#but at the end of the day i’m not going to frame anyone for murder or sue greenpeace. and i don’t condone those things.

[obbystars]

Drown in the Deep

Synopsis: Drown your sorrows away into the deep dark ocean where it can’t be found. Feel its cold embrace and let the water in. Maybe then, you’ll see him again when you no longer feel anything.

CONTENT WARNING: The reader very much intends to die/get themself killed, detailing how they’d love to drown in the abyss.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / Spoilers for Sebastian’s backstory / Possibly OOC / Established relationship, can be interpreted as either married or not but they are living together / Angst (Hurt w/ eventual comfort) / Death + blood (not the reader despite the synopsis and content warning) / Not really a happy ending honestly

(This is VERY self-indulgent I love hate Sebastian. Also a bit of experimentation and playing around with his character. I’m not so good on romance stuff, so I hope what’s here is to your liking. Also rewrote some parts A LOT due to idea change/read up on lore and realized things didn’t add up here. I think I’ve got most of it covered though. Anyway I love how a few runs of playing Pressure for the first time, I died to A-60 HAHAAAAA kill me.)

Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune

A chance to be freed from your criminal record, and a reward worth to last for a very, very long time. As they always say, “High risk, high reward,” and the risks were certainly high. You could very much die. It was a chance anyone crazy enough would take.

But you didn’t sign up for this for the reward. You didn’t care about it in the slightest. To you, this would be an easy way out. An escape from this dreadful life fate had decided for you. So here you are, sitting in a submarine with three others in silence. There’s no telling on how deep you’re going, they never bothered to tell you how exactly far it was nor the possible dangers you’ll be facing. You’ll welcome anything if it means you won’t wake up again.

Still, you wondered why things went the way it did. Everything was fine until your partner was framed for a murder he didn’t commit. Nine murders, to be exact. You were there for the trial. You saw and heard everything. You kept your cool throughout all of it. You were hoping, praying to whatever god is out there to show them he was innocent. None of it mattered in the end.

After the trial, you went straight home, not even bothering to listen to your family who was also there. By the time you entered your shared home and locked the door behind you, you stood in silence for a while. You didn’t know what you were feeling at that very moment. You felt hot tears beginning to swell up, and your vision beginning to blur. Your legs eventually give out and you fell to your knees. You muffled your sobs with your hand as you curled up on the floor.

You couldn’t get yourself to calm down for a while. You don’t even know how long you were laying there once you feel your tears dry up and the sound of your heart beating rapidly leaves your ears. You don’t know what to do.

He was imprisoned and sentenced for execution for the nine murders you know he didn’t cause, but that didn’t matter. You weren’t there when it supposedly happened. You couldn’t prove anything. You were powerless to do anything.

Many early mornings were spent struggling to even leave the house, let alone the bed itself if you even managed to drag yourself to bed. You were too exhausted to even try for most. When you did manage to begin your day, you quickly became aware that everything is so much more irritating. People talking to you, certain noises you hear, how your food tastes… You just wanted to go back home and waste away.

As for majority of your nights, they have been spent just curled up in bed and crying until you eventually exhausted yourself. Gripping anything that resembled or had traces left of him and holding it close, hoping just the mere fleeting scent of him lulls you to sleep. Feeling the cold and empty space beside you and being reminded he’s gone, as if the reminders from your family weren’t already enough.

You know your family has been trying to contact you, sometimes even coming to the house, but you’ve ignored them every time. You don’t want to see them. You don’t want to talk, to hear, or to even think about them. You just wanted to be left alone.

A few years had gone by since then but you didn’t feel any better than before. You weren’t sure if you felt worse. Maybe it was because you felt numb nowadays.

Before you knew it, you soon find yourself behind bars. What you did, you don’t know. If you really did it, you didn’t care. You don’t know how long your sentence is, but you don’t care. You don’t know if whatever you did caused any deaths, but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You just wanted to drown in your despair, and this… “job offer” seemed promising. Retrieve a crystal deep inside a facility hidden in the deepest parts of the ocean.

To be so deep underwater to where the sun does not shine, to drift endlessly as water fills your lungs and it becomes so unbearably cold. To where you can’t feel anything anymore, not your body nor your emotions. To just feel the cold water and see nothing but darkness as the water pulls your body to wherever it so desires. Perhaps your remains could become the next meal for whatever lurks in the ocean’s abyss. Your body would never be found. You’d be gone without a trace.

So you signed up, knowing they don’t expect you to return. You don’t either. You don’t plan on getting that crystal, and you don’t plan on returning alive.

The shotgun shell directed at your neck on the diving gear given to you seemed promising as well.

If there is an afterlife, maybe you can see him again there. That sounded nice. You just wish you weren’t sent down with three other people. You never thought it’d be so hard to die in a place where risks of death were incredibly high. Perhaps it was because they wanted to use each other to get the reward for themselves, so they kept each other alive as long as possible. Covering each other’s eyes when the shark was outside the window, turning off another’s flashlight when an odd black figure appeared in the dark, saving each other from the creature inside the lockers… They weren’t going to let such easy bait be killed so easily, not this early.

Still, you strayed close behind as they often checked if you were still there. You kept your head low, until you heard another pair of footsteps from behind you.

Strange… The other three are already in front of you… And they’re just looking through drawers for anything useful.

The footsteps are getting louder and faster. You turned around just in time to see a strangely humanoid, armless figure running at you. It yelped the moment you locked eyes on it, immediately turning tail and running away.

“What the hell was that?!” One of the other expendables exclaimed.

Both of you walked back into the previous room to see where it possibly came from. There was a hole in the wall, shaped exactly like the creature they just saw.

“So they’re really in the walls, huh…” they then lightly punch your shoulder, “Hey, good job. I didn’t even hear it until it made that weird sound before it ran off,”

You say nothing.

“Come on, let’s keep going,”

You looked at them as they rejoined the others then back at the hole. You wished you didn’t turn around.

After a few more doors, the lights suddenly flickered. The one closest to you grabbed you and had you hide in a locker. Maybe they picked up on what you’ve been trying to do. You did willingly look into the eyes of the shark just outside the window, and they had to cover your eyes and drag you along with them. You also opened a locker that was already occupied by a strange creature coated in black and, what you assumed were, purple eyes. You hoped they’d leave you behind to be devoured by it, but you were pulled out and was patched up as best as they could do it. The damage wasn’t too severe, but still. There just had to be a spare medical kit in the room.

Maybe you weren’t being so discreet about it.

There were only three lockers in the room you were currently in and none in the room prior. They pressed on to the next door ahead. You were about to open your locker to step out into the path of the oncoming creature, but it zipped by you in an instant. It was much faster than what you’ve been dealing with.

You hear the others leave their locker followed with a quick flash of the flash beacon. You slowly step out of your locker and follow them into the next room to meet up with the other person. The one in front of you pulled out their flashlight, but ended up tripping over something. You stopped walking as they shine their light over what made them trip.

It was the one who ran ahead to find a spare locker. There was no blood or any signs of injury, but they weren’t moving and their eyes were still wide open. The other two tried to get them to respond, even shaking them, but they remained unresponsive. It was almost like they were just left an empty shell.

You restrain yourself from speaking as you would’ve called them an idiot for giving up a hiding spot in favor to make sure their bait stayed alive for a little longer, only to get killed in the process. Only 27 doors have been opened. Surely not all of you can survive much longer.

By the 35th door, one of them had used a code breacher to open a door without the keycard. Once the door slid open, a large creature with a smiling grey mask was seen on the other side of the door. Before they could react, it lunged towards them and instantly killed them on the spot before retracting their hand as it gets caught in the door while it was sliding shut. The blood splattered all over the floor and even reached you and the other expendable beside you.

By the 47th door, the lights flickered as you searched through a room off to the side. You can hear what you can describe as a distorted chorus faintly echoing down the hall, and soon a loud scream followed with multiple banging against a locker. The noise stopped as you walked to the door leading back to the path you’re supposed to take and you only see the aftermath. A fresh pool of blood and a destroyed locker. There was no body. The creature responsible is no where to be found.

You were alone now. Finally.

You kept your head low as you continued on, not bothering to search through the drawers for anything. Your body is starting to ache at this point. You opened the 50th door leading into a dimly lit corridor.

“Need to stock up?”

You looked up as you see the vent’s cover fall over. You turned around, then back towards the vent. You can see the next door ahead that requires a keycard, but you can’t find it from out here. You didn’t have a code breacher either as the others you were previously with had used them up.

“Come on, I won’t bite,” the strangely familiar voice beckons.

Had he not spoken twice, you would’ve thought you were hallucinating. Or maybe you are right now. A sort of “false hope,” so to speak. Not to mention how you can just barely recognize the voice. You’re having a hard time processing it after everything.

With no where else to turn, you walk to the vent and slowly crawl through. The room was dark, but lit up as you made it to the other side. You managed to get a good look at him, not exactly expecting some sort of fish-human hybrid.

“Ah, there you-” you see how his smile quickly disappears and his eyes widened once he sees you.

You only stare at him, tilting your head slightly to the side. He looked like he had just seen a ghost which wouldn’t be so far off considering what you had to witness for the past 49 doors, but why was he looking at you like that? He cautiously lowered himself down, close enough to your height but still far enough for some space.

You instinctively, though slightly, moved away as his hand moved closer to your face. That was until he finally spoke.

“[Name]..?”

You stepped back upon hearing your name leave his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you…?”

Then it finally registered in your head. You’re not just hearing things, that voice was his.

Your eyes widened, now feeling his cold hand against your cheek, “S-Sebastian?“

“Yes…! Yes!” He nods, smiling widely, “It’s me!”

You couldn’t hold back your tears at all. The moment he confirmed it was really him was what finally broke down your walls. The last time you had cried this much was when he was to be executed. You had to hold onto his hand to keep yourself standing. He seemed to sense that as his third limb pulled you closer to him and held you in a tight embrace. You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed until his grip on you got a bit too tight.

“W-Wait, Sebastian-!” You cried, “Let go!”

He gasps, immediately pulling away. You winced as you gently rubbed your arm. You looked up at Sebastian again and smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you’re still alive. I have so many questions. Can I-?”

Sebastian stops you there, “Hang on. Before I get to answering your questions, I have one tiny question for you,” he suddenly towers over you as he yells, “How the hell did you get here?! And why the hell did you sign up for this?! Didn’t they tell you the risks? That you could very much die?”

You jumped at his sudden change in tone and almost fell back. His tail had went to cover the opening of the vent in case you ultimately decided to make a run for it. What do you even tell him? That you signed up just to die? No other reason. How could you tell him that?

“I-I… Well, yes, they did. I just- It’s because…” you don’t know what to say.

“Tell me the truth,” he demands. You swear you heard a hiss in his voice, “Of all people, why did you have to end up here?”

“I signed up for this because…” you paused, “Specifically because I wanted to die. I knew what I was getting myself into, Sebastian. They didn’t tell me anything specific,”

“Of course those idiots didn’t…” He scoffed, “They don’t expect you or the others to return,”

“I never planned to. I couldn’t care less about this so called crystal they told me I was supposed to retrieve,” you looked away, “Honestly, I don’t even remember what I did to end up here… Maybe I did something that killed a few people, or maybe I was framed like you,”

Sebastian calmed down a little and had moved back as you spoke. He repositions himself so that his back was against the wall and his tail would nudge you towards him.

“You said you signed up with the intention to die here,” he then says, “Why?”

You sit beside him as his tail slightly curls around you, “You were sent for execution and confirmed to be dead. I just couldn’t live with the fact that I couldn’t see you,”

His looks at your bloodied clothes and noticed bandages through some of the holes in your uniform. He points to it, “Are those..?”

“It’s from this weird black tentacle creature in a locker. It’s nothing too serious, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

He muttered a name you didn’t quite catch and he quickly moves on, “And the blood?”

You shake your head, “It’s not mine,”

He lets out a sigh of relief at that. It was finally your turn to ask questions.

“Sebastian, how did you survive?”

“Was picked up by Urbanshade before I was supposed executed. Guess they decided it’d be better if I was officially declared dead,”

“And you became this during that time?”

“You could say that. It’s, uh… It’s a long story,”

He doesn’t want to discuss it and you knew that was the case. So, you didn’t question it further. You have a good feeling you may have an idea now that you noticed a document on the table. Whatever was in there might have the answers to most of your questions, but you’re not sure if you even want to read it if he lets you. The mere thought of what could be mentioned in there makes you sick.

There’s still one other that you desperately want an answer for.

“We’re… not leaving this place, are we?” You questioned, not looking at him, “At least, I’m probably not thanks to this diving gear… One shotgun shell pointed directly at my neck, and if I even try to take it off, tamper with it, or leave this place,”

You stopped there. Both of you knew. Sebastian didn’t say anything for a moment, “I can get both of us out of here. I just need more time,”

More time. How much more time before your body can no longer keep going? You want to believe him, you really do, but you really might actually die here.

How ironic. You came here because you wanted to die. You watched the others die before your very eyes without much of a reaction. All of a sudden, you feel your stomach drop.

You’re afraid to die.

[lovelywhiteroses]

🐟Pressure🐟

——————————————————————————Sebastian Solace x Reader - Till “death” do us part. ——————————————————————————

✨🌹For those of you who don’t know what Pressure is, it’s a roblox horror game, Sebastian Solace is a character within the game. If you haven’t played it yet, I suggest you do so. It’s quite the horror thrill.🌹✨

——————————————————————————

You were married for four years with your husband Sebastian, though he seemed like the type of man who wouldn’t care for anyone, he ended up married to you. He was loyal, sweet, and always knew the exact things to say to make you blush… you wouldn’t image he would do anything troublesome…..

However… one day he was accused of murdering 9 people. You didn’t believe it was true, you never wanted it to be true! Sebastian even claims it wasn’t true and yet he was locked up till his trial in 2013.

You on the day before his trial, went to go visit him. The guard’s warning you he was dangerous and to stay away from the bars… however you knew he was innocent. When you came upon his cell he immediately got up and held onto the bars, he looked desperate to prove he was innocent as if you didn’t believe him anymore.

“{Name}, please… I never killed those people, you have to believe me. Im sorry that this is happening I never.-”

You didn’t care about the rules at this point and ended up creasing his cheek through the iron bars.

“Sebastian, I never doubted you for one second…”

His hand then held yours, still on his face, it’s been so long since he last felt your gentle hand touch his skin. Little did you both know this would be the last time you two would ever talk or touch. For within his trial, he ended up guilty, he was sentenced to death.

You were heartbroken… you wanted them to reconsider, tried requesting for another trial… but it was too late… you gained the news your dear husband died a “guilty” man… the sorrow, the anger you felt went on for days… you still wore the wedding ring, a reminder of his love for you.

Near the end of 2013 it was declared he was innocent, for the killer was someone else. You were enraged, they practically killed an innocent man. You’re husband! But you weren’t expecting them to pin it on you.

In your trial you were accused of killing people, and pid it on Sebastian, you tried desperately to prove you were innocent…. It never worked… who ever was the murder.. definitely had a twisted way in proving innocent people were guilty… you were sentenced to death. The day of your death, however… you were actually knocked out and brought to a different facility. UrbanShade, you’re death was faked and you were experimented on. You weren’t human anymore… you felt hopeless, even the ring, the reminder of your husband was now broken due to your hands new size. You were devastated, you were locked up like an animal, you were framed for 9 murders you didn’t commit just like Sebastian, and now you’re last memory of him is now gone…

You didn’t speak, you were moving around like a robot, you just did as told, and never caused trouble… you just wanted to sit and wait for your eventual demise…

You lay there in your cell, quiet, unresponsive.

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

Till you heard the alarm go off, you’re cell was open. What’s going on? You see monsters killing people.. so much blood, so much panic. You sat there scared out of you’re mind, you didn’t move, you covers you’re ears as to not hear the screams…

Later, you realize that everything was quiet. You got up, looking around, you’re cell door practically broken from the chaos long ago. You saw blood almost everywhere while looking around the facility. The smell of fresh blood invaded your nose. You wondered around till you saw a monster with a long tail, three arms. You were a bit frightened and tried to back away, however phantom legs got you and you fell back, causing the fello monster to look over at you.

“Ah! Please don’t hurt me! I’m a fellow monster! See! Like you!”

You laughed nervously, as you looked at the Monster with three blue eyes.

The monster dropped what he had in his hands, causing it to scatter. We’re those files? His eyes were wide.

“{Name}…?”

That voice… it sounded familiar, there was no way… he was dead….

“How do you know who I am? Who are you?”

The monster only rushed at you, you were prepared for and attack but… you only felt three arms around you. You were confused, did you feel tears?

“I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to come home to see you again…”

His voice rang familiarly all throughout you’re mind.

“Sebastian…?”

He let go of you and smiled, his eyes practically filled with tears… You ended up with tear filled eyes as well, this was your husband? He wasn’t dead! He was alive and you never knew.

Sebastian looked at you, top to bottom. His expression soon turned from pure happiness to pure hatred…

“They did this to you… THOSE FUCKERS DID THIS TO YOU!”

His light you didn’t notice till now flickers out of anger, he didn’t like the fact UrbanShade also did this to his own wife… you backed away a bit, you never seen such hatred from him before… you went to say something, till he took your hands in his. (Or at least what he could hold.)

“I’m sorry for that… don’t worry, I’ll figure out a way for us to get out of here.”

“How are you going to to do that?”

“You’ll see my dear… I’ll make sure of it.”

After so many years of not seeing him, you and he were reunited, soon the lockdown lasted for months and Sebastian start gathering files. You soon figured out he was going to try and blackmail UrbanShade into letting the two of you go. You weren’t sure it would work, but regardless you gone with it. All you cared about was your husband being alive and um mostly well..

Soon prisoners from UrbanShade started coming by, Sebastian had an idea of selling resources for data, which wasn’t too bad of an idea, when you heard about some sort of crystal the prisoners were after… it got you thinking… what if you two…. Had the crystal….?

——————————————————————————End. ——————————————————————————

✨🌹Hopefully this was to the fandoms liking. This was inspired off of @just-your-everyday-goth The story suggestion I couldn’t help but write! ^^✨ however, weather they like it or not is up to them. I hope you did like this scenario.. and have a great Day, Afternoon, or Night… see you in the next scenario.🌹✨

[felassan]

Letters from Lovers

Transcriptions of the letters from the various gear store items. under cut for length.

Isabela:

“My dear Hawke, Do you know anyone with a flock of parrots? I'm trying to cheat on a bet with Varric and the stakes are exceedingly high. If you help me, I shall take you to that breathtaking beach you so crave. Free of ancient horrors, too. I think. I'd hate to take respite from all my adventures, but there are other ways to make the heart flutter. In fact I'm already imagining a few. Aren't you? Sailing there can be fatal, but Admiral Isabela will keep you safe. Are you interested? I would love to see you again. Yours, Isabela”

Morrigan:

“My love, Now before that grin reaches your ears, perish the thought that this letter was my idea. 'Tis Kieran who would not give me peace until I wrote to ask how you are faring. Regale us, if you please, with another of your tales that I might read to him in bed. He is particularly fond of those wherein you spur mischief whilst you save the day. Thank you for your most delightful gifts. I shall make certain to wear them the next time you come home. Dream of me until then, my Hero of Ferelden, and have a care. Morrigan”

Dorian:

“My dearest Amatus, Home is ever as it was: a glittering whirl of dancing, politics, and murder. I'm used to people staring daggers at me - I quite relish it, actually - but the glares seem to possess a new intensity since my return to Tevinter. Do they disapprove of House Pavus freeing its slaves while I work in the Magisterium to end slavery across Tevinter? Perhaps they simply covet my cheekbones, and who could blame them? Real reform will take time, but we're making inroads. I miss you terribly, Amatus, perhaps almost as much as you miss me. I treasure you and your belief in my work here. Yours always, Dorian P.S. I wouldn't take it amiss if you might send me another barrel of that dreadful Fereldan beer?”

Alistair:

“My love, How are you? Is it true that you recently killed darkspawn with only a mean glare and a pointy stick? Ferelden is ablaze with this rumor! You do give people so much hope. Tales of your heroism never fail to astonish me and almost ease the pain of going to sleep without you by my side. Almost. I can't wait to be with you again. I'd bring you some roses, you could give me a tour of the keep, we'd drink with the new recruits and then cuddle in a tent. Without the new recruits! Tent time is just for the two of us. I want to make that clear. Now excuse me while I practice my death glare and rummage through the dog's stash of sticks. I love you. Yours forever, Alistair.”

The Iron Bull:

“Kadan, You won’t believe what I did today. I got a guy to flip! Twice! So yes, all is well. Except for all the demons. And this whole thing in which I’m far away from the love of my life. Really keeps me up at night. Anyway, you hearing these rumors of a dragon on the loose? Yeah! The boys and I are on its trail. Last I heard, it was flying toward the Frostback Mountains. Can you join us? I hope you’re not uh… all tied up. Don’t worry, I’m fairly certain it’s not a Ben-Hassrath trap. And if it is, you know I’m prepared. Ataash varin kata! I love you, Kadan. See you soon. The Iron Bull.”

Tali:

“By the way, I left something for you up in your cabin. Go have a look.” - Tali’Zorah  --- “Dear Shepard,   As you may remember, I presented this picture frame to you as a gift on the Normandy. It was my way of expressing my admiration for you and our bond as comrades-in-arms. On the back of the metal frame, I've emblazoned a promise that will never fade - 'Shepard, wherever you go, I'm with you.'  I know it's not much, but...this is what I look like under the mask. I'm sorry if it's not what you were expecting. I know Quarian faces can be a bit...different. Every time you look at my picture, I hope you will be reminded of our adventures on the Normandy, from our battles against the Reapers to our intimate conversations in the privacy of our quarters.    I am not one to express my emotions openly, but thank you for being my friend, my confidante, and my inspiration. I look forward to many more adventures together.  Keelah se’lai,   Tali’Zorah”

Bonus:

Shepard's N7 acceptance letter, from Anderson:

“N7 Congratulations on your graduation From Captain David Anderson Shepard, When I graduated from the N7 program I had the honor of meeting Admiral Grissom, the man who inspired me to pursue a career in the service, and I never thought I’d feel prouder in my life. I was mistaken. Don’t get me wrong, it was a big day. An important day. But there’s something about welcoming driven young people like yourself into the ranks that’s also pretty damn satisfying. Your distinguished service record may have gotten you into this program - but it was your courage, integrity, and tenacity that’s enabled you to join an elite few. You represent the best of humanity, and I feel certain you’ll make the galaxy a better place. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. Becoming an N7 means the entire Systems Alliance is telling you one thing - we believe in you. Let me end by saying this. Welcome to the team Shepard. We know you won’t let us down. David Anderson Systems Alliance Interplanetary Combatives Academy N7 N7 Acceptance Letter”

[devoureddreaa]

bros the type too.. ryomen sukuna boyfriend headcannons

okay…ik i disappeared for a few days (a month is not a few) but i’m back now, so yay!! and i’ve got sukuna headcannons cause he’s been growing on me lately, so hope you enjoy!! >.<

— bro is a menace to society and would most likely kill someone if they were to look at him for too long. but when it comes to you, sukuna can be a bit a softy. (a softy is an understatement, the curse is totally whipped).

for instance, he won’t let anyone touch him. touch him and you’ll end up with your head off of your shoulders. but when it comes to you..the literal love of his (overly long) life; you could touch him wherever and sukuna wouldn’t mind at all.

“why’d you stop?”

your gaze moved from your phone to the face that sat comfortably in between each of your thighs. you tilted your head to side and furrowed your eyebrows, “stopped what?”

sukuna looked puzzled, possibly looking for a way to explain it without sounded corny.

“the things you do with my hair.”

“oh, play with you hair?” a warm smiled appeared on your face first, then a breathless giggle. “thought you did like people touching you.”

“i don’t care with you do, woman.”

“whatever you want..”

he ended up getting his spiky pink locks played with again, and he ended up falling asleep like a new-born.

— bros the type to deny to everybody that he is head over heels for you. everyone sees it and everyone knows it..but if they were to ever mention it, sukuna would deny deny deny.

especially to his good friend, uraume. he’ll rant and rave about how good you are and how much he loves you any chance he gets with her.

“if you wanna marry her, just do it already!”

sukuna paused, “what?”

“you’ve been telling me about the girl for the past five minutes.” uraume laughed under her breath, “she really has you wrapped around her finger.”

— on top of that, bros the type to give you praise more than anything. he dosent know much about love languages, or affection in general. he’ll try when he feels it’s right, trust, he will cringe the first few times, having a hard time going anything in general. but he’ll get used to it.. (but he hates when you tease him about it)

“you say something?” you looked at the man through the mirror, he was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as his gaze laid somewhere on the floor.

you were so busy with trying to line your lips, you didn’t hear what sukuna had said..

“i said you look good. really..beautiful.” it was a sight to see someone who could murder someone with the blink of an eye act so..timid.

“awe.” you turned you head and peered over your shoulder, “you shy, ‘kuna?”

“i take it back.” he grumbled, turning to leave the bathroom. you quickly ran after him and tugged onto his arm.

“i was juuust kidding!” you smiled innocently, “thank you, sukuna.”

he didn’t say anything back, but the look on his face was enough.

— bros the type to not use pet names that often. sukuna has never seen the point of them, and sees them as pointless. he uses them rarely, and whenever he does..it catches you off guard.

“bae..!” sukuna called out, he expected a quick response and was confused when he didn’t get one.

“bae!”

no response, “y/n!”

“huh?!” you finally responded and poked your head from around the corner with concern, “why are you yelling?”

“you weren’t responding.”

you took a second then realized, “oooh! you were calling me? thought that was something else..”

— bros the type to love you in his own weird way, even though he’s a sadistic psycho.

i finally uploaded… also! mb for disappearing, school and life got in the way. but im back! promise, im not a coryxkenshin 2.0 ;-;. ive got more things coming so i hope you enjoy..and remember, you can always request something! love you, baaaiii!!! (if you saw any typos, no you didn’t)

[cvntydazai]

cat and mouse

ever since your first day at the agency you’ve made an effort to avoid dazai and his silly little games, even when he so desperately craves your attention.

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader

word count; 3.3k

content warning; nsfw (minors do not interact), unedited, cursing, dazai fingers reader, reader is gifted but their gift is not described/specified, the usual dazai shenanigans, mentions of blood/injury, mentions of murder, probably a lot more

authors note; sigh not only is this a day late but i’m not proud of it so sorry guys :( been so busy lately this was not what i had in mind for this fic, i still hope it’s enjoyable!

when you first joined the agency it was a desperate attempt to find a job that could utilize your gift, after many failed “normal” jobs you just had to accept that your situation wasn’t normal and you needed a job that could handle that. you caught wind of a detective agency full of gifted individuals and knew it was the perfect opportunity.

that’s how you got to where you were now, 6 months into your career as a gifted detective. it has been going perfect, being the longest job you’ve ever had.

there was just one issue, a big one that took its place in the form of a tall, bandaged man who could never leave you alone. dazai osamu, the issue called itself, would be the death of you.

it all started on your very first day at the agency, he wasted little time introducing himself and instead put all of his energy towards wooing you with those doe eyes. you also recall him telling you could rely on him anytime, followed by a wink and a knowing smirk. you were warned by yosano to keep your distance from him, advice that you still regret not taking to this day.

he tried to get your attention for weeks, throwing paper balls on your desk and mouthing at you to open them. inside was always a love note, multiple tiny hearts littering the crumpled paper. he never seemed to take it personally when you would throw those papers in your trash can, forgetting about them to continue on with work.

just when you begin to think he’s finally let go of his obsession with you, one fateful morning you end up alone with him in the office.

“ah, beautiful morning isn’t?” he attempted small talk, you only offered a nod and continued filing out your paperwork.

so engrossed in your work you didn’t realize how close he had gotten until you felt his warm breath fanning your shoulder, you naturally flinched. you cocked your head to glance at him, those tired eyes focused on your computer screen.

“what has you working your sweet little head off?” his curiosity would seem genuine to anyone who wasn’t familiar with dazai and his antics.

you cleared your throat, “just recalling the specifics of my previous mission.” he hummed, his slim hand brushing over yours so he could use the scroll wheel on your mouse. you watched as his eyes scanned the document, analyzing your every word.

being so physically close you were forced to take in all the features of him you chose to ignore, for your own good. you knew dazai was an attractive man, and he knew it too. you didn’t dare to look in his eyes anymore so you focused on his hair, unkempt yet still framed his face perfectly and looked fluffy, you wondered if it felt fluffy too.

“it’s hard to focus with you staring me down like a piece of meat, bella.” he whispered, you gasped at such an accusation.

“whatever, in your dreams.” you bit back, feeling flustered.

he turned to look at you, his eyes danced around your entire face, drinking in every detail of you like a book. many silent moments later, his eyes stopped when they landed on your lips, causing even more turmoil in your chest. it was all too much, being under the heavy gaze of someone like him.

“anyways..” you start, trying to find any excuse to break this close proximity. “the others should be here soon, we should start getting stuff done around here.”

he hummed in agreement, backing away at last. now that you felt like you could breathe again you tried your hardest to continue on with whatever paperwork you had. you ignored the tremble in your fingertips, typing away on the keyboard.

once the others started filing into the office the tension eased substantially, you were thankful for that. kunikida was the first to arrive, surprised to see you both already there. you ignored his curious stare, greeting him properly and then returning to your computer. dazai pestered the poor man for a bit before quieting down himself.

you thought that was it, the weird encounter in the office would be the last of his teasing. couldn’t he see you weren’t in the mood for his games, or was this all too amusing for him to care?

fate would put you in a battle against dazai once again just a mere week later. you both sat in front of your boss, a kind man by the name of fukuzawa. in your months here at the agency your respect for him has only grown, his admiration for his employees and the work they do warmed your heart. you truly felt grateful to be under the command of someone as strong-willed and humble as he was.

“there’s a murder scene i’d like the two of you to look into, please go gather evidence.” he says, hands folded in his lap while he speaks to you.

you’re both silent as he goes over the details of the case. a body found in the museum with suspicion of a gifted individual being involved, it felt as normal as these missions usually are. once you’re dismissed you and dazai make your way outside to the cab waiting for you.

he rushes to open the car door for you, motioning you inside with an eager smile. you sigh, complying with whatever he was up to.

you shuffle around a bit until you’re comfortable, dazai takes his seat beside you and the car begins moving. while dazai stared out of the window on his side, you occupy yourself with responding to all the messages people have sent you that you pushed aside to finish work. some may call you a workaholic (dazai), others (kunikida) call you a devoted employee, you much preferred the title of a devoted employee. your desire to be of use was finally fulfilled now that you were at the agency, for that you were eternally thankful.

“my dear y/n, i just realized something!” the loud voice of dazai makes you cringe, clutching your poor phone into a death grip.

he doesn’t let you respond, “this is our first time handling a case together alone, just the two of us!” the excitement in his tone makes you irritated.

“and what about it?” your monotonous response makes the brunette clutch his chest, a look of hurt in his eyes.

“we finally get the alone time we’ve been dying to have since our little moment in the office.” if the phone that was still being strangled in your palm wasn’t already broken, it sure was now.

“you totally misread the situation in the office, i wasn’t even looking at you like that!” the anger in your tone came across as an embarrassed yelp, it made his grin grow wider.

there was no point in arguing with a man who has made up his mind, he totally thought you were checking him out and now he’ll never back down. an exasperated sigh left your lips, deeply regretting not taking yosano’s warning seriously.

thankfully, all you had to endure for the rest of the car ride was dazai’s humming to a tune you were unfortunately accustomed to by now. it was hard to forget said song when it was always filling the office air, either by dazai’s singing or the sound blaring from his headphones that were definitely not noise-canceling.

hell, you even caught yourself humming the tune from time to time, not that you’d ever let someone else find out.

“we’re here.” you thanked the driver, hastily leaving the vehicle before dazai could open the door for you.

the museum in front of you was old, ready to crumble at any given moment, many of the stone bricks were cracked beyond repair and the shrubs that surrounded the entrance were all dead or dying. you never got the details on whether or not the place was even running anymore.

“this museum shut down years ago and no one has bought it since, perfect place to commit murder.” dazai appeared beside you, seemingly answering the question to your thoughts.

you nodded in agreement, stepping inside without a second thought.

inside all you could see was chaos, shattered glass from broken display cases and graffiti littering the walls. it almost pained you, seeing how this once beautiful sanctuary of history was now torn to shreds for no good reason.

you found what you were looking for quick, the bright yellow caution tape gave it away. you’re sure the police had already come to take the body, so it didn’t surprise you when you didn’t see anything there.

fukuzawa strictly said you were only here to gather evidence, so that’s what you’ll do. while you got to work, dazai lazed around the building, kicking random trash around to entertain himself. he would giggle when you scolded him for tampering with possible clues.

you knew you were only here to gather evidence but something about the whole situation felt so strange to you, leaving you no choice but to investigate further. normally, you pride yourself in how well you are at gathering information needed for an investigation, but this time around you were completely stumped.

it had your brain so wracked you even contemplated calling ranpo, however you fought against it since you knew he was already working on a case today and you didn’t want to bother him just because you couldn’t find clues that may not exist.

after a few more minutes of coming back empty handed the realization hit you like a truck, a soft breath leaving your lips at your newfound discovery.

“dazai..” you mumble, still a bit unsure of your conclusion, he only hummed in response.

“i don’t think a murder ever occurred here.” nothing but silence on his part, until you hear the shuffling of his footsteps and his breath hot against your ear.

“well done, flower! to be honest, i didn’t think you would figure it out this quickly.” his hushed voice felt loud with him being so close to you.

you were left confused once again, if dazai knew from the start why didn’t he just say so? or was he the one who orchestrated this whole thing? so many questions reeling through your brain, and dazai was thoroughly enjoying watching you piece together the mystery he created for you.

but alas, he had to cut it short, you two had limited time here after all. fukuzawa would eventually figure out dazai’s antics and there would be hell to pay, that was a problem for later though.

“i made the whole thing up!” he admitted, lips still dangerously close to your ear. “you were always so busy, i needed to get you alone for once.”

you pushed him off you in an instant, anger bubbling inside you. never once did you expect dazai to do something like this, no matter how crazy he was at times. hell, this was beyond crazy.

“you couldn’t have gone about it like a normal fucking person? jesus christ, dazai!” you were now pacing, thinking of all the time you lost entertaining this game of his when it could have been spent at the office or on a real case.

“oh bella please, let me finish.” he begged, stepping close to you again.

you protested for a second time, taking a step back so he couldn’t reach you. it would prove to be the wrong move, your ankle catching on a stray piece of rubble from all the broken displays in this damned building. you’re sent tumbling backwards, a cry leaving your lips as you reached out to grasp dazai’s open arms.

your landing is hard, your ankle throbbing with pain from whatever it was caught on. dazai is at your side in an instant, a look of concern adorning his features as he practically cradled you.

“are you okay?” his voice was serious this time around, so much so that it caught you off guard.

“no, my ankle is bleeding.” you state, clear annoyance in your voice whilst you examine your injury.

you’re caught off guard once again by him effortlessly picking you up from the floor and setting you down on a flat, clean surface. now perched on a white table, you let your other leg dangle off the edge while you tend to your hurt ankle.

dazai claims he’ll be back, that he’s going to search for a medkit around here. you nod, happy to be away from his suffocating presence. you’re not anywhere near free from your thoughts though, the lanky man is still clean in your mind.

you didn’t even know he possessed the strength to lift you like that, he always looked so frail and ready to break at any given. you shake your head from any further thoughts of dazai, that stupid man.

“found one.” he was back again, a small medkit in his rather large hands.

despite your many protests he still insisted on caring for you, acknowledging that this was his fault and the responsibility should fall on his shoulders. you kept your mouth shut while he wrapped your foot in the bandages the first aid kit provided. his soft touches to your swollen skin were light, almost soothing.

you hated this, hated how perfect he was. how were you supposed to ignore such a man when his presence was everywhere. most of all though, you were still thoroughly pissed! he not only wasted your time, but the agency’s time, and that was unforgivable in your eyes.

“why?” you question him, “and don’t give me that bullshit ass excuse from before, or so help me.”

he chuckled at your threatening words, eyes remained trained on your foot. there was a momentary pause before his eyes met yours, his held mischievous undertones.

“i was getting tired of this back and forth, you know.” there he goes again like a broken record, you huffed.

“i don’t know what you’re-“ he cuts you off with a finger to your lips, hushing you in the sweetest way he could muster.

“the other day, when you threw away one of my well thought out love letters i went to retrieve it after you left to the bathroom, can you imagine my surprise to find it wasn’t there anymore?” your eyes widen, like a deer caught in the bright headlights of a hunters truck.

“and then i go to check your locker and i see every single one of them in a nice neat stack.” his finger was taken off your lips, his eyebrow raised as if expecting an answer to his discovery.

“why were you in my locker?” you deflect, feeling embarrassed that he knew about your little secret.

instead of answering he finished wrapping your foot, giving the gauze one final tug before leaving it be. he smiled at you, a smile you couldn’t read. with your legs spread out like they were, it gave him the perfect opportunity to weave in between them and trap your body close to his. he did just that, growing dangerously close to you.

“dazai..” you start, unsure.

he doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on treading his fingers against your waist, eyes never once leaving yours.

“we shouldn’t..” you speak again, your breathing growing more sporadic when he hooks one of his fingers underneath your belt buckle, the way he plays with it is teasing.

“why shouldn’t we, bella? i arranged all of this for us anyways.” his way of showing interest in you, doing something so unsound with little care for the consequences.

but oh god, was it attractive. his touch grew more and more needy by the second and you couldn’t find the desire to push him away, because deep down you wanted this too. you knew you wanted the bandaged detective the second you walked through those doors and saw him sitting there, fiddling with little trinkets he had on his desk looking pretty as ever.

“i think we should put an end to this cat and mouse game, hm?” his voice fills your ears again and this time around you listen, nodding whilst wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even tighter against you.

he’s first to put his lips on yours in a desperate, longing kiss. he tastes sweet, probably from whatever chapstick he uses. the kiss is deeply rooted in lust yet affection as well, he squeezes your waist in the lightest way possible.

“dazai!” you moan out, surprised when he bites your bottom lip teasingly.

“osamu.” he says through the kiss. “call me osamu.” and then he’s back to attacking you, hips rutting into yours.

you think you’ll pass out with how long he’s been kissing you but he eventually pulls away, leaving you gasping for air. he wastes little time, discarding his pants and helping you with yours, the desperation evident in his eyes as he stands before you in just his boxers and dress shirt. he looks like a crazed man who had been holding back for far too long.

once you’re free from the confines of clothing it allows him to truly feel you, his palm cupping your heat. he runs two fingers across your slit before prodding them at your entrance.

“so beautiful, everything about you is so beautiful.” he whispers, stopping his hand entirely.

“dazai.” you say again, sounding more desperate than before, it was even possible.

“osamu.” he corrects, his voice still soft but held hints of firmness.

you repeat his first name back to him and he finally slips two fingers into your cunt. his long fingers are able to reach parts inside of you that your own fingers can’t, the new length has you bucking your hips into his hand.

he lets out a muffled giggle but says nothing, his eyes watching the way you suck his fingers in with every thrust. he looks entranced by the sight, it leaves you feeling shy. you have no time to dwell on your embarrassment as he picks up his pace, along with adding a third digit to your already full pussy.

the stretch of the third finger and the change in pace has you throwing your head back, nails clawing at the table you were perched up against just to give yourself some sort of stability.

you feel your climax approaching quicker than you anticipated, shaking your head from the overstimulation. just before you were about to reach your high, it was ruined by a muffled ringing in dazai’s discarded pants. he pulls his fingers out of you in a swift motion, ignoring your whines of protest as he reaches to grab the phone from his pants pocket.

“hey boss.” he starts, his voice as quirky as ever.

you could hear fukuzawa’s irritated tone through the phone even if you couldn’t pick up his exact words. dazai simply hummed and nodded in agreement, even letting out an apology for the time wasted on a fake case. within just a few minutes the call was over, and dazai’s smile had grown even larger.

he ended the call with a sigh, a pout on his lips that told you he was definitely in trouble when you two got back to the agency. you wondered what excuse he’d give the boss, and what punishment he would receive for lying.

“i’m truly saddened to have to cut this short.” you knew he meant it, you gave him a smile.

“it’s okay, we’ll continue it tonight after we see what kind of hell fukuzawa is gonna put you through for this.” the promise of this continuing excited him, and for once he couldn’t wait to get back to the office to finish up his job.

he helped you put your pants back on before putting on his own, making sure your injury was still well taken care of. this time you don’t fight him even once, allowing him to assist you to the car that was waiting outside for the two of you.

[thunderbump]

Lesson in Labor

Disclaimer: Hi everyone i know i posted one story and vanished but life got busy. I kinda through this one together but if people like it might make a part two. Enjoy :)

Mrs. Thompson stood at the front of her classroom, hands resting lightly on her enormous belly, a practiced habit she’d developed over the last few months. At eight and a half months pregnant, she looked ready to pop any day now. In truth, she’d started showing early, much earlier than anyone expected. By the end of her first trimester, her small frame had begun to round out, her baby bump impossible to hide from the students who whispered excitedly among themselves.

"Mrs. T is gonna have her baby any day now!" one of them had said during lunch last week. The class laughed, but Mrs. Thompson smiled politely, brushing off the comment. Little did they know how right they were.

As she continued her lesson, explaining the intricacies of Shakespeare's *Macbeth*, a sudden, sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She flinched but quickly disguised it as a cough. Her eyes darted toward the clock. It was only 10:15 AM. An hour had already passed, the day would be over in no time. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Thompson continued speaking, but her words came out more strained now. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ease the building pressure that was quickly becoming difficult to ignore. Another contraction rippled through her, stronger this time, and her free hand gripped the desk behind her.

"Are you okay, Mrs. T?" a student in the front row asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I’m fine, Jamie. Just a little...tired," she said, trying to smile through the discomfort. She wasn't about to admit that she was, in fact, having contractions. There was no way she was going to give birth in the middle of her classroom. Not in front of her students.

But her belly—round and large, the size of a beach ball under her flowing dress—was tightening again. She felt the unmistakable, rhythmic tightening, and she knew deep down that this wasn’t just some random Braxton Hicks. This was the real thing. Her baby was coming.

She glanced at the classroom door. She could make an excuse and leave. But then what? Her classroom was on the second floor, and the teachers’ lounge, where her phone sat, was all the way at the other end of the building. The idea of walking that far in her condition made her wince. Besides, if she suddenly bolted for the door, she’d draw attention. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene.

“Now, can anyone explain Lady Macbeth’s role in the murder of Duncan?” she asked, her voice tight as another contraction hit. She bent slightly at the waist, hoping the class wouldn’t notice. Her enormous belly was pulling her forward, making her feel heavy, slow, and increasingly uncomfortable.

A few students raised their hands, but Mrs. Thompson’s focus was rapidly dwindling. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she wiped it away quickly, trying to maintain her composure. The pressure in her belly grew more intense, and she couldn’t help but place both hands on her stomach, feeling the strong kick of her baby—who was apparently eager to make an entrance.

"Uh, okay, Melissa, go ahead," she said, pointing to one of the students, her voice wavering.

As Melissa rambled on about the play, Mrs. Thompson barely heard a word. She was too busy counting in her head, timing the contractions. Five minutes apart. Maybe a little less. She swallowed hard, determined to make it through the next hour until lunch.

The next contraction came hard, and Mrs. Thompson had to turn her back to the class, pretending to adjust something on the board. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the chalk tray for support. She was huge now, her belly straining against her dress, every movement reminding her of how close she was. Her students couldn’t know. They’d freak out, and she refused to be remembered as the teacher who went into labor during *Macbeth*.

But her body had other plans. She felt a deep pressure low in her abdomen, a sign she couldn’t ignore any longer. Time was running out.

She straightened up and turned back to the class, plastering on a smile she hoped looked convincing. “Class,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual, “I think I need to step out for a moment. You can work on your study guides for the next ten minutes.”

She barely waited for them to respond before making her way, carefully and slowly, to the door. The moment she stepped into the hallway, her face crumpled with relief. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Her water hadn’t broken yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. The contractions were relentless now, and her belly, huge and tight, seemed to be doing all the work of pushing her forward, one excruciating step at a time.

Each step was agony, and by the time she reached the teachers’ lounge, she was panting, her face pale and clammy. She managed to grab her phone, dialing her husband’s number with trembling hands.

“David, it’s happening,” she gasped, sinking into a chair as another contraction hit, “I tried to hide it, but…I think the baby’s coming now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before her husband replied, “I’m on my way. Hang in there.”

Mrs. Thompson hung up and sat back, rubbing her enormous belly. She glanced out the window, knowing she was about to meet the little one she had been carrying for so long. But first, she had to make it through labor—hopefully, without causing too much chaos in the school.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖆𝖇𝖗𝖊

PART TWO

Pairing : Hannibal X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: implications of sexuality, things get steamy for a minute, reader brings up sexual traumas, Hannibal wants to murder the guy, yeah⚠️

After your initial meeting with the doctor, another appointment leaves you wondering just how much of your character you're willing to share, and how peculiar your situation with Hannibal Lecter may be.

Your jacket whipped hard against your body as the wind really picked up; weather forecasters had mentioned that tonight would not only be a significantly cold one, but everyone on foot would be subject to rain and thunder. Thankfully, the foreseen lightning wasn’t supposed to hit until after your meeting with Dr. Lecter, which you were thankful for. Still, the night seemed eerie and even creepier was the looming building before you, its high walls and seemingly taller windows looking down upon the freshly tilled earth below. The architecture of the building with its corinthian patterns and lavish details had raindrops cascading into the most beautiful ripples with the water splashing onto the sidewalk leading up to the man you had awaited to speak to in anticipation all afternoon. 

You hurried yourself inside, finally letting your hold on your coat loose as you no longer had to battle the forces of the weather. Your heels had picked up some of the mud from the outside and to your dismay, had stained the ends of them. Why had you chosen to wear the red ones? The rest of you, however, was fairly dry as you had done a good job protecting your hair and business attire clothing from the rain. You had hoped Dr. Lecter would have something to dry your shoes off with as you didn’t want to come across as rude for walking in with muddied heels. You tried your best not to slip on the hardwood with your shoes in the state that they were in. 

Walking to the waiting room, you sat down on one of the comfortable chairs, waiting for the man himself to come and retrieve you for your one weekly session. Things had been going fairly well with him and the more time you spent with the doctor, the more you felt yourself opening up and becoming more and more comfortable in his presence. The feeling seemed to be mutual between the two of you, and he seemed to be sincerely interested in your conversations, and not just in the “I’m a therapist so I have to pretend to care about your problems kind of way.” And oh, was he so observant and understanding. It was hard not to be enthralled with someone so interesting, charismatic, and charming. Even with the comfortability you felt with the man, you couldn’t help but notice the darkness in his eyes that you had before; something so entrancing about the way he spoke to you as he gazed into yours. You found yourself melting into his comforting words and allowing him into the crevices of your brain that you hadn’t allowed anyone to do before. 

A few minutes after you had been seated, you heard the large, heavy door opened on your right, signaling that the moment you had been waiting for all day was about to happen.You had silently scolded yourself for not wearing better protection for the weather and gave your clothes a pat-down before standing up coming face-to-face with Will Graham. He must've been just leaving his appointment like the first time you'd met except he somehow seemed to be in an even worse state than before. His eyes were droopy and his glasses were foggy as every gravitational force tried to turn against him and make the frames fall off his nose. His clothes were slightly damp and his hair was flying in multiple strands. 

His appearance (although you'd hate to admit it out loud) made you feel slightly better about yours. If Hannibal was okay with Will walking in like that, then maybe he wouldn't care all that much about your muddied shoes. 

"Hello Will." You said, trying to be friendly with the man even after he'd shown such blatant rudeness to you the first time you'd met. 

"Ah, hello- uhm-" he said, looking for the words. 

"(Y/N)." You said, offering up a smile knowing now that if you were to reach out for a handshake he might not be so inclined. 

“Right,” He said, with more courtesy this time than before, “He’s all yours.” You didn’t realize there could be a joking bone in Will’s body but this statement brought out a chuckle from you. “Thanks.” Was all you replied. 

• • • 💉💉💉 • • •

The marble flooring led to the lavish room you had remembered almost to perfection by now. It had become something of a safe haven for you, as you were often here, but it was also a place where you had truly allowed yourself the ability to truly feel. You stood in the doorway still, taking note of Hannibal sitting at his desk with a warm smile and inviting eyes, staring at you from where he sat, this time wearing a grey button-up and a black tie. 

“Do you happen to have a towel I could dry my shoes off with?” You asked, trying your best to keep up appearances but also to be respectful of his space, “I don’t want to stain your carpet.”

Hannibal found his heart doing cartwheels in his chest. It was as if you always knew the right thing to say that would make him fond of you and your visits. You were always so careful, so polite, it shook him to his core sometimes. He pushed back his chair and pushed up his sleeves, pulling out the handkerchief he had in the pocket of his trousers as he made his way over to your frame. 

“May I?” He asked, moving downwards towards your heels, not taking his eyes off yours once. He so divinely looked up at you with soft eyes, softer than you’d ever seen them, an image of feigned innocence. It was as if it were nothing more than an impression of innocence, however, as his movements suggested his interests in something more profound- something more lustrous. 

This movement took you off guard as he waited for your permission to clean the soles. It was a polite gesture, sure, one that you wouldn’t think twice of if anyone else had asked. Coming from him, however, brought a blush to your face. “I-I don’t mind cleaning them up myself, I-”

“I insist.” 

You nodded softly, allowing him to gently wipe off the remainder of the mud within a few short seconds. Almost as fast as the offer had been extended to you, he was back upright with his eyes slightly above level to yours, a smile on his face as he threw the cloth into the can by the door. He walked towards the chair he usually sat at that would begin the long sessions between the two of you and held up the clipboard that was placed on the side table. 

“Shall we begin?” He asked, paying no mind to the flushed mess you were in the corner. It was almost as if he knew how you felt deep down and had decided to torture you with extra long glances and sweet, meaningful gestures. Here he was, smiling to you once more as if he hadn’t just thrown you into a frenzy of being forced to hurriedly collect yourself. 

“Yes.” You said, heading over to the sofa that had become your usual position across from the doctor. You pat your skirt down as you sat, turning so that your back was up against the chaise lounge in the most comfortable position you could possibly muster after a stunt like that. You pursed your lips as you awaited his first question or observation that would throw the both of you into the conversations you were familiar with. 

Things had become different with you and Hannibal as of late. He was always trying his best to do something sweet for you that most people wouldn't think of doing. He was so kind in his words and his actions that you were beginning to feel some sort of longing in you, much to your dismay. Crushing on your therapist wasn't something you'd ever want to do, especially after not dating for so long. There was no way the feeling was mutual, right? This all had to be a coincidence.

“So, (Y/N),” he began, resting one leg atop the other with his ankle against his knee and his notes on top. The pen was twirling in between his fingertips as he took a deep breath. He was in no rush to start the session, it seemed. “Tell me some more about what we’d discussed last Wednesday.”

You felt yourself starting to relive some of those painful memories you tried so hard to shut down. You had mentioned to Dr. Lecter  the unfortunate circumstances of your last relationship, which had left you with more trauma than exhilaration. He had twisted all of your words against you and left you crying to yourself many nights, leaving you wondering if he even cared. He was always on the phone with other women or trying his best to court them that it had become the norm for you to find other laundry mixed in with yours or extra makeup items lying around the house. It was such a stressful time for you and was even more stressful for you to find a way to leave the relationship as the months dragged on.Two years ago, you had spent only seven months with this man and your life had gone up in flames. 

“I find myself looking into the mirror sometimes and seeing the image of me through his eyes.” You started, starting this conversation off with a whisper as it was hard to just instantly delve into the traumas you’d had in your life. You noticed for a moment that your therapist’s gaze darkened and his expression changed from concern to what appeared to be anger before he went back to his usually calm demeanor. 

“His image of you being…?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat ever so slightly. It was still a difficult discussion to have and a conversation you tended to avoid whenever you could. You knew you could trust Hannibal with this information, but your body held onto the weight of the events you’d experienced and made it difficult for them to fly out into the open, instead, they laid deep within your soul as they fed on the negative thoughts they placed into your brain. 

“He would always comment on my appearance. Compare me to other women.” You started to play with the hem of your skirt, looking up to the tall roof above you and trying to keep yourself calm. You had gotten over the stage in your life where you’d have panic attacks over these times of remembrance, but there was still fear in sharing them. “I always felt so belittled, so unimportant. I gave him everything I could to maintain the peace and to convince him to fall in love with me again but it just never worked out in my favor.”

Hannibal felt his chest tighten. It was clear that this man had done so much damage to you, but why? Why would he have chosen the most polite and caring person he could to ruin? He felt anger and  sadness on your behalf- something he didn’t find himself doing with others very often. He couldn’t usually relate to anyone all that well as he had notoriously looked down upon them. You, however, were a different story. You brought out something animalistic in him, something that he had never ventured into before. Of course, he had found other women attractive before (there was that one time with Bedelia), but this was unlike him to have an infatuation with someone of this standing. He wanted you, wanted to know you, and strangely he wanted you to know him. He saw you as an equal and dare he say, he might’ve even thought of you as better than himself.

He would never, ever, dream of putting you through the kind of mental torment others had. Ever.

“What would you give him to keep this peace?” He regretted asking the question as soon as it left his mouth but he just had to know. He had to learn more about you, how to approach situations with you and how to handle your insecurities. He would become the walking image of the perfect man and he would stop at absolutely nothing to obtain that. He wanted you to be his. Purely a product of his own creation. He knew he would mold you into the shape you were always meant to have and give you back the power those in your life had tried to take from you. 

You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself to finally let the truth seep out, to let the reason why you had decided to take up therapy in the first place to arise. You had hoped Hannibal would be able to take the knowledge. 

“My body was the only thing I could offer him as that was the only thing he wanted.” 

Hannibal’s anger was on overdrive now, trying to take over. He kept himself composed on the outside while his insides seemed to light on fire. He was beyond upset. But he felt the anger subside ever so slightly when he calmly looked to you and asked for the man’s name. 

He was going to have to consult his ethically sourced butcher.

[williamlandon]

Hi! Do you think you could make a villain au where Ambrosius is a yandere for Ballister and will murder for him? Ps: Your art is amazing!

Hiii! So sorry this took awhile to answer, I’ve been burnout lately and finals just ended, but I instantly fell in love with this idea.

Story wise, I came up with a couple ideas of what the story could be, but it’s totally up for interpretation. ——————————————————————————————————

I imagine that Ambrosius’s life constantly consisted of things he loved being taken away from him due to a strict family, strict rules, tight royal expectations, and just seemed like he had no freedom and zero say in anything he did. He just felt alone for years.

But one day he found young Ballister practicing out in the woods, monologging to himself. After spotting him, Ballister convinced Ambrosius to come and practice with him. Since that day, they had been practicing together in the woods to prepare for the day that Ballister would attempt to tryout to become a royal knight. Though he got away with it for years, Ambrosius was one day caught by the royal gardener who saw him speeding towards the woods. After being told, his parents were furious. He was scolded and punished greatly, except this time, he had enough.

Days before the knight tryouts, Ballister had noticed that Ambrosius wasn’t as bubbly as he usually was.

“They’re dead. Gone.”

In shock, all he could do was comfort Ambrosius and help him get through this massive loss.

Fast forward years later, Ambrosius has gotten some help with ruling the kingdom. Queen Valerin, who was the previous royal ambassador, took the thrown. Despite not being on top, Ambrosius was still thankful for the extra help. But not only was there a new queen, but a new ambassador. The Director.

Now with all of this stress gone from his shoulders, Ambrosius figured he could finally spend some time practicing with his recently asked out but secret bf, Ballister. With more time together, Ambrosius became very attached, especially since his childhood Bal was the only person who really gave their time and attention to him.

The Director noticed this strangely close connection with the two, and with already disliking them both, she disliked them more. But soon, she found out what was really going on between the two. With this increasing hatred for them, especially Ballister due to him being the only non royal blood knight, she came up with an idea to potentially turn them against each other, but little did she know that she was going to awaken a slumbering anger.

Her plan was to convince Ambrosius that Ballister was simply using him to gain status and learn about his weaknesses, until eventually taking his life along with the queen’s to become the new era of royalty. But unlike her wishes, even after framing Bal for the murder of the queen, Ambrosius wasn’t as gullible as she had hoped. With the help of the Squire, he had gained information about the rest of her plans. She had planned to kill Ballister to gain royalty herself.

Furious, Ambrosius heard an angry, yet familiar voice inside of his head.

From then on, anyone who had paid any form of a threat to Ballister, would never see the light of day again. The only one who was able to get away (for now) was the Director, due to the fear of her death being pinned upon Bal. ——————————————————————————————————

soooo yea I skipped sleep for this and I am very tired. But like I said tysm to whoever requested this bc I love this idea. This is definitely my headcannon for this AU, I’m excited to see other stories of this AU. Have a good day! ^^

[leth-writes]

lost boys x reader

This is the first time I've ever written for these characters, so tell me if anyone wants more!

Summary: You're going to die. Shame your friends had to die alongside you.

Warnings: discussions of gore and murder.

it was a hot, muggy day, and you were going to die.

You’d only wanted to go out with your friends, maybe spend some of your hard-earned allowance on candy and carousel rides. You’d never meant for it to be this serious.

The day, or evening, rather, had started off normal enough. You’d gone on the roller coaster a couple of times, eaten some cotton candy and won some rigged carnival games, and you and your friends were sitting, enjoying the free music coming from the concert. It was a sax player tonight, a man without a shirt and and a chest covered in oil, though the crowd was reacting as though it was the most intense rock concert they’d ever heard. The cheap lights twinkled, lighting up the night sky with bright, neon hues. Laughter and chatter filled the humid air, the boardwalk filled with people.

Santa Carla was the murder capitol of the country, but you’d never thought you’d find yourself in real danger. You’d always thought the only people at risk were people without a place to go and the various tourists that trickled through, people who wouldn’t be immediately noticed upon disappearing. You had convinced yourself that the mysterious disappearances were nothing to be concerned with, as had everyone else in the normally quiet town, and your parents had finally relented to letting you stay out late with your friends. The 5 of you were sitting on the ledge by the stairs to the beach, drinking in the atmosphere and joking around; the current topic of discussion was the crush your friend Cindy had on some boy from school, Freddy.

“I’m telling you, there’s just something about that boy that’s so…” She paused, licking her lips deviously, a glint in her eye, “delicious!” Lara, a brunette with thick, curly hair and large glasses, rolled her eyes. She looked off into the distance, staring out at the shoreline and watching the waves disappear into the night, merging with the sky and creating a watercolor of stars. “You say that about every guy that catches your eye, Cindy. Maybe you should slow down and wait for a while?” She asked, still staring into the distance, eyes vacant and cloudy. Cindy laughed, throwing her head back, large earrings clacking. Various people in the crowd in front of you turned at the noise, surprised to find such a small woman practically doubled over.

“You need to have some fun, Lara, don’t be stuck-up!” She continued, smiling so wide her gums were visible, framed by her bright pink lipgloss. “I’m not stuck-up, just busy!” Lara defended, fighting a smile. Tamara turned from where she’d been comparing nails with the last of your group, Amy, and gently nudged Cindy. “hey, don’t tease her, Cin! She’s just focused on school, you know how smart she is!” Tamara sighed, exhasperated.

“Yeah, Cin, she’s the only one who’s getting out of this town when high school ends!” Amy picked up. Tamara and Amy were practically inseperable, being old family friends, and practically all agreed. Well, except for the Todd Incident, which you officially weren’t allowed to talk about.

“Well, Fred is cute,” you hedged, trying to prevent an argument before it escalated and got you all kicked out. Cindy was known for her loud voice, afterall, and you’d rather not get a lifetime ban from the boardwalk, the only place with any sort of entertainment not designed for sticky 5 year olds.

“Well, not everyone can be so picky, hun!” Cindy laughed, luckily not taking it the wrong way. It was true, though it stung slightly; you hadn’t ever really been interested in boys, not the way your friends were; even Lara had had more experience than you, and she’d only had one boyfriend! Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as look at the local population… The boys were so immature, you felt like you were babysitting, not going on a date! Not to mention, most were only interested in sex, not long-term relationships, like you wanted. While you knew Cindy was happy, and you were slightly envious she seemed to have such luck with boys, you just knew that you two were different. It didn’t bother you anymore, though you’d been convinced you were broken as a child for not seeing what the others were talking about when Johnny Park had caught every girl in your grade’s eye. You knew that you’d find someone eventually, or at least you hoped you would, but for now you were content with your friends and the entertainment offered by romance flicks.

“I just thi-” You began, only to be interrupted by the loud roaring of motorcycle engines.

All 5 of you turned, shocked, as a group of boys rode down the boardwalk on their bikes, laughing and shouting as people were forced to jump out of their way. “Holy shit,” Cindy breathed, popping her gum, eyes locked on the bottle blond at the front of the pack. “Jesus, they’re gonna hit somebody!” Lara gasped, hands flying up to clutch her face in shock. “I hope they hit me,” Cindy responded, eyes glazed with want. Amy lightly smacked her arm, chiding her. Still, she wasn’t to be deterred. “We need to talk to them,” Cindy continued, once again biting at her lip, this time a more serious expression on her face. “You look like you’re going to jump someone,” Tamara interjected, looking slightly nervous. Cindy just wagged her eyebrows in response, breaking the tension and causing the 5 of you to break into peals of laughter.

“Jeez, Cin! I thought you liked Fred?” you joked, nudging her in the ribs with your elbow. “Well, Fred can wait!” She said, determined. By then, the group of boys had pulled up to the ledge across the railing from you, parking their bikes and lighting their cigarettes. There was something almost ethereal about the boys, 4 in total, all clad in leather with hair mussed to rival an ‘80s rock legend. Maybe it was the way their sharp edges blurred in the twinkling boardwalk lights, the warm lighting casting them in shades of gold and white as though they were angels. You couldn’t help but admit that they shared some resemblance to the feathered creatures of myth.

The frontmost boy was… at first glance, average height, bottle blond mullet framing his face in choppy waves and light beard just starting to accentuate the sharp curves of his face. He glanced up from his cigarette and made eye contact with you, icy blue eyes locked onto yours. For a second, the sounds of the boardwalk faded away and the lights dimmed, casting his face in harsh shadows; you could swear he smirked, teeth elongated into sharp fangs, brow bone warped and jutting out. Then, in a blink, it was gone, and the only sign of the vision you’d had that remained was his slightly too sharp smirk.

The tallest boy, the brunet, was clad in a dark jean jacket, sleeves pocked with leopard print, exposing his bare, toned chest. His skin was a touch darker than the others, and his shaggy hair swung around him as he shook it out, looking almost akin to a shampoo ad. You couldn’t help but stare at the muscles as they twisted under his skin, bunching and pulling taught. Your eyes snapped up and you blushed as his own dark chocolate ones met yours, mirth clear in his face.

The boy next to him, head thrown back in uproarious laughter, seemed to be the wildest. His hair, also blond, was shaggy and teased so big it practically enveloped him, and his wild smile exposed sharp canines tinged slightly with… you weren’t sure, though it looked slightly red. Lipstick, maybe? He wore beige pants and a fishnet shirt, slightly covered by the decked-out and ripped leather jacket accentuating his lithe form. He looked graceful, almost dancer-like, in the soft glow of the evening.

The final boy was the shortest, hair twisted into cherubic curls, and had one arm swung over the shoulders of the long-haired wild blond. the two were practically howling, doubled over, slightly obscured behind the front two.

All in all, the group was… intoxicating. You couldn’t help but stare, and judging by the silence of your friends, you knew they were doing the same. Catching your eye again, the bottle blond clicked his tongue and said something to his friends, who all immediately straightened. Then, they began sauntering over, walking in a pack like circling predators. You couldn’t help but feel like prey in the jaws of a lion.

“Oh!” Lara squeaked, pale face flushed the same shade as Amy’s hair. Tamara and Amy just silently nodded in agreement, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly anxious at the sight of the boys approaching you.

Finally they reached you, forming a loose semi-circle, boxing the 5 of you onto the ledge. You were trapped, though it seemed you were the only one conscious enough of the situation to notice.

“Hey there,” the shaggy blond started, though he was quckly shushed by his shorter friend. The bottle blond inhaled sharply, then grinned devilishly. “Hello… we couldn’t help but notice you all looked lonely,” he began, making intense eye contact with Cindy. None of the boys were even looking at you; were you that unlikeable?!

“I’m David, this is Paul,” he gestured to the shaggy blond, “Marko,” the curly haired boy, “and Dwayne.” the dark-haired boy making sharp eyes at Lara. Cindy quickly introduced the 5 of you, though you noticed that the boys didn’t take their eyes off of the respective friend they seemed to pick. You should’ve taken that as a sign.

Throughout the rest of the night, none of the boys seemed to spare you a second glance. They took turns going off with your friends, who each returned looking satiated with mussed hair and clothes slightly skewed. None of your friends seemed to notice you sulking in theh corner, content to pair off with the boy that had decided they were their target for the night. It was lonely, and you found yourself staying slightly on the edge of the group. They chatted and laughed, but you were stuck in the corner on the ledge by the bikes, completely isolated. you spent the night staring off into the distant shoreline, contemplating just leaving, though you convinced yourself to stay to ensure your friends stayed safe. Or maybe because you were jealous, though you’d never admit it. Finally, a couple of hours into the merging of the two groups, David paused in his discussions with Cindy. “Hey, why don’t we all head to somewhere more… quiet?” He said, smirk ever-present on the chiseled plains of his cheeks.

“Ok,” Cindy breathed, seemingly wanting to go back to chatting with him, or more likely making out with him, as soon as possible. You sighed, seems like you’d be finding your own way home toni-

“Hey, you can ride with me,” Dwayne said, cutting off your internal pity party. At that moment, it seemed your friends remembered your presence, as they all rushed to get you to agree. You might as well go, just to ensure their safety…

So, you agreed.

One slightly awkward ride later, and you all found yourself staring into the entrance of a cave, water crashing harshly against the base of the cliff. It was dimly lit from the inside with a variety of candles, it seemed there was no electricity in the desolate cave.

“A-are you sure this is the right place?” You questioned warily. The boys just laughed, and Cindy huffed impatiently. “Come on, worrywart! We’ll be fine!” She sighed, pulling you inside.

If you thought the outside was intimidating, the inside was warm, though it looked like it had been ripped from a painting of a bygone era. An old fountain graced the middle of the room, large draped fishnet fabric separating areas of the space. There was debris everywhere on the floor, coating the space in a thick layer of dust that prevented you from being able to see its real color. All you could do was hope you weren’t stepping on any faultlines.

The boys filtered in, bringing your friends with them as they did so, scattering around the space. You found your way to the beatup couch, taking a seat across from where Paul was sucking a hickey onto Tamara’s neck.

“Well, I think it’s time for a drink!” David crowed, plopping down in the wheelchair next to the fountain. Light cast his face in harsh shadows, hiding parts of his expression from you. Still, you got the feeling he was looking directly into your eyes.

“Ow, you’re being a little harsh there, Paul!” Amy cried, and you turned to look- only for a splash of warmth to hit your cheek. Where she���d been sitting, cuddled into his lap, she was now splayed across the edge of the sofa, neck bent at an odd angle and face twisted. Her chest deflated with a soft sigh, and her eyes went glassy. Her body was limp, limper than you’d ever seen her, normally so full of life. Blood pooled in her neck, and Paul shot you a wide grin, fangs now coated.

You screamed.

And you jumped back.

And you bumped into someone. You whirled around, and there was David, face coated in blood. Just over his shoulder, you could see Cindy, her arm yanked out of the socket. Her pretty face was twisted and contorted in pain, and tears streamed down her cheeks, now ruddy from her fear. She was clutching the limb tightly to her chest, rocking slightly. It looked as though she’d been mauled by a bear, arm bleeding heavily and chunks hanging limply by a thread. She let out a short scream, and then Paul was on her. You couldn’t see her after that.

From the other side of the fountain, you could hear Tamara crying, harsh sobs filling the air. Lara had been thrown, her body lying limp where Marko was drinking deeply from her neck, head lolled to the side and eyes looking unblinkingly at you. You couold tell she was dead.

Then, David was blocking your view, and your entire world narrowed down to him. His harsh icey blue eyes locked onto yours, and it was like you forgot how to breathe; all you could do is stare at him, not even trying to run. It felt like you weren’t in control of your body.

“Drink up,” he whispered softly, hand gripping your chin and bringing an ornate wine bottle to your lips. Against your will, your lips parted, allowing the spiced red liquid to enter. It didn’t taste like wine, an oddly thick mixture, though you had no idea what it could possibly be.

The other boys cheered, now standing in a loose semi-circle behind David.

When you finished drinking deeply from the bottle, David kissed the remainder off your lips, so soft he barely brushed your lips with his own, plump and warm. “sleep,” he said, and you were gone.

[separatist-apologist]

Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

The agent cooked. Feyre had never been a cook which made living on her own hell even now. She preferred things that could be dumped into a pan and heated up, preferably in the microwave. That first morning, Feyre woke to Rhys cooking waffles. He looked casual enough in jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt and the scene was strangely domestic.

She didn’t want to think like that. Wasn’t it bad enough she was sleeping with Tamlin? What would the rest of the agents think of her if word spread she’d sleep with anyone who came knocking on her door? The problem was Rhys and his stupid, perfect face. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life. It didn’t seem possible that someone could look the way he did. 

Tall, with thick, dark hair that gleamed blue in the sunlight. Starry eyes that seemed violet, especially in the dark, his high cheekbones, his full lips, his perfect jaw…not to mention how broad and muscular he was, how large his hands, just…everything about him was appealing. 

And he cooked, too.

It was his smile, though, that had Feyre really considering something purely physical. She and Tamlin had never made any exclusive promises to one another. For all she knew, he had someone in every city he visited. He was attractive enough for that sort of thing, certainly. He’d never told her not to see anyone else…though maybe he just assumed she wouldn’t try and sleep with one of his colleagues. 

All she knew was that if this had been her original agent, she would have tried a lot harder to answer some of those questions. 

Rhys set himself up in her spare bedroom which existed solely because agents occasionally stayed over before catching an early flight. Feyre fluttered around offering to help, but Rhys waved her off with that easy smile of his. 

He was on his computer in the living room for most of the afternoon, brow furrowed as he typed away. Likely letting people know he’d made contact and she was safe and whatever else it was he did day to day. Feyre was endlessly fascinated by him and found herself strolling into the room and plunking herself down on the opposite end of the cream colored couch.

“So are you a bodyguard?” she asked him. He was bigger than Tamlin and had the look of someone unafraid to take a life. 

Rhys glanced over, one brow arched. “Something like that.”

“So if…he…tries to—”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. How about that?” Rhys offered, eyes returning to his computer. “You don’t need to worry about anything anymore.”

“All I do is worry,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. Of course, she couldn’t tell the agent that her worries had more to do with herself and her sisters than they did with Rhysand. If anyone ever learned the truth Feyre would go to jail for the rest of her life, and her sisters probably would, too. She needed things to conclude so she could put those anxieties to rest and finally get on with her life. 

“What do you worry about?” Rhys asked absently, typing again.

“Everything,” she admitted as she drew her legs beneath her chin. “I didn’t think this would go on as long as it did.”

He nodded his head, eyes glassy for a moment. “I meant what I said. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m here to protect you.”

Feyre sighed. “I believe that.”

And she did, if only because he got paid to keep her alive. Still, any incentive was better than none, and his presence was strangely welcome. Feyre talked to fill the silence and this time, Rhys responded to everything she said, no matter how inane. And better than that, he asked her questions. Once he finished with work, Rhys made his way into the kitchen where Feyre liked to paint. The dining room was part of the spacious, open room. Feyre would open the patio door when it was warm and paint whatever happened to catch her interest. Today she was painting more trees as she tried to get her texture and shading just right. Something about painting park eluded her until she was left with a muddy mess topped in green. 

Rhys strolled in, peering at her work before looking up for comparison. “Mind if I watch?” he asked and she didn’t, really. People were often watching her work and if it inspired them to pick up a brush and try themselves, well that was even better. 

“Only if you agree to paint, too,” she said before ripping off a sheet of paper from the pad she was using. Rhys watched for a moment, unaware she was overtaken by a memory of her offering Tamlin the same thing. Tamlin had refused, cheeks darkening as he mumbled he had talent for painting at all.

Rhys took the brush. “Don’t judge me,” he warned her. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised. She thought of herself as a good teacher, so while Feyre worked on not making a muddy mess of her own painting, she watched Rhys too. It was always interesting to see what people chose to do first. How they anchored line and color to an otherwise blank world. 

Rhys, like so many others, chose a pale blue for the sky while leaving a space for a bright, yellow sun. Juvenile but not awful, either. Feyre saved a lot of those details for later, though she had lightly marked out her background with some color, just to keep herself rooted in her artistic reality. 

“I can feel your judgment,” he warned without ire. “You promised.”

“It’s not judgment. Just curiosity,” she replied. “You have some talent.”

“That’s a generous assessment of my abilities,” Rhys joked. “I don’t think it’s quite time to quit my day job, though.” 

“The trick to art is practice, you know. Everyone thinks its something innate—”

“I think there is an innate quality to it, though,” Rhys interrupted, turning those bright eyes on her. “Not everyone sees light and shadow the way you do.”

“You could teach yourself,” she replied, strangely breathless. 

“Sure. But that’s my point. You see it, and I don’t.”

Feyre didn’t know what to make of that. Ducking her head to hide the flush crawling up the back of her neck, Feyre returned to her painting and so did Rhysand. In the end, he put together something entirely workable—good, even, for someone who claimed to have no skill. And her tree trunks didn’t come out muddy, for once.

She supposed he was good luck. Ever since he’d shown up, things seemed to be going better. She had ninety days before Rhysand was set before a grand jury for indictment—when she’d finally tell the lie that started her down this road. He’d go to prison, his operation utterly dismantled, and Feyre would go home. 

She’d be Feyre again. Not Sarah. She could do anything, including nothing at all if she wanted. The idea was immensely appealing. Feyre went to bed that night dreaming of the life waiting for her.

She woke to the sight of Rhys nearly naked in the hall. With nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, Rhys stood in the hall rifling through the closet for something while Feyre…just stared. His whole body was pure, broad, golden muscle. Ink crawled up his shoulders and biceps, ending just beneath his collarbone and elbow. She supposed he wanted to present himself as someone clean cut given he was a federal agent. Lucien and Tamlin didn’t have tattoos—maybe they weren’t allowed to be visible.

Or maybe he knew how good looking he was and didn’t want to outwardly spoil it. 

Regardless, her eyes traveled over his toned stomach to the vee vanishing into the towel and oh. Oh no. She knew right then she wanted to crawl into his lap and run her nails down his chest and once again, guilt flared in her stomach. How well did he know Tamlin, she wondered? Tamlin had been her savior and she cared about him…though Feyre didn’t love him. 

And she wasn’t his girlfriend, she reasoned.

Still, Feyre cleared her throat, unwilling to pretend she hadn’t seen him. Rhys glanced over, throwing her an easy smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a clean razor?”

“Shelf above if you don’t mind pink,” she replied.

“I don’t mind pink at all,” Rhys said with that easy grin. Adjusting his stance to spread his legs ever so slightly, she watched him reach that muscular arm upward and pull down the plastic container holding the razor. What, she wondered, was he shaving? His jaw was smooth, though she knew the shadow would return before dinner, just as it had before.

She liked the clean cut man, though there had been something about the rough stubble that had been distracting while they’d eaten the night before. Maybe it was just his mouth that was distracting.

She looked back up, horrified to find his gaze pinned firmly on her. And judging from the expression on his face, he knew what she’d been looking at. What she’d been thinking. 

“How well do you know Tamlin?” Feyre blurted out, suddenly embarrassed.

All the ease evaporated from his posture. “Well enough,” he said, his tone suddenly frosty. “He won’t be returning.”

“What?” Feyre asked, following after Rhys into the bathroom. “How come?”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Rhys said, “I only know the rumors, of course.”

“About me?”

Oh God. Had their relationship gotten him fired? Was that why he hadn’t texted her? He was mad? 

“Worse, I’m afraid. He was on the wrong side of your investigation,” Rhys said.

Feyre blinked, looking at the white subway tile on the wall. He was helping Rhysand? The whole time? She’d told Tamlin so much…Feyre brought her fingertips to her mouth. She should have known, she realized. Should have realized why he wanted to keep such close proximity, why he fought so hard to remain her main contact. 

“He was going to take me back,” Feyre murmured. 

“We might have lost you forever had that happened,” Rhys told her gravely. “But I’m here now.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him. He was so tall, so serious as he looked down at her, one hand braced on the edge of the counter. He had her half pinned between both himself and the sink and if she’d wanted, she could have surged upward and kissed him.

But Tamlin…oh. Feyre couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I’m sorry, I…give me a second.” Feyre closed the door behind her so he could shave himself in peace before making her way to her bedroom. She had a gun tucked away in the drawer of her side table and right then, she wanted to use it. Wanted to press it up against Tamlin’s chest and fire straight through him. 

And then she wanted to hunt down the man who’d bought her and kill him, too. She felt helpless right then—caged. She couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything. If Rhysand wanted to hunt her down, well, here she was. There was nothing she could do but hope Tamlin hadn’t told Rhysand where she was.

Feyre sighed, slamming the drawer shut. If she pulled a gun on a federal agent, she was likely to be arrested. She needed air—to take a walk and try and calm herself down. There was no need to tell Rhys she was leaving—he was just monitoring, not guarding twenty four seven. And she didn’t want to see him or his stupid, beautiful face right then.

It was too distracting and Feyre needed to focus. In the early days of her new life, Feyre had spent nearly all her time trying to figure out ways to escape. What routes she’d take, what she’d have to bring with her, where she’d even go. She’d been so heavily monitored back then that she knew she couldn’t bring a phone with her—that could be tracked. 

She’d have to buy a new one somewhere else.

What had stopped her back then was the fear she’d be running straight into the arms of Moreno. But maybe…maybe sitting complacent all these years had been the problem. If Tamlin was spying…why hadn’t Rhysand come looking for her?

It didn’t make sense—unless Rhysand had no interest in marrying her at all and was waiting for an opportune moment to kill her. Tamlin, who’d been supposed to bring her in, was likely waiting on those orders.

“Feyre!”

Feyre spun on the sidewalk, surprised to see Rhys jogging after her in a pair of black athletic shorts and a matching black t-shirt. She could see the outline of his gun in his waistband, proving once again what a fucking cop he was. 

“I’m walking,” she said when he reached her, strangely petulant. 

“You could have told me,” he retorted, running a hand over his jaw. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m going for a walk,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alone.”

His eyes scanned the neighborhood, not finding anything objectionable among the rows of townhouses and sapling cherry blossoms. 

“Twenty minutes before I come looking,” he warned.

“Fine,” she agreed, though it wasn’t fine at all. Feyre probably wouldn’t have spent more than five minutes had he not given her a time limit. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault she was upset, either, though she couldn’t stop herself from marching away from him anyway. He didn’t say a word about it and when she dared to look over her shoulder, he’d vanished. 

Feyre returned exactly after twenty minutes. Rhys was in the living room, casual as ever as he typed away at his computer. 

“I’m back,” she told him with only minimal bite.

He offered her a smile. “Feeling better?”

She shrugged and Rhys closed his laptop.

“Want me to kill him?” he offered with a joking smile.

“Kind of,” she admitted, though it felt awful to say. “Would you?”

“Consider it done, darling,” he replied with a wink. “Have you ever shot someone?”

Feyre shook her head no.

“We should rectify that,” Rhys said in that easy going way of his. She had asked Tamlin—numerous times, actually. And every time he’d told her no, citing agency policy that must have been bullshit. Rhysand likely didn’t want her knowing how to use a weapon and she’d been so stupid to believe anything he said. She had the training she’d gotten as a girl from her father, though who knew how good it was anymore. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Rhys agreed, turning back to his laptop screen. Whatever waited for him drew a deep frown and the frantic clacking of keys.

“Do you want to watch a movie with me tonight?” she asked impulsively. Raising his eyebrows, Rhys nodded.

“Yeah. After dinner. Pick something out. Whatever you like.”

And Feyre vowed to do just that.

RHYS:

Things were going too well. Better than he’d first imagined. Feyre returned to teaching the morning after they’d watched a movie together. And though she’d occupied one end of the sofa and he’d taken the other, she’d wanted to be around him. They’d passed two weeks like that, creating a little routine. He got up before her, used to being up at four or five in the morning to go over business before he went to the gym at six in the morning. He was still going to the gym while Feyre slept, but now his business centered around her. He, Azriel, and Cassian continued to talk like normal and texted in code. Azriel was having a hell of a time—he’d attempted to kidnap Elain and accidentally drove her straight into the arms of the federal agent watching her. Rhys found his antics rather amusing, truthfully. He expected the middle sister to be the easiest of the three to control and as it turned out, she was the most wily. 

Cassian, on the other hand, had taken the same route Rhys had and merely executed the agent overseeing Nesta Archeron and, like Rhys had moved himself in. To hear Cassian tell it, the pair were growing sourdough starter and doing yoga with the sunrise every morning. Rhys imagined there was something else happening there—but didn’t dare comment on it.

But if Cassian could keep the eldest Archeron docile, Rhys would have leverage when it came to the middle one. He suspected the three of them were protecting each other, though he couldn’t prove that. It was just a hunch, and Rhys had long learned to trust his gut.

After the gym, Rhys came home and made Feyre breakfast before she went to work. He wanted to make her lunch, too—but didn’t dare play that card. Not yet. She was still stewing over Tamlin, prone to little sullen outbursts whenever she remembered his betrayal.Rhys could admit he’d been loose with the truth and eventually she was likely going to have a problem with the way he’d phrased things.

That was future Rhys’s problem. Current Rhys merely had to convince Feyre to act on the attraction she so obviously felt before he whisked her away to his cabin in the mountains and fully made her his wife. He’d never tricked a woman into falling in love with him, so the finer points were a little messy.

But he figured if he could show her what their life would be like, she’d settle into it a little easier. He’d misunderstood her all these years, but Rhys understood her now. Feyre hated being told what to do. If he’d wanted her, he ought to have demanded her father keep the engagement a secret and courted her on his own.

Rhys couldn’t go back and undo the past, which left him in the present, sitting on the couch in a pair of loose sweatpants and a tight t-shirt. He had, perhaps manipulatively, gone without anything underneath the sweatpants and twice he’d caught her staring. 

Come on, darling. Climb in my lap. 

Rhys wanted to touch her so badly it was making him itch with need. Feyre maintained her position on the sofa even if her fingers twisted nervously in her lap and her eyes kept darting toward him. 

Rhys kept himself focused, legs spread ever so slightly with invitation. And still, he found himself alone that night again, fisting his own cock and frustrated with his inability to make real progress with the woman he was trying to marry.

He was on borrowed time and he knew it. They wouldn’t make it ninety days like this. Eventually whoever was supposed to show up would, and the whole thing would be up. Rhys really didn’t want to add another murder to his growing list of crimes. Each new mess made it a little easier to catch him. 

Rhys needed to do something. So the first morning Feyre was off, Rhys woke her up with coffee and eggs before announcing, “I’m taking you to the gun range today.” That was merely practical. One day she might need to know how to aim straight, to fire one shot rather than ten. He didn’t want to have to spend his time worrying that someone could get to his wife who would be unprotected when he wasn’t there. This was also a gesture of good will between them.

Can’t you see I’m better than he is? I’ll take care of you if you let me.

Feyre blinked up at him, her hair an appealing mass of loose curls. Rhys could imagine another scenario in which her hair was that tousled—he had to turn away from the sight of her before his sweatpants betrayed him. 

“Why today?”

Time is against us and I need you to be ready for what’s coming. “I should have done it sooner.”

Sooner, like the minute he’d agreed to marry her but he couldn’t go back. He wished he would have introduced himself back then rather than skulking around like a petulant child, annoyed with his own choices. 

Feyre dressed in a pair of leggings and a tight, athletic top that made it hard to drive. Hard to think, really. He was so used to seeing her in oversized shirts and dresses that hung shapelessly off her body. This was different—the fabric hugged every curve of her body in an obscene way and Rhys found himself walking slower so he could admire the view of her ass without her knowing. 

“You just point and shoot, right?” Feyre asked once they were tucked away in their booth. Of course she wouldn’t let him take care of her, shaking him off when he tried to come around her. Rhys did it anyway, if only to breathe in the sweet scent of her hair.

“Something like that,” he said, covering her small, paint stained hands with his own. Did she notice the little scars that nicked his hands? Did she wonder how he’d gotten them? “No hesitation.”

Feyre fired a round, hitting the center target every time with supreme satisfaction. She turned, eyes bright and eyebrows raised. 

“What were you saying?” she asked.

I love you. 

“I thought you’d never been,” Rhys replied.

“My father was mafia, remember? We didn’t need gun ranges…he had us shooting tin cans outside when we were old enough to stand. Besides, I did archery in high school. I think I can hit a human body if I need to.”

“You said—”

“That I had never shot a man,” she replied, the clever little thing. “And I haven’t. Yet.”

He imagined that Feyre thought she’d be shooting him. What did she picture, he wondered? Some aging creep hoping for a child bride? Whatever it was, she wasn’t imagining him. 

“You knew what I meant,” Rhys grumbled, trying and failing to be anything but amused with her. His clever woman. Rhys practically purred at the thought.

“Go on then,” Rhys said, nodding toward her bullet-riddled paper. “Do it again.”

And she did. It was, perhaps, some of the most fun Rhys had engaged in, maybe in years. They traded at some point, trying to outdo the other by mere millimeters. Rhys threw some of his shots simply to let her think she was catching up, only to utterly decimate her record moments later.

It felt like foreplay, if he was being honest. Feyre was competitive and clever and had a filthy mouth he was desperate to put to better use. 

He brushed the back of her hand with his fingers when they were back outside, careful to catch her eye when she looked up at him with surprise. Yes, he wanted to say, I did that on purpose. 

He swore he saw her blush.

Rhys took her home, disappointed when she vanished up the stairs before he’d managed to get his shoes off. He went to his computer to monitor his home and talk to Cassian and Azriel. 

Cassian:

Compromised yesterday- shot in the leg. N headed up to you, Az. Might be with civilians- don’t kill them. Just contain them until I arrive. Eta 3:25

Azriel:

Already found them via shotgun to my face. I can’t clean up your mess- fed took E back into hiding. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Rhys had days left, if that, before the feds were pounding on their door. He didn’t intend to go to jail because he got caught playing house with Feyre Archeron. They might have been fine had the middle Archeron not escaped with a federal agent. He’d check in, surely. Warn the rest of them as soon as he could? 

Still, Rhys was occupied all through dinner and the movie Feyre picked. He didn’t notice she’d scooted closer, nor did he realize why she lingered in the hall until he turned off the light. All he could think about was his escape plan. He had a multitude of houses, not all of which were in his name. He could take her up to his cabin in the mountains, he reasoned. She’d be pissed, but they’d be safe. Rhys wasn’t under house arrest and could be anywhere he liked.

Except, he supposed, with Feyre. 

Semantics. 

He’d take her in the morning, then. Lie and say they’d been compromised, get her off the grid, and continue his courtship until she was in love with him. And then he’d tell her the truth—or, maybe he’d marry her and then tell her the truth of the matter. She’d need to know her last name, after all.

And then it would be too late. Rhys liked that plan enough to get into bed wearing nothing at all. That was how he preferred to sleep though for the last two weeks he’d kept clothes on just in case Feyre climbed into bed with him. It had become glaringly obvious she wasn’t—he was going to have to crawl into hers—and Rhys wanted a good night's sleep before he packed Feyre up into his car and took a trip up the mountains.

He fell asleep to rain and woke to someone standing on the edge of his bed. Thunder crashed overhead, a match for his racing heart. He didn’t think—merely reacted, grabbing the intruder by the shoulders and flipping them to the bed. Rhys had a gun against their temple, thighs pressed tight around their waist to keep them from escaping, before a bolt of lightning illuminated the room.

“Feyre,” Rhys breathed, taking his finger off the trigger. “I thought…fuck.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her eyes bright like moonlight in the dark. “Next time I’ll knock.”

Rhys took a breath, pressing one hand against his naked chest. Naked body—Rhys looked down and found his cock pressed against the thin material of her shirt. Feyre must have known it, too, given the way she was looking firmly at the ceiling. 

“I ah…sorry,” he heard himself saying, sliding off her body with screaming reluctance. 

“It’s okay,” she replied breathlessly. 

Come on, sweetheart. Give me something I can work with. 

Rhys didn’t know what to do and settled for sliding beneath the blanket rather than stand up and let her see the erection he was now sporting. “Did something happen?”

“I ah…it was just a nightmare. I thought…I can go–”

“No!” he exclaimed, his heart racing for an entirely different reason. “No. Stay.”

“Should I take my clothes off, too?” she tried to joke.

“Only if you feel compelled to,” he replied, the words smoother than they felt. Rhys was breathless, too, and half delirious when she slid herself beneath the same blankets he was under. She turned to face him, head propped up on her elbow.

“You keep saying things like that,” she reminded him, a question hiding somewhere in the statement.

“One day you’ll take me up on it,” Rhys replied, unable to stop himself from brushing a strand of thick hair from her face. 

“I don’t think federal agents are supposed to sleep with the people they’re protecting,” Feyre reminded him. As if Rhys would have cared even if he’d been the honorable sort. 

“Who said anything about sleep, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked her, holding her gaze as the storm raged around them. “I can think of a million things I’d like to do to you that have nothing to do with sleep.”

Her breath caught. “Like what?”

Rhys couldn’t help but run his finger over her exposed collarbone. Lightly, he traced it over the lacy fabric, making his way between the valley of her breasts to the waistband of her shorts. “I could show you, if you like?”

Say yes, say yes, say yes, say yes—

“Will you stop if I don’t like it?”

Rhys’s head emptied out, replaced with a violent buzzing. Vision tinged with blood, he whispered, “Has someone not?”

“No,” she replied, easing some of the white hot fury lashing through him. “I just wanted to know.”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” Rhys vowed, wishing she understood the depth of his words. 

Feyre looked up at him with those moonlit eyes. “Show me.”

Oh, thank God. Rhys repositioned himself beside her, reached for her face and then, when he could all but taste her breath, he whispered, “I want to kiss you.” He didn’t give her the opportunity to respond. Rhys needed an answer to the question he’d been asking himself for the last five years—was she worth all this? In his darkest, most frustrated moments, he’d managed to convince himself this was all a mistake. That he ought to let her go and forget the entire thing and instead spend his time getting out of the feds little trap.

But morning always came, reassuring him that this was right. Feyre was his match and Rhys wanted her. Wanted every piece of her. 

He’d wait to fuck her, though his cock screamed in protest the moment the decision was made. Good things came to those who waited, and right now Rhys had the upper hand. 

Fuck, but Feyre tasted better than he’d imagined. Her lips were soft, her mouth minty and she smelled like sugared fruit. He wanted to lick his way down her body until he found himself between her legs where he’d lick some more. 

Rhys threaded his fingers into her hair, angling her head so he could kiss her deeper. His mind had run away with him, undressing her gently in some moments, viciously in others. He wanted to rip her out of her clothes or better still, cut them from her body while teasing her pretty, perfect skin with his blade. 

A little pain, a little pleasure. 

And as he kissed her, tongue sliding along her own, Rhys thought about putting her on his face and letting her suffocate him, taking her pleasure at his expense. He thought about her sinking to her knees, delicate fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock as she pumped and licked and sucked while he held the wall to keep himself upright.

Feyre moaned, running her hands over his biceps and drawing him out of his fantasies. He had time—a lifetime worth of it—and she was here, willing and pliant in his hands. She was kissing him back, it was her teeth nipping his bottom lip and her fingertips sliding through his hair.

Her parted legs made in offering, her knee touching his thigh. Rhys couldn’t help himself as he slid one hand up her thigh. Higher and higher while Feyre’s kissing slowed, her focus narrowing on what he was doing.

Deciding to stay over her clothes for the moment, Rhys moved his fingers between her legs and rubbed a slow deliberate circle. Do you like that?

Feyre exhaled softly, hips arching ever so slightly. It was Rhys’s turn to moan. “You’re sweet,” he whispered, teeth grazing her jaw. He kept his fingers circling against her clit, using the fabric as light friction. He wanted her desperate enough to forget everything but what she wanted so he could see her undone. Rhys wanted to hear her scream his name, wanted her to know that she belonged to him. 

For Rhys, it had been five years of nothing but his hand and fantasies and all he wanted was to bury himself inside her and fuck her just as long. He was so lost in his fantasies that he didn’t realize where her hand was going as it moved down his chest to his stomach. For all he knew, he was hallucinating her touch at all.

Her fingers curling around the base of his cock were very, very real. If he’d been asleep, that jolt of pleasure would have woken him up. Rhys stuttered out a gasping breath, pulling away to look at her. Feyre’s wicked smile told him everything he needed to know mere moments before her grip tightened and she pumped him in her hand. 

“Move the blanket,” she whispered. Rhys kicked them off violently so Feyre could look at him again. Her eyes moved down his body with appreciation, landing on the cock in her hand. 

“Do you like what you see?” Rhys asked her, nose brushing hers.

“Yes,” she replied, arching into his hands when he brought them to her breasts. “I think I like everything about you.”

Rhys could have come right then and there. 

“Fair is fair, Feyre,” he whispered, kissing a path down her throat. “Take this off and let me look at you.”

Rhys’s whole life narrowed to the moment Feyre leaned up and pulled her tank top over her head. Rhys groaned at the sight of her soft, lean body and the perky breasts heaving in the dark. He could have lost himself right there, fucking himself in the sheets, face buried between them. Rhys needed to focus.

“All of it.”

Feyre arched her hips, hair falling around her beautiful face. She was taunting him, running her finger up and down the waist band while he watched her like a starving animal. Feyre ceded inches at a time, revealing hips first, and then a peak of hair she’d neatly groomed. And then the shorts were on the floor beside her top and she was in his bed.

Naked.

Rhys forgot how to speak for a second, teasing one of her nipples while he stared and stared. Committing, he realized, this moment to memory. Just in case, he reasoned. Maybe they got separated or he had to leave her somewhere to keep her safe. He wanted to be able to come to this moment in his mind and recall it with perfect clarity. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Rhys ordered. Feyre slid a lazy hand down her body, resting her fingers just above her pussy. He could see her from the corner of his eye and that taunting smile as she widened her legs with that same slowness she’d employed when undressing herself.

She was driving him insane. 

“Show me how you like to be touched,” Rhys demanded roughly, taking his cock into his hand while he watched. 

“How about, I’ll show you how I touched myself last night while thinking of you,” she replied in a sultry voice.

Rhys groaned again. “Yeah. Show me that.”

Her fingers brushed over her clit, filling Rhys with the weirdest jealousy. He wanted to be there, could feel the phantom heat even from the space he occupied beside her. That didn’t stop him from sucking in a breath when those same fingers slid into her body, dragging the slickness of her arousal back up to her clit. Feyre exhaled shakily, knees falling wide open so Rhys could watch unimpeded. 

He sat up, still pumping his cock up and down. Feyre touching herself was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Rhys forgot what he’d meant to do, lost in the movements until his own arousal began to rise in his throat, threatening to spill all over his hand. She was going to come, too, and Rhys found the idea of not being the one to bring her to completion intolerable. She didn’t need her hands anymore—he’d do it for her, every night if she wanted.

Or, he hoped anyway.

Releasing his own cock, Rhys grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head. “That’s enough,” he growled, crawling over her body.

“I thought there were other things you wanted to do,” Feyre taunted, arching her hips so her slick pussy slid over the sensitive skin of his cock. Rhys shuddered, nearly abandoning his plan entirely to fuck her.

“Careful,” he warned before sucking roughly at her neck. “Or I’ll fuck that bratty mouth of yours.” Feyre arched into him again. “You could try…but I don’t think you’d fit,” she said, hand sliding down his stomach. 

Fuck he was in love with her.

“I’m sure you’d find a way to make it work,” was all Rhys could think to say. The thought of pulling her off the bed, head dangling, was tempting. He could pull her legs up to him and lick her while she fucking her throat raw. “You’re a clever woman, Feyre.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, tugging at the strands of his hair.

“Wouldn’t I?” he replied, licking down the column of her throat. “I think you’d like the things I’d dare to do.”

“I’m a lady—”

“You’re a nightmare,” Rhys disagreed, sucking one of her nipples between his lips. “My fucking nightmare.”

She chuckled, unaware of the truth. Right then, though, Feyre was everything. Angel, devil, nightmare, daydream. There was no going back now, no reversing what had begun. As Rhys continued his slow descent down her squirming body, he was resolved in his course of action. There was nothing that would keep him from her. No cell, no grave—nothing. 

Feyre was already slick with arousal, her pussy swollen and pink even in the dark. Rhys spread her apart to look, meeting her gaze from his spot between her legs. 

“What about you?” Feyre whispered, grabbing him by his hair and pulling rough. Rhys’s hips ground into the mattress involuntarily, responding to the force she’d used. 

“What about me?” he replied. If he had to fuck his hand in the bathroom again, that seemed reasonable enough. His cock would be wet soon enough.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered and just like that, Rhys had her halfway off the bed just like he’d imagined. There were more elegant ways to do this—ways that prioritized her pleasure, that were likely more comfortable if nothing else.

But he wanted her like this. After five years of waiting, Rhys thought he deserved to have her however he liked so long as she didn’t object. “Open your mouth, darling,” he murmured, looking down at her head hanging off the edge of the bed. She was eye level with his cock—all she had to do was open and Rhys would be inside.

“Rhys—”

“Trust me,” he murmured, vowing he wouldn’t hurt her. Not unless she asked him to, anyway. While he waited, Rhys leaned over, adjusting his weight and spreading his legs ever so slightly, so he could lick a path down her navel. “I’ll take care of you.”

He meant it literally, but he understood how she might have thought he meant in the moment. Truthfully, Rhys was too distracted by the pussy in his face to bother clarifying it for her. He could smell her and needed to taste her. For one glorious moment, Rhys forgot everything else. Gripping her by her ass to half lift her in the air, Rhys licked the length of her while Feyre gasped, pushing up so she was closer to him. Rhys licked again, forgetting he’d intended to edge her for hours.

Ah, well.

There would be other nights, he supposed. It was strange to realize he could have all the things he wanted. Or, at least have all the things he wanted with her. That was enough to convince him to keep going until she made a mess of his face.

He’d forgotten his cock until he felt her swallow it. She managed a good third before she gagged slightly and her hand began trying to make up the difference. 

“Good girl,” he gasped against her leg. “You can take me.”

He was in hell—her mouth was wet and warm, a tease of what would happen when he was buried inside her. Rhys pushed a little, testing how much she could take without work. He managed about half before she slapped his thigh, teeth lightly grazing his shaft in punishment. Fine, he thought. Anything was better than nothing, truthfully, and he was grateful she let him put his cock near her face at all. 

Rhys returned to his licking, desperate to get her off before he lost control of himself. He was punishingly close already and desperate to mark her in some invisible way. Like an animal, he wanted the rest of the world to know she’d been claimed and to stay away from her, regardless if it was right or not. 

It was tempting to pull himself off her and demand to know where she’d learned to suck cock like that. To force her to give him a list so he could track them all down one by one and punish them for touching his wife. Rhys might have, too, had he not been so desperate to get her off. Feyre squirmed, moaning around the cock she still had buried in her throat. It was too much—Rhys couldn’t think his way out of his impending orgasm. He should have masturbated before he went to bed just to take the edge off. She was going to think he was quick. 

“Feyre,” he panted against her, legs shaking with effort. Rhys redoubled his efforts, kissing and sucking until Feyre’s determined rhythm stuttered. And though his cock screamed in protest, his balls so tight he thought he might explode, Rhys kept at her until Feyre came, still gagged by his cock. She managed one suck, panting and moaning around him and that was all it took.

Rhys came down her throat, forgetting he’d intended to come on her face.

This was better, he thought, face pressed to her thigh as he bit at her flesh. Neither of them moved, still riding out the wave of pleasure rocking through them. He wanted to know how she felt—did the world seem different to her, now? It felt different to Rhys.

Carefully, he knelt beside the bed where Feyre still hung, her hair a waterfall around her. “That was…” he murmured, sitting with his back against the frame so he could kiss her cheek, “incredible.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. “Really good.”

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked impulsively. He just wanted her near. Feyre nodded, leaning up as Rhys crawled back into the bed. He swore he meant to have her again, that he was only going to close his eyes for a moment. 

Rhys passed out, and when he woke, the bed was empty again. For once, Feyre had beaten him awake. Rhys didn’t mind. He took his time, showering and dressing himself while replaying the night before. Somehow he doubted that Feyre had made breakfast, but maybe he’d get lucky and she’d offer herself up to him.

Rhys made his way down the stairs where Feyre waited in another oversized t-shirt and a pair of tight leggings. She’d braided her thick hair over her shoulder again… and she was staring at his computer with those moonlit eyes he loved so much.

“Good morning, Feyre darling,” Rhys said, assuming the game was up. He should have known better than to leave his computer up and accessed so easily…but what did he care, truly, if she looked? He’d show her everything if she asked. 

Feyre stood as Rhys made his way to the kitchen, pouring coffee as the hammer clicked back on a gun. 

“You,” she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. 

“Me,” he agreed, positive she wouldn’t shoot him. Why wait, he reasoned? She could have shot him in her sleep if she’d wanted, but she hadn’t. She’d waited for him to come downstairs and explain himself and that was progress.

“You lied to me.”

Had he? Rhys couldn’t recall a time he’d been overtly dishonest. “You drew your own conclusions,” Rhys reminded her, turning as he blew steam from his mug. “I never lied to you. I told you who I was the day we met.”

“You—you let me think…” she stood, still pointing her weapon at him. “Did you kill Tamlin?”

“You asked me to, remember?”

“Because you said…oh my god…you said…”

Rhys was grinning. “He was keeping you from me.”

“So you killed him for doing his job?” she demanded.

Rhys smiled. “Oh, darling, I killed him because he touched my wife—”

“I’m not your wife!” she declared. Rhys finished his sip, setting his mug to the counter. As he walked toward her, Feyre backed up until she was pressed against a wall. She held that gun, even when Rhys took her hands in his and pressed the barrel firm against his chest.

“You are,” he replied, holding her gaze. “And if you’d come to me for help, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I didn’t want your help,” she whispered. 

“No? Did you ever think that I could have paid someone to look at your story closer? To really examine that bat? I’ve kept you out of prison, Feyre.”

“You’re the reason he’s dead in the first place.”

Rhys had to resist rolling his eyes. “Shoot me then, Feyre. Pull the trigger and end this.”

They stared at each other for a beat—long enough for her to hesitate, and longer still for Rhys to yank it from her hands before hauling her over his shoulder. 

“We can unpack your shitty childhood later,” Rhys informed her as she kicked at the air. “For now, it’s time to go.”

“Go where?”

Rhys sighed with delight, thinking of his cabin and the time alone they’d have together. 

“Home.”

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powerful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances, your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appeased you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but a bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect for Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was the thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once your glass was refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too, on top of hating the sight of you being that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone was coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking past you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you used suggestions rather than orders.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another glass. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arm, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived into his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with the cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize it from miles away for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling left to right due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made a promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess in your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burnt brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cut you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and then, he bared his teeth like a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You, who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur, could not keep your sadness for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time to speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. First thing, you showed him the pale flesh of your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your arm to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take your arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re hurt. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sobs. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him — whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded flesh. Everything began to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes and that your arm was abundantly bleeding. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me, Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took one last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and force you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, had led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and he felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hiting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence, but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains out with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

We listen to a lotta true crime- Wrio x Gn!reader- Part 3

But it's alright, she'll be fine t/w- prison, Wriothesley flirts(?) with you, kissing (consent cause consent is sexy) summary-you've been wrongly accused of trying to murder your ex-husband and wriothesleys determined to get you out

Part 1, Part 2

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Taglist form!

The kiss that had happened the previous day had felt like a dream. The way his lips were so soft and gentle. Wriothesley was just perfect. The whole night you sat there blushing and kicking your legs like a little girl, anyone who walked in would’ve guessed what happened.

The next day Wriothesley came to your room once again. “Y/n wake up.”

His voice was stern and his face wasn’t much different. He walked right in sitting down next to you on the bed. “The Knave contacted me, She heard you were in prison.”

Your family has supported the House of Hearth for many years and Arlecchino was like a mother to you when your parents died. You grew up and eventually backed the orphanage financially, which she was very grateful for. The news had reached her ears because of Lyney.

He was one of your closest friends and you too always stuck together. Makes sense he would worry.

“She sounded terribly worried and asked what would happen. I told her about our plan and she said she can help in any way.”

“That's great! We have someone on our side.”

“Oh and also your court hearing is in a week.”

“What?”

“For the appeal.”

“Ah yes.”

You too continued to talk and figure out how you could win the court over. Over about an hour you could fell Wriothesley moving closer and closer, till you ended up in his arms. It was nice and warm, can’t say it helped you think too much but it was nice. Your ex-husband had never shown you affection the way Wriothesley does to you.

A week later

(Look I honestly have no idea how court things work, I have tried to write one before, but that story never finished.)

You and Wriothesley walked into the courtroom, but only one of you was confident. You were sweating and was almost not breathing properly. Wrio noticed this and began to help you. “Hey y/n, look at me okay? Its gonna work. And if it doesn't you can come back down to the fortress with me.”

“Wriothesley, I have a life… I need to get back to it.”

“I see.”

The judge began to silence the room and started the proceedings. She called you to the stand to present your brief. You felt like so many eyes were watching and almost couldn’t take it. THis was something you had to do… If you wanted out that is.

You took the stand and began to speak.

“I had an unfair trial as I barely had one at all. My ex-husband framed me for attempted murder for what reason I don't know. I was out with some friends all day and had hardly seen him, the witnesses are here. When i got home the police were already at my house and my husband was one the floor covered in what seemed to be blood. The next thing i knew i was in prison and now i am here. There is no evidence that i even tried to murder my husband, no finger prints and no other forms of DNA. Thank you for your time.”

The judge seemed to think over your statement before inviting your husband to the stand. After the proceedings, it was time for a final verdict.

“The defending party is declared not guilty.”

You and Wriothesley in happiness. You had won, you were free. You weren’t a criminal. You felt a large pair of arms pull you in for a hug.

“You won…”

You hugged him back pulling him into a tighter embrace, how could you leave him behind?

After you had recovered from the shock of winning Wriothesley took you out to dinner.

“So whatcha gonna do now?”

“Go back to my normal life.”

Wriothesley seemed slightly hurt, he wasn’t really included in your normal live, as he lived underwater. He knew he couldn’t get too hurt because he’d only met you, what a week ago?

“I’m assuming I’m not included.

“Wrio.. I really like you, I'm just not quite sure how it would work.”

“May i have this last night with you?”

“You may.”

Taglist

@pandragonsoul, @atsukawolfcat, @milkwithspicyicecubes, @pookiebearcave. @c0smouche, @with3ringh3ights, @kitsunechan707, @kpopmenace143

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova and Enolio. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Bellova fights to get herself back.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains violence, mentions of murder, suicide, and torture, death, weapons, and swearing

A/n: i’m sorry this took so long to get out🥲🥲i’m gonna try to update this series more often

Coriolanus felt as if his body was turning to ice. 

He barely managed to refrain from trembling in fear. His life could be ended with a flick of Bellova’s wrist if he didn’t think fast enough. 

He decided against trying to play coy. He knew that would only infuriate her more, and lead to his demise.

“I can explain,” he said as gently as he could. 

Bellova’s cold laughter echoed in his ears, making him shudder in her painfully tight grasp. Her sharp nails dug into his pale complexion, slowly but surely breaking through the first layers of skin.

“I would love to hear your reasoning as to why you thought ruining my life would be a wise choice,” she replied. She was beyond angry, which Coriolanus knew was bad news for him. 

“Where did you get-“

“The knife?” Bellova chuckled lowly, dragging the sharp edge back-and-forth across Coriolanus’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. “When you took all of the weapons from my room, you didn’t check underneath my bed. I hid a blade tucked in the frame in case of emergencies. And this seemed like a fitting time to use it.”

Coriolanus swallowed. His throat felt like it had been replaced by sandpaper. 

“How did you…become you again?”

“I don’t know. Everything was a blur. I felt like I was pulled out of a fever dream and back to reality.”

Bellova let go of him, only to spin him around and hold her blade right above his heart. “Now, you’re going to explain exactly what the fuck you did to me. The last thing I remember was being stabbed in the neck by a syringe, and collapsing on the floor of your office. Clearly, you took my mind hostage and took control of everything in my life.”

Coriolanus backed up, but Bellova was relentless. She grabbed him by the neck and shoved hard, pressing him up against the wall. Her lips curled into a sneer. 

He had forgotten just how terrifying she could be.

“I deserve an explanation, and I intend to get it. Then, once I’m satisfied, I’m going to kill you, as slowly and painfully as I can.”

Somehow, her violent threat snapped him out of his fearful mindset.

He could easily physically overpower her. He was now stronger than her, thanks to his time as a peacekeeper. During their Academy days, Bellova had prided herself in her physical strength. Though she appeared harmless, with a few well-placed blows, she could bring almost anyone to their knees. He was always envious of that ability, as he couldn’t match it. He was too malnourished to even try.

But now, he was properly fed and had developed a significant amount of muscle during his peacekeeper training. 

He could kill her with his bare hands if he wanted to. 

And right now, he really fucking wanted to.

But he knew it wasn’t the right choice. He had to play her game first.

With faux reluctance, Coriolanus told Bellova everything. How he’d used Dr. Gaul’s serum to alter her mind, how he’d killed her father and taken over the Reginelle family’s resources, how he’d gotten her closest friends arrested. 

He was practically able to see the cogs in her mind working. Her eyes, which once again contained the fierceness that Coriolanus had worked so hard to erase, were filing with angry tears. 

He flinched as he felt his cheek meet the palm of her hand harshly. He wasn’t surprised that she’d slapped him, but it was still irritating. She really was a bitch. 

“You’re a fucking snake, Coriolanus Snow,” she hissed, wrapping one of her hands around his throat and bringing the tip of her knife closer to his heart. “Say goodbye to everything you’ve accomplished, none of it will matter once I’m through with you.”

Bellova raised the blade, ready to begin creating morbid lacerations her “fiancé��s” perfect skin. 

But as her hand came down, Coriolanus reached out and grabbed her wrist, effectively stopping the motion. Before she could squirm away, he ripped the weapon out of her hand. His temper flared, and he shoved her to the hard marble floor, making her cry out in pain. She tried to scramble away, but he was on top of her before she could get back on her feet. 

Bellova opened her mouth to scream, but Coriolanus muffled the noise with his large hand. “Scream again and I’ll end you, you dumb bitch,” he snarled in her face. He grabbed the ends of her hair and tugged harshly, and she let out a quiet whine. She kept squirming wildly, trying to escape him, but she was trapped. He had her pinned.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bellova asked, her face flushed with panic and fury. “You’ve already done enough damage, why won’t you just let me be?”

“You know too much,” he sneered, intensifying his grip in her hair. She whimpered, silent tears streaming down her face. “I can’t have you exposing all of my endeavors, it would ruin my reputation and my blossoming career.”

“So you took over my head and ruined my life just to keep me quiet?“

Coriolanus laughed darkly. “You’re acting like you wouldn’t do the same if you were in my shoes.”

“Oh, shut u-“

He didn’t hesitate to smack her across the face, grinning as she cringed from the pain. “Now, my darling fiancée, this can go one of two ways. Either you stop fighting me and accept your fate, or I kill you and tell everyone in the Capitol you committed suicide. Which will it be?”

Bellova looked defeated. Coriolanus smirked, satisfied with the fact that he’d finally gotten his way. 

Then, she spit in his face. 

“I’ll never live under your rule, Snow,” she sneered. “I’d rather die.”

Coriolanus was extremely tempted to use Bellova‘s own knife to torture her slowly, dragging out her pain until her body couldn’t take it anymore. However, he knew that one of the servants or Avoxes in the estate would hear her screams, and he’d be caught red-handed.

So, he settled for knocking her out with a punch to her temple. 

Picking her up, Coriolanus threw her onto the bed unceremoniously. He cursed silently, storming into his closet and pulling on an outfit as quickly as possible. He walked out of the room and hurried down the stairs, throwing on a coat and grabbing his satchel. 

“I’m going to the Citadel. Emergency meeting with Dr. Gaul,” he told Enolio. “Don’t enter Bellova’s room, she’s had a rough night and her sleep must not be disturbed. If I hear that you defied my order, I’ll get you fired. Understood?”

Enolio looked pissed, but nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Coriolanus rushed out of the building and climbed into one of Bellova’s many family cars before the driver could open the door for him. 

“Take me to the Citadel, get me there as fast as you can.”

The driver gulped, and started the car. Like many of the workers at the Reginelle estate, he got nervous when the Snow heir was around. 

Coriolanus knew he tended to have that effect on people, which he greatly enjoyed. 

He’d never get tired of seeing people’s eyes widen in fear when they realized he was about to end their careers lives.

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

“Dr. Gaul?”

Coriolanus’s voice echoed through the empty lab. The only living beings in sight were mutations, which chirped, hissed, and mewled quietly in their cages.

“Back here, Mr. Snow.”

He followed the doctor’s voice until he spotted her at the very back of the lab. She was staring at a couple of sketched designs, both of which were labeled as mutts to include the next Hunger Games. 

“I need help,” Coriolanus said, hanging his satchel on the back of a chair. “It’s Bellova. She’s back to her old self.”

“And how exactly did that happen?” The doctor’s voice was deadly quiet, making Coriolanus fidget uncomfortably.

“I-I don’t know. I went to go shower, and when I went back to her bedroom, she attacked me with a knife. I knocked her out after a bit of a struggle, and I came here.” 

Dr. Gaul frowned, her horrifying eyes narrowing. “Perhaps she finally was able to fight the altercations the serum made to her mind, and regain control.” 

“Maybe,” Coriolanus said. “But I need to get her back under. I can’t have her telling everyone about…about everything I’ve done.” 

Dr. Gaul sighed, setting down her papers. “Bring her here tomorrow morning. Once she wakes she will undoubtedly be hostile, so you’ll need to threaten her with violence to get her to comply. By the time she arrives in my lab, I will have an experimental room ready specifically to perform tests on her.”

“What tests?“

The doctor grinned crookedly. “We will see if she can be persuaded to behave the way you want. If so, we can keep her off the serum. But if not, we will keep her here until I develop a new formula that will keep her mind malleable and vulnerable, allowing you to have full control.”

“And what if neither of those work?”

Dr. Gaul shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Then we will dispose of her. We can’t have anything getting in the way of your success, can we, Mr. Snow?”

Coriolanus smirked. 

“No, we certainly can’t.” 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! It may take me a bit to write the next chapter, and the story will start having longer, more frequent time skips, because we’ll be getting into Coriolanus’s career as a Gamemaker, and then his transition into politics.

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Okay so to add to this post from yesterday:

I’m writing this right after posting that one so if somebody reblogs with something similar to this I promise I did not see it before writing this. I just wanted my full on fix it and this is how I managed to forcefully make it happen:

What if, just like in the book, the tributes didn’t have a bloodbath? If you wanna be very optimistic, what if none of the tributes had died yet but had been brought closer by the… unusual events surrounding their stay, and were just a little bit less enthused about the idea of killing each other? We’re ignoring the rabies. The tributes got close enough fast enough for them to save Reaper from getting bitten or that stupid bat was knocked out by slamming into the shaking sides of the cattle car before it could bite Jessup.

We all know Gaul’s a murderous piece of never before seen insanity, and it’s pretty clear (to me at least) that she was simply looking for an excuse to release the snakes. Well, what if she was just the teensiest bit too excited about that? When nobody has died in over a day because everyone is actively avoiding conflict (maybe Treech pulled a Peeta and convinced the pack to wait with attacking Lamina or something to piss Gaul off even further) she goes on the big screen to tell people she’ll nobly make sure the districts receive their punishment no matter how hard they try to rebel and sicks the snakes on them. Joke’s on her! They’re not stupid and once one person gets to higher ground everybody else follows. The tank is placed somewhere on flat ground so Lamina gets to stay on her beam and maybe Treech joins her so they can reconcile. Some older kids grab the younger ones to get the heck out of dodge so everyone’s in a safe spot.

As in my previous post, none of the tributes can be reached. Therefore, the snakes decide to get their share of flesh from the next closest thing: the peacekeepers. They don’t even have a chance to call for help, and there are no cameras that film their deaths so nobody even realizes nobody’s guarding the arena until it’s too late. Again, the cold night kills all of the snakes and provides the time frame that ends up causing the utter embarrassment to the Capitol that is the 10th Hunger Games.

This time, it’s Circ and Teslee, even the smart cookies, who notice the snakes all on the hunt towards the same spot and investigate. They immediately run back with their findings and the tributes spread the word from person to person in minutes. All strategizing is done in the cameras’ blindspots in a soft enough tone to not be caught by the microphones. Lamina hears that the only obstacle left is the lock when she “trades” with Reaper to buy everyone time and suggests going to Treech, since he knows how to pick locks. Teslee and Circ point out the camera near the entrance, so they decide that it’s better to be safe than sorry here and come up with a plan.

After some back and forth, Lucy Gray brings up that the games are all for entertainment, which gives Coral an idea (coralbaird alarm coralbaird alarm they are chaos gremlins). What if they have a few tributes fight? That would draw attention towards the fight and away from the entrance. They’ll do it early to prevent anyone from realizing the guards are dead. A few others will signal towards the cameras to try and convince their mentors to send supplies so they have some time to find a hideout and plan before food and water become pressing issues.

Panlo volunteers to be part of the fight, since his mentor is a dickhead. The chances of Gaius sending him anything substantial are so low they’re kissing the earth’s core. Reaper also volunteers, and Treech tries to before he’s reminded that he’s supposed to be picking the lock. So he instead volunteers to stay last with Lucy Gray since they had the most donations. Clearly the audience loves them, so they’ll perform together while everyone else gets out and then slip out of sight from the cameras. Teslee and Circ will hack the cameras from the outside and move them subtly while the distractions are happening so that the blind spots are big enough for the tributes to manoeuvre past. Wovey and Bobbin leave during the night, knowing their mentors won’t send them much. Someone needs to make sure that possible replacement guards don’t foil the plan by taking them out if necessary. They have the dead guards’ guns and no peacekeeper would expect to be shot, especially not from the outside of the arena.

In the end, it’s Panlo vs Reaper vs Sabyn vs Facet. None of them had mentors great enough to be likely to send food, but they’re all strong enough for a drawn out free for all fight without casualties to be believable. Once Treech whistles out the signal that he’s picked the lock successfully, they start retreating from the fight one by one, making it look like they just narrowly dodged a lethal blow and decided to cut their losses. The tributes collect their gifts and high tail it out of the arena while Lucy Gray and Treech “get stuck” conveniently close to a microphone. This is done by Coral acting out the angry Bad Guy she’d forced herself into once they entered the arena. Treech acts the meek spineless coward and books it away from the pack, who give chase just slow enough to believably lose track of him in the tunnels and give up. He meets Lucy Gray at the agreed upon location, one on each side of a door with a microphone above it. What a coincidence! And at a time where Jessup is outside to collect gifts too!

Lucy Gray makes just enough noise to pass as accidental while still being audible for both the mic and Treech, who says hello and sardonically asks her where her partner is. She replies that he should come in and check, to which he replies he’s not ready to get his skull bashed in quite yet. Then they talk. They share stories and sing together, both showing a more human side to the tributes while also expertly stalling for time by drawing attention. They’re performers, they understand what to do without needing to discuss it.

The last person to leave aside from them, Marcus, (because he gave the camera district 2 signs so Sejanus knows what’s up and waited for his mentor to empty out as much of his funds as possible without being suspicious) taps out the agreed upon signal with his footsteps, making sure they echo loud enough for the two to overhear, before getting out too. Treech swiftly ends the conversation by stating that he should probably get a move on before someone finds him. He perfectly acts out a teenager getting everything off his mind to someone he thinks he may never talk to again, complimenting Lucy Gray and wishing her luck. She does the same, and they part ways. Treech is surprised to find that Vipsania sent him quite a bit of food and water once he made it back to the main part of the arena, but he’s not complaining. Lucy Gray follows after him with enough time between their departures to be believable for two people who are supposed to be scared of each other.

And that’s that. All of them are out, regrouping outside of the gates and escaping the scene swiftly. It’s only the next day that anyone bothers to check out the lack of action, only to find the snakes’ rainbow venom pouring out of the guards’ corpses in front of a long empty amphitheater. Surprisingly, most mentors aren’t all that upset at losing their chance to win the Plinth Prize, which is now given out like it was in previous years. Secretly, they’re glad their tribute escaped alive, though they’ll never say that out loud.

Nor will a few of them explain why they suddenly go on a trip to the districts every now and again. Or why Gaul’s lab blew up with her inside it once the horrific symptoms of her snakes’ venom was released to the public.

Guess we’ll never know how that happened :)

[cozzzynook]

Can we have more of when the team found out about murderbot bee? I'm very interested!

-ratchet wanted to do a full diagnostics scan on him to make sure he was okay but bee refused because he knew what that meant. It was when he was asleep did ratchet do a full scan and found bee’s frame was covered by the one they see now. Bee is pretty pissed when he finds out but Ratchet smiling throws him off guard. It’s when Ratchet shows he’s been working non-stop to remove the current frame so bee can have his original back.

-leaking lots of leaking on Bee’s part but he hides in his room when he does because he doesn’t want anyone to see him leak.

-surprisingly its prowl who goes in to comfort him. He’s not really afraid of bee being a murderbot since he’s run in with them before. Not to mention him & bee having a steadily growing connection and bond. Bee was annoyed at first but a hug from prowl was like candy to a kid for him and bee ended up spilling he could get his original frame back.

- out of the group it’s surprisingly optimus who is the most weary about bee. The moment he sees him in his original frame, more black than yellow, sleek frame with claws and sharp fangs not to mention door wings showing he was a hybrid murder bot and no autobot insignia. Optimus was on edge.

- bulkhead still saw bee as his little buddy. He gave him a big teddy bear hug and was the first to tell bee he had pretty optics. His original optics are orange and they really are very pretty. They’re still big and have an innocent look to them especially when bulkhead pats his head careful of his sensitive floating antennas. Ratchet even gave him a hug which bumblebee returned immediately.

- its prowl who helps bee get used to his frame again. None of them are educated on wing culture so they don’t know bee is pretty nervous by how his door wings stay low. Eventually prowl figures it out and in true familial bond fashion takes bee out to the forest to talk.

- bee still doesn’t want to share that part of himself or the reason why he still hasn’t gotten the autobot symbol put on his chassis. Prowl doesn’t push but lets him open up about how he can sense optimus being weary even frightened by him. He thought it would be ratchet who would be prejudice of him not optimus.

- Prowl doesn’t take well to that information not one bit.

-optimus gets a very frightening wake up call the next cycle when its prowl hovering above Optimus as he lays in berth and covers his intake while holding a shuriken to his neck cable.

- “either you work out your fears towards bee being a murder bot or i do it for you. I trust you’ll make the right decision?”

-Optimus after a long days thinking and still remembering how frightening prowl looked hovering over his berth many many hours ago, he sits and talks with bee.

-“ i- i’m sorry bee. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just-never expected you to be a murderbot or a hybrid. I can tell by your claws and door wings. I didn’t mean to look at you any differently i just couldn’t stop myself. I was wrong to treat you different. If you can forgive me i’d love to go sparring with you.”

- a dazzling smile of innocence and door wings fluttering before resting facing out, bee forgives him even hugs him. Optimus really was trying when he said he’d love to spar with him. No one except decepticons would trust sparring with a murderbot so he really appreciated Optimus saying that.

-later that night when Optimus was half in recharge Prowl crept down from the ceiling and nodded at him smiling before leaving to go check up on bee.

- optimus had a new fear and it wasn’t bee. It was cyberninjas. Terrifying, silent, calm overprotective cyberninjas.

-“ you know you didn’t have to threaten him.”

“Someone needed to get his helmet out of his aft.”

“You’re a really good older familial.”

“Heh, I know.”

- protective younger familial bee on the battlefield when they face the cons for the first time since he went back to his original frame. Prowl got hurt by Lugnut smashing his arm in and Bee locked his sights on Lugnut only. His face shield came down and his optics burned orange just like his arm canon. His arms were small but his canon packed a punch.

- surprise from the team. Pure shock and surprise as Bee went pede to optic with Lugnut. Literally. Bee smashed his optic in and tried to claw off his servo in retaliation for hurting his familial. He was halfway through the war plating till Blitzwing grabbed him and his hot head face plate declared his spark for him.

- that knocked out all the fight in everyone, bee included.

- blitzwing was serious he was literally offering his spark to bee and bee alone.

-prowl was not having that.

- a shuriken to the optic and blitz is only half aware of bee being snatched from his servos before the autobots disappear.

- prowl getting patched up by Ratchet who keeps making jokes about prowl being an overprotective big familial.

- bee telling prowl not to worry but prowl sees the blush on his cheeks and no. Bee you can’t not him. Anyone but him.

-“jazz & lockdown are courting you. Don’t even start.”

“Thats different!”

“No way he’s a bounty hunter!”

“I can beat him!”

“Yeah cause he’s too busy being charged to actually think!” “Don’t deny i’ve seen it!”

-prowl trying to pull the “you’re too young to court,” servo and Bee just “i’m 10,000 years old i can court who i want.”

- prowl wants him to wait until he’s 1 million. Its ratchet who breaks up the argument by just telling them to go to bed in separate berths until they can settle this like grown mechs. That snaps them out of it.

- familial’s always sleep in the same berth no matter how many bots in their family. Ratchet knew this. He gave himself a pat on the back watching the two talk things out like grown mechs instead of sparklings.

- bulkhead trusts bee to make his own decisions but backs prowl up in threatening blitzwing.

- just bee assuring them if blitz tries to hurt him he’ll slit his neck cables before he even knows its coming.

- blitzwing falls more in spark and the autobots are both happy bee is safe but disturbed at how casual he said it.

- just bee being very comfortable with offling and blitz offering his spark again that same cycle.

Hope you like this, sorry i took so long to respond

[peakyswritings]

The Danger We Come From

CHAPTER I

A Peaky Blinders x Hunger Games crossover

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Nina Ferrante

Summary: during the 72nd edition of the Hunger Games, one year after her victory, Nina becomes a mentor. But the events of the previous edition are still imprinted in her mind.

Warnings: mentions of violence and murder, no proofreading, I’m writing this for fun.

A/N: here’s the first chapter of this crossover! If you haven’t read it yet, I recommend you to catch up with Nina’s backstory before reading this. More information is given in the masterlist I’ve linked below. Also, there’s a brief reference to @justrainandcoffee ’ OC, Rose.

Nina Ferrante is the OC from my Tommy Shelby x OC series Heart, Body and Soul (set in canon times).

AU MASTERLIST

71st edition of the Hunger Games - Reaping Day

After tying the end of her braid with a white ribbon, Nina took one last look in the mirror to make sure her appearance was neat enough. The clothes she had chosen for the occasion were a bit too lose for her scrawny frame, but she had found a safety pin to hold the grey skirt up, and the white shirt was clean and undamaged. It wasn’t that bad, overall.

Fear felt like a vice grip on her stomach as she tried to muster up the courage to head to the kitchen, convincing herself that the sooner she got to the Justice Building, the sooner it would end. But the thing was - it wouldn’t end. Nina could feel it in her bones, she was sure of it as she was sure of her own name. She had asked for too many tesserae for the odds to be in her favour one last time.

When she entered the room, her father was sitting at the table, staring at an indefinite point ahead of him. Her mother and brothers were probably already waiting outside, like every year. Just like her, they seemed eager to get it over with, like one would with the extraction of an aching tooth.

“I’m ready,” she murmured, catching her dad’s attention. Ready. It sounded almost funny, in that situation.

He got up from the chair, giving her the sad, forced smile of a man who knew his daughter was up for a slaughter, but tried to keep it together for everybody’s sake. “It’s the last year,” he murmured, reaching his hand out to tenderly caress her cheek. “You can be lucky once again.”

Those words struck a chord in Nina, awakening the sleeping rage she fought so hard to keep at bay. She could’ve been lucky, if she hadn’t been forced to take the burden of not only one, but two families on her shoulders, without anyone doing a damn thing about it.

“It’s time to go,” she simply said, taking a step back.

Her father’s hand fell by his side, and a flicker of pain shone in his eyes for a second. He opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him right away, causing him to give up before even starting to speak. Not surprised by that silence, Nina nodded to herself and turned around to walk to the door, but she was soon stopped by her dad’s voice.

“Nina,” he called her, making her turn around. His gaze hesitantly found hers, and it took him a moment to begin again. “How many times is your name in the reaping bowl?”

She faltered at his question, and she wondered if it’d be of any use to tell him the truth now. It didn’t take her long for concluding that it wouldn’t. What was done was done, and it wasn’t like he didn’t already knew the truth. He just pretended to be oblivious to it, just like everybody else.

“It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head, walking out the door.

The banners of the Capitol solemnly hanged off the walls of the Justice Building, their bright red sharply contrasting with the grey stones. The expensive fabric seemed almost ridiculous in that picture of poverty and desolation. Those banners didn’t belong there.

Nina didn’t bat an eye as the peacekeeper prickled her finger to confirm her identity. After six years, she had kind of gotten used to it. The same couldn’t be said for Agnese, her cousin, who still flinched when the needle pierced her skin. When Agnese’s sisters got identified as well, the small group separated, with Nina and Agnese taking their places in the front rows, and the other two with the younger girls. On the stage in front of them stood the two reaping bowls, filled to the top with names. Behind them, the escort sent by the Capitol - what was her name again? -, the mayor and district 9’s only victor, Alfie Solomons. When the mayor stepped forward, the soft buzz of voices died down, and the square fell silent. Agnese grabbed Nina’s hand and held it tightly, giving her an encouraging look. She really thought that both of them would make it.

As the mayor recited the history of Panem, Nina’s mind started wandering, searching for something else to focus on. She had heard it so many times that she would be able to recite it by heart, if asked to. She needed to get out of there, if just for a moment, even if just with her head, but the only thing she could think about was what would happen if the escort called her name. The escort. The woman’s intricate hairstyle caught her eye, offering her brain some sort of escape. Lime green was an interesting choice of colour. It had to be a wig. There was no way that one person could have that much hair. How did it even manage to stay up like that?

Her mind chased thought after thought, capturing the most trivial details and transforming them into the object of deep reflection, until the escort’s high-pitched voice snapped her out of that sort of trance. She hadn’t even noticed that she had stepped forward, taking the mayor’s place.

“Now it’s time for us to find out who will have the honour to represent district 9 in the 71st edition of the Hunger Games,” she smiled, making her way toward one of the bowls. “As usual, ladies first…”

She’d call her name. She knew it.

Nina held her breath as the escort grabbed one of the white cards, her struggling with opening it with her long nails only prolonging the painful wait.

There was her name on that card. She could feel it. She would be reaped. She would die.

If the square had been silent before, now one could almost hear the fluttering of a fly’s wings. Time seemed to stand still while the woman finally opened the card, taking her time before announcing the female tribute.

“Nina Ferrante.”

Nina’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and for a moment she hoped it had only been a trick of her imagination. But it wasn’t. The way her cousin turned to look at her, like the other people who knew her, told her that all of that was very much real. Her ears rang as she made her way toward the stage, a strange feeling of numbness pervading her completely. A few peacekeepers boarded her to make sure she wouldn’t run away. But running away was the last thing on her mind while she mechanically walked in the empty corridor that lead to the stage, as if she wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. However, that sort of disconnection didn’t prevent her from yanking her arm free from one of the peacekeepers’ grip when she felt his hand wrap around it, glaring at him. If she had to walk to her death, she’d walk on her own.

“Come, dear,” the escort gently put a hand behind her shoulder once she stepped on the stage, guiding her to the center.

Nina slowly started to register what was happening around her, to her, when she met Alfie Solomons’s unreadable gaze, and when the crowd’s pitiful look started to pierce through her. It angered her, the way they were looking at her. As if she had absolutely no chance.

“And for the boy…” the woman reached the other bowl, catching her attention once again. She opened the card, this time more easily. “Oliver Cropper.”

Oliver Cropper. She knew that boy. They were in the same class, before he dropped out of school to help his family. They even say next to each other, from time to time. As far as she could remember, he was a nice kid, a bit lonely and broody, but kind. The tall, lanky boy stepped on the stage, in his dark eyes the same look she had until a couple of minutes ago.

“Our tributes from district 9,” the escort proclaimed, a big smile plastered on her face. “Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

72nd edition of the Hunger Games - Reaping Day

Exactly one year had passed since Nina’s reaping. Against all expectations, she was still there, alive. Even her family couldn’t believe it when she was proclaimed victor.

In her house in the Victor’s Village, the life she had left behind felt as distant as ever. She didn’t have to ask for tesserae to support her family, she didn’t have to put up with Salvatore’s addiction, or Pietro’s anger, or her mother’s apathy, or her father’s silence. They had all chosen to keep on living in the family home, chained to the memory of a time when they were still whole. Nina, on the other hand, had closed the door on it. Or so she told herself.

She was a mentor, now. After the reaping, she would head to Capitol City once again, but with an entirely different role. Although she hated the idea of going back to that place, she felt somehow obliged to. There was only one victor besides her in district 9, after all, and those kids needed all the advice they could get. It didn’t feel right to go on with her life without caring about what happened to them.

72 years. That shit had been going on for 72 years, and no one had ever done anything to stop it. People watched their children be sent to the slaughter without batting an eye, simply accepting the way things were. What was it that made them so afraid to act? The worst was already happening, right in front of their eyes.

There had to be a way to stop it. It was a nagging thought, one that had been tormenting her for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that things had to stay like that forever. There had to be a way to change them.

The square in front of the Justice Building was just starting to fill up when Nina arrived. Hundreds of kids, waiting for two of them to be possibly sent to their deaths, hoping the selected cards wouldn’t bear their name. It felt strange, not to be part of it anymore. Her two younger cousins were, though, and she couldn’t ignore that the possibility of one of them being reaped was not so distant as she thought. It was a terrifying prospect, one she never allowed herself to dwell on, for the consequences would be devastating.

“Hello, kid,” a familiar voice pulled her from her brooding. She was so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed that Alfie had joined her on the stage.

“Alfie.”

They stood there in silence for a while, in an unspoken agreement that there wasn’t much to say, in that situation. However, Nina didn’t fail to notice the scowl on his face, and couldn’t be silent about it. “I see you’re in a good mood, as usual.”

“No reason to be in a good mood.”

“Right,” she nodded. After a moment of pause, feeling the need to lighten the mood in some way, Nina started speaking again. “Well…” she raised her eyebrows, pondering her next words. “You do have one,” she teased him, holding back a mischievous grin. The glare he sent her way told her he knew all to well what she was referring to. Who she was referring to. And he was probably fed up with her teasing already.

“Just kidding,” she raised her hands in defeat.

Their brief exchange was stopped by the mayor, who stepped forward to officially start the reaping. The whole process went by faster than Nina remembered, and she figured time is perceived in a very different way when you’re not the one risking your life. Much to her relief, none of her cousins were reaped. The names of the 72nd Hunger Games’ tributes were Nora and Lucas.

The boy, Lucas, was thirteen, and Nora was eighteen. Her reaping had been bad luck, just like Nina’s. She looked so young that it felt impossible that they were almost the same age, and Nina wondered, did she look that young too the day of her reaping?

From the reaping on, everything happened in a haze, and before Nina could realise it, they were all sitting in the luxurious train taking them to Capitol City. Elle, the escort, took it upon herself to enumerate all the wonderful things they would see at the Capitol, all the comforts they would be provided with during their stay, the food they would get to eat, but the kids were too busy trying not to panic to even hear a word she was saying.

“Elle,” Nina interrupted her with a scolding tone. “I think it’s enough.”

Silence fell in the wagon, and for a few minutes no one said a thing, gathering their thoughts before starting to talk about more serious matter. Nina felt a pair of eyes on her, and it didn’t take her long to notice that Nora was looking at the ugly scar that crossed the left side of her face, from the tip of her eyebrow to the centre of her cheek. Although the girl was trying to be subtle with it, she wasn’t really discreet. Nina wasn’t offended, though, nor did she feel uneasy. She was aware it was almost impossible not to let the eye fall on it, especially for a young girl.

“Alright,” Nina suddenly spoke, deciding they had wasted enough time already. “First rule, use your brains. They’re the biggest weapon you can have in the Arena.”

“My biggest weapon is my strength.” Lucas interrupted her, causing her to turn to look at him. She knew he hadn’t done it out of defiance, but out of eagerness to talk about the things he considered most important.

“I’m strong,” he added. “I work the fields with my dad.”

“You work the fields,” Nina repeated, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

“The kids from the Career districts are trained in Academies. Chances are, if one of them crosses your path - you’re dead, no matter how strong you are.”

Alfie cleared his throat, probably signalling her that she was being a bit too harsh, but she ignored him.

“It’s a good thing to be strong,” she continued, softening her tone a bit. “It’s an advantage. But even your strength won’t be enough to save you if you don’t know how to use your head. The Arena is tricky. It’s not just the tributes that you need to worry about. It’s the plants, the berries, the mutts, even the fucking water. You have to know what to look out for.”

Lucas nodded, leaning back in his seat as he listened attentively to Nina’s words.

“Watch, observe, take as much as you can. You know your strengths, so work on your weaknesses,” she concluded, shifting her gaze between Lucas and Nora.

She didn’t want to seem mean, or sour, but she knew that being too soft wouldn’t help those kids. They didn’t need someone to sugarcoat the truth, they needed to know what to expect if they wanted to have a chance to get out of the Arena alive. And Nina would do anything in her power to help them. It was her job, now. She couldn’t fail them.

NEXT CHAPTER

@call-sign-shark @justrainandcoffee @evita-shelby @emotionalcadaver