all too used to my typical parting now, though amused by it all the same. “Can’t promise anything.” He retorted with a smirk, shuffling over the threshold whilst his eyes flickered back to where George still stood once more. “So, about before?”

I inhaled shakily, though Jamie didn’t seem to notice, fingering the pockets of his jacket in search of his mobile. “I’ll think about it.” I told him.

He flashed me a grin at that, pleased, then let his heel trail over to meet the top step of the metal grating. “Talk to you later then.”

I nodded and watched for a second as he descended the staircase, head bobbing down the first set before he turned and disappeared from view. Sliding back inside, I shut the door quietly behind me, taking a second to steel my nerves before facing the room again.

During that time, George had seemingly gone and made himself comfy on the settee, his mug settled on a coffee table coaster. I moved to join him after putting both mine and Jamie’s cups under the tap to rinse before just leaving them to soak.

George was fiddling with something when I sat down beside him but shuffled over a tad to allow me to get more comfortable, “So what was that about?” I questioned.

“With Jamie?” He asked and I nodded, even though I reckoned he already knew what I was on about.

He shrugged slightly and I noted the way his finger trailed over a slip of folded paper, it was creased as though it had been played or fiddled with a dozen times too many. My brow seemed to furrow at the sight of it.

“He tried phoning a few times but I’ve not been too keen on answering, learnt that I’ll just get dragged into the drama if I do.” George finally answered, and for some reason I felt a wad of guilt pool in my stomach upon hearing it, even though I hadn’t been the one to cause this mess.

Or maybe I was just kidding myself.

“Sorry.”

George huffed as he turned to peer over at me, elbows resting on the tops of his knees. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He told me and then gifted me a sweet smile, “None of this is on you. Just thought we were in the clear, you know?” He looked away at that and his smile dimmed into something smaller, almost sadder. “Figured I wouldn’t have to go dodging my mates calls anymore, or be roped into cleaning up everyone else’s messes.”

He reached a hand out to settle on my knee then, probably having noticed the way I was chewing on the insides of my cheek, or maybe the fact that my lip was now trembling. I’d never felt so shitty. So at fault for something I hadn’t really seen coming, nor could I prevent.

“Not your fault, remember?” He reiterated to me, squeezing my joint softly before pulling away. I sniffed before looking up at him with a tiny smile.

“Promise I don’t usually cry this much. Just been a shitty week is all.” I told him, laughing pitifully as I toyed with the hem of the jumper I’d put on earlier that morning when I’d purposefully avoided the hoodie that had been left on my desk chair, as well as the cupboard full of clothes that didn’t belong to me.

I felt the settee dip slightly before I found him sitting right beside me, lifting an arm to wrap me up in a hug. His cheek came to rest on the side of my head and I felt my heart break that little bit more, because it reminded me that in a second, or two, I wouldn’t have that sense of protection he now offered, shielding me from the rest of the world.

“You’ve been put through the wringer.” George murmured and I had to laugh just a little bit, he laughed too, the sound of it reverberating through his chest to where my head rested. “Fucking cry if you want to, alright? No judgement here."

I spluttered a little on my next chuckle, smiling as I wiped at my eyes. George’s arm just tightened its hold by a fraction, as though he knew it would make things that little bit easier. We both sat there like that for a while, and I appreciated the fact that he was okay with a bit of quiet. That he didn’t run scared from it or try to start up an awkward conversation simply to fill it.

Silence was something I’d come to realise that George often favoured. Because sometimes that was all you really needed.

I don’t know how long we continued like that before he shuffled and pulled that same piece of paper from earlier back into view, holding the corner of it between his forefinger and thumb. I pulled away slightly, looking down at it and then back up at him with a small frown.

“What?”

George merely blinked, staring down at the paper with an odd look before he finally placed it in the hand I had resting on my thigh. My frown only deepened.

“What is it?” I asked him, finger trailing over an edge just as he had done when I’d first spotted it. When I went to unfold it from the opposing corner, he stopped me.

Confused, I turned to raise a brow at him, only to find him already looking back at me. He bit into his lower lip and then flattened his mouth into a stern line, “I found that when I was last in the studio.”

My chest tightened for some reason, but I was still so baffled. “Okay?”

We were sitting up better now, George’s arm having slipped from my shoulders to come to rest in his lap, fingers trailing over his left hand’s rigid set of knuckles.

“I figured you should see it.” He added in his usual drawl, though his eyes flickered up from the paper to catch mine then and I realised it must've been important. He seemed wary enough to warrant it.

I went to unfold it once again, but then his hand really reached out to stop my own, “I don’t know if I should be here when you do.”

That alone made me even more curious, although there was an edge of caution that now warred at me. “Why?”

George gifted me a gentle smile, the hand that still laid over top of my own squeezing kindly. “I’ll go grab us some food, alright? If you want to open it then do, if not. I won’t mention it again.”

He moved to stand then but my hand shot out to grab at the sleeve of his arm, “George.” But I didn’t know what else to say, I knew I was fearful though.

His fingers moved to meet mine, resting there for a short moment, “It’s your choice. Just, I couldn’t keep it from you.”

I swallowed thickly as he pushed to his feet, the scuff off his heavy boots bouncing off the hardwood floors. Slowly he moved to grab his jacket, giving me time to say no, to deny his offer. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do much of anything really.

The door shut behind him with a soft click a minute later and the quiet of the studio suddenly consumed me. When I glanced back down at the paper I held once more I saw the slight tremble of my hands. I forced myself to exhale, but even that was shaky.

I was careful as I unfolded it, listening to the rustle it made before scrawled lines that had bled through to the other side caught my attention. Pausing, I took a moment to just look at them and then thoughtlessly hurried to reveal the rest of it, taking in its full form. My throat tightened at the sight of familiar scribbles.

You had me from the start Pulling all the stops out On the down low, secretly But I think you knew your psychology Was working on me Infatuated And doing this all wrong You've got My number and my name And you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going Can I see you every day? Do you love me Like I love you? Ah, you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going

(Song: Ride - Future Love)

It was as if something in me had shifted and then turned, sparking itself its very own flame on a bone too sharp and growing and growing until its singed edges burnt and blackened every part of me.

I must've sat there staring down at it for ages. Crying silently and alone in an empty room, something I’d been avoiding doing since this had all started. Though I supposed it had been inevitable.

His words. His thoughts. Bared to me on a single page. Him none the wiser to any of it. Probably having not even realised it was gone, or missing. And George had read it. He’d seen it and still, after everything, had given them to me.

A tear dropped from my chin then, blotting the page and I could only watch on as the dark ink appeared to cling to it, seeping further and further into the paper. Smudging the ‘Do you love me’ enough so that my breath stuttered and I was suddenly moving all too quickly for my mind to catch up with my thoughtless actions.

Not even a second later my phone was in my hand.

Messages now To: Jamie O (glasses!) When can he meet me?

–

Matty had always had a thing for Sundays.

There was just something about them. Not all that Godly shite that people preached about it being holy and the first day of the week, ‘cause to him Monday would always hold that title- and Monday’s fucking sucked dick.

No, it was because there was just something peaceful that settled on Sundays, it took him back to simpler times, of days when he’d just been a kid and roast dinners were spent ‘round his nana’s house. Or when Newcastle would play on afternoons and his dad would finally be home to watch with him.

There was just something about them, you know. He didn’t much believe in luck, typically only the bad sort. But if someone held a gun to his head and told him he had to claim a day which would forever work in his favour, it would just have to be Sunday.

Still, he was unsure on where he currently stood with that sentiment as of late. Seeing as how he was currently in the backseat of a cab, jittery hands clinging onto shaking knees whilst rows of houses, broken up by hues of green and blue, rolled on past him.

It hadn’t been a last minute thing, but it felt much like it. The anticipation was getting to him, he knew that much, sweat licking at the back of his neck whilst his shoulders worked their way up to the lobes of his ears.

Jamie had somehow managed it.

Called him up late last night just before Ross had headed off to bed to tell him that she would finally see him. Jamie’d asked if he’d be alright going alone or if they’d prefer a buffer there, but Matty had immediately declined. So he was doing it alone. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if that had been a misstep on his part, if it would have made things easier on her having someone there, or maybe just given him some semblance of relief as the car slowly drove its way over to her house. The very place he hadn’t stepped foot in since the night of George’s birthday party.

But he hadn’t earnt that reassurance. Felt wrong to bring somebody else along either way. So he was stuck, toying with his phone, hoping or praying that a text wouldn’t come through saying that she’d gone and changed her mind.

It had been just under a week since he’d last seen her. But it felt as though time had dragged out slowly, mocking him or maybe even torturing him for all of his many wrongdoings.

He fretted over what she might say when she caught sight of him, he himself having only spotted the state he’d worked himself into when he’d been getting ready that morning.

There were heavy bags set beneath his eyes from where he hadn’t really slept and his cheeks were hollowed in that way that they used to revert to when he’d have a particularly hard weekend way back when. If the papers caught wind of him he already knew what the first articles would say, what they would so obviously claim. But he knew the truth, just hoped that she would know it too.

He was startled from his mind at the jerk of the car pulling up onto the nearest curb. His eyes widened in sudden alarm when he realised just what that meant and then caught the look of dismay that crossed the driver’s face when the bloke looked back to announce that they’d arrived. If the man didn’t already think he was on something, then now he definitely did.

Matty swallowed stupidly and then tried for a smile, struggling to undo his seatbelt with the kickstart of shaking that overtook his hands. The driver took pity on him though, turning away to fiddle with something up front that probably didn’t need fiddling with, and finally Matty’s thumb managed to catch the button.

Releasing himself from the confines of the car, he paused just before the door could slam close behind him, handing the man a couple notes in tip, if only to apologise for his edgy behaviour or buy himself a little more time if the driver had somehow managed to suss him out even with his hat, hood and scarf. “Cheers.” He said.

The man blinked at the onslaught of cash and then nodded repeatedly, “Yes, thank you.”

Matty exhaled shakily and then dipped his chin in another goodbye, stepping back onto the curb and watching the cab pull away before he found himself alone once more.

This was it, he supposed.

The street hadn’t changed much in a matter of days but his mind made it seem as though it had. As though suddenly he didn’t belong. The odd man out.

He shoved his hands into the confines of his pockets, pivoting on his heel to face what he’d come here to do. But nothing had prepared him for the way his stomach suddenly bottomed out at the sight of her front door.

The sound of a car horn a way away spooked him, causing him to jump, but did eventually force him forward off the curb and onto the cracked pavement. He stared down at all the dips and curves they had to offer him the entire way up the path until finally, he reached her front steps.

If anyone asked, Matty would tell them it was as though he’d been working on autopilot when he pried the silver knocker up from the wood and let it rap twice. Though that would be an utter lie. His head screamed at him the whole while and his fingers blurred before him when he’d raised them up to grasp at the chilled metal.

He’d never felt so sick, just standing there, the seconds slowly trickling into minutes, or perhaps even hours. It honestly felt as the day was slowly growing colder the longer that he stood there, staring at a coat of familiar paint, before finally hinges creaked and the door opened, revealing a sight that would’ve surely cured sore eyes, if only it hadn’t gone and broken his heart first.

It wasn’t immediate, the effect the past couple days had had on her. It was more in the way she held herself, the sadness which clung to her every fibre, the way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye.

She stared, caught in a standstill, and for a long moment did nothing before silently and slowly she withdrew enough to allow him through.

Matty didn’t dare utter a word, let alone breathe. Careful to avoid brushing against her or stepping on her toes as he slowly crossed over the threshold to get in, though the hands he’d hidden in his coat pockets curled into fists to keep himself steady.

The first thing he noted upon first entering was the significant state of the flat, it wasn’t messy or untidy by any means, but looked nothing at all like a house typically inhabited by a child should, or at least a monster as chaotic as he knew Teddy to be. It was almost as though Mouse had been expecting a letting agent to pass through with a couple dozen couples, what with how clean it was. He almost reckoned that if he were to crouch down right there he’d probably be able to make out the seam of his jeans in the reflection of the floors.

“You can just hang your-”

“I know.” Matty whispered, not intentionally meaning to cut her off but unable to help himself anyway.

It hurt, feeling as though he was just a guest in a place he had practically considered home not too long ago. He coughed lightly and shrugged off his coat to do so anyway, hanging it up where he usually did, something which made him pause for a split second, wondering whether this could possibly be the last time he’d have the privilege of doing so.

“Right.” Mouse murmured somewhere behind him, snapping Matty out of his thoughts. She stepped on by him just after, eyes trained on the end of the hallway until they reached the living room, “Erm, I’m just starting on a brew. You can wait here if you want.”

He wanted to follow after her, to fall down onto his knees and fucking sob there at her feet, but he was scared he’d dirty her floors or more than likely end up looking like a total knob. He would. Fucking felt like one just from thinking it. So he did as instructed, moving towards the sofa, taking note of everything and anything the room had to offer him.

Matty’s eyes flickered over to the kitchen doorway when he realised she’d stopped there, fiddling with her nails before she caught him looking and dropped her hands. “Just realised I didn’t ask if you wanted anything.”

God, it was so fucking strained.

He took a short breath in and attempted to smile, “Tea sounds good.” Was all that he said, and watched on as her brow wrinkled, head tilting with it.

“Uh, I still have that coffee you like. The one you brought over, if you’d prefer.” She told him and he recognised her confusion for what it was, or maybe it was just her weariness over letting him know that his stuff was still where he’d left it. Or, maybe, just fucking maybe he was reading way too much into everything.

“Tea’s good.” Matty murmured, feeling a little less tense now that he knew that she was sort of sitting in the same boat. “But thanks.”

Her chest rose and fell with her next breath and he watched her nod with difficulty at him, still not meeting his eye. “Right, just be a sec then.”

She disappeared past the door with that, whilst he simply stood and listened to the run of the tap and then the flick of the kettle, feeling stupid for having missed something he hadn’t even realised he’d taken note of before.

But that was just typical, wasn’t it? To miss something so mundane now that it was no longer expected.

Once he heard the clink of mugs Matty allowed his gaze to roam, trailing over the bundle of neatly folded throws settled on the wicker basket by the sofa, ones he knew that if Teddy was here would still be scattered all over the floor before the tv.

There were a couple of coasters laid out on the coffee table, though the fruit bowl had since been removed, something he knew Mouse did whenever there were only a few pieces left or none at all. There would probably be grapes or something of the sort in the fridge though.

She had a couple of receipts left out on the shelf below the mirror she’d hung up on the wall when she’d first moved in, and the picture frames beside them were still the same. Only one was missing, and he knew which.

He noticed that the candles over by the lamp were new though, expensive if he remembered rightly because he was sure that he’d spotted them round someone else’s place recently. He wondered briefly over who could’ve gifted them to her, knowing that she much preferred her usual scents, only ever splurging on the larger Yankee Candle jars they had to offer in the local Debenhams.

He found himself smiling at the thought.

It was then that she shuffled back into the room though, stalling his observations. She carried two mugs in her hand and a small plate loaded with biscuits on her forearm. Immediately Matty moved to help her, taking the plate from her even with knowing that she had it handled.

“I could’ve managed.” She murmured, though not unkindly, and then thanked him quietly once she’d gone and placed the mugs down.

Matty followed her lead, settling the biscuits near the edge of the coffee table, between the two coasters, before fumbling for a second over where to sit. Squeaks seemed to take to one end of the settee so Matty perched on the other, though closer to the middle crease than the arm.

“You got hobnobs?” Matty finally asked, breaking the silence again, eyes flicking over to the plate he’d just held before shooting back over to find her.

She blushed faintly at his comment, then shrugged. “You like them, don’t you?”

Matty scoffed lightly, a soft smile limning his lips, “Yeah, but you hate them. Once claimed that they were like digestives only after being shat out.”

She wrinkled her nose at that, though Matty was quite sure he could spot the mirth that flickered across her face. “Want them or not?”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and knowing not to push it, he picked one up and settled in a little more comfortably into the sofa cushions.

The silence would’ve been almost unbearable if she hadn’t had the foresight to have turned the tv on low before he’d arrived. So whilst a documentary played on one of the many BBC channels, Matty struggled with himself to find the best thing to say. Though he needn’t have bothered, she was always one step ahead.

“So, I think I should start by saying that I um, I know I held a lot of expectations.”

Almost simultaneously, Matty frowned.

She just wrung her hands together once before thinking better of it and laying them flat in her lap. Matty merely wished to reach out and take them in his own. “And I get that it must’ve been a struggle for you, to basically go from like one end of a scale and then jump right off the other side. But, I-”

“What are you on about?” Matty interrupted, unable to help himself in truth, so beyond baffled by the sudden speech she’d started. She stopped and blinked over at him, finally looking him in the eye. At last.

“What do you mean?” She retorted with a pinch between her brows, “Listen, I planned this all out, alright? So can I just get out what I want to say?”

Matty stared, then forced out a breath of air. “Squeaks,” She shuttered at the name, closing off slightly, enough so that Matty took quick note and wished he hadn’t said a thing, but yet, he still carried on. Desperate to save any blundered attempt he’d make. “Look, this weren’t on you. None of it was, okay?”

Her eyes trailed back over towards him at that, though her expression was almost unreadable. Matty struggled with that bit the most, he’d always been able to read her for the most part.

“So, this crap about expectations and me struggling with whatever idea you’ve made up in your mind is stupid.” Her eyes narrowed then and he watched her work her jaw, obviously none too happy about his retort. He withheld a heavy sigh, “I’m not- Look, I’m not trying to be difficult I’m just saying that- What I’m trying to say is, that every relationship has goals or expectations, that’s normal. But nothing you ever did forced me do what I did. That shit? It was all on me. It was me being insecure and scared, yeah? So, don’t go trying to excuse it. Because I’ve had people do that for me for far too fucking long now and hearing it come from you...”

He sort of felt himself slump at that, a little bitter and resentful over the fact that she’d since come to think of it that way. As though his mistakes were all just down to her and her inability to do right by him. He realised though, belatedly, that if anyone else had done exactly that, or even attempted to, in any other scenario he just might have taken up the offer and ran with it. But this was her, this was Squeaks.

She was quiet for a time, then she picked up her mug, eyes trained on the movement of it before, “What then?”

“What?” Matty frowned once more, shuffling forward in his seat in an attempt to catch her eye again.

“Why did you do it then? Why’d you lie, why didn’t you tell me about Teddy?”

That knot he’d been feeling for weeks now. The one at the very end of his tongue, all tied and tangled in the back of his throat, suddenly shrivelled up and slackened, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a plethora of guilt behind.

Matty’s gaze wandered over to the window, to where Teddy’s guitar sat in its stand just before a heavy set of grey curtains. He withheld the urge to pick at his nails as he searched for the right words to give her, wanting so honestly to tell her the truth, to give her a play by play of what had happened in detail, as well as every thought that had gone through his mind.

“It wasn’t what it looked like for a start.”

Mouse scoffed a little at that, and Matty couldn’t be mad at it. If he was sat on the other end of this he’d been doing more than just that, he’d be up in arms, tossing shit about and raving to all who would listen.

Still, his eyes trailed down to where his hands now laid in his lap and he pressed his thumb to his palm. “We were on the highstreet, on the way back here.” He started, voice quiet as his stare tracked the faint lines of his hand, “The guy you saw in the pictures came out of nowhere really. Me and Teds had just been at that ice cream shop a way down, I didn’t even spot him until he was there, in my face.”

Matty wet his lower lip, mouth suddenly going dry. Mouse just waited.

“Teddy was quick to hide behind me, you know? The loudmouth didn’t even really notice him until the last minute. But you have to know, all I wanted was to get him out of there. To avoid staying too long and attracting the wrong sort of attention. Okay? So I’d said I had to get going as soon as he'd spoken, told him I didn’t have time to stay and chat.”

He took a quick breath with that, eyes still centred on the deepest groove of his palm. “But then he, then he brought up Luke. Said something about the funeral he didn't go to and wanting to celebrate his life.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Squeaks’s hands still from their previous bout of fidgeting. “But I told him I was clean. He didn’t believe me at first, which,” Matty huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, “Well, I can’t blame him for that, what with my track record.”

He heard her inhale then and looked up, it seemed as though she was going to say something but thought better. So Matty bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from asking before he exhaled slowly, digging a nail into that groove.

“He got a bit aggy, started calling me a toff and whatnot, because I 'spose I was just a rich boy who bought him a couple grams of coke every now and then.” He clucked his tongue thinking about it, but eventually shrugged. “Then I don’t know, he must’ve looked down or something ‘cause that’s when he,” Matty paused and his gaze shot over to her, then away again, “That’s when he spotted Teddy.”

Mouse wrinkled her mouth, then tried to nod, obviously wanting him to continue. Though she kept her eyes trained on the rim of her mug.

“That’s when he said some shit and I reacted.”

“Said what?”

Matty startled a little at the sound of her question but was hasty in his attempt to answer. “Just, he reckoned that Teddy was mine and that I had to have knocked someone up. So now they were just using me for the money.”

Her eyes slipped closed and her fingers tightened their grip on her cup.

Swallowing thickly, Matty went to continue, “I shoved him and told him to do one- that’s what they caught in those photos. I didn't take anything he offered, I didn't even look back after. Just walked away, thinking of Teddy, trying to get him out of there. The bloke, he kept on shouting, saying some crap about this and that. But I carried on walking.”

Matty was proud of that fact, even with everything that had happened since. Not too long ago, a different version of him would have handled it all too severely. It was a step, a tiny one, sure, but it was progress.

“Then what?” Mouse voiced, prompting him along with just a look.

“Then we walked home.” Matty replied, feeling that familiar cloud of shame dawn over him. “We didn’t really speak, I- I was a bit of a mess, trying to figure out what to do next, what to tell Teddy, to say to make it right again. But Teds, he,” Matty hauled in his next breath, all too fucking close to bawling, that he could admit. “He called for me and I looked down at him. All I could say was sorry, Mouse.”

She nodded tightly, the knuckles she had wrapped around her tea cup had whitened.

“He,” Matty felt the corners of his mouth lift as he remembered the bittersweet memory of Teddy trying to soothe him, “He told me it was alright, that we were okay, but I just kept on saying sorry. He said that the bloke was just a bad man, and I assured him of that. Wanting him to know that we were okay, that the guy was long gone. But then he-”

Matty stopped altogether then, a picture of Teddy's little face coming to the forefront of his mind, and Squeaks immediately took note.

“Then what?”

Her eyes were so full of emotion, but which ones he wasn’t too sure. Still, the sight tightened every muscle in his chest as he forced himself to finish what he’d started. “He said we couldn’t tell you.”

Matty knew he couldn’t have imagined the sharp inhale that sounded from her then, as though she'd just received a blow to the chest. And he so desperately wanted to reach out, to wrap her up and just fucking hold her. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place.

He watched on as she licked at her top lip though, blinking back the wetness that shone in her eyes, “Why?” Her voice cracked on the question but she did not cry.

It was a simple answer. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mouse stood then, placing the cup down with some force before she hastily made her way over to the front window. Matty stayed seated, unsure if he’d be welcome near her.

“It fucking broke me, Squeaks.” He admitted after a moment, his lips now tingled with the sheer amount of effort it took for him to not let his emotions get the better of him. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should have told me.” Was her reply, sharp and cutting, enough that it fucking wounded. Because Matty knew that she was right.

“I know.” He answered.

“You should have fucking told me, Matty!” She repeated, turning then to face him. He saw the tremble of her shoulders, the curve of her mouth and how it quaked. He stared, couldn't bring himself to look away.

“I know.”

He swallowed, throat almost aching as much as the hole that made up the majority of his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“I don't know.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

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hihomeghere · 8 months

Text

Tesoro | Five Hargeeves / Reader

Rating : Teen Word Count : 3k Summary : While working at the commission as a field agent you are assigned a new partner, Number Five. Warnings : Gore, description of bodily harm, mentions of kidnapping (this is the start of a sort of series. I watched TUA and now I cant stop writing about Five)

Pins and needles, it was as though your very essence was being torn apart and put back together again. Atoms, Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, Nitrogen. Your bones snap, your skin tears apart. A scream rips its way through your throat as everything is strung back together. The pain is almost worse than when your very existence was being torn apart, it was as though you were held together with only staples and duct tape. That familiar taste of copper fills your mouth. The crackle of static came over the speakers. Your head pounded, the lights nearly blinding you. The ringing in your ears was constant.

“Experiment #371, unsuccessful.” The cold voice says, sweat covering your body. Then the words you dreaded most left his mouth, “Begin experiment #372.” He said with a sigh.

You sat up with a gasp. Your hair was stuck to your forehead with sweat. You take in your surroundings, trying to take deep breaths. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. Your hands gripped your wood desk, you were back in your office. Your office at the commission. You were safe, no longer trapped in that lab. Instead of white walls these are cream, with framed pictures of wooded landscapes.

“Y/n?” Herb knocked on your door, you jumped your hand coming to your chest. You shook your head chuckling slightly.

“Yes? Sorry, you spooked me.” You said, giving him a smile.

“Oh,” he chuckled as well, “I just wanted to pop by and give you your next assignment.” He shrugged, taking a breath before handing you a yellow folder. He stopped in front of you looking at your hair, he chuckled before pointing to his own head. You pulled a strand down only to find in your shocked state you must have accidentally changed. The hair you were holding was now purple instead of your normal color. You smiled sheepishly, changing it back. “Thank you Herb.” You took the file from his hands, he nodded before walking out of your office. You opened up the folder flipping through the file.

There was the normal amount of mission jargon as always, except where your partner was introduced.

Partner?

Number Five, written in bold ink stared back at your very confused expression.

You had never had a partner before, but if the commission requested it they obviously knew something you didn’t.

You sighed, couldn’t put it off any longer you thought, pushing yourself up and out of your chair. The man you were going to see was of course a legend, but hey, so were you.

You were Y/n l/n, there was no other shapeshifting killing machine like you. 152 confirmed kills, 129 timeline saving missions. You were specially trained by scientists, dead set on turning you into a weapon for mass destruction. Lucky for you, escaping was easy when you could be anyone you wanted. A quick glance at someone and you could recreate their being as your own. It didn’t take long for the commission to pick you up after you escaped.

You stood up, clutching the folder to your chest. Your heels clicked on the tile floor as you passed the familiar offices. Many well manicured fingers tapping away on typewriters, your eyes falling on your old desk. You did miss the camaraderie, the shared lunches, meeting after work for a drink or two.

Sometimes you wished you could go back to your desk job. More than anything you wished you could wash the blood off your hands. That stain would always remain, no matter how hard scrubbed. Even if you didn’t show it, you remembered every single kill. Maybe it made you soft. You’d rather be soft than a machine.

“Excuse me?” A rather annoyed masculine voice said. You realized quickly that you were standing at the doorway of Number Five’s office.

“Oh.” You said collecting yourself, a shy smile on your face. He was different than you’d have imagined. Instead of the rugged, scarred man you’d envisioned. He was thin, dark hair in a neat side part, his body seemed well defined but not bulging with muscles. Possibly 35?He raised an eyebrow at you, you blinked coming back to earth.“If you wouldn’t mind sweetheart, I really need to get back to this.” He said, sighing, clasping his hands as he leaned forward at his desk. Your face flushed, sweetheart?

You scoffed walking into the office and sitting across from him. He sighed leaning back in his chair and muttered something under his breath. “Is this the normal act you pull with people?” You asked, crossing your arms. It was his turn to scoff.

“This isn’t an act, now are you going to hand me that folder or…” he trailed off, his hand stretched out expectantly.

You tilted your head, this man really had no idea who you were. You shook your head, throwing the file onto the desk . You plopped yourself down in the chair across from him, crossing your arms. He eyed you warily before opening the folder. The only noise in the office was the turning of pages, he stopped, his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Well sweetheart, looks like I’m your new partner.” You said squinting your eyes as you smiled smugly, your nose wrinkling. He set the folder down on the desk, he mirrored you, his arms crossed.

“And why would they pair me with someone like you?” He grumbled. Was it because of your age? You scoffed looking off to the side, breaking eye contact.

You’d play if that’s what he wanted, but you never lost. Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, Nitrogen. You watched as the smile slowly fell off his face, you felt your muscles tighten slightly and your hands stretch along with your legs. Soon Five was staring at a carbon copy of himself, only there was no paradox psychosis. Since after all he had just witnessed you turn into himself. You studied him for only a second before mirroring his stance, his body language was easy to pick up on.

“How did you?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.

“How did I what?” You asked furrowing your-his- brows.

He eyed you warily, leaning back in his chair. You smiled before putting yourself back together again. You smoothed your hair down, running your fingers through it. Your head throbbed slightly, a side effect of your ‘power’.

“Five Hargreeves,” he said, reaching out his hand. You took it.

“Y/n L/n.”

That’s how it was, you and Five against the world. Sure, he was sarcastic, egotistical, a bit of a know it all. But he was your partner, it wasn't like you were faultless. Slowly you began to peel back his layers, how he took his coffee, when he started to work at the commission, little things like that.

You were an open book anyone could flip through at any time. You wore your heart on your sleeve, which wasn’t always a great quality in your line of work.

“Theresa!” You called waving to one of the ‘desk worms’ as Five so ‘lovingly’ called them. She was one of your first friends after joining the commission. She stopped, gripping the files she was carrying tighter ever so slightly. Something only Five seemed to pick up on.

“Y/n…” she smiled slightly, her eyes darting to any exit she could find, “How lovely it is to see you again.”

“You too!” You said grinning, “How have you been?” You asked walking up to her, your hand touching her forearm. She winced slightly looking down at your hand. Five walked up behind you two, staring down at Theresa. She met his gaze only for a second before looking back at you.

“Fine. Just fine.” She forced a smile again, Five crossed his arms watching the interaction. She pulled away ‘readjusting’ the files in her arms. Your smile faltered.

“Oh, well I’ll catch you around! Maybe we could get lunch together? The old gang.” You nudged her arm. She looked down at where you had touched her, before she met your eyes again.

“Oh, well we had an early lunch today so… Maybe next time.” She forced a smile before all but running away from the two of you. You stood like a statue watching her run off. Your smile dropped from your face, Five clenched his jaw.

“Well,” Five said, breaking the silence, your head whipped back to look at him, “She’s a piece of work isn’t she?” He huffed, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

“Huh?” You asked furrowing your brows, “No! No, they just had an early lunch, that's all.” You said nodding to yourself, trying to make yourself believe your words.

Five looked at your face, the slight pout in your lip, your face was flushed. He internally fought with himself over his next choice of words. He would suffer through any awkward moments to see you smile again.

“How about you have lunch with me today, tesoro?” He asked, bumping his shoulder against yours. Your face broke out into a grin, a real one.

“Really?” You asked, the twinkle returning to your eyes. He nodded, the corner of his lips pulling upwards. “Absolutely!” You cheered, linking your arm through his. Normally he would have blinked away from anyone who dared touch him. But the feeling of your arm in his felt… right.

“So do you have any brothers or sisters?” You asked as you took a bite of your sandwich.

“Next question.” He looked back up at you. You sighed, lifting yourself up onto a desk. You swung your legs, picking up a chip and throwing it into your mouth.

“I don’t even know if I have any siblings.” You said as he picked up his own sandwich, he stopped eyeing you warily.

“What do you mean?” He asked, setting his sandwich down and crossing his arms.

“Well from what I know my parents sold me to those so-called scientists. I only know their names from the information on my birth certificate.” You shrugged meeting his gaze. His brows furrowed as he returned his attention back to his lunch. You sat in silence for a moment. The only sound in the room was your chewing. Five cleared his throat, you perked up looking at him. He seemed lost in thought, like he was picking his next words carefully.

“I have six siblings.” He said finally, his eyes on his desk.

“Six? Jeez your parents must have been going at it nonstop.” You giggled, but he only shook his head.

“Adopted siblings, we were all adopted.” He said, picking up his own sandwich, “our father knew we were special somehow.” He shook his head slightly. “Much like your parents.” He added gesturing to you. You furrowed your brows.

“I wasn’t special before they tore me apart and put me back together again.” You said picking at the skin on your hands, he got up and walked over to you. You looked at his oxfords, perfectly shined, reflecting the led lights. He grabbed one of your hands. You looked up, surprised by his actions. He had touched you before, but not like this.

“Everyone is special.” He said matter of factly, “You don’t have to have powers to change the fate of the universe.” He said his expression soft, his green eyes peering into yours. “Hell, my sister Vanya doesn’t have any powers, and she’s the best of us.” He chuckled, running his thumb over your knuckles before pulling away. Your heart sped up, drumming in your ears. He returned to his desk, bringing his coffee cup to his lips. That was the moment you fell for him.

It was hard to pinpoint the moment he fell for you. Everything about you enticed him, he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. The way you laughed, deep and hearty, throwing your head back.

The way you took the time to truly understand him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

He could finally understand Klaus, he became addicted to you. He lived for the next hit. Nothing could touch you, alcohol didn’t come close.

You were all encompassing.

He didn’t think he could love again after Delores. He didn’t think he wanted to. At first it felt like a betrayal as you stole his heart, like a thief in the night.

It infuriated him. You infuriated him. He tried being cold to you, but every time your smile fell he would find himself apologizing. He didn’t fall in love with you in an instant, his love took time. Like the way he started meaning it when he called you ‘tesoro’ instead of it being a tease.

“What does that mean?” You asked one day, walking down the halls of the commission. He stopped, you walked past him turning to lean on the wall in front of him. You crossed one foot in front of the other in that certain way you always did.

“What does what mean?” He asked, feigning ignorance.

“Tesoro, you always call me tesoro. I want to make sure you’re not calling me a bitch or something.” You giggled, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. It was like someone had poured a bucket of ice water on him. He felt caught, like when his father had caught him in his study.

“It doesn’t mean bitch.” He wrinkled his nose trying to walk past you. Get away from the conversation and hope you forgot you asked.

You stopped him, your warm hand pushing him back.

“You aren’t getting out of this that easily.” You teased, he gulped peering down the hall. You were alone.

“Sweetheart.” He mumbled straightening his jacket.

“Huh?” You asked, cocking your head.

“Tesoro means sweetheart-“

“No, no I heard that.” You clarified a grin working its way onto your lips.

“Oh I hate that smile.” He loved that smile.

“You actually like me Number Five.” You grinned, that mischievous glint in your eye.

“I tolerate you, let’s put it that way.” He said stalking away from you. You had to run to catch up to him.

“Fine, fine. Whatever you say.” You put your hands up in surrender matching his stride. That damned smile beaming up at him.

The moment neither of you could deny your feelings anymore was an entirely different situation. This was months after the incident you had shared in a rather small hotel room with only one bed. Sure he had been fighting his feelings since that fateful night. Partners could fuck every once and awhile without developing feelings right? Now you were running down an alley, chasing a nasty fellow named Oliver Nicholson. This man, if you could even call him that, had been holding human fight clubs, but unfortunately for the fighters it wasn’t voluntary. Kidnapping people off the streets for these illegal rounds. If he were to continue his so-called ‘cock fights’ he could alter the timeline permanently. So here you were, running full speed ahead, briefcase in one hand and a revolver in another. Unfortunately, Oliver turned sharply down a corner, which put him in a bit of a blind spot. Five blinked after him, disappearing from your line of sight. You sighed picking up your pace, sometimes you hated your partner's power. The danger he put himself in with no means of back up drove you crazy. Just as you predicted he didn’t know that he was jumping into a fight he wasn’t prepared for. He was immediately tackled by some hired men, they punched him in the face. Hot liquid started to run from his nose, not liquid he reminded himself, it was blood. His vision was fuzzy and the ringing in his ears was all encompassing.

“Five!” You yelled he turned his head slightly to see you, the look of pure rage on your face still gives him chills to this day. You made quick work of ending those SOB’s lives. You shot the one on top of Five. The man slumped against him, his blood spattering onto his face. Five pushed him off jumping back into the fray.

Once all the men were either knocked unconscious or dead, you rushed over to him. You took his face in your hands, tsking at his bloody face.

“What happened to staying together?” You asked, pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket, wiping away any blood, “Hold this.” You ordered, he held the handkerchief to his bleeding nose. You stepped back crossing your arms, “You scared me half to death.” You huffed, biting your lip, avoiding his gaze. The damp pavement was the perfect backdrop for the lights to reflect onto your face. Your beautiful face. He tried blaming the pounding in his chest on the adrenaline running through his veins. You wiped away at a tear and his heart seized in his chest.

It was like his body was moving without his knowledge, he stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket, his hands reaching out to you. One wrapped around your waist while the other came up the back of your neck. He crashed his lips against yours, you let out a small squeak. You were frozen, your brain short circuiting. He pulled away looking at you for permission, or for any sign of rejection. You grabbed at him, pulling his face back to yours. It was messy, his blood now on both of your faces, teeth clashing, both of you taking each other in like oxygen. It was perfect. Kissing Five was like taking a hit and he was entirely too addictive.

“Was that ok?” He pulled away out of breath, his hard exterior came crashing down around you both. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands held your waist. You smiled looking into his eyes, his expression reminded you of that fateful night in the hotel room.

“More than ok.” You giggled, your hand coming up to rest on his neck. He chuckled grinning, he studied your face. Taking in every freckle, line and blemish. You were the most amazing piece of art he had ever seen. “Come on mister, let’s get out of here.” You took his hand, opening the briefcase.

#five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #five x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #light angst #mutual pining #hargreeves #tesoro #hihomeghere

235 notes · View notes

erikatsu · 10 months

Text

A SUMMER AFTERNOON. — YINGXING

SERIES MASTERLIST.

ᥫ᭡ SUMMARY: Everyone talked about whirlwind romances, but you had never experienced it for yourself. Not until you met an outworlder who caught you by surprise. Unfortunately, nobody had told you that whirlwind romances tended to blow by quicker when one of you was destined to out live the other.

ᥫ᭡ PAIRING: Blade/Yingxing x Fem!Reader

ᥫ᭡ WARNINGS: Blade story spoilers + HSR leaks/spoilers. Star crossed lovers. Fast paced (Blade is a short-life species). Non-canon compliance. Blade will be referred to as "Yingxing" until current timeline. Hinduism based Vidyadhara world building (its fairly heavy this chapter). Reader is neurodivergent coded. "Manasa" is reader's title.

ᥫ᭡ NOTE: I accidentally deleted the original post so we're trying again 🥲

Patience is a virtue. It was something the Elders had tried to drill into you from a young age, but to no avail. You lacked both. When it came to training the young man, especially since he was preparing to undergo the Rites of Vishnu, you grew apathetic and impatient. You had undergone the same trials, training every day after being chosen by the Elders to uphold the Aeon of Permanence’s creations. All in hopes of reaching the esteemed title of Imbititor Lunae.

The title was one all Elders had a chance of reaching. The next in line for it was Dan Feng, the young man you were currently trying to coach on how to use his dual power. It was important that he learn control and balance, as loss of his power could be fatal to many. But, this situation was new to you seeing that you’d never actually taught anyone how to balance their elemental power alongside water manipulation. At least, not in this life.

There were, of course, records and training materials in the Office of Deep Sources for you to read, but that would take way too much time for you to completely go through. You were starting to curse yourself for only skimming the important bits, watching the young man struggle with the water.

“Stop,” you sighed, folding your arms over your chest. “We can try again tomorrow.”

He shook his head, “I’ve almost got it.”

You pursed your lips, knowing you were about to sound like the biggest hypocrite of the Vidyadhara race, “Patience is a virtue, Dan Feng. At least take a break. Let's go over the Old Laws again.”

He gave you a bored look, “I can recite them in my sleep.”

“Integrity,” you raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to do exactly what he said he could do.

You had no doubt he could recite them in his sleep. You could as well. After all, being an Elder meant learning everything about the Rites so it could be continuously passed down with each rebirth of the destined Imbibitor Lunae. One of the first things your kind learned were the Seven Old Laws. They were no longer used as actual laws that were punishable, but now were used as stepping stones for achieving Permanence.

“The Electus must preserve integrity as a hallowed tool,” Dan Feng sounded bored, yet listened to your unspoken instruction. “Impeccable honesty with oneself and others lies at the core of leadership, and the integrity of one’s mind is at last sacred.”

You nodded, as if to tell him to continue. Integrity was the first law. The refusal to lie, steal, or deceive in any way set the path of the moral high ground. People would not follow a leader they couldn't put their complete faith into. The second was pacifism. One must not torment, insult, or wish ill intent onto another being. To harm others is to harm oneself. A law that had definitely been outgrown thanks to the decline in the loss over Long’s power and life in the Rolling Deep had become too dangerous. But, it was still imperative to not actively and intentionally harm others if you were not defending yourself or anyone else.

The third law you struggled with, patience. One must control their impulsive desires by regulating life with daily meditation. Impatience is a sign of desirousness to fulfill unfulfilled desires. Many trials and tribulations would be brought to the Imbibitor Lunae, even if they were all minuscule. The ability to maintain one’s composure was something you hadn't been blessed with.

Forebearance and Dama, the fourth and fifth laws went hand in hand with the second and third. One must practice the acceptance of their sufferings and refrain from unjust retaliation. One must return kindness for injuries received and forget both, and those who harm shall be punished by their own shame– the Law of Forbearance preached tolerance. One must withdraw their external senses and turn their mind away from evil deeds and propensities. Become master of the senses and a servant– the Law of Dama preached restraint. Applied together they could achieve pacifism.

The law you thought you could never follow was the sixth law, virtue. One must cultivate and refine their belief of what the good of the Vidyadhara are. One must have the disposition to follow the path of taking actions that lead to high moral standards. You struggled to cultivate your own beliefs. Your Pearlkeeper had been convinced that the reason for this was due to lack of energy during your hatching and rebirth period. However, you never fell victim to the Everdream Syndrome– a comatose state some Vidyadharas suffer from when there is an insufficient energy conversion while inside their pearl.

What afflicted you was much different, which also made it hard to achieve the last law. Compassion. One must place one’s mind in another's favor. One must find understanding of another's sufferings to help alleviate and prevent it with the three facets: noticing, feeling, and responding. You lacked empathy, therefore you could not find it within yourself to shoulder other people's burdens. Of course, this didn't apply to everyone, just those you did not know personally. You knew your lifeline would never end up inheriting the High Elder title for that reason, and you were fine with that. But, it also isolated you in a way. People often found you difficult to deal with and hard to understand.

Sometimes you wondered if that's why the Elders had decided to make you the Pearlkeeper of the current Electus– the chosen one who was not yet ready for the title of his birthright. Perhaps they thought taking on the responsibility of raising a hatchling would give you a better sense of forming connections with others. While it did help with watching your tone and not being so abrasive, not everyone had the pleasure of seeing you able to hold a decent conversation.

Dan Feng, who had indeed recited the Laws verbatim, was really the only one who got to see you for your true self. Everyone else got to deal with an ill-tempered, bad mouthed, eye-contact avoiding scion. Then again, he was more of a ward to you than anything, and his lifelong connection to you was different than building relationships with people you've only had small conversations with.

You looked at him, seeing he was patiently waiting for further instruction. You sighed, “Let this be our last lesson for today. Be honest with yourself, relax and clear your mind of outside hindrances. Focus and remind yourself of who you are and what your purpose is. Then try the move again.”

He nodded, determined to get it right this time. He took his stance and squared his shoulders, raising his arms. You stepped forward, mirroring his pose. “Think of your element as Yin and the water as Yang. Two separate energies coexisting within you. If you keep the Old Laws in mind, you will be able to separate them and guide the imbalance. You cannot command the power, and trying will only backfire and make you lose control. You can only shepherd it in the right direction as the energies come back together.”

You moved your arm, watching closely as he mimicked your actions and talked him through the correct process. You swept your raised hand down, glancing at him before jutting it upwards. His form was perfect, ready to apply both powers behind it. You stepped back, giving him the room he needed to execute what he’d been practicing.

He took his stance once again, drawing in a deep breath. Just as he was about to start, a man came running down the steps to the platform you two stood on. It was the most spacious area of the Scalegorge Waterscape, perfect for practicing the technique you had been trying to teach.

You gritted your teeth as the man approached, irritated that you’d been interrupted when you were almost finished with your lesson. Dan Feng turned to see what had soured your mood, slightly frowning when he saw a familiar face.

“Apologies, Master Manasa. I know you value your time but there is an urgent matter that requires your assistance,” Haoyu, a Master Craftsman from the Artisanship Commission, told you while desperately trying to catch his breath.

You narrowed your eyes, preparing for him to tell you someone had gotten burned by the Creation Furnace again, “It better be life or death. There are other healers within the Alchemy Commission who are more than capable of handling–”

“It's Master Yingxing. He’s collapsed and is unresponsive,” He cut you off, which was enough for you to understand. “Doctor Mei Ling is the one who told us to find you.”

Healers could only heal, but none besides you had yet mastered the art of retrieving a soul from the place between life and death. If this was truly why you were needed, time was of the essence. You looked to Dan Feng, giving a simple nod that told him he was free to do as he saw fit. Practice could wait until later, you had another job to do now.

Life forms on the Xianzhou were complicated. Several species were aboard all fleets, ranging from outworlder humans to the near immortal Vidyadhara. Being a healer meant you had to have an understanding of the species you were treating, what medicines they could and could not have, and which treatment plans were the best options. Being the Manasa, the Master Healer of the Vidyadhara, meant you were best equipped to handle the toughest of cases, especially ones that centered around death.

Healing was something you could do in your sleep. Ever since hatching, medicine and better understanding the people of your world have always called to you. You had a natural gift, excelling in school and unparalleled in practice. When you had nothing new to learn, the Elders allowed you into the Deep Sources to learn more. There you’d discovered a lost art used in the Rolling Deep before the Vidyadharas had joined the Alliance. They called it Kundalini, the art of guiding souls.

The Elders were not keen on allowing you to practice it, as the consequences of error were too great of a risk to take. That was until a rare case presented itself. A Pearlkeeper had come from Scalegorge Waterscape to seek help with an embryo that seemed to be lifeless– an egg much too small for the part of the cycle it was in. You had seen your chance and begged to take it. If you could guide the soul back to the host, it could live on. If you couldn't... Well, the egg was already on its way to dying.

It was a one time spectacle. All of the Elders had gathered to watch, including High Elder Yuchen– the Imbibitor Lunae before Dan Feng. You had sat in front of it, recalling everything you had learned to prove that you could do it. Even though you’d read countless books and journals of cases on what to do and how to do it, nothing could prepare you for what spiritual enlightenment felt like. You weren't sure you could describe it either. But at the end of the day, you had successfully guided the stuck soul back to its incubator, and High Elder Yuchen taught you how to refine the art. Upon his satisfaction with your progress, he gave you a title only few had reached since leaving the Rolling Deep.

Although in the eyes of the Vidyadhara, you required no more instruction, the same could not be said for the Alchemy Commission. You still had to work your way from the bottom up, earning you a much lighter workload, but having to handle the worst cases. It was also the only thing that allowed you to teach the current candidate for the Imbibitor Lunae.

For a time, with your capabilities becoming clear early on in your current life, the Elders thought you would be the next Electus upon your next rebirth. However, time proved them wrong. Your refusal to learn anything other than medicine on top of behavioral issues your Pearlkeeper reported as you grew up told them that your rebirth had not gone as smoothly as it had previously. It was rare, but not unheard of. Just as the Foxians and the humans had their own unique afflictions, the Vidyadhara did too.

While Everdream Syndrome and Vritra Disorder became a thing for your kind, Mara struck the other long-lives, and a common cold could bring down a short-life species.

The Vidyadhara had always believed that all creatures were connected to each other, and that no life cycle was inferior to another– that regardless of how short or long, each one was everlasting. But you did not think so. Maybe you had taken the teaching too literal– as you tended to do with many things from time to time– but you didn't see the other long-life species being reborn, and you didn't see most humans who came to the Xianzhou live past two hundred.

While you did understand no species was superior to another, you had always thought mortals who came here seeking immortality were foolish. It showed they knew nothing of the Xianzhou, as immortality was forbidden. Afterall, their biggest enemy were the Denizens of the Abundance– the seekers of eternal life who followed The Plague’s Author. Those who sought it ended up being your problem, and you feared that was the case this time as Haoyu flew his starskiff back to the Alchemy Commission.

“I need all of the patient’s information so I can get started immediately,” you told him as the vehicle grew closer to the destination.

He glanced at you before focusing in front of him once more, “He’s one of our Master Craftsmen, Yingxing. Short-life species, moved here as a child. He collapsed in the square, and so far has been unresponsive.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Is it Mara?”

Haoyu shrugged, “Doubtful. He was one of the youngest Master Craftsmen the Artisanship Commission has ever seen, taken on the most apprentices too. He’s dedicated to his life’s work.”

That kind of dedication could very well lead one down the path of seeking immortality, you thought bitterly. But, having more than a couple of apprentices didn't seem in character for an elixir seeker.

Craftsmen were proud, wanting to show off to many but share with few. The more apprentices one had, the less unique they would be. For a craftsman who had very little time, many apprentices made sense. He had a lot of work on his plate, and he needed all hands on deck. However, he may have been working himself to death.

You sighed, countless possibilities running through your mind. A psychological break caused by the stress he was putting himself through? Or had organs begun to shut down, causing toxic-metabolic encephalopathy– a coma? A heart attack?

You didn't know, and you could only hope you had the time to find out.

#blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yingxing x reader #blade x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you

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ravenna-reid · 6 months

Text

"I Mean No Harm" "I Know."

Leon Kennedy x Ex-UmbrellaAgent!Reader

WARNINGS: violence, blood, swearing, bullying, but mostly fluff hehe

Whispers had circulated of the new agent that had been recruited.

How could it have possibly been allowed? How was the academy so tempered about hiring her? Either way, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. You were here now and the academy was eager to use someone as skilled, loyal, and reclusive as you.

Walking down the hallway in your compression shirt and tactical pants, you made your way towards one of the meeting rooms. As far as you were concerned, you were forced to work with Umbrella against your will. A situation you never wanted to be in again. But no one here would understand that, nor were you willing to share your story, the only person knowing the truth being the commander that saved you. So, rumours continued running rampant throughout the building. Were you a spy? A double agent? Of course, none of it was true. But you weren’t going to waste your time defending your image when it was clear no one wanted to listen.

Walking into one of the rooms, a group of agents were already seated before you. Taking a seat at one of the desks, you ignored the eyes that peered at you. But one person stood out. Dirty blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, a strong build and mysterious aura to him.

You were aware that you weren’t the only one who seemed to carry a reputation. You had heard whispers too of the rookie police officer turned skilled agent. He was ‘one of the best.’ A man of few words and a spine made of steel. Leon S Kennedy.

And you were surprised to find he seemed to be falling for all of the lies the agents were spreading about you too, given he was staring at you like you were a jigsaw puzzle.

The meeting was thorough and quick. A general explained that agents were going to be selected for a group that is going to investigate small branches of Umbrella hiding in various parts of the country. Of course, you were vital given you knew how they operated. However, in order to choose who would be best for this elite group, a set of skill tests will take place and everyone will be assessed. The blonde agent that had been sitting at the front, with his melancholic eyes and grave expression, was already a part of the group and would help choose the rest of its members.

Once the meeting had finished, you were one of the first people out of the room, eager to leave the watchful eyes and agents that seemed to act like immature school students. But you didn’t get far though.

“Hey, double agent.” Someone called out, poison lacing his voice.

An unimpressed expression falling across your face, you turned to look over your shoulder and were met with a tall, brute man. Hair the colour of autumn leaves and eyes the colour of the sky. A sly smirk spread across his lips.

“Do you think they’ll actually choose you for the mission? I mean, come on. It’s obvious you’re just here to screw us over.” He spat.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping tabs on me.” You responded coolly.

“Oh, you bet. And don’t worry,” He said, inches from your face. “I know what your intentions are. And I’ll be making sure you don’t get into this group.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him as he walked off, and you were surprised to see that standing behind him was the blonde agent. Leon glared at the man that had confronted you before his eyes met yours. But before he could say anything, you hastily walked off.

Leon wanted to say something to you. Wish he had. It must have been horrible having everyone look at you as though you were an alien just because of your past. Your first day here and already they all acted as though you were some sort of villain eager to take them down. You kept your composure though. Long, silky hair pulled back into a braid cascading down your back, Leon watched as you turned the corner.

For the rest of the week, that boy had given you shit every time he saw you. You snapped back but it only seemed to amuse him. And this didn’t slip past Leon. Whenever he saw it, he made sure to make himself known so that the boy would step down and go away. Most days Leon would threaten the boy’s – Jared’s – position in the academy, given he was known for being the academy’s bully. But given Jared’s expertise in weaponry and his strength, the academy wasn’t getting rid of him any time soon. Much to both Leon’s and your dismay.

The next day, Leon eagerly waited on the field for you to show up to your first assessment. Hand-to-hand combat. Eventually, you showed up. Your hair in the same braid and a stoic look plastered across your face. It seemed you had made a friend; a chipper girl with platinum blonde hair spoke with you as you gathered around Leon and two other commanders. The first commander, an older man with scars painted across his weathered face, was brutal and stern as he explained how the assessment was going to work. Each of you would go up against each other in a fight, and whoever was left standing would go on to the next round. Given your training at your old academy, you weren’t too nervous. Swiftly, you got through the first three rounds, only sustaining a few bruises and red marks here and there. But now you were a finalist, and there was only one last person standing in your way.

The boy with red hair and jarring, bright blue eyes glared back at you with a malicious smile. Something churned in your stomach, more so from anger than fear. Leon’s stomach flipped too as he watched how Jared stared you down.

“y/l/n. Kingston. Take your places.”

Jared spat a few insults at you to throw you off, but you paid no attention. Once the whistle blew, you were at each other’s necks. He was playing dirty though, and you guessed the commanders wanted to see how you would handle it, because no one said anything or stopped him. He was large and surprisingly fast, his whole demeanour threatening. You had to be quick on your feet and quick with your hands. You swiftly sent roundhouse kicks and elbow strikes his way, only connecting with his jaw once. Once that had happened he crouched down onto the floor, and much to your dismay, dug dirt out with his hands and threw it in your face. Taking his chance, Jared stormed over to you, and grabbing you by the shoulders pulled you down and slammed his knee straight up into your diaphragm.

The pain was intense. But not as intense as the feeling of not being able to breathe. Stepping back with a gasp you quickly clutched onto your stomach and doubled down, fearful he had broken a rib or two. It took everything in Leon not to step forward and help. Muscles tensing, all he could do was stand back and watch.

A laugh left Jared’s lips as he circled you like you were prey.

“Come on. I thought you were tougher than that.” He shoved you back, almost sending you to the floor. The thrumming in your stomach was intense and air still seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. He shoved you again before tripping you over.

“You dumb bitch. Get up so I can beat you some more.”

Leon was close to grabbing Jared himself and breaking his jaw.

As he stepped forward to kick you, you manoeuvred to trip him in a blink of an eye. Hitting the ground hard, you quickly crawled over and grabbed hold of his shoulders, applying all of your weight onto him to pin him down. It wouldn’t last long, so you had to be quick. Leaning your head back, your body moved with you as you fiercely swung it forward, cracking the crown of your head down hard onto his nose. A guttural yell and array of curse words left him as you quickly moved away from him. That was it though, you had won all of the rounds. But at what cost? Did you just prove to everyone that you really were some kind of monster? It seemed that way by how they all looked at you now as blood trickled down your forehead.

As you got to your feet, you tried to regain your balance but swayed to the left. Before you had the chance to stumble though, a strong arm encircled your waist and held you up.

“You did good, y/l/n. Are you alright?” He said, his voice close to your ear.

Your head snapped over to see the blonde agent holding you up.

“You’re all dismissed. Jared, come with me.” The first commander barked as the second followed.

Ignoring the others, Leon sheepishly let go of you but his eyes remained focused on yours and the blood you began wiping from your head with your sleeve.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” You replied with a sigh.

Leon gave a nod, but wasn’t convinced.

“Come with me, we’ll get you cleaned up.” He said gently.

As you both walked towards one of the first aid bays, you subtly took him in. His sharp cheekbones and sunken cheeks lent him a serious, almost stoic look, but you couldn’t help but notice the undeniable boyishness to him. From the tousled hair falling into his eyes to the way his body language was almost shy.

Sitting down on one of the foam beds, you grabbed the kit yourself and unclipped it. Leon watched you, wanting so desperately to help you. Talk to you at least. But you were both two reclusive agents that kept to themselves. He was still willing to try.

“I’m sorry about that asshole.” He began, leaning against the door frame beside you.

“Yes, he does seem to have a real problem with me, doesn’t he.” You grabbed the antiseptic and began tipping the liquid onto a cotton ball. “I just wonder if it’s going to get worse now –”

“It won’t.” Leon responded too quickly. Clearing his throat, you looked up at him. His statement almost sounded like a threat. A promise. A smile fell across your lips, prompting a small smile from Leon himself. As you held up the cotton ball to your forehead, Leon realised you were applying it onto the wrong spot.

“Here…let me,” He offered reluctantly.

It was unlike you to let people help with your injuries, especially strangers, but with the comforting presence he had and the warmth in your chest, you handed the cotton ball to him.

“Thanks.” You said.

Sitting down beside you, Leon moved his gloved hand to your face. Resting his finger below your chin, he tilted his head to the side and asked, “Is this ok?”

You nodded in response and he prayed a blush hadn’t crept upon his face. Moving his other hand up to the cut on your forehead, he gingerly dabbed the antiseptic onto the laceration.

The smell of heady spices and musk filled your nose. Avoiding eye contact, your eyes fell down, and you found yourself looking at his sculpted arms, lines carving out his muscles. He did the same, focusing on the cut rather than on your eyes or else he would lose all train of thought. But it seemed that being this close to you was affecting him anyway.

“You know, I’ve seen you before.” He said, his soft eyes focused on cleaning your cut.

Your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean? Where?”

“Back in Raccoon City.” He responded, a glint of pain in his eyes as his mind dragged him back to that horrid night. Raccoon City. It was probably the worst night of your life.

“You were one of the guards at the Umbrella facility. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in, but you let me in.”

Your mind scurried for that memory, thinking desperately of what he was talking about. Then it dawned on you.

“That was you?” You ask in surprise.

The young police officer. With his big eyes and soft, hopeful face. Now replaced with a hardened look and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.

“Yes,” Leon responded, carefully placing two steristrips across your cut. “I really appreciate what you did that night.”

Something warm spread through your chest, before guilt quickly came.

“I didn’t want to work with them. I promise. They had…something they were using against me.”

Leon felt your pain and understood.

"I mean no harm." You finished.

He just wanted to grab your hand.

“I know," Leon said, "and I just want you to know that I don’t see you as a threat.”

That night, Jared went out to the bar, the alcohol mounting onto his hate he had towards you. Taking a wrong drunken turn down an alleyway, he began cussing you out under his breath for the bandage that sat across his nose. Little did he know that in the dim lighting of the alley way stood the blonde agent, watching him and getting ready to teach him a lesson.

Part 2 -

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #imagine #fluff #female reader #x reader #books #angst #part 1 #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #y/n #agent #leon scott kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy fanfic

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