#[clenches fist] it's about the symbolism

[single-malt-scotch]

sun god's missing something...

[imastoryteller]

Write Like a Director: Crafting a Cinematic Novel (With Examples)

Writing a novel like a movie means propelling your reader through scenes with relentless momentum, slashing through fluff, and ensuring each word drives the plot forward. Trust your readers to connect the dots through dialogue and action, immersing them in vivid, immediate experiences without drowning them in verbose descriptions. Every chapter should feel like a high-octane scene, keeping readers on the edge of their seats, hungry for the next twist, the next revelation. Keep it tight, keep it thrilling. Here are some examples to illustrate each aspect of this dynamic storytelling approach:

Fast Pacing

Chase Through the Alley: Jake sprinted down the narrow alley, the thud of heavy boots echoing behind him. A sharp left, then a right—no time to think, just run. This example thrusts the reader directly into a high-speed chase, emphasizing immediate action and urgency.

Heist in Progress: The vault door creaked open. "Thirty seconds," Maria whispered, stuffing bonds into her bag. The alarm blared. "Move!" The scene conveys a sense of time running out and rapid movement, maintaining a brisk pace with no room for delays.

Dynamic, Fast-Going Plot

Kidnapping Twist: Laura opened her front door to find an empty stroller on her porch. A note inside read: "If you want to see her again, come alone." The unexpected discovery of a kidnapping sets up an immediate and compelling conflict, driving the plot forward swiftly.

Escape Plan: The prison lights flickered. "Now!" whispered Tom. They climbed through the hole, hearing guards’ shouts in the distance. The urgent breakout from prison keeps the plot dynamic and intense, with characters constantly on the move.

Show, Don't Tell

Fight in the Ring: Blood trickled down Max’s face. He clenched his fists, dodged a punch, and delivered a powerful uppercut that sent his opponent to the mat. The physicality and immediate consequences of the fight are shown through actions rather than explained through exposition.

Silent Farewell: Tears streamed down Lily’s cheeks as she handed Jack the letter. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. The emotional impact of the farewell is conveyed through the characters' actions and expressions, not through internal monologue or narrative explanation.

No Tedious Descriptions

Quick Change: Sam grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans, pulling them on as he ran out the door, glancing at the clock—he had five minutes to reach the station. The scene moves quickly from one action to the next, providing only essential details to maintain momentum.

Sudden Revelation: In the dim light, Sophie saw the glint of a ring on the thief’s finger. Her father's ring. She gasped, stepping back. The revelation is made through a brief visual detail, keeping the description succinct and impactful.

No Infodump

Mid-Battle Realization: Amidst the chaos, Sarah recognized the tattoo on the enemy soldier’s arm. Her brother. She hesitated, the war raging around her. The revelation about the brother is integrated into the action, avoiding lengthy explanations and keeping the focus on the immediate situation.

Urgent Discovery: Ethan flipped through the ancient book, stopping at a page with a familiar symbol. "It's the same as the pendant," he muttered, pocketing the book and running out. The discovery is brief and directly tied to the plot's urgency, with no extensive background information provided.

Avoid Fluff

Straight to Action: Ben didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We’re out of time,” he said, throwing the bag into the car. “Get in.” The scene cuts straight to the critical moment, avoiding unnecessary dialogue or description.

No Idle Chatter: Emma answered the phone, cutting off the caller's introduction. “What’s the plan?” she demanded, glancing at the clock. The character immediately seeks vital information, eliminating small talk and focusing on the plot's progression.

Tight, Immersive Narrative

Immediate Danger: As the elevator doors slid open, Mark saw the bomb timer: 00:10. He dived for the wires, heart pounding. The imminent threat and the character's swift reaction immerse the reader in the tension of the moment.

Critical Decision: The bridge was collapsing. Anna had seconds to decide—jump or try to save her friends. She took a deep breath and ran back. The character's quick decision-making in a life-or-death situation keeps the narrative focused and engaging.

By applying these principles, you can craft a novel that feels as dynamic and engaging as a blockbuster movie, keeping your readers hooked from the first page to the last.

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[literallyjustanerd]

the second i saw the temple mural in rebels i knew i had to do this

[Image ID: A mural-style drawing of Anakin, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka styled after the mural of the Mortis gods seen in Rebels. Ahsoka is on the right in her white robe and carrying her scepter, a morai perched on her shoulder. Obi wan is in the middle in his Jedi robes, one hand raised. The Jedi Order symbol is behind his head. Anakin stands on the right, with one half of his face obscured by his Darth Vader mask. His hand is clenched into a fist.]

Version without noise (along with me ranting about couple details I'm way too proud of) under the cut:

The beams of light are emanating from the Jedi Order symbol for Obi-Wan, but for Anakin and Ahsoka they are centred on Obi-Wan's heart

The beams emanating from Obi-Wan all reach the edge of the canvas, but for Anakin and Ahsoka some are incomplete

The colours circling their hands are indicative of their lightsaber colours

The light circling Anakin's hand is tinged blue in Obi-Wan's direction

The light circling Ahsoka's hand is primarily white, but tinged in green, and tinged blue in Anakin's direction

[unstable-samurai]

LOVE IS INTENTION

pt.2: A long Dinner With The Frogs

Sana x Male Reader

word count: 18k

part 1

The superintendent's office resembled more a funeral chamber, suffocated in constant dimness. The cold, relentless glow of fluorescent lamps was the only thing piercing the darkness. The smell of stale coffee and musty papers permeated the air, a perpetual reminder of decay. Smith, with dark circles that looked like craters on a face sculpted by exhaustion, stared at the superintendent. Frustration was the only visible mark on his worn expression.

"Superintendent, we need to talk about the case of the victims," Smith said, his voice heavy as lead. "The fourth woman was found today. The modus operandi is exactly the same as the other three. Unless you haven't noticed."

The superintendent, the personification of coldness and impassivity, leafed through the documents before him with an almost supernatural calm. His eyes slowly rose, fixing on Smith with his well-known bony and unfriendly face.

"I saw the report, Smith," he said, his voice as cold as the room. "But this last victim had a Dharma Wheel symbol. That’s a new detail, don’t you think? It might indicate it's not the same killer. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Oh, so now we're collecting exotic symbols?" Smith retorted, acidity dripping from every word. "I understand your concern, but the rest of the details match perfectly. The profile of the victims, the crime scenes, the way they were approached and killed. This can't be a coincidence, unless you prefer to ignore it."

The superintendent maintained his calm and steady gaze on Smith, as if watching a detective character from a black-and-white noir film.

"I agree there are similarities, but the introduction of a new element might suggest a change in pattern or even the actions of a copycat. We need to be cautious, Smith.”

Smith narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “The victims were found in desolate locations, all in seldom-visited urban parks. All four women were between 25 and 35 years old, Caucasian, short in stature, and had a history of ‘nightlife’. The approach was meticulous. Do I need to remind you how it was?” Smith didn't wait for a response and continued: “First, the killer drugged them with benzodiazepines to incapacitate them without raising suspicion. Then, he tied their hands and feet with nylon ropes and strangled them with a thin wire, possibly a piano wire.”

Smith’s voice remained merciless, necessary to make the superintendent understand his point. “The bodies were left in specific, almost ritualistic poses, with their hands crossed over their chests and their eyes open. The only difference in this case is the Dharma Wheel symbol, marked on the victim's forehead with something that seemed to be a cauterization tool, as the forensics confirmed.”

"Dharma Wheel," the superintendent repeated, with a slight inflection of curiosity. "If we initially thought we were dealing with some kind of complex, puritanical misogynist sneaking around brothels, now what is it? A religious fanatic?"

Smith took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “Well, the Dharma Wheel is a Buddhist symbol, representing cosmic law and order. But it also has mystical connotations. Some believe that incorporating this symbol into a ritual is an attempt to impose a kind of purification or karma on the victim. As if the killer were trying to justify his actions, giving them a higher meaning, almost... religious. Damn, I don’t know. I’ve never been a spiritual guy.”

The superintendent frowned, clearly skeptical. "So you think the killer sees his actions as a form of divine justice?"

"It's a possibility," replied Smith, with a spark of intensity in his eyes. "No detail is added by chance. If the killer included the symbol, he might have evolved in his thinking, or he’s trying to send a message. Maybe he believes he’s correcting some moral imbalance. Sees himself as some kind of Messiah or enlightened one. We need to understand his mindset to anticipate his next steps.”

“And what if we’re dealing with a cult?” questioned the inspector.

"A group of people walking around in white robes killing women would attract a lot of attention, don’t you think? But I admit there might be something bigger behind it. Though it’s still too early to raise such a suspicion. In any case, waiting for another corpse is not a brilliant strategy," Smith insisted. "We have a clear pattern in four cases. We’re dealing with a serial killer. If it’s a cult, we catch one and we catch them all. We need to adjust our operation. The team needs to know we’re dealing with someone methodical and dangerous, unless, of course, you really prefer to wait for another corpse."

"Are you suggesting we formalize this?" asked the superintendent, unperturbed.

"Yes!" affirmed Smith, determined. "Let’s change our mode of operation and inform the team to update the patterns we have. We need to be prepared to anticipate this killer’s next move, with or without the symbol."

There was a note of desperation in Smith’s voice, something even the superintendent, with his impenetrable emotional armor, could not ignore.

"Very well, Smith. Let’s formalize the change and reinforce surveillance in the suburbs. But keep your eyes open for any variation in the pattern. It happened once, it can happen again. Of course, if it’s really the same person. We can't rule out anything," agreed the superintendent, his tone remaining icy. “All this is weighing on me, Smith. I can’t afford to stay in the same spot.”

"Of course, superintendent. We’ll catch the bastard," replied Smith, exhausted. “Well, I think I’ll get some coffee, if you’ll excuse me.”

"Get some sleep, Smith," advised the superintendent, his voice as cold as a tombstone. "We’ll need a better spirit than this to deal with this case."

“I need to sort out a few things first,” Smith said, opening the office door. “After years in this profession, sir, your body gets used to and even learns to function in exhaustion.” And with his usual stubbornness, Smith left the room.

Although the conversation had ended, the funeral-like atmosphere lingered in the air, heavy and striking. The dying cries of the cold wind lashing the window glass seemed to protest against the sick city, as both men prepared to face another long night with no easy answers.

You waited for the document to save automatically, then saved it again manually. Trusting automation 100% has never been your style. You closed the MacBook screen and pushed the chair away from the table, rubbing your tired eyes after three hours of nonstop writing. The now-empty coffee bottle had been your greatest ally in this torturous and solitary mission. All true artists are, at some point, masochists. You heard this from a close friend who was also a writer. A word wizard, you considered him, despite the man never achieving the success he deserved. He was always sensible in his ponderings and could ridiculously well use sex as symbolism for any topic he was discussing. A damn depraved genius is what he was. You wish you had paid more attention when he said function should give a blowjob in form, not the other way around.

You gave a deserved stretch after so many hours sitting, feeling terribly tired, and, unfortunately, there was still a long time until nightfall. It was your third day in the cabin; on the first night, you slept poorly because the place was new, your body and mind needed to get used to such abrupt (though carefully organized) isolation. On the second night, you slept poorly because, well, you don't know why. Just a weird feeling of not being alone, something or someone watching you in the darkness of the room, a sudden perception of there being something else in this place. Whether it was a damn Wendigo or the witch of the woods, you weren’t sure, but regardless of who it was, you were going to sleep well that coming night, no matter the cost.

You took off your clothes, standing in your boxers in front of the bedroom mirror. Not bad for a man about to turn 40, truth be told. You always looked younger than you actually were, and some people found it impossible that you were over 35. For some reason, it was sad to stare at yourself half-naked in front of a mirror, so you refocused and put on your running clothes, the idea being to exhaust yourself to the point that at night you would die in bed, and nothing would bring you back to life, demon or spirit.

Perhaps you drafted the character Smith in such a tired and exhausted way so that he wouldn’t think more astutely than your own mind was capable of at that moment.

In the kitchen, you ate your banana with oats and took your creatine. Deafening silence. Leaning on the sink, you looked around the interior of the cabin; the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room was a counter. There was a small bathroom next to a small bedroom, and nothing more. It was a modest and rustic treasure, and you were more than happy to invest your money to renovate the entire cabin’s plumbing. Artesian well, submersible pump, lift piping, cistern to store water and distribute it to the points of use, pressurizer, and all those filters with strange names and different types of filtrations that, in the end, made it seem like the groundwater had passed under Chernobyl before reaching your cabin. But the bottom line was: drinkable water straight from the tap.

The nearest town was 12 km away. It was almost certain that no one was in the other cabins in the area, as most belonged to hunters and hunting season had not yet opened. The others, the ridiculously large and expensive cabins of rich folks wanting to enjoy nature without giving up extreme comfort, were apparently unoccupied, considering that the vacation season for most people with conventional jobs had already passed. In a way, this made you one of the only slackers in the region.

‘Artist’ might be a less degrading word.

As you headed to the cabin door, you were surprised to notice a small green thing on the wall near the window. As you approached, it moved. You were about to go for a run without your glasses, so eagle vision didn’t match your eyes at the moment. But getting a little closer, you realized it was a frog. When the little visitor noticed your presence, it ran up the wall to hide in an opening between the window and the wall, the spot where it probably came through. Shy little fellow.

“I’d better not see you around here at night, buddy,” you warned it, trying not to sound threatening.

Well, you didn’t hate frogs, but you weren’t a fan either. There was something about them that deeply bothered you, and if it weren’t for that, you might even consider them adorable creatures. The problem was their unpredictability; they could either run away when they saw you coming or suddenly jump on you. It’s not like you were afraid of frogs, maybe just the poisonous ones, for rational reasons, but those were rare to find by chance. The real problem was the feeling of being caught off guard by one of them; it was irritating to you. And this had roots in your tumultuous childhood. As a child, you hated spending holidays at your grandparents' country house because almost every night some frog would jump onto your bed, waking you from deep sleep in the worst possible way: cold, sticky feet on your face. It was always a challenge to get the frogs out of the room, and with all the adults asleep, you couldn’t turn to anyone. A small battle you had to fight alone every night. If only it were daytime, but damn, at night. Why did things seem so much harder at night? Once, three frogs jumped onto your bed within an hour. You woke up the next day with dark circles too deep for a 12-year-old boy and a lot of irritability in your voice. After that misfortune, you started sleeping with the room light on, even after leaving the country house; a habit that triggered issues with your uninterrupted sleep. That was when you first noticed that one event could trigger another completely random one. However, after two months, your father discovered the room light stayed on all night and forced you to turn it off at bedtime, making you lie in bed swallowed by darkness, dreading the sneaky steps of those amphibians so cute yet so damn annoying. It was a pretty embarrassing thing to admit. Ultimately, an irrational fear of something harmless, a product of the unconscious or a malfunction of the reptilian brain, where reason doesn’t operate, only primitive instinct or some crap like that. Regardless of what it was, the sensation of those little cold feet on your forehead was still incredibly vivid in your mind. No wonder you always admired Tiana's courage when she kissed that frog.

The fact was you’d prefer fat, slow toads crawling around your cabin to sneaky frogs inside it. At least this one in particular was smaller than usual, and it looked at you with bulging, curious orange eyes.

“Get out of here, little guy. The insects are outside,” you informed it with leniency, but the green fellow stared at you with a clueless look.

You headed outside the cabin. The fresh air filled your nostrils as the wind tousled your hair. The day was cloudy. According to the weather forecast, the week would be very rainy. You stretched before starting your run; your route would be to walk to a lake five minutes from the cabin and then run around it while listening to your rock playlist. After that, you would have to go to town to buy a new air filter for the generator, and maybe new spark plugs, as the current ones didn't seem to be working properly since the generator was consuming more fuel than you had previously calculated.

Which was strange because it was new.

Oh, and masking tape to cover that crack so the little green guy or one of his friends wouldn’t come back to bother you.

As you walked there (the background music playing in your ears), you revisited the idea of your story in your mind. It was a crime thriller, your first adventure in the genre, perhaps not as commercial as the books Grandma Agatha Christie wrote, tinged with a gloomy and almost nihilistic atmosphere, if not for the satire of the thing in some moments. The draft of the first chapter seemed good enough to you; it set the tone the story would follow. Smith, the classic detective destroyed by his own job and with a few vices, was quite fun to write because of his sarcasm, and the slight satire you intended to put in the subtext of the story lightly worried you about how the audience would receive the book. It wasn’t serious and dark, nor was it a comedy, or a proper satire, but rather that hard-to-reach tone in art: the bittersweetness of real life. Detective Smith cracked good jokes, but despite that, he was a guy committed to his job and, above all, focused on catching the serial killer. Obsessed, so to speak. Which often leads to character flaws and missteps along the way. A human.

Just because what he says is funny doesn't mean he isn't serious.

That was how you wanted to continue the story, and you needed to remember to never underestimate the reader to do it right and stay on tone. The fact that the story only really begins after the fourth murder was different and interesting, placing the reader in the middle of the mess would make the pace intense, while the past events would be given to the reader through flashbacks. The idea could work, as long as you don't ping-pong between the past and the present.

Before you knew it, the lake already stretched out before your eyes, calm and majestic. As you approached, it became clearer, even though distant things weren’t very precise on your radar. Near the shore, you started to run. The sensation was invigorating, close to absolute freedom, making you smile to yourself as all the irrelevant things seemed to fall behind. Perhaps this was the beginning of your solitude, after all. Finally erasing that weird feeling of resentment that had taken over you since you arrived at the cabin, a sense of being somewhat sick, with an inexplicable urge to vomit. And all because of damned Facebook forcing you to see a picture of your ex-wife, remarried, holding her baby in her arms. Countless times she said she didn't want kids… Yet there she was, looking like the happiest woman in the world. Without you.

And you without her! Happy in your solitude, the perfect return to your writing career, except for that one small, insignificant detail. It was all fine as long as you kept running because with every step: all those stupid things grew more distant from you.

Well…

Which actually didn’t make sense.

You were running in circles.

And just when you were about to complete the second semicircle around the lake (man, you must have been really into that solo from Shine On Your Crazy Diamond not to notice earlier), something reflected inside the lake, blinding your vision. You stopped running to see what it was and had to squint to see clearly; truth be told, it took a while for you to believe there was someone swimming alone in the lake at the far end from where you stopped running. You thought it could be anything else, but well, you weren't blind yet. The person had long hair, which could be black, dark brown, or even light brown, darkened by being wet. And you were almost sure it was a man. Thinking with common sense, no woman would be swimming alone in a cold lake in the middle of the forest. Maybe in a teen horror movie where a hot young girl lures a guy or a group of them into a deadly ambush; complete with over 30 minutes of explicit violence, numerous creative deaths, and lots and lots of nudity. You wouldn’t buy the ticket, but you’d watch it on some streaming service on a random night. Thankfully, something like that would never happen in real life. Right?

You paused the music and looked around. There was no one else nearby, and the lake was completely silent, the person swimming slowly and stealthily, like a crocodile — ah, I get it! The person was diving constantly in the lake, which explained why you hadn’t seen them easily.

You resumed running, determined to turn the second semicircle into a full circle. Maybe you’d interact with the person in the lake if you got the chance, but you didn’t think it was a good idea to deliberately bother them in the middle of their dives. You also avoided looking too much at the lake, knowing that person must have noticed your presence from the beginning, so you just decided to ignore the unusual situation and go on with your life.

You completed the second circle by passing by the diving person, but it was nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. That’s when you saw on the lake’s shore some clothes that looked — holy shit! — feminine.

And, of course, the fucking phone that reflected the sunlight in your face.

Your fear grew as your eyes identified each piece. Sweatshirt, jeans, sandals…bra…panties…

This woman couldn't possibly be naked, could she?

Splish!

She suddenly emerged to the surface, tossing her hair back and wiping the excess water droplets from her face. Her breath was heavy as she filled her lungs with oxygen again. The sight was as strange as it was beautiful, like a painting with indecipherable forms, a mirage in an oasis.

“It can't be… Damn it! No, it can't be!” you stammered, your mind going blank.

“Hi, dear! Isn’t it a shame we always meet in such cold weather?” Sana asked, excited to see you. “You’re sweating a lot, huh? Why don’t you stop for a bit and come swim with me?”

She was submerged up to her shoulders, and the faint sunlight piercing through the gray clouds penetrated the lake’s surface, creating a vision of pure delirium. Through the clear water, you saw Sana’s body, refracted and distorted by the rippling surface. Her arms moved gracefully, and each movement seemed amplified and softened by the water. The ripples created a hypnotizing effect, making parts of her body appear to change shape and size. It was as if Sana was wrapped in a cloak of liquid glass, the details of her body dancing and fragmenting into kaleidoscopic patterns. You were mesmerized by the sight, and your mind, often too associative for your liking (a lapse consequent of your work), made you compare Sana to-

“Calypso!” you suddenly said. “You look like some kind of freshwater Calypso. Beautiful and terribly lonely here in this lake.”

You weren’t flirting, just trying not to show the mortal fear you felt at that moment. A mere defense mechanism.

“And you are like Ulysses. You seem not to have been content with my love,” she said. “But unlike him, you don’t have another woman waiting for you far from here. So you have no reason to run from me.”

You squatted to observe her closely. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated — perhaps her naked body contributed to it.

“Actually, Sana, you’re more like a limnatide, you know? Those are the nymphs that inhabit lakes. Salmacis was a limnatide."

“You’re so smart. I never get tired of hearing you talk,” she said casually, just to please you. “But who is Salmacis? I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, you know, she’s the one who raped and cursed Hermaphroditus by merging their bodies into one,” you explained and saw her smile fade. A small victory. Standing up again, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she said, running her hand through the water, making it ripple.

“You know I can call the police, right?”

“And what will they arrest me for?” she asked, seeming very amused by the situation.

“Stalking.”

“And what are your proofs, darling?”

“I have witnesses who can testify they saw you at the book launch. It’ll be easy to prove since your name was on the list. At the very least, they’ll find it odd we meet again in a new location almost 2,000 km from where we were before.”

“Is that all?” she asked, laughing. “Honey, I think you don’t know how things work. And the proof of a real threat? You can also add the security camera footage from the hallway, where they can see me entering your room at night and leaving only in the afternoon the next day. That will help you a lot, Mr. Integrity,” she flashed you a smug smile that made you look away for a moment, because it was beautiful, Sana was beautiful, and you were very angry with her at that moment.

“You know it’s illegal to swim naked, right? This isn’t a damn nudist beach.”

Sana squinted and smiled; she was really enjoying this argument or whatever the hell this conversation was.

“I thought I was being accused of stalking, now it’s public indecency?” she questioned, caricaturingly putting her finger on her chin. “Look, I think you even have better chances with the second option, although it probably won’t result in anything substantial. I can already imagine my defense saying something like,” She cleared her throat and changed her posture. Simulating a formal tone, she continued: “‘I do not understand that the accused, with her conduct, intended to shock and violate the decorum of the man who witnessed the scene. In my view, the defendant was bathing to refresh herself, however, she did so in a place exposed to the public, though remote, once she believed she was alone at that moment due to the cold weather, which was not inviting to most people, besides the popular hunting season had not started on the date of the incident.’ And I can go on: ‘despite having taken the risk of being seen naked, I see the defendant’s conduct as naive, with no offense to be punished under the law, as she did not commit any obscene gesture.’ And it can get better, look-”

“I get it!” You exclaimed, irritated. “You’re very smart, Sana. I admit that. But know that anything reckless you do will be used against you in court.”

Her expression seemed to change a little.

“I was acting like a peacock, dear. I just wanted to show you my hidden feathers. Believe me, I don’t want us to get to that point.”

“But seriously, where the hell are you staying? It’s 12 km from here to the nearest town and I haven’t seen any tire marks around except my pickup’s.”

“I have a cabin nearby.”

Hearing that, you swallowed hard. It was fucking difficult to keep your head in place in this kind of situation, you simply didn’t know what to think. Simply didn’t know.

As if this insanity wasn’t enough, Sana did nothing to help by displaying her small and delicate body, a structure that seemed almost sculpted at first glance. Her build was slender, with subtle curves that accentuated her femininity without exaggeration. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, slightly pale and flawless, with a natural glow that captured the light like a deity.

Her shoulders were narrow, gracefully shaping into thin arms and delicate hands. Her breasts, though small, were perfectly proportioned, firm and slightly lifted, complementing the harmony of her torso. Her belly was smooth and flat, leading to a finely chiseled waist that gently widened to form narrow hips.

Sana’s legs were long in proportion to her body, slender and well-toned, ending in small, delicate feet. These details were still clear in your mind. One night had been enough to capture a bit of her essence. Writer’s habit.

“That’s a lie. There’s no cabin nearby. I would know.”

“It’s true. Don’t you want to go there with me? I can prepare a picnic basket and we can eat here by the lake. Like our own blue lagoon. Isn’t it cute?”

That was too much for you.

The laugh escaped your mouth like a cough, compulsively laughing in front of her.

'Just because what he says is funny doesn’t mean he’s not serious.'

“Sana, you know there are companies eyeing this lake, right? They want to buy the surrounding area to stock fish in that water and make a fucking recreational fishing park.”

“In that case, it would be epic to fight against the privatization of this lake together. Like a couple of activists.”

“Take it easy, Yoko Ono,” you said while thinking about what to do. The fatigue made everything harder. You asked as sincerely as possible, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I’m as sad as you are, but this was the only way for us to have some time alone. Give me a chance to explain everything and I—”

“What’s your last name?”

“What?”

“What’s your last name?” you asked, irritated. Maybe the direct approach wasn’t the best option, but you were incredibly impatient.

“Please, let’s have dinner at your cabin tonight,” she said, completely ignoring your question. “I’ll explain everything. You’ll get to know the real me. You’ll know my last name and much more. I just don’t want you to be afraid of me. Please.”

“It’s hard not to be afraid when everything you do is the most psychopathic thing a human could do.”

“You don’t understand. It’s hard for me. I don’t know how to act like other people, but I’m trying. There are so many little social conventions that are hard to remember.”

“How did you know about the perfume my ex-wife wore? Fuck, I was so stupid to think it was all just a blessed coincidence!”

“You mentioned it in an old interview. The question was: ‘Is there a smell that brings you good memories?’ and you answered that it was that perfume. The one your ex-wife wore since your first date. The dress… There were pictures of her next to you wearing it.”

“You’re a freak, Sana.”

“Wait! Let me fix this.”

She started swimming towards the shore.

“Stay away from me!”

Sana stopped.

“I’m alone in this world, and I have nothing to lose,” she suddenly confessed. “I literally have no one. Except for you.”

“You don’t have me! You never did. You don’t even know me, Sana! You made this up in your head. You need help, do you understand? You need a lot of help!”

“I just need you... Wait, where are you going?!”

“To town! I swear to God, if I see you again, I’ll call the police.I don't give a fuck what I'll need to do to prove you’re a danger.” You spoke, then turned your back and started walking away from the lake.

Then, in the distance, Sana called your name. You shouldn’t have looked. But you turned towards her again, Sana walking slowly in the land, every drop of water lazily trailing down her curves, as if even nature wanted to feel her.

“I have nothing to lose!” she repeated the warning. It was a warning from the very beginning.

And that vision was dangerous evidence: Sana’s body was exactly as you remembered.

The smell of damp earth mingling with the freshness of the surrounding trees. The dirt road stretched out before you, winding between tall trunks and dense branches that formed a natural tunnel. The crunch of the wheels on the gravel and the sound of the old pickup truck’s engine echoed as the only constant sound in the forest, occasionally interrupted by the distant call of a bird or the cry of a small mammal.

As you progressed, the trees began to thin out, leaving larger gaps between them. The sunlight, once filtered through the canopy, had disappeared, giving way to a light rain. The dirt road turned into a narrow paved highway, with the dense vegetation replaced by open fields.

On the horizon, spaced-out farms began to appear, with wooden fences marking pastures where cows and horses grazed lazily. The sky grew darker. Rows of rain-laden clouds marched towards you, and sporadic thunder sounded like war drums. The highway, now straighter, ran parallel to rows of crops that stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was dominated by shades of green and gold, occasionally punctuated by red silos and barns.

A few kilometers ahead, the first signs of the town emerged. A small gas station, a grocery store, and a few modest houses lined the road, signaling the approach to the urban area. The main road led directly to the center of the rural town, where life seemed to move at a slower pace.

You drove to the hardware and auto parts store, parked your old pickup truck, and looked both ways before entering the store, the feeling of being watched now believable enough to heed what you previously considered paranoia. There was only a short, elderly man in the store, paying for his purchases and leaving. You walked to the counter to speak with the attendant, a young guy with acne, poor posture, and a cap with the store’s name on it that didn’t fit properly on his head.

“Good afternoon, bro. Tony’s Hardware and Auto Parts. How can I help you?”

“Are you Tony?” you asked, skeptical.

“Nah, man. Tony’s my uncle, I’m Johnny.”

“Okay, Johnny. I need an air filter for a generator.”

“Sure thing. Do you have a sample of the air filter?”

You put the piece on the counter, and Johnny looked at it for a moment, then went to the shelves behind him and spent two minutes searching for the right model.

“Here it is, man. All set!”

“Thanks. Look, I was having issues with the spark plugs in the generator. Yesterday, it took several tries to start it. Then I opened the generator and saw the spark plugs were a bit dirty, I cleaned them, and it started working again, but the generator isn’t running at full power. Do you think the problem could still be the spark plugs?”

“Hmm, could be, buddy. I’m no expert, unfortunately.”

“Also, it’s consuming more fuel than it should.”

“Hmm, yeah, sounds like it could be the spark plugs. I’d recommend buying new ones and replacing them, just to be safe.”

“Do you think I can do this without fucking up the generator?"

“Just shut everything down and don’t go touching random wires. I trust you.” Johnny said, giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Look, you seem like a smart guy.” Actually, he seemed kind of dumb, but he had the profile you were looking for. “Do you know if it’s easy for someone to hack a person?”

“Ah, man, I don’t know anything about that stuff. My brother’s the tech guy. But, I mean, it depends on who this someone is.”

“Someone very dedicated and willing to learn, let’s say.”

“In that case, they could spend hours on internet forums reading about it, man. The information is out there for anyone, no lie.”

“So, hacking someone remotely isn’t too difficult, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And if you had physical access to their devices for a while?”

“Oh man, that’d be a piece of cake! There are some programs you can install on someone’s computer or phone that stay hidden among the files, like a virus, and this software sends a link that opens a page with all your folders for the hacker to access remotely… wait a second,” he said, his expression changing suddenly, “is someone hacking you, or are you trying to hack someone?!”

“The first one.”

“Ah, what a relief. I mean, damn, man, that sucks! You should, like, go to the police or something, right?”

“Right now, I don’t think the police can actually solve my problem. I don’t want to do anything rash,” you tried to explain. “By the way, have you seen any Asian girl, also not from around here, walking around town?”

“Look, man, you can bet if there was a hot Asian girl around here, I’d know.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, and Johnny leaned over the counter to listen. “Can you and your brother look up some info about someone online for me? I’ll pay you.”

“Hey, man, that sounds shady as hell. I don’t know about that.”

“I’m not the creepy one here. There’s a girl, and she’s, like, an obsessed fan of mine. Somehow she found out I was here and followed me. She’s probably at some hotel in town, and I’m staying in a cabin near Crystal Lake. I need to know how dangerous she is. But I couldn’t find anything when I searched her name.”

“Bro, don’t be crazy, call the cops already!”

“The police won’t do anything efficient without solid proof of a real threat. If I involve the authorities, she might get pissed and easily bypass any protective measures just to, you know, get revenge.”

“Wait, if she’s a fan, then you’re famous, right?” he connected the dots, the genius. “I think I’ve seen you in some action movie…”

“I’m not an actor. I just write stories.”

“Oh man, you’re a writer, bro? That’s so cool! Are you friends with Stephen King?”

“Friend is a strong word. We’ve exchanged ideas at a conference.”

“Damn!!” he exclaimed. You could predict what was to come. “Look, I’m shaking, I’m such a fan of his, man! I’ve seen almost all the adaptations of his books. Can you get an autograph from the master?!”

“If you do what I asked, I can try.”

“Deal.”

You shook hands, and the devil knew this wasn’t the best of alliances.

I won't find anything better than this in this place.

“Damn, man! I just remembered I don’t have any of his books at home. I’ll need to buy one.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“Cool. Don’t worry about paying, I’ll cover it. I won’t screw you over or anything. So, buy the It book, it's my favorite film of the adaptations of his books.”

“Alright, alright! Forget about that for now. The girl’s name is Sana, keep it in your memory.”

“Got it. Do you have a picture of her or something? My brother will need a face to know if he found the right person."

You had deleted all those selfies she took with your phone while you slept, but there were still the photos from the book launch, where everyone gathered for a group photo. You took your phone out of your pocket and selected the best picture, Sana was way in the back, she knew how to be discreet when she wanted, you zoomed in on her face and showed it to Johnny.

“Holy shit man! She’s really hot! Look, I wouldn’t mind having a girl like that spicing up my life,” he joked, but you didn’t laugh along.

“Give me your Instagram, I’ll send you this photo so you don’t forget her face."

And he did so.

“When I get some info, I’ll message you.”

“Is your brother trustworthy? You better not fuck with me, okay?”

“Hey, man, you can count on me. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. My brother is solid. Actually, I’d like to ask you one more thing besides King’s autograph. So, me and my brother have a podcast, it’s about movies and stuff, if you could give it a shoutout, speak highly of it, it’d be awesome. We’re getting close to 100 concurrent viewers during live streams, man. It’s growing nicely.”

You looked for the joke, but even Johnny wasn’t laughing this time. You were really desperate to go through with this.

“Alright.”

“And look, if you do that, it’ll mean a lot. It’s almost like a pact, you know, we’d never screw over someone who helped our podcast, you know? So you can feel safe with this. For real.”

“Fine, Johnny. I’ll trust you.”

“Oh, one more thing!” You tried not to roll your eyes. “You said you’re staying in a cabin near the lake, right? I recommend you buy everything you need, especially fuel to keep the generator running, because you might get stuck there for a while. There’s a hell of a storm coming, and when that happens, that road gets all muddy and almost impossible to drive on, and with that pickup of yours,” he pointed through the store window where your truck was parked, “you’re not going anywhere until the rain stops. That’s why no one stays in that area during the rainy season. You got unlucky.”

“Damn, I should’ve rented a better car. I thought this one would do the job.”

“Sometimes humility is our downfall, bro… Hey, that was a damn good line, you should write it down for one of your books. Consider it a gift.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll stop at the gas station and buy some gas cans.”

“Alright. When my shift ends, I’ll go home and tell my brother everything, he’ll do some digging on your fan. Maybe we’ll find some police records or something, who knows, maybe a lawsuit she’s involved in. I’ll get something for you, man. Trust me.”

You were starting to regret this idea.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“The secret between friends dies with the friends. Take care.”

You paid for the air filter and spark plugs, then left the store. As you got in the car, Johnny waved at you through the store window. Everything happened too fast for you to realize the level of recklessness you’d inflicted, but, damn, there were no manuals teaching how to deal with this kind of situation. Either way, you didn’t have a good feeling, and it was hard to tell if it was a bad omen or just fatigue. The roads would soon be messed up, and once you returned to the cabin, you might not be able to leave for a while.

Was it a sign from the universe or just bad luck?

Well, whatever it was, you still needed gas.

The trip to town had been frustrating but necessary, as thanks to Johnny's warning, you managed to stock up on gasoline for the generator. And food, of course. If everything you bought wasn't enough, then you would resort to self-cannibalization while writing an essay about the experience to be published posthumously. Now, the truly frustrating part of the trip had been your search for Sana. You looked for her in the tiny hotels, inns, hostels, and even motels. Fortunately, the town was small and there weren't many lodging options. Most of the conversations with the receptionists went like this:

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Sana. Is she staying here by any chance?”

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose information about our guests for privacy reasons.”

“I understand. It’s just that she’s not answering her phone, and I’m worried. Could you at least confirm if she’s checked in recently?”

“I really can’t confirm if someone is staying here, but I can try to help in another way. What’s her full name?”

Here is where you’d seem like the most suspicious guy in the lobby:

“Look, it’s funny, I always forget her full name. The last name is difficult to remember, and I’m not really good with names in general. But there can't be many women named Sana around here, right? I just want to know if she’s okay.”

When you gave this flimsy excuse, the receptionists would give you a very judgmental look.

“Let me check something for you. Just a moment.”

Then they’d start checking the system. Or pretend to.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide that information. However, if she left any message for you or indicated she was expecting someone, I can let you know. Leave your name and contact here.”

“I understand, thank you. Actually, I’ll keep trying to call her. Sooner or later she’ll have to answer, right? Thanks again for your help.”

You and the receptionist would exchange an awkward smile, and you’d leave knowing she was watching you from afar.

Leaving your information at receptions would only plant evidence of you stalking Sana, and just God knows how things would go if that ended up in court. Besides, if Sana were really staying in one of these places, she would never contact you. It was pretty clear that wouldn’t work, but you had to try anyway. The idea of Sana being in another cabin in the forest was inadmissible and didn’t make sense to you. During the days you spent in your cabin and wandered around the surroundings, you didn't notice any smell of food being prepared, no human noise, no footprints, no trash. But... she had invited you to her cabin, which you logically refused. There might be some kind of trap waiting for you there; you couldn’t trust her. The most plausible thing then was that Sana's cabin was relatively far from yours, hidden and camouflaged in the dense forest. Your mind elaborated a thousand and one theories as you returned to the comfort (not so comfortable now) of your home.

Then an absurd idea crossed your mind and you caught it with your hand, while the first drops of rain hit the car's windshield.

Night fell over the forest with the storm.

It took you a little over an hour to change the air filter and the spark plugs, but when you finished, the feeling of satisfaction at hearing the generator's engine purr like an orange kitten made you smile, cutting through some of the tension that was stiffening not only your muscles but also your spirit.

A big thank you to YouTube tutorials.

Anyway, the joy was short-lived, the raincoat you were wearing felt like a black shroud given to those summoned to explore the borders of hell. You needed to find out if there was indeed another cabin near yours. It was safer to go during the day, but you couldn’t risk Sana seeing you. Who knows, maybe there was some surveillance equipment in her cabin, although it was unlikely to keep such a thing running 24 hours with just a simple generator. But images of you sneaking around her cabin would be all Sana needed to blackmail you.

What the fuck am I doing…?

Where were the boundaries between your pragmatism and your neurosis?

You thought that by the time you figured it out, it would be too late.

With one hand you were holding the flashlight, with the other you opened the cabin door.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, your anxiety grew in a pulsing manner, like a parasite inside you, but a good parasite, pulsing in your temple telling you to turn back. What lay ahead were trees, trees, trees, and more trees. No sign of a cabin.

The forest was nothing more than a labyrinth of shadows. You advanced with uncertain steps, the flashlight trembling in your hand. The rustling of leaves sounded like distant laughter. You looked back, but the darkness had already swallowed the way back. If there was a cabin, you should have found it by now. There was no sign of an open field where a cabin or any structure could be placed. Your heart beat erratically, in a sudden delirium you wondered if you were alone or if someone was watching you. The forest closed in around you, it was hard to admit it, shit, it was terrifying to admit that you were lost. Your breath quickened as the cold bit into your skin, rationally, the despair set in. Then the flashlight in your hand flickered, the weak light trembled like a candle about to go out.

No, no, no!

You pressed the button repeatedly, but the beam of light weakened even more. The uncertain steps made your foot encounter something solid on the ground. You stumbled and fell. The pain was sharp enough to know that the injury was serious, at least given the situation you were in. After all, what the hell was that? A twisted root? A rock? It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change the fact that now your left ankle was sending you jolts of pain, and standing up was torture, making you hate Sana with all your might. Limping in the middle of the dark forest like a stupid clown. You were tremendously irritated, an unexpected urge to drink seized you.

I could drink and die right after. I’d give anything for that. Fuck this life!

Suddenly, your hearing sharpened when you heard a terribly high-pitched sound coming from behind you. Screaming, screaming, screaming, calling you. It sounded like a… Whistle? It couldn’t get any better. Maybe a soccer match was going on nearby and you were the idiot who didn’t buy a ticket. The whistle seemed to have a life of its own, it was continuous. Well, someone was killing their lungs trying to save you. Either that, or the witch of the forest was whistling in a very, very weird way. You followed the direction of the incessant whistle, except for the regular pauses for whoever was whistling to catch their breath. Sporadic lightning occasionally revealed the way for you, giving you glimpses of a trail you had already traveled, although, the way it was shown – fleeting and blurred by the wet lenses of your glasses – seemed more like hallucinations in your head. But you had to believe you were returning to your cabin. The whistle. The call.

It was Sana, wasn’t it?

A lightning bolt flashed across the sky like at a large outdoor festival, in the distance, still through the trees, you saw your cabin flicker in the dazzling light.

The whistle sounded like a gesture of despair.

The trees gradually spaced out, the surroundings became more visible, the ground less uneven, you were out of the dense forest, your flashlight failing as it tried to illuminate in a single beam of light the figure of the girl dressed in a long dress, holding an umbrella with one hand and a whistle with the other, looking like a character straight out of a Koreeda film.

You walked up to her, your left foot practically dragging on the ground, you couldn’t think of anything to say, the anger being crushed by gratitude, the fury devouring the complacency alive, the urge to cry usurping the relief.

“Let’s go inside!” exclaimed Sana urgently, sharing the umbrella with you as you both rushed to the cabin (well, you tried).

The door opened with a dry snap. You exhaled like a dying horse, throwing yourself onto the cabin floor to lie down, practically your white flag against the wild nature. You didn’t want to think about anything. There was nothing to think about. There was no reason to think. You’d been doing that your whole life and were tired of it. You wanted to throw your brain away. Pull the back of your head like a damn mailbox and remove that electrified ball of flesh. There had to be a way to make it stop thinking.

Well, there was a way, but it was, let’s say, off-key.

You started to get up, your damn ankle sending you jolts of pain to remind you of your stupidity. You looked at Sana, beautiful, while you: destroyed.

“There’s no cabin, is there, Sana?” you asked, pronouncing each word slowly, trying to space out the anger you felt. But it was hard. God, how hard it was.

“I’m sorry!” she said, crying. Fuck, she was already crying. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I can explain everything. I’m sorry! You were out for so long! I was so worried about you. Are you hurt? My God, I’m sorry!” she repeated, screaming.

“Get out of my cabin. Now!”

There you were, throwing her out again.

“Please, no…”

“I said I’d call the police if this happened again. Get out, you psychopath!” you yelled at her, and Sana stepped back, scared.

You approached her in a threatening manner, making her walk backward, cautiously, and with each step she got closer to the door. Before she realized it, she was at the doorway.

“You better disappear before the police show up,” you warned her, and then slammed the door shut with brute force.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What a day. Everything fell apart so quickly that you didn't have time to see where you went wrong. Now 3% calmer, you noticed that the kitchen table was set, hot food, candles, the fireplace warm, two glasses, and a bottle of Coca-Cola (no wine for Mr. Writer). She had prepared dinner while you were facing the two longest hours of your life. Spaghetti carbonara. That's what it seemed like, at least. A relatively quick dish to prepare if you had made it before. The smell was great, the ambiance emphatically comfortable while the world outside was collapsing. It seemed intentional: a terribly cold end-of-the-world assaulting the planet and you denied shelter to one of God's angels. Even if she might be Lucifer's younger sister

Oh, come on, I'm not like that. She didn't deserve to die from hypothermia or whatever the hell.

You took off that stupid raincoat and went back to the door, leaned your head against the wood before deciding if you were actually going to open it or not. The primary mistake was opening the hotel room door that day, and here you were, repeating — now aware of what would happen — the same mistake, about to formalize a new heuristic pattern. And, fuck, it was really funny how one event could trigger another totally random one.

You saw Sana's face light up when the door opened, the glow of the lamps behind you reflecting in her brown eyes. She hadn't moved an inch since you expelled her. Because she already knew you would open it again or because she didn't know where to go?

"Come in before you catch a cold," you said, extending your hand into the cabin.

She seemed slightly confused by your kindness but entered immediately.

You asked her to sit on the couch while you quickly walked to the bedroom and grabbed two towels. You wrapped her body with the bath towel and started drying her hair with the face towel.

"Sorry, I don't have a hairdryer."

"It's okay. Thank you."

Sana's makeup was running down her face, a sad sight, but somehow, it became incredibly erotic on that precious face. Two beautiful lines running below her eyes, the mixture of eyeshadow and mascara, as if Sana had cried tears of dark indigo. A living portrait where the artist displayed his tragedy.

"Excuse me," you asked, and she allowed you to dry her face, cleaning one corner and smudging the makeup even more in another. "Why do you have a whistle?"

"Hmm, i found it here."

"Really? Well, it's actually the least weird thing that happened today."

"I saw you limping," she said, her voice still wary, like a child who knows they've done wrong and now has to face their parents. "Are you okay?"

"It's my fucking ankle. I think I tripped over some exposed root or something. I must have twisted it."

You hadn't taken off your boots yet to see the damage. After drying Sana's face, that's what you did and — oh boy —, it wasn't a pretty thing to see.

"Let me check," said Sana, kneeling with difficulty because of her dress. "It's quite swollen and red; it might turn purple. I'm going to press a little, okay?"

You gave permission, and the slightest touch made you groan and sigh, and maybe you were starting to go crazy because the pain that pulsed from your ankle was terribly pleasurable and stimulating, seeming healthy to self-inflict for your own satisfaction, like scratching a persistent itch. But you weren't quite insane enough to enjoy that kind of thing.

"I don't know where to start treating my ankle," you admitted, frustrated.

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"In one of those cabinets," you pointed to the kitchen.

Sana got up and went over to rummage through the cabinets. She soon found the small white box with a red cross on the lid. Sana opened the freezer and took out a bag of ice, grabbed some cubes, and wrapped them in a cloth, bringing everything back to the couch. Sana gently took your leg and raised it, placing it on a pillow on the coffee table.

"Open the kit and look for a painkiller," Sana said while holding the makeshift ice pack on your ankle. "Take ibuprofen if there's any."

Fortunately, there was.

"How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"It wasn't a severe sprain. Maybe two weeks. One, if you behave and take care of it."

"Are you a nurse?"

"No, but I took some classes on 'how to be a functional human being and survive in society.' Oh, do you need water to swallow the pill?" You shook your head. "Believe me, where I came from, I needed those classes. They just didn't teach us much about medications. For safety."

"You're my Annie Wilkes, I guess. But more attractive than Kathy Bates, at least." You joked, and the bitter sarcasm felt much like the taste of a horrible medicine you needed to take to endure the moment.

Sana chuckled, but she was still focused on her task.

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to keep you here or anything like that. I'll take care of you. It's my fault you got hurt, after all," she sadly admitted. Apparently, psychopathy wasn't her problem. Sociopathy, maybe. "I suppose you don't have a crutch here in the cabin," she said while rummaging through the first aid kit. "Tomorrow I can buy one... Oh, look, this elastic bandage will do for now." She showed you the small roll of bandage with a gentle smile.

"I wouldn't count on going to town tomorrow. With this rain, the road will be impassable. We're stuck here," Was it safe to pass this information to Sana? After all, you still didn't know her true intentions.

"Oh, I kind of suspected that. So, in that case, we'll improvise a stick for you tomorrow morning. We have plenty of wood at our disposal. Well, now I'll bandage your foot. This might hurt a little, but it will help," she warned, unrolling the bandage.

Holding your foot with one hand, Sana started wrapping the bandage firmly around your ankle, starting at the base of your toes and moving towards the heel.

As she worked, she made sure the bandage was snug but not too tight to avoid cutting off circulation. "I need you to tell me if you feel too much pressure or pain," she said, focused on what she was doing.

You smiled without realizing it. Her serious expression while focusing on the task was actually very cute. She had agile and gentle hands, and her care not to hurt you was evident.

Sana continued wrapping the bandage, overlapping the wraps evenly, creating stable compression around the swollen ankle. When she reached halfway up your calf, she secured the end of the bandage with the clips provided in the kit.

"Done," she said, observing her work. "Now we need to keep this elevated and continue applying ice. It will help reduce the swelling," she informed you, putting the makeshift ice pack back on your ankle. "We'll do this every few hours, 20 minutes at a time."

"You're incredible," slipped out of your mouth. You shouldn't be encouraging her. But you were voluntarily doing so.

"It was nothing. Now, I think we have some things to talk about, don't we?"

You smiled with your lips, a humble smile of Tiredness. Or a smile of defeat, like someone who, with a certain pride, acknowledges their weakness towards something or someone. In your case, it was her. Sana.

You patted your thighs and sighed. Was there anything else to do, after all?

"Bring the spaghetti over here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Terribly fascinated you were. Maybe it was too early to say 'terribly enchanted'. You were enveloped by the long, deep, melodramatic lull that was Sana's past. Slightly distressed to know how it all happened until it triggered the moment where you both were, but it was necessary for the story to be told from the beginning to fully understand the impulsive acts of this girl - this fan - passionately obsessed with you.

Oh, and by the way, the spaghetti was good. But a bit cold.

You looked at Sana, melancholic and distant while she watched the flames in the fireplace. She had gone to the bathroom to wash her face properly. Now with a clean face, nothing was covering it. Determined to delve into her wound for you.

“First of all, my last name is Minatozaki,” she said, in a mere attempt to break the ice. You told her it was a beautiful last name. “I was 11 years old when everything started to fall apart,” she began in earnest. “My mother suffered from severe depression. She was always absent, even when she was present, if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense,” you commented. “And your father?”

“My father was a ghost, always working. He never had time for me. Soon I started to feel invisible, as if I didn’t matter. Then the anger started growing inside me. I became more and more impulsive and aggressive,” Sana paused. She looked at you, as if to make sure you were really listening. “They didn’t know what to do with me. The school couldn’t handle my behavior. The breaking point was when I pushed a classmate down the stairs over some silly argument. I don’t even remember the reason anymore, just that she broke her leg. That’s when they decided to institutionalize me.”

“Damn… That must have been terrible for such a young child.”

“It was. At first, I hated being there. The psychiatric hospital was a cold and strange place. The atmosphere forced to be welcoming, it was an expensive hospital after all, but if you’re there alone, it’s terribly distressing. I felt isolated from the world. The other kids had similar problems, but no one really connected. Everyone was fighting their own battles there.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind Sana’s ear and then asked:

“And what was your routine like there?”

“We had classes inside the hospital. There were teachers, but the classes were small. They tried to adapt the teaching to our needs, but I always felt like I was missing something, you know? The occupational therapies and the playful activities helped pass the time, but it was never enough to fill the void.”

“I imagine. And the treatments?”

You didn’t realize it, but there was a calmness and kindness in your voice that motivated her to continue.

“At first, they diagnosed me with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I was always provoking the adults, causing trouble. But as I grew older, my symptoms evolved. In adolescence, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My emotions were a roller coaster. I felt empty, but at the same time, any small thing could trigger a storm inside me.”

“It must have been a constant battle.”

“It was. They tried everything to control my anger and impulsiveness. Psychotherapy, behavioral therapy, medication... Every day was a struggle to stay stable. I was always being watched, always under surveillance. I had few chances to feel really free. Over time, my parents’ visits decreased. Not that I cared, we were never close anyway. The only things that brought me some relief were books. And that’s how I discovered you.”

“Me?” You swallowed hard. “Well, sooner or later we’d get to that.”

“Yes. Your books were an escape for me. I read and reread every word, trying to find some meaning, some connection with myself. When you wrote about pain, about loneliness, I felt like you understood exactly what I was going through. Catarina, the protagonist of your first book, when she attempted suicide and was hospitalized… That story changed me… But not all of your books were allowed for us.”

“It’s understandable, God knows how many triggers that could unleash in vulnerable people. But wait, how did you get my books then?”

“There was a doctor, Dr. Collins. She sympathized with me. I think she saw something in me that others didn’t. She brought me your books secretly, even those considered too sensitive for patients like me. Besides, she managed to get teen magazines where you were interviewed. The questions were trivial, but for me, every detail about you was a treasure.”

With a slight smile, you said:

“I was contractually obliged by the publisher to do those things. I don’t dare to flip through any of those magazines nowadays,” You saw Sana’s face soften a bit. “So, Dr. Collins was your accomplice, right?”

“In a way, yes. She also knew I tried to listen to your radio show. There were nights when I stayed up late, trying to fix the signal on the old hospital radio to hear you talk about movies with your friend. Sometimes, I even managed to hear a full episode without missing anything.”

You held her hand. A gesture that made you uneasy, but Sana’s response by squeezing your hand made it seem right.

“I never imagined my books and other nonsense I did could have such an impact.”

“They did. I wasn’t joking when I said that day that you were my peace of mind. But anyway, my parents died in an accident shortly before I left the hospital. I was the only one to inherit their estate. Living in society I found myself lost and lonely again. I tried to find someone like you, but no one was enough. They all disappointed me. They were older, like you, but they just wanted to use me. I hate admitting this part of my life, but I slept with several men hoping to find one who made me feel what you made me feel. It didn’t work, so that’s when I decided I needed to find you, needed to somehow make you understand.”

Your gaze shifted from hers. Terribly melodramatic for your taste, terribly visceral, and terribly your complacency acted without your command.

“And now we’re here. And I finally start to understand the depth of what you went through, Sana. I'm sorry about your parents, I had no idea. What a fucking journey you lived..."

She gave you a sad smile.

They were the beautiful eyes of a tragedy looking at you.

“Yes, we’re here. And maybe, now that you know I’m not a monster, we can really get to know each other.”

The hand of reason tugged at your ear. Was this beautiful, seemingly vulnerable girl manipulating you again?

Either way, there were still loose ends.

“And at the book launch, when you appeared… Your dress, the perfume… Everything so intentional… Why did you do that, Sana?”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“I planned everything. I wanted you to notice me, to see me as someone special. I thought if I wore the same dress and perfume as your ex-wife, I could make you feel the same as you did for her. It was a desperate way to try to get your attention, to make you fall in love with me like you did with her. I know it sounds crazy, but… I was willing to do anything for you to notice me.”

“Sana, that is…” What was that? So many layers, so many branches, you didn’t know what you were feeling anymore. You didn’t know how to judge. Even having written troubled, depressed characters, the real bastards, you never approached from a psychoanalytic perspective. You were just a person writing other people. It was never your place to judge your characters’ actions. It was never your place to judge anyone. “I understand a little better now, Sana. You just wanted to be seen, to be loved.”

A sudden desperation took hold of her.

“And you’re the only person I felt could really understand that! That’s why I did what I did. I didn’t want to scare you, I just wanted you to see me.”

You wanted a drink of something. Your throat dry in that cold weather. God, how a whiskey would be nice. Just one glass. Maybe two. Why not? You asked Sana to serve you a little more of that damn Coke. Your eyes were a little heavy, the train of thought slightly losing the objective.

Oh, more questions…

"you were bluffing when you invited me to your cabin, correct?"

"That's right. I knew you would never agree to go there with me. My real plan was to have dinner together, and slowly I would explain everything to you. Like now."

“But Sana, I need you to explain to me: if there’s no other cabin, where the hell have you been all this time? I swear to God you were scaring the shit out of me. I went to several lodges but couldn’t get any information about you. Then suddenly you show up here at night like out of nowhere. I hope that psychiatric hospital isn’t really the fucking Xavier Institute.”

“I’ve been here the whole time, silly. Watching you,” hearing that sent chills down your spine. “Sorry, I know it sounded weird. Just kidding. But it’s actually kind of true.”

“Are you a ghost or something?”

“I’ve been hiding in the basement.”

But what the hell is she talking about?

“Sana, this cabin doesn’t have a basement.”

“Did Mr. Goss tell you that?”

Jesus fucking Christ, she never stopped surprising.

“How do you know the name of the former owner?” you asked, trying to disguise the fear on your face.

“The night we slept together… You know I took your phone. I checked everything that might be important. I saw your emails about the cabin documentation and all that. At the same moment, I looked for nearby cabins I could rent, but there were none available. Well, the original listing was still active, it was favorited in your browser. The description didn’t mention anything about a basement, nor did the documentation. Since it was so well camouflaged and without hiring an inspector, you would never find out.

"And how did you know?"

"I was watching that interview you did for Book Tools that happened shortly after our first meeting. You mentioned you were planning to go on vacation and write a bit in nature, but you were going to delay it a month to get better organized."

"I guess I'll never comment on my personal life again. Holy shit..."

"Well, I decided to take advantage of that time and see your cabin before you did. It was easy to find; people gave me information without suspecting a thing. I was researching how to build an even simpler cabin on the other side of the lake for us to be 'together,' and I found information about the history and importance of the cabins in the area on the county's website. Among that, there was a blueprint showing how the cabins were originally designed. Most were built according to this model, and it included the existence of a basement."

"But why did Mr. Goss omit that?"

"After staying in the basement, I have the answer. Down there, you can see some structural irregularities. I think he feared that if they were discovered, they could cause legal problems or decrease the property's value. So, he decided to simply forge the documentation, stating that the basement had been dismantled and no longer existed since doing so for real is quite expensive."

"I could sue that old man for this!"

"I read your conversation with him about the purchase. You said it would just be a retreat for a few weeks. He probably thought that by the time you discovered the truth, he would already be six feet under."

You paused to digest things, refilled your glass of Coke, and downed it in one go. Calmer, you then asked,

"Structural irregularities, huh? That could be dangerous... And with these rains..."

"Despite the irregularities, I think it's safe enough to stay there for a while. You can deal with it later. If it hasn't collapsed before, it won't collapse now."

"That's a spirited way of looking at things."

For some reason, this made her smile.

"Someone has to, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so... Anyway, where's the basement entrance?"

"Under this rug," Sana replied, pointing to the shaggy rug in the living room.

"Of course it would be in the most visible place in the cabin. I feel like an idiot."

"There's an additional exit from the basement that leads directly outside, behind the cabin. It's where the old plumbing system was. It's camouflaged by vegetation, so it's hard to see."

"I really bought Area 51, huh?"

"The rest is no mystery. Through the external exit, I brought in food, blankets, a sleeping bag, clothes, and everything else I needed. I knew the basement had small ventilation openings, so there was enough air to breathe. And most importantly, an outlet to charge my phone."

"Damn! That's why the generator was consuming more than I calculated."

"Er, sorry!" she said, then theatrically bit her lower lip as if that could make up for things. Maybe it could. A little.

"It's been a long day. A long and weird day. But, in a way, it's nice to have you here. I guess."

That seemed to spark something in Sana's mind.

"Really?"

"While I was wandering lost in the forest, I felt strangely alone. I think being stuck here for days would be too lonely for my taste. At some point, I would wish for company."

You smiled at Sana, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Since I talked about my past, why don't you tell me a bit about yours? You know, the stuff that never made it into interviews. What might only be revealed in your biography."

"Well, know that you outdid me in the difficult past department. There are some things that were never told. Some painful memories. But it's already very late. How about I tell you tomorrow while we have a picnic by the lake? We need to save some for the next chapters."

"Great idea!" her smile lit up, and at that moment, she seemed like nothing more than a girl to you. "And what kind of story are we writing here?"

"I don't know... I want you to help me figure that out."

"You're... not afraid of me?"

"Not anymore. I think you got what you wanted. Come here."

You opened your arms a bit. Sana, like a wary puppy, gradually gave in and approached. She sat sideways on your lap, slowly, uncertain, looking at your ankle extended on the coffee table.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No. You can sleep with me in the bed tonight. Or on the couch, if you prefer—"

"In the bed. Please."

"You don't need to do the weird perfume and dress thing anymore. From now on, I want you to just be yourself. Can you do that?"

"Of course! Of course I can! But... you don't hate me anymore? The way you expelled me earlier... The anger on your face... it broke my heart."

"People are strange, Sana," you began, the prelude to a speech you didn't know you were capable of giving, "feelings, they are weird as hell. A single feeling can have a million facets," you explained, and Sana looked at you with a mix of fascination and curiosity. Dangerously adorable on your lap. "The simplest way to see this is to think of a child who, after years of living with their parents, is ostracized for some reason, be it for coming out with their true sexuality or taking a political side contrary to the family's. It's easy to imagine the child's emotional pendulum swinging between love and hate for their parents."

"I think I get the gist of it."

"The point is: I understand what it means to find solace in something to take refuge from the untamed wild world. That's what I did with writing. And, in your case, you found refuge in me. It's our first point of connection."

Sana's hand trembled as it reached your face, her lips pressed together and her eyes shining with tears.

"You're exactly as I imagined," she said in a whisper, the most her voice could manage, as if every cell in her body was working to keep her from falling apart at that moment, "there's no other explanation but fate. It brought us here."

You thought that Sana might have nudged fate a bit to bring things to this moment. But so far, what you had seen of this girl with such a fragile appearance was a tragic and relentless force of nature, so maybe she did have her cosmic connection with destiny.

You brought Sana's face close for an Eskimo kiss. She seemed shy about the gesture but undeniably loved your initiative, and the sensation of her skin against yours, her weight on you, and her warmth enveloping you was irresistibly addictive. Sana's fingers played indiscreetly with your hair, her smile directed at you... When was the last time someone had smiled at you with love? It all felt so pure, so beautiful, so romantically erotic (the privileged view right in front of her neckline, her small and perfectly formed breasts pressing against the fabric) and so, so good. God couldn't be testing you, could He? Because, well, this was beyond any human limits.

Her eyes marked your mouth as a target, but she couldn't go further because what preceded the desire was a need to affirm something greater.

TOUCH ME

KISS ME

The words that flew like magic into your ear that night, now implied by a thread of feeling. You were kissing Sana, rediscovering that the truth can be a sweet ruin or, perhaps, she was the last soul to fill your emptiness. The kiss started gentle but soon intensified, becoming a deep and wet exploration. Each movement of your tongues carried the urgency of months of repressed desire. Mutual. The way Sana's lips molded to yours, the slight pressure and shared moisture creating an almost chemical reaction that could lead to combustion. Your fingers intertwined in her brown hair while Sana's fingers traced soft lines on your nape, sending shivers down your spine. She moved closer, pressing her breasts against your chest as your tongues intertwined, exploring and teasing. Her taste was a refreshing mix of sweetness and desire, an intoxicating combination that made your heart race.

Suddenly, you felt her lips open a bit more, and her tongue slid into your mouth with a firm motion. She started sucking on your tongue, pulling it gently into her mouth, creating a warm, wet suction that sent waves of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation was almost overwhelming, indescribable, indeed. Sana could leave a writer speechless. But the fact was that every movement of her tongue created a deeper connection, a current of desire that seemed to run directly to your cock.

"Your taste is delicious. I've missed it. It makes me want more, so much more," Sana whispered against your lips, fatally beautiful as a thread of saliva spontaneously trickled down her chin.

Sana's eyes were closed, her face surrendered to the pleasure of the moment as she did a perfect job driving you crazy. Each time she sucked your tongue, you felt a pull in your stomach, an almost primal need to fuck her hard in response to what she was doing to you.

Sana moaned softly, her sweet sounds of pleasure resonating against your lips, increasing your arousal, your hands gripping her delicate waist firmly, as if fearing she might escape. But Sana had no intention of going anywhere. She wanted to carnally explore every part of you.

You pulled her body closer, your hands sliding over the smooth curves of her back until you reached the firmness of her ass, soft through the texture of her dress, squeezing it shamelessly, feeling Sana's response in a muffled moan.

She released your tongue for a moment, just to murmur against your lips: "I want your cock fucking my tight pussy soon. It's getting so wet for you, my love."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," you murmured, your voice husky, your mind... completely devastated by her.

"Oh, I do," she replied, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips before diving back into your mouth. And in that moment, with Sana sucking your tongue with an almost painful precision, you knew you were totally, irrevocably surrendered to her.

"Now... Is this real? This time, is it real?" Sana asked, as if speaking of a distant dream, her eyes half-closed in pleasure and longing.

"It's damn real," you replied, feeling your heart race uncontrollably. "I can't resist you anymore."

Sana shifted position, slowly sliding to face you, her legs delicately wrapping around your hips. Her eyes met yours, and the lascivious and determined gleam in them was unmatched. She began to move her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, pressing against your cock. By then, it was painfully hard inside your pants, throbbing with expectation.

Sana moved closer to your ear, her voice low and sweet, whispering: "I can feel how much you want me." Her hot breath against your skin. The smile... completely disloyal.

"What you're doing to me," you groaned, your voice heavy with desire, "is more than I can bear."

You couldn't hold back any longer, and with eager hands, you pulled Sana's small breasts out of her dress. Her nipples were hardened, inviting, and you couldn't resist. With your hands, you gently squeezed them, feeling the soft yet firm texture. You teased them with your thumbs, playing, provoking. Your mouth soon found her nipples, and you sucked on them, nibbling gently, each movement drawing moans of pleasure from Sana. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against your mouth, wanting more.

"Oh, yes... like that," she moaned, holding your head against her breasts. "Mmm, you suck so well."

"You're so hot," you murmured against her skin, the words coming out between kisses and nibbles. "I want to devour you whole."

Your desire to mark that moment as yours came to the surface and, terribly vulgar and perhaps even pretentious, you tilted your head and sucked on Sana's neck, leaving a visible mark, tasting the salty flavor of her sweaty skin.

"You're mine," you whispered, your voice full of possessiveness, you noticed, "that's a fucking fact now."

Then a smile escaped your lips. Acidic and ironic, ricocheting right back at you.

"What is it?" Sana asked with a curious giggle.

"Nothing," you replied, avoiding mentioning that you saw the current moment as a contemporary and subversive erotic reenactment of the myth of Hermaphroditus.

Sana, equally possessive, marked you too. She bit and sucked on your skin, leaving marks that affirmed her possession. The sensation of her teeth against your skin was undeniably pleasurable pain.

Finally, Sana got off your lap and grabbed your cock, a gesture that could only mean one thing. You unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear, just enough to free your cock from the terrible web of fabrics imprisoning it. The excitement in Sana's eyes increased, and she lay back on the couch, a look of satisfaction on her face.

She started giving you a blowjob, moving her mouth skillfully and intensely. Her lips wrapped around your cock, her tongue exploring every inch. She began with slow, deliberate movements, teasing every throbbing vein. Each suction, each slide of her small tongue was a reminder that you were alive, that you were touching the edge of paradise.

"You're incredible," you groaned, throwing your head back, your voice full of pleasure. "Keep going... don't stop."

She used her hands to stimulate what she couldn't reach with her mouth, alternating between fast and slow movements. Sana then began to play with your balls, licking and sucking, alternating between gentle caresses and intense pressure.

"Oh, Sana... that's so good," you groaned, feeling the pleasure course through your body.

She looked at you, her eyes shining with desire and satisfaction. "I want to make you cum hard," she whispered, returning to sucking your cock with renewed intensity, while her hands continued to caress your balls. "I want you to fuck me so badly," she said, looking at you with a mix of desire and determination. "Let's end this wait."

"Fuck, let's!" you replied, knowing that surrendering to her had been your best decision in a long time.

You moved to the bedroom. With your fucked ankle, you knew some positions would be challenging, but the latent desire surpassed any pain. Slowly, you began to undress. Sana, noticing your difficulty, knelt in front of you, with a terribly indecipherable look. She unbuttoned your pants with deliberate sensuality, her fingers brushing against your skin, making your entire body shiver.

"Leave it to me," she murmured, sliding down your pants and underwear. On another occasion, with another person, you might have felt embarrassed, but this time it seemed so... normal? The last time you had shared this level of transparency and vulnerability had been with your ex-wife. Although only at the beginning of the relationship. Soon everything got so... strange.

After Sana helped you slide your injured leg into your pants, you managed to finish the rest yourself. Completely undressed, you kissed her deeply and lovingly, then slid both straps of her dress off her slender shoulders at once. The fabric rippled as it slid down on its own, revealing the beautiful artwork that was Sana's petite, half-naked body. The only piece of clothing that remained, and truly captured your attention, was the cute pair of panties she was wearing.

Totally intentional.

A pink pair of panties, almost innocent in contrast to the fervent passion she was capable of emanating, adorned with a small bow at the front. The thin fabric was damp, a clear evidence of how much she was enjoying the moment.

"You're so fucking hot, Sana," you murmured, your eyes fixed on that small detail that seemed to encapsulate all the desire and tenderness that made up Sana's essence.

She smiled, a shy yet mischievous smile.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice filled with sweetness and boldness.

"I love it," you replied, unable to resist her charm, running your fingers delicately over the bow, feeling the softness of the fabric. "And you're so wet," you added, your fingers gliding over the material, feeling her reaction in the slight tremor of her legs.

"That's the effect you have on me," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And I used to masturbate thinking about you... Always you."

You smiled provocatively and slid your fingers over the fabric of her panties, feeling her dampness increase with each touch. Your mouth began to kiss and lick her belly. With slow and provocative movements, you started rubbing your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing lightly against her clit, without ever removing the panties.

"I can feel how excited you are," you murmured between kisses, your tongue warmed by her heated skin, each touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body. "You like it when I do this, don't you, Sana?"

Sana moaned in response, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand, seeking more friction. "Yes... please, keep going!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with desire.

"You want more?" you asked, already knowing the answer. "You want me to keep teasing you like this?"

"Yes, please," she moaned again, her voice full of need.

You continued to rub your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing harder, faster, until you felt she was completely soaked. The panties were drenched, the moisture trickling down the insides of her thighs.

"I can feel how much you want me," you murmured against her skin, your fingers now sliding along the edge of her panties, pulling them down slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to remove.

Sana panted, her moans loud and filled with pleasure. "Please, don't torture me anymore," she begged, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.

You obliged, finally pulling the panties down, exposing the glistening wetness of her pussy. The musky aroma of Sana filled the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

"You're perfect," you murmured.

"I want to feel you," she whispered, her voice laden with need. "I want you to eat my pussy. Look how creamy it is."

Sana propped her right leg on the bed and with two fingers she opened her tight pussy, and it was so delicious, so perfect, so, indeed, creamy.

In a moment of pure synchronicity, you both lay on the bed, as if connected by a greater bond, and assumed the 69 position. Sana positioned herself over you, her hot, wet pussy directly over your mouth. You started to lick her hungrily, savoring each moan that escaped her lips. Your tongue explored every fold, every inch, while your hands held her buttocks, pulling her closer to you.

"Yes! Lick my pussy! Just like that," she moaned sweetly.

As you savored Sana's creamy pussy, she enveloped your cock with her mouth, her tongue gliding over the head, mercilessly stimulating your frenulum, causing precum to leak out, which she loved. All the while, her hands massaged your balls, amplifying the sensation to the highest degree.

"Oh, fuck... If you keep doing that, I'm going to cum, Sana," you groaned, unconsciously thrusting your cock slightly into her mouth.

Sana then stopped sucking you and changed position.

"First, I want to cum on your face, love," she said, crawling over you, positioning herself, and opening up in front of your eyes until she finally sat on your face, her pussy now completely accessible to your tongue and mouth. You held her hips, guiding her movements as she began to grind against your face. Your tongue explored every inch, while your fingers caressed the insides of her thighs.

"I want you to lick me until I cum," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard," you murmured, your lips and tongue moving with precision against her.

Sana moaned loudly, moving her hips more intensely, pressing herself against your mouth. Her moans were loud and filled with pleasure, her body experiencing small spasms.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," she moaned, her eyes closed, the tension increasing.

Your tongue moved faster, firmer, each movement bringing her closer to climax. She held your head tightly, her fingers tangling in your hair, as her moans grew louder, more desperate.

"I'm almost there," she panted, her body entirely sweaty. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

With one last firm move of your tongue, you brought her to climax. Sana screamed with pleasure, her entire body trembling as she came intensely, her juices covering your mouth and face. You continued to lick her softly, helping to prolong her orgasm, savoring every moment.

"You're amazing," she murmured, still panting, that inherent satisfaction of making a girl cum taking over you.

Recovering, Sana slid down again. She began to ride you slowly, her movements erotic and calculated, each rise and fall rhythmic and sound. She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing as she increased the pace.

"You're so sexy," you groaned, holding her hips, helping her keep the rhythm. "Keep going, princess, don't stop."

She increased the speed, her entire body working to bring both of you to ecstasy. Her pussy tight around your cock, the heat and friction creating an indescribable sensation.

"Oh yes, Sana. Fuck me harder," you murmured, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum... fuck, I'm gonna cum on your cock," she screamed, her movements frantic, her pussy pulsing around you as she reached orgasm, trembling with pleasure.

She collapsed on top of you, her head resting on your chest. You gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face. Until then, you hadn't noticed how beautiful she was without makeup. You kissed the top of her head, a gesture she returned with equal passion by kissing your chest, saying: "I love you so much."

The room was dark, except for a soft light coming from the living room filtering through the half-open door, enough for you to see the sparkle in her eyes when she finally looked at you.

You didn't say anything. Words were unnecessary now. Instead, you let your hands do the talking, tracing the contours of her body, every curve, every perfect imperfection. She mumbled something inaudible against your chest, and you felt a smile form on your lips despite the fatigue.

She raised her head, her gaze serious but with a spark of something untamed. "Don't leave me," she pleaded, as if that were a real possibility. You smiled, kissing her lips, soft and prolonged, a kiss that promised much more than simple words could.

"I'm not going anywhere," you replied, the certainty in your voice unwavering.

You nestled close to her side, you behind her, your injured leg resting. You entered her again, slowly, savoring every inch that went in and out. She leaned back, allowing you deeper access. Your hands caressed her breasts, playing with her nipples as you fucked her from behind.

"Sana... I'm falling in love with you," you murmured, your voice laden with a strange possessiveness and love, a love you never imagined you could feel. But the act of kissing Sana's shoulder so tenderly while penetrating her could mean nothing but passion.

"You are my everything," she moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You gripped her hip tightly, your thrusts becoming faster and more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding was erotic and highly stimulating.

"You're so tight... so wet," you confessed in her ear, your breath ragged. "I'm gonna cum, Sana."

"Cum, baby. Cum for me," she begged, her moans loud and filled with desire.

Feeling your climax approaching, you pulled out of her. Sana quickly knelt by the edge of the bed, looking at you with intense anticipation and lust., ready to receive your cum. You sat on the edge of the bed and started masturbating quickly, the sight of her so exciting that you were soon on the verge of orgasm.

"Cum for me," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent.

"I'm gonna cum," you groaned, your voice hoarse with pleasure and urgency. Sana smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what you needed.

"I want to feel you cum on my face," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "I want to taste you."

The sight of Sana waiting eagerly, her eyes fixed on you, made your cock throb even more. You sped up your strokes, your movements fast and precise, while she watched you, her hand casually caressing your balls.

"I want all your cum on my face, baby."

You felt the pressure building, each movement of your hand bringing you closer to climax. The moans intensified, your muscles tensing as the pleasure built to an inevitable crescendo. Sana looked intently, adorably seductive, ready to receive every drop from you.

When the orgasm finally hit, it was like an explosion. You let out a deep groan, almost a scream, as your body convulsed with pleasure. The first spurt of cum hit her face. Sana moaned with satisfaction, her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of your semen spreading across her skin.

"Oh yes, just like that," she murmured, her voice full of delight. "Cover my whole face." You continued to masturbate, each spasm sending more jets of cum onto her face, while she used her fingers to spread it, mixing it with the sweat still glistening on her skin. She opened her mouth, her tongue out to taste what she could, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Wow! Fuck! that was fucking amazing," you groaned, reason slowly returning to your mind, your eyes fixed on the erotic painting in front of you.

When the spasms finally subsided, you stopped, panting. Sana looked at you, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips, her face gleaming with your cum. She licked her lips, savoring the taste.

With a mischievous smile, you couldn't resist and, holding the base of your still-sensitive cock, started rubbing it on her face, spreading the cum already covering her skin. Sana closed her eyes, moaning softly as you slid the head of your cock over her cheeks, forehead, and lips, marking her completely.

"Yes, baby, rub that big hard cock on me," she murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. You rubbed slowly, savoring every moment, feeling the heat and moisture of her skin against your cock. Sana opened her mouth, licking the head of your cock, tasting the mix of your semen and sweat. You let out one last muffled groan, terribly sensitive.

"You look so hot like this, covered in my cum."

"I’m better than your ex-wife, aren’t I?"

"In ways that are immeasurable, princess," you murmured, your voice heavy with lust.

She smiled at your compliment.

"I guess I better wash my face before I go completely blind," Sana commented, her eyes half-closed. "Want to shower with me?"

"Sure! I- uh, I'll need your help anyway," you said, looking at your messed-up ankle.

"With me here, you don't have to worry, silly."

After the bath, the curiosity to see what the basement was like was obvious and natural. There was no way to resist such a mystery, and Sana, still a little shy about the somewhat... reckless action, revealed the secret room to you. She pulled the rug, and to your surprise, there was nothing there.

“It’s really a secret passage because I can't see anything.”

“It’s very well disguised. Mr. Goss did a good job camouflaging it. Look, the trapdoor is framed in a way that it blends perfectly with the surrounding floor. Covered by the shaggy rug, it’s almost impossible to see with the naked eye, especially since the edge aligns with the floorboards, without any protrusion or visible handle.”

“Yeah, I see. Or rather, I don’t see a damn thing!”

“There’s a small opening that can only be accessed if you know exactly where to look. I used a thin blade like this one to lift one of the wooden boards where there’s a small concealed groove. Once I knew that, it was easy to open the trapdoor and hide down there.”

And that’s how she did her magic. You really would have died without knowing about that damn basement. Once the trapdoor was opened, there was an old wooden staircase leading down to a kind of concrete room; although previously neglected, it now seemed like a carefully arranged refuge, perfectly ready to secretly shelter someone. Sana helped you down the creaky and worn wooden steps, a slight and cold humidity pervading the air below, common in places that rarely see sunlight. However, the signs of a recent attempt to make the space habitable were evident in every corner.

The concrete walls, probably once gray and mold-stained, had been partially cleaned. Though still rough and marked by time, they were now free of superficial dirt, and some parts had been covered with old, worn but colorful tapestries, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to the environment. The cement floor had been meticulously swept, and a large, thick rug had been placed in the center, providing a more comfortable and insulated surface than the cold concrete.

In one corner of the basement, there was an improvised bed made up of a sleeping bag, washed cotton sheets, and a wool blanket to face the cold nights. Next to the bed, a book whose title you couldn’t read from where you stood, an almost finished open bag of chips, and a (possibly dry) can of iced tea, although you doubted Sana had actually drunk it cold.

Lightly rusted metal shelves leaned against the walls, housing provisions and essentials like canned food and bottles of water. Some clothes were carefully folded in one corner of the shelves, with some sanitary pads nearby. A small wooden chest with a rusty lock held Sana’s personal belongings.

“How did you bring all this down here?” you asked, astonished.

“It took time, but I’m patient.”

On the opposite side, an improvised washbasin with a metal bowl and a water jug for basic hygiene offered a minimum of comfort. Clean towels hung on improvised hooks, and a cracked but still functional mirror was fixed on the wall above the basin.

“Please don’t tell me you-”

“No way! I was using the cabin’s bathroom,” she replied preemptively. “I was mindful of your schedule, and even though you take a long time to fall asleep, once you’re out, nothing wakes you up.”

A small oil heater was strategically placed to combat the cold that seeped in at night through the concrete floor and thick walls, probably responsible for secretly consuming the generator’s fuel. Next to it, a simple wooden chair and a small table offered a place to sit and perhaps write or read, with a few books carefully stacked beside it.

Despite the age and condition of the basement, Sana’s effort to make it habitable was commendable. Every detail, every item carefully placed, reflected her urgency and care, a diligent effort to transform the basement into something minimally livable.

“This is absurd as hell, Sana. Completely insane… But... Well, I’m glad you won’t be sleeping here anymore. There weren’t any bugs, were there?”

“Thank God, no! When I cleaned, I only found cobwebs and abandoned moth cocoons. I couldn’t have stayed here if there were bugs. Ew!”

You managed a slight smile. It was funny to think that despite being calculating, methodical, and patient, mere insects scared her. No one was really safe from that irrational fear thing.

“Alright then! You’d better take all your stuff up,” you said. “I can’t think of any use for this basement. In a future renovation, maybe I’ll just close it up and fulfill what’s written in the document.”

“Nah, you should just reinforce the foundation and keep the basement,” Sana suggested, moving closer for a hug. “You never know when you might need a little place to store something.”

You two were in bed. Sana, with your MacBook on her lap, was deciphering the draft of the first chapter of what might become your next novel. Untitled, without a definite form. She liked what she read, unraveling the unfinished subtleties that challenged the conventions of the genre. Letting her read the draft was a huge gesture, an exposure comparable to sex. And she knew that. She knew everything about you, after all. It was your goodwill gesture, a sign that you were open to her, willing to make this relationship stable, serious, healthy.

You had gone to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you returned, Sana followed your steps with her eyes, waiting for you to lie down beside her again to ask:

"Promise you won't give up on me?"

"I promise. Sana, you're already strong on your own for having endured everything you have. And from now on, you can count on me to support you too. We'll break the circle together."

"You're everything I dreamed of and more," she said, hugging you, giggling.

"And you're an unexpected but very welcome gift," you comforted her in your arms. She was incredibly cuddly and emotional, which wasn't a bad thing. "So, I think we better sleep to enjoy the picnic tomorrow," you said, pulling Sana to snuggle into the pillow with you. "Damn, I'm completely exhausted, and it's partly your fault."

She giggled.

"And there's much more to come, Mr. Writer," Sana commented, turning off the lamp. "We can sweat a little tomorrow at the lake, if you know what I mean."

You fell asleep earlier than you imagined. Sana kept talking in your ear, excited about everything (you couldn't blame her), her words dissolving into the darkness. Her sweet, serene voice fading as you drifted off.

A perfect way to fall asleep, you thought, before slipping into slumber.

Then a scream sliced through the night like a blade, cutting the silence and your eardrums. Sharp and piercing. Sana, in a leap that defied logic, turned on the lamp and flew out of bed. Her hands frantically groped the wall, searching for the switch. The raw light illuminated her pale face, wide eyes filled with fear, and trembling hands.

"What's happening?!" you asked, confusion shaking your head.

"Something jumped on me! Some kind of bug!"

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! It jumped on my face. It was cold!" She was on the verge of tears, you on the verge of falling back asleep.

You got up with difficulty, each movement sending jolts of pain through your injured ankle. Your eyes fixed on the nightstand, where a small dark green figure stood on the right edge, like an unexpected sentinel.

"I see it."

"What is it?! You have to kill it!"

"It's just a small frog."

"You need to get it out of here!"

"I saw it before. It came in through a crack. I bought some duct tape to seal the hole, but I forgot to do it."

"It can't stay here!"

"Are you afraid?"

"It might jump on me again at any moment."

You laughed, a rough, low sound, almost a release of relief. You understood what she was going through, that primal terror of being attacked by something unknown in the middle of the night.

“Why are you laughing? That's not funny!”

"Hey, don't worry, this little guy won't disturb my girl's sleep anymore."

Slowly, almost ridiculously slowly, you walked around the bed, each step a struggle against the pain. You approached the small invader, the frog, still and cold. When you tried to touch it, it jumped straight onto your neck, like a biological missile. Sana let out a high-pitched scream, as if the frog had jumped on her.

"It's okay," you said, trying to calm her, but Sana was already at the door, ready to flee, eyes fixed on you as if you were her last safe harbor.

You approached the window, opened it, and a cold breeze hit your face, refreshing. Carefully, you removed the frog from your neck, feeling its cold, moist texture against your skin. You held it in your hand, offering it the vastness of the night outside.

"Go live a little," you said, with a flick of your hand, watching the frog leap to freedom. "It's all good now," you said, turning to Sana. "We can go back to sleep. In the morning I'll seal the crack."

"God, I think I hate frogs now."

You laughed again, a laugh that was both relief and exhaustion. The room finally sank back into silence, except for the soft sound of your breathing and Sana's, slowly returning to normal. Tomorrow, you thought, tomorrow you'll deal with the crack, but for now, the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and the terror had been expelled. And you... Fuck, you could get some sleep.

In the kitchen, you were busy packing the picnic basket, feeling a strange happiness performing such a mundane task. It had been a while since you felt this way — almost like a young boy again, experiencing the thrill of a new romance. Everything would be different now. Fuck solitude, you would be happy alongside someone. And a simple yet significant action representing your care for this new relationship was in this picnic basket you organized. Every sandwich carefully wrapped, the biscuit container tightly sealed, each juice bottle adjusted, and the bowl of fresh grapes waiting for a decision...

You both believed that your ankle would indeed be 100% recovered in about a week or less. Fortunately, the damage wasn't that bad. Until then, you would walk supported by a broken broom handle, pretending it was the staff of an old monk in a cabin with satellite Wi-Fi.

In the bedroom, Sana stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings with an untimely smile. The morning was heavily overcast, threatening rain, but you both were counting on some weather support for a few hours, and although the day wasn't bright, Sana was. Ready for a perfect day with you.

Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be in place.

As she turned slightly to check her look from different angles, your phone on the dresser lit up with a notification. The flashing light caught her attention. Curious, she leaned in to see the message on the notification bar.

And then her world crumbled. The smile melted away from her face like hot wax. Everything around her slowed down.

You called out from the kitchen, almost singing: "Sana, what do you think? Should I take grapes or not?”

Her eyes widened instantly as she read the message, and for a moment, everything around her disappeared, leaving only a cold void. The happiness she felt evaporated, the fog in the forest remained.

In the back of Sana's mind, the read message echoed like a dark warning:

"Dude, stay away from that girl!!"

"My brother found out some creepy shit about her"

"Btw her real name isn't even Sana 💀”

You asked again from the kitchen, your voice sounding distant, almost like an echo:

"So, Sana? Grapes or not?"

She took a deep breath. She was a battlefield between panic and forced calm. The messages were deleted with fingers that didn't want to believe what they had just read, while she replied with a voice that could barely stay steady:

"Yes, take the grapes! I love grapes!"

She turned to the mirror again, but the image she saw was no longer the same. The sparkle in her eyes had disappeared; it was just the reflection of someone. It could hardly be called a face.

A mask.

A mask desperately trying to stay calm.

She put the phone back where it was, making sure the messages were indeed deleted and the sender blocked. Something would have to be done soon. She forced herself to smile again in front of the mirror to see if she could maintain it. But a crack slowly widened in her mind, threatening to shatter all the false stability she had built.

She left the bedroom, walking towards the kitchen with hesitant steps, trying to maintain composure. There you were, waiting, with the picnic basket in your hands and an expression of affection that now seemed almost cruel to her eyes.

As she approached, she simulated a smile, everything buried behind her beautiful brown eyes. She greeted you with a quick kiss and casually asked:

"Did you remember to put the strawberry jam in the basket, honey?"

[nightingale-prompts]

Saving Batboy

First | Previous | Next

It was as though he was being led through the city. Dick seemed to know exactly where he should go next as he drove.

Dick turned off his location as he closed in on Joker's location. If anyone had doubts about what would happen tonight they knew now. The clown dies tonight.

Batman never did it because he knew there would be no coming back once he crossed that line but he was not Batman.

Tim knew the moment Nightwing's symbol disappeared that he had found Joker's location. He knew he could track him still based on where he was before but he held off. The last time Dick crossed the line and killed the Joker, Tim was there to stop him. In the time since Tim had grown to regret it. Especially after Jason's return. He should be avenged after everything that happened.

Tim never put much thought into what happened when he was kidnapped just like Danny. Joker Jr was just a nightmare and everyone pretends it didn't happen. His past self doesn't exist to him and the gaps in his memory are better as they are.

If Dick was really going to finish this then Tim wasn't going to stop him. Bruce's code was his code alone. What of the Robins that suffer for it? What about his kids that he loves to the point of self-destruction if they die?

It was clear to Tim now. Batman isn't strong enough to kill Joker. If he can't handle it, someone else would.

Maybe Dick just cared more. Or maybe he had seen this happen too many times to sit by and let it happen again. The cost be damned.

Tim took a deep breath. He knew it was a bad move but he shut down the bat computer. No one could locate each other for the next 10 minutes. Enough time to give Dick the lead he really needs. All the comms are down and no information can be shared.

Tim looked up and saw Alfred putting down a cup of tea for him. Tim felt like a child caught doing something wrong under Alfred. But Alfred nodded wordlessly before turning to leave. He cast a forlorn glance at Jason's robin uniform before ascending the stairs.

****

"I was hoping Batman would come for the little bat. Oh sorry, I mean the boy." Joker mocked holding Danny by the back of the neck.

The teen's body was limp. His silver locks stained a rusty brown from dried blood. Blood covered his back and legs. If there had been any doubt if the wings were real there is none now.

"…" Nightwingwing said nothing. His fist clenched.

"You know I debated skinning him next. That fur of his would be a lovely shawl. It's so soft. But it looks like I won't have the time now." Joker provoked, running a hand through the boy's white neck fur.

"Get your hands off him." Nightwing demanded, his eyes locked on Danny for any signs of life.

"You know I am so curious what he was doing here. I was about to build a new trap here for fun when I stumbled upon this little guy here. Practically gift-wrapped. Did he run away from you? Just like you did from good ol'papa bat." Joker's smile widened sickeningly "This all feels so familiar, doesn't it little bird? Are you going to finish what you started?"

"I'm never letting you hurt my family again." No witty one-liners. No games. This bad joke ends today.

****

Batman had scoured the area. He memorize the last location Dick was before the system went down. He wasn't these kids' father for nothing he knew what they were doing.

When sound came back he had already made it to the abandoned factory. The comms rang back to life as the sounds of crying came through.

"Nononono…please no. Wake up. Please wake up." It was Dick's voice. "It's okay. I'm here now. So just wake up. We need to get home soon. Your favorite show will be on soon. WAKE UP! YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Batman bolted to their location and found Dick hovering over Danny trying to resuscitate him.

His son looked at him with pleading eyes.

"I can't hear his heart. He's not breathing." He let out a shaky breath. As distressed tears ran down his cheeks.

Bruce knelt next to them. Danny didn't react to the pressure on his chest. The pain should have at least caused an involuntary jerk if he wasn't too far gone.

Bruce signaled Dick to move back as he checked Danny's pulse again. Nothing. And he wasn't breathing. Bruce looked at his son. Deep down Dick probably knew.

"I'm sorry. He's gone." Bruce said simply as he took off his cloak.

Danny looked so peaceful. Like he was sleeping soundly. Bruce hated that his own suspension had been the thing that had prevented him from having a relationship with his own grandson. He felt foolish to not realize that of course Danny and Batboy were the same. It was a brilliant disguise. But he'd never get to say this to the boy.

Bruce wrapped the boy in his cloak.

"Come on. We'll fix this." He told Dick, carrying Danny for him.

The journey back to the manor was silent until.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said.

"Don't. Just Don't. He's my son. Its my fault." Dick rasped his voice scratchy from crying.

Bruce felt a bitter sting. That was exactly what he felt when he lost Jason and what happened with Tim. When Damian lost his life. These pains didn't go away.

When they arrived back in the Batcave Bruce laid Danny's body on the table. The others were notified about what happened and had already gathered.

Barbara looked like she had bawled her eyes out as she hugged Stephanie.

Damian had pressed himself close to Tim as the older brother told him that it was going to be okay.

The new hole in the wall was clearly Jason if his bloodied knuckles were any clues.

Cassandra paced the floor deep in thought. She was moments away from starting a new crusade.

Duke stared off into the distance. His anger boiling under the surface. All he could think about was the number of lives ruined by the Joker and even in death he took another.

Dick stood still as a statue. Thinking about if Danny could be brought back and even if he was his wings were gone. What if he was gone for good? Could he live like that?

Never had he understood Bruce more than in that moment.

Bruce braced himself for what would come next. He had a plan to bring Danny back at any cost.

But suddenly a sound broke through the tension.

A sneeze.

A fucking sneeze.

It came up from under the cloak.

Everyone snapped to look at the body hidden under the cloak. It shifted under the heavy black blanket groggily and yawned. Then Danny jumped up twisting to feel his back.

"What happened!!" He yelped.

[amarmoria]

Nepenthe

꩜.ᐟ Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Notes: I've seen fics abt padawan reader and none can quench my thirst eugh😫pls note i have nooo idea what goes on in the star wars universe please don't come for me😣

"Hand me that one, fast" He gestured to the purple fruit just beside you, not daring to glance at you. "Yes, sir"

You curiously peeked over your master as you handed the fruit, what was so important it had him rushing like this?

"It's for Mae," he says, the squelching fruit making you frown, you forget he reads minds as easily as breathing. Your frown deepens as you remember. Mae. His acolyte, he took you in a few months before Mae came, that first few months felt like heaven, it was just you and him, in this unknown planet, training, practicing.

Yet, after Mae came, it almost felt like you were some kind of servant for the both of them, he trained with her day and night, leaving you to fend for yourself, he told you it's because you've already been trained by him, that you don't need to anymore, you didn't mind, you got along with Mae... on your perspective that is.

Mae was a fast learner, you were proud of her, now you have someone to share your training with, converse like a normal person, but later you realized that him and her were two sides of the same coin, quiet, mute, they don't like conversations, although you made an effort to be friends with Mae, than you ever did with your master since she was the lesser evil, you're quite proud of yourself when your conversations with her turned from smalls nods and no's to simple phrases.

You didn't care that your master had two Padawans under his belt, that is until he taught her some things he never even told you about, every now and then he would drop hints about what he would teach you next, to prepare you, but this one was unknown to you, you thought, maybe, maybe he forgot to tell you since he was so engrossed in trying to make Mae catch up to you, but Mae didn't just catch up to you, she had already passed way above you, while your stuck on the pedestal she was weeks ago.

"Something on your mind, little bee?" That nickname, he never once gave an explanation on why he calls you that. "No, uh, nothing.. master"

You focus on his muscles grinding the stone bowl.

"I don't think that's nothing"

"I'm fine, really." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Hm"

You blink, fiddling with the hem of your robes, you let a few seconds pass before speaking up.

"Why.. why does Mae need it?" He halted his movements, and right then and there you almost regretted asking, almost. "She's having nightmares"

He resumed his cooking, although his brief answer didn't provide you with anything, so what? You were having nightmares once too, and he told you to suck it up.

And as if he read your mind, which he did. "I don't want it to hinder her performance, we don't want any distractions during this time of her training."

What about my training? You wanted to yell at him, what about me? Why can't you make me one of your anti-nightmare potions too?

You could only clench your fists, making sure he doesn't hear some of your thoughts, which is hard considering he didn't teach you to, only Mae, along with healing your body by using the force, all her, and your left in the dust.

Your master said using negative emotions is the best fuel for people like them. Them. He told you, him and Mae obvi, you're nowhere near the equation, like an addition symbol in a multiplication question, makes no sense right? Because you make no sense being there when he clearly prioritizes Mae.

"—are you still listening?"

"I, huh," your eyes flutter up to him, frowning when he says nothing but look at you. A few seconds pass with only the both of you staring each other down, I mean, him staring you down with his creepy mask, he suddenly lets go of the pestle, the tool colliding with the mortar loudly.

He was now towering over you, and you realize then how big he was compared to you, it's like a dwarf next to a willow tree. (Guys no matter how big you think you are, Qimir is always bigger✋)

"I can't hear you, but I feel you" oh fuck, you forgot about that. "What is this plaguing your mind?"

Before you could answer, Mae comes running.

"You're back" He focuses on her, you let out a deep breath, for once your relieved Mae came in just a nick of time. "The ship's ready, master"

"Good, let's go" he grabs his robe from behind you. "Finish the potion before we come back"

"Whe, where are you guys going?"

"Nothing of importance, now go." He gestures to the stone bowl, his menacing helmet buzzing in your ears. "Yes, master.."

"Good girl." you couldn't hear his last few mumbles, only registering everything when they left the cave, leaving you alone.

-

You decided that you're gonna make an anti-nightmare potion for yourself too, because why does only Mae get it when you can make one in case you get nightmares?

And the best place to buy ingredients was with the best apothecary in town.

"Qimir?" You knock on the door. "I need to buy things for him, are you there?"

No answer.

"Hellooo?"

You pouted and turned around, now everyone's busy when you're not, you wanted to wait for a few more seconds but people might think you're crazy for trying to buy from an abandoned pharmacy, your master told you Qimir was there anytime you needed something to use for missions, but now that you don't go to missions, you love to annoy the clumsy pharmacy owner.

"Hey, wait!"

You tried to stop the smile creeping to your face when you hear the door bust open.

"I'm here!" He yelled, you turned around and waved, a big smile covering your face. "What took you so long?"

"What do you mean?" He playfully shrugged. "Been here since forever"

You felt more comfortable with him, you don't have to have to tiptoe around him unlike with the other, you liked to tease him about not taking a bath and for looking like a ragged hobo.

"What are you doing here though?" His eyebrows furrowed as you skip to him, you gave him a warm smile once again before making your way inside. "I need some things for him."

He frowned.

"Things? He didn't tell me he needed anything when they passed here."

"Well he told me, so go fetch it for me, servant" you chuckle and hit him on the bicep, he fakes a cry before hesitating to open the shelves.

"Here's the list of his majesty needs"

"His majesty?" He laughs, you just love making him laugh, maybe it's just you, or maybe you're just alone, but if there's anyone in the world you're going to survive an apocalypse with, it's Qimir.

"Uh huh, he keeps barking orders, finish this, finish that before we get home nyeh nyeh nyeh"

He chuckles once again. "Are you sure about telling me that? I might just snitch and get a promotion."

You feign an insulted look. "You don't dare"

"Oh but I do"

You both sat there laughing, forgetting about what you were here for. You clutch your tummy and struggle to inhale air.

"I can't— stop—" you burst out laughing once again, your face heating up, the tears in your eyes now brimming full.

"No no don't die on me" He jokes, you can see him staring, you wanted to look at him like that, shameless, but you can't stand looking at him for more than 3 seconds without blushing.

"Really?" He mumbles, but you heard him, clear as day. "What?"

"I, I mean, really h-huh? You can't stop laughing?" He waved both his hands in the air.

"You weirdo"

"Oh so now I'm the weirdo?"

"Uh huh"

"Since when?!"

"Since we met"

"Says the person who keeps barging in my shop"

"You like it though right?" You look up at him expectantly. "Like w-what?"

You gesture with your hands. "This?"

"This what?"

"You're always alone here, you must be grateful that I always visit."

"Yeah, always"

"What does that mean!" You put your hands on your waist. "It means you're always here, so you're like an everyday occurance by now"

You roll your eyes as he finishes up the list.

"Here's the last one—" you frown as he pauses. "What?"

"Isn't this," he picks up the list again. "It's for.."

You gulp, your fingers fumble with the wooden seat.

"N-no, no, it's not" you avert your eyes from him, the floor looking a little more interesting today.

"It's for nightmares isn't it?"

"I don't know, he only gave the list, nothing else."

"It is for nightmares, why do you need these?"

"I don't know, it's not for me." You clench your fists. "If it was for him he'd tell me himself"

Your eyes try to find something, anything, to tell him.

"I think it's for Mae okay? Maybe, maybe she's having nightmares and, and maybe he doesn't want it to distract her.."

"But I al—" he pauses, his jaw flexing. "I already gave him these."

His eyes narrow on you, like a deer in the headlights you could only look away.

"Tell me?" His soft voice lures you to him. "Are you having them?"

"No.." you sigh, do you tell him you're making the potion out of spite for your master? For making one for Mae and not for you, ugh it all sounds childish now, before you left you had a plan, and now you look like a child caught.

"Just—" you let out a deep breath. "Give it, and I'll be on my way"

He stares at you for a moment, before placing everything in a small pouch. You thanked him and left the credits on the table before hurriedly leaving, you could still feel his stare at the back of your head.

[rishiguro]

hi rin! i recently came across your blog from an angst scenario and i was wondering if you would be able to do a jjk version of “characters throwing their wedding ring” i live for angst haha and i’m really glad i found your blog! also i’m 20!!

JJK CHARACTERS WHEN THEY THROW THEIR WEDDING RING

feat. nanami; toji; gojo; shoko; getou

a/n: angst rules ngl. thank you for your suggestion, i hope u enjoy this (because i for sure enjoyed writing this)

haikyuu version

arguments usually weren’t heated with NANAMI. the two of you believed in open and honest communication so it was rare that either one of you would start yelling. so to say the least, hearing his voice boom in the living room and seeing him so enraged was shocking. you couldn’t focus on him anymore as he continued his rant, face slightly red from his booming voice. but you couldn’t even lift your head to look at him, eyes fixed on the ring laying on the floor — the ring that was supposed to be on his ring finger as a symbol of your eternal love. that was until one second the yelling stopped. as you looked up you saw your husband frozen, gaze downcast in guilt.

loving TOJI could be hard sometimes. he was argumentative, hot-headed and selfish. he didn’t seem to care what buttons he pushed and just how much hurt he would cause. you were terrified to see just how easy he managed to slip the ring off and throw it carelessly to the side right before slamming the door behind him. what you couldn’t see however was him dropping down right after, his back against the wood, with his head between his knees. his breathing shuddered as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the skin. there was one thing he was sure of — he loved you. could you love him, regardless of how fallible he was?

GOJO was truly special — in one way or another. yet he always made sure to treat you as his equal, because that’s what you were to him. he loved you more than anything and anyone and he never had any problems admitting that. and you never doubted him because he never gave you a reason to. but now you did. “please,” his voice was muffled behind the door, “please let me in” the second you left the room he was right behind you, his pleads for you cut off by the door slamming into his face. “i love you,” he insisted, his hands outstretched. he wanted nothing more than to step into the room and fall on his knees right in front of you, beg for your forgiveness. and he could — but he couldn’t. he shouldn’t. because this wasn’t about what he needed or wanted but about how he hurt you and what you needed from him.

one of SHOKO’s strengths was being level-headed, no matter how serious or loaded the situation might be. she was always aware of what she was doing and of how it might affect others — which is why this hurt even more. she couldn’t explain to herself why she thought for even just a second that throwing her wedding ring, the one the two of you chose together, at you was the right thing to do. she clenched her jaw, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. she should turn around, go back to you, apologize, beg for your forgiveness. and yet here she was, running away from the one thing she loved and hurt the most — you.

GETOU was aware of his faults. he was a passionate and smug man, going so far as to call himself condescending. and while he was confident that he was able to control his emotions and be a good person and especially a good partner, he soon realized that this wasn’t always the case. his face was pale, a shocked expression etched into it. he looked stunned, shaking his head in disbelief with his eyes staring on his hand. this had to be a dream, there was no way he would do such a thing. he told himself he was going to be good to you, always keep you safe and happy. this couldn’t be true, it had to be a dream, a nightmare. but if it was a dream, why wouldn’t he wake up, safe and secure with your loving arm around him?

reblogs are appreciated

[trulyumai]

a fire set loose upon blood

—paring: Messmer / wife! reader

synopsis: with queen marika learning of her sons marriage, she called him to the capital, forbidding the man to marry into such a low family. Messmer became angry, the flames taking over his will once more.

—warnings: talking down, violence, light cussing.

The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with a murmur of anticipation, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the sound of nobles and courtiers preparing for the evening’s festivities. Gold and white drapes adorned the walls, their opulence a stark contrast to the underlying tension that simmered within the room. At the head of the hall, the throne loomed, a symbol of Queen Marika’s unyielding authority.

The siblings were no where to be seen. For why would they show when Messmer needed them so?

Messmer stood in the center of the room, his regal attire starkly contrasting with the turmoil that brewed beneath his composed exterior. His eye, dark and stormy, fixed intently on the figure of his mother as she ascended the throne with a grace that belied the iron will behind her serene facade.

Queen Marika’s presence was commanding, her poise a perfect blend of royal dignity and maternal authority. Her eyes, however, were steely as they regarded her son, her posture unyielding as if the weight of the crown had become an even greater burden in recent times.

“Messmer,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a queen used to having her commands followed without question. “I have called you here to discuss a matter of utmost importance.”

Messmer’s gaze remained steady, though a flicker of anger danced in his eye. “Speak then, Mother. I am here, and thee will listen.”

Marika’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightness around her lips that betrayed her unease. “It has come to my attention that you continue to spend time with that… woman, the one of whom I have spoken before. Her status is beneath the dignity of the royal family. She is not of noble blood, and her presence in your life could compromise the integrity of our lineage.”

The words struck Messmer like a physical blow, his face darkening with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Are you referring to my wife?”

Queen Marika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, my child. Her origins are humble, and her social standing is not fitting for a prince of this realm. I have tolerated your infatuation for too long. It is time to end this folly.”

Messmer’s hands clenched into fists, the tension in his jaw evident as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You cannot simply dictate my heart, Mother. My wife is not only kind and virtuous, but she has shown me a love that transcends titles and lineage. She is more noble in spirit than many of those you deem worthy.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, a cold edge to her voice. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford, Messmer. The duties and responsibilities of royalty must come before personal desires. You must consider the future of the kingdom, the alliances we must secure. Your marriage must strengthen our position, not diminish it.”

“Strengthen?” Messmer’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and defiance. “Are you suggesting that my happiness, my very heart, should be sacrificed for political gain? This is not merely a matter of alliances or appearances. It is about who I choose to spend my life with, who I love.”

Marika’s gaze remained steely, her voice a firm command. “You will cease this association with her immediately. You are a prince, a knight, and you must act according to your station. You are not to see her again. This is a royal decree.”

The finality in her voice was unmistakable, yet Messmer’s anger flared, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “A decree?” he spat, his voice laden with contempt. “You would reduce my feelings to a mere decree? I will not comply, Mother. I refuse to end my relationship with her I will not let you dictate my heart.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the murmurs of the court dying away as Messmer’s declaration reverberated through the hall. Queen Marika’s expression hardened further, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the challenge posed by her son.

“Do not be a fool, Messmer,” she said, her tone cold and cutting. “You are treading dangerous waters. Your disobedience will not go unnoticed, and the consequences will be severe. You cannot defy your mother, your queen, without facing repercussions.”

“I am aware of the consequences,” Messmer shot back, his voice unwavering. “But I will not live a lie or endure a life devoid of love for the sake of appearances. If you choose to punish me for this, so be it. But know this: I will not abandon my wife. I will stand by her, no matter the cost.”

Marika’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You are speaking recklessly. You do not understand the gravity of your actions. This is not merely about personal happiness—it is about the stability of our entire realm. Your defiance threatens the very fabric of our dynasty.”

Messmer took a step forward, his eyes blazing with resolve. “And what of my own happiness? What of my right to choose the one I love? You speak of stability, but it is your rigid adherence to tradition that threatens to unravel everything. I am not merely a pawn to be moved about for political gain. I am your son, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Marika’s hands clenched on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white with the strain. The silence in the hall was oppressive, the weight of the confrontation palpable. Messmer’s words hung in the air, a challenge to the very authority his mother held so dearly.

“You are making a grave mistake, Messmer,” Marika said, her voice strained but resolute. “You will regret this defiance. The path you choose will lead to ruin, and you will have only yourself to blame.”

“Then let it be so,” Messmer replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not forsake my love. If that is my price, then so be it.”

…

“You persist in your defiance, Messmer,” Marika’s voice was cold and unyielding. “You dare to disregard my decree and associate yourself with that woman, Her presence is an affront to the dignity of this royal house.”

Messmer’s anger was palpable. “You cannot dictate my heart, Mother. I refuse to end my marriage. She has been my steadfast companion, and her worth is beyond the constraints of royal lineage.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. “Then you leave me no choice. If you will not heed my words, I shall act to preserve the integrity of our realm.”

With a decisive gesture, Marika signaled to the guards of grace stationed by the grand hall’s entrance. Her voice rang out with unyielding authority. “Seize his so called wife. Remove her from this hall at once. Her presence is a threat to the stability of our kingdom.”

The guards, their expressions set in grim determination, advanced towards his wife, who stood frozen by the window. Her eyes darted between Messmer and the encroaching soldiers, fear etched across her face.

“No!” Messmer’s voice erupted in a raw, desperate roar. “Stay away from her!”

As the guards closed in, Messmer’s fury ignited. He drew his staff with a swift, practiced motion, but the weapon was not his only tool of wrath. With a surge of energy, Messmer’s eyes flared with an intense, fiery glow. Flames erupted from his hands, casting an ominous light across the hall.

The guards, taken aback by the sudden burst of fire, scrambled to shield themselves. But Messmer’s flames were relentless, sweeping through the grand hall with a ferocious intensity. The once-stately room was soon engulfed in a torrent of scorching heat and blinding light.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the opulent decorations and gilded walls. The guards, now caught in the inferno, screamed in terror as the fire turned their armor into searing metal. Messmer fought through the chaos, his sword still flashing as he cut down those who tried to escape the blaze.

“Messmer, no!” His wife’s cry was barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Darling— please!”

Messmer’s face, illuminated by the flames, was a mask of determined fury. “If they will not let us be, then I will take everything from them. No more will they control our lives!”

With each passing moment, the fire spread beyond the grand hall, seizing hold of the palace’s wooden structures and tapestries. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and ash. Marika, her regal composure shattered, could only watch in stunned disbelief as her palace was reduced to a blazing inferno.

“Cease this madness!” Marika’s voice, though commanding, was nearly lost in the cacophony of destruction. “Stop him! Put out the fire!”

But it was too late. The flames, fueled by Messmer’s unchecked rage, surged outward, consuming the palace’s grandiose architecture. The inferno spread through the corridors and chambers, its heat radiating through the once-proud halls.

Messmer, his fury unabated, moved his wife towards the palace’s exit. The once-majestic capital, now visible beyond the burning palace, was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The fire, driven by Messmer’s rage, was spreading rapidly through the streets, turning the capital into a scene of total devastation.

Outside, the capital’s inhabitants fled in panic as the fire spread through the buildings. The cries of the fleeing people mixed with the crackling of the flames, creating a harrowing symphony of destruction. Messmer and his little wife, amidst the chaos, made their way through the burning streets, their path lit by the inferno that consumed the city.

“Messmer, we need to leave!” Her voice was urgent, her face pale with fear. “This fire—it’s destroying everything!”

Messmer’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, remained fixed on the burning city. “They will understand the cost of crossing me, of belittling me and having me sit by the shadows!” he said, his voice a low growl. “No longer will they dictate our fate.”

The inferno continued to ravage the capital, the flames reflecting in Messmer’s eyes as he and his wife made their way out of the city. The once-thriving center of the kingdom was now a smoldering ruin, the fire a testament to Messmer’s wrath and his refusal to be controlled.

As they reached the outskirts of the burning capital, Messmer and the girl paused, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of the destruction was both overwhelming and sobering. The palace, now a ruin of charred stone and ashes, was a grim reminder of the cost of their defiance.

Messmer, his anger slowly giving way to a profound sense of loss, turned towards the shaking girl. “I am sorry for this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “This was not what I intended. I wanted only to protect you.”

her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow, took his hand. “We will— will be okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the devastation around them. “We will find a way to move forward. I trust you to protect us.”

Messmer nodded, his resolve tempered by the weight of their actions. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges. But amidst the ruins of the capital and the ashes of their past, they found solace in their shared determination and the strength of their bond.

The capital, once a symbol of royal might, now lay in ruins—a testament to the power of defiance and the price of love. As Messmer and his wife looked out over the burning city, they knew that their journey was far from over. The flames of rebellion had transformed their lives, and the road ahead would be shaped by the choices they made in the aftermath of the inferno.

The destruction of the kingdom’s heart was a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance and the price of love. The future lay before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but Messmer and his wife faced it together, bound by their shared determination and the strength of their affection.

Now, there was only one place they could hide.

To the lands in between; the shadow realm that hides beneath the grace.

[wiltedivinity]

ıllıㅤ𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ; all you saw was red. the blood in his hands, the blood on their bodies, the blood on your own, and the color of the roses you're engulfed in. he wondered at the fact on how far you've brought yourself to get away from him, physically and emotionally, knowing you won't even get to escape a few meters. but you wondered... why?

ㅤ⨯ if any of the following trigger you, please click off: dead dove: do not eat ; non-con ; female!reader ; violence ; (minor character) deaths ; assault ; possessiveness ; yandere themes ; choking ; toxic & unhealthy relationships ; forceful actions ; suggestive themes ; semi-smut ; threats & insults ; angsty? ; childe is an asshole ; not proofread

ㅤ⨯ archive :: taglist :: inbox / appeal information :: 18+ ONLY

Why… Why… Why… You wanted to ask. You wanted to scream out till’ your lungs give you in. Your feet were planted on the ground firmly, refusing to move an inch as you watch the Harbinger pierce his blades into the chest of your mother repeatedly, the water of his weapon slowly being stained with dark blood, blood that’s mixed with different victims that have witnessed his wrath. Including yours. You eye the wound on your arm, the red liquid was still dripping and staining the ground under you. “Why…” it barely even came out as a whisper, more like a simple breath of the wind most people would ignore but not to him. What can you expect from a man that made You, a person he should have cared less for, his main priority in his life.

“Why…?” you sobbed out, bringing your head up from the floor to find him staring right back at you. The Harbinger stands up and carelessly lays your mother figure to the ground before kicking it out of his sight, dissipating his water blades into thin air as blood continues to stain him and maybe you in the process. “‘Why,’ you ask?” Childe hums, making his way towards you, raising his hand to meet your cheek but you slap it away before he could even touch. “Answer me.” you grit your teeth at the man who was smiling sadistically at you.

“Wow, what a feisty girl. Didn’t know you had it in you, love.” he chuckles, his hand coming in contact with your hand, gripping it and dirtying it with mixed blood. You groan and pull your hand away from his grasp and land a hit on his face. You leave him breathless for a second before his pupils dilated, touching the very spot you slapped him on and caressing it. “You’ve changed quite a lot.”

“I could say the same for you, Tartaglia.” you scoot away from him, your fists clenching in case he makes another move on you. He simply just laughs, each breath he takes, his laughter goes lower and lower until he is glaring at you with that very same sinister grin on his face. “As much as everything you do makes me breathless,” he says through his smile, “You speaking my codename isn’t it. Change that up, hun.”

“Nothing you do will make me change what I feel about you.” A hint of resentment was visible in your eyes, your pupils decreasing its usual size. You tried… Tried to seem threatening but to him he adored it. Even if you managed to intimidate him, he wouldn’t really back out, can he? He knows he’s stronger. He’s a survivor of the Abyss, the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Even if he was the Eleventh, the title of being a Harbinger alone is impressive and shows a symbol of great power and strength.

“You think so?” Childe sniggers. “I know so.” you reply boldly, attempting to stand back up only to get knocked down by the stomach by Childe’s elbow, “Oh, we’re not done yet. You’re staying here until our business is done.” you glare at his response, what does this man mean by business? If he means torturing you more than you know that seeing your family die before your eyes is more than torture. You attempt to dart away from him if standing wasn’t an option but he stops you by gripping your ankle.

“Get your fucking hand away from me, Tartaglia.” you sneer but it doesn’t stay for longer when he has his hand around your neck and pins you down, using it as a leverage. You can see his eyes darkening from your lips simply saying his title. “Like I said… You’re staying here until our business is done, [Y/N].” he emphasized with a growl at the end of the sentence as he quickly squeezed your throat. You felt the wetness in the corners of your eyes drip as he pushed you further into the ground. Eyes widening instantly when you realize he’s blocking your airway by choking you, his grip on your neck was unbearably tight and if he continued to stay like this you would–

You can’t breathe, you’re letting out panic and quick pants from your mouth as you try to get his grasp from your throat by pulling his wrist away but he’s stronger… You know that. So why not give up? You don’t want to. You can’t either. You try to kick him off with your legs punching his gut, Childe only groaned and laughed. “Hah,” he sighs, but that quickly turns into loud laughter.

“Haha!” he jests, pushing you on the floor as your consciousness slowly slips away from you. “Go on! Keep trying, it makes the job easier. Just look at you, turning blue from my hand around your throat.” he muses, a grin forming on his face sinisterly. You want to argue, but not in this situation. You could barely breathe and voicing out your thoughts will worsen. But in the end, you’d faint from the loss of breath and he would win in the end. He can easily overpower you anytime he wants. That’s a perk of being a Harbinger trained under an unknown woman from the Abyss.

“Sleep well. I’ll be waiting.” he coos lowly, your eyelids drooping lower as you let out your last breath before you faint. Once you do, he slowly pulls his grasp around your throat and admires the handprint on it. A nice dull, desaturated red. Almost the color of the blood of his opponents. Childe brings your unconscious body into his embrace and carefully stands up, looking back to see the limp figures of your family members laying on the floor, all bloodied and dismembered from his hold. If he could be honest, it was their fault, they disapproved of him ever since he was a member of the Fatui and the idea of their precious daughter to get associated with him was something they’d never want. You were okay in keeping contact with him and didn’t think much of his status. But that didn’t go through with your family. They even go as far as to separate the two of you and cut all ties with his family in order to keep you safe and away from him.

Oh what a bad decision they made.

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Your eyes groggily open, and your body twitches beneath the mattress you were sleeping on. Your hand tries to touch your brow, but something prevents it. You examined your wrists and discovered that it was connected to the headboard of the bed, leaving you vulnerable and unable to move. You struggle under the restraints, desperate to be freed but a door has already been opened before you could move any further. "Ah, you're awake," says a familiar voice from the other side of the room, as footsteps approach your bed.

“I hope you don’t mind the chains. I didn’t want you escaping so this was a better alternative!” A glee came from Childe, that broad and boyish smile of his not wavering one bit when he sees your harsh glare. “Let me go,” you growl, shuffling on the bed aggressively but it only worsens the pain on your wrists.

“Oh come on, don’t get mad at me now. Be thankful you got chained in my bedroom instead of something much brutal.” He grabs your chin to stop you from moving too much, his grip is tight, one wrong breath and he’ll tighten it more so you sit still.

All of the sudden, his grin widens, but not in a good way. “Or maybe you’d like what I originally planned more.” The dark glint on his eyes becomes evident, “But let’s get you fed first. It’s been hours since you’ve passed out and you must be starving after that long!” And it switches up all too suddenly. It’s as if the man forgot that he kidnapped you and did monstrous things to your family.

He then places the tray on a desk near the bed. Childe eyes the handcuffs on your hand and shrugs, “You’ll get used to this.” He assures you, taking the hot, steaming bowl of soup and placing it near your face, the spoon already scooping the broth and placing it in front of your lips.

“Come on. Say ‘ahh’” the ginger-head instructs, blowing air on the spoonful of stew so you’re able to consume it. You wanted to protest but your stomach grumbles before you can do so, making the harbinger chortle. “Might as well open your mouth. It’ll make things easier for you… And your stomach.” He points out.

You purse your lips, shaking your head. This causes Childe to frown heavily, “You really are stubborn, aren’t you?” His jaw clenches, “You’re lucky I’m a patient man. Now, eat.” He shakes his hand, a little too aggressively but not enough to spill the bouillon. “No,” You furrow your brows, turning your head away from the spoon. “You heard me the first time.” You argued back, your fists already clenched. You would’ve thrown a punch on him if you could if it weren’t for the handcuffs.

“You really don’t know who you’re messing with, [Y/N].” The way he spoke your name was strong, almost intimidating. “I can shut the fucking mouth of yours if I wanted to. Hell, I’ll do that right now.” Childe smiles grimly, the sinister gleam on his eyes shine, the hand that was holding the spoonful of soup placed inside of his mouth, his free hand clutching onto your shirt and pulling you raspingly into his lips, forcing you to drink in the hot liquid.

You feel his tongue penetrate through your lips, forcing them open. Your chin was trapped between his fingers and he uses this to tilt your head backwards so you can drink the broth that he pours. You feel yourself coughing into Childe’s lips but he doesn’t budge one bit, only pushing you down the mattress with his arm behind your neck. Your attempts in pushing away were fruitless, so your only choice was biting his lip until it bled.

Fortunately that worked, though he didn’t pull away instantly. He let his tongue explore your mouth before doing so, it seems like he was enjoying how the soup tastes mixed with his blood. Childe lets out a few breaths before looking down at you, the corners of his mouth still stained with a bit of red liquid and dried up broth. “Don’t you think I’m done with you. You barely finished a portion of the soup.” He chuckles, his hand making its way to the bowl to scoop more fluid into his mouth until your foot kicks his thigh, making him freeze and look towards you.

“I-I’ll eat… Just not from your mouth.” You try to reason with him but he continues to drink up the liquid, his cheeks puffing a bit from the soup taking up the space inside of his mouth. You just know that he wasn’t going to do it your way by the way he’s leaning down on you and pressing his lips against yours. Pouring in whatever he has in your mouth yet again. You furrow your brows as tears flow down your cheeks, the taste is bitter. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue and a fog in your mind.

.

.

.

You pant heavily, your chest was visibly rising from up and down as you stare up at Childe without breaking eye contact. The man didn’t show one bit of remorse for what he’s done to you. That shit-eating grin that was spread across his face shows it. He shuffles and rises up from the bed, taking the half-eaten bowl of soup before walking away. The moment he’s at the door, he turns his head to look back at you, eyes watching you from head-to-toe before nodding and walking away, seemingly amused.

You shake on Childe’s bed, throwing your head back as you sob. What have you fucking gotten into? Your eyes are squinted tight, your wrists are still painfully wounded from how forceful Childe was when handling your body not too long ago when you’re trying to set them free from the chains. To set yourself from things getting worse. You couldn’t stop wiggling your body on the mattress in an attempt to loosen yourself from the handcuffs.

This could’ve ended differently… Maybe if you knew and saw the red flags in his letter or the way he acted when he was around you, you would’ve escaped. But you should doubt that. The man’s a Harbinger, a child who fell into the Abyss, a striving and unmatched warrior and most importantly, a manipulative companion who always gets what he wants. And you being a long-time friend only worsens it since the both of you knew each other more deeply than anyone else. He knew your weaknesses, your likes, dislikes and everything.

And you don’t know any of his weaknesses. It was hard to guess. You only knew a few and it was you. But being his weakness also means being his strength, you know how you get him. You were his source of motivation. If you weren’t then he wouldn’t be torturing people to tell him about your whereabouts ever since your family cut ties with him.

“Don’t sleep on me now~ We still have yet to clean you up!” Childe chimes in the room once again, a towel in his hand as he approaches and kneels on the floor. His arms are on the mattress of the bed, his head firmly placed in between them as he stares at you. “I haven’t bathed you properly and seeing the stains on your shirt, you wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in something dirty, right?” He attempts to sway you. “I may be a bad guy, but I’m no monster.” You wanted to laugh. What the actual fuck does he mean by that?

You decide not to protest. You were too tired to do so and your lips could barely sound out a breath. “Good girl.. You’ve finally learned your lesson!” Childe grins at the wig hut of your tired face, the blush on your cheeks evident from the messy and hard kisses he’s been giving you. He trails his finger on them, slowly moving them downwards until they reach your neck, carefully grasping it, causing you to choke on your deep breaths.

“Good girls deserve rewards, correct?” Childe tilts his head with that stupid grin on his face. He must be proud at how much of a mess he’s made out of you. How much control he has over you. He knows you know it, he’s laughing to himself right now. “So let me reward you..” His smile drops, as well as his voice.

He didn’t waste a millisecond to bring his right arm under your knees and his left arm beneath your back. Shaking you a bit so that you wouldn’t sleep when he bathes you. “Stay awake for me, pretty. Don’t want you drowning.” He snickers with a teasing grin on his face. He takes quick but careful steps to the open door that leads to the bathroom. He sat you down in the bathtub and prompted you to take your clothes off. You can feel the embarrassment bubble up inside of you as well as your jaw tightening. “Come on, now. Don’t get too shy~ You’re gonna get used to this soon enough.” he traces the shape of your cheek before he lets his finger move lower to your neck to unbutton one button of your collar.

“You’re a big girl now, right?” He murmurs softly, grabbing your hand and placing it on your shirt, silently commanding you to undress. “But I don’t mind if I could do it instead. I’d be more than happy to see you trust in me in this.” Childe was trying his best to go easy on you. He knew he wouldn’t go anywhere if he continued to torture you.

He’ll make sure he’s all you can rely on. The only person you can trust in this dim cabin in the middle of nowhere.

“No.. I can do it.” You push his hand away as you slowly unbutton your shirt, each time you show a bit of your skin with each button, his gaze intensifies. He couldn’t help but put his hands on the sides of your stomach, his thumb brushing the soft and bare skin. He leans in and uses his teeth to drag the collar of your shirt to the side to reveal more of your figure. “So pretty..” he praises, licking a stripe of your shoulder. You sat there, frozen and clutching onto his shirt, attempting to push him away.

He notices this and controls his urges. He’s not gonna do anything, yet. “Undress the rest of your clothing for me.” He pulls away and stands up to discard his gloves. You do as he says and unzip your jeans, kicking them off. You were only left with your undergarments and the way he eats up every bare skin of your body makes you feel unsafe to what he’s gonna do next.

Childe really has a hard time breathing at the sight of you. God he’d just take you there right now but he slaps himself to the thought of it. “Not yet..” He scolds himself internally. He’ll do it once the time is right. For now, he needs you cleaned up. “Take those off too.” You swore you heard a low grunt at the end of his sentence but you didn’t dare question it. You unclip your bra from behind, struggling a bit from taking it off before finally letting it fall off your shoulders and onto your lap. 

Childe stares at you, admiring every curve and contour but he snaps out of it once your hands lowered to take off your underwear too. His eyes were stuck on your lap and at the sight of your cunt. He lets out a heavy huff he didn’t know he was holding for so long and grabs your undergarments, placing them in the sink. A moment later, he turned on the water faucet and washed your naked body with soap. Occasionally brushing the scars (that he made) with his thumb to soothe you (as well as admiring it as if it’s a work of art.)

It didn’t take too long to finish bathing you. It’s probably the first time you’ve behaved around him but that doesn’t mean you’ll tolerate him for long. Childe gently grabs your chin and tilts it upwards for your eyes to face him. You thought he’d do something he wasn’t supposed to but he just simply caressed the bruise on your cheek. You could only sigh and hope whatever he wanted to do just finishes.

“Let’s get you settled..” Childe gets up from his kneeling position and grabs a white towel. He turns his head and gestures to you to get out of the tub. You did what he commanded and stood up from the water and stepped out of it. You cringe at the cold breeze meeting your skin as the water droplets sticking on your drop to the ground.

You notice the ginger-haired man’s hesitance when seeing your bare body in all of its glory. The water made your skin glisten a bit, all he wanted to do now was mouth your neck, your collarbone, literally anywhere. He wasn’t being picky at this point. He just wanted his hands all over your body.

He couldn’t contain himself much longer and dropped the towel as he desperately strides towards you to wrap his arms around your waist and pull your wet body on his clothed one. His hands obsessively ravaging your hips and your back, “Fuck… So pretty for me, yeah?” He grunts at the feeling of being so close to you, chest-to-chest, trapped in his arms with no escape and no choice but to deal with his horrid affection. “All for me…” His fingers pat your bare hip until it reaches your ass, squeezing it lightly. You froze and clutch onto his shirt, “Stop… Please..” You plead, but he growls. “Fine..” he responds but doesn’t let you distance yourself from him.

Childe grabbed the towel that fell on the floor, he turns to you again and dry your body up, periodically brushing your intimate parts with his lips, saying it was to quicken the process. He wasn’t even trying to make a better excuse.

With one last stroke of the towel around your breasts, he pulls away and admires his work. “I’ll get you some clothes. Come with me.” he places the towel on a towel rail and leads you to– most likely– his room.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed as he explores through a closet of clothes. Maybe… Just maybe you could knock him out. He was really distracted at the moment but you don’t have anything to attack him with. Even if you did, you’d be dead. He’s not that weak nor does he have slow instincts to sense what’s wrong.

“Hey..” Childe snaps his fingers in front of your face, snapping you out of your trance. Your eyes widen and blink a few times before looking up at him, confused. Childe stares at you for a moment before letting out a chuckle and sighing, amused at your act. “Done daydreaming, sweetheart?” he teases before handing you some folded group of clothes. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay like that for too long. But I don’t mind such a sight either way… I’ll think of other ways to heat you up if you let me.” He smirks and you internally cringe at his remark in trying to bed you.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Childe.” You grin awkwardly at him and attempt to grab the clothes from his hands but he refuses to give you it. “[Y/N].” He spoke your name. He sounded mad, as if you did or said something wrong and offending. “Yes, Chil–”

“Don’t call me that.” He cuts you off with a stern tone. The way his eyes narrow at how your lips voiced out his name— his codename to be specific. A name that’s normally used by either enemies or acquaintances that he's barely close with. “It’s Ajax.. Just call me that, [Y/N]. It’s just two syllables and four letters.”

“...”

Childe notices your silence and sighs, feeling frustrated. “Just this once at least.. Please?” he begs and you swore he looked pathetic like that. You can’t believe this is the exact same man who just committed manslaughter yesterday and got rid of your whole family. “...Ajax.” You mussitate,  a hint of annoyance within your tone from his persistence.

You were unable to catch the self-satisfied smile he had on his lips. Childe lets out a content hum as he places the pile of clothes on your hands and pushes you to sit on the edge of the bed. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He expresses his mirth fatuously, “Get dressed. I’ll take a bath. Behave for me, alright? Don’t go out without my permission.” He spoke softly, holding your shoulder, his grip was threatening but soon enough softened, taking it out of your body. He stared at you for a moment, his gaze on you didn’t waver as he studied every detail on you.

With a turn of his heel, he left and entered the bathroom, closing it and locking it as water started running inside.

You sat on the bed's edge. Feeling overwhelmed, the sound of his voice, the way his touch sends shocking shocks through your body. You were overthinking what had just happened and didn't see how your body began to shake from the cold. You wore the long-sleeved sweater and pajamas gently, shaking the thoughts out of your head. It strangely fits... Did he get your size while you were sleeping? But it didn't appear brand new if he did manage to get your size and buy clothing for it.

You stood up and walked onto the exit door of the bedroom you were in, looking towards the door where Childe was bathing. When you're close enough, you palm the knob and turn it slowly so as not to create too much noise.

The corners of your lips raise a bit when you successfully open the door but it soon drops when you hear another door creak behind you. “What do you think you’re doing?” an austere voice rumbles from a few feet. Slowly turning your head, you’re met with the sight of Childe’s bare chest that was dripping with hot water.

You were so distracted by his sudden closeness that you didn’t notice his hand closing the door while leaning in front of you so it couldn’t be opened. “Be a dear and get out of the way.” his tone wasn’t as gentle as before. You warned yourself not to get him mad or else you’ll face something you’ll regret. You let out a sigh as you take a step to the side and awkwardly walk towards the bed to sit there again. Childe seems to calm down from the way his shoulders slump as he locks the door. He turns to look at you before making his way over to the bed, “Look at me.” he commands, gripping your chin harshly.

Once making eye contact with you, he stayed silent. You knew what he was saying from how his eyes were narrowing while he let out uneven, heavy breaths.

It didn’t take long for him to pull away in pure silence so he could dress up. Once finished, he crawls over to you and forces you to lay down on the mattress with his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you locked within his embrace. You feel his nose brush up against your nape, breathing in and familiarizing your addicting scent. “You smell divine..” The man murmurs from behind, his hand palming your stomach in a loving way. He feels the way you tense up from his touches and he hums, grinning from the feeling. “Relax… I won’t do anything yet.”

His ‘reassuring’ words only served to stiffen you up. Childe sighs before his grip tightens around you and wraps a leg around your pair. He decided to just stay silent, assuming you’ll get used to his presence around you soon enough. It’s not like you have a choice either way.

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.

.

“Dear…” Childe murmurs longingly as he turns his body to face yours. He’s been tossing and turning all night during his sleep and he didn’t notice that until now. He opens his eyes tiredly with a sheepish smile as his arms wrap around the soft figure in front of him, “I’m so sorry about that… Did I wake you?” he asks, his tone tinged with a bit of guilt.

No response.

Childe purses his lips as he shakes his head and sits up, gripping what seems to be your shoulder and forcing you to look at him.

But it wasn’t you. It was just a pillow.

Upon his realization, he quickly got up and searched around the house for you. It’s not like you’ve gotten far, right? Not to the point you’re outside the cabin he’s trapping you in. All the doors were locked, windows closed shut so that your weak body couldn’t open it.

That is, until he noticed the front door lock on the floor. He wouldn't have seen your escape if it weren't for the gleaming metal flashing in the dark. As he slammed the front door wide, he noticed footsteps, footprints pointing towards the woodland that encircled the lodge. He grits his teeth before donning the dark, heavy coat that had been hanging nearby before stepping out to get you and take you back inside.

Even though everything was dark, he could see where he was going. Where you were going. It won't be long before he catches up with you. He realizes you didn't go very far. You're too lost in this forest and you'll end up back where you started(. There’s a reason why he set up this specific forest when trapping you). Do you really think you can escape him that easily? He chuckles to himself. It’s amusing. It’s good to have some determination, some hope at least, but it’s also good to be realistic. 

.

.

.

You ran and ran as fast as you could, away from the cabin in the woods, away from the creature within it. Your feet hurt severely. You’ve underestimated how harsh the winter of Snezhnaya is, how the breeze alone causes your whole body to turn numb from the cold. What’s worse was that you couldn’t stop moving no matter what. Even a single second counts, driving you closer to your escape.

You struggle to breathe after all that movement, causing you to stumble against a thick tree root. You pant, taking heavy breaths to regain your composure but you can’t really be calm in a situation like this, can you?

You stood up, dusting the snow off your clothes as you continued forward, trembling a bit from feeling the sudden warmth rising up your body. Fuck… This is gonna be the death of you..

You hear footsteps tapping behind you, approaching you slowly and surely. A howl can be heard from behind that was soon followed by a growl. You slowly turned your head in search of the source of the sound and quickly regretted it. The sight of the darkish Rifthounds glaring at you sent a shiver on your spine. They were quite far but it didn’t take awhile for them to start noticing your presence and preparing to teleport or sprint at you.

You saw the Rockfound Rifthound instantly turning its body, disappearing for a second before appearing right in front of you, about to swing its tail to attack you. You shriek out loud, your legs instinctively move to the opposite direction only for you to instantly get knocked forward when feeling the tail make contact with your back. Groaning, you attempt to get back up, ignoring the sights of the Whelps drawing nearer towards you.

You clenched your fist before grabbing a big enough rock and throwing it at the Rifthound that just attacked you to catch it off guard. Seeing it roar in pain and the Whelps looking towards their leader, you took this chance to escape from the creature's grasp.

Never have you felt this much adrenaline rushing through your vines. You felt so dead yet so alive right now…

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a static of Electro rotating over to you. The projectile makes an impact on your side, causing you to get pushed and injured in the process. You grunt gutturally, clutching your hip and left arm, hissing as the sting worsens the more contact it has with your hand and other solid things.

You look over to your side, spotting a Thundercraven Rifthound nearing you along with its accompaniment of Whelps. Your hands swiftly touch the ground swiftly, moving it in hope to find another rock but to no avail.

You were trying to think of a way to escape this but there was no way out. You were surrounded by the mobs, and they looked like they wouldn’t let you off the hook easily. You spot a current of Electro and what seems to be aiming at you. You pulled your arms to your face, blocking whatever was about to touch you.

You hiss at the feeling of the electrifying scratch on the small reveal of your skin and twitch when hearing the wail of the Rifthounds around you. Another guttural sound erupts not so far from where you sit, causing you to press your face deeper into your arms.

“Get up.” Someone spoke, their tone serious and authoritative.

It took about a few seconds to do exactly that. You spot that the Rifthounds were gone, only leaving parts of their body left behind. You knew you weren’t strong but it did surprise you that every single one of them was taken care of. “T-Thank you, mister–?”

“I said– Get Up.” His voice booms through you, causing your ear to ring a bit. You perk your head up with your eyes squinted, “Apologies… I–” A breath was taken away from your lungs upon feeling the man’s hand wrapped around your neck, dragging you from the ground up to the sky. The hand squeezes your throat tightly, making you swing your legs on instinct to kick whoever was holding you. “All under my mercy now, huh? What happened to your acts of disobedience? Did it all get thrown out the window once I teach you your lesson?” The man scoffs, harshly dropping you on the snowy ground and kicking you on your stomach, making you turn and tumble down into a group of bushes.

You hiss, the feeling of small pricks picking into your skin, causing small but nasty scars that leave you groaning. You couldn’t see, some even scratched near your eyes and for you not to get blinded by them, you squint your eyelids shut.

“Please– I’m sorry! Let me out!” You sob, trembling in fear, in the stinging pain of the pricks. “Oh, are you now?” The man walks towards the bush, tapping his foot as he watches you struggling. ”Do you mean it?” He plants his foot on top of the bush, slowly but surely deepening its form to strangle you more.

“Yes– I do! Agh–”

“Beg for your life if you mean it.” He deepens it once more. Even if you were under this confined space of a bush, you can spot the sadistic grin plastered on his face, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. “P-please… I plead.. For mercy. Please.. I can’t br–eathe-hah!” You breathe heavily in between your words, the form of the bush only trapping you little by little. “Do you promise… Pinkie promise to not escape out of my grasp? To obey my every command, dearest?” You feel your hand being taken out of the bush and into the cold air outside. You whine, feeling the small pricks touch your skin in the process.

A pinkie awaits to intertwine with yours, “I’m waiting.” He reminds by delving his foot deeper, causing you to cry out in agony and wrapping your pinkie around his, “I promise! Please!”

“That’s my girl.” He jests in amusement as he pulls away, cracking his knuckles and stretching his body to dive in and carefully but surely pull you out of the spiky bush. He cringes a bit once spotting the small spikes in your skin. He sighed and decided to take care of them later since keeping you warm was his priority right now. Taking his jacket off and wrapping it around you, he made sure the pricks didn’t bother you on the way back to the cabin. He takes a look at the rose bush one last time before picking one of it up and placing it on the chest of his jacket.

He caresses the petals before his fingers meet your chin to tilt them up, “C’mon.. Rest. You’re gonna need it.” He hushes you quietly before forcefully closing your eyes.and pecking your forehead. You couldn’t soften up in his presence even if you wanted to but the way your body just betrays you, forcing you to go limp to gain rest it needs, it gave you no choice to stay awake even if you wanted to.

.

.

.

“You’re awake, I see..” A voice spoke from above. You twitch, turning your head to the source and furrowing your brows upon spotting the oh-so familiar, scarred and freckled face that was right in front of you. You attempt to push him away by nudging your knee against his abdomen but that was countered from a sharp pain coming from both your legs. “..Ahah–!” You let out a roar of discomfort. Chidle grins and jests upon seeing your face contort in displeasure, “You should think twice before doing that. I still haven’t fully catered your body yet.”

He pulls your leg lightly which is enough for your body to get dragged onto his lap. “Don’t move.” He commands, emphasizing it with a squeeze of your thigh.

You internally whimper when you feel him slowly but surely take the thorns out of your skin. “How cute.” he laughs softly, patting a wet, warm towel on the small open wound. “You’re doing great. Just as you should. Continue behaving for me, will you? It’s not like you’re going anywhere with these.” He plays around with the chains around your ankle that was connected to a wall. “It fits you well, don’t you think?” Childe murmurs lovingly, as if he’s admiring the work he’s done on you… Trapped, under his mercy, with no escape.

After finishing up the wounds on your left leg, he leans in close to your face, his hand cupping your waist to bring you closer to him, close enough to place a kiss on your forehead. “There we go… Such a behaved little thing.” Childe jests before standing up and dusting his pants. “Hopefully this will be enough for you. Sleep well, alright?” He pats and ruffles your hair, his hand sliding down to your cheek and caressing it. “Don’t try escaping me. Because next time, you won’t even get to be sleeping under this damnation.”

You tried to bite his palm because it was so close to your mouth, but he took his hand away and quickly brought it back to hit you, turning your head the other way as your cheek erupted in pain. His hand catches your chin and angles it violently in his direction as you hiss. He's grinning viciously, his eyes twitching with annoyance at your attempt to turn the tables on him again, “Still being a bitch? Thought you learnt your lesson… Maybe I should’ve left you to rot.” He snarled, gripping your chin tighter.

“Waste of fucking breath.” He pushes you against the wall and lets go of you, standing with a displeased expression and turning to take his leave as you groan in pain. You clenched your hands into a fist as you watched him climb up the stairs and reach for the door. Childe looks back, glancing upon you one more time before smiling in content to himself and shutting it, following with the sound of a key locking in.

You were now by yourself. But then again it was much better than having to be breathing the same air as the man who just hit you.

You side meets the dirty mattress under you as you hug your knees, seeing as he didn’t give you a blanket to keep yourself warm. You were unable to muffle down your silent sobs, clutching onto your own cheek as it continued to sting. You question… You wonder, why?

…Just why?

°

Ouch… Huh?

You groggily opened your eyes, the feeling of something biting your neck. A wet sensation was followed after and you instantaneously snapped out of your tired trance to grab whatever was in front of you. “Ah– Geez… Relax, will you? This mattress is dirty enough.. Wouldn’t want blood to stain it too..” Childe groaned, his hand groping your hip harshly to make you pause. He pulls his face away from your neck, wiping the saliva dripping from his mouth. “H-hey! Have you not had enough already?!” You screeched and tried to get him off of you but were unable to. “Shut it.” he scoffs, shutting your mouth by forcing his lips onto you.

He slips his hand underneath your shirt, touching every part he wishes. “You feel so divine.. I wonder how you’d feel around me, yeah?” He grins against your lips. His tongue intrudes into your wet cavern, drinking in your moans and muffled noises. The wet sounds of his mouth against yours, showing how desperate he is for your taste.

You whine, feeling Childe’s hand exiting your shirt to enter your shorts instead, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clothed cunt. He sighs, pulling away from the kiss, admiring the string of saliva connecting your lips. Licking his lips, he brings his face close to you until you are nose-to-nose. 

“Wanna try that out with me, my dear?”

© wiltedivinity 2024. reposting, plagiarizing, translating, claiming authorship or any form of unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. legal action may be taken against violators.

[sleepingelvhen]

Chains and Leashes

Vidyadhara!Dan Heng/Reader NSFW Drabble

Minors DO NOT interact

Masterlist

Just one tug on the chain leash was enough to have you crawling towards your lover. Dan Heng had a lazy smile on his face, eyes soft and shadowed with lust.

All you wore was the tight collar he had bought for you, blue and gold scales printed onto the skillfully crafted leather. Soft against your skin and it was all he wanted you to wear tonight.

You crawled towards him, eyes up to look at him, only slightly embarrassed from being completely naked before him. It was easy to ignore the feeling in favor of feeling your heart surge from the praise Dan Heng held in his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, spreading his thighs to allow you to sit between them. “Are you comfortable?” His fingers hooked beneath the collar.

 “It’s not too tight, is it?” Concern laced his words, every part of him desiring to focus on you and how you were feeling. Even if this was about exploring his own hidden desires.

You shook your head, smiling up at him, excitement making you wiggle your body in place. You had been shocked when Dan Heng had admitted to you that he wanted to see you in a collar. Even more so when he said that he was a pretty possessive person deep down, desires and urges that he kept hidden due to the dangerous nature of them. But it had also been an exciting discovery that you were ready to help him explore. 

Dan Heng gave a small tug at the leash, guiding you up and onto his lap, curling the chain leash around his other fist. He was blushing wildly, hesitant as he guided you. He held his breath, worried he would hurt you but enchanted by your body and how that collar looked on you. It was like he completely owned you, it was a symbol that you belonged to him and only him. His nostrils flared at that thought, eyes darkening even further.

You swore you saw his suppressed Vidyadhara powers emerging, pupils thinned into slits, glowing blue as they roved over your entire body. But he was still holding back. His hands tightened around the chain, his jaw clenched, breath shuddering with each exhale. 

Determination drove you to climb into his lap, straddling him, your bare body pressed against his body and his bulge. His sharp eyes followed your every movement, deep, heavy breaths causing him to tug tighter on your leash, causing you to cough out a little bit.

Maybe if he was in his right mind, he would’ve been more worried, but seeing you like this, completely at his mercy, Dan Heng simply found himself finding it harder to hold back. His hardness made it hard to focus on his body’s reaction. Antlers shimmered on the crown of his head, teal colors shimmering beneath his now longer hair. You could feel a long appendage wrap around your waist, a glowing scaled tail holding you against him.

“I–” He blushed and looked away for a moment, embarrassed by the changes he was unable to control. “I’m sorry, this is…”

You bit your lip, arching your back to press your chest against him.

“It’s okay…I like it,” your mouth curved up, your heart warm when you saw his eyes soften to look upon you. It seemed to relax him to know you enjoyed his own excitement. 

“You do?”

You nodded, and lifted your chin, allowing him a better glance at the collar that looked perfect around your throat. The decorations upon it are of a Vidyadharan theme, colors related to his own colors. It made it even more perfect, made him even more possessive of it and you.

“There’s no need to hold back. We have a safe word, I will be fine,” you said, eyes kind while you stroked his face. Dan Heng pressed his cheek into your touch, comforted by your love.

He straightened up, tugging on the chain to pull you against his chest, breathing shallow as he stared at your naked form. A shadow passed over his teal eyes, sharp and possessive.

“Then I will show you what I want,” he said sternly, one of his hands going to the back of your head, fingers digging into your hair. “I cannot wait to see your face contorted in all the pleasure only I can give you.”

He tugged you into a rough kiss, his tongue gentle but commanding as he took control of you. It was addicting, he was addicting. Allowing yourself to let go and be controlled by your Vidyadharan lover felt freeing. And you could tell he liked it too, his own body willing to take control of everything you did, his fingers quick to keep upon your collar.

When he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths, he looked down on you, even more domineering than you thought he was capable of.

“Get on your knees, my pet.”

[starlost-mochi-x]

hello 🤗 saw that yours reqs are open and i was thinking about a anxious reader that can't sleep and is tired and changbin calming and lulling them to sleep

hello lovely anon ! ooo this is a good request. i didn't know if you wanted reader to be feeling anxious about something in particular, so i just did general worry and anxiety. enjoy <3

insomnia - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you're struggling to fall asleep due to anxiety, but changbin is there to help.

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, reader struggles to fall asleep, mentions of anxiety, slight mentions of a panic attack

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

The night is cold.

Everything is perfect; outside is quiet, immured in the sheath of a late-night sky, there's no traffic outside the apartment, and the lights inside are off. The bedroom is dark, and at the perfect temperature. The hum of the AC sends cooling waves of chilly air over the room, contrasting with the warm duvet.

But you can't sleep.

Tossing onto your side for the fifth time, you huff frustratedly and almost whack Changbin in the process as you shift. He's fast asleep next to you, his face lit only by the dimmed purple and green lights emitting from the gaming setup in the corner. The bedsheets are tangled round his bulky frame, muscly arms splayed over your waist. His jet-black hair fans out messily against the stark white of the pillow. His mouth is slightly open, and he's lost in the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted. He'd had a massive day at work, and had come home late at night and gone straight to sleep after quickly eating. He hadn't moved since collapsing onto the bed.

In the dim lights, you can just barely see him, and you pause to gaze at his face, highlighted in muted tones of violet and lime green. He looks so relaxed, so at peace.

You wish you could feel the same way.

Your brain is wide-awake, but you feel absolutely shattered. The anxiety and worry gnawing at the lining of your stomach isn't helping much either. A million thoughts race through your head, swirling and zooming and cluttering your mind. The storm rages and thunders until all you can hear is the deafening rush of your worries drowning you in a tidal wave of uneasiness and apprehension.

Turning to lie on your back, you gently pry Changbin's arm off your waist, laying it carefully by his side. You trace a little pattern on his arm before pulling away and clenching your hand in a fist by your side. The last thing you want to do right now is wake him up.

Blinking to try and clear your mind, you try to think of a logical solution to your worries. But it's like your rationality has ceased to exist, throwing you further into the raging storm. No matter what you do, it doesn't feel like it'd help at all. You think you've run through almost every possible but useless solution to your problem by the time the LED clock on the bedside table hits midnight. Nothing is working, nothing will help.

Exhaling harshly through your nose, you throw off the duvet and shiver as your bare feet hit the cold floor. You tuck the blanket into the crook of Changbin's arm so he doesn't feel your absence in his sleep. You hear him grunt softly in his sleep and tug the blanket closer.

Once you're sure he won't wake up, you creep to the window and sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall. The night is cool and serene, and you close your eyes, envisioning yourself becoming part of the night sky, a symbol of peace and tranquility. You shiver again, more intensely this time, as the cold begins to seep into your bones beneath your thin nightclothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take a shaky breath, trying to keep it together.

Why can't I just fall asleep? Why can't I stop worrying?

The more you question yourself, the more your anxiety increases. It peaks and takes a firm hold of your mind, gripping it and squeezing until all that is left is a mess of uncontrollable chaos and jumbled thoughts. You don't even realise when your breathing begins to speed up and you cover your mouth, desperately trying not to make noise. The storm thunders wildly in your head, pounding and raging, and you feel yourself falling into the deep abyss, perhaps forever. Never to be found again, like a sinking stone at the bottom, of a deep, dark, cold, lonely ocean.

It's too much it's too much it's too much-

You feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around your torso. You gasp like you've been lifted out of the ocean you were drowning in. Changbin's arms are a life ring, floating you back upwards, helping you break the surface with a heavy, gasping breath that makes you slump into his chest with a choked sob.

"Binnie," you cry weakly, clinging to him.

He shushes you gently, rocking back and forth with you in his arms. His big, warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, hushing you and carefully bringing you down from the panic.

He keeps gently rocking like that, and you close your eyes against his chest, relishing his warmth. Your tears stain salty tracks down your face and seep into the material of his shirt, but Changbin doesn't mind. He kisses your forehead lightly and whispers an "i love you" in your ear before picking you up gently and taking you to bed. The warmth of the bedsheets and the heat from Changbin's body as he tucks you into his chest slowly lull you to sleep.

The storm finally settles.

a/n: for anyone who has anxiety or similar conditions, feel better ! i tried to write this as accurately as possible, and i based the panic attack off a personal experience i had. everyone's different but i hope this helped. thank you anon <3

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 56)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

Days later...

On the day of Siobhan's wedding, the article came out and whilst you seemingly didn't care about the allegations anymore, Cillian did. 

He was rather upset about the content of the article that the Irish Times had released and his friends picked up on his mood right away.

"Cill, it's just some bullshit story, alright?  It won't matter much to anyone really," Dermont said, patting Cillian on the back as they were waiting for the groom to take his place at the alter.

"Yeah, man, it's just gossip and hearsay. And, the stuff with Y/N had been dragged through the press so many times already. It's really nothing new," another one of his friends added, seeing how the article also mentioned the affair you had with Cillian while he was married to Danielle again in great detail. 

Cillian nodded silently and tried to put on a brave face, but it was clear to everyone around, especially to his best friend Dermont, that he was angry about what was being written about him.

" I don't know why these people keep digging up shit like this," Cillian muttered, running a hand through his hair. "And the worst of it is that the majority of these allegations and rumors aren't even true. There is no substance to it. It's all made up," he added just before Dermont placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder again and squeezed it gently.

"Cills, just let it go, alright? It's your sister's big day today, and she deserves to have her brother by her side, happy and smiling," Dermont told his friend and Cillian took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You're right," he said just before the groom finally made an appearance, causing everyone to shift their attention away from Cillian.

Together with the groom, the men made their way to where they should be standing, near the alter and took their places, before finally the bridesmaids and Siobhan's friends walked in, taking their seats in the front row. 

It was then that Cillian first noticed you and the dress you were wearing, which brought back memories, most of which were somewhat unpleasant for him, dampening his mood even further. 

You wore that very same dress that you wore to the Oscars a few months ago when you found out that Cillian had cheated on you. It was the dress you wore when you broke up with him, the dress that symbolized the end of your relationship, and it was the dress that you now wore again for a different event - for the upcoming nuptials of his sister, Siobhan. 

Seeing you like this, seemingly unbothered and happy, caused Cillian to sigh deeply. He did not know what to make of this choice of attire, but quickly brushed it off as the ceremony began.

As he watched his sister walk down the aisle, Cillian couldn't help but think about the past few months. It had been a whirlwind of emotions - from the excitement of winning an Oscar to the crushing heartbreak of losing you.

He had tried to move on, he really had, but every time he saw you, it was like a punch to the gut. And now, with this article and your appearance, in that very dress, it was like a never-ending cycle of pain.

Cillian clenched his fists, trying to push away the anger and hurt that threatened to consume him all so suddenly after he had suppressed these feelings for too long. He had to, for Mara's sake, but today, somehow, it all became too much. 

The ceremony went on, and soon enough, it was time for the vows. Siobhan spoke beautifully, and the groom was clearly touched. They exchanged rings, and when they were pronounced husband and wife, everyone clapped and cheered.

Then, the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, happy and in love, marking the end of the ceremony and the beginning of a big party at a venue nearby. 

Seeing the joy written across Siobhan's face and the love reflected in her groom's, Cillian felt a twinge of envy and a deeper emotion, one that he hadn't felt in a long time—loneliness. And somehow he knew that you were still the key to it all. A life with you and his daughter was what he wanted, but he also knew that you did no longer want the same. 

Just after you got up from your seat, Cillian approached you, stopping you in your tracks. 

"Hey," he said, his voice low, greeting you for the first time that day. 

"Hello, Cillian," you replied, your voice equally low.

He looked at you for a moment, studying you. You looked as beautiful as ever, if not more so and, yet, he disliked the fact that you wore that dress. 

"How is Mara? You said she started teething again," he asked, trying to keep the conversation light as his gaze lingered on your face.

"She's doing fine. Actually, she's with my mum right now," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. "I gave her some paracetamol earlier and said to my mum that she could call me anytime if Mara becomes too unsettled," you told him and Cillian nodded, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked uncomfortable, almost as if he wanted to say something more but didn't know how.

"I read the article that was published in the Irish Times," you said, breaking the silence between you both. "And to be honest, I didn't think it should ever have been published like this Cillian. I am so sorry. Maybe I should have given a statement," you said, and Cillian grunted in response, his eyes still scanning the room full of guests. You couldn't blame him, though; he had been caught off guard by the article's contents.

"You know most of this stuff is a lie, right?" he whispered and, immediately, you nodded.

"I know, but it still sucks for you, so I am sorry," you muttered back, feeling an unexpected sense of commiseration with him.

You couldn't deny that you still had feelings for Cillian, despite everything that had happened. It wasn't easy to just turn off your emotions, especially for someone who had meant so much to you at one point in time.

"Thanks Y/N. I was honestly taken aback when I read it, even though I knew it was coming," Cillian replied, his gaze still lingering on your face. "Now, about the week after next, are you still planning on coming to Liverpool with Mara for the week?" Cillian asked, changing the subject swiftly, but keeping the conversation light.

"Yes, I am. We are both looking forward to it," you confirmed with a smile, causing Cillian to relax a little upon hearing this.

"Good, because I am looking forward to it too. I can't wait to spend a week with Mara and you, as a family," Cillian said and, of course, his reference to "family" caught you off guard. 

"Well, I was actually more thinking about having you spend some time with Mara on your own after filming while I do my own thing," you replied truthfully and a cloud seemed to pass over Cillian's features and, in that moment, you wished you had just played along. "It just seems more appropriate that way, you know? Considering the circumstances," you explained, but Cillian sighed.

"More appropriate?" Cillian chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you mean more appropriate for you or for your toyboy, Sean?" he asked, the disdain clear in his voice. "Because it seems to me that, lately, he has been taking an issue with me," Cillian told you and you bristled at Cillian's use of the term 'toyboy' and opened your mouth to reply, but then closed it again. 

You took a deep breath and said, "It's not about Sean or anyone else, Cillian. It's about what's best for Mara and me."

"Fine, sure. I get it," Cillian replied, his tone clipped, which is when you were interrupted by Cillian's mother, ushering him away for some family photos. 

Later that day, during the reception, Cillian had clearly calmed down , but there was still lingering tension between the two of you. You kept your distance for the rest of the night, unwilling to engage with him outside of brief pleasantries as, clearly, the article had left him with a sour taste. 

He was more irritable than usual and all the work that you had put into your relationship as co-parents to Mara through counselling sessions seemed to be in vain once again when, at around 8 o'clock in the evening, he snapped. 

For hours, Cillian watched you as you were being courted by a young single man who was no other than the groom's nephew, Carl.

Carl was merely 23 and had been throwing glances your way all night until, eventually, he took up the courage to ask you to dance.

You hesitated at first, looking nervously towards the other women seated at tour table, but then nodded and moved towards Carl.

The dance floor was packed, so Carl and you had to squeeze your way through the throng of people until you found a small, secluded corner to dance in.

Cillian  watched this display from afar, his gaze flicking from you to Carl and back again. He couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy rising within him, even though he knew that he had no right to feel that way. He had no claim on you anymore, and you were free to dance with whomever you wanted.

But still, the sight of you in Carl's arms, your body moving in time with the music, was almost too much for him to bear and, only half way through the song, he approached  the two of you, his steps stiff and his gaze a little stormy.

"Can we talk?"  Cillian asked, not leaving much room for argument. It wasn't a question, more like a statement.

You glanced at Carl, who immediately released you and stepped back, sensing the tension between you and Cillian.

"Of course," you replied politely, taking a small step back as well.

Cillian nodded and began to steer you away from the crowd, navigating his way through the throng of people towards the lobby of the hotel in which you were both staying, which was located right next to the function room where the party was still in full swing.

"What's going on?" you asked him, keeping your cool as he led you a short distance away from the festivities.

"Why are you doing this?"  Cillian asked, his voice low and tight.

You frowned at him, confused. "Doing what?"

"Dancing with him. Flirting like this. I don't fucking know," Cillian said, his gaze intense. "First Sean, then this boy who is like what? Twenty or twenty-one at the most?" he asked, the disdain once again clear in his voice.

"Are you serious Cillian? You dragged me out here for that?" you asked, exasperation lacing your voice as you pulled your hand out of his grasp.

Cillian sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "Yes. I did. Because I can't fucking take it anymore Y/N,"  Cillian replied, his voice tight and filled with frustration.

"Can't take what?"  you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "Can't take what, Cillian?" you repeated, your voice growing stronger with each word.

Cillian took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before speaking. "This. All of this," he said, gesturing to the party behind you. "You being with Sean. You wearing this fucking dress. You dancing with another man," he continued, his voice edging closer to a shout, and not entirely sure how to respond to him, you simply remained quiet, watching Cillian run a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. "What the fuck has gotten into you?" he then asked. "Throwing yourself  at every man that crosses your path?" Cillian added, his voice dropping a little, and you could tell that he was trying hard to keep his emotions in check.

You sighed, looking away from Cillian for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. When you finally met his gaze again, you said, "Cillian, you need to move on,"  you said firmly. "If you can't do that, then you're creating a toxic environment for everyone involved, especially Mara," you warned him, your voice full of conviction.

Cillian looked at you, stunned, for a moment, his jaw hanging open slightly. Then, he closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he seemed to come to a realization.

"Don't make this about Mara now Y/N. This has nothing to do with her and me moving on. This is about you and the way you have been acting lately," Cillian said, taking a step closer to you, his gaze intense.

"Me? I'm not the one acting out of control here. I'm not the one who is making a fuss, and I am not the one who can't seem to move on and accept that our relationship is over," you replied, standing your ground.

Cillian took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I know it's over Y/N. I know you've moved on and that you're with Sean now. But you don't have to flaunt it in my face every chance you get," Cillian said in a quiet voice, another wave of frustration building up inside of him.

"Well, I am not Cillian. This is all in your fucking mind,"  you shot back, losing your patience, your voice rising slightly.

"Is it?" Cillian asked, his tone harsh. "Because the way I see it, you were parading around in that fucking dress, looking like bait for every single man in the room," Cillian  replied, accentuating his words with impassioned hand gestures.

"I wore this dress to the Academy Awards and, not once, did you complain about it," you shot back, your voice strong despite the lump in your throat.

Cillian sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you for a moment. "That was different," he then said quietly, unsure what else to say, causing your eyes to narrow.

"It was different because you knew that I was yours, right?" you chuckled. "While now, you are just so fucking insecure because I am not," you added, the words leaving your mouth in a rush.

Cillian looked taken aback at your sudden outburst and, for a moment, he just stood there, silent and shocked.

"Insecure?" he repeated, his tone calm and even, despite the storm brewing in his eyes. "Trust me, I have no reason or need to be insecure Y/N. I can have my pick of women, as you well know," Cillian replied and you immediately interrupted him.

"Yes, I know Cillian. Trust me, I know better than anyone how many women you can have with just a snap of your fingers because, at some stage, I was one of them," you retorted, recalling how it had all begun, leaving you both in an uncomfortable silence once again.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Luxury and Lessons - 2

Character: concierge!Bucky x heiress!female reader

Summary: A spoiled heiress is sent to work at her family’s luxury hotel, where she clashes with Bucky, the handsome and strict manager who is fiercely dedicated to the hotel’s success.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The alarm clock blared at 4:45 a.m., but it felt like it was the middle of the night to you. You groaned, barely able to open your eyes, and slapped at the snooze button. Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. But those minutes flew by, and soon Bucky was at your door, knocking sharply.

“Miss, it’s 5 a.m.,” his voice came through the door, way too chipper for this hour.

You groaned again, dragging yourself out of bed, your movements sluggish. It was a miracle you even managed to pull on your uniform without falling back into bed. Your head still pounded from the night before, and your body felt heavy, almost as if you were moving through water.

As you walked into the staff room, you could feel the eyes on you, every pair judging. The silence was thick, the air filled with a palpable tension. These were the same employees who had probably seen the video, who knew exactly who you were and what you’d said. You could almost hear their thoughts: "There she is, the spoiled heiress."

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with only the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of low voices breaking the silence. You tried to make yourself as small as possible, wishing you could disappear under the table. When the meal ended, everyone filtered out, leaving you alone with Bucky.

“You lied,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought this uniform was for new employees, but most of them are wearing the same thing as you. You fucking tricked me!”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you with that calm, unbothered expression that was starting to grate on your nerves. “Miss, like I said before, you need to put in the effort first.”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “Me? I look like a fucking waitress!”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “If you want to wear something more distinguished, you’ll have to earn it. The uniform is a symbol of commitment, and right now, you’re just getting started.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Your first task,” he continued, his tone firm, “is to clean up the rooms.”

Bucky stepped closer, his presence somehow even more imposing up close. “You think this is a joke? This is real work. Every employee here starts at the bottom and works their way up. If you want to be taken seriously, you’ll do the same.”

You clenched your jaw, fists balled at your sides. “And if I don’t?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. “Then you’ll stay exactly where you are: someone who’s never earned their place. Also, you still won’t get access to your funds.”

You stared at him, trying to come up with a retort, but nothing came. He had you trapped, and you both knew it. Finally, you huffed, turning away from him. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just gave a small nod, as if your agreement was expected. “Meet me in the service hallway in five minutes. We’ll see what you’re made of.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, feeling smaller than ever.

As you struggle with the task at hand, frustration bubbles up inside you. The bed sheet you’re trying to spread over the mattress keeps slipping, and the steam iron in your other hand feels foreign and cumbersome. "Putting the bed sheet on and then steam ironing it?" you grumble, glancing at Cleo as if searching for some confirmation that this is all unnecessary.

Cleo, calm and composed, finishes her side of the bed and looks at you with a small smile. "Yes, exactly. The guest may not notice every detail, but we do. It’s about creating perfection, even in the unseen." There’s a quiet pride in her voice as she smooths out a wrinkle.

"But why?" you mutter, annoyance creeping into your tone. "The guests don't care. As long as they know the material is silk, they’re happy."

Cleo pauses, her hands still for a moment as she looks at you with something close to pity. "Well… unlike you, we care about our work. For me, this is art."

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue in irritation. "Weirdo," you mumble under your breath, but Cleo hears it and merely shrugs, unfazed.

"You might think this is a bother," Cleo says, folding a towel with precision, "but for us, this work pays our bills, puts food on our tables, and keeps a roof over our heads."

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you feel a pang of something—guilt, maybe?—as you fumble with the sheet, trying to get it right.

You drag the mop across the floor, your back aching with each swipe. The floor is spotless by Cleo's standards, but you can’t help but think it's a waste of time. As you lean down to clean a stubborn spot, you accidentally knock over the bucket of water. It spills everywhere, soaking your shoes and spreading across the freshly cleaned surface.

“Damn it!” you hiss, trying to stop the water with your hands as if that could help.

Before you can even think about the mess, Bucky appears out of nowhere, calm and composed. “Let me handle this,” he says, taking over with effortless precision. Within moments, the spill is cleaned, the floor as pristine as before.

Later, you’re stationed at the swimming pool, tasked with handing out towels and keeping the area tidy. You fumble with the stack of towels, dropping them into the water. A guest raises an eyebrow at you, clearly annoyed.

Before the situation escalates, Bucky steps in, his demeanor soothing the guest’s irritation. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he says smoothly, offering a fresh towel with a smile. The guest’s frustration melts away, replaced by a grin of admiration for Bucky.

You watch him work, seeing how effortlessly he manages the guests, how they light up at his attention. It’s obvious he loves the hotel, and it’s just as obvious that the guests love him.

Meanwhile, you can feel their eyes on you—cold, judgmental, full of disdain. It’s clear that they all hate you, and the realization stings.

During lunch, you slip away to a quiet corner outside, the only place you can find peace. You light a cigarette with shaking hands, taking a deep drag to steady yourself before dialing Tom’s number.

“Fuck. Fuck! I hate working here. Tom, I want to go home,” you cry, your voice breaking as the weight of the morning crushes you.

There’s a pause on the other end before Tom’s voice comes through, exasperated. “You’ve only worked for a day and you’re already complaining.”

“My knees hurt!” you blurt out, playing the card you swore you wouldn’t.

Tom falls silent, the unspoken tension thick in the air. You know it’s a sensitive topic for both of you—the accident that left you with bad knees and left Tom more protective than ever. His silence is heavy, and after a moment, he ends the call without another word.

You stare at the phone, your heart sinking. “Is he still mad at me?” you whisper to yourself, the unresolved pain between you and your brother weighing you down as much as the job.

You drag the mop across the floor, the repetitive motion doing little to calm your frustration. Your knees ache, a dull reminder of the accident, but you grit your teeth and keep working. As you move down the hallway, you spot Bucky in the historic room, his back to you as he carefully wipes down a framed photograph. You hesitate, curiosity pulling you closer.

Bucky’s hands are gentle, almost reverent, as he cleans the photo. It’s a far cry from the brusque attitude he’s shown you, and it catches you off guard. You inch closer, peering over his shoulder.

“That’s my great uncle,” you say, pointing to the photo in his hands. Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Bucky glances at you, then back at the photo. “Yup,” he replies simply, his tone neutral. He hangs the photo back on the wall with care, not bothering to look at you again before turning to leave.

As he walks away, you mutter under your breath, “Asshole.”

With him gone, you’re left alone in the room, surrounded by the faces of your ancestors. You gaze at the photos, trying to feel some sort of connection, some pride in the legacy they’ve left behind. But all you feel is emptiness. These people, with their stern expressions and formal attire, are strangers to you.

You run your fingers over the polished wood frame of one of the photos, tracing the outline of your great-great-great-grandparents. They built this empire from the ground up, turned a simple dream into a thriving business. They must be proud, you think, knowing the Serene Resort still stands after all these years.

But you’re not the same. You don’t feel the pride they must have felt. The weight of the legacy feels like a burden, something you’re supposed to carry but don’t know how. You step back, staring at the wall of history, and sigh. The only thing you feel is the suffocating pressure of expectations you don’t know if you can ever meet.

🏨🏨🏨🏨🏨

You collapse onto the bed, the exhaustion of the day hitting you like a wave. Just as you’re about to drift off, there’s a knock on your door. Frowning in confusion, you pull yourself up and open it, only to find Tom standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

Your eyes widen in relief. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms. “Save me!” you exclaim, clinging to him.

He stiffens, then awkwardly pushes you away. “How hurt are your knees?” he demands, his voice edged with irritation.

You look down, caught off guard. “Umm… they don’t really hurt at all,” you admit, feeling awkward under his scrutinizing gaze.

Tom’s eyes narrow, seeing through your half-hearted excuse. “You really don’t get it, do you? Do you understand why I sent you here?”

You stay silent, unable to meet his gaze. The truth is, you’re not sure why he’s being so hard on you, but you’re afraid to admit it.

Tom sighs heavily, the weight of his exhaustion showing. “I won’t spoil you anymore,” he says, his voice firm but tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly worn out from the day’s stress. “I’m done with this. I’m tired.”

He turns to leave, and you call out, desperation creeping into your voice. “Where are you going? Can I stay with you? I thought you’d be in the presidential suite.”

Tom doesn’t look back. “Nope,” he says curtly, his tone final.

“Selfish prick!” you shout, frustration bubbling over. “If you’re not going to help me, then why are you even here?”

He gives you a middle finger without turning around, his back to you as he heads down the hall.

You slam the door shut, the sound echoing through the room. The anger and hurt mix with a deep sense of helplessness as you sink back onto the bed. Tom’s departure leaves you feeling more isolated than ever, questioning what you’re really supposed to be learning from all this.

Unable to sleep, you throw on a robe and quietly slip out of your room. The cool night air greets you as you step onto the balcony, hoping the fresh air might calm your racing thoughts. To your surprise, you find Bucky standing there, holding a steaming mug of hot milk.

You approach him, wrinkling your nose in distaste. “Eww, you drink hot milk? Are you twelve?”

Bucky takes a measured sip, clearly unfazed by your comment. “The CEO, your brother, really cares for you,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle.

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. “Him? Impossible.”

Bucky glances at you over the rim of his mug. “He was supposed to be on the other side of the world. But when he heard your call, he dropped everything to be here.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You hadn’t realized just how far Tom had gone for you.

Bucky’s gaze softens slightly. “Some people make sacrifices for you. The least you could do is be grateful.”

You frown, feeling a mix of frustration and something else. “You’re so fucking mean.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re spoiled. Besides, we’re the same age.”

You’re taken aback. You’d assumed he was older, given his no-nonsense attitude.

“There’s one thing I keep wondering,” Bucky continues, looking out over the balcony. “Today, every time you get humiliated, why don’t you use your status as the hotel owner?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Because I’m not really part of it.”

Bucky studies you for a moment, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Then maybe it’s time you start acting like you belong.”

Author's Note: Hey everyone, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! I’m currently grappling with a writer’s block and have tried various methods to spark new ideas, but nothing seems to be working.

Any feedback or suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for your support!

❤️❤️❤️❤️

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[milunalupin]

Can i request a one shot for ominis????

Him asking Y/N to describe her favourite color. Her favourite color is his eyes and she describes them in the most poetic and romantic way without giving away that its his eyes. She does this while looking at his eye and he doesn’t know this. Bonus when ominis tells seb about it and seb is just looking at him like an idiot and tells ominis “her favourite color are your eyes” like its the most obvious thing in the world.

thank you for you patience, i hope you like it ! <3

— la mer

ominis gaunt x reader ★ 529 words

"Think of the smell of the pine trees at Christmas time, or the feeling of freshly cut grass."

After your shared colormancy lesson earlier in the day, Ominis had asked you to describe the colors to him. So here you two were, laying down by the Black Lake as you tried your best to describe the colors in a way he would understand.

"Grass? Salazar, like that matcha stuff you've been drinking? I don't think I like green."

A pleased smile grows on his face as he hears the light twinkling of your laughter, that based off your descriptions, sounds yellow.

"Well yes, matcha is actually green but stop being dramatic Ominis, green is quite nice. Green is Slytherin's main color you know."

"What does your favorite color feel like?"

Your cheeks turn cherry red, suddenly feel shy as he turned his head to face you. Today Professor Onai said that purple symbolized magic and devotion. The frayed yarn at the bottom of your violet sweater undid itself more and more as you tugged at it nervously. The two of you hadn't been partners in Divination class for very long, but it was long enough for you to develop a crush on the youngest Gaunt.

"It feels like, the first snowfall," you begin, glancing over at your friend. As if you had to look at him to know that exact shade of blue his eyes were. "When it starts with just a few and then suddenly you're surrounded by sparkling little snowflakes."

"Sounds nice."

"It is."

"So, Ominis. How did your little rendezvous go with you know who?"

"What are you on about, Sebastian?"

"You know, your little date with Y/N after class."

Ominis scanned the Undercroft with his wand at lightning speed, for the slight chance that you may have just walked in and heard his idiot friend. Once confirming so, he sat back on the dusty couch and crossed his arms with a huff.

"That- That was not a date! I was simply curious about today's colormancy lesson."

"You asked her on a romantic walk along the lake," he grabbed his blonde friend by the shoulder, shaking him about. His eyes then squinted in suspicion. "Hey, I've told you what colors are like already. So there's no other reason for your little promenade besides the ever so obvious fact that you like her! Don't lie Ominis, you're as pink as a pygmy puffskein right now."

Ominis pushed Sebastian away, wishing his ears weren't visibly burning as much as they felt. "Shut it, Sebastian."

The teasing Slytherin rolled his eyes with an amused smirk. He turned back to practicing his spells, blue sparks shooting out of his wand. "She must've told you her most favorite color, I assume."

Ominis' face burned further as Sebastian could only cackle at his response, "You're kidding!" he clutched his stomach as he bent over in a fit of laughter.

"What." the blonde snapped, his fists clenching at his side.

"She was describing the color of your eyes, Ominis! Fool!"

If he we wasn't as tomato red as he thought he was, Sebastian would be sure to tell him once he was.

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul _ Part 10 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 (here)

You’re sure it didn’t take a second after Alastor heard the introduction to immediately grab Kat with his many black tendrils that appeared under Kat’s feet. Her high-pitch screams made you cover your ears and and squeeze your eyes shut. At your discomfort, Alastor had a tendril wrapped around her mouth

You watched while Alastor had that raging murderous smile on his face while his eyes turned back. He threw Kat from building to building, never letting go and giving her a moment to recover. You timed a good 10 minutes before you placed a hand on Alastor’s arm to snap him out of his rage

It was considerate of him to not personally deal with her because you were still near and you two were out in the open so anything could happen. Normally, he would have torn her limb from limb and chomped down on her flesh like a piece of meat. Now this was a new method of torture

At your touch, Alastor’s head snapped to you. You pointed to a spot on the side of your head and told him Kat was marked by Vox’s servant symbol, meaning the contract she was mentioning had been one with Vox. Alastor’s grin widened even more and gave one final throw into the ground, creating a crater before releasing her from his hold

Kat gasped and groaned, trying to get up but fell back down. Slowly, she crawled her way out of the crater and ended up at your feet. You watched her with distain and pity. You honestly can’t understand why she’d take Vox’s deal, she was taken advantage of, possibility due to her having just arrived in Hell at the time and didn’t know the importance of a soul contract

“How dare you die…” Kat hissed, his hands clenched to fists. “You have no idea what I went through after that f**king stunt you pulled!”

“I’m assuming you meant you stealing My Darling’s work as your own?” Alastor glared sharply at Kat.

Kat laughed, “Hahahahaha! What kind of lies did you feed him?” She pointed a finger at you, “This f**ker let me! The b*tch was happy to write for me! I take the credit cause you don’t want the attention, remember?”

Your eyes narrowed. That’s what you told yourself all those time. You told yourself it was fine because you didn’t like all this publicity and attention. Yet the fact that you felt anger towards it meant you didn’t want to give your work to another. At least not when all this was given to someone like her

Honestly, how can she blame her later misfortune on your death? She was your best friend, shouldn’t she feel something about it? Anything? Even the slighty sadness before all this?

You gripped onto Alastor’s hand, feeling a headache and dizziness growing. You whispered that you wanted to go home

Alastor understood and with a final slap at the poor excuse of a friend across the face with his end of the cane, Alastor brought you two back to your shared room. Alastor asked if you needed anything but you merely said you needed some time alone

“If you require anything, Love. Just call me.”

“...”

Back at the crater, before Kat could recover from the blow or curse. She was swiftly pinned to the ground by the neck, a situation that was all too familiar. Sharp blade like needles stabbed into her hands and knees. Dread filled every fiber of her body as she tried to get out of the hold she’s under but her body was frozen in fear

Just like before

“Aww, The Dear Writer left so quickly… What a thoughtful bodyguard too. Nothing less will be fitting for the Dear.” The new figure cooed, their shoes applied more force on Kat’s neck, grinding her into the ground. “Don’t you agree, Faker?”

“How did you find me?” Kat shivered against the hold. “Ce— Ahhhhh!”

“Ah ah~ I think it’s only right that I have a new name down here, I’m Nemesis now.” The demon chuckled, “Not hard considering your new boss is quite infamous around the city. What with all the technology he sells, you appearing on TV was just an easy guess. Though my services aren’t required when you have this.”

Kat screamed when a sharp blade pierced into the place where Vox’s contract mark was implanted. 

Nemesis’ lips curved into a twisted smile as they continued to slowly torture the screaming female. “So where can I find the Dear Writer?”

“Hazbin… Hotel…”

“Many thanks.” Nemesis’ tail pulled out the blades without warning one by one, their ear flickering at the screams while they pulled out their phone. They grinned, pressing on something, “I think you were in the spotlight of fame a bit too long down here. Let’s return you to the nothing you are.”

Over the past few days, you’ve been working non-stop making all those TVs and speakers that you promised Vox. While doing so, you tried not using your pages and used your quill to write in the air like Lucifer suggested, it took some time since the mechanism was more complex than what you tried before. Though it offer as good exercise for you

Smoothly, you somehow managed to slowly not use your quill as well and changed to using your finger to scribble words in the air before flicking at it to summon your written object. That took way more energy that you can manage because the word required energy then the conjuration required even more energy

But you managed because you needed something to distract yourself from the recent train of events and emotional burn out

Alastor’s been trying to get you to pause in your work and relax. You ignore it all together and continued, even when Alastor pulled you away and into his arms, you were motionless and repeated told him to let go so you could work. All he could do was continue to provide you with meals and reminders to rest since you were practicing and needed energy to continue

At least that got you to pull away from work. The light in your eyes was soft and dimmed, but it was better than when you were first on the verge of breaking down like a broken doll

Like before, Charlie and the others asked about you from Alastor when he was cooking your meals. It was like the time when you first arrived in the hotel, that was when you were doing it of your own volitation with Alastor as your excuse. Now, it was because you were helping the hotel and got unwanted attention

When all of Vox’s devices were being ddelivered by Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk with a hypnotic resistance charm casted on them by you, you covered yourself in a blanket and drowned yourself in music

You were exhausted physically and mentally, you wanted to push yourself even more but you knew Alastor would be against it all the way and you don’t want to push him to do forceful thing just to make you see reason. You know Alastor would feel worse than you do because of his love and devotion towards you

At the thought of that, you feel even worse that you were treating Alastor do badly. Even worse, he’s seeing this pathetic side of you. What if he leaves you? What if he thinks you’re not worth it? What if—

A familiar rhythemic knocking on your door brought you out of your thoughts. Alastor’s muffle voice came through, “Beloved.” That nickname that melted your worries and comforted you, “I think there’s someone you should meet.”

You wondered who Alastor would just let into your room, even the hotel members didn’t get that luxury and that includes Niffty because Alastor handles the maintainance of your room all on his own. You trust Alastor, “Sure, come on in.”

The door opened and someone you’re unfamiliar with rushed in while Alastor stood guard at the door after closing it shut and locking it. “I’m Nemesis, I’m a big big fan of your work! Completely obsessed really! Oh my god! Or is it oh my Lucifer now? Anyways! It’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh! Well, not flesh flesh, but this afterlife is like another life, so~”

“Nemesis. As in like revenge? Enacting retribution?” You blinked at the name, it reminds you of Alastor’s since his meant tormentor, avenger, and persecutor. 

They got real close to your face as their smile spread, “Woah, truly the mind of a writer. You got my name reference.” They straightened up as they shrugged, “Other people, oops, demons only got that it’s Greek and hard to remember. Urgh, no class at all. They remember you by title too! Can you guess mine?”

Your eyebrow raised in confusion, you don’t know why this demon, Nemesis, was this causal with you. Though you figured that they had a talk with Alastor beforehand, that’s why Alastor even allowed them to be in here and talking with you. Even with close promixity

You observed Nemesis as they wanted. They were a snow leopard type of demon, with the fluffy ears on top of their head and tail behind them swishing like that of a cat’s. But you can’t tell whether it was just because it was their favourite animal, something they’re interested, or death related. Maybe something that they hate too, there was a sick irony in Hell

Your eyes traveled down to the row of white stielett-type weapons on their sides, they looked like giant dagger-sized needles but to you, they looked more like a pen. When Nemesis noticed your gaze, they took one from each side and started demonstrating to you how it was used like a performance

“The Dancing Needle.” Your lips moved and words came out before you knew it. At Nemesis’ frozen state and Alastor’s shocked face, you covered your mouth. “S—”

“How did you know?” Nemesis raved with shock, “You only observed too!”

You looked away, “It was nothing…”

Nemesis shook their head, “No way! It was amazing! If only I realized earlier…”

“Realized what?”

“That you’re the real author of that best selling novel that got so much attention.”

Nemesis went on to tell you. In the living world, they were Cecil and the editor for Karolina

During then, Cecil as an editor fell in love with the novels that Karolina had written. By some miracle, Cecil was given the chance to work as Karolina’s editor in the future and somewhat manager and caretaker since authors needed someone to ground them and since both were female, it was perfect

Over the years, Cecil noticed that Karolina was always attending public events and activities to boost popularity. It was normal, but to Cecil, it was weird that Karolina never actually sat down and written anything or researched for ideas. There was no burnout or ridiculous sleep schedules to follow and adapt to just to write a novel

Yet the requested writings were always provided and they were nearly to perfection, with minor grammar and some careless mis-spelling probably due to tiredness or being in the moment. It was an editor’s dream to work for someone like this. An author that’s famous and lively, and mostly punctual so nothing was forced or rushed to complete and do

But Cecil noticed the odd teachings and advices that Karolina would give to other people. There was nothing solid about it, it was all either the same old same old or just plain out weird to say. She had no accounts to retell, no personal examples to list. Yet she never asked Cecil for help

There was an interesting meeting that Karolina would always do. Whenever a deadline was near, Karolina would visit a friend of hers. Cecil thought it was for comfort and causal chatting at first, but every time she returns, there was more to tell on interviews and talk shows

To Cecil, it felt like someone was providing for Karolina

And Cecil was right. After the death of that friend, Karolina seemingly lost creativity and motivation. She lied on news channel that the novel was written for that friend to get through depression, she lied and painted herself as a caring and loving friend that wanted what’s best for that friend

Isn’t it odd that Karolina continues to sign contracts and appearances on screen regarding the novel? Some people requested for some detail clarification, but she denied them and said it was all secrets saved for her friend

Her friend this, her friend that. Everything was her friend, every excuse was her friend. So Cecil did some digging

Back when the first novel of the series was released, there was a buzz of a copycat that tried to steal Karolina’s work but failed. Cecil got her hands on that copy and read through it, the writing style was identicial to the later volumes that was published, the ideas that were cut off in this copy was in the later volumes

Cecil checked the statistics and comments, the first book had plotholes here and there, some even said it feels like things were missing here and there. But overall, it was still a good story. So there was a push to continue sequel to the first novel

Pages all dropped to the floor at the realization. That friend… That friend that Karolina was caring for… That friend had to be the real author of the books. It all made sense! Cecil searched online and found that that friend died, not by accident or sickness. No… Suicide…

An unfathomable rage and need for justice overtook Cecil and she was determined to see that Karolina suffers a slow and painful down. It was hard to pull it off, but somehow it was managed

Cecil pinned Karolina down with pens and cutters, then used daggers to stab all over her body without hitting any vitals. Cecil sliced words into her skin, ‘copycat’, ‘faker’, ‘liar’, ‘abuser’, and ‘murderer’. Then, Cecil decapitated Karolina’s head off of her body

Courtmeeting was given to Cecil where she used her chance to reveal it all. Who was the real author and who was the fake. Who was in the victim and who was the perpetator. Cecil announced that she is aware and admit that she done wrong, but if she could do it again, she would

The death sentence was passed down

Nemesis kneeled on their knees, looking up at you, tears flowing. “You suffered so much and no one knew or cared. Now they do, I’m included.” They held one of your hand, “So don’t knock yourself down, My Writer.”

Alastor took your other hand, placing a kiss on it, “We will deal with all your troubles so you can relax~ My Beloved.”

You can’t help but chuckled with a carefree closed-eye smile, “Oh you two…” But then your eyes snapped open and eyed the two, then focused on Nemesis. “Oh… There’s two of them now…”

Alastor and Nemesis eyed each other and smiled widely. “Whatever do you mean?”

Note: And that's the end of this arc~ Okay okay, I heard you guys loud and clear. No end yet cause you guys are willing to wait and read more. I'm taking a break from this series for a while to do other ones. But what do you think of this one?

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

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[focsle]

I never did a long thing about scrimshaw, so it’s time! At 1 am, apparently.

I think scrimshaw is one of the most fascinating material goods to emerge from the history of the American whaling industry (which is the context I’m discussing here, though of course the artform exists across numerous eras and cultures outside this brief blip of nautical history).

It’s one way to see amatuer art that usually doesn’t often survive in other forms. To see the art project of an ordinary man who was bored and needed something to do with his hands. Others were highly skilled craftsman, creating intricate engravings or mechanically expert tools. The most common scrimshaw was images etched on sperm whale teeth. Sometimes those images came from the maker’s own imagination and sometimes they were copied illustrations. Ships & whaling scenes, women, mythical figures, and patriotic symbols make up the bulk of the visual language in those pieces that survive.

But alongside the teeth were all a manner of carved items: canes, candle holders, pie crimpers, children’s toys, sewing boxes, yarn swifts, corset busks. So much bone fashioned into quiet little homegoods. And it’s that contradiction within scrimshaw that fascinates me. The brutality of the industry, this ivory from an animal that frankly died terribly, that’s then softened into a little domestic item. An object that could have hours to years of work put into it. Some were made to be sold but many were made as gifts. In the long stretches of boredom at sea, in the lull between back-breaking work and life-threatening terror, scrimshaw gives a window into where the minds of these men continually turned. It shows where their hearts were and what they were holding on to over all the years they spent adrift in saltwater and blood and oil. That’s the poetry I see in scrimshaw. Pain and love and longing and creativity and playfulness all bound together in these complicated little pieces that found their way out of the hands of their anonymous makers to preserve a small part of their story.

Some scrimshanders names are known. Frederick Myrick is one of the most well known American whalers, not so much for the scope of his life (of which little is known) but for his scrimshaw. Born in Nantucket in 1808, he first went whaling in 1825 on the Columbus and then again on the Susan 1826-29. In the last few months aboard the Susan, Myrick engraved over 30 sperm whale teeth, all depicting the ship he was on (though there are a handful that depict other vessels). He signed and dated nearly each one. These pieces are often referred to as ‘Susan’s Teeth’ now, and when one comes up at auction it’s not unusual for it to sell for six figures.

Many of the teeth Myrick scrimshawed included an inscribed couplet of his devising: A dark wish for luck that succinctly gets at the violent and unstable heart of American whaling.

“Death to the living, long life to the killers Success to sailor’s wives, and greasy luck to whalers”

Sometimes large scenes were etched on panbones as well.

Moving from scrimshaw on teeth and jawbones, pie crimpers are some of the more common sculptural items. Popular motifs included animals (dogs, snakes, and unicorns/hippocampus are big), body parts (mostly clenched fists or lady’s legs), and geometric designs.

Others were more mechanically complicated, such as automatons and children’s toys with moving parts and gears. Here’s one of a small rocking sailboat, perhaps made for someone’s child or younger sibling.

Sometimes a particular creative fellow created something more eccentric, like this wild writing desk kit fashioned out of a carved panbone and sperm whale teeth.

Another frequently scrimshawed object was a corset busk that would be slid into the front of the garment in order to maintain the posture. A rather private item compared to others. And one with a very on-the-nose message of wearing close to one’s heart the memory of someone who’d be gone for 3-4 years, who might never come home again. On some level, so many of these daily objects whispered ‘forget me not’, ‘think of me while I’m gone’. 

There’s something tender to all the various domestic items that were fashioned on the job so long and far from home, but it’s the yarn swifts that really captivate me. They were one of the most complicated pieces of scrimshaw to make, with over one hundred different pieces that would have to be carved. It could take someone the length of the voyage (2-4 years) to complete a single one. Unlike teeth which were comparatively very quick to make and were frequently intended to be sold, it’s very unlikely that a swift was made with the aim of selling it because of the significant labor that went into it. They were almost certainly all gifts, and very special ones at that. Every time I see one I can just feel the love towards its intended recipient radiating off of it.

Scrimshaw captures a specific snapshot of a moment in time. On a broader scale it’s a surviving reminder of a bloody industry that flared up and winked out, preserved in the form of a long-lost ship and the spout of a long-dead whale inked on a yellowing tooth. But that snapshot also reveals the emotional world of the men who were caught up in such an industry: what they valued, what they thought about, what they missed, and what they wanted to be remembered of them.