#an unmovable pole

[sufficientlaughter]

I love it when you have a DND session so cool your DM and you decide to make a song (we wrote ethe lyrics) to show how cool it was.

[omgeto]

☆ GIMME, GIMME MORE — GETO SUGURU

summary: you were just a stripper who had no desire to fuck with any customers, but there was just one you couldn’t shake. once he laid his eyes on you, he wanted you. and with every little piece of you he got — he wanted more.

wc: 6.5k (my longest fic ever, lord help me) its a lot of plot with a nice chunk of smut

cw: afab!stripper!reader, angst to fluff, smutty smut, you fuck in his car, you fuck in a private room (i remembered condoms this time) so mdni sassy geto, if you squint.

an: listen to this song to feel the vibe, I love me some geto and I’ve yet to do a fic for him so I hope you enjoy this one.

the entrance to the high-end club exudes an air of opulence, with its glimmering lights and sophisticated clientele. geto suguru strolls in alongside his best friend, gojo satoru, the low hum of the music washing over them. the glances around, a mixture of boredom and detachment etched on his face. this isn't really his scene, but gojo had insisted on a night out.

as they find their way to a table, surrounded by plush seating and an atmosphere of indulgence, geto's attention wanders. the dancers on stage move with practised sensuality, but his gaze remains distant. until, that is, a change in the music's tempo signals a shift in the performance.

the spotlight illuminates the stage, revealing a figure that seems to command the room's attention effortlessly. you move with a fluid grace, your body swaying in time with the sultry rhythm. the way your hips move, the confidence in your eyes, it's as if you own the room. gojo's earlier detachment gives way to fascination he can't deny.

he couldn’t take his eyes off the way you were sliding down the pole, leaning forward in his seat to see more of you. the star shaped nipple covers and the gem encrusted thong you were wearing left nothing to the imagination. but still he couldn’t help but picture it all off of you, leaning forward in his seat to try and get a closer look. 

gojo nudges him playfully. "not bad, right?"

geto’s response is a low, appreciative whistle as his eyes remain locked on the captivating dancer. his heart races as he watches you command the stage, a magnetic presence that draws him in despite his earlier disinterest. he couldn’t help but feel that you were dancing for him, call him cocky but the way your eyes were locked on him as you threw your ass back against the pole — he knew that was just for him. he looked around the room and saw that everyone else was just as captivated by you as he was.

“she’s the best performer here, she doesn’t do private dances, she doesn’t even do a long set,” gojo brags to geto but he’s barely listening, his eyes too focused on you, “this is as much of her as we can get.” 

as the performance reaches its climax, geto’s lips curve into a slow smile. gojo’s grin is knowing. "looks like someone's found their muse." geto’s tears his gaze away just as you exit the stage, his interest piqued.

“you’ve got a request,” your boss announces insistent and smug, cornering you immediately after you exit the stage.

“you know i don't do requests, i come here, i do a 30 minute set and i leave remember?” you retort, stepping to walk straight past him, but he stops you, standing in front of you to block your path.

“this is a request you can’t refuse,” he adds, a smirk forming on his lips. your eyes narrow at his words, already feeling a sense of unease.

“oh i think i can,” your intention is clear as you step forward, intending to brush past him and continue on your way. but he remains unmoved, determined to stand in your path, his stance a physical barrier you can't easily circumvent.

“there’s a special guest tonight, someone who’s willing to pay handsomely for a private performance,” he explains, his tone implying much more than his words reveal.

you pause, folding your arms, sceptical. “how much are we talking about?”

he names a figure that makes your eyebrows shoot up. It’s a significant sum, the kind that could cover your bills for months, or even help you save for a future beyond the club. but still, you hesitate.

“like i said, i don't take request,” you conclude, brushing past your boss.

“i don’t think this particular patron will like that,” he tries to argue, following directly behind you.

“ask me if i care,” with those words, you step forward once more, your purpose clear as you attempt to carry on. but his presence remains a persistent shadow at your side, his attempts to sway you far from over. 

his argument falters momentarily, but he regains his composure quickly, his tone becoming insistent. "this particular patron isn't accustomed to denial. I don't think he'll take kindly to it."

a defiant smirk tugs at your lips, your patience waning as you find yourself driven further by your own principles. "well, here's a thought—perhaps he should learn."

with that final retort, you pivot on your heel, striding purposefully toward the locker room. the temptation of the significant sum and the vague promise of this special patron tug at the edges of your thoughts, but your determination remains resolute.

“if you don’t do it your fired.” he calls out after you, a desperate final attempt to get you to agree.

you knew you were going against your better judgement, but you turn back to face your boss and with a deep sigh you agree, “fine, i’ll do it. but you owe me.”

with simmering frustration bubbling beneath the surface, you push open the door to the private room, your entrance punctuated by the subtle swish of the heavy fabric. the air within was charged, a blend of anticipation and tension, as you found geto suguru lounging on the plush sofa, his presence an unwelcome sight that intensified your irritation.

your words come out abruptly, a firm reminder to both him and yourself, “i don’t fuck clients,” you state, a touch of defensiveness in your tone. you wanted to establish your boundaries, to make it clear you wouldn’t be swayed easily.

he chuckles, catching you off guard, his amusement evident. “thats nice…” he adds, with a hint of playfulness, “i just wanted to talk anyways.”

“to talk?” you question, surprised at his request, as you knew what went on in the private rooms and talking was far from that.

“yeah, just wanna get to know you,” he explains casually, his eyes studying you.

“i don’t do time wasters,” you complain, ready to leave the room, “and i don’t have time to waste.”

“even if im paying for your time?” he bargains, raising his eyebrows, “im sure your boss told you the pretty expensive bill im footing just for your time.”

crossing your arms, you met his gaze with a steady one of your own. “look, mr…?”

“just call me suguru,” he interjected with a smile that held a hint of charm.

“alright, suguru,” you continued, your tone resolute, “i'm not here to entertain idle chit-chat. i’ll dance for you for an hour and thats it. just abide by the club rules, otherwise im out.”

“why don’t you take private requests?” he inquiries, disregarding your comments.

“because i don’t have to,” you respond nonchalantly, “why are you so persistent that you pay for my time. there’s tons of other great strippers in this club.”

“because i want you.” he shrugs.

“well too bad,” you mock, “just because you have money doesn’t mean you can buy everything.”

“everyone’s got a price,” he argues, chuckling softly, a condescending tone underling his words, “ah, but isn't that the way the world works? everything has a price, even principles.”

the audacity of his statement ignited a fire within you, your voice heated with defiance and scorn. “you think im for sale? you think i’d compromise my integrity just for a fat stack of bills? you’re delusional.”

“oh but isn’t your integrity already compromised,” he teases, raising his eyebrows, “is miss, ‘i dont do private dances,’ not in a private dance with me right now?”

“you know wha–” 

“i changed my mind. i don’t want to talk anymore,” there was a shift in his tone, amusement danced in his eyes, “strip for me.”

you were pissed. but you couldn’t actually argue – he was right. he was paying for your time and he could spend it anyway he wanted to. you’d rather have him silently watching you anyways than talking to you. 

the music blared through the speakers in the room, and you immediately straddled geto, you could feel his dick harden underneath you. the only thing separating you two was the thin layer of fabric of your thong. 

you could see him smirk at you, but you ignored him, grinding your hips down on him to the beat of the music. his starts to trail down your sides, but you give him a pointed look reminding him of the rules – no touching. he surrenders his hands placing them besides his head, content in watching you dance on his lap.

you moved off of him, using the pole that was in the room, his eyes stayed fixed on you. you wanted to put on a show for him, so you move your body expressing a mix of sensuality and power, your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge you further, to push your boundaries even more.

the hour was eventually up, and geto didn’t say anything as he left, he just leaves a fat stack of bills on the table, and for some reason you couldn’t bite your tongue, “is that it? you’re just going to leave?”

“well the hours up, no?” he responds, checking his watch, “and, i’ve paid you for your time.” you couldn’t argue with that, so you remain silent watching as he turns his back on you to leave the room.

“suguru,” you call out, getting him to pause, “wait.”

“i thought you didn’t fuck clients,” he smirks, coming up from in between your thighs, “but i am not complaining”

“s-shut up,” you exhale, you’d like to believe that you didn’t expect this to happen, but you knew that was a lie. you didn’t get far out of the club, in fact you didn’t make it out of the parking lot. the back of geto’s car seemed to be perfect with the way he was eating you out. 

the feeling of geto sucking on your clit, had your head empty. his head being pressed between your thighs makes your back arch as you push up against his face. he laps against your folds, drowning in your wetness. 

“‘i don’t do private dances,’” he mocks your previous words, amused with himself, “oh if only you could see yourself now.” he enjoyed you like this, pinned under him, your pussy dripping all over his face, you were a writhing mess; no longer complaining to him about his actions, you were reduced down to moans and incoherent sentences, the only thing he could hear clearly was his name.

“suguru ah s-shit,” you curse, as he presses down on your clit, “do you always talk this much?” you tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding his face closer in your pussy, his nose deep in your arousal. he was practically inhaling you, swirling his tongue deep inside, trying to taste every inch of you.

“‘m close suguru,” you whine, thrust up against his face aiming to reach your peak on your own.

“calm down princess,” he teases, pulling his lips away from your pussy, “didn’t know you were this eager.” he presses his lips down on yours, making you taste yourself as his hand goes behind your neck to hold you in place. “see how sweet you can be?” 

he takes his dick out of his pants, quickly putting on a condom, not even giving you much time to think before he’s slamming into your cunt. your eyes widen as your pussy stretches, and geto can only bite his lip as he feels you clench around him.

“you feel so good, y’know that right” he murmurs, forcing himself into you deeper, “so fuckin’ tight.” 

he was merciless, gripping his hands on your tits, as he pistons out of you. he could only focus on how your cunt tightens around him with every push. you were pushing yourself down on him, fucking him right back. you didn’t care for his praise, you just wanted to cum.

“‘you’re t-too much, i-it’s too much”

“but you’re taking me so well,” he argues, with a grin. peppering kissing against your neck as he fucks you to a hilt. your hands find their way back into his hair, pulling and tugging at it as you moan out his name. 

his dick twitches inside you as you call at his name, you could feel that he was about to cum. his strokes were getting sloppier, and his mouth went from biting to sucking on your neck. you could feel yourself about to climax, clawing at his back, as he continues to hit your spot.

“suguru, i’m about to–”

“cum with me,” he demands, swiftly pulling out of and leaving his cum all over your stomach. you release onto his car seats, your cum spilling out of your pussy, pooling into his car seats.

after coming down off your high, you come to your senses. “this doesn’t change anything.” you remove yourself out of his hold, pushing him off you.

“you really gonna say that after i gave you the best time of your life?” 

"'best time of my life?'" you echo, a smirk tugging at your lips as you gather your belongings, "someone's cocky."

“i'm starting to feel you like me that way,” he teases, his words a playful challenge.

you roll your eyes, not willing to engage in his banter any longer. "goodbye, suguru," you reply, opening his car door. "don't return to the club."

“oi princess,” he calls after you, “you left your thong.”

“keep it.” you wink as you step outside of the car, “think of it as a souvenir.”

“why would i need that, when im going to see you again?” you don't respond, shutting the car door with a smile on your face as part of you hoped that he did return.

geto did see you again, practically every day after that. it became a consistent routine, he’d book a private room for a couple hours, you’d fuck, you’d talk and see each other whenever he wanted. he came when he needed you – and he always needed you.

as a stripper, you’ve always had one rule ‘don’t fuck with clients,’ but the moment that geto suguru laid his eyes on you – you were his. there was something about him that made him different from all the other patrons, although they were all snobby rich guys, the way that geto carried himself made you feel like he was worth breaking your rule. or at least that's what you told yourself. 

you didn’t just fuck each other – sometimes he just wanted to talk to you, to ask you about your day, to get to know you. and you could tell he was starting to catch feelings that you weren’t prepared to deal with. however, despite him being rich, there was something endearing in knowing that he went out of his way, every day, to pay just to see you. even when you were mean and standoffish.

you always spoke for longer than you expected – longer than he even paid for. geto surprised you, he was actually interested in talking with you. as the minutes turned into an hour, the conversations flowed in unexpected directions. you found yourselves sharing stories, discussing interests, and laughing at each other’s jokes. geto’s charming demeanour and genuine interest gradually chipped away at your initial reservations.

“did you always want to be a stripper?” he asks, you had just finished fucking and he still had an hour left of paid time with you, and he was going to use it.

“do you always pillowtalk?” you retort smartly, evading his question.

“who would’ve thought you’d still be this bitchy after being fucked so good,” he jokes, pulling you into his hold that you quickly ease into, “girl just answer the question.”

“i don’t know,” you sigh, “i needed the money, i loved to dance, so being a stripper was a no brainer to me.”

“do you like working here?” 

you shift slightly in his embrace, your fingers idly trace patterns on his chest. "liking it? well, it pays the bills, if that's what you're asking."

his fingers brush against your hair in a soothing gesture. "but is that all? just a means to an end?"

you sigh, a mixture of vulnerability and honesty in your tone. "i mean, it's not like i dreamt of becoming a stripper when I was a kid. but it's a job that's allowed me some financial stability, even if it's temporary."

geto's voice was gentle, his curiosity evident. "temporary for how long?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal. "i don’t know, i haven’t thought that far. i just wanna make money.”

"well, if you ever get tired of dancing, i can always buy the club for you." his response was unexpected, a mixture of humour and absurdity. “i think you’d make a good boss.”

“ha, if you did that i’d know that you’re truly obsessed with me,” you chuckle, his words catching you off guard. “i know you enjoy this place, but that's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"maybe, but you're worth it." he grins, his playful demeanour unwavering. "you're more than what you do here, you know."

a soft, ironic chuckle escapes your lips. "funny, coming from someone who's always here."

his grip on you tightens slightly, his voice holding a trace of seriousness. "perhaps I come here because I want to be around you. not just the dancer."

it was as if his presence had chipped away at the walls you had erected, leaving you exposed to a whirlwind of feelings you hadn't anticipated.his gaze, unwavering and intense, held yours as if searching for a sign—a spark of recognition that you too were experiencing this undeniable pull.

"suguru," you begin, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the distance between you, "this... whatever it is between us, it can't be as simple as you wanting to be around me."

he smiles softly, a gentle curve of his lips that holds both understanding and patience. "you're right, it's not simple. but isn't that what makes it worth exploring?" his words were a delicate melody, an invitation to step beyond the boundaries you had created.

you met his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. the weight of his presence was undeniable, a force that had drawn you in and left you yearning for more. but your insecurities whispered caution, reminding you of the differences that set you apart.

"suguru," you admit, your voice softer now, "i've never let anyone get this close. it's complicated, and I don't even know where this could lead."

“it doesn’t matter where it will leads,” he says, “what matters is that you like me? right?”

his words hung in the air, a direct question that pierced through the layers of uncertainty and vulnerability that surrounded you. the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his question settling like a delicate veil over the intimate space you shared.

your breath caught, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause. the truth, the raw honesty that had eluded you, stood before you—bold and unyielding. you looked into his eyes, his gaze unwavering and patient, as if he was giving you the space to find your own truth within the question.

your voice, soft and tinged with a mixture of trepidation and longing, finally found its way to the surface. "i..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. but in the depth of his gaze, you found a strange sense of comfort, an assurance that you could be honest without judgement.

"maybe," you admit, your voice a whisper that carries the weight of your emotions. "maybe i do like you, suguru." the admission felt like a release, letting go of the barriers you had constructed to protect yourself.

a slow smile curved his lips, a genuine expression that lit up his features. it was as if your honesty had unlocked a door, allowing both of you to step closer to a truth that had been waiting to surface. he replies with deep content, "maybe is a good start," 

the room felt charged with an energy you couldn't quite define, a tension that simmered beneath the surface. your eyes held his, a silent conversation that spoke volumes—an acknowledgement of the unspoken connection that had grown between you.

as you lay there, cocooned in the aftermath of both physical intimacy and heartfelt conversation, an internal struggle brewed within you. your heart was stirred by the sincerity of geto's words, by the connection that seemed to grow stronger with every interaction. yet, amidst the warmth and comfort, a sense of bittersweet uncertainty gnawed at you.

the boundary you had set, the rule you had vowed to uphold, wavered under the weight of emotions you hadn't anticipated. you were drawn to geto, but a tangle of reservations held you back.

in the embrace of the night, you found yourself torn between the allure of a connection you had come to cherish and the lingering fear of what being with him might entail. 

“you’re here early,” you comment, seeing geto in his usual seat. at this point, you were practically excited to see him, happy to go to work knowing that he’d show up.

“i guess i thought i’d change things up a bit,” he mutters his tone of voice off, “we’ve got to make this quick, though” he starts to undo his belt, “i’ve only got an hour till my next meeting.”

“wow no talking today?” you ask amused. geto usually is the one that likes to take his time, he always says he prefers to stimulate your mind before anything else, but today was different.

he gives you a pointed look, not bothering to respond so you continue to say, “an hour?” smirking as you straddle his lap, freeing his dick, “i think that’s more than enough time.” 

“new outfit?” he muses, pulling at the straps of the lingerie you were wearing. you nod, focusing on stroking his dick, “red’s your colour, i like it. but i’d rather see it off you.” suddenly, he rips off your bra and forces you up to take off your panties. you bend down to take off your heels, but he pauses you, “keep those on.”                 

“get my fingers wet for me,” he commands, dragging you back onto his lap. you happily comply, taking in two fingers into your warm, pouty mouth. he caresses your jaw as you greedily nibble on his fingers. 

he pulls them out thoroughly coated with your saliva and shoves them into your pussy. you gasp at the contact, and crumble into his side but he forces your head up with his hand pressing a rough kiss to your lips. 

“w-whats with you today?” you query, as you see the look on geto’s face – something was off with him. although you couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting from his current roughness, you were used to a gentler geto.

“nothing,” he dismisses you, slipping in another finger into your soaking pussy. his thumb rubs against your clit as his fingers easily glide in and out of you. you felt like you cum off of his fingers alone, you grind down hard against his fingers aiding yourself in reaching your climax. but just as you were nearing, he swiftly removes his fingers landing a fat smack against your clit, “i know i said i had to make it quick, but i didn’t think you’d be this excited.”

geto swiftly puts on a condom, raises you up slightly before slamming you down on his dick. he smiles as your legs wrap around his back, pleased by the sound of your heels clacking together. you shudder as he immediately fills you, your pussy stretching, taking all of him. 

he thrusts into you hard, and you try to meet his pace and fuck him back as hard as he was doing to you – but you were no match for him. you were practically a ragdoll as he hammered into you, your arms flinging around his neck to hold yourself up.

“f-fuck,” you moan, clawing at his back, “im gonna cum.”

“hold it,” he demands, continuing to give you strong, relentless strokes. your head falls into his shoulder in submission, you were already gushing all over him, but he keeps going, hard and fast. he lifts up your head, and presses a soft peck against your lips before saying, “cum.”

geto movements turn sloppy as he finishes into the condom. you release all over his dick, shuddering as you feel your peak surge through you. he presses one more kiss to your neck, before you move off of him. 

“are you good?” you finally ask him, as you put back on your outfit, “you seemed a little out of it tonight.”

he shifts on his feet, his restlessness palpable as he watches you. "yeah," he mumbles, looking around the room at everything but you, his fingers fumbling with his belt as if seeking something to anchor himself. "i'm alright."

"you sure?" you persist, a touch of concern pushing you to press further. usually, you wouldn't challenge him this way – because whatever he says goes in the time that he pays for. but the stark contrast to his usual demeanour gnaws at your thoughts. "i just want to make sure that you're okay–"

"didn't I say I was alright," he sneers, a defensive edge entering his tone, "it's like you don't listen or something."

“see, there is definitely something wrong with you,” you snap, screwing your face up at his tone, “since the usual geto that walks up in here knows that he’ll have my heel shoved up his asshole before he can talk to me like that.”

your words hang in the air, the charged tension growing thicker as you each hold your ground. he shifts his weight, his gaze flickering toward you briefly before skittering away. the air seems heavy with unspoken words, a tangible unease settling between you.

"i've actually been wondering how long we're going to be doing this for," he finally says, his voice low, almost as if he's reluctant to voice the thought.

“this?” you question, a confused look appears upon your face as you fold your arms. you knew what he was getting at – you just wanted to hear him say it, “you mean my job.”

his gaze finally lifts to meet yours, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "oh, I didn't know it was your job to fuck the customers here. I thought you were just a stripper… not a prostitute." 

his words hit like a jolt, a rush of emotion flooding your senses as you absorb their implications. your jaw tightens, a surge of frustration warring with a pang of hurt. "don't be condescending."

he chuckles, the sound a mix of amusement and something else you can't quite place. "why not? you seem to be a pro at it."

“fuck you.”

“y’know, i’ve figured a lot about you in these times we’ve spent together – despite the fact that you don’t talk much,” he starts to say, his grin getting wider with every word, “i’ve worked out that you liked to be chased, you like the fact that I was intrigued enough to make you break your dumb ass rule, you like the fact that even after I managed to break down your pussy walls, I still wanna take your rude ass to dinner.”

his words cut deep, the truth laced with a mocking tone. you glare at him, the mixture of attraction and anger churning within you. he was right in a way – you did like the chase, the thrill of his attention. 

"you really have it all figured out, don't you?" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. his observations stung because they hit too close to the mark. but there was a small part of you that reminded yourself that he was just like the rest of the rich assholes that strolled through the club – and he was proving you right in this very moment.

“well suguru, i’ve worked some things about you.” you sneer, “you’re not the first wealthy lame that has walked into this club demanding more from me than a lap dance and some ego stroking–”

“but i’m the first to get it though aren’t i,” he interrupts, his tone teasing, “what does that say about me?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms defensively. "it says that you're just like the rest of them, thinking you're different, thinking you're special."

his gaze narrows, the spark of something more intense gleaming in his eyes. "oh, I never said I was different. but I am special, darling, and you know it.” you huff defiantly, sitting back down on the couch – this was an argument you couldn’t. because although he was cocky, he was right.

geto joins you, his hand coming gripping your thigh to get your attention, “look i don't want to be doing this with you, all i want is to spend time out with you outside these four walls,” he says as you gnaw on your lip, considering it, “it would be nice to see you with some clothes on for a change.”

he holds your gaze, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh as if trying to anchor himself in the midst of the storm of emotions you've stirred. his vulnerability is a stark contrast to the confidence he usually exudes, and it catches you off guard. for a moment, you're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings – his words tugging at something deep within you that you're not quite ready to acknowledge.

but then, you remember the rules you've set for yourself, the boundaries you've fought so hard to maintain. no matter how much he may want to blur those lines, you can't afford to give in.

without giving him a direct answer, you shift slightly, his hand sliding off your thigh as you put some distance between you. your gaze flickers away from him, focusing on some distant point in the room as you compose yourself.

"well, hour's over," you finally say, your tone a touch colder than before. "leave the money where you usually do."

his face falls, the vulnerability replaced by a mixture of disappointment and frustration. he opens his mouth, as if he wants to protest or say something more, but the words seem to die on his lips. the atmosphere between you turns tense once again, the unspoken words and desires hanging heavily in the air. 

you don't meet his gaze as you move to gather your things, your actions brisk and efficient. you've mastered the art of detachment, of creating a barrier between yourself and the clients who come and go, no matter how they may affect you.

as you head toward the exit, your heart beats a little faster, a mix of regret and longing that you refuse to entertain. this is how it has to be – business, no matter how much your heart might argue otherwise.

behind you, you hear him sigh, a sound heavy with frustration and resignation. the door clicks shut behind you, the echo of the room's tension lingering in the silence.

he never returned after that. days turned into weeks, and still, geto's presence remained absent from the club. while you hadn't expected him to return, a small part of you had held onto a glimmer of hope that he might. but the weeks turned into months, and the emptiness left by his absence lingered.

life settled back into its routine – the dimly lit stage, the rhythmic music, you danced, you entertained, you put on a show. yet, there was an ache within you, a void that refused to be filled.

as time went on, you found yourself replaying memories of his presence in your mind – the teasing glint in his eyes, the genuine concern in his voice, the way his smile could light up a room. the connection you had shared, brief as it was, had left an indelible mark on your heart.

you missed the daily banter, the way he would surprise you with his insights, the simple pleasure of knowing he was there. the club felt different now, as if it had lost a part of its vibrancy. the nights were quieter, the laughter more subdued, and the glamour that once surrounded your performances felt somewhat dimmed.

despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the longing that had settled within you. you had a taste of something more with him, a glimpse of a world beyond the club's confines. and now, as you danced under the neon lights, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find that connection again.

the longing in your heart grew with each passing day, a constant reminder of what had been and what might have been. yet, even as you missed him, you were grateful for the moments you had shared – moments that had shown you a different side of life, a side you had almost forgotten was possible.

as you stepped into the club again to start your shift, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach. the club, which was typically alive with the pulsating beat of music and the murmurs of patrons, was eerily quiet. it was as if the very essence of the place had been stripped away, leaving behind an empty void.

confusion crept into your mind as you glanced around, searching for any sign of movement or life. your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, the sound feeling unusually loud against the backdrop of silence. what was going on? had something happened that you weren't aware of?

just as you were about to turn and leave, the sense of unease growing stronger, your eyes land on a figure sitting on the main stage. your heart skipps a beat, a mix of surprise and a rush of emotions flooding over you. it was him – geto. he was here, his presence filling the void that had gripped the club.

he sat there, as if he belonged on that stage, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense as he watches you. the familiar, cocky smirk was ever present on his lips, and despite the confusion that clouds your mind, a warmth spreads through your chest at the sight of him.

as you draw closer, his smirk softens into a genuine smile, a glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. the air was thick with tension, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty hanging between you. your heart races in your chest, the space between you charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

"suguru," you finally breathe his name, your voice a mere whisper in the stillness.

he stands, his movements fluid and confident, as he closes the distance between you. "hey," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that echoed through the empty club.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“let’s just say there’s new management here” 

“you bought the club.” you interrogate, “why?”

“i don’t know, im a guy with a lot of money, so i bought a business.” he shrugs blatantly lying, “that’s what guys like me do…”

"you missed me," you conclude, with a grin.

he nods, "I guess I missed you...or whatever," his facade drops immediately. "it's just after you rejected me, i was pissed. all i wanted to do was to show you that i actually cared about you, for you to give me a chance.”

“and buying the club was the most logical way for you to show me that you care?” you argue. “you didn’t have to do that,” emotions swirled within you – a mixture of surprise, hope, and a spark of something you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in a long time. before you could respond, he took a step closer, his fingers gently brushing against yours. it was a simple touch, but it held a promise, a connection that went beyond words.

"why do you always have to be so difficult?” he questions fiercely, “why can’t you just let me show you that i do care about you?”

the weight of his words hung in the air, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the vulnerability, the sincerity that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. “why do you care?” you retort, almost childishly. you knew that he cared, you knew why he cared – you just had an affinity for making things difficult. 

he rolls his eyes at your hard front “if it was anybody else, he would’ve given up a long time ago. but for some reason you were worth it. “because i see you for more than just the standoffish dancer who doesn’t let anyone get to her, im sure you know this by now.” he pulls you closer to him, into a strong hold. “now will you stop fronting and let me have you – all of you?”

you nod with mock reluctance, practically melting in his arms, “but what about my job? I’m not gonna stop being a stripper just because of you.”

“and i wouldn’t even ask you too,” he says quick with reassurance, “besides i find it hot that everyone gets to see you this way but they just can’t have you like i do.” he starts to work your top off your body, unhooking your bra, exposing your tits, “like just imagine, a crowd full of people watching me fuck the shit out of you — wanting you so badly, but not getting to touch.”

“we can’t do this here,” you gasp out as his fingers start to toy with your hard nipples, pinching and twisting them.

“why not?” he smirks, “you’re the boss aren’t you?”

“me, but i thought you bought the club.”

“you’re the one who said if i bought it you’d know that im truly obsessed with you,” he reasons, his lips pressing a kiss under your ear as he whispers, “do you get the picture now?”

“like I said you really d-didn’t have to do that,” you say, “i was the one that fucked things up here. you didn’t have to buy a whole business for get me to tell you that i like you.”

“oh so you do like me,” he comments sarcastically, “who would’ve thought.”

“shut up,” you grumble, swatting at his chest as he laughs, “i am sorry though. i don’t know why i pulled you into my little game, i knew i liked you a long time ago — but I just couldn't bring myself to admitting it. and I'm sorry for that .”

“it’s fine,” he reassures, “i knew dealing with you would be a challenge — granted i didn’t think it would be this hard — but i knew in the end it would be worth it.” his hands lower down your body, shimmying your pants off of you, “so now you gonna show me how sorry you truly are?”

AN: um so this was A LOT my longest fic ever, please lemme know what you thought since I am SOOOO UNSURE ABOU THIS ONE. thank you to my baessss @kazushawty @satoruhour for beta reading (I owe you two my life) also ur boss was pissed asf to find out that the club he owned was bought and given to you when he was the one that basically got you and geto together in the first place. ill make a part two where gojo comes back to the club to see the pretty little stripper who's got all of his besties attention looool jk

[wileys-russo]

Can you do a blurb about tooney where reader is shorter than her.

sorry seems to be the hardest word II e.toone

"oh for fuck sakes." you grumbled to yourself, hunting around for your training jacket but unable to find it. "ella!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, unsure where your girlfriend actually was in your shared home, head still buried in your wardrobe as footsteps raced upstairs.

"ya called baby?" the girl appeared as her thick accent sounded behind you. "where is my jacket?" you asked her seriously, raising an eyebrow to show you weren't messing about. the smug smile on her face was all the confirmation you needed that she was up to her usual tricks.

"don't know love. have ya properly looked for it?" she asked innocently and your eyes narrowed. "we needed to leave five minutes ago and i am not in the mood. where the fuck is my jacket el?" you warned, your girlfriend gesturing for you to step aside with a shoo of her hands.

reaching up she grabbed it from the very top shelf making you sigh, deeply unamused. the taller girls most favourite way to wind you up was to pick on you for your height, specifically to hide things where she knew you'd need her help to get them down.

"now what would ya do without me hmm?" the mancunian grinned, holding your jacket out of your reach as you grabbed for it. "ah ah ah. now say thank you baby, i love ya." ella teased, stretching her arm up higher as you huffed.

"thank you baby, now give me my fucking jacket or i swear to god i'll kill you in your sleep." you smiled dangerously through gritted teeth, ella dropping the jacket on your head in response.

"short and fiesty. that's how i like my women!" the girl smacked your bum with a whistle as you were distracted with your jacket, the murderous look sent her way having her sprinting out of your bedroom.

"come on love! god you're always makin us so late."

~

at the training grounds, it would seem that this morning was only the beginning as ella continued to go out of her way to mess with you.

"you are joking me." you grumbled under your breath, returning from the bathroom to see your boots had magically gone missing from where they were previously sat under your cubby.

"maz did you see where ella put my boots?" you sighed to the older woman who sent you a sympathetic smile. "i only just arrived, stuck in bloody traffic, sorry babe." mary apologised as you nodded in understanding, spotting ella speaking with maya on the other side of the room.

"toone!" you growled in warning, maya seeing the clearly pissed off look on your face and hurrying away as you stormed over toward them. your girlfriend however seemed only amused at your reaction, spreading out with her hands behind her head and a smile on her face.

"ya called?" she sung out staring up at you. "where are my boots ella?" you asked, staring at her with a pained expression. "now why would i know that love? are ya losing your things again?" the midfielder pouted sarcastically making your blood boil further.

"go and get them, now." you demanded, pointing to your cubby as she remained unmoved and you heard the training staff blow the whistle to signal you were all expected on the pitch.

"ella!" you repeated with a slight whine when she didn't move. "tooney! get your girls boots, everyone knows you obviously hid them mate." mary stuck up for you, clapping your back with her gloved hand and pointing menacingly at your girlfriend before she filed out after everyone else.

"i think ya should cheer up baby." ella teased, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek and sprinting out of the change rooms as you yelled after her. "the fucking cheek of her." you looked over to your cubby and from a distance were finally able to see your boots placed on top of your locker.

with a defeated groan you stood up on the bench of your cubby, but even stretching on the tips of your toes you were still unable to reach your boots.

glancing around desperately you jumped down and grabbed a spare corner flag pole from the training room, sprinting back and successfully knocking your boots down with it.

putting them on in record time you hurried out to the pitch, the rest of the girls already split up and having commenced the mornings first drills.

"y/l/n seven minutes late means seven laps. go!" marc called out as your body crumpled but you nodded, most of your friends sending you sympathetic looks.

you knew ella would be one of them but your body burning with anger at her you refused to look her direction, starting your laps and cursing the mancunian responsible to the high heavens under your breath.

~

if ella hadn't already figured out after your laps that you were pissed off with her, the fact you'd refused to look or speak to her at all since had really solidified that she had taken things too far.

all day she had been calling out encouragement your way, trying over and over to get back in your good books to no avail and much to the amusement of your teammates.

"dog house for you tonight then tooney." millie teased as you all finished for the day, headed back toward the change room as you walked ahead with mary and hayley.

"yeah mate give us a call once you're locked out, you can crash on my couch." maya smacked her on the back of the head as ella shoved her away with a dirty look, only furthering both girls amusement as the teasings continued.

"you can walk home." you spoke bluntly to your girlfriend, kit bag already slung over your shoulder not bothering to shower as you swiftly exited the change room, the whistles and jeerings sent ella's way causing her face to burn bright red.

"nope! you give her some space, i'll drive you home in a bit." mary grabbed the back of the younger girls top as she grabbed her things to hurry after you, pushing her back to sit down with a firm look as ella tried to protest but fell silent, instead sulking in the corner like a scorned child.

~

"go on then, grovelling time." mary pulled up out the front of your shared home, nodding for ella to get out as she took a deep breath, thanking the older girl and slipping out of the car.

she fumbled around with her keys, trying to open the door but frowning as it stayed closed.

"oh fucking come on." she kicked at the wood with a frustrated huff realising you'd locked the deadbolt, which only your keys had a copy of. "baby come on! let us in." ella whined, knocking loudly on the door and hearing footsteps come her way.

"oh sorry i'm too short to reach it." you spat bitterly, crossing your arms and glaring at the closed door as ella sighed, head thumping softly at the wood.

"love i know i took it way too far. please let me in to make it up to ya!" ella begged, flowers in hand ready to give to you that she'd made mary stop and allow her to buy.

"oh sorry can't hear you? your head is just so much further away from me since you're so much taller. hope the welcome mat makes a comfy pillow!" you mocked, and ella groaned louder as your footsteps retreated away from the door.

slumping down against the door with a huff ella wracked her brain on how she could try to get back in your good graces. she came up with one idea, but it was shit.

however unable to come up with anything else, she had no choice but to go for it.

so dropping her bag by her feet she cleared her throat and began to count herself in, you listening from a few feet away with a frown. unsure if she was trying to rile herself up to kick the door down, something you'd not put past her.

but much to your shock, she instead began to sing.

"what've I gotta do to make you love me? what've I gotta do to make you care? what do I do when lightning strikes me?" ella began to belt out the lyrics to sorry seems to be the hardest word to say by none other than elton john.

"oh my god." you mumbled to yourself, unable to stop the smile which grew on your face as ella continued, confidence growing as she sang louder and louder with each verse.

"it's sad, so sad why can't we talk it over? when, it seems to me that sorry seems to be the hardest word!" you heard her pause, as if waiting for the door to unlock or you to say something before she continued.

"what do I do to make you want me? what I got to do to be heard? what do I say when it's all over? sorry seems to be the hardest word!"

"baby are ya really gonna make me sing the whole song? the neighbors are out watchin me!" ella paused to yell with a groan.

"yes! keep going." you called back as you heard her sigh and continue, again getting louder and somehow more and more off tone with each line.

"what have I got to do? what have I got to do? when sorry seems to be the hardest word!" ella finished, carrying the final word on for at least thirty seconds before falling silent.

with an amused smile you shook your head and undid the deadbolt, swinging the door open to face her.

"thank you! she'll be here all week." you called out to your neighbours over her shoulder, waving at them on their front lawn with a grin as their laughter grew and ellas face flushed bright red.

grabbing your hand she gently pushed you back inside, kicking her bag in and firmly closing the door with a relieved sigh.

"did we learn our lesson then?" you enquired, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow. "yes. no more hidin things!" ella sighed with a shake of her head.

"i am very very very very very sorry baby. forgive us?" ella asked hopefully, holding out the flowers to you which you accepted with a nod. "you are cooking dinner, cleaning up afterwards, giving me a massage and doing all the laundry tomorrow." you warned, ella nodding eagerly before she pounced on you, pulling you into a passionate smooch and mumbling yet another apology against your lips.

leaving her to take her trainers off and unpack her bag you made your way to the kitchen to find something to put the flowers in, popping them in a vase and grabbing out some juice to drink. though as you opened the cupboard to grab out a glass your eyes narrowed and your jaw clenched.

"ella why the fuck are all the cups and mugs on the very top shelf!?"

[mrsriddlenott]

The Fifth Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist][main masterlist]

~ Decorate With Me ~

Alpha!Mattheo Riddle x Bratty Omega!Reader

Summary: Alpha!Mattheo is too lazy to decorate the house for the holiday’s, thinking it useless, you however entice him to decorate one thing at a time as you strip for him, teasing him and escaping his grasp until all that’s left to do is place the ornaments on the tree, leaving him to decorate you.

- kinda AU but not really, Omegaverse and no mentions of magic, implied businessman Mattheo bc thats hot☺️ -

Warnings: 18+ Content!! Language, SexualTeasing, Stripping,Marking Kink, HairPulling(only a lil),Unprotected PinV, Cumplay, Breeding Kink, Consensual Sexual Punishment, D/S Dynamics.

“Come on Matty, pleeease” You begged, standing over Mattheo where he sat, his navy colored business suit contrasting the black leather of the large couch.

“I said no. What’s gotten into you, you always listen to me why the fuck aren’t you now?” He rolled his beautiful eyes away from yours and back to the book in front of him that gripped his attention in this moment far too much for your liking.

“I told you, I want you to decorate with me.” You pouted, crossing your arms and poking your hip out defiantly, “Me and my family decorated every year, and now that we live together you have to too. You’re just holding it off because you’re lazy, you put the tree up weeks ago and it’s still empty.” You sighed, pointing your arm in the direction of the large, bare Christmas tree.

“I think you’re forgetting that I do not have to do anything Princess, and you calling me lazy is rather funny considering I work for the money that pays for everything you can ever desire. So please decorate if you wish, but I’ll be sitting right here while you are.” Mattheo’s voice was laced with indifference as his eyes remained unmoving but focused on the pages in front of him, gripping his glass of bourbon tightly at your intrusion. After days of being denied his help you were fed up, you knew of one surefire way to grab your mates attention and that was of course, you naked in front of him ready to do anything he wished for. But….until he granted your wishes you wouldn’t be granting his.

“Fine. I will just do it all alone.” You stated innocently, walking off as you discreetly began tugging the thin straps of your red gown down your arms, allowing it to slip off your frame and pool around your ankles where it was kicked off towards the man behind you. Mattheo’s knowing gaze immediately latched onto your matching lingerie set and stockings with a scoff before locking with your eyes over your shoulder, licking his lips in an obvious attempt to control himself.

“What do you think you’re doing? Did you fucking plan this?” You giggle as his brows furrow, looking away from him and arching your back much more than necessary as you bent to grab the large box of Christmas decorations you were allowed to take from your parents when you moved in with Mattheo.

You felt his eyes dig into your behind, giving a little shake as you tossed the lid open and began grabbing the lights that were neatly coiled above the many layers of decorations, “This isn’t gonna work y’know,” Mattheo laughed, slamming his book shut and tossing it aside as he pushed himself further down the couch cushion, spreading his legs to give himself more space as he watched you move about the room. The way the hem of your lace underwear was cradling your curves in a teasing manner as your tits bounced against their harsh confines was cracking his reserve already, “You think I can’t resist you prancing about in that….” He spoke in a deeper voice now, clearly affected by your body and clearly trying to convince himself of what he was saying.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Your face grew warm as you twirled the string of lights around the base of the tree, avoiding his burning eyes as you sauntered around it teasingly, reminiscent of how you would a pole. His eyes trailed along your exposed thighs and stomach, aching to have you in a way he hadn’t felt since your last heat. You weren’t usually such a brat and he was loving every minute of it, he saw how you became whiny after he had told you just a few days ago that he was too tired to decorate, fully intending to do it the next night. However, when you stood there with crossed arms and a deep pout he just had to see it again. Now though, he was losing his patience, he had to have you and he’d do anything for it.

Once the lights shone brightly up and down the tree you stepped back to observe your handy work, placing your hands on your hips as you looked over your shoulder to find Mattheo’s eyes raking up your body until they fell into yours with a silent order you weren’t going to follow. You could sense his desire to gain control again as he always had, but you wanted more from him, you needed more. His little reaction had done nothing to stray you from your plan, you saw in his dark eyes that he wouldn’t last long.

His eyes followed your movements as your fingertips ghosted up your body, tickling against your flesh to slowly grasp the latch of your bra in your steady hands, turning back to observe the tree as though nothing was happening. Mattheo’s breath hitched as you slowly unhooked your bra with your back still facing him, your shoulder blades moving teasingly as you shoved the material onto the floor in front of the partially decorated tree, still not turning to show him your exposed chest. He hissed as you stepped forward again, moving away and out of his sight to grab more decorations, his pants were tightened around his growing dick as he took the last swig of his drink before abruptly standing to follow you.

You noticed his presence behind you immediately, the tension in the room growing as soon as he stepped through the entrance, “You think you can tease me like that?” He asked, voice low as he approached your turned back slowly, each step sending a shiver down your spine and directly to your core as his expensive dress shoes hit the wood below them tauntingly. He chuckled, clearly thinking he had you cornered as he grew closer, gripping your hip in his aggressive hold as he leant over your nude shoulder, his warm breath against your neck filling you with a mix of expectance and defiance of his actions.

In one quick motion, Mattheo’s strong hand spun you to face him, almost knocking you off your feet as they attempted to catch up with the maneuver. His eyes met yours before trailing down your chest with a genuine smile, “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he sighed, his free hand finding your neck as he began melting into your touch. You allowed him to pull you into him, almost touching your lips together before you pulled away, “I need to get this box to the living room, we can get back to this after,” You almost let out a chuckle at the mans dumbfounded expression as you grab the box behind you, conveniently hiding your chest as you maneuvered around his still figure to the door behind him, “It would go way faster if I had some help though.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Mattheo mumbles to himself as you leave him alone in the spare room, his mind racing with ways of gaining power over the situation but each one required focus he couldn’t obtain while you strutted around the house half naked. So instead he opted to give in….just this once.

The echo of Mattheo’s footsteps didn’t shock you, nor did the growl that escaped his lips as he took in your now entirety bare ass in front of him, the only remaining part of your outfit being the white and red stockings that were driving him absolutely insane with each passing second. “Okay! You win, give me the fucking Santa,” Mattheo snapped, making you turn to him with a wide smile before throwing yourself onto him for a hug, almost immediately stepping out of his grasp quickly as he attempted to pull you back in.

He huffed behind you as you handed him item after item to find a place for in your home, still solely focused on your almost fully nude body in front of him even as he placed miniature Santas and reindeers all around your house. Eventually however all that was left was to place the ornaments on the tree which only took an excruciating 30 minutes before he could finally have what he wanted.

Your face smashed into the couch as Mattheo aggressively shoved you forward, tugging your hips upward as his hand firmly placed against your face, “Do you need me to fuck this attitude out of you Princess?” Your incoherent mumbles of yes go unheard as he forces his fingers into you hair, tugging you upward and against his clothed chest, “I asked you a question,” He whispered against the shell of your ear, nibbling on your flesh before he spoke again, “Now fucking answer it.” He spat out, shoving you back forward as you begged him to fuck you senseless, his hand finding it’s spot against the side of your face once more as he tugged at his belt buckle. The clinking metal sending shocks of pleasure to your core, drenching your entrance as it ached to have your Alpha.

In a matter of seconds, Mattheo tugged his dress pants and boxers only partially down his thighs, leaving you fully exposed and vulnerable in front of him as he lined his leaking cock up to your entrance before plowing into you with no real warning. Stretching you out almost beyond your limit as he immediately set a steady, rough pace to his thrusts, grunting above you as you clutched onto the leather of the couch. “Oh fuck Mattheo, you feel so good,”

Your almost incoherent babbles of pleasure egg him in as he snaps his hips faster against yours, eyes trained on where he disappeared deep into you, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into, pulling a scream of a moan from the back of your throat as he groans at the sound. The feeling of your walls clenching around him, silently begging him to stay inside of you, urging him to fill you up with his cum almost made him lose focus of his goal, snapping his hips harder and faster, his public bone bouncing against your clit every few thrusts as he built up his release.

Your mind was hazy as his warm, rough hand held you against the heating leather, the grip of his other hand on your hip surely leaving an entirely intentional print of his hand that had your mind going dumb as you clamped down around him, your legs shaking each time his tip slammed against you g-spot sending you soaring as your mind fogged, so close to your orgasm it felt almost painful.

“Oh fuck Matty please” You practically screamed, begging to cum as Mattheo slammed into you, the sound of damp skin smacking together echoing across the hardwood floors as you mewled and whined below him, his hard grip being the only thing keeping you in your position as you absentmindedly began bucking back against him, feeding his ego as you bounced on his cock, meeting his thrusts with a lazy smile on your face.

Your moans became whimpers as your walls clamped down on him tightly, unrelenting and desperately trying to hold him inside while you came around him, your legs were shaking uncontrollably against him as you quickly approached your high falling over the edge as Mattheo’s thrusts sped up, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, almost overstimulating you as he grew sloppy. His hips stuttered against you, groaning above you before he was pulling out of you entirely causing a desperate whine to escape you, sending him flying over the edge, shaking uncontrollably as thick spurts of his cum covered your back.

You whined below him, unable to form full words as you clenched around nothing, still coming down from your high as you almost cried at the lack of the full feeling Mattheo always left after filling you and stuffing his fingers back inside to ensure nothing came out. You wiggled your hips as if expecting him to go again just to fill you with his seed.

“Oh my pretty, bratty Baby,” Mattheo mockingly pouted down to you as he mindlessly played with his release covering your back “Are you mad I didn’t fill you up Princess?” Mattheo asks, knowing the obvious answer as he laughs over you condescendingly, “But I thought you wanted me to help you decorate, isn’t that why you thought this all out? Well….think of it as your punishment for being such a little brat to your Alpha.” He chuckled at himself, falling down beside you as he tugged your face into his chest, whispering to you that you did good for him and looked absolutely gorgeous covered in his cum.

~~~~

Event Taglist (lmk if u want on, off, or changed ur user)

@timmytime17 @talia-scar123 @spencer-reids-wife @ttsbaby01 @animorose @whydoireadanymore @thievin-stealing @spiderman-stilinski @evycloudberry @shady-the-simp @ashisabitgay @porterport @callsignwidow @cicicicicisstuff @mattheoriddleswifee @junebugin-july @moonlightreader649 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @rubyliquor @perverteddsdreams @mildly-delulu @fairydimples07 @shadowmoonlight0604 @80scinemvasworld @nevillescomslut @annaisabookworm @abaker74 @athenalikethegoddess @limeren @h-------n @kezibear @mattheoriddlemarcuslopez @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @curiousshifter101 @tobyr68 @spididerman @hedwigprewett12 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kiwi475 @stellasdelusions

[shawnxstyles]

stupid

DATE: MARCH 27, 2023

summary: as a challenge, you try to get yourself out of handcuffs. eventually, you find yourself unsuccessful, leaving you confined to your bed. when your roommate harry sees your predicament, he can’t help but be a little turned on, especially when he notices that you are too.

song: invisible string- taylor swift

words: 5.8k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [fingering, bondage {handcuffs}], m-receiving [masturbation], praise kink, unprotected sex [coming inside], dirty talk), some pining, and language

note: a cheesy ass storyline but it still has me in a chokehold. also, i’m posting this at 3 am :D (sorry if the gif is all weird)

fratrry x college!reader (my favorite pairing 🤭)

—

“Oh, fuck me.”

It was stupid—you were so stupid.

Your heart falls in a panic as you thrash around on your bed, trying to break the cuffs surrounding your wrists.

You got caught up in a video. Some stupid video you scrolled to on the internet that explained how to escape handcuffs in an emergency. With a Bobby pin. You watched the full thing out of curiosity and boredom, but then decided to try it.

Because why the hell not, right?

Who the hell has a Bobby pin in an emergency? You didn’t think about this part until after you were stuck.

You rummaged through your messy closet, searching for the cuffs. Luckily, you were a bit of a hoarder and kept mainly everything you bought. One year for Halloween you were a cop (basic, but cute), so of course you had handcuffs when you bought the outfit.

Huh, they’re way nicer than you remember.

Snatching the handcuffs, you sat back on your bed and rewatched the video again. The demonstrator was handcuffed to the leg of a table while the instructor showed the camera and directed the viewers. Once you felt confident enough, you were going to attempt it.

At this moment, you didn’t think twice about how stupid it might be.

You looked around your room for somewhere to practice. You didn’t want to use the table in the small dining room because it was crowded with stuff on it. Plus, you didn’t want your roommate, Harry, to walk through the door and see you doing another stupid thing you found on the internet.

The amount of times he’s caught you doing something strange is ridiculous. To anyone else, it would be embarrassing. But Harry is your best friend, who is able to keep up with your madness, and who you might maybe have a crush on. Okay fine, it was a big, fat, stupid crush.

90% of the time your internet attempts were some type of trick that ends in something breaking.

But this—this has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever attempted.

Your eyes circled around the entire room before you landed on your bedpost.

Stable. Unmoving. Bingo.

Reaching up and turning your head, you locked one of the cuffs to your wrist. Then you grab the small pin in the other hand. You loop the chain around the pole and cuff that hand. Facing the locked cuffs, you cramp your hand in a certain way that allows you to ram the pin into the lock hole. You twist it easily and free yourself from the cuffs.

You smirk to yourself at how easy it was. You decide to do it another time. And then another. You got confident with the movements, so you switched the pin to your non-dominant hand. It was slightly trickier, but you were still able to release yourself.

Knowing yourself, you wouldn’t stop until the challenge became a real challenge. So you decided to make it a little harder.

You made sure your body was facing forward, away from the post, before looping the chain around the wooden pole. You clicked the cuff on your left wrist, locking you to the post.

Now, you would try to unlock the cuffs blindly.

With the pin in your dominant hand, you try to maneuver it so it can reach the lock opening. You feel around with your fingers as much as they allow, trying to picture where the hole is. Thinking you felt it, you confidently jam the pin into it before twisting it.

However, your confidence failed you because you were too cocky. The pin slides through one of the chain links that you mistook for the lock hole and slips from your fingers. You let out a small gasp as it does, realizing what position you’ve gotten yourself into this time.

“Oh, fuck me.”

It was stupid—you were so stupid.

Your heart falls in a panic as you thrash around on your bed, trying to break the cuffs surrounding your wrists. Your eyes dodge around the room, trying to think of a solution. You notice the key to the cuffs lying tantalizingly on the bed. It was way too close for you to reach it with your foot, and you obviously couldn’t bend your head down to grab it.

There was only one thing you would do; wait for Harry to come home.

—

Harry presses a button on the treadmill, slowing down the conveyor belt beneath him. He huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath. Even though he feels like he’s killing himself at the gym sometimes, he can’t help but love the feeling afterwards. That post-workout sensation that motivates him to get up and walk in the gym the next day. It was addicting to say the least.

As he steps off the treadmill, his phone begins to buzz. He looks down at the contact, feeling his heart buzz similarly at the name. He slips his finger across the glass, answering your FaceTime call.

“What’s up?” Harry answers the phone, holding it up so you could see his sweaty face while he stares at your ceiling. He packs up his bag and heads towards the locker rooms.

“I need help,” You shout, loudly enough so Harry could hear you from the phone, which was at the end of the bed. You had finally used some cells in your brain to use Siri to FaceTime him. Harry scrunches his eyebrows and stands stucksill in the middle of the locker room. Without hesitation, he starts to head for the exit of the building, thinking you’re in some type of life-threatening emergency.

“What? Are you okay?” Harry speaks anxiously as he reaches his car and turns the engine on.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just need you to…help me out,” You reassure hastingly with a grunt, continuing to thrash around as if that’s going to work.

It hasn’t for the past half hour.

Harry’s heart calms down a few beats, since your life clearly isn’t threatened. He hears the clanging of the metal to the wood.

“What’s that noise?” He questions, scrunching his nose.

“It’s, um, me,” You squeak vaguely. It was so embarrassing that the words couldn’t even leave your mouth without a cringe rolling through your body.

In a flashing moment, the pieces finally clicked in Harry’s head.

“You did another challenge again, didn’t you?” You stayed silent, too stubborn to admit that he was right and that you were stupid. He knew you well enough to know that your silence meant he was right, so he scoffed and groaned before hanging up the phone.

After parking in his usual spot, he grabs his gym bag and heads for your shared apartment. He trudges up the stairs, his legs brutally sore after today. Harry fumbles with the keys until he unlocks the door. When he walks in, he instantly hears you shouting his name in relief.

“Harry! Oh my god!” Harry knew it was wrong to be thinking the way he was thinking, but he couldn’t help it.

He imagined those words as moans spewing from your mouth as you lie underneath him. He envisioned fucking you deep and slow so you’d feel every inch of him. If he lingered on the idea long enough, he could imagine the depth of your cunt as he sinks into it, all wet and snug around his cock. Your hands would pull on his hair as he said the most sinful things to you. Some nights he had to conjure this type of fantasy to relieve himself, and he felt selfish every time.

He couldn’t believe that he was turned on simply from your voice.

God, he wanted you so bad.

Throwing his gym bag on the messy table, he heads for your room and discards his thoughts. The door is wide open, and before he even gets inside, he’s facing your predicament.

Your arms are raised above your head while your wrists remain trapped in metal confinements. Your body was slumped, probably tired from trying to escape. Your chest rises up and down in frustration. He could sense the irritation radiating off of you. It was laughable. Very, very laughable.

But his mind wandered back to his thoughts from a few minutes ago when he imagined pounding into you. Now, in his new fantasy, you were cuffed to your bed. Just like you are now, you wouldn’t be able to have your hands in his hair, but he’d lower his head in between your legs this time. The thought—the sight— of you in those cuffs was about to send him in a spiral.

He was half hard.

“Fuck me,” He muttered, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply.

“Are you going to help me or just stand there and watch my misery?”

“I don’t know, I kind of like it,” Harry teased, being honest, but not in the way you probably thought.

You weren’t the type for one-night stands. But when he saw you bring home the person you were dating (at the time), some deep, unwanted feeling burned in his stomach. Harry eventually labeled the feeling as hatred; he hated everyone you brought home, no matter how nice they were in the morning aftermath. You and Harry got too close, too friendly for anything like that to be allowed.

So, he would invite girls over because he realized he couldn’t have you. And eventually that created a cycle he couldn’t break because, again, he couldn’t have you. He couldn’t break it without you. No amount of girls or any other girls made him feel the way you made him feel.

He thought whatever he was feeling for you made him weak, but it really made him stronger, better.

Now, he stood a few feet from your bed, arms crossed in amusement. He hopes that if he joked enough you wouldn’t notice the bulge growing in his gym shorts.

You felt a rush of heat creep up your neck at his words. Although he can be sweet and soft, Harry was as much of a frat boy as the rest of them. He talked women up and brought them back to his room with his panty-melting smirk. You couldn’t help but envy them every time you heard the noises they made, knowing that Harry was the one causing them. Your stupid crush and hormonal body made his words sound like some sexual innuendo, but you knew Harry wouldn’t truly have any intentions behind it.

So what if he makes flirty, teasing comments that make your stomach drop and your heart race a million miles an hour? They weren’t intentional and he does it with everyone.

“Like it? Kinky shit,” You mumbled to yourself as your neck burns up, but of course Harry wasn’t going to let that slide. He was going to have a little fun with it.

“What did you say?” Harry leaned towards you with his ear, now wandering closer to your bed. You glared at him in irritation.

“Nothing. Just open the cuffs!” You said, ignoring him without making eye contact.

“No, I don’t think I will. This is quite fun actually,” He crosses his arms and smugly smiles, teetering on his feet. He should have left by now to take care of his erection that’s pulsing in his shorts, but he’s having too much fun. This is truly one of the stupidest things you’ve done. You roll your eyes as you wriggle your wrists pathetically, attempting a lost cause. Harry laughs, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Do you get off on this or something?”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs. You don’t know why, but your heart skipped a beat and your neck continued to be aflame. The slight thought that Harry might be attracted to you, even if it was you at your mercy, caught you off guard. Slightly. “You have to admit it’s a little arousing.”

Your heart rate increases as he steps closer to you, eyes doe-y and wide as you take in the view. Every comeback or quick wit washes away from you.

“Is it?” He asks.

“Is it what?” You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s hard when his post-workout body is standing only inches away from you. In any other scenario, you would have pushed him away or brushed off his comment. But you can’t run away this time. Instead of looking at him, you stare at some spot on the floor.

“Is it arousing for you? To be all helpless and needy?” His voice is taunting. His words caused your cunt to instinctively clench, making your thighs do the same. His eyesight peered at your legs for a moment, hopefully not noticing the action.

“No,” You lied straight through your teeth. Your hands turned into fists as you dug your nails into your palms, trying to keep it together.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” No.

“I don’t like liars, Y/N,” Harry raises his eyebrows in a hurtful way and then slowly starts backing away. You shake your head in confusion as he heads for the door. “Now, I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do not leave me here!” You shout as you squirm for the millionth time. But he leaves and walks out of the room. He purposefully leaves the door open and heads down the hall into your shared bathroom.

Harry had a plan. If you weren’t willingly going to tell him you were aroused, which it was very obvious that you are, he would tease you. It was his greatest strength.

After turning on the shower and stripping from his clothes, he purposefully leaves his door open too, so you can hear everything. Once he gets in, he doesn’t hesitate to take his aching erection in his palm. He strokes his length as his body gets lathered in water.

Pictures of you with the cuffs appear in his head; helpless, needy, and vulnerable, just like he said. Based on your reactions, he could tell you were turned on by something and Harry was sure to crack you. He’s been waiting for this moment for a long time. Now, all he has to do is not fuck up.

He imagines you squirming underneath him as he rubs your clit, desperate for relief and freedom from the confinements.

“Harry!” You called out, but it was hopeless. You could hear him in the shower, taunting you. Your mind went straight to the image of his naked body and pictured it above you. You’ve never even seen him fully naked, but just the thought of it aroused you even more.

His strokes became faster as you shouted, rubbing his thumb over his leaking slit. In his mind, he translated them as moans of his name, which motivated him to pump brisker.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groaned loud, for once hoping you heard him.

His balls tighten as another fantasy explores his mind: you on your knees, cuffs behind your back, as you suck his cock. Your eyes peering up at him innocently with tears brimming your ducts would send him into a lustful frenzy. He moaned noisily, his sounds bouncing off the tiled walls and down the hall.

You could hear everything. Including the way his name groggily fell from his lips in that sultry voice you only heard in dreams. Your panties dampened with each loud groan, forcing you to bend your knees toward your chest and rub them together to stop the nearly painful ache.

It was so unfair.

“I’m gonna come, angel,” He nearly whined as his palm slammed on the shower wall, fist pumping fiercely to reach his orgasm. The name slipped from his mouth, but it fit you perfectly.

A small whimper elicited from your lips at his noises, your legs crossing together in agony. You controlled yourself to not roll your hips in the air, because that was rock-bottom level pathetic, no matter how badly you needed him. This was torture.

His knees nearly buckled when his orgasm hit him hard, his balls squeezing and shaft twitching. Spurts of his release paint the walls that are soon washed away by the water as he calms himself down. With breathy sounds and dazed movements, he completes the rest of his shower before turning the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist.

He barely wastes time drying off before waltzing back into your room. Staring at your helpless figure caused a familiar ache in his cock, even though he just had an orgasm. He was insatiable when it came to you apparently.

Your eyes shot daggers at Harry, freshly showered and smelling like some woodsy soap that only reminded you of him. A white towel hung low around his waist and water droplets stuck to his body like he was straight out of a rom-com film. The burning in your lower belly and the pulsing between your legs never ceased. Your chest was rising quicker than it should have for being chained to the bed.

“Something you want to say?” Harry taunted with that smug smirk plastered on his face, slowly padding towards your bed.

His eyes pierced into yours, trying to force you into admitting. He sat on the edge of your bed beside your bare legs with the towel daring to slip off. Your head told you to not fall for his longing gaze while your body begged you to submit.

Your logic could only take you so far with the overpowerment of your body.

“No,” You replied with clenched teeth.

“No?”

He brought his hand to smooth over your shins, firing bolts of electricity straight to your clit. You involuntarily squeezed your thighs again to dull the ache, and you hated yourself for how obvious your arousal was. Harry slightly tilted his head condescendingly innocent, waiting for your response. But you tightly bit your bottom lip, refusing to say another word. You didn’t trust your next breath because if he kept touching you, you’d moan from just his hands on your knees.

“Hypothetically,” You didn’t like where this was going. It was scary, out-of-the-friend-zone territory. “If I were to check, you’re saying you wouldn’t be wet at all?”

You bit on your tongue. Hard. Harry shouldn’t be allowed to say the word “wet” in his deep, post-orgasm voice. When he touches you, you shouldn’t cave so easily.

Why did you have to like him? Your best friend and your roommate? That’s setting yourself up for failure.

Being the stubborn person that you are, you still continued to play snarky, even if you were soaking so much in your panties that you might be leaking through your shorts. “Not a single drop.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I jus’ took a look, right? I know you jus’ love being right,” His hands rub along your legs until they’re on your knees and lower thighs.

He’s not wrong, and you hate that. Why does he have to make everything so difficult? He could simply just unlock the cuffs and go back into his room like nothing happened. So why is he making such a big deal about it? Unless he…no way.

“Go right ahead,” You tried to sound confident, but you squeaked, heart beating rapidly. Did he want this as much as you?

A sly smirk creeps onto his lips as his palms snake higher up your legs until they’re at the hem of your shorts. Your breath hitches in your throat, too afraid to make any noise because it might betray you. How does one act unaffected when they are very much affected?

“Gonna take these off now,” He narrates, and then slowly slides off your shorts. You didn’t breathe, just watched it happen. Your heart was running a marathon in your chest, and you thought you might go into cardiac arrest. With your shorts now on the floor, your legs remain closed. You know that the second you open them you will be proven wrong.

Harry’s fingers sneak in between your thighs and practically pry them open, your right leg hanging off the bed. You gasp at the sudden vulnerability and sharply turn your head in embarrassment. You can feel his smirk and piercing eyes burn into your skin screaming “told you so” while he tsks, but he doesn’t openly say it. He caresses your upper thighs, so close to your panty line.

“Aw,” He says patronizingly when his hands pinch the sensitive skin of your thighs, causing you to subtly roll your hips toward him with a small yelp. “Helpless and needy.”

“Harry,” You tried to sound threatening, but it was breathy and quiet. “We…can’t.”

“Why not?” His reply was instant, almost too fast for you to register. His hand gripped your thigh, making you whimper shyly. You didn’t have a valid reason why you couldn’t.

The worst thing that would happen is that you would fall in love with him and he would leave you in the dust, just like every other one of his hook-ups. You didn’t want to be that to Harry. If you two did this, would everything you guys have built as friends just go to waste? Would you have to move out and find a new place?

“I don’t just want to be another one of your hook-ups. When I have sex, it means something to me,” Why did you always have to make it so difficult? God, you’ve wanted him for the longest time and you’re saying this? He’s just going to run away. He doesn’t want to deal with this shit.

“Y/N, I promise you’re not jus’ another one of those girls. If you knew what I was thinkin’...”

“What are you thinking?” You whispered. His fingers trail up to your panties and tickle the area of your mound. You gasp, as the pad of his thumb presses to your clit. It pulses and throbs beneath him, begging to be touched without the barrier of the thin fabric.

“Want to feel you wrapped ‘round me while I’m deep inside of you,” He informed gravely, eyes concentrated on his own fingers. You whimper again, pushing your hips into his touch. “Want to hear your sweet noises.”

“Oh,” You bite your lip harshly.

“Want to kiss you. Everywhere. Want to wake up and see you next to me. Want to come home to you in my bed, in my clothes.”

“Harry,” This time, his name fell from your lips as a delicate moan, endeared by his words. Your mind becomes hazy from everything; his touch, his voice, his words. You only need one thing now. “Please.”

That’s all he needed. He gradually slips off your panties until they’re joining your shorts on the floor. The air breezes over your drenched cunt, contrasting the burning of your skin. His thumb rubs over your bundle of nerves again, but this time you mewl at the bare contact.

“You’re soaked, angel,” Voice rough and deep, he grunts as his middle finger teases your wet folds. You buck into his hand, desperate for more. Harry’s lips curl into that familiar smirk before he slips his finger inside.

You moan noisily, not trying to remain quiet anymore. You didn’t care. His digit runs deep, nudging your G-spot. The deeper he went, the more your folds could feel his icy cold ring. You panted and wheezed embarrassingly when he slipped his ring finger inside. He pumps torturing slowly, making it possible for you to feel every detail of his skin sliding in and out of you. Your eyes roll back while your hips squirm under him. He glides his opposite hand beneath your T-shirt, thumbs caressing the underside of your breast.

“Harry, fuck,” Your stomach burned. Actually, everything burned. Your wrists struggled against the metal. Your muscles coiled tightly, alerting you that you were getting close. You weren’t surprised that he had you on the brink of an orgasm in a matter of a few minutes.

“Am I making you feel good, angel?” Lustful and sensual, Harry began to pump faster, realizing you were close. Your back arched toward him, seeking to be closer. You wanted to be melting into his skin because you were so attached to him.

“So good, H. I’m close,” You mewled as his thumb brushed over your pebbled nipple. He multi-tasked; his index finger and thumb twisted your aching nipple while his other hand curled deliciously inside of you. Your walls squeezed his digits and your legs began to spasm at the overwhelming sensations.

Not a second later, you felt a wave of relief flush over your body. Your heart thumped rapidly against your ribs and your face scrunched in undeniable pleasure. Harry’s movements slowed as he helped you ride out your unforgettable orgasm.

“You’re so pretty when you come, baby,” Harry compliments, still caressing your breast. You wearily smile, heat burning your skin from his words. He raises his fingers up to his own mouth and licks away your release. For some reason, you opened your mouth thinking he was going to put them in yours.

His eyebrows raise and that cocky smirk comes back before he’s laying his damp digits on your tongue. You suck, swirling your tongue erotically as he barely moves them. Your glossy eyes remain locked on his, never looking away.

“Fuck,” He mumbles before yanking them out of your mouth. His cock twitches impatiently under the towel, neglected. “Dirty girl, huh?” It was your turn to smirk now.

“Need to be inside of you,” He removes the towel and you nearly faint right there. Long and thick, his cock was pink and pulsing at the tip. Precum oozed from his slit and you had the urge to put him in your mouth just like his fingers had been. Harry’s eyes looked at you like he was hungry, and if he didn’t have you he would starve.

“H, what the hell,” You wheezed as he spread your legs wider apart and stroked his painful erection with his palm.

“What?” He questions, hissing as he looks at your soaking pussy again. He never wants to forget the sight of you fucking drenched for him. He’s wanted this too long and too much for this to be a simple one-time thing.

He knows that the second he enters you, you are his. No one else’s. He’s going to ruin you for every other man.

“You’re… huge. Where have you been hiding that thing?” Panting, you start to get nervous. Everything becomes so real. This wasn’t a part of your imagination or some fantasy you conjured up. Harry was really in front of you, and he just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.

You force yourself to get out of your head and live in the moment for once.

Harry chuckles hoarsely, and leads his tip towards your entrance. His body hovers over yours, face cradling in your neck. “Fuck, my condoms are in my room–”

“I’m on birth control.”

“I–are y’sure? About this, I mean.”

“I’ve never been more ready,” You smile at him endearingly. If your hands were free, you would have stroked his cheek.

“And I’ve also never been so impatient–” Cutting you off, Harry finally slides into you a couple of inches. You both share a string of groans and moans at the completely bare contact. You were more snug around Harry than he’d imagined—he thought he was going to come on the spot. He’s barely halfway in and you already feel a stretch.

More arousal leaks from you while your walls throb around him. His lips press into the skin of your neck and you inhale that woodsy scent again like flavored oxygen. Like you need it to live. His damp hair tickles your neck while your chest moves rapidly with the beat of your heart. You wish you could lace your hands through it.

“I need you to move, H,” You whisper, so quietly that if he wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have heard.

Obeying your request, he pulls out almost all the way before sinking back into you. Most of his length is in you as he pumps leisurely. Harry grits his teeth as your walls flutter around him, clutching him like a goddamn vice. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want to ruin this by going too hard. He wants to savor this moment forever. He repeats the action a few times before you get frustratingly impatient.

“Harry, I need more. Please,” Your words of plead cause him to screw his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to hurt you, angel.”

“Big ego you got there,” You roll your eyes as you rock your hips towards his. “Fuck me like you hate me. Please.”

A wavering sigh falls from his lips before he yanks himself completely out of you. You thought for a moment that you scared him off, but then, his cock slams back into you. An echoing moan bounces off the walls of the room while he pounds roughly.

His pace is brutal and concentrated, the head of his dick repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot inside of you. Your pussy clenches him, never wanting to let him go. Harry bucks his hips, ramming into your cunt at a new angle. Out of instinct, you go to move your hands to touch him, but are painfully reminded that you can’t.

“I want to touch you,” You plead, thrashing your wrists within the metal cuffs.

“No,” Grunting, he thrusted impossibly deeper–he practically melted into you.

You groan while he lifts up your left leg to shift it. He moves strategically and briskly, his thrusts never falting. Your eyes spin to the back of your head while the world around you seems to fade away. The only things that existed were you and Harry. But even in this moment, you two felt like you were one. When his lips began littering soft, pinched kisses on your neck, you thought you were going to lose it.

“Oh my God, Harry,” You sighed, hazy in bliss. Every ridge and vein of his cock could be felt through each hearty thrust. His noises varied from deep growls and soft moans, and you swear with just his sounds you teetered closer to your second orgasm.

“So fuckin’ tight, angel,” His breath fanned over your neck that was being covered in his love bites. The noises that fell from your lips were uncontrollable; you didn’t care if your neighbors could hear and you didn’t care if they would send a complaint the next day.

“Kiss me, H,” He didn’t hesitate to listen. After months of waiting, his lips finally collided with yours.

Interlocking, your lips molded together like the perfect experiment. Your chemistry bubbled up and created a flame the color of ecstasy. A firework of emotions burst all around you. He never halts his movements, pumping barbarically in and out while his tongue explores your mouth. To kill you even more, his free hand slips down in between you both and rubs your throbbing clit with a brutal pace.

How does he know how, when, and where to hit?

You become overwhelmed with feeling; everything was so pleasant and blissful, even if the scene was unbelievably dirty, it just aroused you more. Even if it was too much, you somehow couldn’t get enough.

He mumbles profanities as you squeeze his shaft firmly because that familiar wave was so close. Just a few more thrusts…

“Killin’ me every time you do that, baby.”

“I’m gonna come. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” As you spoke, your muscles tightened and your legs wrapped around his torso, forcing him lower inside. He groans as you clenched around him again, orgasm finally releasing from you. Broken moans echo throughout the room as your high causes you to feel floaty. Your heart thumps in euphoria and overwhelming affection. Surrounded in a cloud of rapture, the only thing on your mind was to have him come inside of you.

Luckily, he wasn’t far behind. As he attempts to pull out, about to come, you whine and beg him to stay.

“Want me to come in you, hm? Who knew you were so dirty,” He taunts and you hum in response, simply just feeling him as you ride out your high. “Gonna be the death of me, angel.”

You jerked your hips forward, sensitive and squirmy, as his cock twitches. Before you know it, Harry is coating your walls with his release. Your eyes roll back for the hundredth time tonight, savoring the sensation of his ropes of cum. His heart pounds quickly like a galloping horse, still in denial of everything that just occurred.

Everything felt so surreal, you were positive that Harry had sent you into an oblivion. His strokes become sloppy as he tucks every last drop into your cunt, just like you wanted.

“H…” You don’t even know what to say. You were speechless. Harry literally fucked the words out of you.

“Are you okay?” Was his first question, his first words to you in the aftermath. Your heart swells for some odd reason, even though that is the bare minimum.

“Yes,” Was the only thing you could say in response. In a moment, you came to the realization that the bottom half of your body was naked. Your muscles jittered as you close your legs, covered in wetness.

“Y/N, I…” He wanted to tell you everything. Right now. There was no better moment than right now to tell you everything. Right?

But how does he say it?

You knew Harry was about to say something sentimental or serious. You knew when he was about to say something meaningful that it took him time to find the right words. That was one of the things you found most endearing and adorable about him. His next words were either going to break your heart or make you want to have sex again. Either way, you might cry.

“I feel fuckin’ stupid,” Okay, those were not the meaningful words you expected to come out of his mouth. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “I feel fuckin’ stupid for you. Do y’know how hard it is to live with someone you feel so strongly about? It’s bloody crazy. You drive me insane, Y/N. I’ve waited so long for this thinking that if I had you once it would be enough. But I like you too much for this to be a one-time thing. I need more than this. I need you.”

Your mouth was wide open, shoulders slouching with your arms hanging. You were positive your arms had fallen asleep with the amount of time they’ve been hanging, but your heart was too full to care. That organ in your chest inflated with the admission he spoke. Those words might not have been as heartwarming or movie-like to other people, but to you, there was a strong, heartfelt passion that was real and true. You were surprised he cracked first. You surely thought it would be you.

“Harry, I–”

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand–”

“Goddamnit, Harry! Take these cuffs off of me so I can kiss you, you doof!”

—

i thought this was only going to be 2k, so you’re welcome <3

tags: @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @bisexual-desi @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [7] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, focus: jongho x reader, wooyoung x reader; mingi x reader; 9.7k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: MCD, murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Chapter 7:

Sweat sinks into the mats below you, your skin sticking to the rubber. Your hands waver, struggle against the wooden pole gripped in your fists. A slight misstep and you doubt you'd be able to stop it from breaking your neck. He stares at you. His body is not like yours – unmoving, relentless in his hold. You should be a bit proud that you made him sweat at all. There's a bit of perspiration coating his forehead, shiny against the backdrop of darkness. His wear is much more firm that what they usually wear – wispy sheer cloth now a darker, workout-like clothing. He wears nothing on his feet still, blonde hair slicked back, only small strands escaping the style. If it weren’t for the situation you’re in at this very moment, you’d loosen your hold and admire him.

“You will die, nymph, if I pressed even a fraction more.”

Your hold trembles, “I have told you all already that I'm not strong compared to faeries–”

He pulls it from your hands entirely, throwing it to the side. It splinters against the stone wall, you turning your gaze away from smaller pieces flying over. He does not flinch at all, reaching down to grab another pole. This one is more flimsy, plastic as he coats it with powder. You slowly lean forward, desperate to catch your breath. Body aching, you rise to reach for the small bottle of water you brought with you. He looks at you.

“Another.”

You pause in the middle of gulping. “We barely had a break.”

“I never told you that we were pausing. This is not for your comfort. This is to test your limits, to see you turn into a kumiho. To help you defend yourself until you're able to control your own strength at will. Your exhaustion now is mental, nothing more.”

You look down at yourself, body coated in sweat. “Doesn’t look mental to me.”

Mingi merely sighs. “Again, nymph.”

“What happens when I figure out how to control my other self, or whatever you want to call it?”

“We use it to our advantage. We defend against the Seelie, against any who may attempt to dethrone us.”

“And if I don't want that?”

He glances at you, amused. There is no answer to your question but it is an easy guess. They will end your life. Without as much as a second thought.

Not much time has passed since Seonghwa told you what he believed you were. You still vehemently disagree with his assumption, but the others don't. From his guess led you to rarely being left alone with one of them now, except for Mingi, oddly - though you do not doubt one of the others is somewhere around, peeking through a window or hiding in the thickened forest.

Mingi lifts his hand, words mumbled beneath his breath as he stares at the broken stick. It mends itself slowly, morphing into smaller, perfect chips of wood. He flicks his hand, tossing it into the grass. He voted for you to die. Neither of you have brought it up since your life was spared, but you cannot help but wonder. Why did he want you to die? Is it because of Seonghwa, whatever he may have said to him? Did he see your presence as so much of a threat he needed you gone? His personality hasn't changed at all – indifferent, slips of his true personality shown whenever he let his mask fall. From what you can gather from those moments and how he speaks when he doesn't see you around, he's kind. Funny, a bit loud. Endlessly teased by the others. Blunt and honest. A bit more closed off than what you’ve seen before, but it would make sense since he did say he wanted you dead.

You believe you two would be great friends if it weren't for the circumstances surrounding your stay here.

“We leave tonight,” he tosses you the metal stick, and you barely catch it, balancing it between two fingers. “Seonghwa and Jongho will be around. Yeosang and San are hunting but will be back soon, just before we leave. Our house is secure, but it will be more vulnerable while we aren't here. You won't become an expert in Seelie weaknesses in an hour, but this next brief lesson will be enough for you to survive for a few minutes, at least. Until one of us comes to help.”

“How reassuring,” you mumble.

A small smile peeks out. “A brief refresher might be needed. Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

“Hate to break it to you Mingi, but there’s little for me to be happy about right now.”

He snorts, the smile breaking out into a wider grin. “That I know. This is just for information purposes. They can tell it is fake just as we can tell when you are truly afraid. It is part of our nature,” he points to your palms. “The metal that you hold in your hands now is blessed by gnomes. It holds in the wielder’s emotions, whether it be negative or positive, and exemplifies it. Right now from where I stand, I can feel the anxious energy emitting from you. With that in your hand, I can feel it tenfold.”

“And this could help…?” Your doubt is evident in the dragging of your words, peering at Mingi. He nods simply.

“When you are happy, hold that. Magic casted on it helps store it inside. It will lure Seelie to you.”

“And I would want that for?”

He takes it from you, pointing it farther away from the two of you. A spark lights, flying through the air. The crack of the tree crumbling beneath the impact echoes around the night, your own eyes widening at the sight. What once was a lively tree is now a crumbled mess of wood and sticks, flames flickering in the night. He whispers against his hair and blows, the fire dissipating.

“For that.” His eyebrow lifts, passing it back to you. “Use it wisely.”

–

“Yeosang can listen to it. Her thoughts, that is.”

“A bit peculiar,” Seonghwa mumbles, flipping through his book. “Perhaps it is because his gifts have always leaned towards it. He was the first of us to excel at tormenting human minds, it makes sense that he is the only one who can somewhat hear what she thinks.”

“But she is neither a human nor a faerie. It makes less sense that he can do it at all.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“That you will figure out why, at least.”

“There is no reason to anymore.”

Jongho observes him silently, his own thoughts scattered. “You were interested in here before – what changed?”

“Her being a threat to us changed, Jongho. Why would I want to dig deeper into it when I have already told you all that it wasn't a good idea to have her around? One day it will happen. One day she will hurt one of us. Or cause one of us to be hurt. There will be no room for me to say I told you so because we’d be long past that.”

“Then it should be imperative that we start digging deeper into what she can and cannot do.”

Seonghwa turns over his book and flattens it against the wooden desk, peering over his glasses. “And then what? She is already resistant to many of our strengths aside from physical. If I tested her further, it's possible that I may awaken something that's been long buried. I do believe that she doesn't believe she's a kumiho. It's best for us to not trigger her true nature at all. Kumihos are legends – having one rise on Earth now can lead to its destruction.”

“Is it such a good idea to ignore it, though? We would need to know eventually. It’s better for it to happen now rather than later.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes as he stares at his mate. “Has Mingi started his training again? Why that tree is destroyed in the front yard? Is this why we're having this conversation so I won't be furious once I find out?”

Jongho’s lips remain shut, quickly getting to his feet when Seonghwa stands. “Wait, you have to understand why we're doing it. It is to protect us from Seelie, from other faeries. Having someone like her on our side will be an advantage.”

“Then so be it. Do what you'd like. Don't expect me to endorse it, because I won't,” he avoids Jongho’s touch, shaking his head slightly. “I care for you all dearly, and I would listen to any of your opinions on something this serious without as much as a blink. This situation, this woman, how most of you have thrown my words to the side–” He takes a breath. “There's no use in dwelling on it further. Tell Mingi to meet them at the edge of the Rowan trees. They will be waiting.”

Seonghwa walks to his coat rack, raising his finger slightly to slide the clothing over his body. He does not bother looking back at Jongho, knowing well what expression he'd be showing him now. In a different situation, Seonghwa would follow their words, their instincts. Even if he were wrong, completely, having his words disregarded because of lust –

He cannot fathom how he will continue going on like this.

–

Mingi lifts the hood over his head, face disappearing beneath the shadow it forms. Yunho, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung wait at the edge of the trees, as Jongho said. Yunho places a hand on Mingi’s shoulder as he moves just behind Hongjoong. None say a word. Their leader closes his eyes, dead leaves trembling beneath their feet. Though there are no markings, they stand in an old cemetery, long decayed bodies dust beneath the ground in wooden caskets. They watch as the forest speaks to them, warm air gusting, pulling the hoodie off of Mingi’s head. Hongjoong’s reaches back, Wooyoung taking his hand, Yunho taking his, and Mingi taking Yunho’s last. Within a blink they’re gone from the rowan trees. Mingi stumbles slightly as his feet land on unholy soil, Wooyoung whistling as he pulls his own hood off his hair.

“Hells, I’d never get used to that,” he grins. “Is everyone here yet?”

“A few more stragglers, then we’d be able to speak to everyone,” Hongjoong says, their steps identical as they follow him up the stone path. It is silly to consider the building in front of them Unseelie headquarters, but it is where the leaders meet for pertinent discussions. Rarely do any of them ever enter the palace, its essence being cared for by chaos itself. The hall remains empty as Hongjoong swings open the door with a nudge.

“Bothersome, the blood still seeps into the carpet from years ago,” Yunho murmurs, glancing down at the stains. It looks fresh, as if they’ve just slain a creature moments ago. This is what they consider the in-between - this place never really changes. That blood could be from someone who hasn’t existed in this realm for over a hundred years ago and it’d still be fresh. Time does not truly exist where they are, though it passes in the realms beyond.

Mingi barely gives it a glance himself, tucking himself further into the cloak he wears. Wooyoung jumps up slightly, wrapping his arm around the taller Unseelie.

“You’re the one that did it Mingi, no need to feel ashamed!” He touches his back, rubbing it lightly. “Remember how you struck down those Seelie? We haven’t even seen those wings in so long.”

Mingi's back aches, the ribbing of his wings straining against his sealed skin. He hasn't let them breathe for months. They yearn to escape his body, to lift in flight. But for some reason unknown to himself, he cannot, no matter how hard he tries.

“Enough, Wooyoung. We have things to do,” Yunho pulls him away from Mingi. Though neither meet each other’s eyes, Yunho can see how Mingi’s tense body relaxes just a bit, the two Unseelie disappearing down the hall. Leaving Hongjoong and Mingi alone.

The last time this happened was just before Hongjoong asked him to turn into your human partner to break things off permanently with you. His body aches at the thought of molding himself into something else again. But he would do it if Hongjoong asked. Without thinking twice about it.

“They will look to us for answers, Mingi,” Hongjoong says, walking slowly as he follows. “Most would want to start a war.”

“Would you allow it?”

Hongjoong thinks for a moment, “No. Not yet. What you’re doing with the girl, training her. It is smart. It may caution her to pause if she turns on us in the future. Perhaps even our livers will remain intact.” Hongjoong pats his stomach, a dry laugh escaping his lips. “At least for the moment anyway.”

“Is this the path we are going to take? Allowing her to continue training, keeping an eye until the very last moment?”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Do you have anything else to suggest? It was not unanimous, but we voted on keeping her around and alive. At least for now. It’s better to strengthen rather than not. Having a Seelie take her away while we’re in the middle of bonding with her would be unfortunate. But that is not all you’re asking, right?”

Mingi cannot come up with another response, mouth opening and closing. Hongjoong stops walking, turning on his heel to look at Mingi. "It is unbecoming of you to hide your own feelings, Mingi. We all witnessed how your body tormented itself when you turned into her dead partner. It rejected it so violently, because you desire her yourself."

Mingi's frown deepens. "Don't start with this."

"You like her Mingi. I never thought I'd see the day." The teasing look spreads across his face, smirk deep enough to show the small curvature of his dimples just above his lips. Mingi tries to ignore the look as much as he can, but Hongjoong only sits in anticipated silence. Very likely waiting for the words of confirmation.

"Why does it matter if that were true?"

Though it is not a certain confirmation, it is enough for Hongjoong. He hums, "We make our decisions as a spark, Mingi. I won't leave any of you behind as I observe this y/n. I want to know how each of you feel before I offer a choice to all of you."

“We said she will stay alive.”

“Momentarily, yes. But that’s not the choice I was speaking to.”

"Then what choice will that be?"

Hongjoong’s canine peeks out, sinking into his bottom lip. "What would be the fun in telling you that?"

  –

Jongho bends the spine in half, wincing slightly as he hears the book’s glue crack. San would be furious seeing him treating the book this way, but alas, he could care so very little. Most of the editions he has on his shelves are what San has gifted him, likely due to how Jongho treated the writing. Books are meant to be read though, he would hate to see unworn copies lining the shelves. His ear twitches, the familiar steps of yours passing his room and down to your own. He never had his door closed until you arrived, many of his spark popping in every now and again to say their greetings. Frankly, he would have kept it open even with your presence if it weren’t for the look Seonghwa threw at him when you first arrived. Now, only the main areas are left open, doors to each of their chambers closed. He knows why Seonghwa worries, why he listens to every conversation someone has with you, why he has carved spells everywhere in the home. The reasoning does not go past him; he is keeping a close-eye on you in the event that you snap. Wooyoung is the only one that has removed the spell on his room though, after his … well, his late night caress with you.

“Your mind always wonders with those tales,” San enters his room, shutting the door behind him. “Mindless enough that you didn’t pay mind to my knockings.”

“I thought you were out hunting with Yeosang?”

“It was brief, there were Seelies hanging around,” San sighs, throwing himself into Jongho’s bed. He glances over, a frown slowly forming. “Yeosang thought it best that we only bring in one miserable human rather than two. So whoever is in dire need of feeding, it’s in the basement. I placed a spell on it to subdue its hysterics temporarily.”

“Basement…” Jongho’s nose wrinkles. “Why do we hide it? She knows we kill humans. In fact, she should encourage it since she is a kumiho.”

“A reformed kumiho, from what we understand. No longer feeding on the livers of men, unfortunately. He thought it best we keep it away so she doesn’t stumble across it.”

“What about you?” Jongho asks softly. His frown slips away as he takes in those three words. “What will you feed on?”

“What I have already done so far, it is enough for now.” “San, that Seelie you ran into while in town with her, he was right. Pushing away your true nature will only make it harder for you to control yourself. You should take his – Hongjoong’s – words into consideration.”

“I am not leaving this spark. I chose this, I chose all of you. Hongjoong knows that, Yeonjun knows that. You know that.” His words carry a sense of finality, leaning up. “I've fought for this, for us to be together as we are now. I gave up everything. And I’ve said that it isn’t up for discussion. I will not leave unless you all kick me out. Is that what you want, for me to be removed?”

Jongho closes his book, “That is not at all what I’m saying, San.”

“For a spark of Unseelie, all of you worry too much about things that do not affect you.” San ignores the look Jongho gives him, waving him off. “I know, no need to give me a talk about how much you all care. I’ve heard it dozens of times.”

“And it seems like it hasn’t sunk in yet despite that.”

“Jongho please,” San closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I love you all, more than you could ever believe. I will protect you with my life if need be. This is a choice that I have made. I will not leave in the face of distant peril. I will not leave because I haven’t grown accustomed to feeding like you. I am here. I’d rather not discuss this again, at least with you. You know where I stand, no?” Jongho’s hand reaches for San’s, and he takes it promptly, lifting it to press his lips on the back. “Promise that you will not discuss this with me again.”

Jongho looks at him, the darkened skin beneath his lids, the redness of his eyes. His inner struggle has not gone unnoticed by any of them - most worried for his well-being. Going against your own nature, it is almost impossible to do. He is only concerned that it may go too far before any of them can help.

“I cannot promise that, you know that,” Jongho says softly. “It may need to be dealt with in the near future.”

“Then promise to not bring it up unless absolutely needed.”

“I promise.”

He leans forward, lips moving from his hand and brushing lightly against Jongho’s lips before moving away. “Alright.”

—

Jongho can see a bit of the appeal of you. Your otherworldly form, though hidden, could be one reason. But despite that, he can see why Wooyoung so desperately needs your presence. It almost makes sense as to why they all somehow enjoyed you around, even if it were a miniscule amount. That is what kumihos do. It worried them all after it was revealed. Most needed firm assurance from Seonghwa that you aren’t far gone enough for them to worry. Despite how much Seonghwa wanted to hide it, he agreed. At least, for now.

Jongho sits on the single sofa chair, eyes flicking over to you.

Your body is mostly covered with the blanket that rests on the couch, a small book beneath the coloring one that you have. It hasn’t been touched since they’ve come here - none desired to rest in the main living space. After you’ve settled yourself in the room, the space has transformed entirely. Spellbooks thrown on the table in the middle, several potions lining the walls, baskets of supplies scattered about. Oftentimes they all spent their free time in the area, chatting about unimportant things even while you weren’t around. It feels more lived in the more he looks at it. He wonders if the rest noticed the change as well.

“You guys love to stare,” you note. He looks at your face, your gaze amused as your eyes flick back down to the page, marker shading the characters. The blanket is wrapped around your head, face barely peeking from the shade it brings. “Is that what you do to lure people to their demise? Watch them until they notice?”

“Most are too occupied with other matters to pay concern to how we hunt.”

“Hmm.” You continue. “Are you on duty now to watch me, then? Seonghwa put you up to this?”

His nose wrinkles. “He hasn’t told me to do anything.”

“That you’re sure of? Because this is the first time I’ve been alone in a room aside from my own, and you haven’t said anything except to stare.”

“I am just curious about you.”

You raise a brow, gliding your marker across the pages. “I’m an open book. You can ask.”

You’ve spent time with each other, small chats turning into a friendship, even if it’s only the beginning of one. He hasn’t pried into your personal life, only commenting on surface level things that wouldn’t get you agitated. Asking what he is curious about may sway what you two have built. It makes him nervous, which is humorous in itself.

“Is it wrong to say that I expected you to turn into a kumiho and run once Seonghwa told us?”

You snicker softly, closing your marker and grabbing another. “It’s not wrong to say, but it’s a little funny. I don’t believe in myself being this nine-tailed fox you talk about. It would be cool if I were, though. I’d feel less defenseless.”

He nods slowly, “You still don’t believe Seonghwa?”

“How could I? His little speech was based on theories, and everytime I try to talk to him about it he leaves the room. I get not wanting to be around me but it’s a bit much, don’t you think? I did one thing that happened months ago and nothing has happened since. He didn’t even take into account the first time I was almost killed by a Seelie in the bookstore. Nothing happened then.”

Ah, he himself forgot about that. “That is what you believe? That you’re not a kumiho?”

You nod, holding a marker between your lips as you dig for another. “I do.”

“Then so do I,” he agrees simply.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Even if everyone else doesn’t?”

“Since when did our thoughts have to align? I am my own being, y/n, even if you don’t think it true. So if you believe that you’re fully human, then I believe it as well. It shouldn’t be a hard concept to comprehend.”

You pause. None of them so easily believed anything you’ve said to them, even Wooyoung. You can’t quite decipher what Jongho’s end-goal would be - defying everyone else’s beliefs would only cause him trouble in the end. This would hurt him, listening to your words. Why?

You look back down at your coloring sheet. It’s a simple hobby - you rarely indulge due to your busy life. Now that all you do is wake and train then sleep, it fills in the hours of nothing. What you stare down at now, the deepened orange of a sunset, the wide stretched m birds along the horizon. It used to help distract you, calm yourself. But all you can feel now is fear. Endless fear of what is to come.

“I’m a slightly wrinkled book, but you can ask me anything you’d like.”

You let your feelings subside briefly, eyes flicking up to him. “Everytime I ask Wooyoung about other types of fae he doesn’t even let me ask.”

Jongho laughs, “Because he’s stubborn. But I wouldn’t mind. What do you want to know?”

“Which ones are real.”

“Alright.”

Still suspicious, you continue. “Gnomes.”

“Real.”

“Elves.”

“Real.”

“Selkie?”

“Not the term we use, but yes. Real.”

“Sirens.”

“Real.”

Your eyes widened, “So pirates were telling the truth?”

He nods simply, “Yes. But they’re numbers have dwindled. There is likely less than fifty left in this world.”

“If Sirens are real, then-”

“Mermaids are real too, yes,” A cheeky grin crosses his lips as you stare at him in shock. “A small colony is not too far away from us. I can bring you one day if you’d like.”

“This is where you two have gone,” San enters the room, lip twitching into a frown slightly as he observes you. You stop coloring, sliding the markers back into the small box and standing. “Wait, no need to leave because I’ve entered-”

“Not leaving because of you,” the lie falls from your lips. “Leaving because I have to practice with the majik pole Mingi gave me.”

“Majik… pole…?” He watches as you leave the room, eyes meeting Jongho’s. “Is this a human word that I don’t know? I should know, I watch plenty of their cinema.”

Jongho merely snorts, shaking his head.

–

It is not often they attend these meetings. It is usually done with all eight of them in attendance - showing power in numbers is what temperaments Unseelie. Sparks vary in size but rarely do they contain over five Unseelie. Hongjoong’s spark, consisting of eight, is a large factor in his position rarely being threatened. His existence as their leader has not shifted in hundreds of years due to it. So standing now, with only three Unseelie behind him, well, it is not ideal. Mingi can see it well - how they look upon them, the sneers that are hidden usually, displayed on their faces. Sparks of two to five stand beneath them, thoughts elsewhere as Hongjoong speaks. Mingi’s gaze shifts to one group in particular. Decades prior their leader attempted a coup, one that ended in her death. None have been tried since, but it has been long. Soon, the Unseelie will grow tired of Hongjoong’s rule. Soon, their rule may end.

“Seelie have always stuck themselves in places they didn’t belong,” One retorts in the crowd. “It was deserved for some to die. But they have killed several of us, while we have done barely half of ten. We should strike instead of hesitating, it makes us look weak.”

Hongjoong laughs at the suggestion, “Then you venture forth yourself, Hanbin. Tell me how it works out.”

“Are you joking with me?”

“How could I not? Their numbers surpass ours by almost double, they can function at night and during the day. We ourselves cannot use majik as well in the daylight. We are at a disadvantage and have always been. It would be nonsensical to venture down the path of death. But if you'd like to, I won't stop you. Your death will be in your own hands.”

It is a jab, even if it is small. Hanbin’s lips pursed, gaze flicking away. Mingi, Wooyoung, and Yunho do not offer any additional points, knowing only to speak when spoken to. Especially at events like these.

“What do we do then?” Another asks from the crowd.

“We wait.”

“For how long?”

Hongjoong's gaze moves to the one who questioned him, eyes narrowing. “Until it is time.”

–

“They are growing uneasy,” Yunho notes, head covering slipping from his hair. He rests in the chair adjacent to Hongjoong’s rubbing his temple. “Your words will only satiate them momentarily. They will need to know further explanation before trusting in you.”

“They’ve trusted in me for hundreds of years, doubting me now will only bring their peril.”

“We haven’t interacted with the Seelie in hundreds of years too, so there was no need for an uprising. Now that we’re moving closer to a war, it would make sense that they become wary,” Yunho notes, gesturing for Mingi to sit near him. “And we do not have many faerie allies. It makes sense that they worry.”

Mingi ignores the movement, eyes glued to Hongjoong’s. “We should have killed her or given her up to Seelie.”

Hongjoong’s laugh is boisterous, “Give her up? She is a weapon, Mingi. It would be foolish to pass her over. A rare commodity like her cannot just be given away at the inkling of possible chaos. Is that not what we live for?” He moves closer to him, reaching up to pull a loose strand away from his cheek. “Have you grown bored at your old age?”

Mingi steps away slightly, in tune to how Hongjoong’s smile slips. There has been a barrier between them since his last stint, his recovery from the transformation rough. The air thickens a bit in the brief period of silence, Mingi’s eyes anywhere but where he stands.

“I don’t agree with you wanting her dead, but if she is truly what she says she is, would she eventually grow to hate us? It is in her innately,” Wooyoung murmurs, fingers twisting a loose string between them. “She just began to care for me.”

“It’s not impossible, but I’ll try my best not to let it happen,” Hongjoong grabs his overcoat, head flicking to the door. He does not acknowledge the lull in conversation, and neither does Mingi, shifting closer to Yunho. “I have another meeting to attend, but you all can head back. It’s best not to keep our land in such low numbers for so long.”

“I will go with you,” Yunho says, fingertips light against Mingi’s arm as he stands. The touch is brief, Mingi’s breath hitching. “Mingi and Wooyoung can go back.”

“Yun…” Wooyoung whines, stopping once he sees how unsettled Mingi looks. He stands, arm wrapping around his center. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

–

You can barely catch your breath, almost dry heaving into the dirt beneath you. Getting away from them to train yourself as hard as you have wasn’t the greatest idea. But you could hardly stand being in a room with more than one of them right now. You wish you could be back in your apartment, or maybe in your bookstore. The smell of old books was much more comforting than being here. Agreeing to staying was not an easy choice to make.

You just didn’t want to die.

You slowly stand, wiping away the small pebbles that indent your knees and palms, flicking them back to the ground. The evening sun burns on your back as you grip the water bottle.

“Fuck this place,” you murmur to yourself. You lean to grab your bag, stopping in place. Not too far off, deep within the darkened forest, something stands there. It does not say a word, but you can see how the silhouette is hidden behind the thick trunks. It does not move. You can feel your heartbeat pick up its pace, your fingers wrapping around your bag tightly as you stare at it. Something tells you not to turn around, not to give it your back.

“y/n?”

Jongho moves into your line of sight. Your gaze flicks over to him only for a second, but when you look back, the figure is gone. His brows furrow at your cold expression, following your gaze. “What’s going on?”

“There was someone there watching me, Jongho,” you move closer to him, fear riddling your body. “I swear there was.”

He nods slowly, recognition crossing his features. “No need to worry, just pixies.”

“Pixies?” Your voice is incredulous, glancing back at the spot. “I thought no one else could enter this land?”

“Pixies aren’t allowed to enter our territory, yes. But they live in the rowan trees. That lining that you see around us, it’s the barrier between us and them. They haven’t been really active when you’re around, so I’m a bit shocked that they showed themselves to you anyway,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seonghwa isn’t going to be happy they're still hanging around.”

“Are they…?”

“Will they hurt you?” Jongho asks, and you nod. “No. They’re curious faeries, a bit mischievous, but they only care for the trees. Maybe they will make you trip over a branch or fall into a fit of laughter, but that’s all. They’re just curious about you - not many see kumihos in person.”

“How do they know about that?”

“They listen to the trees speak, y/n. For us, our home is a giant one.” He winces at something you cannot hear, turning toward the house. Though your senses aren’t as heightened as Jongho’s, you can hear doors opening and shutting loudly, a familiar voice erupting throughout. “An Unseelie is running through the halls to look for you. You should go and meet up with him, less of a chance he’d break something.”

“Maybe later,” you say. Jongho looks a bit surprised, brow raised. “Believe it or not, sometimes I do want to spend time with people other than him.”

“Me?” His cheek lifts, eyes flicking between yours. “Wooyoung has monopolized you. I just thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do enjoy him, but I also enjoy hanging out with you.”

Jongho does not respond. His cheeks lift at your words, glancing at the house before resting on you. Though no words are exchanged, he turns and walks toward the woods, your steps following him close. There is little hesitation as he holds out his hand, your fingers easily sliding into his palm. Just as you hear the backdoor of the house creak, Jongho and you disappear into the brush.

–

“Has she not had enough of him?” His voice is sour, disgruntled brows seemingly permanently furrowed. Seonghwa merely rolls his eyes, shifting another box into the corner with the flick of a finger. It has barely been an hour since you left with Jongho, and Wooyoung has decidedly glued himself to Seonghwa’s quarters. He’s not as used to Wooyoung seeking his advice, the Unseelie often only letting Hongjoong’s whisper sweet words to him. More recently, though, despite his stance on your presence in their home, Wooyoung lets himself into his personal areas more often than not, pestering him about you. “She’s spent most of her time with him idly by, she should miss me more.”

“Overcrowding her isn’t going to help her seek you, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa mumbles, glancing over his work. “Has Hongjoong arrived yet?”

“But she likes me more,” he insists, glaring at his mate.

“Stop acting like an unruly pixie and give her space. Where is Hongjoong?”

“It isn’t fair, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wooyoung, I’ve asked the question twice already.”

Wooyoung sighs, rubbing his head. “He stayed behind a while longer. Yunho stayed with him just in case.”

“And Mingi?”

“He came back with me then left, saying something about seeking refuge outside this home. You know how he is, with his pretty words.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, thinking. “Did any of them say when they’ll be coming back?”

“Likely not until tomorrow. But for Mingi, who knows. Maybe Yunho or San can find him meandering the unholy lands.”

That is the one he is worried for. Seonghwa steps to a window, gaze resting upon the thickened forest. Jongho knows better than to keep you in the rowan trees after dark, so Seonghwa isn’t too worried. Nothing is out there now that could stir something within you. Wooyoung steps near him, hand wrapping around his limp fingers. He squeezes it once, lips pressing against his jaw before stepping away and out.

Seonghwa rubs his temple. Whatever Hongjoong may or may not be up to, he knows well enough that it’s not good. He hates the unnecessarily lavish mansion, and hates appeasing Unseelie to stop a revolt. Politics is something none of them enjoy. So his stay after everything has been settled is just odd in itself.

He does not like this feeling.

Not at all.

–

Jongho holds a finger to his lips, looking back at you. You nod, shifting closer to his body as you look ahead. The lake is vast. These woods surprise you with the amount of differentiation of ecosystems hidden. Likely due to it being filled with faeries and other magic. You do recall the townsfolk speaking of avoiding venturing deeper into the forest. The festival that you attended months ago was another way of preventing anything nefarious from sneaking out from the leaves. You didn’t believe it at the time, but now it makes sense. Though it did not stop Seonghwa from seeking you out.

Jongho lightly touches your shoulder, guiding you to sink further behind the large bush. You do not see it at first.

The water shimmers, current swirling. The lake seems to bubble, large fins rising from its depths. You hold a hand over your mouth as you gaze ahead, heads appearing one by one. They’re too far for you to see clearly, but Jongho warned you that this was a safe enough distance. He could protect you if it ever came to it, but he preferred to not start another quarrel that wasn’t needed.

The mermaids aren’t what you imagined. Heads covered in scales, luminescent. Their laughter flows through the air and into your ears. Like bells chiming as wind flows through them. They’re alluring - beauty behind what your mind could conjure up by itself. Jongho’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining. His whisper is barely heard, but you can see the water moving. The mermaids turn to where Jongho and you are, but they do not move. The current grows wild, thrashing against the shoreline. He pulls you away from it all, your head turning back for a last glance.

Though they’re too far away for you to see details of their faces, their stare unsettles you.

As if they are warning you.

–

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you closer,” Jongho explains, sending you a small smile. “Seonghwa would kill me if I let something happen. We already have enough happening to last a lifetime.”

“I’m thankful you brought me here, anyway,” you say, letting his hold help you over a deep hole. “What spell did you cast, just before we left?”

“High tides,” he grins. “They began sensing someone was watching. Unlike the mermaids from the tales, they can breathe on land. But they much prefer the coolness of water. I stopped them from getting closer to us as we left,” he glances up at the sky. “It’s getting late.”

“Is San going to yell at us?” you joke, and he laughs lightly.

"Believe it or not, he’s quite adventurous in comparison to Seonghwa. He loves so tenderly, there has never been one kinder," Jongho says softly. "He praises me like I'm the most, but we all know it is him. Not one of us matches his devotion."

You’re not too sure how to respond to that, San’s resolute anger at your presence only waning slightly. You’re sure he’d prefer if you weren’t here at all, even though he voted to save your life. But Jongho believes you when you say you’re not a kumiho, so you’ll believe him when he speaks of San.

"You're my favorite human friend," Jongho whispers, gazing at the branches that hang over you. "I'm sorry that I want you to be more than that."

Now this is surprising. You stop walking, hand leaving him. He looks at you, cheeks flushed. “Ah, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

"More?" Is all you can muster to say.

His soft gaze resting on yours. It's hard to keep your eyes steady on his, the feeling leaking from the heavy look more than what you've ever experienced before. With Wooyoung, with Soobin. They looked at you lovingly, sure, but Jongho? Your stomach twists the more you hold his gaze.

"I'm sorry that I am so desperate to be your lover."

The breeze whispers through the leaves, hairs resting on his forehead lifting back from his skin. A scar from the banquet hall fight months prior shines at you. A reminder of what he's done, what he did, and what he will continue to do, as long as the others agree to it. It's overwhelming, these strange feelings appearing with them all. All unique and different, but still quite new.

"Why are you trying to go where I can't follow,?" He asks softly after the brief quiet.

"I'm right here."

His lips curl into a soft smile, "You were in that mind of yours. I can't go there."

You swallow. "I'm scared, Jongho."

"I know," his eyes soften, lids heavier. "It's a lot to say when we haven't known each other for that long. And it frightens me even more that I feel this way. You don’t need to do anything about my feelings. I’ll be fine as I am now."

His eyes flick to the sky, “But we should probably head back. Seonghwa must be furious.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you forward through the path you took.

–

Furious is an understatement.

Seonghwa paces back and forth on the edge of the woods, hands crossed against his chest, angered eyes unmoving as you two enter the clearing. Jongho lets go of your hand, opening his mouth to speak. Seonghwa does not allow it though - frown deepening as he waits for you two to come closer.

“I lost track of time.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. You expect seething words from Seonghwa, but he only sighs, waving him off.

“Go inside. I need to speak with her by myself.”

Jongho gives you a pitiful look before disappearing from sight, leaving the two of you alone. As alone as you can be, with the watching eyes of everyone in the home behind you. He rubs his forehead, long, exasperated breaths continuing to leave his lips. His expression is pained as he meets your eyes, lips downturned.

“You continue to cause more trouble than you are worth.”

“What a nice thing to say,” your tone drips with sarcasm, crossed arms resting against your chest. His gaze roams over you. It is nothing sensual, mute annoyance at best. “Good thing I don’t plan on being here so long.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa’s brow raises. “What will you do without us?”

“Once I have trained enough, I’m leaving. I’ll take care of myself, far far away from here.”

“I have no complaints about that,” Seonghwa shrugs. “I just wonder if the others would be as amicable.”

Wooyoung. And now, Jongho.

“They will live.”

There are questions in his eyes, likely because of the ‘they’, but he does not probe further, sighing. “I just want everyone to be safe, kumiho. Especially Wooyoung. He has grown into our spark, mended himself with ease. There is reason why he feels that he must be loved by us all without as much as a slight worry. His insecurities on being the last have not gone away, despite the years. Hongjoong has tried to reassure him endlessly. Giving him leeway on things that happen, using his punishments as just time to reflect. But sometimes his inner turmoil catches up to him.”

“So he thinks he cares for me this way, but it's not the case.”

Seonghwa hums, likely choosing his next words carefully. “I wouldn't speak for Wooyoung, but we've all experienced these moments with him. I am sure he cares for you tremendously, but what comes into question is how much. Is it because he truly truly wants you to be his, or is it because he wants you to not reject him? That worry hasn't gone away and it's been hundreds of years. I doubt it will suddenly mend itself now. I am concerned, and I know it's wildly unserious for an Unseelie to, but I do. I hope that you will care for his heart.”

His lips lift slightly. “Perhaps it would have been better if you were a human, after all.”

“Well I am, and nothing has changed.”

He does not say anything, looking back at the house. “I will kill you if you hurt any of them. Kumiho or not.”

“You will try.”

His expression breaks, smile growing. “Haven’t you gotten bold?”

–

He watches you, how your laugh erupts from your lips. Eyes closed, hand over your lip muffling the sweet sound. His fingers grip the cup, eyes roaming to your body sinking into Wooyoung's side. How you do it with such ease, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you closer. He barely gives you a glance as he does so. Seonghwa knows his own affection is opposite to his mate's. He knows that he's aggressively avoided each chance he has had with you alone. So the bitterness itching the back of this throat shouldn't be there. He wanted you gone – not killed, just far away from them. For their safety, for their protection.

He hates this.

Wooyoung presses his lips against your temple, your lashes fluttering at the soft caress. Seonghwa places his cup down, the click of the ceramic against the marble catching only Mingi's attention. He meets his eyes. Mingi does not say anything, but he does not need to. He could see the uneasiness spilling from Seonghwa even if the others could not. His curious eyes only confirm it.

Seonghwa looks away.

“Nymph, training.” Mingi says simply. Seonghwa sees how you tense at the word. Wooyoung does as well, thumb rubbing your arm before letting you go. The rest carry on their conversations as you follow Mingi out the room, Wooyoung's eyes lingering on the empty doorway.

Just as the doors close behind them, Wooyoung leans forward. “You could hide your jealousy just a bit, hyung. I could feel you seething before seeing it.”

“Don’t say things that make zero sense.”

“A lie within truth, you’ve become an expert at it,” Wooyoung waves him off. “Worry not, I'm jealous too.”

“I said –”

“And I chose not to listen,” he grins, poking his side before stepping away.

–

A few days have passed since then. The others slowly came back, Hongjoong still away for a while. Mingi barely acknowledged after the small training session with you, Yunho sending you a smile before the two disappeared into their respective rooms. You’ve spent some time with Wooyoung, the silence filled with his tales of the in-between. He didn’t notice how your face contorts as he explained their feasts, bodies piled as the Unseelie celebrated. Their feeding habits are not unknown to you, but listening to how much he enjoys killing only makes your chest ache. A vivid reminder of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Your face is twisted,” he points out after a moment. “Is something disturbing you?”

“I’d rather not hear about your murders, if you don’t mind.”

He laughs. “I am an awful being, solaris,” his smile slips. “There are things that you will never know, never fathom. You may never look at me the same if it came out. That is what worries me, what keeps my mind open at night. It is why I’ve rarely rested since you’ve come here. Why I cannot leave you longer than a few days because I am desperate for you to yearn for me the same. And I know that is impossible, due to your true nature,” his fingers shake as he takes yours into his, “And despite my being of chaos, I do not want it to fall on you.”

“You can tell me what you’re hiding, and I will listen, Wooyoung.”

He shakes his head, “I cannot.”

“This, between the two of us, will end if you do?”

His breath hitches, eyes meeting yours. “It will.”

The fear of not knowing would linger if he never says it. And he knows that. He will not utter it, even if you pry over and over. Even if you leave. Because he is still an Unseelie. And he admits that he is selfish. You could be letting out your last dying breath, and he wouldn’t say it.

Oh, how that scares you terribly.

“You expect me to stay after you’ve told me this?” It is a genuine question, one that you really need answered.

“I expect you to trust me when I say you being here is the only way we can protect you. I expect you to understand that once you leave, you will be taken by the Seelie. And we may never meet eyes again.”

You love him. You do. But what you’ve learned since your last love leaving you is that you can love again. It will hurt terribly, leaving them, but you will live. You will grow. Perhaps the look in your eyes makes him panic, his fingers tightening in their grip. You have seen him angry, hurt, confused. The way he looks at you now frightens you more than any of those times. It is something he has only slipped when you’re in bed together, but seeing it now, it leaves you utterly cold.

Obsession.

He will not let you go. So your next question is fairly straightforward.

“Will you try to kill me if I leave you?”

His eyes widened. “Not… I…” He pauses. “You have to understand the others and their position, solaris. We are not good. But, San, San is good. He is innately good. He has never been like the other Seelies, he has always been different. He has always cared differently. Faeries are selfish, we all are. But he, him, there is not one faerie who can surpass how much care he has in him. And I so desperately want to,” Wooyoung stares at his hands, slowly curling his fingers into his palms. “I want to be good like San. Will you love me, then?” His eyes seemingly glow in the dim light, “Or will I have to always be second to him?”

“There isn't a ranking here, Wooyoung.” And what is he speaking to? Neither of you have ever brought up San in conversations. You don’t even love San, let alone like him. Has someone told him something you haven’t?

“Oh, but there is. You hate Hongjoong, that is what I am sure of. You care for Jongho, for Yunho. But me… even though we have been together, you do not care for me as I do you. I can feel it. I can feel your hesitation when it comes to me.”

“Enough.”

You pull your hand from his, his grip limp. He stands just as you do, eyes flicking behind you. There is no need for you to turn and see who it is, his resolute tone enough. His body is close enough that you must feel the heat emitting from his skin. His fingers lightly brush against your forearm as he moves to get to Wooyoung. You are not unaffected by the brief contact, sliding down your sleeve to get rid of the feeling.

San makes his way in front of his lover, sliding onto one knee. “What are you speaking of to her, Wooyoung? When was the last time you fed?”

“Just days ago, San. I’m okay,” his tone is insistent, eyes flicking to you. “I won’t do anything, I just want to speak with her.”

“Have you heard yourself?” San asks, shaking his head. “This isn’t good for you, letting your thoughts roam like that.”

The way he speaks to him is strange. How his hand is tight around Wooyoung, the other pressed harshly on his shoulder.

As if he is restraining him.

Their words are quieter as you watch, your attention moving to just behind them, on your porch. Your eyes begin to widen.

Something rests on the railing, the same eyes that stared at you through the forest only nights ago. The ones that Jongho insisted were just pixies. The creature grips the railing, large feathered wings draping against its back, gaze still on yours. You stand up quickly, San and Wooyoung looking at you.

“San–” You can barely let his name come out, their heads turning to look back. There isn’t enough time for any of you to register what is happening, the creature breaking through the glass. Its claws sink into Wooyoung’s shoulders, its grip pulling him away from San and out through the broken paned doors. The scream that erupts from San is agonizing, but everything happens too quickly. You can hear crashing downstairs, likely the same creatures attacking everyone in the home. A firm grip on your arm pulls you back. You look to see Mingi, blackened blood smeared on his body as he steps in front of you. His clothing is shredded, barely held together. You left your practicing gear outside, and you’d doubt you’d be able to reach it before one of these things grabs you. All you can do is stand behind him as he moves forward, panic rising in your body. San is fighting off the creatures with ease - oddly none have targeted you just yet.

They seem to be able to fight each one that appears through the crumbled wall with ease, until more and more pile inside. You hear his scream before you see it. San’s body is thrown across the room and into you, the two of you tossed out the room and into the hallway. Mingi yells, but he cannot reach you. You struggle beneath San’s body, struggling to lift him off of you. He grunts, pulling himself off of you.

He stumbles onto his feet but cannot seem to hold his own body weight up, falling to his knees. You’re able to grab him before he hits the floor face first, blood coating your fingers. You rest on your bottom, holding his upper torso on your legs. You look down the hallway, the blur of bodies fighting off the creatures. You don’t have the strength to drag him and you’re afraid to, the gaping hole in his chest stopping you from attempting.

It is all so dark. His blood covers every inch of your palms, seeping through the cracks of your fingers as you desperately press the cloth over it. It is of no use – it bleeds through, dripping to the wood beneath your feet. It splatters against your cheek as he attempts to speak. A shh escaping your lips. You can see how the others fight, their gazes moving to San beneath you, yearning to help and be by his side. Their loud shouting occupies your ears, how they ache, unable to stop the fight even briefly to pull San away from it all. To help him live. To save his life. You are useless in saving him. You haven't the knowledge or spells to mend the deep wound. His fingers wrap around yours that hold him, a soft smile showing the blood that reflects against stained teeth. He will die soon, and you can only look at him in grief. Until, that is, until Mingi's words sink into you.

“Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

You look down at him. Your fear, your hurt, it should be able to help him now. To let him feed, gain his strength back. But your angst seems to not affect him at all - the blood continuously pouring from his lips, his body barely holding on. Unseelie wouldn’t hesitate to use you to help themselves. But San, he does not seem even the least bit phased.

You remember when San saved you from the Seelie at the train station, the words uttered to San odd, but not notable enough for you to inquire about it at the time.

“You have forgotten yourself, San. There is only so much you can do before she knows as well.”

San is not an Unseelie.

He never was an Unseelie.

You use your free hand to wipe your tears away, forcing your eyes shut. The idea is likely hopeless, your sadness might be too deep to push away, but you can’t sit here and let him die. Your fingers wrap tightly around his hand, willing yourself to think of something happier. You haven’t thought of Soobin in a while, but it’s the only warm memory you can think of. You look at San, how his eyes stay on yours. How the pulse of his heart seems to slow down, blinks following suit. You will yourself to focus on happier memories, letting one hand go to push his hair away from his face. The memories are not enough, though. His hold loosens on your hand, steady eyes glossing over.

No.

“y/n, move!”

You turn to the side, one of the creatures holding Mingi against the wall. He grunts, elongated limbs thrashing against its face. He cannot break free.

“San…” You whisper, “Please.”

His smile slips, grip loosening completely. You’re unable to leave his side, no matter how much the voices shout at you to go. To leave San behind. Claws dig harshly into your shoulder blades, pulling you away from him. You try reaching for the framing of your room, but the creature is exponentially stronger than your own grip, ripping you from the home, out the gaping hole they took Wooyoung through.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

SPREADING OPEN: THE PUSSY PRINT AS A SOURCE OF POWER by India Ame'ye, Author I spend a lot of time with my legs open, a sacred posture of real power for women but many of us can feel awkward, uncomfortable and out of place when we open up our legs. It is called "vulva power" and in folklore tales, it has been revealed that ancient women would stop wars or fight off the devil simply by lovingly spreading their legs, refracting light, and leaning back into their own generous energy— unmoved, uninfluenced, and unfazed by the opposition. What I know as an pole dancer and aerialist after observing myself so many times over the years with my legs wide and open, vulva print innocently swollen and visible, is that it is a position of pure power, not patriarchal power that looks like 'power over someone or something' but real power, power within, where you start to generate more beauty from inside your own body, no longer needy, fighting, arguing, begging, or grasping, but bathing in the sweet waves of your own energy. Legs open. Signal direct. Clear water. Power within. Power alongside. And I can honestly say that nothing has been more liberating and freeing for my female structure than opening my legs and bringing more blood and lymph flow to the tissues between my inner thighs, areas that tend to be more constricted and inflamed for most people, especially after a certain age. I am sure that I'm stronger in my body simply because I have spent so much time over the last 5 years opening up, whether stretching, dancing, doing yoga, or sitting on my mat, yoga ball, or directly on the ground. As an "legs open“ educator, I truly believe the reason so many women experience dysfunction is because the mainline to our bodies, the gateway of creation, the center of our reality, is not open. It is ignored, numb and tense or closed, shut off, and stifled. Our energy is so profoundly large and intuitive, but a lot of it is trapped because we keep our legs constantly closed when they should be more wide and open and experiencing greater air flow like our ancestral mothers. A "legs open" posture is a real source of expansion and creation. When we open up, we feel a strength and solidity to the earth that we may have never felt before, a kind of yoga with universe. All that locked up power starts to pulsate and unleash from within. And we naturally begin feel a high, a deeper level of spirituality in our female bodies, a state of love beaming from within that naturally stops wars and wards off all evil. --India Ame'ye, Legs Open Please, A Liberated Center

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 15 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries and some swearing

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________________________________________________

I slip in and out of consciousness for what feels like an eternity until an explosion close by makes me flinch involuntarily.

My eyes snap open and my brain tries to make sense of all the blurry things I’m seeing.

There’s flashes of light, muffled shouts and gunshots and for a second I think I’m overseas again.

Then, however a pair of warm hands cups my cheeks and turns my head.

I blink rapidly until a pair of green eyes comes into focus above me.

“Lena.” I gasp, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth almost making me gag.

The young woman has tears in her eyes and her face is scrunched up in pain.

“Don’t say anything,” she urged and when she lets go of one of my cheeks to press her hand against my side I yelp weakly.

My shaking hands try to pry her’s off my waist, but she pleads, “No, stop. I’m trying to help,” while my blood seeps through her fingers.

“It hurts.” I managed to get out and Lena’s guilty eyes meet mine again.

“I know,” she croaks. “I’m sorry.”

Around us, I still hear shouting and gunshots and I let my head roll to the side to see what’s going on.

Several heavily armed figures are swarming the place with their guns at the ready, shooting occasionally.

My eyes land on an unmoving body nearby and I feel disappointment wash over me when I realize it’s not Lex but his goon, Otis Graves.

There’s a pool of blood around his head and I’m assuming he’s been shot.

“Y/N, hey,” Lena’s voice makes me tear my eyes off the body. “Stay with me.”

I try to smile but a cough racking cough shakes my entire body and I feel more blood run down the side of my mouth.

“Lex. . .?” I ask weakly and Lena moves her one hand from my cheek down to my neck, tracing her thumb over my skin in soothing circles.

“They’ll get him,” she says with a watery smile.

Good. At least one good thing came out of this.

I don’t know when or how she got here, and how she managed to get help this quickly, but I couldn’t care less about any of that.

All that matters is that she’s okay and that Lex won’t be able to get to her anymore.

I feel the fight leave my body and let out a shallow breath, allowing my head to loll to the side again.

My eyes begin fluttering, but before I get to close them, Lena’s hand is back on my cheek, forcing me to look at her.

“No, hey! Keep your eyes open. You hear me?!” she’s crying softly and I want to wipe away her tears but my arm won’t move. She sits up straighter and looks around frantically, shouting for help.

My ears begin ringing and my breaths are coming out shorter and more shallow.

This must be how Noah felt, I think, remembering how I used to be in Lena’s position, trying desperately to stop the blood from seeping out of Noah’s chest.

The sound of his rattling and gurgling breath still haunts me to this day and if I could, I’d switch places with Lena just so she doesn’t have to feel like I felt back then.

But then again, I wouldn’t want her to have been shot, so I’m glad it’s me on the ground and not her.

My eyes flutter again and a wave of exhaustion washes over me and I can’t help but let them close.

Just for a few minutes, I tell myself.

Lena’s warm touch lulls me to sleep even more and the last thing I hear before drifting off is her desperate plea of,“No! Please. . . You told me you’d stay with me, no matter what. Remember?! Y/N, please.”

When my eyes blink open, the first thing that comes to mind is that I’m dead because I’m warm and comfortable. Then, however I look, seeing that I’m in a hospital room.

I’m exhausted beyond belief, but the pain is completely gone and when I glance at the bag on the IV pole next to my bed labeled Morphine I know why.

It’s dark outside, I realize when my eyes drift to the large window before sweeping over the rest of my surroundings.

The room is dark as well, but because of all the monitors and machines next to my bed it’s not as dark as outside.

A small body, slumped over in a chair next to me catches my attention and it’s then that I feel the person’s hand in my own.

Oh shit. . .

“Rubes,” I whispered as I squeeze her little hand. “Hey, wake up.”

I don’t know what time it is, but it must be late if she fell asleep and if she’s here, Sam can’t be far either.

But where is Lena?

I can’t imagine how worried they must have been and I’m sure I’ll hear all about it later when Sam returns and Ruby’s out of earshot.

Speaking of the devil, the door to my room slowly opens and in steps Sam, dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie.

She’s holding what looks like a cup of coffee and she moves slowly so as to not make too much noise.

Even in the dark, I can make out the circles under her eyes and I feel horrible, knowing she probably hasn’t slept a wink.

She goes to sit on the vacant chair next to Ruby’s, the girl still fast asleep, but then her eyes connect with mine and she shrieks, dropping the coffee before slapping her hand over her mouth.

“Y/N!” Her eyes tear up and she rushes to hug me.

Ruby startles from the sudden movement, whining at being woken up so abruptly but the she realizes what’s going on and throws her arms around my neck as well.

“Hey, guys,” I whisper as they both cry against me. “It’s alright. I’m going to be okay.”

Sam shakes her head and pulls back while Ruby continues to cling to me. “You don’t know that!” she hisses with tears streaming down her cheek. “Have you seen the state you’re in?! The doctors say it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

I frown anxiously take her hand. “I’m sorry, Sam. That’s not what I— Shit. . . I’m sorry.”

Sam sighs and squeezes my hand, using her free hand to wipe at her tears. “No, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You just woke up and — We were so worried about you. I can’t believe Lex—“

“You know what happened?” I cut her off with wide eyes.

She nods. “Lena told us. She called while you were in surgery.”

Lena. . . My Lena.

“Where is she?” I ask quietly. “Is she okay?”

Lex’s words stung more than I’d like to admit and the fact that she’s not here makes me worry that he was right about everything.

I am a nobody and I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks she deserves better than what I have to offer. Which isn’t a lot, let’s not forget.

I’m not poor per se, but Lex is right. I’m nowhere near as wealthy as the Luthor family and if we’re going by their standards, I am poor.

Oh, and not to mention my fucked up family situation and the mountain of trauma I bring with me everywhere I go.

“Hey,” Sam squeezes my hand again, bringing me back to reality. She’s watching me with curiosity, knowing I tend to get into my own head. “She’s okay. I sent her home. She was exhausted. She wanted to stay with you, but she almost fell off the chair in her sleep.“

Ruby chuckles against my chest, clearly amused by the memory and I can’t help but smile as well.

Okay, so maybe Lex was wrong after all.

But what if—

“Stop it.”

I raise my eyes to meet Sam’s glare.

“What?!” I defend weakly, but she just raises an eyebrow.

“I can practically hear you overthinking,” she says with a deadpan voice which makes me roll my eyes.

“Okay, okay.” I give in, running the hand that’s not holding Sam’s over Ruby’s back. “It’s kind of creepy how you always know.”

Sam laughs and tilts her head adorably. “It’s not creepy. I just know you.”

I huff, not knowing what else to say and close my eyes for a moment.

The morphine might be working overtime to stop me from feeling any pain, but it’s also making me feel drowsy and with the comforting weight of Ruby’s head on my chest I feel like falling asleep.

“Y/N?” Sam whispers after a moment, and I force myself to open my eyes again.

“Hmm?”

“Tired?” she asks softly and I nod. “Okay. We’ll let you get some rest then. . . Unless you want us to stay?”

I shake my head and press a kiss to Ruby’s forehead. “No, it’s okay. I can’t imagine how tired you guys must be.”

Sam squeezes my hand one last time before letting go and prying a half-asleep Ruby off of.

The young girl whines at the loss of contact, but once she wakes up completely, she lets Sam guide her out of the room.

“We’ll stop by again tomorrow, alright?” Sam asks as she’s already halfway out the door.

“Please do,” I say with a smile, sending them off with a wave before finally turning over and closing my eyes again.

The next time I wake up is when a doctor, Doctor Mike, comes into my room to check on me.

By now, the sun has come up, bathing my room in a soft orange light and I just lean back as he goes to check all my bandages and bruises.

He tells me I have a few cracked ribs from where the baseball bat hit my side, and a sprained shoulder.

He also tells me I had some internal bleeding from when Lex shot me and kicked me in the stomach, but they managed to fix everything during surgery.

“Now, the only thing we have to keep a close eye on is your leg,” he says, once he’s done examining my stitches.

“My leg?” I frown. As far as I know the only injuries either of my legs sustained are a couple of scrapes and bruises from when I got knocked off my bike.

“Yes,” Doctor Mike says with a grimace. “Once we dial back the painkillers, you should feel a burning or tingling sensation run down the side of either just your left leg or both of your legs.”

He watches me closely for a reaction, but I don’t react which prompts him to continue explaining.

“The bullet grazed your lower spine,” he says. “We know there is some nerve damage, but we can’t know how extensive it is until you’re completely off any and all pain medication.”

I gulp and clench my hands into fists, only now noticing the bruises on my wrists where my hands were chained together. “So am I going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life?”

Doctor Mike shakes his head. “No, no definitely not, but it is possible that even after physical therapy your leg or legs won’t ever feel and function the same as before.”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“For now,” Doctor Mike continues softly after a beat of silence, “You should focus on resting and letting your body recover though. We’ll worry about everything else after.”

I don’t say anything and just continue to press my hands against my eyes.

There’s nothing I could possibly say right now because I’m still processing.

“I-I’ll give you some space,” Doctor Mike says after quite some time. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask for me.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of the door opening and closing confirms that he has left.

I drop my hands into my lap and bend my head, no longer holding back my sobs until I pass out once again, exhausted.

“Oh, my poor baby. . .”

My mom’s voice reaching my ears makes me open my eyes slowly.

I look to my right where it came from, thinking I might have just imagined it, but then my gaze lands on her sitting on the chair by my bed.

To my surprise, she’s not alone. Next to her is my dad and behind the two of them, standing with a nervous smile on her face, is Harper.

My dad looks paler and thinner than the last time I saw him, but it’s him nonetheless.

I clench my jaw, ready for a screaming match even though I just woke up, but then he suddenly starts. . .crying?

He grabs my hand and squeezes it between his own and bends his head in shame.

My mom and Harper watch wordlessly, though the sympathetic look in their eyes makes me soften as well, even if it’s just the tiniest bit.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice strained. “I- I fucked up, Y/N. So, so badly. I hurt you because I was hurt. I was so. . .fucking hurt. . . but I know that’s no excuse for how I treated you. I wanted to reach out sooner. . . The guilt was eating me up on the inside and I thought— I thought I already lost one of my kids. I can’t lose the other one, too. I don’t want to lose you.”

That’s all I’ve wanted to hear ever since he kicked me out a little over a year ago, but what is it they say, sometimes words can be just a little too late.

Coward!

I pull my hand out of his and cradle it against my chest as if his touch burns.

He looks up with tears in his eyes and when his eyes meet mine, I can see the realization that I’m not forgiving him on his face.

“Y/N. . .” My mom tries to intervene, but my dad cuts her off with a sad smile.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “It’s okay. I-I’m going to wait in the car.”

My mom looks between the two of us with a conflicted frown, but before she can object my dad’s already on his feet.

He sends me a tight lipped smile that I don’t return before leaving the room with slumped shoulders.

It’s looks pathetic, and I wonder if that’s what I looked like when he kicked me out.

Harper hesitantly sits down on the now vacant chair and after a few minutes of awkward small talk the tension between the three of us disappears.

My mom and Harper both fawn over me, telling me how worried they’ve been and saying how they found out about what happened when they turned on the news.

Apparently Kara, who was still at Lena’s when Lex called, filmed everything with her phone and started a livestream on the CatCo website.

Law enforcement was called immediately and Lena being the genius she is, traced Lex’s call back to our location outside of the city.

She and Alfred followed the police to the warehouse and went in after the building was breached and Otis Graves was shot.

It turns out Lex was arrested without incident after he tried to make a run for it and is now in police custody with another attempted murder charge to his name.

They’re also going to trial him for blackmailing Lena and kidnapping me which will most definitely earn him a spot in a high security prison in the desert.

My mom and Harper stay for about two hours before leaving, seeing that I’m still struggling to stay awake for more than a handful of hours.

They leave behind a bouquet of flowers and small teddy bear that joins Sam’s and Ruby’s stuffed koala on the windowsill which they bring with them when they visit me a couple hours later.

Kara, Winn and James also stop by over the course of the day, checking in with me and showing me all the news article about the event before leaving again with the promise of returning soon.

As it’s nearing dinner time, my windowsill now full of flowers and get well cards, I can’t help but worry about Lena.

She’s the only one that hasn’t come to see me yet and because Sam’s not here to stop my overthinking, my thoughts begin to spiral.

________________________________________________

Uh oh, where’s Lena 👀. . .??

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha @rosea-reginae

PSA about the tag list:

If I can’t find your blog when I try to tag you, I will reply to your comment asking to be tagged and tell you that you’re account is hidden and that you can’t be tagged.

If, from that point onwards, you don’t change your settings and I still can’t find you when trying to tag you in the next part, you will be removed from the tag list and I won’t try tagging you again in future parts.

I’m not trying to be mean or anything, but this has happened a few times now and I don’t have the time or energy to reply to your comments multiple times, telling you to change your settings.

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Come hell or high water.

18+, MDNI. Tags: Gore, severe injury, trauma, amputation

(Had this song stuck in my head prompting me a little)

Price.

It shouldn't have ended this way. Not today, not on a fucking flyby of an operation. All it was was get in, neutralise the targets, get out. Except as they made their way through the copse of trees and onto the road for extraction, tragedy struck.

There had been no need not to retrace their steps back onto the barely used road which was the pre arranged extraction point. But you never did, you were maybe a few metres out off of the original path you, Gaz and Price all crept along earlier. But a few metres meant nothing in instances such as this. Price watched as the air in front of him becomes tangible, no longer transparent but now opaque with what was once the solid ground they had been walking upon.

There you were walking ahead, the joke being you'd take point instead of Gaz and Price could stare at your ass for a change, light hearted banter despite the atrocities just commited all due to a few lines drawn in the earth and men behind desks having a disagreement. Price saw the ground rise up beneath you, it was like you'd been plucked by some invisible force and were suspended midair as he's blown backwards, Gaz although further back is also brought down by the shockwave. Price comes to, ears ringing, like static being played on a loop inside his head. His chest feeling heavy with the kinetic energy that passed through him, fuck knows what it's done to you. Blinking hard he sits up, you're laid on your front, prone to the floor unmoving, your body looks different, a leg shorter, the other mangled almost beyond recognition. Red blooming around you, top and bottom, greedily being sucked in by the recently disrupted soil.

"Fuck, don't... Don't move Gaz, don't you move." He barks as he pulls himself up and kneels forward looking at you, what is left of you. They weren't expecting the IED strike. Shite you're as good as dead...

Crack and the earth moves again, "Fuck!" he flinches, but this time there's a clear distance between this explosion and the one prior, then recalling he'd just given the go ahead for Soap to use the det cord to bring down a few telephone poles, allowing for a clear path for the aircraft to land. He flicks the switch for his radio and calls in the situation.

[royalthorned]

Counter reformation priest Evan and heretic, perverse Barty AU

Barty is a nepo baby Italian with family connections to the Blacks (imagine sforza-esque power) on trial for sodomy (he was at a hippy-art orgy, he poses for cheap scum painters). So the church brings in their most "humane" priest to investigate and question him. Father Rosier.

And Evan is this village freak, born a twin with blank eyes and lopsided shoulders, who snuck into the forrest with Pandora and came back splattered in blood. And he is unnervingly pious, he gives every stray who comes to his monastery medical treatment and he does so with a blank face. He always volunteers to handle the dead bodies.

And Barty is tied up in some catholic rural church and Evan walks in, fully decked out in the decadence of counter reformation catholic uniforms. White billowing robes that fall over his hands because he's undernourished and frail. And Evan has deep set eye bags, slanted hips, a malnourished heart shape face with creamy skin and bright pink lips and Barty he loses it. He's flirting and giggling, he's biting his lip and making ridiculously suggestive faces (imagine carravagio's early paintings) He's slipping his linen shirt off his shoulders. And Evan is just so unmoved by the whole scene outwardly.

The torture method that Evan is ecstatic to try is sticking a wooden pole up someone's .... So Evan sets it up, all rigid and un-emotive. Barty sucks on it and looks up at Evan with the biggest, most pitiful sex eyes, this obviously leads to perverted, power imbalanced sex.

Cut to Barty being a free innocent man and living with Evan in his hometown of rural France in some undeveloped catholic parish where all the locals see Evan, the deformed, amoral, religious twin and a deranged, perverted Italian frolicking around and dissecting animals.

And the live happily ever after the end :)

this is a copy paste of my deranged rambling to Lune, thank you for listening to me bb <3 @sommerregenjuniluft

[anonstories08]

𝚁𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚉𝚘𝚛𝚘 𝚡 𝙼!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎? 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚑 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐…

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 956

𝙰𝙽: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 @anystalker707 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁. 𝙸𝙼 𝚂𝙾 𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚁𝚁𝚁𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝚂𝙾 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙴. 𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙾 𝙸𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙸𝙵 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙱𝙰𝙳

It was only supposed to be for a few days. The adventure was supposed to be a simple one, so simple not all the crew had to go. Someone had asked the Strawhats to visit a small temple that was at the top of a small mountain and retrieve a relic that was left there (and of course there would be a large reward) The crew had been on the island for a few days, so it didn’t seem too dangerous. The ones who were going was Luffy (obviously), Zoro (again obviously), Robin (…), Franky and Usopp. The rest of the crew were going to stay on the Sunny and either guard the ship or go into town and restock to leave once the group got back. But it had been a week now. when were they going to get back? Usually the crew would trust in each other to make it back safely but it started to take a toll on one member in particular. [Name]. He has never been without his partner for longer then 2 days. And of course, [Name] knew that Zoro is extremely capable, but he keeps getting that nagging feeling that something is wrong. -5 days ago- “Be careful. It looks like some of the steps seem to be unstable.” Robin was at the front of the pack, a small gleam in her eyes showing that she was quite excited to be able to find anything to do with history. The rest of the group was following her as they make their way to the top. “Geez, who knew Robin could be so fast..” Usopp used a stick to help pull himself up the steps, exhausted. Franky side-eyed the sniper because of his exaggerated laboured breathes “You don’t look very SUPER Usopp. Are you sure you want to come with?”   “Y-Yeah! Don’t be scared. Captain Usopp is never tired! He is always…. euagh…” He passed out. “Ok well thats not very SUPER. Hey guys!” Franky calls out to Robin and a stretched Luffy, hanging off of an uncaring Zoro. “Im gonna bring Usopp back to Chopper! He looks exhausted.”   “Yeah, you wanna bring Luffy too? He’s just kinda… melting?” Zoro pokes at the unmoving Luffy hanging off him. “Auhghuhduh…” “Fufufu It looks like the heat is getting to the captain too.” Franky wordlessly moves towards Zoro and peels the captain off of him. “Alright. You too go on ahead. I’ll catch up later.” “Bye.” “Be safe, Franky.”  The pair continue up the steps at their own leisurely pace. Soon they reach the door of the temple. It’s made of cracked cement that has intricate carvings and vines stretched across it. As the wind blows through Zoro’s spiky hair, he feels a presence. It’s unsettling. Something is wrong. He turns towards Robin to warn her but he sees an unsettling sight. Where is Robin?

Zoro is on high alert now. He whips his head back and forth, trying his best to catch a glimpse of the archeologist, but she’s gone. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even see the person who snuck up behind him. Before he can react, a hand snakes its way around his throat and tightens. Zoro struggles against the grip but a mask is placed around his mouth and he’s forced to inhale a gas. As he slowly stops struggling he sees someone familiar. Is that the person who asked the crew to get the relic? Well fuck… Zoro wakes up in a start. His head is throbbing as he looks around what seems to be a dark room. The first thing he notices is that his swords are not with him. His eyesight slowly fades in and he sees that he has his hands tied behind his back, with the rope connected to a thick metal pole. The rope seemed really thick but Zoro could probably break out of it. Too bad he still feels woozy from that strange gas. He realises that across from him is a knocked out Robin. She has sea stone cuffs on and seems to have been roughed up a bit. Concern floods Zoro as he sees that blood is dripping down her skull and onto the floor below her. “R-Robin..” Zoro’s scratchy voice calls out to the woman. How long have they been here? Robin stirs but ultimately doesn’t respond. That wound is really concerning. He needs to get them out and to Chopper. His head spins slightly as he looks around for any sort of sharp object to cut his ropes. Suddenly, the door slams open and Zoro’s eye flicks towards the light and the person coming inside the dark room. “Well well well. Sleeping beauty finally woke up, hm? Did you rest well?” A tall woman with an almost psychotic grin waltzed inside. Zoro glares at her and asks, “How long have we been here.” The woman narrows her eyes at the swordsman’s question and simply states. “2 days. I have been most impatient and i would appreciate if you would now comply.” 2 days? Thats.. way too long. How would the crew be feeling? How is [Name]? Zoro’s heart aches at the thought of the panic and stress that [Name] must be going through. He snaps back into reality and sees that a plate of food has been pushed in front of him. It looks… questionable? It seems to supposed to be rice and some sort of curry, but the curry has strange streaks of blue in it. No way in hell is Zoro eating that. The woman looks at him as if he’s supposed to be grateful that she’s given him some definitely poisoned food.  How the hell is he gonna get out of here?

[katsukikitten]

Look I've just been obsessed with him okay. Probs hella out of character and I'm too shy to be the only one in his tag

"Zodel! Zo! Look what I brought!" Your cute excited voice echoes around the dingy hideout as your boss stands with his back to you looking over something 'important'. He's busy you know this but he's always fucking busy.

And he should never be too busy for you.

"I said look." Voice turning dangerous. Slowly his dark eyes glance over his shoulder. His handsome face ever neutral, cold even, as he blinks slowly.

Watches you toss a body at his feet gaining his attention enough that he turns around fully. Eyes sharp as he squats down with his hands dangling between his powerful thighs as he studies the cleaner's body for a moment before he stands back upright.

"I wanted him alive." Zodel's voice is even and smooth, a hint of disappointment, eyes flickering up from the scared face to you. If anyone else had brought this boy he would have cloaked himself in a half deadly shadow and collected another body for to feed the core. Instead he looks at you with his dead eyes and slowblink, "And the jinki?"

"I paused for dramatic effect." You giggle, bringing your hands from behind your back sharp claws wrapped around a small yarn winder. Dramatically changing it's shape to a large staff before slamming the base into the ground, "He called it Tokushin."

Zodel looks unpleased, apathetic but it does nothing to deter your little show and tell.

Slamming the base again for thick rope to reach out far and wide, sure to avoid netting your boss before you twist the staff roughly making a net filled with the other vandals.

"See like a spider." You giggle, it slides down his throat like honey, "And if you twist and twist and twist eventually it can dice them up!"

Smiling wide as Jabber, Noerde, and Bundus struggle in the tight strings.

"The more they struggle the more it hurts them. Isn't this such a great treasure?" You aren't asking Zodel, far from, you're too busy looking up at your latest victims in the jinki you looted from the dead janitor, having wanted it since you first laid your greedy eyes on it.

"You stupid bitch, wind it tighter so I can cum." Jabber shudders as he squirms, sharp claw pinned to his body awkwardly making it impossible to poison himself to make this little experience even better. The rope cuts into his skin and he groans too loudly.

"You should try to fight without all of these little tricks girl. Be a warrior." Noerde hisses, long hair wrapped around herself as tight as the rope unable to discharge a deadly shock without her comb that she tightly grips in her hands. All the while Bundus stays silent and unmoving waiting for your little demonstration to be over.

"Is this all you've brought me?" There's that damn bored even tone. It strikes a nerve that has your hand gripping around the pole tighter. The wood groaning in your grip before you wind the rope tightly until everyone is wrapped around the pole before launching it at Zodel. He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch when it lands right between his feet and through the previous owner's body.

"I don't see anybody fucking else with anything!" You growl, temper flaring because he doesn't appreciate the treasure you've brought him. The food for the core and your chest is heaving.

"Release them." Eyes darker now, voice rougher as he holds your defying gaze.

"No." You snarl, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. You weren't releasing those useless vandals, they weren't a raider like you! To be a raider you actually had to fucking bring home something.

Isn't that what boss wanted? Information? Bodies? Jinki?

He moves faster than you can blink, half of his body shrouded in shadow as he grabs at your jaw roughly. Black fingers digging into your soft cheeks as he comes closer to your face to make sure you'd hear him this time.

"Release. Them." It takes another moment of silence and his grip to begin to bruise your pretty face before you finally obey. The rope disappears and the jinki clatters onto the ground as a small wooden yarn winder once more.

He doesn't even need to give his command to Kutohni to warp the other three vandals away to leave you alone with an angry Zodel. Black eyes boring into yours before they start to scan your face, your skin, and it's only then does he notice the rope burns and scabbed over cuts.

A particularly nasty one on your throat, jerking your jaw in his grip to better see the injury as you glare up at him from the corner of your eye. Leaning closer to your throat before he presses his lips gently to the bruised skin above the open wound. Slowly the shroud around him retreats back into the black coat he wears before he's palming the back of your head.

Pulling you into the safety of his chest, his jacket as he wraps the old fabric around you waiting for you to latch onto his torso like normally did.

"You fought hard for these treasures." He lets his hand follow the curve of your skull as he speaks, voice almost soft making your stomach flutter with excitement especially when he adds, "You did well princess."

You snap up to look at him as if you hadn't heard him correctly, rarely ever giving you praise let alone the nickname you've asked him, and only him, to call you.

Eyes darting between his before they fall to his soft lips and for a moment you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch up.

[rollup2theparty]

—₊˚⊹♡ round & round! eunseok

❦ cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. by some twist of fate, the two of you find yourselves trapped behind the locked doors after hours with nothing but fragile silence and a lot hanging at the tip of your tongue.

౨ৎ HIGHSCHOOL AU (fem!reader x s.eunseok)

⟡ enemies to lovers / mutual pining / forced proximity

⚠︎ minor angst / sfw

notes!! y/n is slightly embarrassing forgive me but she has it together i promise (NOT PROOFREAD YET)

cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. from snoring through class or absent-mindedly staring out the classroom window, as the reigning rank 5 and class president you cant seem to figure out how this privileged jerk seems to not have a single care in the world despite being 4th from the bottom. his desks and lockers overflowed with snacks and flirty post it notes from his many admirers, and he doesn't seem to care. not like you were unpopular yourself, you never let the admiration get to your head but he? he's an inhospitable, cold blooded pain in the ass who conveniently has a face sculpted by the Gods. a face you find yourself thinking about a lot before you go to sleep (angrily, of course). he is a glass half empty person with a muted demeanor and you always thought of yourself as a person with a lot of love to give. really there is no better combination in the face of this earth. your hands are itchy with the urge to poke at him until his face explodes, or do basically anything to see him show emotions for once but your pride reprimands you to sit still.

the 6pm rush hour trip could give anyone a stroke, thats why you avoid it at all costs (its totally not because you know eunseok rides the 730pm bus after his basketball practice). your day starts and ends with his figure, a few seats in front of you on the 0119. how "unlucky" do you have to be to be stuck on the same commute to and from school daily? oh the disdain for his unchanging figure. every single day without fail, he sits next to a window with two wired earphones plugged in each ear, head off into space. a brawl could ensue and he would still be seated there, perfect unmoved. like being pulled in with a magnet, your pupils could never seem to wander elsewhere, even when foxy shy freshmen giggle as they hand out their phones in hopes of a connection. how can you erase this blurring unwanted regard when he haunts your every breath? your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. sometimes you wished the bus would crash into a pole, maybe that'll stop you from thinking.

______________________________________________________________

friday mornings always caused your heart rate to fluctuate, it flutters with the thought of a weekend of glory ahead of you. but today its beating hard for a different reason. you scan each passenger a multitude of times, yet you can't see the sight of him. he's a no show. your brain scrambles for possible explanations, 'his parents gave him a ride? he got up late? he's home with a fever? gasp he's on his death bed?? no, he moved halfway across the country to be with his secret lover?? god no'. manually, you shut down your brain's intrusive notions and instead you force out a sigh of relief. yeah, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. the school festival was coming up and as a proud student council member, you had a lot to prepare for and everything would be made easier without a constant mind interference.

"attention, all students are expected to be dismissed by 530pm due to the forecast of tonight's upcoming thunderstorm, expect school doors to be locked by 6." the muffled voice over the intercom sends the classroom into a frenzy but everything other than your half done event proposal was mere white noise. your were ambitious by nature and by the work of some deity, today your mind was on focus mode, not even the clutter of joy behind you could get you to lift your head from the word file on your laptop. you were invincible, typing in the speed of light. you were at an intellectual high only to be washed down low with a light tap on your desk. breath halting, you were ready to give the coarse, senseless dimwit a good mouth beating until you lock eyes with his.

"y/n. im late, please hand this to our homeroom teacher." his voice departs from his lips in a monotone as he places his tardy slip on your desk.

"me?" you ask, almost hopeful.

"admin staff said to give it to the class president."

"oh! yes of course, i'll hand it to mr lee during recess, if thats okay with you. do you need anything-"

"thanks." frigidly, eunseok halts your ramble with a flat bread smile and a close up view of his back as he walks away.

no this isn't the first time he talked to you. he apologized once when he accidentally poked you with his umbrella at the bus stop, and another time when water bottle made you trip during recess. he remained reticent even when he bumped into your shoulder in the cafeteria, only offering a slight dip in his head as an apology. granted he doesn't actually speak to anyone beside his friend group, today marks the third.

oh you were in a constant bind, like a swing that tumbled from one side on another with the passing wind. do you like him? do you hate him? you two barely spoke, barely interacted but he called you by name. 'y/n'. oh you're aware you sound borderline delusional and psychotic but the ring of your name will forever be intimate. no one, not even your subject teachers or closest friends ever refer to you by 'y/n'. it had always been 'class president', nothing more nothing less. you've been crowned as the classroom's leader since elementary school, at this point there should be a ceremonial plague with your name engraved on it, thats how often you had the throne. people say the main thing that ties a human to their identity is their birth name, well this position is yours. you hear the title more than anything else, at one point you wonder if that should be what would be written on your headstone. so why does your name sound so natural when it rolls of his tongue?

your mind was balancing on a rather precarious tipping point when a reality check crashes onto you. every second you spend on this superficial distress is a second wasted. you were sitting there mouth agape, fighting a dilemma you didn't physically have, over some guy who barely acknowledged your existence when mid year examinations are soon and the school festival counts on your ability to drive it to success. you are a standalone piece, confident and able. a crush? unrequited love? some things are just so minuscule in this great world of troubles. you drag yourself back to earth by the hair and untangle your bundle of thoughts, you had to focus on what was important.

by lunch time, you were a changed man.

“hey, did mr lee get my slip?” he questioned as you crouch by your decorated locker at the far corner of the room. without missing a beat, you nod soullessly and wander back to your seat. but not before you look into his eyes. there was something more than an empty stare, yet you wasted no time jumping into conclusions. you could no longer drown yourself in an pool of wishful thinking

______________________________________________________________

not even a split second after the ring of the dismissal bell and you were out of your seat, making a bee line through the chorus and chaos of the narrow hallway. the pop up notice declaring your impending doom gave you adrenaline like no other. '5%', the glaring red battery symbol taunted you to break into a sprint. your campus was the size of a local mall but the only decent place with electrical sockets was the desolate east wing library. does this make any sense? absolutely not. even while bolting, you make time to write up a mental note to file an official complaint to the office.

you shut the unnecessarily heavy door behind you and in the nick of time you manage to breathe life back into your computer. with 30 minutes on the clock, you knew you could finish up the paper in 20, giving you a perfect 10 to pack up and leave before they lock up. your epiphany of plans is interrupted by a trickle of footsteps and the bump of a book to its spot on a bookshelf. you were never one to believe in ghosts but then and there your heart was tied up into a knot. maybe all the tales told by the bonfire last camp season finally got to you. your skittish hello echoed through the airtight room to no avail. would this be a life changing episode about your first ever encounter with a ghostly apparition? while it would make for a good application story, you silently beg with your life for any possible logical explanation.

from shelf to shelf, you tiptoe across with your breath held tight. 3/4 your way into the room, you manage to convince yourself it was nothing but the sound of the rumbling, worn out and abused air conditioner. yet you don't stop checking (for good measure). as the tip of your toes hits the floor of the final shelf, you feel the fear finally catch up to you, it was as if the room is closing in, you feel the motion in your gut as the world around you spins in a blur and like clockwork, the lights turn off. in an instant, the blurry pandemonium crashes into a black purgatory of nothingness.

a rock is now permanently lodged in your throat and you struggle to swallow the saliva that has run dry. you scream as if an invisible knife sliced your heart open and your mouth goes numb. the muscles holding up your limbs are forced to halt and you fall to your knees. you swear if anything else happens, you would melt together with the ground to form nothing but a puked up puddle of a mess. together with the prerequisite drizzle to the forewarned rain, a tap to your shoulder almost sent you running for the heavens.

"y/n?" there it was, again. the same word, the same intonation of voice. the arms that wrapped around your knees as you crouched fell back and you finally muster up the courage to look up.

this was all either a figment of your hallucination or that by some twist of fate, eunseok was standing over you. somehow, through a series of (un)fortunate events, you came to a quick conclusion that the latter was true. hesitantly, you pull yourself together and got up to your feet with the help of his offering hand. it seems that even in a situation like this, your heart can't help but flutter at thought of his touch. your dedication to a love life of abstinence down the drain just like that.

you only manage to mutter a subdued "thank you" before rushing to the door for some air. you've studied there enough times to know the door is a pull not a push, but no matter how hard you tug on the handle, the obnoxiously large gateway just wouldn't budge. your heart pounds against the safeguard of your chest as you feel the hot air of his steady breath on the crown of your head. he approaches your side only to be greeted with the same futile attempt over a shut door. they must have locked up early unbeknownst to the both of you when you lost your mind over a pseudo shadow encounter.

sometimes life throws out a wild card and traps you behind the locked doors of the school library after hours. no amount of knocking, yelling or pulling on the shut knob of the oak door could save you from this ticklish torture. with the gush of the pouring rain interfering with cell service, your sanguine shot at dialing any number on your phone also lets you down. you flounder to the ground with your back against the wall, your energy depleted and your hope ran slim.

"we'll have to wait until the morning staff clocks in in the morning." to your disbelief, he broke the fragile silence.

eunseok took the spot across from you with his back against a collection of encyclopedias. you briefly message your parents in hopes that the signal would come through when the shower starts to fade. out of his black nike heritage backpack, he pulls out two bottles of peach soda and an uneaten sandwich only to tear into halves, mindlessly offering you each a piece. does he not know how staggering each and every one of his moves make you?

"the gs25 egg sandwiches and this sparkling drink are my all time favorites, thank you" you chirp, in effort to kill the stuffy air.

"i know, i got it in the convenient store across from our station" he muttered, unthinking.

his brazen declaration made you choke, your esophagus begs to breathe as a piece of toast hinds its entrance. your brain instantaneously flashes back to the plastic bottle that would sit on the right corner of your desk after recess. you always assumed it was an underclassmen braving declaring their interest but now you've come to realize that you have never expressed your interest in it anywhere else other than during the long waits at your bus stop.

whatever bit of rationale left in you begs you to not get ahead of yourself. you, however, takes it as a green light to make conversation.

"hey, do you know what major you're choosing for college counseling?"

"child psychology." eunseok's answer startles you. you were guessing finance or accounting, something to match his logical disposition.

"but my grades are unsteady so im unsure." he says in passing.

"let me tutor you." you offer with vigor and he nods near automatically, you were almost sure you could see him fight a smile.

"we take the same bus home, we can review a bit on our way back. only if you would like to of course, i can come up with a learning plan."

he beats his reddish flush to speak, "can we start right now? we have time to kill." you softly tap the space next to you twice and he gets up before you even finish the first.

the two of you have never been in such close proximity of each other. you have always been in his orbit, but it was never enough to make contact. if eunseok was the unwavering earth and you were the persevering moon.

you learn that he's been there since free period, tasked to set up the new influx of books as a punishment for being tardy. you also learn that he couldn't make it on time because his white poodle, charlie, required immediate veterinarian attention after hurling all night. in the world filled with phony personalities and kids doomed to mediocrity, your heart fluttered at the thought of someone with genuine, authentic convictions. you revise literature devices and math formulas for hours, nonetheless his eyes never lost focus. your unimpeded voice brought him more clarity than any high paying academy ever could.

the storm reaches an all time high as the clock strikes midnight, you can't help but stretch out your limbs in exhaustion as your body dozes off to sleep. but who were you kidding? despite the physical need to shut your eyes, your brain could only beg to stay still.

a shift.

you could hear a soft shuffle but you wouldn't dare open your eyes. all you could do was sense his body moving closer to yours. his hands reaches out to delicately push your head to rest on his shoulders.

you hitch in breathing.

if only humans could communicate through telepathy, or you were mythically born with a divine skill to read minds. maybe then you would finally see how smitten he was all this time. only then would you know how he kicked his blanket, restless with apology when the point tip of his umbrella pricked your skin, or how he stopped bringing his litre tumbler, afraid you would fall, or how he fought his anxious silence only to miss the chance to express his sorry when his shoulder grazed yours in the dining hall. you were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own, you never noticed his nervous tick of biting the inner corners of cheek as he gives himself a peptalk to finally call out your name.

"thank you, for giving me a chance." his whispers only for himself to hear. despite your desires and inhibition, you reluctantly fall into a slumber, with a inkling feeling this conversation won't be your last.

by the time the sun makes it's daily appearance, his frosty demeanor fades and you awake to his blazer as a blanket for your knees and a newfound tenderness for one another.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 13: THE JOYS OF SOVIET TECHNOLOGIES

synopsis: you celebrate the release of kollektiv 2.0, and meet a kind stranger and an american danseur that both seem really familiar.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The bright sun above fills you with a pleasant warmth, but the plentiful trees that line the canal provide a wealth of shade. Automated paddle boats cut through the water at a languid pace, giving the couples inside plenty of time to talk and a semblance of privacy.

People are friendlier now than at any other time of the year – you’re all attending a festival, so it makes sense. They smile and shake your hand and greet you with a happy “Is it not an amazing day, comrade?” 

The booths you walk past are showing off the new weapons they’ve developed and their upgrades (you’ve never seen a Kalashnikov in person before!), THOUGHT devices and their benefits, and a myriad of other advanced technologies only now being revealed to the public. But the bells and whistles are to be expected – today is a celebration of Facility 3826, after all.

The date is June 12th, 1955. And it’s a wonderful day to be a citizen of the glorious Soviet Union.

As you walk by, machines continue their routines. VOV-A6 Techs work on foot to deliver crates (you’d almost mistake them for humans if not for the mark on the middle of their backs and the unfeeling, unmoving mask they have for a face). MTU-7 Bumblebees move cargo crates through the sky, the sound of their blades beating against the wind sending a soft hum through the air. TER-A1 Tereshkovas guide tourists through the city, their feet barely scraping the concrete as they move. 

“Good day, comrade!” Someone’s voice cuts you from your thoughts. It’s a facility representative – a man dressed in a white labcoat, a crisp black tie, and a THOUGHT device (a module placed on the temple with wires that float off the browbone to reach over to the opposite temple). “Come closer! I’m here to help.”

“Hello, comrade,” you say. You look over at the booth he’s standing by. It’s a short silver pole, no taller than him, with a circular tray floating around it, rotating slowly. It has little different colored modules on it, each floating above their designated coupling. 

“Would you like a THOUGHT device?” He asks. “It’s high time you got one!”

“No, thank you.” You hold up a hand. “I’m just browsing for now.”

“Why restrict yourself to browsing when you can get your own personalized device this very instant?” The man asks. “I can help you pick out the right unit. It can even match your eye color!”

He picks up one and holds it close to your face, as if gauging it. “Ah, yes! A violet gooseberry model would suit you well.” He takes the module away and looks you over. “You… are polymerized, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “But… I thought those devices weren’t going to come online until next Monday.”

“That’s right, comrade. But some people like to get it early, like a pre-order.” He tosses the module on the tray, and it magnetizes back to its coupling. “At the moment, the device functions as a personal telephone set and headlight, but it also allows the user to get used to wearing it on their head.”

“Well…” You look over the modules on the rotating tray. “It’s free, right?”

“Absolutely!” The man says, a smile on his worn face. “Allow me to connect you.”

He gestures to the booth, telling you to take your pick. You look over your options before picking out one that’s a crisp cerulean blue – you don’t know why, but the color seems nice to you. Like it reminds you of something, or someone. You pick it up even as the device tries to stay magnetized to its coupling. You turn it over in your hand before pressing it to your temple. It sticks, and wires come out to reach over to your other temple, like a half-crown or half-halo. 

The man presses a finger to his THOUGHT device. After a few moments, a confused look crosses his face. 

“Khm, that’s odd…” he says. “It seems I can’t access your biometric data. Maybe there’s some sort of malfunction…? I’m so sorry.”

You take off the module and return it to its place on the tray. “Ah, don’t sweat it. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, anyway. Thanks for telling me about it, though.”

“Of course, comrade,” the man says. “Again, I do apologize. Have a good day!”

“You too.” You turn to walk, but stop yourself. “Actually, sir – I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” He says. 

“It’s about…” You gesture vaguely around. “The people. They’re all speaking English. I don’t mind, since I can speak it. But I would expect at least some Russian.”

“Oh, yes!” The man laughs. “Facility 3826 is promoting the learning of English, just in case anyone sees anything of American origin. This is so if anyone sees or hears English, they’d be able to discern whether or not it’s a threat to the goodness of our Union. The festival is a good time to practice for people that are still learning.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Thank you.”

You continue walking down the street. It would’ve been nice to have a transportable telephone, but it’s not like you’re in dire need of one. You can figure that out later. 

There’s a small crowd gathered around a RAF-9 Engineer juggling various things it’s taken from the crowd: pochette-style purses, children’s toys, cigarette cartons. You stop at the edge of the group and watch as it throws the items up and catches them with pinpoint accuracy. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

You turn and see a man. He’s late forties, early fifties at most. His hair brushes past his ears in an untamed, grey mop and his beard matches it. His face is worn, but his gap-toothed smile is kind.

“I’m sorry, comrade.” You smile politely. “But I… don’t recognize you. You’re probably mistaking me for someone else.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, removing his hand from your shoulder. “You look like someone I know. My bad.”

“Well, I’m sure your friend is around here somewhere!” You try. “They may be at one of the cheburek or bliny stands. There’s a really good one selling bliny just down that way.”

The stranger checks over his shoulder, where you were pointing, then looks back to you. “I’m not from around here. You mind showing me the way?”

You check your pocket watch and mentally count the time until Dmitry Sechenov’s grand speech. You’re not crunched for time yet, and it would do you good to have something to tide you over until you could eat a real meal.

“Yeah, sure.” You start walking, and the stranger matches your pace.

“The stand has a few fillings,” you say, both to fill dead air and to make the silence less awkward. “Fruit preservatives – cherries, apples, plums, berries – meat, honey, or just plain with butter and salt.”

“What’s your recommendation?” The now-somewhat-familiar stranger asks. 

“Well, in the spring, they’d have imported lemon preservatives,” you say. “But it’s summer, so that well’s dried up. I’d just go with the cherries. Sweet or bitter, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“You’re just makin’ me hungry,” the stranger mumbles with a smile.

You laugh. “That’s the idea, no?”

After another minute of walking, the stand comes into view. Two men are operating the stand, and the soft scent of batter on the griddle beckons you closer. A radio is playing.

“Look at the menu,” you tell the familiar-stranger. “Take your pick. It’s cheap, so I’ll pay.”

You look around while he looks at the menu. There’s other people, obviously, and some on the canal are pointing at a man in an automated paddleboat. You barely hear whispers of “It’s comrade Major Nechayev!”

You turn your eyes away. Nechayev doesn’t really interest you. From what you’ve heard, he’s just some military dog leftover from the Red Army. What does interest you is the crowd across the canal. 

They’re gathered around some sort of stage that must’ve been assembled temporarily for the festival, like an American carnival. You watch for a few moments, but can’t glimpse what’s happening on stage. 

The stranger pulls you out of your thoughts. “Hey, what’re they talkin’ about on the radio?”

You turn back to him. “Huh?”

He points at the radio that’s playing on the bliny stand. It’s playing a jingle: “For the greatest advancements in cosmetic enhancements, there’s only one man you should be trusting your glam with!”

You listen a little longer and catch a name – Doctor Steinman – and roll your eyes. “It’s that underwater city off the coast of Iceland. The one that uses the same technologies as the ones invented to create the Neptune complex here.”

The stranger nudges you. “Why’re you rollin’ your eyes?”

“The city won’t last,” you say. “They say that it’s a city where the great won’t be brought down by the small. And all those immigrants go to Rapture thinking they’ll survive the fire of American-based industry. But they forget that, even in utopia, someone has to scrub the toilets.”

“Yeah, that’s a factor most forget,” the stranger says. 

“Eh, what else do you expect from capitalists?” You shrug. “Let’s just order. What do you want?”

The stranger looks back at the menu. “Uh… a bliny with… apple preserves.”

You quickly order your bliny and his and fork over the rubles, then look across the canal. The performance is still going. 

“Listen, khm,” you say to the stranger without looking away from the stage. “Can you watch our order? I want to see what’s happening across the canal.”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” the stranger says. 

You thank him quickly and hurry over the bridge to get to the other side of the waterway. You slowly make your way through the crowd – not to the front, but just enough so you can see…

A danseur? (Or a ‘ballerino’ in other countries, you suppose.) He’s wearing a form-fitting black shirt and a matching pair of tights. His pointe shoes are a soft pink, just a few shades off his skin tone. A THOUGHT device crowns his head – the same cerulean blue model you were looking at earlier. 

As he moves, he matches the music perfectly. It’s like he was born to extract the flow and rhythm from music and express it in dance. His feet don’t break their arch and don’t falter, even for a split second. 

Then, he turns. On his front, over his left breast, is a small American flag. 

Your eyebrows crease. You lean over and quietly ask a nearby woman, “He’s from America?”

“It was made in America,” she whispers back. “It’s an android, comrade.”

The danseur turns his head as his arm swoops up to point his fingertips to the sky. His soft, brown eyes lock with yours with you and you feel… you don’t know what you feel. It’s something physical, on your back. Maybe someone bumped into you? But the crowd isn’t moving. 

You take a step backwards as he continues staring at you, stock-still. You take another, then look behind you. The crowd is gone.

“Какого хуя?” You mumble. 

You look back up at the danseur. He’s moved a little closer, his feet just barely stepping off the stage. He comes closer, his movements still fluid and graceful, like he’s still dancing.

“Officer?” He asks softly. 

“What?” You say. 

His hand comes to your face, his fingertips just barely brushing across your jawline. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH 13: GOOD, HONEST SNAKE OIL – IF THERE IS SUCH A THING!

synopsis: after you and arthur swing by the sheriff's office, you go on a run to hunt a bounty and meet a man who seems really familiar.

word count: 1.3k

ships: CH: “mister kamski? the officer is stable, and is responding well to the reintegration system.”

notes: EK: “make sure they go through each as quickly as possible, chloe. i need to see if they can get back on their feet.”

HoTS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HOUSE OF TRUE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“I got it.” A voice pulls you to look over at the entrance to the Valentine’s Sheriff’s Office. It’s Arthur Morgan, holding up a folded-up wanted poster. 

You lean down from your horse (a beautiful Dutch Warmblood named Bronya) and reach out to Arthur as he approaches. “Give this to me.”

Arthur hands over the poster, and you unfold it. It’s for one mister Benedict Allbright – needed alive, for a reward of fifty dollars.

“He needs to be living?” You say. “This is unlike you.”

Arthur mounts his horse, a Tenessee Walker named Marie. He clicks his tongue and presses his legs together against Marie’s flank once, and she starts trotting. You and Bronya follow. 

“Was the only one there,” Arthur says as you pull up beside him. “They says he’s been poisonin’ folks with some ‘miracle cure’ from here to Annesburg. Says he killed more ‘n Landon Ricketts without even pullin’ a trigger.”

“Troubling,” you say. “He is dangerous?”

Arthur looks over at you. “Would I bring you along if he was?”

“He cannot be more trouble than Angel Island,” you say. 

And everything comes rushing back. The Wild West is being tamed. A robbery in Blackwater went wrong, and you and the rest of the Van der Linde gang were forced to flee east – the exact opposite of where you wanted to go. And you’re only in this mess because of the officials operating Angel Island. They somehow messed up your papers, and you couldn’t get the work you were promised. You were forced to steal, lie and sometimes even kill to get your way. 

The date is June 12th, 1899. And it’s a normal day as a somewhat-citizen of the United States of America.

“Where is this… Allbright?” You ask. 

“Fellers down at the Sheriff’s said he was holed up in some gorge north a’ here,” Arthur says. 

“Ah! I know what you speak of,” you say, squeezing Bronya’s sides with your claves. She breaks into a canter. “Follow!”

“Now, you can’t just –!” Arthur makes an exasperated sound, then matches your speed. “At least give me a warnin’!”

You laugh, the sound full of warmth. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves turns from the mud of Valentine into the drier dirt of the outer town limits. 

A few minutes later, you pull off the well-trodden trail and into the knee-high grasses. You lead Arthur through the sparse trees that make up the edges of Cumberland Forest.

“How come you know these parts so well?” Arthur asks, breaking the somewhat-silence.

“I have a good head,” you say. “After riding through this place once, I know it, um… I know it like…” You grumble, frustrated. You know what you’re trying to say, but just… can’t articulate it right. You’re tempted to just say it in Russian, but Arthur wouldn’t understand, and you would risk any passerby potentially becoming hostile. (Shouldn’t you speak better English than this? You remember speaking better English than this…)

“What’re you tryna say?” Arthur asks. He’s used to this.

You take one of your hands away from the reins and hold it up. “Something to do with hands. I know it like… like my hands know it?”

“Like the back of my hand,” Arthur corrects. 

“That!” You chime, re-taking the reins in hand. “I know it like the back of my hand.”

You hear the sound of water running along a riverbed and perk up. “We are close.”

Marie follows Bronya as you guide her up a slope into a small alcove carved into a mountain. It’s a thin slope – on one side is the mountain, and on the other is a twenty-meter drop into a river. The alcove is housing a man – supposedly Benedict Allbright – and his horse.

You turn back to Arthur and jerk your head towards Allbright. He’s always been the more intimidating of you two, so you’re letting him lead this one. 

Arthur grunts and dismounts his horse before walking by Bronya, towards Allbright. “Oh, what we got here?”

He continues walking forward until he comes to a stop just before Allbright’s bedroll and campfire. “Are you Benedict Allbright?”

Allbright stands, backing away from Arthur a bit. “N-no, sir.”

“You kinda look like him,” Arthur says. “And we was told he’d be up here.”

“No, uh,” Allbright says. “Not me, sir.”

“It’s because…” Arthur sighs, and looks out of the alcove, down at the river. “I wanna buy some medicine. And, I heard… I heard good things.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. Arthur could rival Hosea with his tact for semantics, even if he adamantly denies it. 

“I’ll pay – in gold – i-if you can help me find him. It’s just…” Arthur glances over at you, then the ground, like it pains him to look at you. “My brother’s child over there is real sick. Russiatitus, they was callin’ it. Rare disease. We tried all them medicines they said to try, but… nothin’s workin’.”

“Oh!” Allbright looks over at you through his spectacles and smiles. “Well… if it’s for the ill, I’d be more than happy to help!”

He turns and walks over to his bags, picking out a small bottle filled with a viscous, dark yellow liquid. “I’m a healer, y’know? A medical man.”

Allbright turns back and hands it to Arthur. “Finest medicine in the state.”

Arthur pretends to be wowed, then tosses the bottle off the edge of the alcove and into the river. Before Allbright has time to react, he’s drawn his revolver. So have you. You spur Bronya to walk forward, past Allbright’s horse and partially into his camp.

“Game’s over, mister.” Arthur angles himself so that he’s blocking the only other exit. “Put your hands up – we’re takin’ you in.”

“Takin’ me in?” Allbright repeats, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He puts his hands up. “What for?”

“Apparently that stuff you’re pushin’ is killin’ folk, n’ there’s a price on your head,” Arthur says. “I don’t know, it ain’t my business.”

“C’mon, partner, that’s crap. I’m a healer! I-I’ve got an aura… I speak to spirits! I’m a scientist!” Allbright insists. “Folks get real angry for no good reason, and this… this is a mistake.” He looks over at you. “S-surely you can talk some sense into him?”

“Hm…” You twitch your nose and shrug, not lowering your gun. “No.”

“Keep your hands up, buddy.” Arthur reaches forward carefully, taking Allbright’s gun from its holster and tossing it into the river. “They only want you for questionin’.”

“I – I have to insist that this is a mistake,” Allbright says. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Arthur says, corralling him towards the edge of the alcove. 

You look down at the river, then notice… a man. He’s looking up at you from where he stands in the riverbed, his pants soaked up to the knee. And – shit, from where he’s standing, he can clearly see you and Arthur pointing your guns at Allbright.

“Arthur,” you say without looking away from the man. “A man is watching. Maybe he is thinking we are robbing.”

“Go get ‘im,” Arthur says. “I got this handled.”

You click your tongue and tug on Bronya’s reins. She turns and starts walking down the slope to the river. 

The man doesn’t run as you approach him, despite your saddlebag holsters both holding rifles. Instead, he’s just… staring, with soft, brown eyes. 

He seems… familiar. Really familiar. Then again, Angel Island is on the west coast, and you’re pretty far from there, so you’ve seen a lot of people while in America. But… the bright blue stain on his temple seems so familiar. God, you swear you know him. Where is he from?

“You are watching me and my friend?” You ask, jerking your head towards the alcove. “The man is a bounty. He has been killing people from here and eastward, poisoning them with a… tonic. We do not rob for joy. We hunt bounties.”

The man walks forward, almost stumbling on the stones of the riverbed. “Officer?”

You rack your brain for that word, but come up with nothing. “I – I do not know the meaning of this English word… officer.”

He swallows thickly, then takes a breath. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH. 13: LET’S TALK HOMECOMING (THE MILITARY OPERATION, NOT PROM)

synopsis: you wake up on a helicopter, fresh from being saved, and meet a pilot that seems really familiar.

word count: ~900

ships: CH: “they were relatively unresponsive to that one. shall i introduce one that is less familiar?”

notes: EK: “yes. it should still be american, but... mixed with soviet suffering.”

ToFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

THREAT OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Wake up,” a voice mumbles. A hand grasps your shoulder and shakes you. “C’mon, commie…”

You open your eyes and see a man that’s familiar, but not. Like you’ve known him your whole life but only really registered his existence just now. He’s wearing a half-balaclava with a skull pattern and a beanie, and the skin around his ice-blue eyes is smeared with black greasepaint. 

“What the hell is happening?” You manage through gritted teeth. You shift and try to sit up from the bench of the helicopter you’re in, but he pushes you back down. 

“You got the bright idea to follow the twin brats to find Elias,” he says. “Into a goddamn burning house, no less. Jackass.”

You groan and close your eyes, bringing a fist to your forehead. “Keegan, don’t. Not right now.” His name slips from your lips before you even realize it. (So you do know this man, and probably the rest of the people on this helicopter… odd.)

In a fashion that seems familiar, it all comes back to you in a tidal wave of information. The energy deserts of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the rest of the major oil producers dried up a decade ago, sending the world into a panic. The entirety of South America united under the banner of the Federation of the Americas and the guide of General Diego Almagro, both willingly and unwillingly. General Almagro was assassinated in 2015, but his presence was still felt as the Federation took over Panama, then Costa Rica, then Nicaragua, working their way up to Mexico and, the other night, Dallas, Texas. 

You are a part of the Ghosts: a spec ops team set on beating back the Federation, even if it is a losing battle. 

The date is June 12th, 2027. And it’s a godawful day to be a citizen of the burning remains of the United States of America.

Hesh (one of the ‘twin brats,’ even though Logan is two years younger) pulls Keegan away and shoves him up against the wall of the helicopter. “You need to get this bird back on the ground. We’re not going anywhere!”

Keegan pushes him back easily, then adds, “Calm down, kid.”

“Hey!” Merrick body-slams Hesh into the wall. (He’s never been known for his gentleness.) “We just saved your asses!”

“We didn’t need your help!” Hesh snaps. 

Merrick takes hold of the collar of Hesh’s tac vest. Keegan taps your legs, and you sit up, pulling your legs up to your chest. Good thing you did – Merrick shoves Hesh down on the bench a moment later. 

“The hell you didn’t,” Merrick spits, towering over Hesh.

Elias shoves Merrick away with a, “Stow it! All of you.” (His voice is slightly muffled through his full-face balaclava, but it carries authority all the same.)

There’s a lot of light violence happening in the cabin of this helicopter, but you suppose that’s to be expected when the military comes around.

Hesh stands, facing Elias. “We have to go back! Our dad’s down there, and we’re not leaving without him!”

Logan stands too, signing at Elias. His words are angry, and his face is drawn into something like a snarl. He’s signing fast, but you manage to pick up something about him kicking everyone’s ass and tacking on a “TRUE BIZ” at the end, meaning that he’s not joking.

“That’s real admirable of you, Hesh, and I’m sure you can, Logan,” Elias says, sitting them both back down. “But your father’s not there anymore.”

He takes off his mask, revealing himself. 

“Dad?” Hesh says. “This whole time you were one of them? You’re a Ghost?!”

You look up and exchange glances with Keegan. Neither of you were really ones for surprise plot-twists or epic reveals. From what you can see, his expression looks bored and his eyebrows are drawn together a little, like a silent, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

You get up and Keegan automatically holds onto your shoulder, just in case you were to fall. You walk closer to the open cockpit, keeping a hand on the wall for the same reason. 

“What even happened?” You ask once you and Keegan were an acceptable distance away from the commotion. 

Keegan lets go of your shoulder and leans against the back of the pilot’s seat, crossing his arms. “Burning houses tend to collapse, dumbass. You got a roof tile right to the face.”

You rub your cheek and lean back against the wall adjacent to the cockpit. “Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

The helicopter jolts a little bit and your head snaps over to the cockpit. From where you’re standing, you can see the co-pilot. He’s facing forward, but you can see the sparse freckles that dot his face and the tuft of brown hair that escapes the gel that slicks back the rest of his hair. The headset he’s wearing has a bright blue circle painted on the earcup – it must be a sign of his squad, or whatever pilots are a part of.

Your eyebrows furrow. He seems familiar, somehow. But not like how Keegan was familiar, and not like Merrick, Hesh, Logan, or Elias. He’s… you don’t know how to describe it.

The helicopter jolts again, and a hanging carabiner knocks the back of your head. Keegan huffs out a laugh when you whimper a small “ow.”

The co-pilot looks over his shoulder and back at you. You meet his soft, brown eyes. 

“Officer?” He says softly, his hands still on the yoke of the helicopter.

“Try Sergeant,” Keegan corrects. 

He glances at Keegan, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowing. His lips start to form a word, but – 

-> CH. 13: THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN SAINT-SAËNS

synopsis: come to the church.

word count: 1.2k

ships: don’t listen to them.

notes: you’re with us now. we’ll take care of you.

ToFS taglist: just come to the church. please.

TALES OF FALSE SERENITY MASTERLIST

You hear waves crash on the coast before you’re even fully aware that you’re on a beach. A church stands before you, sea-worn and rotted. A banner, yellowed with age, hangs above the entrance, reading: Holy Church of the Amnesiac (formerly the Dolorian Church of Humanity). 

You walk up the stairs to the entrance, the rotted wood barely holding your weight. When you reach the door, you raise your fist and knock. 

A few moments later, someone answers the door. The person who answers is covered head-to-toe in police riot armor with a duster jacket on top. Their headgear resembles a reinforced gasmask with dark green lenses, and the words FORGIVE ME MAMA are messily carved into their helmet.

They look you over, then take your hand. 

You don’t know why, but you follow them inside. The inside is somewhat dilapidated, but still nice. The pews have been pushed aside to create a common space and the floor is littered with rugs and blankets and a few sparse pillows. People are scattered about, laying on the pews or sitting on the floor. 

A few of them perk up at the sight of you, but the person corrals you to the front of the church, where a figure is sitting. Their silhouette is stark against the light shining through the stained glass window behind them, which depicts a woman holding up two fingers with her right hand and cupping a breast with the other. The windows that would have been her lungs are punched out, leaving sunlight shining through.

“Come, friend.” They wave you over. “Sit with me.”

You look at the person who escorted you to the front of the church, and they nod, then turn away and leave you.

You ease down and sit with the person, tucking a leg under you. You look over at them – they’re dressed in all black, a cloth mask covering the bottom half of their face and their clothes covering the rest of their body. Their knee-length jacket flutters in the slight wind of the smashed-through windows.

“What is…” You gesture around. “This? This church.”

“This is the Church of the Amnesiac,” they say. “And I am the Hunter of Vilebloods. You need not tell me your name – I have been awaiting your arrival, as has the rest of the church.”

“Who are you?” You ask. “I mean, I know your name, but… what is the purpose of this church? Because from what I can tell, it’s not worship.”

The Hunter takes a breath and sighs. “We do not know. We are simply wanderers that have found our way here. This is not our home. We are all… bereft of memory. Something has cursed us, and I know that you have happened upon this curse, too.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I – I have memories.”

“Think back.” The Hunter looks into your eyes. “Think back to when you were but a child. Can you?”

“Of course I can,” you say. 

“Then tell me,” the Hunter says. “Recount your first memory.”

You look away and think back. “I… visited the Exhibit of National Economy Achievements when I was a child. I must have been… five, or six. There were machines there, both modern and vintage. It was a beautiful place that showcased the highest of Soviet achievements.”

The Hunter hums in response. “Your next memory?”

“When my father gave me a Makarov pistol,” you say. “He gifted it to me when I was ten years old. He never let me fire it, but it was still important to me. I had a hell of a time getting it over to the States when I immigrated.”

The Hunter tilts their head. “I… do not quite know what a Makarov pistol is, or where the States are, but please. Continue.”

“And then, my next memory is… when I was sixteen.” Your eyebrows furrow as you remember. “There was an accident, and I lost both of my legs. Luckily, I was able to be quickly fitted with prosthetics that mixed existing technology with neuropolymer. I was able to move my legs, but unable to really… feel them.” You sigh. “Now I have different ones, as I wasn’t done growing at sixteen. That, and the technology has improved.”

The Hunter shifts how they’re sitting so that they’re closer. “That is your next memory? There is… nothing in between?”

“N… no?” You say, unsure. “Is there supposed to be?”

“Typically, yes,” the Hunter says. “There is a menagerie of memories for one to look back on. Family, friends, parties and religion… but are you admitting that there is nothing?”

“Well, it…” You think for a moment, then admit in a small voice, “Yeah. I don’t remember anything until I emigrated from Chelomey.”

You feel something push against your leg – something solid and furry. You look over and see an orange cat with a little backpack rubbing against your leg, then sniffing at your shoes. He looks up at you and meows softly, as if noticing your sudden spike in stress.

“Hello,” you say softly. You reach out a hand and rub your fingers together, making a soft sound. The cat sniffs at your fingers before pushing his face against your hand, purrs starting to rumble in his tiny kitty chest.

“Who is this?” You ask, starting to gently scratch at the cat. 

“That is Stray,” the Hunter says. “He does not have memories, just like the rest of us.”

“But I do have memories,” you insist. 

“I apologize. I misspoke. He has… gaps in memory, just like the rest of us.” The Hunter looks over your shoulder and around the church. “Just like the Courier, the Tarnished, and everyone else here.”

You sigh, looking at the Hunter. “So what happens now? I died, so… is this all the afterlife has to offer? The Holy Church of the Amnesiac and a cat?”

The Hunter returns their eyes to you. “Oh, you did not die. You simply just… left your body behind.”

“What?” You snap, and Stray bolts. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think that this is all dying has to offer?” The Hunter asks. “A church and a cat and a few sad wanderers?”

“I…” You trail off. “Maybe! The philosophy I read about isn’t about death and what comes after. It’s the philosophy of man and his nature.”

“Man and his nature,” the Hunter echoes. “What a fickle thing one’s nature is. And I can see your very nature being unraveled before me in this very moment.”

“I don’t…” You groan and bring a hand to your forehead. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I don’t know what to make of this. This is all just – it’s too much.”

“You will emerge victorious. And if not, you will return to the church, and we will send you on your way again,” the Hunter says. 

They reach out and draw you closer, holding you against their side with an arm around your shoulder. They lean down and whisper in your ear, “It has been an honor, but we really must say good-bye. Now go, cleanse the tarnished streets of your homeworld. And may the good blood guide your way.”

-> CH. 13: WAKE UP & SMELL THE ASHES

synopsis: you wake up and kamski explains everything.

word count: 1.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Officer?” A soft, melodic voice calls. “Officer, can you hear me?”

You groan and turn on your side, away from the light that’s burning into your eyelids. “Huh…?”

“Officer, you need to wake up,” the voice continues. 

You open your eyes slowly and look up, only to lock eyes with… Chloe. What is Chloe doing here?

“You’re awake.” Chloe smiles and cups your jaw. “I will alert Mister Kamski right away.”

She looks away as her LED flickers, as do her eyes. After a moment, she looks back down at you and takes her hand away. You lay on your back, close your eyes, and wait.

A few minutes later, Kamski enters the room. You sit up, then immediately regret it when a stabbing pain shoots through your head. 

You screw your eyes shut and cover your eyes with a hand. You grind out, “Kamski, what the fuck am I doing here?”

“Lay back down,” Kamski says. You feel Chloe put a hand on your shoulder, and she guides you back down. The pain subsides enough for you to open your eyes again. 

Kamski takes a seat by your bedside and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. You look over. 

“Again, what the fuck am I doing here?” You say. “I… I died. I remember dying.”

“You did,” Kamski says, as if it was a completely normal thing to say. 

“Then how the hell am I alive?” You hiss. 

Kamski leans back in the chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “Do you remember your childhood?”

“Snippets,” you snap. “I just had this conversation. Now tell me how I’m alive after being shot in the goddamn head!”

“It’s simple,” Kamski says. (It’s not.) “You were never alive to begin with.”

You shoot up from the bed. “Чего?!” Again, Chloe pushes you back down.

“You know philosophy. Do you know Chariton Zakharov?” Kamski says, not pausing to give you a chance to answer. “Of course you do. You’ve read The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. In one of his letters, he wrote, ‘The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.’ I wanted to prove that.”

“I don’t really care to talk about philosophy right now!” You snap. 

Kamski holds up a hand. “Just wait. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll get to see that android. What was its name again? Connor?”

“Connor!” You echo. “He’s here?! Take me to him – now!”

“Listen to me first,” he says. You grit your teeth and do your best to settle as he continues. “I wanted to create something that no one had created before. Obviously, I already did this with androids. But I wanted to go further.”

You nod, telling him to continue. You really want to get this over with. 

“So I thought, what about an android that thinks of itself as a human?” Kamski lets out a scoff-laugh. “Ridiculous, right?”

“If it’s ridiculous, I have no doubt that you probably did it,” you say. “Where is this android-human? Show me it so I can go.”

Kamski reaches under the chair and pulls out a mirror, then hands it to you. You take it and look at it. Sure enough, it’s a reflection of yourself, looking just as confused as you feel. 

“I don’t… understand,” you say, looking up at Kamski.

He taps the surface of the mirror. “You’re looking at it.”

You look at the mirror again. There’s nothing human-looking behind you – just a reflection of yourself in bed.

Kamski leans closer and whispers, “It’s you, Officer.”

“What an absurd idea.” You look at him. “Surely you’re joking, yes?”

“I’m not.” He leans back in his chair. “You’re the first android that was fully tricked into thinking that it’s human. You’ve been living this delusion for eleven years, ever since you thought you emigrated from Chelomey.”

“Again, this is idiotic!” You snap. 

“You only remember core components of your childhood,” Kamski says. “The Exhibit of National Economy Achievements. Your pistol. The accident.”

“I…” You sigh. “Yes, but –”

“Your parents didn’t traumatize you,” he says, tilting his head down and looking at you through his eyelashes. “That was what you were gonna say, right? That people with childhood trauma have gaps in memory and don’t remember a lot of their childhood.”

The words you had prepared die on your tongue. You look away. “Then who am I? Tell me, if you know so much about me.”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” He asks. “Or to recount the lie you’re used to living?”

“The truth,” you say before you can change your mind.

“There was a baby born in Chelomey with the same name as yours. Same birthday, same birth year. It was stillborn – didn’t even have a chance to take its first breath,” Kamski says. “That was where I got your birth name and birthday. Tensions between America and the USSR were already tense back then, so it was easy to fake documents. Your birth certificate, your passport, affidavits of income and support, your permanent residency card. You won the Green Card Lottery during a low-emigration year. You thought you got lucky, but you didn’t. I fabricated everything.”

There’s a sinking, swirling feeling in your stomach. You don’t really… know what to feel. You feel numb, somehow? But also like you’re ready to explode – to ask Kamski what the fuck he’s going on about, to tell him that he sounds like a raving lunatic, to tell him that you don’t believe a word he says. 

And yet… you do. It… it makes sense, somehow. Why would America let a nondescript Soviet such as yourself in? And into cybersecurity, no less.

“It’s obvious until it isn’t, isn’t it?” Kamski says. 

“M… my legs,” you say. “Why did you take my legs?”

“You needed to have some excuse for how you felt,” he says. “You didn’t have aches in them, nor did you experience any real pain. Right?”

“Yes,” you say. “Just phantom pain. But…” You sigh. “How am I able to feel? Not touch, but emotions. I thought correctly-functioning androids weren’t supposed to feel emotions.”

Kamski furrows his eyebrows. “You never did find a ‘patient zero’ for deviancy, did you?”

“No,” you say. “All we know is that it started in Detroit, and spread… across the country…”

A horrible feeling overcomes you. You were patient zero, weren’t you? You were the first to break your programming, to feel emotion and to feel pain – even if it was only imagined. And you probably infected Connor, too, didn’t you? You are the reason for his pain and suffering and all the turmoil he’s going through. You’re the root cause for the pain and suffering and turmoil everyone’s going through. 

“You are the free radical. The outlier,” Kamski verbalizes your thoughts. “You were the spark of chaos that was required to start the revolution.”

“I didn’t want to start the revolution,” you say. Your voice is softer and more shaky than you’d like it to be. There’s a burning in the back of your throat. “I just… I just wanted to solve the case that was assigned to me.”

“But you did.” Kamski stands, then starts walking towards the exit, as does Chloe. “You are the deviant android that infected others. The others you infected started a revolution. There are no two ways about it.”

“I want to go home,” you manage.

“Chloe,” he says. “Get Connor.”

There’s a door opening, then rushed footsteps as someone comes to your bedside. You look over. It’s Connor. His LED is stuck on red. 

“Officer?” He says. His soft, brown eyes search yours, lingering on the hot tears that swell at your waterline. Your bottom lip trembles. 

Connor immediately sweeps you into a hug – one unlike the one you’d shared back at the station. This one is firm, bordering on desperate as he clutches at the back of your shirt. He rests his forehead in the crook of your shoulder and lets out a shuddering exhale.

“Officer,” he says softly. “Officer, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” You say. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t do a good enough job of protecting you,” he says. “You got shot. I… I failed my mission. And I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

You exhale shakily and lean your head against Connor’s. His hair tickles the side of your nose. Tears slip from your eyes, and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it hard to talk. “Don’t be. We were… we were both being stupid.”

“The revolution is still going,” Connor says. “Markus has instructed me to wake up the thousands of androids housed at the CyberLife assembly plant. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” You pull back and meet his eyes. “But that would be a suicide mission.”

“They’ll let us in,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “I’m an RK800, and you’re an android. We can act like we’re there for an emergency meeting.”

“You knew?” You snap. “You knew all along?”

“No!” Connor says, clutching you tighter. “Chloe told me. It explained everything. I couldn’t believe it at first, but… the evidence was too convincing, and it aligned with everything I had already learned about you.”

“Right,” you say. “Right. Obviously. I’m just…” You furrow your eyebrows and screw your eyes shut. “Everything’s a lot right now. And it seems like everything bad that’s happening in the world is happening to me.”

He draws you back into the hug, rubbing up and down your back. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by a smell you only now recognize as Connor’s – clean, leather, and a hint of something else.

After a few minutes, you sigh and squeeze around his middle. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble back. “Let’s go before I realize how stupid this is.”

[mychlapci]

I'm so sad thinking about escapee K9 Prowl ;A;

Thinking about him struggling even harder than he had before, snarling and clawing at the rescuers who are trying to approach him. He's finally HOME. He is not being dragged away again.

The thought stuns him for a moment. He's never. He's never really thought about having a home, never allowed one. But that short moment is just enough for one of the rescue mechs to slip one of those rings for restraining feral dogs around his neck. Prowl howls and snarls and begins to struggle again, but the long pole now attached to his neck keeps him at a safe distance from his captors.

That's when he notices some of the enforcers have come out of the station. For a brief moment, Prowl hopes they are finally here to take him back, to arrest these- these kidnappers and put them in their place- But the enforcers just stand back and laugh.

They think it's funny. 'Like a real mutt' they say, one of the enforcers miming Prowl being dragged away by his neck.

That's when Prowl's doorwings, previously held high in warning and aggression, finally fall and he stops struggling.

They won't take him back in. He is no longer worth anything to his handlers. It's... it's a price he pays for his incompetence, for allowing himself to be taken away, for taking so long to return, for being useless. Replaceable.

The rescuers are shocked when Prowl suddenly stops fighting them and kind of just. Stares sadly at the ground. When they hesitantly pull at the pole, they're surprised to find that Prowl just quietly follows. The get him onto the transport with no further issues, but this somehow doesn't seem like a good thing.

Back at the rescue, he's finally docile, but still unresponsive. This is the first time medical really gets a good look at him because they just lay him on the examination berth and he stays there. Unmoving. He looks so tired. His optics are unfocused and dim.

He lets them do a full physical examination. Even touching his doorwings, which would usually mean a trip to medical for whoever was stupid enough to touch, only elicits a little flick of said wings before Prowl allows his doorwings to be manhandled and examined.

At first the staff are happy about the progress. Prowl is finally calm and has been medically cleared and he's resting and not fighting them. That's good, right?

But they soon realise Prowl hardly moves at all. He hardly eats too, only sitting up once a day to lap at just enough energon so he won't fall into stasis before laying back down. He doesn't respond to anyone who comes to talk to him. He hardly even responds when others touch or pet him.

A Prowl who was biting and fighting for his life was infinitely better than whatever this is. Now they aren't even sure how much longer he's going to last. And they don't know what's wrong with him. Physically he's fine.

Maybe that's when they start to assign bots to keep him company. He doesn't seem dangerous anymore, so they assign someone to sit with him every day, to make sure he eats, to keep him clean, to pet him and maybe read to him. Whatever is wrong with Prowl, it's clearly emotional or psychological, so they think the company would help. Prowl doesn't respond, but at least he hasn't tried to attack or drive his new 'companions' away.

No matter what they do, he always looks so sad. His doorwings sit limply against his back.

ouhh poor thing’s depressed... All fight leaves Prowl as he realizes that he’s no longer a K9 unit. His whole life’s meaning, all gone in one night.

He mostly just lies around, which was a blessing at first. They could attend his broken wings and check him over, but they quickly realize that his sudden passivity isn’t to be celebrated. No one can get Prowl to do anything these days. He barely fuels and never pays any attention to his caretakers, and even though he scowls in discomfort when touched, he does not recoil away. They worry he might end up withering away if they don’t do something to cheer him up...

[cyllres]

Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader

Chapter 23

The sun was blazing overhead, casting sharp shadows on the training grounds. The air was hot and dry.

“You’re late, Y/n,” Maki called out, barely glancing over her shoulder as you approached. The sun caught the gleam of sweat on her forehead, an evidence to the rigorous training already underway.

You adjusted your uniform with a calm demeanor, smoothing out the creases as you walked towards them. The white jacket’s crispness seemed almost out of place in the heat. “Konbu,” Toge greeted, his voice light yet focused, as he sparred with Megumi. You nodded in response, acknowledging his greeting with a faint smile.

“What were you doing?” Maki's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of curiosity and impatience in her tone.

“Yasu-san insisted on bringing a vehicle for this mission,” you replied softly, the polite smile never leaving your lips. “He’s still mad at me, I guess.” Your eyes shifted away, scanning the bright horizon as if looking for something to distract you from the conversation.

“Y/N!” Nobara's voice pierced through the air, drawing your attention. You turned to see her being spun around by Panda, her arms flailing as she struggled to gain her balance. “QUIT BEING SLOW! SWITCH WITH ME! I'M SICK OF THESE SCHOOL UNIFORMS! LET ME GO BUY SOME CUTE TRACKSUITS!” she demanded, her voice a mix of frustration and determination.

“Here we go!” Panda chuckled, clearly amused as he released Nobara, sending her flying through the air. She landed headfirst, her legs comically pointing skyward for a moment before collapsing into a heap.

“What are those two doing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you observed the spectacle.

“Falling practice,” Panda explained, giving you a thumbs-up. His carefree attitude was almost infectious, despite the intensity of their training.

“Takana,” Toge said, his voice tinged with concern as he glanced at the unmoving Nobara.

“You three are weak in close quarters, after all,” Panda continued, his tone shifting to one of gentle encouragement. The sun cast a warm glow on his fur, making him seem almost cuddly despite his imposing size.

“So first…” Maki's voice cut through the moment, drawing your attention back to her. She swung her metal pole arm with precise control, aiming directly at you. “Land a blow on us.” A smirk played on her lips, a challenge evident in her eyes. “We’ll talk after that. There’s only a month and a half until the Exchange Event, so no dawdling.”

She tossed her pole arm towards you, the metal glinting in the sunlight. You caught it effortlessly, the weight familiar in your hands. Maki grabbed another pole, settling into a ready stance. The heat of the sun beat down on both of you, intensifying the atmosphere as you prepared to engage. The training grounds seemed to shrink around you, focusing all your attention on the imminent clash.

As you readied yourself, the sounds of the others training faded into the background. The warmth of the sun and the slight breeze rustling through the leaves were the only constants in the world that had suddenly narrowed to just you and Maki, the promise of a fierce and enlightening duel hanging in the air.

The sun bore down relentlessly as you squared off against Maki, the metal pole arm feeling almost too heavy in your grip despite its familiar weight. The heat shimmered off the ground, creating an almost surreal atmosphere around you.

Maki moved first, her pole arm slicing through the air with a speed that caught you off guard. You barely managed to parry the blow, the force of it vibrating up your arm. She was fast—too fast for you to keep up in close combat. Each of her strikes was precise and unyielding, designed to exploit any weakness in your defense.

You gritted your teeth, trying to match her movements, but your own attacks felt sluggish in comparison. Every swing you made seemed to fall just short of its mark, leaving you increasingly frustrated. Maki’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and something that looked almost like encouragement.

“Come on, Y/n,” she urged, her voice steady and commanding. “You can do better than this.”

But you could feel the strain in your muscles, the sweat trickling down your back. You were more used to strategizing from a distance, using your powers to control and manipulate, rather than engaging in this direct, brutal combat.

Desperation clawed at you. You needed an edge, something to turn the tide in your favor. Just as Maki swung her pole arm in another powerful arc, you considered summoning Pochita. The thought of the chainsaw devil’s raw power brought a fleeting sense of security.

“Don’t even think about it!” Maki shouted, her voice cutting through your thoughts like a whip. Her eyes locked onto yours, reading your intent as if it were written plainly on your face. “This is between us. No summoning.”

Frustration flared inside you, but you respected her command. Instead, you resorted to another tactic. As Maki closed in, you subtly pointed your index finger at her, focusing on channeling your force manipulation. A small, controlled burst of invisible force shot from your finger, aimed directly at her center of gravity.

The effect was immediate. Maki stumbled, her balance thrown off by the unexpected push. She recovered quickly, but it was the opening you needed. You surged forward, swinging your pole arm with all the strength you could muster. The blow connected solidly with Maki’s side, and she grunted as the impact sent her skidding back a few steps.

You stood there, breathing heavily, the sun beating down on your flushed skin. Maki straightened up, a smile spreading across her face despite the blow she had just taken.

“Not bad,” she conceded, her eyes shining with a mixture of approval and something akin to respect. “You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve after all.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as well. Despite the struggle, there was a sense of satisfaction in finally landing a hit. The training was far from over, but for the moment, you had proven to yourself that you could adapt, even in the face of your weaknesses. The sun continued to blaze overhead, but the weight of the challenge felt just a little bit lighter.

-

The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows from the trees that provided some much-needed shade during their break. The air was filled with a sense of calm, a brief respite from the intense training and missions that defined their days.

“Carrying cursed tools, huh?” Panda’s deep voice broke the silence as he conversed with Megumi. He leaned back on the bench, one massive paw resting casually on his knee, while the other gestured animatedly.

Megumi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting towards you. You were a few meters away, playing catch with a much smaller version of Pochita and your loyal dog, Sugar. The bright, almost carefree laughter that escaped your lips as the two creatures chased after the ball was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating persona you often displayed in battle.

“I agree with supplementing my close combat with weapons,” Megumi said, his focus returning to the conversation. “But with my curse technique, I want to be able to free up both hands at any time. With swords, you lose time sheathing them.” His eyes flicked to Maki, who was sitting comfortably under the shade of a large tree. She seemed relaxed, but there was a keen attentiveness in her eyes as she listened.

“Zenin-senpai, you often carry more than two around you, right? How'd you do that?” Megumi asked, genuinely curious.

Maki smirked, tilting her head towards Panda who was now comically flexing his muscles, showing off his strength. “I make Panda carry them,” she replied with a chuckle. Megumi deadpanned.

Panda laughed, his hearty voice resonating through the clearing. “Yeah, some sources keep curse spirits that can store up and retrieve objects.” He explained as he relaxed back on the bench, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and amusement.

“He can’t do that. It’s a rare thing,” Maki added, her tone more serious now. “And it takes time to tame them as well. But if you find a way, let me know.”

Megumi placed a thoughtful hand on his chin, clearly mulling over the information. The idea of integrating such a technique into his own repertoire seemed to spark something within him. He glanced down at his hand, almost as if testing a theory, and then pressed it against the ground. To his surprise, his hand suddenly slipped through as if the earth itself had become intangible.

“Tuna tuna,” Toge called out, noticing Megumi's unusual action and the expression of mild surprise that crossed his face.

“Senpai,” Megumi said, looking up with a rare, genuine smile. “I think I can do it.”

The realization was like a light bulb turning on in his mind, illuminating a new path forward. He could feel the potential for a breakthrough, something that could elevate his combat strategy to a new level.

Meanwhile, you had caught the tail end of their conversation. With a swift motion, you threw the ball for Pochita and Sugar to chase after again. The small orange chainsaw-headed creature barked happily, and Sugar followed suit, their playful antics drawing a soft smile to your lips.

-

You boredly glanced at Yasu, who was once again lecturing you for taking on too many missions back-to-back. His voice was a constant drone in your ears, and you could barely keep from rolling your eyes as he rambled on. “Maaan, I love the money I'm earning and the commissions, but can't we rest for a while? I get tired too. Not everyone can keep up with a gorilla like you.” He ranted as he parked the car in the school’s parking area, the engine’s hum a background to his complaints.

“Told you, we could just teleport there but you refuse.” You deadpanned, unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing out of the car, the cool evening air hitting your face as you stepped into the parking lot illuminated by dim streetlights.

“No.” Yasu said firmly, shaking his head with an almost comical seriousness. “Not after you left me.” He pointed an accusatory finger at you, his eyes narrowing.

You remembered the incident yesterday. You had left him behind during a sudden retreat, teleporting away. It wasn’t something you particularly regretted—it had been necessary—but Yasu had taken it personally. His trust issues were almost endearing, if not for his constant need to bring them up.

“Whatever, goodnight Yasu-san.” You said with a dismissive wave, turning away from him. Your voice carried a note of finality that brooked no argument. Yasu only nodded in response, albeit grudgingly, as he also walked in the opposite direction, lighting up a cigarette. The flicker of the lighter briefly illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows that made his features look almost ghostly.

Reaching the dorms, you sighed deeply, feeling the familiar weight of fatigue settle into your bones. The missions had been relentless, and your body was screaming for rest. The campus was quiet, the usual bustle of students long gone as everyone retreated to their rooms for the night.

Just as you were about to unlock your door, a chill ran down your spine. You felt a presence nearby, a familiar, almost comforting aura that was hard to miss.

“Gojo-sensei.” You called out, turning to see Satoru standing right behind you, his white hair almost glowing under the moonlight, and his trademark blindfold in place. He had a mischievous smile on his face, one that promised trouble.

“No time to talk, come with me.” Satoru said, his voice cheerful but urgent. Before you could protest, he grabbed you and effortlessly hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of rice. You barely had time to gasp before the world around you shifted violently.

The scene changed abruptly, the dorm’s familiar surroundings replaced by the eerie, dimly lit confines of what seemed to be an underground basement. Your eyes widened in surprise as you struggled to regain your bearings, taking in the dark, cold space around you.

“Yuuji-!” You exclaimed, spotting your brother standing a few feet away, looking just as bewildered as you felt. Yuuji turned around, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you, but before either of you could say anything, Satoru cut you both off with a wave of his hand.

“Let the reunion occur later, your amazing teacher is gonna show y'all something cool. I'm going to teach the both of you about the pinnacle of jujutsu battles, Domain Expansion.” Satoru declared, his tone brimming with excitement. With a casual flick of his wrist, he grabbed Yuuji as well, and the next instant, the three of you were standing on a vast expanse of water, the sky above a perfect, starless black. Satoru stood seemingly unaffected by the sudden shift, his usual nonchalance firmly in place.

“Sorry about that.” Satoru said, as if teleporting you both across space and time was a minor inconvenience. “Were you waiting?” His tone was almost teasing as he addressed the curse that stood a short distance away, its monstrous form glaring at the three of you with malevolent intent.

“Where the heck?! Hey, where are we?!” Yuuji’s voice was edged with panic, his eyes wide with confusion. He was clearly not used to Gojo’s unique brand of teleportation.

“That’s…” You glanced back, your gaze locking onto the figure standing opposite you. The curse was humanoid but grotesque, with pale gray skin that darkened into a brown volcanic opening at the top of its head. Its single cycloptic eye stared unblinkingly, and its mouth was filled with jagged black teeth. It wore an all-black outfit, loose and flowing, with a yellow spotted cape draped over its shoulders and a white scarf around its neck.

“This is Yuuji Itadori-kun and Y/n Itadori-chan, they are here to watch.” Satoru introduced you both with a casual wave, as if this was a routine field trip and not a potentially deadly encounter.

“Mt. Fuji! His head’s Mt. Fuji!” Yuuji exclaimed, pointing at the curse with a mix of disbelief and horror.

“It's ugly.” You muttered, unimpressed, as you pushed yourself off Satoru’s shoulder, landing lightly on the surface of the water.

“Why aren't we sinking?” Yuuji asked as Satoru placed him down beside you. He stomped his feet lightly, testing the surface as if it were solid ground. “Sensei, I was at the school just a second ago, right?” He turned to Satoru, his voice tinged with confusion. “What's going on here?”

“Oh, we warped here.” Satoru answered nonchalantly, as if such a feat was commonplace. Yuuji could only deadpan at the short, almost dismissive explanation.

“What are those brats for? Shield?” Jogo, the curse, asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Shield? No no no, I told you they're here to watch.” Satoru replied, a playful lilt in his voice. “I'm in the middle of teaching this boy lots of things. As for her,” he glanced at you with a mischievous grin, “I think it's fun to let her tag along. Both of them are my favorite students, after all.” He spoke with a childlike enthusiasm, his tone almost mocking. “Don't worry about them, just keep fighting.”

“Bringing in someone who will slow you down just makes you a fool.” Jogo sneered, his contempt clear.

“It'll be fine. After all… you're weak.” Satoru’s voice turned mocking, his words laced with a casual arrogance that clearly infuriated the curse. Jogo’s ears, which had been plugged, flew out, causing his head to erupt with flames in a burst of fury.

“Don't underestimate me, brat!” He roared, flames licking up from the top of his head. “I'm going to enjoy swallowing up that smug face of yours!” The flames surged forward, threatening to engulf the three of you.

Reacting quickly, you summoned Pochita, intending to use its formidable power to block the flames. But as Pochita’s large form emerged, it promptly sank into the water with a splash, completely useless in the current setting.

“Pochita!” You called out in frustration as you watched the cursed creature flounder and sink. Your deadpan expression returned, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

Feeling a reassuring hand on the back of your head, you glanced up to see Satoru smiling down at you, his confidence unwavering.

“You'll be fine. Just stay close to me.” He ruffled your hair in a gesture that was almost affectionate. You sighed and dismissed Pochita, its large body dissolving back into you with a shimmer of energy.

Jogo placed his hands together, his expression turning deadly serious. “Domain Expansion.” He declared, and suddenly the world around you darkened. The tranquil surface of the water cracked and transformed, morphing into the molten interior of a volcano. The oppressive heat and the fiery glow created a surreal, hellish landscape. Jogo’s smirk grew wider, his confidence bolstered by his transformation.

“W-what is this?” Yuuji asked, his voice shaking with fear as he took in the nightmarish surroundings.

“Coffin of the Iron Mountain!” Jogo muttered, completing his Domain Expansion with a sense of triumph.

“This is a Domain Expansion.” Satoru explained, his tone still calm and instructional despite the chaos around you. “You use curse energy to construct an Innate Domain, imbued with the curse technique in your surroundings. What you all experienced at the juvenile detention center was an incomplete domain that hadn't been imbued with any curse technique. If that had been a proper domain, all of you first years would have died. I think Megumi understood that.” Despite his carefree tone, there was a hint of seriousness in his explanation. The gravity of what you were witnessing was not lost on him.

“Oh!” Yuuji exclaimed, a spark of realization in his eyes. “Like buffs in video games!”

“Another is…” Satoru began, but his sentence was cut off as he effortlessly blocked an attack that came hurtling towards the three of you. He didn’t even flinch as the fiery projectile disintegrated against his invisible barrier. “...that the techniques imbued in the domain are guaranteed to hit within that domain.”

“Guaranteed?” Yuuji echoed, his voice a mixture of awe and apprehension.

“Guaranteed!” Satoru confirmed with a nod. “But don't worry. There are several ways to deal with it. You can take the heat using a curse technique, like just now, or… I don't really recommend this one, but you can go outside the domain, though that is usually impossible.” He paused. “You can also…”

“If I neutralize that infinity of yours with a dense domain, then my techniques will reach you.” Jogo said, cutting Satoru off.

“Yeah, they’ll hit,” Satoru confirmed, unfazed.

“Huh, infinity?” Yuuji asked, looking between Satoru and Jogo with confusion.

“The most effective way to deal with a domain is to lay out your own domain,” Satoru explained, tugging at his blindfold, revealing his piercing blue eyes. “When two domains are laid out simultaneously, the more refined one will dominate that space. Though sometimes compatibility and the amount of curse energy are factors.”

“There won’t even be ashes left of you, Satoru Gojo!” Jogo roared, his rage boiling over. He unleashed a torrent of flames, a sea of fire that seemed to consume everything in its path.

But Satoru stood calmly amidst the inferno, his voice steady and almost nonchalant as he intoned, “Domain Expansion: Infinite Void.”

The world around you and Yuuji dissolved into a vast, endless white expanse. Satoru carried you both effortlessly on one arm, his eyes sharp and focused. Jogo's domain crumbled as the Infinite Void took over, swallowing everything in its immensity. The scene transformed into an ethereal void, resembling the cosmos with its inky blackness, distant galaxies, and swirling, nebulous white patches. A sense of boundless space stretched in every direction, the sheer scale overwhelming.

Jogo stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror and confusion. Raw, infinite information bombarded his mind, paralyzing him completely. He couldn't move, couldn't think, as the relentless flood of knowledge rendered him helpless. His thoughts fragmented, his consciousness overwhelmed by the unending stream.

“This is the inner world of Limitless,” Satoru explained, gripping Jogo’s head with a casual firmness. His voice cut through the infinite expanse, resonating with an eerie calm. “Perception, communication… every action involved in living is forcibly carried out an infinite number of times. It’s ironic, isn’t it? When guaranteed everything, you can’t do anything but die peacefully.”

You glanced at Satoru, trying to steady yourself against the dizzying expanse of the Infinite Void. Despite Satoru’s casual demeanor, the overstimulation of the sight made your stomach churn. You quickly covered your mouth, a wave of nausea washing over you. Satoru's grip on Jogo tightened, enough to behead him cleanly, yet he held back, as if considering the options.

“But I have questions I want to ask you, so I’m letting you off the hook with this.” Satoru’s tone shifted to one of calculated mercy as he gripped Jogo’s head tightly, enough to incapacitate him without killing. The Infinite Void dispersed as Satoru set you and Yuuji gently on the ground, stepping on Jogo’s decapitated head to keep him in place.

“Now, who told you to come after me?” Satoru asked, his voice returning to its usual lightness as he adjusted his blindfold back into place. But before Jogo could respond, you felt a familiar, yet disconcerting presence nearby, almost fading away. Your body stiffened, a cold shiver running down your spine.

“Pochita, Pochita,” you whispered urgently, calling out to your modified cursed spirit. Satoru glanced at you with mild curiosity while Yuuji immediately moved to your side, concern etched on his face.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Yuuji asked, his voice tinged with worry. Pochita emerged from your back, ready to defend you. Before you could issue any commands, a burst of flowers exploded in front of you all, their petals drifting down in a mesmerizing display. The scene shifted into a false sense of calm, and you felt an inexplicable peace washing over you.

“Wow! Pretty flowers,” Satoru commented with a smile, momentarily taken in by the tranquil scene. He slapped himself lightly, shaking off the influence. ‘This is a curse, right? It’s stripping away my will to fight,’ he thought, quickly regaining his composure.

Yuuji, however, was caught off guard as a log ensnared his feet, lifting him into the air. Another curse took advantage of the distraction, snatching Jogo’s head and retreating swiftly. Satoru reacted instantly, saving Yuuji. You, still feeling the effects of the earlier overstimulation, could only manage to vomit, your body wracked with exhaustion. Pochita whined softly, trying to comfort you.

Clearly, the relentless pace of missions and the toll of two Domain Expansions were catching up with you. Yuuji hurried to your side, offering support as you struggled to steady yourself.

“Wow,” Satoru mused, a hint of amusement in his voice. “He got away. He’s good at hiding his presence too.” He referred to the curse that had rescued Jogo, his interest piqued. “Spirits of that level are forming a faction now? This is getting interesting.” He glanced back at you and Yuuji, assessing your condition.

“Yuuji, Y/n, I want both of you—or rather, everyone—to become strong enough to beat that. It’s better to have a concrete goal, right? Man, I’m glad I brought both of you here.” Satoru’s enthusiasm was palpable, but Yuuji looked less than convinced.

“I had no idea what was going on, though,” Yuuji admitted, still processing the events.

“Now that we’ve set up our goals, all that’s left is to pursue them. We’ll speed up your schedule a bit,” Satoru declared, turning to Yuuji. “For the next month, you’ll be watching movies and fighting me.”

“Fighting you? Will I still be alive a month from now?” Yuuji exclaimed, his voice tinged with both fear and incredulity. Their conversation blurred into the background as you struggled to stay focused. The familiar presence you sensed earlier lingered in your mind, mixing with the fatigue and overstimulation. It was almost tangible but tainted by another equally familiar presence.

You tried to dismiss it as the aftereffects of the Domain Expansions, but the unease persisted. You glanced at Pochita as you dismissed the cursed spirit, its form merging back into you. Yuuji held onto you tightly, his concern unwavering. The darkness of exhaustion finally overtook you, pulling you into a deep, unplanned sleep.

‘God, I really do need to start sleeping,’ you thought as consciousness slipped away.

-

Kape?