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sylverstorms · 3 years

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Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

#Cassandra Dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #cassandra x oc #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #cass kills with her hair and nails on point she's the murder-princess type #you can't change my mind #I love her

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sunder-soul · 3 years

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𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

Permanent Tags: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “…Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund��s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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“Just a Nightmare.”

Summary: Din hires an assistant/baby sitter but doesn’t understand why she can’t sleep, until he realizes she has nightmares.

Warning/Content: Soft!Din, fluff, and sleeping together.

Paring: Din Djarin/fem reader

Din notices after months, he feelings ashamed, not realizing the woman he vowed to protect in exchange for watching his son was exhausted. He would find her yawning periodically through the day, heavy bags color eyes red, hooded eyes that if it wasn’t for the sleepy grin he’d think she was falling asleep. She spent her nights rolling and wrestling with the unfamiliar sheets. It wasn’t the bed, the bed was better than her old mattress, even though there was barely anything there, but Din insisted she sleeps in his instead. It was sweet really, Din thinking she was uncomfortable but the problem was her. How could anyone fall asleep when terror was to follow?

As the days passed it all became easier. She was finally sleeping and following into a schedule with Din, the bed seemed to help. Din was touchy, not talkative, more of a loner but caring. Din love language without a doubt is service, he will lay blankets across her during one of her many naps during the day, make something quick to eat because he doesn’t think she’ll have the energy to do it. He usually silent but not when he presses the back of his bare hand against her forehead, “You look terrible.”

“Oh thanks, real nice of you.” Din lets out a sigh, while she did not feel hot he didn’t like the way she looked. Exhausted, barely functioning. It wasn’t hard to notice she wasn’t eating as much, she was more jumpy, paranoid of every little sound. Din couldn’t help but notice her irritability, one wrong word and he found himself at the wrong end of this stick, confused at the sudden out burst but not mad, he understands.

As the days stretch to weeks, he can't stand seeing her like this. His sudden outburst catches her off guard, his long arms trapping her between himself and the wall, no where to escape. "Is it the bed?"

Normally him being this close she would be flustered, blushing but with being so tired she can barely form the words. "W-Wha?"

"Is it the ship? Is it too loud?" Din can notice the fumbling of her thoughts, the pads of his gloves angling her face to meet his visor. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

He wants an answer, it's signaled in the way he presses into her chin. It's not rough at all, so very gentle just a little bit of pressure.

Din finds himself sleepless anymore, his thoughts consumed with her. The sweet smile he doesn't see anymore, is she uncomfortable? He hopes she knows she can ask for anything and it's hers. His own eyes feel heavy as they examine her face for any source of truth, any chance he may catch why.

"I just get like this." Her eyes avert his gaze, which she can imagine is stern, apprehensive of the reason. "You are worried?"

"Of course I am." It's soft, the way he admits the words, how his hand cups her right cheek soothingly. Even though he didn't show it much, the Mandalorian cared deeply for the baby sitter he hired but instead of acting on it, he kept her fingertips away. "You look so sick."

Soft fingers touch the small bags under her eyes, rubbing them. "You're not sleeping, I can't stand it."

"I'll be okay Din, it happens I'll be able to sleep soon. Don't worry so much." Din presses his own forehead against hers, his sigh gets caught in the static.

"I care about you, you need to sleep."

"I will." Unreluctantly Din pulls himself from the warmth of her, fingers hovering over her face, fingers twitch to feel again but it's better this way. Before she can say another word, he's gone, shuffling away to the cockpit.

Much later, small whimpers echo the hall way from the hull to the cockpit. He wasn’t sleeping, more so trying to wrap his brain around all his feelings, the child tucked against his chest sleeping, he decided to take over until she got some well deserved rest. The sounds make him jump, unexpecting this late at night. The baby is safely tucked into the crib while he makes his way down the to the hull.

He knocks against the door of the poor of an excuse bedroom he has, the storage closet was the only place for privacy. The crying continues which makes his heart race. He clears his throat, “Are you alright?”

He tries one more time, not wanting to disturb her if she wishes. He pushes the button, the small crevice of the room blocked her face from him.

She clenches the blanket closer as small whimpers and 'no’ falls from her lips. Din freezes, he's not sure what to do, he's never been in a position like this before. She looks visibly upset, obviously from her dream. He didn't know how to do this, how to comfort someone, his heart pounds against his chest in nervousness. He didn't know how to handle these emotions.

His fingers twitched to rub her hair, caress her, tell her everything was going to be okay because he was here.

These feelings were scary, they made him want to turn around and forget about seeing anything but couldn’t find himself to move from the spot he was in. He inches towards the bottom of the bed, squeezing his eyes in annoyance. Why was making sure she was okay so important?

His feet carry him faster than he anticipates, big toe bumping into the wall, he was getting ready for bed before this, all his armor off including his boots. He lets out a loud groan, leaning down to hiss.

“Din?” His eyes grow wide instantly, he stays down not wanting to meet her eyes as she uses her elbows the lift herself up from the bed. Her eyes meet the helmet, "Hi."

He stands slowly, hands calming instantly. He was nervous, found staring at her while she slept, like some kind of creep. “I heard crying, i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her cheeks red, wiping the small tears that fell in her dreams. He couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked, hair messily sticking up in every direction possible, a long shirt served it's purpose as pajamas. “Oh okay.”

She looked upset, clenching the blankets to her chest, voice trembling along with her lower lip. He decides to stay, sitting at the bottom of the bed. “It was just a nightmare, nothing real.”

“I know.” She pauses, playing with the tips of her fingers, eyes avoiding his at all costs. “It was real at some point.”

Din pauses, not really sure what to say. He wants to tell her everything was okay, he would protect her but instead decides to stay quiet, tongue running over his bottom lip nervously.

“Din you can totally say no, but can you stay in here for a little bit?" All blood rushes to his chest, warming his body instantly at the thought of her wanting him to stay. “Just until I fall asleep.”

She felt safe with him, someone how in these months spent together she felt some kind of security. Din’s feels his own heart swell, how could he ever say no?

Tears stain her face, redness around her eyes as her chest chokes with emotion. She’s pretty, too pretty even when she’s crying. Din nods as she moves over making room for him. "Is this the reason you can't sleep?"

Din manages to squeeze into the tight space, without his armor she can see the actually size of his shoulders, he's broad, not too muscular but the tight tunic shows off the swells of hard work. "Yes.."

Din sighs, fingers touch her hip applying a small amount of pressure, he is surprised as she presses a hand against his chest, sturdy and strong. "You're safe with me, I'll always protect you Cyar'ika."

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolorian imagine #the mandolorian x reader

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paellaplease · 3 years

Note

Hi, I see you're taking requests! If it hasn't been done yet, could you do aspectabund with Revali please? I love your writing <3

2. aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

pairing: revali x reader

summary: he knows you’ve been avoiding him and he can’t seem to figure out why.

Shaking the snow from his feathers, Revali surveyed the layered red rock of Mount Agaat with a scrutinizing gleam in his eyes. The reconnaissance flyby over the ice covered peaks had proven successful, with him safely scouting out several bokoblin camps under the cover of cloud.

Mindful of the tripwire, he entered the makeshift campsite to find you and the Gerudo Chief conversing quietly by the fire. You appeared in deep contemplation, and out of respect (and perhaps partial curiosity) he made no move to announce his arrival.

Urbosa crossed her arms, turning to you with a sly smile adorning her lip. “You can’t keep dancing around each other forever.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, fiddling with one of your winter gloves. “It’s highly likely he won’t understand anyway.”

“I’m sure his feelings on the matter are not as dissimilar as you think. Besides...” She leaned forward, whispering something into your ear.

Warmth creeping up to your cheeks, your face was in your hands in an instant, body leaning forward as Urbosa let out a short laugh at your exaggerated reaction. Cute.

The mortified groan you gave in response made him chuckle, finally alerting you both to his presence.

The Gerudo Chief angled her head and gave a brief nod in his direction, most likely having sensed his presence ages ago. In stark contrast, you quickly spun in your seat, mouth agape.

Nearly falling from the log, Urbosa reached out to snag the hood of your coat, saving your face from smashing into the dirt ground. Revali tsked, you should really be more aware of your surroundings.

"Revali!” Immediately, you bit down on your lip, schooling your face into something more subdued. “Welcome back."

Tilting his head, he found it odd how difficult it was for you to maintain eye contact. Your cheeks were darker at this point, the tip of your nose slightly red. His wings itched to readjust the scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. Perhaps you were cold. That won’t do.

"Did I miss anything?" He asked, looking pointedly at Urbosa.

He would never admit it but the Chief maintained a steadfast poker face. “I have nothing to share.” Standing up, she moved to add more kindling to the fire. “No monster has dared approach us yet.”

Judging by the impressive blades hanging from both your hips, he wasn’t surprised. Rubbing at his shoulders, he swiped a wing over the rocky expanse before them. “Good. And thanks to me, we now have a greater chance of avoiding them on the way up.”

He didn’t miss the way your body froze when Urbosa offered for him to take her seat. Not seeing any issue and assuming it to be a response to the cold of the mountain, he acquiesced.

The mission was completed without a hitch, the swing of your blade delivering the killing blow to the fierce lynel that guarded the peak of the mountains. Revali tried not to stare as you cleaned your blade on the snow, ignoring the errant beat of his heart as you turned to smile at him, skin still flushed from the heat of battle.

“It comes to no surprise that you are the Gerudo Chief’s apprentice.” He nodded, unable to hide the hint of admiration in his voice.

Tugging at the sleeves of your flowing blue jacket, your eyes were wide and shining, mouth close to admitting something profound and important. Revali kept his beak shut, waiting for you to say what you needed, disappointed when all it came to be was a simple “Thanks.”

You then proceeded not to speak to him for the rest of the week.

It was a shame really, you were one of the few allies he could stand for more than five minutes. The Rito thought you were diligent; a fighter that could tame a tempest, and most of all a worthy opponent when it came to the odd verbal sparring match.

Never had you shied away from a challenge, especially one posed by him. He was invested in your progress, secretly standing guard on the nights you would sneak out to train, ensuring that no person nor creature would disturb you. What's worse, a part of him honestly thought that you had begun to consider him as something close to a friend.

And now...

“I’ll scout the area!”

Revali sighed as he watched your retreating form once again, the remaining Champions looking at each other with equal confusion at your sudden disappearance into the forest. He didn’t know what your problem was, and honestly one more day of these mixed messages was going to drive him insane.

Slipping past him like water, you evaded him at all costs. Taking your meals alone or with different people, changing the location of your training sessions, waking up unbearably early or extremely late.

Then, on day eight of this madness, he found you sparring with a particular golden-haired knight that he couldn’t stand. That was the last straw.

“Fight me,” he said to you, uncaring of the other knights on the training field that stopped to stare at him approaching. The sword in his wing, though blunted, felt foreign and heavy. Long has it been since he last held a blade like this.

Taking off your helmet, you rubbed at your eyes to see if it was truly him. “Revali?” Funny, that was the first thing you’d said to him in days. “Where’s your bow? Ah, it seems you’ve forgotten.” You were already in the process of collecting your things. “Perhaps next time. It wouldn’t be fair if you had to fight me with a sword, after all…”

He scoffed, watching as you turned to leave. “Oh, so you plan on running away again like a scared fledgling?”

The training sword sailed past his head, missing his cheek by only a fraction. You didn't give him a second to flinch.

Revali side-stepped away, making a move to swing his sword at your back. Feet sliding, you blocked it with ease, sword already there to intercept his own even before it completed its arc through the air.

Experimentally, he pushed back on the blade. Dead still, it refused to budge. He tilted his head to capture your eyes, thrilled to see the burning embers behind them, all passivity long abandoned. There you are. “Nice to see you,” he grinned wryly.

Both of you separated quickly. Circling each other, his eyes took in the determined clench of your jaw and the steady rise and fall of your chest, waiting for when you’d launch yourself forward again.

"Not bad," you smirked. “Another one from that bag of tricks Chief Kamori taught you?” Your confidence in the moment was rather enthralling. Once again he found himself memorizing the planes of your face, reveling in the way your emotions would flit past—clear as day.

“Just you wait til I’m in the air with a bow in my hand."

"That's surprising!" You grinned, teeth sharp. "Didn't think the Great Revali was so reliant on keeping to the skies.” A cloud of dirt was kicked up as you propelled yourself forward. Taking the hilt with both hands, you raised your sword to strike heavily down on his head. “But isn’t it pretty when he finally comes down to your level.”

With a grunt, Revali barely had time to strengthen his stance, bringing his blade up to block your attack. The clashing of swords sent his talons skidding back on the dirt, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight of the blow.

“You’re insane!” He laughed breathily. “That could have cleaved my skull in two.”

“I knew you’d block it.”

The fight soon became the only other sound in the training field, many of the knights having left to complete their drills somewhere else. Even that quiet Hylian was no longer there, taking his leave once confident you could hold your own.

Of course they can defend themselves. He wanted to call out in mocking arrogance. And if they ever were in trouble they wouldn’t need you anyway. Because I’m here.

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself at him again, delivering several attacks in a series of sweeping motions. Revali found himself having to focus intently on each one, blocking one after the other, eyes following the movement of your arm in an attempt to anticipate where the blade would next appear.

As such, he doesn’t notice the sweeping motion of your leg, the action sending him falling backwards into the ground.

Unlucky for you, the Rito had known the feeling of falling all his life. And before you had the chance to step away, he discarded his blade, reaching out to drag you down with him.

The air was knocked out of him as you landed painfully on his chest. Your sword slipped from your hand, clattering to the side. Revali pushed it further away when you tried to reach for it, trapping you against him with his other wing.

Stilling, he could feel the rush of your heartbeat against his own. From on top, you glared at him. “Let me go, fights not over.”

“Call it an intermission, darling.” You went red at that, smushing your head into his chest so as to hide the wild blush on your cheeks. “This fight is on hold until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me this whole week.”

“Because you’re…”

“What was that?” He said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Because you’re you!” You finally let out. An angry scream left your throat, except because your face was still pressed to his front it came out as muffled and rather adorable.

Revali rested his head on the ground as he exhaled, finding peace in the never ending sea of blue stretched out above you both. “Well,” he said, interrupting the little breakdown you were having. “Of course I’m me, there’s no one else really. Unless you’ve met another Rito of the same name with razor sharp wit and devilishly good looks.”

You huffed a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at him. This close and he could see the fan of your eyelashes and the kiss of the sun on your cheeks. It took everything in him not to reach out and trace the line of your mouth, wondering if your lips were as soft as they appeared.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I like you, silly bird.” Blinking, you gazed at him with utter softness and sincerity. “And I apologise for running. I intended to tell you earlier— on the mountain. But self-doubt got the best of me and I didn’t want you to stop being my friend if you didn’t feel the same.”

Revali’s wings fell to his sides as you shifted, propping yourself up with both your arms. “Guess there’s nothing to worry about now that it’s out in the open.” A watery laugh escaped from your lips when he said nothing. “Come on, Revali. Say something. Or at least stand up so I can kick your ass.”

His arms were around you once again in an instant, crushing you to him in a tight embrace. “Rito, if this is some kind of trick to knock me off my guard I swear…” He could feel your smile as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

“I like you too.” He shook his head, poking you in the side and smiling when you yelped in response. “You are amazing and skillful. I enjoy every moment I spend with you. Though you overthink too much. Alas, but the curse of one so perceptive.”

“Still don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.” You mouthed into his neck. His feathers raised at the feeling of your warm breath against him. “Though I’m extremely relieved that Urbosa was right.”

Revali thought back to the mission at Mount Agaat, wondering what exactly the Gerudo Chief told you back then. “Right about what?”

“That you can’t take your eyes off me, even if you tried.”

#revali x reader #revali botw x reader #revali/reader #revali #revali botw #botw #rito #botw x reader #monkey brain: revali with sword #mutual pinin with a hint of hot fightin #liberosis part 3 coming soon i just needed to get this off my chest

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inkbyajm · 3 years

Text

Something Brewing

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: fluff

warnings: anxiety attack

word count: 1.5k

notes: felt like angst, felt like sobbing uncontrollably, but my body wouldn’t cooperate, so imagining it will do for now. this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i didn’t realise how much i had written. now i’m splitting it into two parts. next part will definitely be more angst than fluff, so stay tuned for the terrifying sight that is angry corpse :) (p.s. don’t mind the occasional use of british english, it’s my default lmao)

next >

A peculiar thing it was, the concept of love. It was very personal and feelings about it varied from person to person. For some, it had existed since the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve first walked the Earth, when the Almighty willed his beloved humans to lead their own lives with him in their hearts. For others, it is a feeling to long for, to crave, a feeling they found themselves daydreaming about often. And for the rest, love is a tool of ruin, potentially driving people who cared for one another away from each other, instilling at least a smidge of repulsion in each one of them. However, humans are social creatures after all, and sometimes, attraction was unavoidable no matter how much one tried. And try he did.

━

Living in California could get hard and stressful at times, but at least Corpse didn’t live at the heart of the city of anxiety-inducing social interactions and constant chaos that was Los Angeles. Sure, it meant that he didn’t live close to his friends, but he wasn’t far away from her, and that was enough for him.

A few soft grunts and sounds of slippers landing on the hardwood floor echoed from the kitchen of (Y/N)’s apartment. He got up from the couch in her living room and decided to investigate the source of the noise. Coming into the room, he saw her jumping to reach the highest shelf in one of the cupboards. Looking at it, he noticed her favourite mug sitting at the edge of said shelf and, afraid she would knock it over whilst attempting to grab it, he effortlessly got it for her. “Thank you. God, I was about to grow a foot taller trying to reach for this thing.” she sighed, eliciting a deep chuckle from him, “See, this is exactly why you’re my favourite friend.” Friend? Well, yes, of course a friend, what else would he be? Corpse felt an uncomfortable tug at his heart, and he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why he was feeling that way, so he brushed it aside. “Why was it that high up if you can’t even reach it?” (Y/N) wasn’t a short person, she was perfectly average, and he himself wasn’t that tall of a guy either. But when it came to situations of this kind, he couldn’t help but feel good about his being taller. “It usually isn’t, but I let (F/N) use it once the other day because she refused to drink out of any of the other mugs, that stubborn bitch.” she replied, pouring her homemade Italian hot chocolate into the acquired cup. (F/N) was also taller than (Y/N), so it was only natural for her to be putting things in higher places. It was done out of habit.

(Y/N) and Corpse walked back to the living room to once again settle into the couch. He glanced at her as she sat with her legs crossed, concentrated on blowing on her moderately hot beverage, while the light from the moon peeked through the curtains of the balcony door, illuminating her face ever so slightly. Since when did he start noticing these things? Looking away to set his eyes on the TV in front of them, he sensed his heart beating at an usual rhythm, palpitating, and along with it came slight lightheadedness. Was he having a heart attack? Were these signs of atrial fibrillation? Or was this simply the start of an anxiety attack? Surely any of these would be more...recognisable, to say the least. The only situation he could think of with similar reactions was when one would develop a crush. A fucking crush? At his age? How old was he, ten? “Earth to Corpse? Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who sleep with their eyes open, that’s fucking creepy.” Her finger snaps pulled him out of whatever trance he was in. “Sorry, were you saying something?” “I asked you if you had watched Bly Manor like three times. You were very far away.” she answered, emitting a few giggles. “Sorry, I uh- I was thinking of something, but it’s stupid. And no, I haven’t, I’ve been meaning to, though.” And just like that, they settled on the show they were going to watch for the next couple of weeks.

━

“NOOOOOOO,” (Y/N) yelled, voicing her defeat “WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF LUCK IS THIS.” Corpse lay on the floor, slamming his palm down onto it out of hysterical laughter. They had been playing Unmatched for the past hour, this being their third round, and after many cards and a level of tension that could only be cut through with a saw, his Robin Hood had finally defeated her Alice. It was Corpse’s first time playing, so to say that his winning of all three games was a crushing moment for her was an understatement. “This is not normal, you lied saying you’ve never played before!” she pouted, putting everything back into the box, “I’m usually really good at this game.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes, struggling to keep a good composure. “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve found my talent,” he joked, but he did feel bad for stealing her thunder, “Would it make you feel better if I said that my Robin Hood is, like, extremely hurt right now? You have a fucking gigantic knife as a weapon, I only have, like, a bow and arrow. That’s kind of unfair.” (Y/N) bit her lip in hesitation, then picked up her figurine and lightly tapped it along the table to approach his. Putting Alice at a slight angle, she made a kissing sound as to imitate her character smooching his. “There, a kiss to make it better. I promise not to hurt you too much if you let me win next time.”

The same strange feeling he had experienced for the first time two months ago, when they were sitting on the couch of her living room, and many more times after that, had come back. He would’ve blamed it on heartburn, except it was nothing like it. It wasn’t anything he was used to. “Hey, you alright?” (Y/N) furrowed her brows in concern “You’ve been doing that a lot lately, rubbing your chest like that.” Fuck. He had never noticed the habit he had developed. “I’m fine, just me and my heart problems, nothing unusual.” Filthy liar. Brows still furrowed, she moved closer to him and, with her legs tucked under her, she put her hand above his heart to check. “Jesus, Corpse, your heart is going a million miles per hour! Are you sure you’re okay?”

Looking up at him, she noticed how red he had suddenly become, and this worried her even more. “Bubs, you’re literally changing colours.” How did she expect him not to when she was doing this? (Y/N) further inspected his condition and put the back of her hand on his forehead, then his cheeks, to check his temperature. Expectedly, he was getting warmer. She stopped for a second and listened intently, only to hear his shallow breathing fill the silence. She then glanced down at his left hand resting on his thigh, and surely enough, found it trembling. “Alright, Corpse? Hey, can you hear me?”

His breathing only picked up its pace as the seconds went by. On the spur of the moment, (Y/N) placed herself in front of him, her legs on either side, and gently cradled his head. “Corpse, darling, I’m gonna need you to look at me, okay? Focus on me, focus on my breathing, mm?” He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the ground and did as he was told, eyes darting around, analysing her expression. He’s never found himself having an attack in her presence, it was surprising how well she was handling it.

Wait- darling? Bubs? “Now, can you name four things that you see? Can you do that for me?” He briefly scanned the room for answers, his mind still cluttered. “The fridge, the couch, the light and-” Did she mean to call him that? It was probably nothing, she could be using it with any of her friends for all he knew. He wasn’t special. “and the game, the board game. On the table.” “Good, now can you name three things you hear?” This one took a lot of concentration, there weren’t many obvious sounds for him to point out. “The motorcycle outside, your hands rubbing against my skin, uh-” What the fuck else? Was he losing his mind? The task was simple enough, why was he having so much trouble with it? “I’m sorry, I- I don’t hear anything else.” “No, it’s okay. You’re doing splendid, see? Your breathing is much more stable.” she reassured him, squeezing his upper arms.

“Lastly, can you give me two things you can smell?” Nodding, he closed his eyes. “The coffee you drank earlier.” It took him a moment to come up with something else, and just as she was about to get off of his lap, figuring he had done a good enough job, she heard him mumble “your perfume”. Scared he’d get another attack, Corpse avoided looking into her eyes, which he could feel the gaze of. He only picked up on the scent from her shifting closer in the last second. “That’s funny, I had forgotten to put perfume on this morning.”

#corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

The Red Dress (M)

Yoongi x Pregnant Wife!Reader

Request: Can I request a smut where Yoongi's wife is pregnant and they go to some big event and the wife is insecure because all of the other members' wives look amazing and Yoongi catches on and takes her home and shows her how much he loves her new body? I love your writing so much, thank you for all your hard work 💜💜💜

WordCount: 5k

Genre: Marriage!Au, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Reader Insecure About Body, Fingering, Pregnancy Sex, Praise Kink, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Fellatio, Spanking, Forced Orgasms, Multiple Orgasms, Katoptroniophilia

A/N: SOMEONE BRING ME HOLY WATER

"What're you putting on that tight dress for? My son is going to be suffocating in here." Your husband tells you pulling at your dark red dress before fixing his tie. You look over at him incredulously as he fixes his suit jacket.

"I don't know, I just wanted to look pretty but that's difficult to do when I'm this big." Yoongi takes a sharp breath through his teeth before tilting his head in typical Suga fashion.

"You're always beautiful to me." He mutters as you pull at the hem of your dress watching yourself in the mirrored wall.

"You have to say that, you're my husband." He chuckles quietly before stepping up behind you snaking his arms around your waist.

"I say it because I mean it. You look beautiful, baby." His hands beginning to rub comforting circles on your eight month pregnant belly. You hum as he kisses your cheek.

"Gun is getting so big." He whispers as he feels his son kick inside of you.

"Why do you insist on giving him a one syllable name?" Yoongi turns you around before bending down, wrinkling his suit pants and giving your belly a chaste kiss.

"It's cool. Like his dad." You roll your eyes with a giggle as he pushes his hair back.

"Now, let's go get this anniversary dinner over with so I can come home and cuddle with my two favorite people." Yoongi stands up before grabbing his car keys.

"You say cuddle but you mean sleep." He gives you a large gummy smile before grabbing his coffee and heading out of your bedroom.

You stare at the Big Hit building as Yoongi rounds the car's hood, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the metal before opening your door.

"My lady." He says bowing his head, making you snort. His hand is outstretched to help you out of the car as you place your hand under your belly.

"Be careful." He murmurs as you stand up, your swollen ankles wobbling due to the heels you are wearing.

"Why'd you wear those stupid things? You're swollen." You didn't want to have to go through the whole process of telling him again. You were insecure about coming to this party, all of the other members wives or girlfriends were gorgeous and you look like a bloated balloon. You told Yoongi to just leave you home but of course he wouldn't accept that answer. He told you, you deserve to have fun but on the way here you couldn't stop thinking about how shit you would look compared to everyone else. There was probably no way in hell you would be having fun tonight. Yoongi rubs your belly raising his eyebrows expecting an answer. The baby kicks harshly within you that has you pressing your body into Yoongi's as you take a deep breath.

"Aish. Min Gun." Yoongi chides before crouching down. You look around embarrassed but this was not something Yoongi felt was embarrassing. He talks to your belly all the time, loving the idea of his son getting comfortable with your voice.

"Be a good boy for mommy, please. She's wearing these stupid shoes with a chopstick on the end of them." You roll your eyes at his statement as he kisses your belly.

"NOONA!" You hear from down the road. Your head turns with a big smile as your eyes land on the tall bunny boy you've helped become a man.

"Our Jeonggukie!" You call sweetly as Yoongi continues to whisper to your belly. Jeongguk abandons his girlfriend to run over to you. He gives you a back hug before hooking his chin over your shoulder and looking down at Yoongi.

"Hyung? Are you chiding my nephew again?" Yoongi stands tall as Jeongguk puts his hand on your lower back stepping away from you to wrap his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Hayoung." You call to her sweetly as she smiles at you.

"Hi Unnie!" Jeongguk begins to rub your belly as you take Hayoung into your sights. Her slim waist and proportionate body have you wanting to pout. Tonight really would be no fun. She looks gorgeous and here you are, beached whale ready for duty.

"Don't chide my nephew, he's perfect." Jeongguk says to Yoongi, making him chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah. Worry about your own kid when you have one." Yoongi kisses your temple before intertwining your fingers.

"Ready, baby?" You nod cutely at your husband making him smile. "Let's go then."

As expected, you were not having fun. The night was filled with gushing over Yoongi's unborn son. Everyone coming over and telling you how big you are and how well Gun is growing. But, never once did someone say how pretty you looked or how you have a glow about you and that was a confidence killer in and of itself. Yoongi was busy with the guys, talking and drinking whisky. He would occasionally look over at you to make sure you were in one piece but he never worries about you because you could handle your own. It was something he loved about you. And yet, tonight you couldn't handle your own. Your pregnancy hormones and your insecurities providing a heavy weight on your shoulders you didn't care to bear.

"I bet you can't wait until Gun is born." Yuna, Taehyung's wife says before laughing as she goes to sip her champagne. You hum in agreement watching the pretty trainee girls dance on the floor. Their bodies gracefully moving and contorting, you look down at your lap before putting an idle hand on your stomach. Why couldn't you just feel beautiful?

"Isn't Noona so big?!" Jeongguk asks with a laugh as he walks over to Hayoung. Your face turns sour as you grip the arm of the chair before standing.

"Thanks Kookie." You mumble, he stops for a second before tilting his head.

"Did I say something wrong?" You sigh before shaking your head.

"No, you're just stating facts." You tell him before patting his arm and walking off to the bathroom. He looks at Hayoung before pointing at himself.

"I made Noona upset." He sits in your seat before yelling over the music to Yoongi.

You stare at yourself in the long bathroom mirror, your body angled to the side as you rub your stomach. Yoongi tells you all the time how pretty you look but, it's hard to believe. Your face was swollen, your ankles, even your wrists. Everything was bloated and there's no way to feel sexy or pretty like this.

"Gun, you'll think mommy is pretty right?" With that one sentence it was like a waterfall had erupted over a dam. The flood gates opening as you press your hands to your face beginning to cry. No forewarning or anything, just sheer tears. Your body racking with sobs as you lean against the wall. You could say it was all your hormones fault but really your insecurities were numerous, they have just been hidden around your fantastic husband who dotes on you. You never felt beautiful or sexy until you met Yoongi. He advanced first, wanting to know all of you when you didn't even know yourself. It was a random run in with a stranger that turned into your forever love of a husband. With that love, you forgot what it was like to be nervous, and scared. Love completed you entirely, thinking beauty came with the grace of finding your forever person. But, today; today was different. It was if everything came crashing around you. You put your hand over your mouth as you cry, your blood vessels under your eyes breaking as you squeeze them shut tightly. Your hand rubbing circles on your belly as you feel your son move inside of you.

"I'm okay. Mommy's okay." You whisper before huffing out loudly.

A knock comes at the bathroom door as you wipe at your face with a balled up piece of toilet paper.

"Babe?" Now you feel guilty.

"Baby. You've been in there for forty minutes. Are you okay?" Yoongi's voice was shrouded with nervousness as he doesn't cease rapping on the door with his knuckles. You unlock the door before leaning against the wall. The door opens, your husband coming into view with a concerned expression as he looks around the single bathroom before finding you against the wall. Your nose was beat red, your eyes pink and blood vessels broken beneath them. Yoongi goes wide eyed, locking the door behind him before putting his hands on either side of your face.

"What happened?!" He asks concerned before leaning in and kissing your forehead. You hug him as tightly as you can, although because of your belly there was difficulty.

"Nothing...I just...Felt sick." Yoongi pulls back, knowing full well you don't really mean that. You look down at the ground before clearing your throat.

"Can you get my purse, so I can fix my makeup?"

"You sure you're alright? Gun is okay? You're okay?" You nod to him, "We're fine." He hums wearily looking down at you. You push his shoulder giving him a small giggle.

"I'm fine!" He clicks his teeth before leaving, not pressing the matter.

You converse with Yuna excitedly, your hands flailing with hers trying to forget your earlier breakdown. Yoongi is sitting next to Jimin sipping his whisky watching you with concerned eyes.

"Something's off." He mumbles to Jimin who in turn nods his head.

"You're right, Y/N is acting very unnatural." Yoongi hums before slinging back the rest of his alcohol.

"I think I made Y/N upset earlier." Jeongguk mumbles sadly, putting his head on Jimin's shoulder as he sits down.

"What'd you say?" Yoongi asks, sitting up and narrowing his eyes at the youngest member of his group.

"That she looked big with Gun. That's all. But, she seemed really upset by it." Yoongi hums before closing his eyes.

"Jimin go tell Y/N she looks pretty." Jimin looks over at Yoongi confused.

"Why me?" He points to himself as Yoongi sighs. "Because she thinks you're the cutest little boy in the entire universe. She's probably feeling down on herself because her belly is so big." Jeongguk puts his hand to his forehead.

"Ah! How could I be so stupid! I'm sorry hyung!" Your husband sits up fixing his suit jacket before taking a sharp inhale through his teeth.

"Not your fault, Guk. Just... Never say that to Hayoung if she gets pregnant. You have to be sweeter. Y/N's belly is big but you have to finesse that talk, y'know?" Jeongguk and Jimin sit up straighter at this sudden lesson.

"Finesse?" Jimin asks tilting his head. Yoongi nods before putting his hand under his chin.

"Yeah, finesse. Women's pregnancy hormones are crazy. One minute they could be crying, then laughing and then out of nowhere they'll hit you really hard because you 'knocked them up'." Yoongi makes air quotes referring to just what happened just last week.

Jeongguk opens his mouth nodding, "It's more so, 'Your belly is big but you're still the most gorgeous woman in the world to me. You're even more beautiful because you're carrying my child. I'm so lucky to have a woman who carries my child so well.' That's what you should be saying. Y'know?"

"Oooooohhhhh hyung!" The two younger boys jeer in tandem impressed with the wisdom of their older brother. Yoongi smirks before looking back over at you.

"She is the most beautiful woman in the world..." He mumbles before finding himself giving a gummy smile at your appearance. Yoongi nods his head to his wife.

"Jimin go tell her." Jimin hums in agreement before jumping up with a big smile.

The automatic hallway lights come on as you both step into the apartment, Yoongi takes off his shoes before bending down in front of you.

"Lemme take my baby girl's shoes off." He says looking up at you with a smirk. You smile at him as you place your hand on his shoulder for balance.

"You didn't really have fun tonight, did you?" He asks, his voice reverberating throughout the quiet apartment. You tilt your head as you step onto the heated floor.

"I did. Why wouldn't I have had fun?" Yoongi knows you're lying but for your sake he wouldn't call you out for it.

"I just want you to be happy, babe." He calls to you as you walk past him.

"I know!" He sighs closing his eyes before standing up.

Yoongi steps behind you as you look in the mirror, your hand pushing your hair onto your shoulder as he grabs the back zipper of your dress. His lips lazily bending down kissing the back of your neck softly.

"You're so beautiful." He mumbles into you, the heat of his breath has you smiling as he slowly unzips the dress.

"I'm fat." His eyes look up connecting to yours as you stare at each other in the mirror.

"Never." He pulls the dress off of your body and you can't begin to describe how lovely the feeling is of being freed from the fabric. Yoongi's hands pushing up underneath your arms to rub at your large belly.

"Such a gorgeous woman I have all to myself." His lips kissing over your neck and shoulder all the while keeping eye contact with you through the mirror. It was incredibly sensual, the feeling of his pink lips dancing over your skin. His warm hands rubbing large circles over your belly. Your head lazily lulls back against his shoulder as he closes his eyes.

"I love you." His words were earnest and true.

"I love you too." He hums in agreement before trailing his hands up higher.

"Yoongi, we shouldn't." You whisper as he cups your clothed breasts.

"Why not?" He asks quietly rubbing at your milk filled breasts.

"Because...I'm so huge." You hadn't had sexual contact in a few months which Yoongi didn't mind he wasn't a sex fiend but he did miss your body and even though you may find yourself uncomfortable with your belly he thought it just added to your sexiness.

"I like it." He whispers reaching behind your back and unhooking your bra with two fingers. You whimper out as the cool air begins to harden your puffy nipples.

"Fuck." Yoongi curses watching your body in the mirror. You pick your head off of him as milk droplets begin to fall from your nipples wetting your belly skin.

"You're the most gorgeous woman in the entire world. I fucking love you so much." His hands reaching back up to palm your breasts. His groin pressing into you, through his suit pants you could feel how hard his cock was for you.

"You really think so?" You whisper as he begins to roll your sensitive areolas gently between his fingertips.

"Absolutely." This is what you meant earlier, he makes you feel like a goddess. Just the most beautiful person on the planet.

"Look at how well you carry my boy. How willing you are to mother him so well. Fucking turns me on." He mumbles grabbing your hand and placing it on his erection. You palm at his pants behind you and a small groan leaves his lips. You could feel yourself becoming wet for Yoongi. Your red panties beginning to darken with arousal.

"Such a good girl, too." Yoongi's fingers trailing over your large belly before finding the delicious mound of flesh he loves so dearly.

"So wet for me." His fingers spread your pussy lips through the fabric before rubbing at your swelling clit. Gentle moans coaxed from your throat as you moan his name breathlessly.

"Good girl." He whispers before suckling at the skin of your neck.

"Look at how wet you get for me." He points at the mirror and you watch with lust hooded eyes as he pulls down your panties. His lips kissing down your back as he bends down. You step out of your panties only to have him spread your legs as he kneels behind you. His fingers prodding open your lips to show your arousal on your pussy and thighs as it gleams in the bedroom lighting.

"So beautiful." He murmurs before standing back up, but not before licking the wetness off of your thighs which has you panting in wanting.

"Lay on the bed, baby." He tells you as he begins to undo his white dress shirt. You do as told before looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. Yoongi's love for mirrors began after you got together, he loves seeing you from every angle. He looks up at the ceiling as he takes off his dress shirt strewning it on the floor.

"Rub your belly for me." He tells you as he unbuckles his belt. You do as told, feeling the heavy weight of his child in your belly as you rub comforting circles.

"Good girl." He groans watching you, your legs spread wide for him as your fingers dance over the swollen skin.

His pants are off within seconds, his body scrambling to perch himself on the bed as he kneels between your legs. His milky white skin calling out to you as you bite your bottom lip running your hands over his chest and arms.

"You're so sexy." You whimper out for him as he bends down.

"Yoongi." Your voice is breathless and caught in your throat as he licks a flat stripe on your swollen pussy.

"Oh fuck!" His arms curling around your open thighs as he begins to eat you out. His skilled tongue lapping at your clit has your back bowing off of the bed. Your hands grabbing fistfuls of his silver hair as he begins to suckle sweetly on your swollen nub.

"Oh Yoongi! Fuck!" He moans at your sweet taste and you can't help but look up at the mirror watching how attractive he looks perched between your thighs.

"Tastes so fucking sweet for me." His voice ends with a growl that has you grinding your pussy against his face. Yoongi's hand leaves one of your thighs to toy with your sodden entrance. Your arousal soaking the sheets as he enters a finger into you. He lifts his head to watch his finger disappear inside of you.

"This pregnant pussy is so fucking tight and wet. Who makes you this wet, baby?" His finger curling up inside you making you sob out his name.

"You do! Fuck! You make me so wet for you." Yoongi bites his bottom lip before entering another finger. Your moans growing louder as you begin to rub at your belly.

"Fuck!" Yoongi curses at the gorgeous sight in front of him.

"Your little cunt is so tight, fuck." He mumbles before attaching his lips back to your clit. You could feel your orgasm oncoming as you put your head back, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi adds a third finger before scissoring them inside of you. Your pussy was so tight he would need to stretch you for his cock.

"Good little girl you are not touching yourself for so long. Patiently waiting for my big cock." You whimper out as he begins to flick his tongue quickly, his fingers curling upwards faster brushing against the rough patch inside of you.

"Fuck! Right there!" Yoongi moans against you feeling your pussy muscles beginning to quiver.

"Cum on my fingers, baby. Show me how much you want my cock inside you." You fall over the edge moaning his name loudly as you tug at his hair. He hums in agreement as you sob loudly at the pleasure, your vision going white as you moan his name.

"That's my good girl." He mumbles before pulling away. His hand wiping at his soaked face before smirking up at you as you come down from your high.

"Gorgeous." He sits back up on his knees and you sit up gingerly with his help only to raise up on your own knees.

"Baby, you don't have to, tonight is for you." Yoongi tells you, knowing what you have in mind.

"I want to." You tell him before taking his hard cock in your hand. A small groan emits from him as he feels the warm of your hand. The head of his cock weeping with precum as you bend down.

"Hold on, hold on." He tells you quickly, his hand stilling yours. You look at him confused as he pulls away from you.

"You won't be comfy like this. Your belly is too big. Here." He stands up in front of the long mirror before pulling your legs out from underneath you, they dangle over the bed's edge. Yoongi caresses your cheek with his thumb before looking in the mirror.

"Go on." He whispers watching you grip at his cock. His hips unintentionally thrusting as he watches you with lust filled eyes. Your tongue swirls a circle around his red head, gathering precum on your tongue before dipping down his length.

"Oh Christ!" He moans quietly grabbing at your hair as he opens his mouth slightly watching you in the mirror. Now this was a sight to see. Your big belly on display as you fuck his cock into your mouth. Your cheeks hollow as you bob your head up and down on him.

"Oh fuck! Just like that." The grip of your hair makes you moan as Yoongi whimpers out your name. It's been a while since Yoongi has had any sexual relief and he knew his orgasm was coming on quickly. Just watching you do this sexual act in the mirror has his thighs shaking with pleasure. His hand reaches out rolling your dark nipples in between his fingers watching as milk expresses itself on to his legs.

"Oh my God." Yoongi mumbles, his eyes closing tightly as you begin to swallow his length, whatever couldn't fit in your mouth you were stroking.

"You suck my cock so good. Fuck, you have such a pretty little mouth." He mumbles, gripping your hair tightly as his balls tighten. You moan against him at the feeling which has his cock throbbing in excitement.

"Fuck! I'm going to cum! Oh babe!" Yoongi moans loudly as his cock ceases throbbing only to shoot cum down your throat. His low moans have you wet for him once more as he lets your hair go, his hips thrusting gently trying to ride out his pleasure. With a small moan, he pulls out of your mouth watching you swallow him like the good little girl you are.

Yoongi pushes your shoulders back onto the bed before pointing up to the headboard.

"Get going." He mumbles as you sit up to crawl up the bed.

"Mmm fuck." He mumbles before slapping your ass cheek. You moan at the sting looking back at him making him chuckle.

"You like that?" He slaps your ass again, his red hand print etched onto your skin as you bury your face in a pillow moaning loudly.

"You love it." He whispers spreading your pussy lips watching your arousal seep out. "Fuck, you're horny." He mumbles to himself before kneeling on the bed.

"Let me see my belly." He tells you as you lay down on your back. He smiles widely as he watches his son move within you. He hums in agreement before bending down and kissing your belly. You smile at him as he looks up at you before wrinkling his nose.

"I love you." He tells you sweetly, "I love you too."

Yoongi begins to stroke his cock back to full erection, his eyes dancing over your body as he bites his bottom lip. He taps the head of his cock against your clit making you whimper as you palm your heavy breasts in your hands.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." He mumbles before licking his lips. The underside of his cock parting your pussy lips coating him in your wetness.

"Christ, your fucking soaked." You moan his name gently feeling the bulbous head of his cock lifting back the hood of your clit as he rubs himself against you.

"Yoongi!" He hums to you before aligning himself to your entrance.

"My pregnant little goddess dying for some cock?" He asks rhetorically before slowly entering you. His mouth opening only to give a groan at your tightness.

"Oh my fucking God, you're so tight baby. Jesus." You moan loudly grabbing at the sheets beside you as his cock fills you completely. The head of his cock pressing against your softened cervix.

"Oh fuck!" Yoongi's head falls forward as he relishes in the heat of your cunt. His eyes squeezing shut as he pulls out of you slowly only to slam back into you with all of his strength.

"Fucking tight little cunt, all for me." He mumbles before beginning to piston himself within you. Loud moans resounding throughout the room as he fucks you quickly. His hands rubbing at your belly as he moans your name. Your legs wrap around his waist, angling your hips upward demanding all of his cock within you.

"Fuck! Yes! Right there!" "So fucking heavy with my baby and you're dying for my big cock! You're so good to me! Letting me fuck you with my son inside you." The sound of your sodden pussy resounds throughout the room as you watch him fuck you through the mirror above you. The way his back and ass muscles contort to please you makes your eyes roll back as he grips at your hips.

"Such a pretty little cum slut I have underneath me. Dying for more of my cum when she has my baby." You moan his name loudly as he begins to roll his hips, his cock brushing against every nook and cranny within you. His head bends down briefly to spit on your pussy before rubbing at your clit.

"Yoongs!" He groans in agreement as he jackhammers himself within you, your thighs beginning to feel boneless as your knuckles turn white from gripping the sheets. You could feel your second orgasm incoming as your head begins to fog with pleasure.

"Fuck your pussy is trying to milk my cock. Cum on my cock baby. Fuck, yes." Yoongi's mouth going dry as you tighten around him. Your pussy throbbing around his member as he reaches forward pinching at your nipple. You moan loudly at the feeling before orgasming. Your cum spraying on to his stomach as your back bows off the bed.

"Oh fuck! You're such a good little girl!" You whimper loudly as your ears ring from the pleasure. Yoongi stills within you, giving short strokes before pulling out completely. You whimper at the loss before picking your head up. He bends down kissing you gently before standing.

"Stand up." He tells you before shoving the grey cushioned bench at the end of the bed in front of the tall mirror on the wall.

"What?" You ask blinking rapidly trying to come down from your high.

"Stand up for me, baby." He holds his hand out before smiling at you sweetly, his free hand stroking at his cock as you stand up for him.

"Leg up." He tells you patting the bench and you do as told. "Good girl."

He praises you before stepping behind you. His lips finding the crook of your neck as he enters you from behind. You both moan gently as he begins to thrust into you slowly. His eyes watching your body through the mirror as he rubs at your belly.

"Fuck, look how gorgeous you are. This nice big belly so heavy with my boy. Tits all milky for me. Makes me want to fuck another baby into you right away." You moan putting your head back on his shoulder as he rubs at your belly. His hand snaking down and rubbing at your overly sensitive clit making you whine.

"It hurts!" You whimper as he begins to fuck you rougher.

"You can take it, baby." His teeth nipping at your throat as he holds your belly firm as he fucks you with all of his strength. He ogles how your breasts jiggle with each thrust, how delicate his hands look on your engorged stomach and Yoongi finds his pleasure coming to its peak.

"Sexy little pregnant minx, loving my big cock fucking her so good." Your hand wraps around the back of his neck as he watches his cock disappear within you through the mirror.

"Dying for a fat load of cum, aren't you babe?"

"Yes! I want you to cum so deep in my pregnant pussy! I love when you fuck me full of your cum!" Yoongi's eyebrows furrow at your words as his balls begin to tighten.

"Oh fuck! I'm so close!" The circles on your clit become faster as he moans your name in your ear before sucking on your earlobe. You feel yourself going for your third orgasm of the night as Yoongi rubs quickly at your belly.

"Fucking gorgeous belly. So nice and round for me, so fucking pretty." His cock begins to throb within you and he angles your body forward letting the head of his thick cock brush your g-spot.

"Yoongs! Fuck!" You moan loudly before cumming without warnings. A small gasp emits from your husband as he whimpers your name.

"Fuck! I'm cumming! This pussy feels so good! Shit, baby!" Yoongi moans lowly pressing his forehead to the back of your neck as he orgasms. His cock giving short thrusts inside you as you moan at the feeling of his warm cum. His lips kissing at your skin as he breathes deeply. He snakes his arms around you holding you close to his body as he rubs at your belly.

"I love you." You smirk exhausted, "I love you too." Yoongi chuckles as his son moves within you.

"Yah. Min Gun, it's sleep time." You giggle putting your head back against him as he lifts his head only to press his lips against your cheek.

You throw your freshly showered hair over the pillow as you lay down on your back, Yoongi throws himself down on the bed before kissing your belly.

"Always remember that you're the most gorgeous woman in the world, hmm?" He mumbles into the skin of your belly before looking up at you. You smile running your fingers through his wet hair.

"It's just hard to believe sometimes." You whisper to him as he sucks a breath in through his teeth.

"Then I'll just have to remind you every day how beautiful my wife is and how special you are." Yoongi whispers before grabbing his pillow and laying next to your belly. His hand snaking around the engorged bump before pressing his forehead to your skin and closing his eyes to sleep.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts smut #pregnant smut bts #pregnant smut #min yoongi #jeongguk #jimin #the red dress #taehyung #namjoon #seokjin #bts story #bts series #bts imagine #impreg

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!

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kittinoir · 3 years

Text

Phantoms Ch. 15

Read on Ao3

Adrien had thought he’d feel angry. He’d thought that all-consuming rage would devour him whole and he’d never find his way out of it. He’d thought he would come apart from the force of it all.

But sitting there now, his father in a prison jumpsuit on the other side of the plexiglass, all he felt was numb. That rage had been snuffed out, and a desert had been left in its wake, devoid of any signs of life.

He’d lost his father a long time ago. The only thing that had changed was where Gabriel slept.

“How is she, Adrien?” Gabriel demanded. His hand was pressed against the glass, as though he might press through it and shake the answers out of his son. “Tell me she still lives.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss my mother with you,” Adrien said. His voice was so cold it might have frosted the pane between them.

The truth, however, was yes - Emilie Agreste lived, if you could call breathing with the help of a ventilator in a private suite at Pitié-Salpêtrière living. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t wake. But she lived.

Adrien wasn’t about to tell his father any of it though. Maybe it was petty, maybe he wanted to punish Gabriel just a little bit more, but he didn’t care. His father had no right to any of them. Not anymore.

“Then what did you come for?” Gabriel asked as he leaned back in his chair. “To finally have your say?”

As if he were worth the breath it would take.

That’s what Adrien keep telling himself, anyway. It’s what Marinette would have said, but it was harder to keep the tirade back than he’d thought it’d be.

“Who was using the peacock Miraculous?”

Gabriel just stared at him - and then laughed.

“That’s why you came here?” he asked, leaning on his side of the table.

“I have no other reason to be here,” Adrien said.

But Gabriel just chuckled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adrien hid his frustration. He’d known it was a waste of time. At least, he thought he’d known that. But he was still here, wasn’t he? He didn’t know why he expected honesty. As far as he could tell, Gabriel hadn’t been honest with him a day in his life.

It didn’t matter. He’d said the last thing he needed to to the man who had raised him. He was ready to end this chapter.

“How could you?”

The words were out of Adrien’s mouth before he even really made the decision to say them. They hung in the dead air between them. Then Gabriel’s mouth became a hard line.

“There is nothing on this earth I wouldn’t have done to save her,” Gabriel said. “Nothing.”

Adrien shook his head. “She wouldn’t have wanted this.

“That’s irrelevant,” Gabriel said. And that told Adrien everything he needed to know.

“Good bye.” Adrien hung up the phone. He saw his father say something else, lean back into the window, but Adrien stood and turned his back on him.

“Thank you,” he said to the guards as he left. They nodded as he passed, their faces expressionless. If they’d overheard his conversation, they hadn’t cared. No doubt prison officials were already pouring over the recordings, but nothing had been said that would hold any weight. True, there hadn’t been a single akuma attack since Gabriel had been arrested, but circumstantial evidence wouldn’t be enough.

It would be a trial like no other, that was for sure. Would French law even apply where magic was involved? No one had died. No permanent damage had been done, at least to the average Parisian.

It was a headache Adrien wasn’t ready to deal with. At least not yet.

He flipped the hood of his sweater up and slipped on some sunglasses as he was led out the backdoor of the prison. Paparazzi had staked out the building, waiting for either him or Gabriel to be spotted - or one of Paris’s many heroes. At least his father’s fortune was good for covert comings and goings. It helped that he’d ditched the car. True, a sweater and sunglasses were hardly the disguise Chat Noir would be, but it was enough.

Adrien paused halfway down the block from the prison as he came level with a billboard across the street. He was used to seeing his face everywhere he went, but this….

“The Girl Who Saved Paris”

The headline blared in bold, black lettering. Someone had gotten a hold of Marinette’s school picture and edited it side by side with one of Ladybug’s press shots. It was a great photo. They both were. He hated it.

They still weren’t sure how the leak had happened, though Adrien was sure he knew who was responsible. One last act of misery wrought by his father, one final shot at revenge - if he was to be unmasked, she would be, too. Now the entire world knew who Ladybug was.

“Are you sure I can’t cataclysm him?”

Plagg popped into the shadow of Adrien’s hood and hovered by his cheek.

“If you cataclysm him, then he won’t be held accountable,” Adrien explained for the thousandth time. “And the people of Paris deserve that. We deserve that.”

“At least let me do the billboards then,” Plagg whined, glaring at the one across the street as Adrien began walking again.

“No use,” Adrien muttered. He’d tried. Three more had sprung up overnight, as if punishing him for even trying. Someone was certainly determined. “Claws out!”

And then he was running, first down the streets, then across the rooftops as he angled for the only place he felt normal anymore.

The Dupain-Cheng bakery was busier than ever thanks to the billboards. He couldn’t blame the people that hoarded the doors, desperate for a glimpse of the girl who had saved them all. He knew that, but still, some part of him seethed. Hadn’t she given them enough?

He circled the block and approached her roof from the back, pausing to detransform behind a chimney, as if there would be anything less scandalous than the son of Ladybug’s arch enemy slipping into her room.

But no one saw him creep across the roof, and after a moment, Adrien dropped through the skylight onto the end of Marinette’s bed.

Despite being a model, despite years of fencing, there was just no getting around it: he wasn’t as graceful without the Miraculous. The jostle he created with his landing was enough to wake her up.

“Adrien?” she mumbled sleepily, squinting at him in the gloomy darkness of her room.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he settled against the pillows she’d placed at the end of the bed for him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’d rather be awake than asleep if you’re here,” she said. She pushed herself up, and Adrien almost might have bought a speedy recovery, if he didn’t know her well enough to notice how she braced herself for the charade first. “Is everything ok?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” he said. “Who had the peacock.”

Marinette sighed, her shoulders drooping. “It was worth a shot.”

She’d been the only one to think so, but Adrien suspected she was also the only one who knew how much he’d needed to face his father one last time. Confirming Gabriel’s accomplice would have only been an added bonus. The question itself truly was irrelevant; Adrien could guess at the answer. Why else would Nathalie have been named his guardian in the event anything happened to his father?

“How are you doing?” Adrien asked.

Marinette shrugged, doing a halfway decent impression of her usual bright smile. “Every day is an improvement.”

But Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds suspiciously like a half-truth.”

“It’s a whole truth,” she insisted, but a tremor rolled through her body. “It’s not exactly a great day.”

Another understatement.

The truth was, Marinette was incredibly lucky. It was as though her Miraculous had infused her life, blessing her with little charmed moments. That was the only way to explain how she’d survived the cave in at Hawk Moth’s lair. Some doctors would chalk it up to the volume of her dress protecting her from any real damage. Other would call it a fluke. One doctor said if the tables hadn’t been in the room, the piece that fell would have crushed her spine completely.

She’d been bleeding so much when he and Ryuuko had pulled her from the rubble that Adrien had thought for sure she hadn’t made it. It wasn’t until later, when he was patrolling on his own to take the edge off, that he realized he’d never reached for her earrings in that horrible moment. He’d never even thought to use the wish.

Seconds after they’d freed her, Marinette’s chest rose in a shallow breath. She’d coughed, choking on cement dust. An exhausted Plagg had swirled up into Adrien’s face.

“Only Chat Noir is going to get her to a hospital in time,” the kwami said.

“But you’re - ”

“Do it,” Plagg demanded. Adrien hadn’t wasted any more time.

He’d never run so fast in his life. It wasn’t until he’d cataclysmed his way through a billboard that was in his way that he realized the paw pad on his ring wasn’t counting down anymore. He hadn’t known it at the time, but it was the last time Marinette would be afforded anonymity. He’d thought he’d have to convince the hospital staff to let Chat Noir visit her the next day, had come up with a plethora of lines to persuade them - only to have them part in hushed tones when he arrived, saying <em>of course</em> they’d let him see his partner.

He’d panicked as he’d approached her room. How was he going to tell her? How had it even happened?

But as he’d pushed open the door, Chat Noir had seen Marinette sitting up, alert, her face grim. She didn’t move as he entered the room, and it was then that he noticed she was staring at the tv in her room. It was the only story on any channel.

“Does it ever get easier?” she’d wondered as he’d stopped beside her bed. “Having your personal life on display?”

He’d thought for a moment. “No. But it helps having good people by you.”

And that was that. He’d learned that despite the blood, she’d only really suffered one major injury: a deep gash across her back that ran from her right shoulder to her left hip. The doctors had done everything they could, and spared no expense once they discovered who they were working on, but a scar was inevitable.

“Is there anything I can do?” Adrien asked now. Marinette fidgeted, and for a moment he thought she might say no, but then she blushed a deep scarlet.

“The bandages need to be changed,” she said. “But I don’t want you to have - ”

“I’ll do it,” Adrien said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Marinette dropped her gaze to the comforter, weariness heavy on her shoulders. “For the ‘girl who saved Paris’?”

“For the girl I love.”

Adrien held her gaze as her head shot back up. It was an offer, nothing more. She’d rejected him several times before. He could take it again, if that was what she wanted. If she needed some time.

But he couldn’t help but feel that, as the world fell apart around them in so many ways, this was the one thing that was finally coming together.

Marinette released a shaky breath. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

Adrien smiled softly. “I’m happy to practice. But first, bandages.”

“I’m going to need some help,” Marinette admitted as she regarded the loft stairs. “We tried staying down stairs, but some of the more ambitious fans managed to sneak up through the bakery. No one’s made it up here yet.”

“Partly due to Jagged’s security team I’d guess,” Adrien said as he carefully maneuvered to the stairs. He’d spotted them doing their best attempt at crows control on the way in. “It was nice of him to loan them out to you.”

“I think he would have done it even if I wasn’t Ladybug,” Marinette said with a small smile.

“I think you’re right,” Adrien agreed. Jagged Stone might have been eccentric, but he had a heart of gold Adrien rarely saw in other celebrities. “Ready?” Marinette’s smile vanished as she regarded the descent. “I’ll be quick,” he promised.

She inhaled sharply as she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck. She squeezed as he slipped one arm under her knees and gingerly placed his other hand on her back. He could feel the raised scar through her shirt. He took a quick peek, then relaxed a little; she hadn’t bled through the bandages.

“Where to?” Adrien asked.

“There’s a stool by the sink,” Marinette said. Pain laced her voice.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

“Love you, too,” she said.

And then she buried her face his shoulder with a muffled scream as he carried her down from the bed, across the room, and set her on the stool. She was panting when he leaned back. Her arms slipped off his shoulders to her lap as one, two tears escaped.

“I’m fine,” she said as Adrien brushed away her tears with the back of his knuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she just caught his hand with her own where he’d cupped her cheek.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said earnestly.

“I’m glad it’s me, too,” Adrien said with a small smile as he stood. He turned to the sink as she saw to the buttons of her night shirt, waiting til the water ran warm to fill the small bowl someone had left on the rim. He collected fresh bandages, clean towels, and the antiseptic ointment someone had laid out as well.

When he turned back, he saw that Marinette had finished with her shirt and slipped it off. The fabric had pooled on the floor around her stool. He’d known about the wound. He hadn’t even considered the bruising - at least, not until that moment, when he saw it flowering out from beneath the white bandages wrapped around her torso.

“Ready?” Adrien asked as he kneeled beside her. Marinette nodded. This would be almost as bad as the moving. Maybe not quite as painful, but it would go on for much longer.

“I’m starting,” he said. He made quick work of the knot at the side, then began unwinding.

“I never did ask,” he said. “How did you end up with your Miraculous?”

Marinette shrugged, then hissed at the movement as it tugged at her wound.

“Ran into Master Fu on the way to school one morning,” she explained. “The first day of school, actually. The day you started. He was having trouble crossing the street. The light was about to change.” She snorted. “An act, obviously. That man’s never been helpless a day in his life. I rushed out to help him. Dropped all the macarons Papa made for the first day of class that day in the process. He still took one when I offered. When I came home at lunch, the Miraculous was on my desk.”

Adrien laughed softly. “That sounds familiar.” He unwound the last of the bandages and dropped them into the trash. Thankfully there was very little bleeding where the bandages had pulled away some of the scabbing. “I’m going to clean this now,” he said. She nodded sharply.

“I almost blew my identity - that first - day,” Marinette said in fits and starts as Adrien gently cleaned away old medicine and a little blood. “When Tikki popped out of the earrings. I called - for my mom and dad.”

“What happened?” Adrien asked as he worked around the wiry black sutures.

“Tikki stopped me,” she said, relaxing as he finally finished cleaning. She reached her hand back for a clean cloth, and he dunked one in the warm water before handing it to her. “I’m lucky they didn’t hear me,” she said as she cleaned her front where the bandages would go back on.

“Luck does seem to be your specialty,” Adrien agreed. But there was no denying as he looked at Marinette’s back that destruction was his. She’d only been hurt because of the damage he’d done to the room. Now she’d forever wear the scars of his weakness.

“Does this hurt?” Adrien asked as he applied some of the medication.

Marinette shook her head. “Not badly. It’s actually a little soothing. What about you?”

Adrien frowned. “Am I hurt?”

“No,” Marinette said with a short laugh. “How did you end up with your Miraculous?”

“Oh.” Pieces of the full picture crowded in on him as he thought back to the day, but he pushed them away. There would be time to make those connections later. “It’s a similar story. I was trying to get to school while evading Nathalie and my body guard. I was halfway up the stairs when I saw Master Fu fall on the side walk. I didn’t think about it, I just went to help him. That afternoon, the Miraculous was on my coffee table.”

“Is that why you were late that day?” Marinette wondered, straightening as Adrien began to wind the clean bandages around her torso.

“I’m surprised you remember.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Hard to forget. It was all Chloe would talk about.”

“That sounds about right,” Adrien said with a half smile. He finished wrapping the bandages and tied them off. “By the time I turned back around, Nathalie and my bodyguard were blocking the stairs. They took me back home. It wasn’t until that afternoon that my father reconsidered my attendance.” At the time he’d thought he’d caught his father in a rare good mood. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel had simply wanted him out of the way while he worked. “Where can I get a clean shirt?”

“Bottom drawer on the left,” Marinette said, pointing towards her dresser. “Do you remember that thing with the gum?”

Now Adrien did laugh. It felt wrong coming out, like he’d forgotten a little bit how it was supposed to work. “I can’t believe we almost didn’t like each other.”

“Me either,” Marinette admitted. “Could you imagine? Friends as heroes, enemies as ourselves?”

“Au contraire,” Adrien said as he pulled out a clean blue night shirt from Marinette’s dresser. “I think you would have fallen for ‘Chat Noir’ a long time ago if ‘Adrien’ hadn’t managed to win you over.”

To his delight, Marinette blushed a deep pink. “You may be right,” she said, but she didn’t look away. “Such a shame we’ll never know.”

“I think I can live with that,” Adrien said, grinning. He shook out the top and helped Marinette guide her arms through the soft cotton. “Back to bed?”

But Marinette shook her head. “I finally feel a little better. I don’t want to ruin that. Would you help me to the chaise?”

“Of course,” Adrien said. He came around to stand in front of her and took both her hands, helping her to her feet. It was slow going, but he got the sense that she liked being on her feet and more or less self-sufficient, so he was happy to take his time.

But when they got to the chaise, Marinette hesitated.

“Would you stay?”

“As long as you want, Marinette,” he promised. He sat down first and let her get comfortable on her own before guiding them both back. “Is this ok?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her head on his chest. “This is…I must have imagined this a million times.”

“Yeah?” Adrien asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How does it measure up?”

“The real thing is so much better.” She pressed closer, then giggled. “It’s purr-fect.”

Adrien groaned as she laughed, but he was smiling, too. “And you say my puns are bad.”

“They are bad,” she said, “But I love them anyway.”

“You’re too kind, m’lady,” Adrien said. “Now you need to rest. I have it on good authority healing takes a lot of sleep.”

“Mmm,” she mumbled, but then Adrien was running his fingers through her hair, and she was gone in seconds. He craned his neck to see her face, and after a few minutes, even the pain that lined her face faded.

“That’s the most peaceful she’s been since she came home,” Tikki said, drifting down from the loft.

“Has it been bad?” Adrien murmured.

“She’s been worried about you,” Tikki said. “It keeps her awake.”

Adrien shook his head. “Typical Marinette. Worrying about everyone else when she should be worried about herself.”

“She loves you,” Tikki said. “She can’t help it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adrien said. “I know. I love her, too.”

Which was why, after another twenty minutes, Adrien slowly slipped out from under Marinette and laid her as gently as he could back on the chaise. The corner of her mouth turned down, but he brushed it away with a kiss.

“Leaving so soon?” Plagg asked.

“Something like that,” Adrien said, his mouth set in a grim line. “Plagg, claws out.”

Despite the bright light, Marinette didn’t even stir.

“Adrien?” Tikki said as she drifted closer. He had time to wonder how something so small could look so suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Giving her what she needs,” Chat Noir said with a glance at Marinette. “Some peace.”

“She already does,” Tikki said, following him to the hatch in the floor.

“I won’t sacrifice her to win,” he said simply. He dimly recalled her saying the same thing to him - or at least, a version of him. Hawk Moth had whipped him up into such a frenzy that he’d barely heard the words, had barely considered them, but even as he’d reached for her earrings, a part of him had recoiled. He’d wanted to give up the anger then. It hadn’t been enough.

But he could make it count now.

He straightened as he descended the stairs. Tikki chased him down to the main level where she finally hung back, falling silent. He could see the crowds of people through the window panes of the back door. Good. It was good.

He didn’t balk as he pushed open the doors. Didn’t shrink or hide his face as every head in the room swivelled towards him. For a moment, there was silence. Then the chaos began.

He didn’t linger. He pushed back Tom and Sabine. He couldn’t read their faces. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. There would be nothing but outrage and disgust there in a few moments.

For once, his heart was steady as he pushed through the doors and into the street outside the bakery, the crowd from inside close on his heels. It didn’t trip or stutter or race at the scrutiny. For the first time, he was completely sure.

“Chat Noir!” Nadja Chamuck had pushed to the front and now shoved a microphone under his nose. “Were you just visiting Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl Paris now knows has been saving them for the better part of two years? Sources say she was grievously wounded in the final battle with Hawk Moth - is that true? Will she recover?”

Beneath the mask of news anchor, he could see Nadja was genuinely worried. He remembered that Marinette wasn’t just some random high school girl; she was Nadja’s baby-sitter.

He would have to reassure her another time.

“Parisians,” he began. His voice was strong, steady. It didn’t betray any emotions - possibly because for once he felt at peace. “Hawk Moth ensured Ladybug’s identity was revealed before he was captured. It was his final act of revenge. But as Ladybug’s partner, I can not, and will not let her weather this storm alone.You know me as Chat Noir, Ladybug’s parter, the boy that’s been saving you for the past two years. Now you will know me as I am. Plagg, claws in.”

Adrien counted down his last moments of peace as his transformation dissolved, finally revealing his true face to the city he and Marinette loved so much.

’Does it ever get easier? Having your personal life on display?’

That’s what she’d asked him. He’d told her most of the truth. But the other part, the part he’d known she’d eventually discover on her own, was that you could get used to anything if you experienced it often enough.

And he’d had years of practice.

#phantoms #phantoms ch. 15 #but for real now #hiatus

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smellslikemultifandomimagines · 3 years

Text

smut prompts #1, 9, 10 & 23.

ao3 request: Ok! Prompts 1, 9, 10, and 23 all combined into one request! So this takes place, if possible, in the movie, Under the Red Hood. Red Hood has a partner, who like him, has a deep grudge against Joker for killing her family and has decided to kill bad guys alongside him. His partner, the reader, is mainly a sniper, and they have spent a long time together, fighting side by side. But, during a mission, the reader screwed up badly, allowing not only some major baddie to escape, but abandoning her task of shooting him in order to save Red Hood. This angered him, so he decides to “punish” her. Could you also make the reader like a very quiet person? She’s basically like Sinon from SAO.

prompts:

1: “Don’t tell me what to do, unless it’s in the bedroom.”

9: “1, 2, I’m going to fuck you.”

10: “The cuffs stay on, until I say otherwise.”

23: “Stop talking and put it in your mouth already.”

smut prompts are from here

warnings: smut → use of handcuffs // fem!reader // mentions of violence / injury.

word count: 1,482

Kinktober has finished, so the prompts are no longer in use, but thanks so much for participating!!

requests for normal fluffs and smuts are still open!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

You and Jason were the definition of partners in crime. You’re the snipper and he’s the fighter. Works hand-in-hand and anyone would say so themselves. Both having come from difficult pasts and a troubling trauma that resulted from the Joker brutally murdering both your family and Jason’s family, you and Jason were bound by souls.

Tonight is no different than any other night. As per Black Mask’s request, an assassin was send your way. It was an easy fight; both you and Jason put your forces together and fought like no other. Kicks and punches were thrown, grunts of pain from the asshole were heard, and profanities were hurled between all of you. You and Jason were winning. Right up until Jason got injured. Bad. You stand still, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot the asshole that you and Jason were fighting but you can’t. Not when you can hear him groaning in pain, fighting both hands around his leg to stop the bleeding. The asshole had manage to slice through Jason’s suit while gashing his leg open in the process.

“[y/n] shoot him!” Jason yells, noticing you completely frozen in place; torn between shooting or saving.

“I-“ you stutter, eyes glistening with tears. But it’s too late. The assassin ran in the opposite direction and took a sharp right turn into a dark alley. Running over to Jason, you crouch down and wrap his arm around your neck to help him stand up. Jason, however, swats your hand away. He struggles to stand on his feet. Even though you can’t see his face through his mask, you new he looks like hell; eyes probably puffy, skin marked with defeated bruises, and blood boiling with rage. He limps to the car, ignoring your pleas for him to stop and just talk to you for a minute.

“Jason, I’m sorry!” You exclaim in a whimper. Jason doesn’t respond. His rage radiates off him and it feels even worse in the car; the confined space makes the rage ricochet off the inside of the car and strangle you.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Jason still hadn’t said a word to you even when you got back to his apartment. He slams the bathroom door shut and you can hear him rustling around the first aid box. You stand in front of the door and wait for him. Stings of curses and hisses can also be heard from him as he wraps a bandage around his leg. After a while of fixing himself up, he suddenly opens the door and both of you gasp lightly in shock. You notice how he took his suit off and he’s standing before you in sweatpants he had left in the bathroom.

“Jay, we should talk about this,” You say, but he just pushes past you. “Jason!” He turns around and looks you dead in the eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do, unless it’s in the bedroom.” His tone is sharp and direct, and just from that, you know you’re in for it now.

“I’m gonna count to 3 and you’re gonna do exactly as I say,” J instructs.

“Or what?” you challenge, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jason begins counting slowly, taking a step forward with each word he spoke. “1,2, I’m gonna fuck you.” You swallow, looking into his eyes and watching as his eyes grow dark with lust.

“I want you to strip for me right here,” he instructs for the second time tonight. You do as you’re told and slowly strip out of your suit and panties.

“Good girl,” J says lowly, planting a soft kiss on your lips as a reward. Picking you up, he carries you to the bedroom and slams you down against the mattress, causing you to let out a yelp and a giggle. You sit on the edge of the bed and bite your lip as you impatiently wait for Jason to undress out of his sweatpants. You can feel both your mouth beginning to water as he positions himself between your legs. Hooking your fingers in the material of his boxers, you pull them down while making eye contact with him. Just from eye contact alone, not to mention the fact that the rage is still boiling from inside him, the atmosphere in the room was thick and intense. Fiery, yet ardent.

“J, I still think we should talk about this,” you reiterated from before.

“Stop talking and put it in your mouth already,” Jason growls, snaking a hand around to grip your hair in a makeshift ponytail. You don’t say another word and get to work; swirling your tongue around his tip and feeling wetter by the second with every grunt and groan that comes from his pretty lips. Your hands place themselves flat against his hips to hold yourself up and your mouth takes him as far as you can. Jason moans as your head bobs up and down his cock, his head rolling back and the grip on your hands growing tighter.

“Fuck yes, just like that,” he moans. Coming up for air, you swirl around his cock and lick up the shaft. Jason pulls you back and yanks on your hair so you could look up at him.

“Don’t you dare fucking tease me,” Jason shot angrily. Using your hair as leverage, he holds you still as he fucks into your mouth. His cock hits the back of your throat and you gag, but of course you don’t mind. Without warning, J pulls out of your mouth and orders you to lie down. You did as you were told and waited for him, watching curiously and almost wearily as he shuffles through the wardrobe. Jason pulls out a pair of handcuffs and your stomach nearly dropped. You’re in deep shit and he knows you know it. The smug smirk on his lips makes your eyes roll and a whine slip from your lips.

“Jason, I’ll be good I promise,” you protest.

“If you were good, you would’ve killed that asshole instead of helping me,” he retaliated back in a jarring tone. He grabs your wrist tightly and cuffs it to the bedpost.

“I said I was sorry,” you whine, trying to wriggle your other hand out of his grip despite knowing it was no use. He cuffs your hand to the other bedpost and shuffling down the bed to settle himself between your thighs.

“J, please, is this really necessary?” You ask, tugging on the cuffs.

“The cuffs stay on, until I say otherwise,” he directs before thrusting two fingers into your pussy. You moan almost instantly from how good his fingers felt; the way he’d switch between thrusting them fast to slow and how’d curl his fingers on the spot that made you scream his name. God he really knows how to work his fingers and he damn well knows it, judging by the way the snarking smirk is plastered on his face in this very moment. He takes his fingers away and rolls on a condom before lining himself up and pushing in slowly.

“J, please,” you beg, rocking your hips against his. Jason sits up on his knees and wraps your legs around his waist while he holds your hips up. He takes advantage of this new angle and begins pounding into you; his cock slamming as hard as it can into you, making the headboard slam into the wall with each thrust. Moans and grunts, mixed with skin slapping against skin and the cuffs scraping against the bed posts create a hotter and more intimate atmosphere. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you’re still cautious of his injury. It almost seems the pleasure overtook the pain and he had forgotten about the wound on his leg.

You could tell he was close; the way his breathing quickened, the grip on your hips grew tighter and his thrusts gets messier.

“you gonna cum, baby?” You ask, feeling your own high approach you.

“shit, baby,” was all he can master up. Jason brings his hand down and his thumb begins circling your clit, making you feel like your on cloud-9.

“Jason,” you whimper and go to grip his wrists, but of course, you’re restrained by the cuffs which you almost forgot where there. “Fuck!” You moan loudly as you feel the cord beginning to snap from inside you. Your walls begin pulsing around his cock as you came, a string of moans and profanities spill from your lips. Jason thrusts harder and lets out a groan and a small “fuck” as he cums.

Jason slowly pulls out, wincing at the pain that has come back to his leg. He disposes the condom before lying down next to you, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper against his chest.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll get him next time.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd smut #jason todd titans #jason todd imagine #titans #titans smut #Jason Todd kinktober #under the red hood #red hood #red hood smut

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luxekook · 4 years

Text

chapter four.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 3.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, noona kink, general chaotic energy, poly relationships, slight implications of switch!reader and sub!jk, jin being a beautiful mess, make-out sesh with multiple people oops

⇥ beta reader: the lovely @shadowsremedy

Chapter Four

Taehyung’s Room, BTS House – 10:49pm

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

Namjoon’s question fills the room. The boys all stare at me with anticipation, leaning forward with furrowed brows.

I ponder my course of action for all of two seconds before launching into my well-practiced rant, “I want to know what sort of sick prank you think you’re playing, because I am not falling for it. I mean – all of you wanting to date one person? Date me? Seems fake, but okay.”

Some of the boys move to interrupt me, but I thrust up a palm, “No, please let me finish. I know I don’t really have the right to make judgements about you guys, but I have seen some misogynistic behavior from your frat. So, I feel like it’s not that far-fetched for me to think that you’re probably playing me.”

“Messy gymnast behavior? What’s that?” Jungkook whispers to Hoseok who just shrugs, looking equally as baffled.

“Misogynistic, Kook, not messy gymnast,” Namjoon pinches his nose in frustration, “It means prejudiced against women.”

Seokjin and Jimin descend into fits of laughter. Hoseok still looks mildly perplexed, and Yoongi takes a large sip of soju from a bottle he procured from god knows where within the last few minutes.

Covering his face, Jungkook dives behind Jin in hopes of further hiding his embarrassment.

“I think I know what she’s talking about.”

The room quiets at Taehyung’s interjection. He reluctantly sits up from his relaxed position on his bed and explains, “When we met at our party last semester, she found out about our old pledge tradition.”

“Oh, damn,” Jimin sighs, “So that’s why you motioned to remove it from the chapter’s history at the last meeting.”

“Yeah,” Tae looks me in the eyes, “We voted removed it, (y/n) ... A little too late though, it seems.”

Jungkook peeks his head out from behind Jin’s shoulder, “We’re sorry, noona.”

Trying not to internally melt in response at the youngest’s display of classic puppy-dog eyes, I slump against the wall and slide into a sitting position on the floor. “Look, I’m not going to say that ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not. But I do appreciate that you removed it.”

The boys hang their heads, looking properly chastised.

“That’s fair,” Namjoon finally says quietly, “We know as a frat we fucked up. We’re not perfect. We make a lot of mistakes. But we’re trying to get back to being respectable and move on from here.”

“We’re trying to get back your respect,” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, looking at me with wide eyes and more attentiveness than I’ve ever seen from him.

“But that’s the other thing,” I look away, pulling at a random thread fraying off of the sleeve of my sweatshirt, “Why does it matter so much that I respect you? Why are you all so invested in me all of a sudden? In all honesty, I haven’t said more than two words in conversation to half of you.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really matter,” Namjoon shrugs, shifting to lean casually against the wall.

My eyes narrow, “How can it not matter?”

“Because we date as a group, (y/n)-noona,” Jimin smiles down at me from his perch on Taehyung’s bed, all squishy cheeks and crinkled eyes, “Tae thought we’d all like you, and then Jungkookie and Joon-hyung agreed and—”

Hoseok excitedly chimes in, arms swinging wildly, “And finding someone who we all like hasn’t happened in so long, and I’m so happy!”

“Yah, Hobi!” Jin reaches over Jungkook to shove the bouncing boy, “We’re supposed to be playing it cool. We have to woo her.” He winks and blows me a kiss.

Instinctively, I swat it away and then giggle at Seokjin’s indignant gasp.

“I take it back! She’s mean!” Launching into a passionate rant complete with head shaking and wild eyes, Jin continues, “Consider that kiss null and void. I have never been so insulted in my entire life, you know!”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I collapse from laughing alongside the rest of the boys. Namjoon’s dimples are out in full force as he drawls, “Hyung, that’s what you said yesterday when I beat you in Overwatch.”

Seokjin splutters over the now-renewed laughter of his younger brothers, “I thought I told you to never speak of that again!”

Trailing off in mumbles of how he needs new friends and how disrespected he is as an elder, Jin resorts to pouting in the corner.

“You’ll have to excuse Seokjin-hyung, (y/n),” Taehyung smirks at me with raised eyebrows, “He’s skated by solely on his looks up until now.”

Seokjin’s pouting intensifies.

“He is handsome,” I instinctively respond, fully focused on the beauty of Jin’s pouty lips. And when those lips break into a huge grin, I cringe at my lapse in judgement for the thousandth time that night.

“My faith in humanity has been restored!” Jin ambles back to his original spot next to Jungkook and thrusts a paper heart that he apparently had been carrying on his person for quite some time in my direction.

“Hyung,” Hoseok eyes Seokjin with a concerned frown, “Where did you even get that from?”

“That’s one secret I’ll never tell.” Jin barely finishes that sentence before a flurry of pillows, water bottles, and other miscellaneous items are thrown at him from all angles.

“I thought we agreed no more quoting Gossip Girl, Jin-hyung!” Jimin cries as he continues to hit Jin with a pillow from Tae’s bed.

Miraculously still even able to speak under the assault from the other boys, Jin replies with complete sincerity, “XOXO.”

Chaos reigns.

Watching all seven of them in - presumably - their most natural state, I sigh in amusement, “Y’all are too much.”

Somehow the boys hear me, because they all turn to face me once more with various expressions of playfulness and mirth. Jin still lies under the pile of them laughing slightly as they slowly shift off of him.

“Nah, I think we might be just enough for you, noona,” Jungkook pipes up as he plops down on the edge of Taehyung’s bed.

“Yeah? And how do you know that?” A sudden thought occurs to me, “Wait, why do you all even date one person anyway? Don’t you realize like half the campus is in love with each of you?”

“You’re included in that half, right?” Taehyung grins and then shrinks under my withering glare, “I mean, it’s a long story?”

“Oh, hold on,” I check my wrist, which noticeably has no watch, “Mhm, that’s right. It’s story time.”

Jimin snorts and then burrows under the covers in mortification.

“Cute,” Hoseok sighs, staring at me, “I want to keep you.”

And there’s something about having Jung Hoseok’s full attention and adoration that brings me to peak devastation. I pull my hood up over my head and burrow into my sweatshirt.

“Aw!” Various yells rebound around the room. I flip them all off.

“Hobi,” Yoongi teases, “I think she likes you.”

I peek out of the safety of my sweatshirt to eviscerate him with my eyes, but Yoongi just raises one brow coolly and calls me out, “Well, am I wrong, jagi?”

All eyes are on me, and the room is suddenly so quiet that all I can hear is the muffled party downstairs and the beating of my heart.

“... I want my lawyer,” I finally declare, re-emerging from the depths of my sweatshirt and crossing my arms.

“Oh, come on, noona!” Jimin shuffles across the room and kneels in front of me, causing me to descend into a panic, “You like Hoseok-hyung, right? Well, what about me? Do you like me?”

Jimin peers down at me, pink hair tussled and eyes shining. How could I ever say no to that beautiful face? That angelic human?

Must.

Deflect.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Why do you all date the same person when each of you could have anyone you want?”

Jimin deflates and sits back on his heels, frowning at my non-answer.

“But we do already date everyone we want,” Hoseok cuts in, giggling, “Well, almost.”

They’re already dating people? My mind wracks through all my knowledge of the seven boys sitting before me, but no evidence of them dating anyone pops up. “Wait, I’m confused. Who are you all dating then?”

I can’t help but feel like I’m on the outside of an inside joke as the boys all exchange looks that are all too smug for my liking.

“Seems like we did a good job, boys,” Namjoon chuckles, “People on this campus are pretty oblivious.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, “They just choose not to see it. They want us all to be fully available.”

The lightbulb finally flickers on in my mind.

“Oh my sweet baby Jesus,” I whisper, “You’re all dating each other, aren’t you?”

Various nods answer that question. Jin, of course, being Jin, wipes an imaginary tear from his eye as he dramatically laments, “And she’s smart, too? How did we get so lucky, boys?”

“Yoongi,” I say calmly, “Please pass me that soju before I commit murder in this very room.”

Without a word, Yoongi hands me the bottle before settling down in the space next to me against the wall.

Suddenly hyperaware of my positioning, I realize I’m sitting in between Jimin and Yoongi. Jungkook, Taehyung and Hobi now sit together on Tae’s bed, while Jin remains on the floor surrounded by various pillows and debris.

Namjoon is still leaning against the opposite wall, looking way too intimidating and perfect that I’m forced to look away.

That is, until he starts to speak. “(y/n), the seven of us have always been close. We grew up together; and, somehow, we just work as a unit. We work together. It may seem odd or untraditional. Maybe it is. But, it’s who we are. And it’s how we love.”

Namjoon continues, “We don't want to lose what we have together, this dynamic we've spent so long building. But, we’ve been feeling like something has been missing from our relationship lately. We’ve been looking for someone to help complete us.”

“And you think that person is me?” I suck in a jagged breath, “You really want to share me? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

"There are crazier things," Yoongi shrugs, taking back the bottle of soju from my grasp, "Like how Namjoon has an IQ of 148 but can't seem to live one day without breaking something."

Namjoon, looking affronted, opens and closes his mouth, but ultimately settles on just smiling bashfully. My heart almost explodes at such a display of cuteness.

"It's really not that crazy, (y/n)," Taehyung interrupts my internal fawning, "You seem like a girl who’s intimidated by no one and nothing. We really, really like that. And we figured since you kissed me and Jungkook that you might be interested.”

Embarrassment washes over me. I steal back the soju from Yoongi, who just smirks knowingly.

“Besides, polyamory is actually more common than you think,” Hobi smiles in that pretty heart-shaped way of his.

He has a valid point. Who am I to be the judge of what love looks like? Who am I to criticize these boys who clearly love each other and just want one more person to love? Who am I to deny myself the opportunity to be loved by seven people?

“Can I think about it?" I ask, still fighting the inevitable for whatever reason, "I'm not saying 'no’. I just need a bit of time to think it over."

"Take all the time you need, baby," Namjoon murmurs, looking like I just handed him the keys to the entire world.

"No,” Jimin groans, burrowing his head in the crook of my shoulder, “Please, please, please don't take all the time you need, (y/n)-noona! I can’t wait that long!”

I reach up to stroke my fingers through his pink hair in an attempt to soothe the poor angel.

“Do we have permission to continue to woo you during this ‘thinking’ period?” Jin inquires, casting a look of jealousy at Jimin who is now nestled even further into me.

“Continue?” I ask, “When did you start?”

“Yah!” Seokjin exclaims, “Why does she keep roasting me?”

“I think it’s hot,” Jungkook grins at me with stars in his eyes.

“That’s because you’re a masochist, Kook,” Taehyung cackles from his perch on the bed.

“Ah, hyung!” Jungkook jumps on Taehyung in an effort to silence him, “She doesn’t need to know that yet!”

“I mean, it is pretty obvious,” I pause dramatically, dropping the pitch of my voice, “Baby boy.”

Jungkook yelps and takes off out of the room.

“Shit, was that too much?” I ask, staring at the door thrown open in Jungkook’s wake.

“No,” Tae replies, still laughing, “I think he just needs a second to calm down. I’ll go see where he went.”

Taehyung gets up from the bed and shuffles out the door in search of Jungkook. The open door allows for more sounds from the party to seep into the room.

Namjoon sighs, “I should probably check on what’s happening down there, shouldn’t I?”

“Good luck, man,” Yoongi tears the soju back out of my hand and lifts it up in cheers to Namjoon. Chuckling, Namjoon ambles over to where Yoongi, Jimin and I are crowded together and grabs the soju.

After taking a long sip, he crouches down in front of me and grasps the hand that remains unoccupied by Jimin. Bringing it to his lips, Namjoon places the lightest kiss on my knuckles. “I’m so happy you showed up tonight, baby. I can only hope that my future holds more of you in any way you choose to give me.”

Pressing his lips to my palm this time, Namjoon smiles in that completely devastating way of his and then saunters out of the room. Still gaping, I realize I never even got to say a word to him in response.

“You are so whipped for him already, jagi,” Yoongi says lowly, lips brushing my ear.

I blink. My senses are on overload. Jimin is still curled into my side, with my hand stroking his hair and his lips accidentally grazing the skin of my collarbone every so often. Now, Yoongi is closer than ever. I can feel his breath against my neck and his stare focused on my lips. Meanwhile, Hobi and Jin are slowly but surely shuffling closer to where the three of us are bunched together.

“So what if I am?” I finally answer, “Aren’t you all whipped for him, too?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jimin mumbles into my shoulder.

My mind explodes.

“She’s not ready for that yet, Jiminie,” Jin giggles, “I’m pretty sure she’s still half convinced I worship Satan in the basement.”

“Well, I wasn’t before, but now I am,” I jokingly eye Seokjin up and down with an amused smile.

He grins back at me. I melt. And he knows it.

“Can I kiss you?” Jin asks, the slightest smirk curving his lips, a look of hunger burning in his gaze, like he could just eat me up, “Please?”

I swallow and his eyes latch onto the movement of my throat.

Before I can reconsider, I remove myself from my sitting position against the wall, much to Jimin and Yoongi’s dismay, and straddle Jin’s lap, immediately capturing his lips with my own.

The effect is instantaneous. Various groans echo around me as Jin smiles against my mouth. His hands find their way under my sweatshirt and squeeze my hips, dragging my body even closer against his.

The way Jin kisses is life-ruining in its unhurried, yet passionate deliberateness. He kisses me like he’s claiming me, and the possessiveness of his actions send a ripple of excitement through my body. Releasing my mouth, he works his way down the length of my exposed neck, and I gasp in response.

Suddenly, I feel another pair of hands twine around my body from behind as Hobi pleads into my ear, “Can I kiss you, too, (y/n)?”

I nod wordlessly, wondering what I did in my past life to deserve such affection in this one.

“No fair,” I vaguely hear Jimin pouting, “I want to kiss noona.”

“We’ll have our turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi’s voice causes a shudder of anticipation to race down my spine.

“Oh, she likes that idea,” Jin laughs, obviously having felt the tremor that shot though me in response to Yoongi’s suggestion, “Come get a taste.”

“Only if that’s what she really wants,” Yoongi says, meeting my eyes, “Don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, kitten.”

“Kitten?” I growl, eyes narrowed sharply in his direction.

“Yep,” Yoongi’s answering smirk is slow and antagonizing, “All cute and cuddly with a hint of claws.”

“I’ll show you claws,” I say darkly, getting up, “Stand up.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Why?”

“I won’t ask again,” I move closer to him and Jimin.

Yoongi pulls himself to his feet, acting like it was the most physical activity he’d ever done.

When he’s finally done with the dramatics, I move closer until he’s backed right up against the wall, “Min Yoongi, I’m going to shut you up now.”

His breath stutters as I slowly move my mouth closer to his. “Please do—” I cut him off.

Kissing Yoongi is just as intoxicating as kissing Jin, but in a different way. Yoongi tastes like soju and spearmint. His body melts under my touch, completely fine with letting me lead. An idea springs to mind and I slide my hand into his hair and tug lightly. He jolts with a moan.

Bingo. I smirk before kissing him deeper. My other hand winds around him to scratch my nails down his back. This time, I’m awarded with a small whine.

The fact that I’m wrecking this boy is simultaneously wrecking me. That impact doubles when I feel a small hand begin to wind its way up my calf towards my thigh. Tearing my mouth away from Yoongi, I open my eyes to see Jimin smiling up at me, “Can you kiss me like that, too, (y/n)-noona?”

“Why couldn’t you wait your turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi sulks adorably, sensing that my resolve against any request from Jimin was nonexistent.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to be showing me the perks of dating multiple people?” I joke, “Jin and Hobi just shared. Can’t you two?”

Jimin springs up off the floor faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, “Yes! We can share!”

“Good,” I reply, turning in Yoongi’s arms so that my back is pressed against him. He hisses in a breath. “Come here, Jiminie,” I open my arms to the eager boy who all but leaps into them.

“You’re so beautiful, noona,” Jimin sighs, pupils dilated, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“So are you, baby,” I sigh, bringing a hand up to brush his cheek fondly, “So are you.”

I kiss Jimin gently, treasuring the feel of his plump lips against my own. I trace the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip and his mouth opens in a silent gasp. I use the chance to slip my tongue inside to twine with his.

Through my thoroughly fucked-out haze, I feel Yoongi’s hands settle onto my hips, grinding me slowly against his crotch. I moan into Jimin as Yoongi’s mouth sucks on the side of my neck, surely for the sole reason of marking me.

“Well, shit, JK,” Taehyung’s voice shatters the bubble of pleasure I had been residing within in the middle of four beautiful men. My eyes flutter open to take in the sight of Taehyung holding a box of pizza and a case of beer, with Jungkook right behind him. “Looks like the party started without us.”

a/n: oops, another slight cliff-hanger? *laughs evilly*

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elsewhereuniversity · 3 years

Text

About Face

“Do you have any questions about your prescriptions today, uh…m-miss?” The pharmacist’s question is laced with assumptions about who you are. It’s not great, of course, but it’s also not worth your time to fight about today.

“No, I’m good,” your smile and voice are sugary-sweet, but your eyes are daggers as you take the bag and turn back towards the door. The heat and humidity are already staggering at 8 am and you are immediately made sticky by the brief walk to your car. As you start it up, there’s a brief chime of email-receiving from your phone, but you ignore it. Then there’s another ding, this time your lab-mate, Valerie, texting you.

Hey, u almost in? In like 30min. had to stop by pharmacy

K. Jill was looking for u. Also ugh that paper for tomorrow, I’m not even a birdsong person lol

Lol get over it, I had to read one of your fancy neuro papers last time. Did jill say what she needed me for?

Whatever lol. She didn’t say.

Ughhhhhhh

Jill, Dr. Dominguez, is your advisor, and you know you need to get her some figures and sections of your thesis soon, but these damn stats…well. There’s a reason you prefer spending your time traipsing off-trail through the wilderness over sitting in front of a computer all day. Not that this part isn’t interesting and important too, but come on.

Traffic is moving at a sluggish pace, of course, so you’re lost in contemplation and dread of the analyses you need to attempt running today, and the inevitable conversation with Dr. Dominguez that will have to happen at some point. As the traffic finally begins to move, you grit your teeth. Maybe it’s time to consider actually asking for help. I have no fucking clue how to do multivariate shit…You stare ahead as you inch forward, before a frustrating, jolting stop at a red light. Your eye is drawn to a kid crossing the road, wearing a grey hoodie. They look forlorn, for some reason you can’t entirely enumerate, and you glance back at them as the light finally turns.

The sun isn’t very high yet, so there are still some odd shadows stretching across the sidewalk, but you could’ve sworn that the kid had no face.

****

You manage to put the pharmacist and your grandma and the obviously-just-a-trick-of-the-light-I-mean-how-else-could-that-be faceless kid out of your mind for the rest of the morning and actually get some results you can work with from the analyses you’d been worried about. And when Dr. Dominguez pops into lab to talk to you, she is actually impressed at both the pace and quality of work you’ve delivered thus far. In fact, you’re feeling pretty damn good about everything, despite the earlier unpleasantness, so you decide to grab some lunch and hang out with some of the other grad students and lab techs.

Lunch-special sushi in hand, you plop yourself down at one of the rundown old tables in the work room. Valerie is there, along with Raul, one of the grad students from a micro lab down the hall, and Jackson, one of the general lab techs. Everyone says hi, but you’re only vaguely following the conversation as you dig into your spicy tuna roll. Something something TA stipends being cut. Which is such bullshit, of course, but nothing new. You’re just about to jump into the discussion when you get a Facebook notification. It’s your cousin, who tagged you in a post. You stare for a good five seconds at your phone.

Just remembering the good times with my cousin before he decided to be a transsexual.

And then a picture from when you were 14, a picture you’d thought you’d deleted from every conceivable online location. A picture that highlights pretty much every single aspect of your body that made staying in the closet completely untenable. Everything just always happens at once, huh.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter, and are surprised to feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes.

“Becca, you alright?” Valerie asks, and you belatedly realize that everyone at the table heard you and is now staring. They think you were talking about one of them, or responding to something they said.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Just something my cousin posted. She’s—she can be such a jerk. Don’t worry about it,” you say as you hastily wipe away the tears.

“What’d she do?” Jackson asks. Valerie glares at him so fiercely that he rolls his eyes and holds up his hands, “Just, like, if you wanna talk about it.”

You sigh. You’re not precisely going stealth, but you also don’t just talk to everyone about being trans. Have you actually come out to Jackson? Valerie knows, and Raul, but you don’t think you’ve ever directly talked to Jackson about it.

“It’s—it’s fine. Just, she posted a picture of me from before I came out, and I really hate thinking about any of it.” You speak with a bit more force than you intend.

“Why is that a big deal?” Jackson asks, taking a bite of his pasta. Valerie glares at him again and Raul just shakes his head.

“It’s just…it took me a long time to figure it out, and I don’t particularly like being reminded of that. And it’s not great for dysphoria, either.” You say this distractedly as you go to the post and untag yourself.

“That’s really rough,” Raul says, frowning.

“Sorry, what’s that word?” Jackson asks with a raised eyebrow, “I guess I just don’t get it? It’s just a kid picture of you, what’s it matter?”

And that does it. You stand abruptly, “I need to get back to the lab.” You hear Valerie and Raul berating Jackson as you walk away, but you’re just so very done. You toss the empty sushi container in the trash at the corner of the hallway, near one of the windows overlooking the main walkway through campus. And you nearly trip over your own feet as you swivel to double check something down below. A gray hoodie. A child with no face looking over their shoulder as they turn a corner.

****

You don’t mean to take the wrong street. It’s already been far too long a day between all of the inanity with your extended family and Jackson. And everything you tried to run after lunch was a bust, making you feel like Dr. Dominguez’s praise earlier was completely undeserved. Given all of that, you decided to get takeout again, even though you really should be cooking, so you’re walking to pick up your order. It is early evening, the shadows having elongated to embrace nearly everything, and while debating whether it’s even worth confronting your cousin about the jab, your feet simply take you the wrong way. You don’t even notice, until you’re standing in front of an empty park that’s three blocks over from where you should be. Or, wait.

Not empty. One lone figure, sitting quietly on one of the swings, wreathed in shadow.

You’ve been walking quite quickly, but over the course of a few steps have come almost to a stop. With a shiver, you glance around the area, but no parents or adults are in sight, and the figure looks young, even from a distance. 12, maybe? Maybe the kid lives in one of the nearby houses? Probably. Should you call someone? Who? Not the cops. They’d just as soon arrest or hurt the kid as help them. It isn’t that late, leaving the kid be is probably the most prudent course of action.

But. The kid feels…familiar. Even from a hundred meters, you can see that their shoulders are hunched, their hands are tight on the chains of the swing. The gentle creaking as those chains move with the slight shifts of the kid’s body is despondent in a way that is known to you, somehow. So, against your better judgement, you leave the sidewalk and walk across the damp grass to the edge of the playground. When you step onto the sand, the kid’s head jerks up and their shoulders tense further, raising almost to their ears. You stop walking and from the new angle a streetlight throws the kid’s grey hoodie into stark relief.

“Are-are you okay?” you have to clear your throat to get the words out and your voice sounds weak and tinny in the still, silent park.

The shoulders shrug. The kid is also wearing jean cutoffs, their scuffed sneakers unlaced.

“Do you need me to call someone?”

A sharp shake of the head, and then their hands release the chains and fall into their lap.

“Don’t need anything,” the kid’s voice is low, you can barely hear what they’re saying. Gingerly, you take the last few steps to the swing set and awkwardly settle into one of the worn rubber seats. Only after you have already done this do you think to question why you are so compelled to talk to this child who—maybe? how?—has been dogging you all day.

“I said I don’t need anything,” the kid says in an emotionless voice. Their face is still completely shadowed by their hood and shaggy hair.

“I just—look, kid, I think I’ve been where you are, and—”

The kid cuts across you, “I tried to tell them today. But I…couldn’t, I didn’t know how to, so I just ended up saying I like girly shoes and wanted some or whatever.”

Oh. So you were right. You know exactly what’s going on. In fact, you’re pretty sure you had that precise conversation, once.

“That’s tough,” you acknowledge, slowly pushing back in the swing, which creaks beneath you, “It took me a long time too.”

There’s silence. Then:

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You start and quickly glance over at the kid, who has finally turned to face you.

She doesn’t have a face, which, you suppose, really shouldn’t be a surprise. You weren’t seeing things, earlier. There’s just a smooth expanse of dark olive skin. The featureless head tilts to one side and she speaks again.

“I thought you might recognize me.” The voice is plaintive. With every word, you feel a sense of vertigo, like there is a mouth, somewhere, that is making those sounds, that it’s right in front of you, but you cannot perceive it.

You are breathing very rapidly, “I thought—how do you know me? What’s, I mean—”

“This?” the kid gestures at her face, “I don’t know, I can see but I can’t see myself, I dunno what’s going on. All I know is I was walking to the park and then I was here, or I mean, on the road this morning and saw you and I followed you and I just want to go home or just sleep or just melt away but I can’t, okay? There’s just nothing.”

Without noticing, you have sprung to your feet and are backing away from the faceless girl, the faceless girl who can’t tell her parents who she is. Who you are.

“I didn’t want to think about it,” you whisper. Why are you even responding to this? This is a hallucination, or a dream. You’re just reacting to the whole bullshit situation with your cousin and Jackson and that fucking pharmacy tech. Did you fall asleep back in the lab, is that it? You pinch yourself, but no luck, “I came out and that was what I needed. Okay? Why dwell on, on, on all of that shi—stuff that happened before?”

The girl is still sitting placidly in the swing, though her hands are once again clenched around the chains.

“I knew you were me, I guess. So I followed. I don’t think anyone else notices me either, not that that’s anything new,” The note of bitterness in her voice cuts you to the bone, “I thought maybe you—me, future me, whatever—would be able to…fix me? But nothing’s changed, has it?”

You’re backed up to the slide now, “Why are you doing this? What even are you?”

You slump against the side of slide, your knees suddenly weak, “This cannot—this is bullshit, I don’t know how you’re doing this, but—”

The faceless girl is in front of you now, hands jammed into the front pocket of her hoodie. She stands there, contemplating her future self, “I just want to understand,”

The kid, proto-Becca, or whatever or whoever she is, sure sounds like a kid desperately trying to make sense of something, and not some ghoulish nightmare creature.

“Just stop,” you say in a hoarse voice, “I just don’t want to think about it, I shouldn’t have to think about it, I just want to move forward.”

“Yeah,” proto-Becca abruptly falls to her knees, and draws them up to her chest. It takes a few seconds for you to understand the sounds that the kid is making are sobs.

You hug your own knees and contemplate getting up and running away and just forgetting about all of it: this faceless phantom of your childhood self, your relatives’ inability to accept your reality, the absurd, useless, pointless stats and analyses. You’re crying too, desperately trying to refocus on the here and now, instead of being drawn down into the rabbit hole of loneliness and regret and fear that always consumes you when you think too hard about those years in which it felt like your whole body was turning against you and you couldn’t find any satisfactory explanations for what you were feeling.

But the sounds of proto-Becca, of proto-you, sobbing into her knobbly knees bring you back to the present. Ironic, that. No matter what else, however she got here, whatever happened to her face, she’s a kid. She’s a kid. She’s. A. Kid. You were a kid.

You furiously wipe your eyes and nose and sit up, scooting a bit closer to proto-Becca.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you say in as steady a voice as you can manage, “I was scared, and, and, and I lashed out. It’s not your fault, kid.”

She doesn’t lift her head, but the sobs are quieter.

“I mean, kid, no offense, but you don’t have a face. And somehow you’re me, right?” Okay, that came out meaner than you meant it to, “The truth is that I’ve done my best to forget pretty much everything that happened back when I was…you, I guess. But I can’t.”

She sniffles, “I’m trying to tell them, I am. But the boys at school, every time I try to talk to Mom or Dad I see those boys laughing and yelling and coming at me and I can’t, I don’t—know how I ended up here, or what to do about this or anything. I just want things to be normal.”

And, finally, you get it. Not why she’s here, or how, or what any of this means, but, at least, what to do. You’ve tried to help kids who were like you before. You’d never have told them that they needed to keep their feelings concealed, that they needed to not do anything so as to avoid reminding you of your own past. So why, then, are you doing it to yourself?

“Is it okay if I come sit next to you, maybe give you a hug?” you ask, as gently as you can.

You get a glimpse of the faceless face from behind the curtain of hair, “I—I think so?”

You get to your feet, a task far more laborious than you feel it should be, and cross to her. When you plop down by her side, she twitches, but it’s toward you. Slowly and carefully, you wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders, and hold her close. She’s still crying, and the hood has slipped from her dark curls.

“It’s okay that it’s taking time,” you say, “It’s really, really hard. I meant that. There’s…nothing out there. No one to explain to you, to, uh, us, what these feelings mean, really. I remember. I remember how much it feels like you’re just stuck in the same looped computer program. Endlessly completing the same actions with no idea why, only feeling like something isn’t right. And so scared of what happens if you do anything that breaks that loop.”

“That’s pretty much it,” she says with a note of wait, that wasn’t completely in my head???, “I don’t see how I can explain to anyone, especially Mom and Dad.”

“I think all you can do is be honest. There are some resources out there, although maybe they aren’t published yet,” you glance sideways at her, “But if you just…elucidate those feelings you’ve been sitting on, it at least opens the door to them comprehending.”

“I guess so,” she sighs, and then giggles, “But also, like, no offense, that was, like, a really freakin’ pretentious way to say that.”

You snort and ruffle her hair, “Whatever. Something for you to look forward to, then.”

She’s quiet for a bit and then, quick like a bird, she wraps her arms around you too, “So I’m gonna tell them, then?”

You shrug, “When you’re ready. Whenever that is. And I promise, you are no lesser if it takes a while. Okay?”

“But you’re still going to hate thinking about me, right? I mean, about how long it took me, you, to finally do it?” her head tilts.

You sigh, “I don’t know. It’s hard, I won’t pretend it isn’t. But I think I can at least say that it’s okay. That it’s not my, or your, fault.”

When you look up, her face appears. Smile first. Broad and full of braces, her quick and nervous brown eyes darting to your face and then back to her knees.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, giving her one last squeeze, “I’m the living proof, right?”

Her laugh lingers in the air as she fades away.

#transroadwarrior #stories #long post #about face #body horror #of the faceless variety #trans #transphobia #briefly #becca #proto becca #submission

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foilfreak · 3 years

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 9 (temporary 1-2 week hiatus being taken from his fic, click ao3 link and read end notes to find out why. I WILL BE COMING BACK!!!)

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 link below)

Despite the shrill echo of Nadine’s terrified voice being something Salvatore has prepared himself for since before the young woman even arrived in the reservoir, the real thing was still somehow 100 times worse than he could have ever imagined it being.

Chaos followed as Salvatore frantically left his hiding spot, crawling across the floor as quickly as his mangled body would allow, as a loud crashing sound vibrates the whole room once Nadine’s body finally lands, quite uncomfortably I might add, on the hardwood of the floor. The sudden frantic and terrified swinging of her arms following Salvatore’s verbal slip knocked the poor woman off balance, sending her right back down to the floor for a second time.

Staring at the writhing figure of Nadine from the other corner across the room, Salvatore sniffles pitifully to himself as tears cascade down his face. Oh how appropriately cruel, that the universe wouldn’t even give Salvatore the decency of a proper meeting with Nadine, much less a chance at friendship and even less at anything past that. It makes perfect sense that this would be the way Nadine found out how disgusting and pathetic he is. Sitting alone in a dark and dingy room, watching old romance films because he has no one of his own to hold and love like the men in the movies do, and eating entire blocks of cheese all on his own, because nothing pairs with unending loneliness like the tang of sharp cheddar and the horrible stomach ache that follows it.

Putting his hands up to cover his face, a final effort to hide himself away from the beautiful woman’s gaze, Salvatore merely sat in his new corner, his shoulders shaking with sobs of agony and his body trembling in fear as Nadine’s gaze finally locked on to him, and him alone this time, in the dark silence of the room.

“H-Hey… are you alright? I’m sorry I yelled like that, I didn’t mean to startle you like that, but you suddenly spoke up out of nowhere and it scared me half to death” The soft voice from across the room asks, causing Salvatore to pause in his moment of self-loathing. Did… did she just ask him if he was alright? Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to ask her that?

“W-what…?” Salvatore chokes out, peering out slightly from behind the cover of his hood in confusion. The sight he’s met with is one that steals his breath away, much like the first time he laid eyes upon the stunning beauty this tiny woman held. However, unlike their “first” meeting, that took place back in Mother Miranda’s lab, this time there was no metal pod separating the two, Salvatore realized, as the sight of Nadine, slouched tiredly on the ground barely a few feet away from where he cowered in the corner, registered in the mutant man’s mind.

Next, of course, came her actual appearance. Black strands tousled messily across her forehead framed her round face and golden eyes perfectly. Her long white dress bunched up around her upper thighs, revealing the curves of her large, but muscular legs, that had previously been obscured by the material of her dress. Slouched shoulders and heavy breathing caused the material of Nadine’s nightgown to slowly inched its way down the front of her chest, not exposing her necessarily, but definitely revealing more and more of her lusciously plump breasts with every harsh up and down of her shoulders.

Tears continued to fall from Salvatore’s eyes even as saliva began to fill his mouth and his fear and self-loathing slowly gave way to the growing fire beginning to kindle in the pit of his stomach. The sound of his muffled sobs of anguish and arousal escaping from behind his hands causes Nadine’s face to immediately fall, agony replacing the previously wild look her face held.

“N… N-no. No no, please don’t cry. It’s alright. I-I-I’m not going to hurt you… I mean it… see… I don’t have any weapons on me” Nadine says hurriedly, standing up and doing a spin to show that nothing that could pose potential harm to Salvatore was hiding between the folds or frills of the thin garment. “See! Nothing to hide.”

Salvatore merely closed his tear soaked eyes and shook his head, the motion moving his whole body along with it. “Nooooooooooo… y-you d-don’t… under-s-stand…”

“What do you mean? What don’t I understand?” Nadine asked, kneeling back down to the ground, moving slightly closer to Salvatore than she was before, a terrifyingly genuine look of concern and worry etched into her beautiful features.

The mutant man fought back a wave of nausea and choked on a sob at the angelic sight. Hoards of hormones equating to despair and arousal battle within the hellish confines of Salvatore’s brain. The mutant man was filled with so many mixed emotions that he genuinely couldn’t tell if he wanted to tear himself apart until not a scrap of evidence of his existence remained, or if he wanted to just spring forward and consume the delectably dangerous morsel that sat so prettily before him, like an octopus latching itself upon the almighty great white shark as it just passes above their home, pulling the now helpless and unsuspecting predator down into the depths of a true monster’s domain.

“Hey, come on now. It sounds like you’re having a hard time breathing. Why don’t you come out of the corner where the air’s a little fresher, ya?” The young woman coaxes gently, moving ever so slightly closer to Salvatore as she speaks. The movement does not go unnoticed by the hooded man, nor does the way it pushes her dress even further up her already decently exposed thighs, but with little ability to stop Nadine’s incremental advances, Salvatore merely buries his face into his hands, blocking as much of his disgustingly bloated maw as he possibly could, even as the young woman attempted to change her angle to get a better look at him.

“P-p-please… jus-just stop!” Salvatore commands, suddenly filled with a wave of confidence that abandons him just as quickly as it arrived. “j-j-j… j-just… g-go… please…”

A light mist has become visible in the light reflecting off of Nadine’s eyes, the young woman looking truly saddened by the strange man’s utter rejection of her. Whether it was out of pity for Salvatore’s sake, or fear of her own impending isolation should the likes of Salvatore even reject her company, the hooded man could neither tell, nor did he really want to know.

“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone trying to be your friend now is it? I might not look as normal as I used to but I’m not here to cause any trouble” Nadine scolds lightly, her voice strong, though even Salvatore can detect a slight wobble. “But… if you can give me a valid reason why I should leave, then… then I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

A valid reason? What other reason did she need than to get away from him?

Salvatore takes a moment to wipe away some of the tears that coated his face, slightly peeking out to look at the younger woman once again before speaking. “Y-you… you can’t… s-stay here… th-this place… it i-isn’t… isn’t g-good enough f-for you… it’s… i-its not w-worthy… I-i… I’m… n-not worthy… of you…”

Nadine shifts slightly closer once again, a pained look cut into her face like a raging storm cuts through large waves out in the open ocean. Her whole body was a sea of turbulent waters as she gingerly reached her hand forward, slowly but surely inching her way closer to Salvatore, until her wine dark fingers just barely brushed against the thick, rugged fabric of his overcoat.

Silence befell the two mutants, permeating the room with tension so thick and heavy Salvatore thought he might suffocate.

The cornered man could not bring himself to look up as Nadine’s delicate fingers gently latched on to the article of clothing covering his wretched and disgusting form. Salvatore shuddered as he prepared himself for what was inevitably to come once Nadine removed his overcoat: the biting cold of the surrounding area pinching and nipping at his thick, but sensitive flesh; another shrill shriek of fear and terror that would pierce him to his very core; the sound of Nadine, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, immaculate Nadine, fleeing not just the underground tunnels that had lead her to discover this place, but also the reservoir, never to be seen again.

Salvatore wouldn’t blame her for this choice, of course. After all, it’s what he would do if he found himself trapped with a wretched creature as grotesque and pitiful as he himself was. Death wasn’t an option Salvatore had the luxury of entertaining, but he never blamed others if they chose it over him.

He would too, if he could.

Despite his earlier expectations, the hand on his coat never moves to take the garment off the trembling man, instead, moving to gently run along the side of Salvatore’s head, down his shoulders, before resting itself softly, but firmly, along the area of growths that covered the small of his back. After taking a moment to allow the violent trembling of Salvatore’s body, in response to the young woman’s gentle caresses, to calm down to something more manageable, Nadine slowly lifts her left hand and rests it on the opposite side of the hunched-over man’s head, yet she makes no move to try and take his cloak off or remove his face from his hands.

Stillness and silence return for a brief moment, almost as though Nadine were waiting for Salvatore to raise objection to her advances and stop her, as if he had the power or control to do anything but cower in the corner and cover his growing excitement in shame. With no explicit objections voiced, the hands resting gently around Salvatore began to slowly pull him toward Nadine’s body.

“Come here” Nadine’s soft, heavenly voice commands lightly, as Salvatore’s body does as instructed with no resistance whatsoever. A broken sob of humiliating arousal escapes the hooded man when he gently falls forward into Nadine’s lap, her arms quickly moving to wrap around and hold the hooded man against her soft, warm, and strong body.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. There’s no need to be so worked up. You have nothing to be afraid of, here” Nadine coos soothingly, as her hand gently caresses his thin, leather covered arm.

Salvatore cries pitifully as the painfully comforting words and actions make him want to vomit from overjoy. “Y-you… you d-dont unders-s-stand…” the hunched man weeps, his voice slightly muffled by his knees as he continues trying to hide his face by shoving it as far between his legs as he’s physically capable.

“What don’t I understand? Could you explain it to me?” Nadine asks, patiently holding the sobbing mess of a man firmly against herself as he collects himself enough to answer.

“I-it isn’t… you… th-that I f-fear…” Salvatore begins, trailing off as another wave of cold dread and fiery desire collide violently somewhere deep inside the hooded man’s chest.

“What is it that you’re afraid of then? If not... me?” The young woman’s angelic voice questioned, the slightly fearful and worried tone of her voice toward the end of her question, as if what Salvatore thought of her was even worth her precious time to worry about, made the mutant man’s stomach wretch sickeningly.

“I-I… I f-fear… oh god-” Salvatore began, before promptly shutting up and shoving Nadine as far away from him as he could from that angle, throwing himself to the floor, on his hands and knees, in the opposite direction just as a wave of acidic bile forces its way from the confines of the man’s mouth and out onto the floor in front of him. His own hideous reflection stares back at him in the growing puddle of stomach acid once he’s done.

A spiteful reminder from the universe of what he was and why he lived the way that he did.

Drunkenly reaching his hand forward to smear the vomit puddle around so he at least didn’t have to look at himself AND sit in his own filth while he gathered the energy to get up and wash off in the lake, Salvatore missed the way Nadine’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the man’s clumsy movements, before suddenly widening as she realized what the hooded man was doing.

“No, wait! Don’t touch that, it’ll only make you feel worse if you fiddle around with that nasty stuff” Nadine says hurriedly, as she rushes forward to take Salvatore’s moving hand in her own and presses it firmly against her bosom to prevent the man from playing around in his own throw up. She gasps in shock and her grip tightens around Salvatore’s hand, as though she’d suddenly remembered something important she’d forgotten about and Salvatore’s hand had brought it back to her conscious mind, before shaking her head and pulling herself from her thoughts.

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let me wipe your face for you, and try to take deeper, slower breaths while you’re at it. You’ve managed to work yourself into such a panic that it's no wonder you’re throwing up all over yourself.”

The room is spinning far too fast and in far too many different directions for Salvatore to really be sure what’s going on, however the feeling of Nadine’s skin pressed against his own as she tenderly raised the edge of her pristine white dress to wipe away the lines of green acidic bile that had been left on Salvatore’s lip, was a sensation of euphoria unlike anything the hooded man has ever felt before in his entire life.

Not even Mother Miranda’s own embrace felt quite as… ‘brutal’ wasn’t the appropriate word to use based on its true definition, but in that instance it's the only word that Salvatore can think of to describe how intense everything around him, Nadine especially, feels at the present moment. Her touch, her scent, her warmth, her weight, her firm grip around him, the constant rhythmic thrum of her heart beat against his cold, bony hand, all of it was so intensely brutal that it was a wonder how the combined effect didn’t beat him into the floor. It was too much for Salvatore to handle all at once, and yet he knew that if the kind angel sitting next to him retracted so much as a single one of those sensations, he’d lose himself to insanity like careless swimmers lose themselves to sudden rapid currents.

Salvatore threw up 3 more times before his stomach finally allowed him the relief the hooded man had desperately been craving. The floor was an absolute mess by this point, but thanks to Nadine, who’d managed to keep his upper body upright the whole time, Salvatore hadn’t made nearly as much of a mess of himself as he normally did, though that still didn’t fix the primary problem that had resulted in all that vomiting.

“There we go. That must feel a lot better, huh?” Nadine asks calmly, pulling Salvatore in to rest against her chest once again, his face still turned downward and away in avoidance.

Although Salvatore does not grace her question with a response, the hooded man has long since given up trying to get away from the young woman, at this point just allowing her to move him however she pleased, taking in as much of her kindness and affection as he possibly could, before she inevitably hightails it out of here, of course. It was only a matter of time, at this rate.

“You know… you’re a lot bigger than I expected you to be” comes a sudden declaration from Nadine, breaking the silence that had permeated throughout the room and immediately pulling Salvatore from his dejected whimpering.

“I mean… I suppose I should have expected that, especially since most middle schoolers are taller than me, nowadays” the young woman continues with a lighthearted chuckle, “but you looked so small and stump-like from all the way up in that stupid pod that I couldn’t help but be a little surprised when I felt you had arms and legs. You could have very well had a snake for a body for all I knew and I still don’t think I’d have been as surprised, though this huge coat you're wearing certainly doesn’t make getting a good look at you very easy.”

“Th… that’s th-the point…” Salvatore mumbles, though seemingly more to himself than anyone else.

“Really? And why is that?” Nadine asks curiously, clearly having heard the older man’s muttering.

“I-if… if you k-knew me… you’d know… th-the answer to that q-question” Salvatore replies sadly, fresh tears beginning to prickle along his lower lid, threatening to spill over as the depressing reality of his meaningless existence makes itself more than obvious.

He was a filthy monster who deserved to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable, because why would something as unholy as him ever be worthy of anything else?

“Oh, now I don’t think that’s true at all. After all, I’d like to think I know you pretty well, and I still want to see what you look like” Nadine counters, her words shocking Salvatore beyond belief.

She… knew him? How? When? In what ways? What?

The only other time they’ve ever interacted was back in Mother Miranda’s laboratory. While the hooded man supposed his gifts could be aiding in Nadine’s surprisingly positive impression of him, he hesitated to call receiving a dress and a necklace from a random stranger “knowing” someone. How on earth could she say she knew him when, for all intents and purposes, they’ve only just met?

“B-b-but… h-how… how d-do you k-know… m-me? Y-you have… t-trouble… seeing… d-dont you? D-did… did y-you see me… b-back in the l-lab?” Salvatore asks, tears belonging to an unspecified emotion once again beginning to fall as a hand moves to gently grasp at the bones lining the top of his hood.

“Unfortunately no, I wasn’t able to get a good look at you before, hence why I was trying so hard to catch a glimpse of you earlier. You are, however, right in the assumption about my eyesight. I have severely impaired vision, yes, but it's manageable with a strong enough prescription; not that I see myself getting to an eye doctor anytime soon for a new pair of contacts. But even without my contact lenses, I can still make out general movements, as well as general shapes and colors, pretty easily from far away, it's just fine details from a distance and darkness that give me the most trouble. My vision is actually perfectly normal so long as whatever I’m looking at is within a few feet of me. If I looked down right now, I’d probably be able to see your face normally. Do you hide your face away from everyone around here?” the young woman asks curiously, gently pulling the dark fabric of the hood back, slowly revealing Salvatore’s face to the dim light of the room, even as her gaze remained locked on the wall behind them.

“N-not… e-everyone… th-there’s a f-few… who… who I sh-show my f-face to… regularly” Salvatore chokes.

Really?” Nadine asks, “like who?”

“M-my… siblings.”

“Oh, so you’re not the only one around here then? Are your siblings here in the reservoir?”

“N-no… th-they live… in o-other places… of th-their own… a-around the v-village.”

“Wow, so there is more of this place to explore, then!” Nadine states excitedly. “I’d love to get out and see more of the area for myself at some point, though I doubt that’s very wise given the amount of howling I’ve heard the past few nights and the fact I don’t know my way around this area... though, even if I did, that memory is probably long gone along with the fucking rest of them… not that I would have wanted to hold onto them anyways, I don’t think.”

Salvatore’s attention is caught by the last bit of Nadine’s statement, confusion filling him over what the younger woman could possibly mean by what she’d just said. “‘G-gone along w-with the rest o-of them?’... W-what… d-does that… what d-do you m-mean?”

Nadine remains silent for a moment as she continues to absentmindedly stroke the side of Salvatore’s head, the hooded man unable to tell what she could possibly be feeling right now without risking exposing his face to her.

Thankfully, Nadine resumes speaking before Salvatore loses patience and gets too risky. “My memory of the life I had before waking up in that damn pod is foggy at absolute best, but I don’t need my memories to know that I wasn’t very happy with my previous life and that I was actively trying to get away from it somehow. What exactly was I even running from and where was I going? Who knows, and frankly I don’t care to relearn it either. I do think it's quite funny that you were talking about me needing to go somewhere else because this place isn’t good enough for me though, because honestly, even if I could somehow get the hell out of here, it's not like I’d have anywhere else to go. Getting away from the shitty life I had before is probably how I ended up here to begin with, though if I’d known this was how things would end up I might have reconsidered throwing it all away so suddenly.”

Had it not been for Mother Miranda being there for him throughout the years, Salvatore would probably think much the same way as Nadine about the whole situation, but having Mother meant he always had a purpose and a goal to work towards, so it didn’t matter that Salvatore couldn’t return to his old life. What shocked the deformed man the most however, was the fact that Nadine appeared to not only already accept the fact that she couldn’t go back to her former life, but seemed to actively be searching for something, anything new to try and fill the void that had been left behind by the life she’d, more or less, willingly gave away to come up here.

Could… could this mean…?

“Thankfully my ability to make new memories doesn’t seem to have been fucked up at all, which I’m quite happy about since I'll be needing to make a lot to fill in the empty spaces in my brain. We met for the first time in the underground laboratory I was being kept in, though I suppose it was less ‘meeting’ and more ‘seeing’ for the first time, but… still. I don’t know why you were there, or who was with you at the time, but I remember waking up just before you were about to leave. There were a couple others who’d come, before you, to look at me and a couple others for some reason, but you were the one who stuck out the most, to me. You were… special!”

Shock and dumbfounded awe nearly choke the life right out of Salvatore. He could barely comprehend a single word the young woman was saying to him, yet he clung to every heavenly syllable she uttered like they were the foundations of the word of god itself. The pain and agony he normally felt due to his cadou mutations momentarily paused, slowly weaning from its usual constant thrum to a dull numbness that felt surprisingly euphoric in all it’s nothingness.

“S-special? Me?” Salvatore breathed, almost unable to believe the words, even as Nadine hummed in affirmation of their truth. “B-but… how…?”

The giddy chuckle Salvatore’s mundane question pulled from Nadine shook the deformed man to his very core. Her girlish laughter rattles violently around inside the deformed man’s head, playing the sweet, holy tune over and over again, like a broken record that Salvatore would happily go insane listening to for the rest of eternity if he could.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d have assumed you knew exactly what you were doing with how sweetly you talked back there, why it's almost criminal how suavely you stroked and tugged at the strings of my delicate heart. All the others were so rude, boring, and/or annoying that I thought I might die if I ended up stuck with one of them, but then you came in and swept me right off my feet. It was like nothing else I’ve ever felt before and immediately told me that you weren’t like all the others, you were a kind man and if I ever ran into you I could tell I’d be able to trust you…” Nadine trails off for a moment. “When I learned that we were being moved out of containment and onto our “permanent homes”, I hoped and prayed that I’d be lucky enough to end up wherever you were, but I didn’t want to get too excited until I found out for certain.”

“Th-then how did y-you know… it-it was me?”

“How could I possibly not? You set yourself apart from all the others right out of the gate. I'm honestly shocked you don’t remember it yourself. But there's not a single doubt in my mind that I know exactly who you are… er- well, I suppose a more appropriate way of putting that would be “I know exactly who you are to me”, not that what other people say or think has ever really been something I’ve taken with more than a grain of salt” Nadine giggle beautifully, smiling kindly as she cradled Salvatore’s hoodless, tear soaked face against her, like he were the most precious thing she’d ever laid eyes upon and wanted to hold and protect him until the end of time.

Unable to look away any longer, Salvatore allows his head to rise from his knees until it settles upon the face of the woman currently cradling him in her arms. Her gaze remained turned away from Salvatore for a moment, though for some reason the hooded man had a feeling that it was more out of respect for him and his boundaries than a lack of desire to see his face.

What a strange thing, to be treated with more kindness, love, and respect from a complete stranger than from the majority of people you interact with.

Salvatore wanted to cry when Nadine’s golden eyes finally lowered to him, her face slowly shifting downwards until their noses were little more than an inch apart from one another, though whether his tears were from agony or ecstasy, even he couldn’t properly tell at the present moment. Only one question was on his mind and the deformed man would stop at nothing until he got an answer for it.

“W-who… who am I-I… t-to y-you?” Salvatore asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he forces himself to stare directly into the endless pool of honey yellow swirling around in her irises, wanting-no… needing to know, to see with his own two eyes, what exactly he was to this woman, and whether that answer would spell endless disaster for him and his deep seeded desires, or be the key that unlocks a world of possibilities almost as endless as the spheres of gold that Salvatore finds himself unable, or rather unwilling, to tear his gaze from, lest this be the first, and last time he ever be blessed enough to see them from this close.

A long moment of silence passes as Nadine returns Salvatores gaze, the fondness of her expression only growing as she lowers her forehead to rest against his, a soft, almost breathlessly enamored expression that he’d only seen on black and white screens cast toward men eons more pleasant to look at than he was, slowly spread across her perfect face as she finally answers Salvatore’s question.

“You’re the lovely man who held my hand!”

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